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ratcandy · 3 years

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UHHH THE SECOND IDEA FIRST

OKAY Time's disastrous universe let's get it boys

Below is a VERY long personal-story related ramble because a lot happens here and there's a lot to explain and I'm being enabled (c/w death, a LOT of memory erasure, Gods being idiots, and. If I need to add anythin else here someone better let me know hehehe)

feat some dumb lil doodles here n there because i felt like it

Exposition time first!

At the beginning of everything, eight universes were created, each differentiated by color. A Universe Owner is assigned to each universe, and that entity is then responsible for their universe's laws of reality, the lives of the characters, and... whatever else they decide to mess with. This is so I can allow myself a lot of freedom in making stories in many different areas n such without worrying about it following another story's rules >:)

Okay exposition time done! for now!

One day out of the blue, the God of Time decided that they wanted a universe all for themselves. They wanted to create life!! They wanted to make a world!! It'd be fun! It'd be a whole vibe!

So, against the wishes of the God of Balance, Time made a ninth universe and fruitlessly tried to keep it hidden from everyone else. This backfired instantly. A huge argument broke out between Time and Balance, as the latter was pissed, but Time won in the end and was allowed to keep their universe. Balance is just upset there's not a nice even number anymore. He'll get over himself eventually.

Straight up having a great time now, the God of Time went hogwild and fleshed out their universe to the best of their ability. Beautiful lush forests, stunning pink skies as if it were in a continuous sunrise, crystal-clear waters that glimmer ever-so-brightly!! Yes!! Pretty!! And immediately after, they created creatures!! And people! To inhabit their world!

Elegant flying beasts, colorful people of all shapes and sizes, bustling towns with trade and life and energy and!!! Yes! Yes!! Vibes!!

Time was living their BEST life.

But. Well. This is my story. things gotta go wrong now

SO! First, something to note about how the God of Time works:

Time's primary job is to keep the Time Fire from ever going out or touching the ground. The Time Fire is an eternally burning flame, forever shifting from vibrant color to vibrant color, getting bigger and burning stronger with every passing millennia. It also... y'know. Allows time itself to function. If it goes out, time will stop. If it touches the floor, time will go NUTS and parallel/alternate universes will go haywire, clashing into one another and messing up reality.

The God of Time, luckily, has powerful psychic abilities.. The tall mans just put the Time Fire in a sort of protective bubble, constantly floating above the ground, and left it in a temple at the center of their universe. Epic. All works out

Well. All SHOULD have worked out.

At some point, Time left their universe to have a meeting with the Gods, and on their way to Oblivion - often a meeting place for deities - they witnessed something Very Unfortunate.

One of the Universe Owners, Hesit (white universe), was being torn to pieces by an intruder in the higher realm. By killing and consuming Hesit, possession of the white universe was transferred to said intruder: a big asshole named Vexis. Time tried to confront Vexis immediately after. This was a mistake, as Vexis panicked and attacked Time. Seeing as Gods cannot die, Vexis instead trapped the god in his newly-acquired universe - binding him there forever.

So now Time is imprisoned in the white universe, lost and confused, not knowing how to get back out. And Vexis doesn't plan on telling anyone about this.

The other gods soon realize that Time has gone missing. Very soon, actually, because... well. With Time being swept away into the white universe and being held prisoner there, uhm. A certain something important isn't being held suspended anymore.

The Time Fire.

It hasn't fallen yet, but it's gradually sinking toward the ground, and sometHING has to get a hold on it soon!! Or HELL WORLD!!

Balance loses his MIND!! We have to do something about this before time becomes a catastrophic, unfixable disaster! And also we're missing a god!! This is not good!! At first, Balance goes looking for Time, but realizes he doesn't really uh... have the time to be doing that

So, in desperation, he searches his mind for possible solutions. He gets one, crazy idea, and practically begs the God of Death to help him pull it off. Death agrees, because this is the one (1) time Death acknowledges that the mortal realm being in danger might be a bad thing.

To put a long plan short, Balance used Death to turn the Goddess of Pain into a pseudo Goddess of Time.

Pain had previously been wreaking HAVOC, and Balance was NOT happy about it. Way too many mortals were dying, then not dying, then losing their sanities, then losing control of themselves, and it was just. Very messy. He didn't feel great about using her to replace Time, but he didn't have many options. And he needed someone to take over. So, he and Death worked together to erase Pain's memories and turn her into a Goddess of Time.

They couldn't give her psychic abilities, though. So, how'd they deal with the Time Fire? It now permanently rests on Pain/Time's back. As in, the flame is constantly burning her spine for all of eternity, steadily searing her flesh but never allowing her to die. She's grown progressively numb to it over many, many years, but that doesn't make it any less unfortunate for her.

Balance feels awful about this. Especially since Pain/Time doesn't remember who she was, and believes she's always been Time. This is how it's always been. The universe around her is one she made, one she owns. Anytime Balance stops by to visit (as Time cannot move now from the temple with the fire), she greets him so kindly, so happy to have company... and he just feels terrible, knowing what he's done to her.

Well... at least that's settled. This cannot possibly go awry in any way shape or f----

The new Goddess of Time is trying her best to make creations for her universe. After all, that's what she's always done! These are her children, essentially, and she needs to have more. This, uh... well, the Goddess of Pain was not made with creating in mind, rather destroying. So, despite her valiant efforts, half of her creations come out... a Lil Messed Up. But she loves them all the same and keeps them around!!! Even if they're... worse for wear, or not quite like the rest!! They're her children. Yea!

At some point, however, her creating takes a bit too much from other universes' energy, and a mortal from another universe just ends up appearing in Time's. His name is Dustivan, and he is reasonably confused. One moment, he was vibing with his sister and her wife, and the next-- where the hell is he. why is the sky pink. who is this block man approaching me

The block man in question is named Maurice, and he is a sort of guardian for Time's temple. The Time that's always been here. The Time that has always looked like that and never been any different! (All of the Original Time's creations had their memories wiped, too. This Goddess of Time is the only one there's ever been! That's your mother, see. There is no other Time. She created you. Don't worry about it)

Maurice greets Dusty under the assumption that this man is just another new creation, and is soon told that "Uh, no, I'm... from some place else? I have a family? And a home, elsewhere?" M. Maurice is a lil confused. But he asks Time about this.

Time has no idea what he's talking about, either, so Maurice just... calmly escorts Dusty away, promising to get back to him later. We'll figure this out, man, don't you even worry about it

Now, there's a bit here that's only loosely developed! That being Dusty's stay in Time's Universe! Lil man meets a lotta folks, gets used to this weird world he's living in, makes good friends with Maurice and Maurice's maybe-more-than-friends-:flushed: friend Arin, aaand has a great experience! Because Time's universe is incredibly serene and peaceful, even with the new management!

Straight up vibi--- oh no wait what's this

Somehow, Maurice, Arin and Dusty find out about the whole... thing that happened with the original Time, and Pain being turned into the new Time. Maurice and Arin get their memories back and freak out a little while Dusty is just standing there like "big rip on you guys I guess"

Shenanigans ensue and Maurice goes back to Pain/Time, thinking it'll definitely work out if he tells her everything that happened so her.

Hey so it doesn't work out

Pain regains her own memories, and becomes ABSOLUTELY PISSED OFF, shedding the form forced onto her and returning back into the Goddess of Pain. In her transformation, however, she shook the Time Fire from her back, screaming in the agony that caused her, and. well.

she hit the floor (she hit the floor) next thing ya know, time fire got low low low low low low

Time itself was sent into disarray. The God of Balance felt it happen, FREAKED OUT, picked up the God of Death and just BOOKED IT into Time's Universe, dashing toward the temple. But it... was no longer a temple! It was very much destroyed. Balance is faced with the rubble of the former temple, the Fire just chillin on the ground, Arin bleeding to death after being attacked by Pain, Maurice fretting and trying to keep Arin alive, and Dusty aboutta also fucking die because Pain is angry. Alongside the bodies of whatever other poor creations/people just happened to be nearby the temple when this went down. Which was probably quite a few, as the temple was almost always open to visitors.

Death and Balance did the exact same thing again, though with added struggle. Pain was reverted to Time, the Time Fire was yeeted right back onto her spine (followed by a shriek of... pain), and Balance practically collapsed onto the floor hoping to never get up again

Death, however, forced him up, gesturing to the creations around them and uh. hey. their minds. wipe 'em Balance was very tired by this point, but began wiping the survivor's memories, running into Dusty and realizing "hey wait a minute. you're not from this universe" and just kicking that idiot back to where he's supposed to be. might've forgotten to wipe that one's mind but uh i'm sure that's not important

And that's essentially the end of that plot thread! Life continues as if nothing happened, afterwards. Time was restored (though a fuckton of "discrepancies" are now notable throughout the universes, as if time went Wonky or something), the people are thriving, and Maurice & Arin... the latter of which did indeed survive... are wondering if there's something important they were supposed to remember.

nah. probably not

there's a few side stories with characters in Time's universe, including another survivor of the Pain Realizing Who She Is incident... though he got the hell outta dodge and managed to keep his memories. making him a sort of fugitive as Balance has to track that idiot down and fix that problem but!!! this is already a very, very long post, so. WOO

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miniaturephantomprincess · 3 years

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You know those times, when your thoughts go flying and your own headcanon gets thrown into an (alternate) bad ending scenario?

Definitely guilty here... ^^‘

The bad ending

„You do realize this is quite your own fault right?“

Neptune came to hate this voice so much during the last weeks and months. Her fists were already trembling by the bare sight of her opponent, while she simply refused to believe any of those words Venus’ whispered to her right now. However, the former Senshi of love was far more successful in this than Neptune would have liked. While manipulating Haruka had been fun but far from any real challenge, Venus had come to particularly enjoyed teasing and driving Neptune over the edge. It had ended painfully for herself on more than one occasion but damn, it had been worth every single moment. Haruka had been easy. There was so much anger, so much hatred for herself buried that close beneath the surface. A small little push and pull, that’s all that had been necessary for the nice little chaos to unfold and things quite naturally following their way. Neptune on the other hand… even Venus had to admit it was way different with her. The senshi of the sea was much more complicated, her feelings much more concealed, but oh how her strength had proven to be her greatest weakness. It shouldn’t have surprised her but still, even Venus found the irony behind this strangely amusing.

„I actually have to thank you, you know.“

Venus grinned as she carefully followed the impact every single one of her words caused. Oh, how she enjoyed having Neptune on this point. Her careful held facade breaking away slowly, giving way for the much more pleasant feelings of hate and anger Venus feed on for her own joy.

„I don’t think I could have done all of this myself. Not that quickly anyway. You did help quite a bunch you know. Poor Haruka. In the end, you broke the very rest of her spirit.“

Venus felt the by now nearly familiar pressure on her chest, rapidly and mercilessly growing as Neptune used her powers, however, none of this stopped her lips from forming into a cold and deeply satisfied smile. Despite everything, this was her victory. They both knew it was.

„Shut up!“

The roaring depths of the sea sparked back through Neptune’s eyes right before a wild hit of energy knocked Venus off her feet. Neptune’s attack sent her crushing against the nearest wall, the force breaking at least two of her rips in the process. Nevertheless, Venus laughed out loud.

„Well, look at who cannot bear the truth!“

Venus coughed, the sharp pain exploding at her side, but the so-called senshi of love grinned. She bathed in the sea goddess’ hatred. In that guilt cracking up Neptune’s soul and seeping through this raging sea of emotions. To Venus, this felt like the most exquisite wine or perfume and it was worth each and every risk she just took.

“Come on! Tell me I am wrong.”

Quite some dance with the devil this was, but Venus had not come this far to let this end without a little bit of fun.

“She asked you not to keep her away, didn’t she? Her only wish not to be a useless bystander on the battlefield. And you...? Tell me again, what did you do exactly?”

Venus never actually was surprised to find her body lacking the ability to move. She knew that part of Neptune’s powers all too well by now. She could also tell what probably would follow, but Venus never actually intended to give Neptune time to call upon the crushing waters of the sea to rise deadly from beneath her feet.

“Don’t worry.”

The pressure on her chest made it more impossible to breathe. It literally cut off her breath and caused Venus to cough. Her mocking words no longer escaped her as easy as before, but nevertheless, she pushed on. The blonde tasted her own blood in her mouth and fought to take her next breath, yet she knew in only a moment she would have won everything there was.

“I fixed your mess.”

The wicked grin on Venus’ face quite successfully drove Neptune mad. She would end this. Here and now. Once and for all.

But along with those last mocking words came a change of atmosphere that made Neptune freeze. The very air seemed to have changed and shifted. The wind picked up and with it came a far too familiar brush not only on her skin but on her soul.

“Haruka...”

Venus forgotten, Neptune turned, instinctively knowing where to look for her partner. Standing several meters across and away from her was Uranus, strong and mighty, her presence so radiant Neptune actually shivered. The aura of her partner choked her and she painfully realized how long it had been since she felt the soldier of the sky embracing her full potential and power like this.

“You know what to do.”

Neptune didn’t even turn as Venus summoned another portal to disappear, maybe to watch in all safety the confrontation that was about to happen. Neptune could not care less about their former leader, retreating once more cowardly and fleeing from their battle. It could not be more insignificant when it was Uranus who caught Neptune’s every attention.

It had been weeks... no months...

Months since Haruka had vanished.

No... since Michiru’s very own actions had driven her away...

Since then, since she had found the crash-site of Haruka’s bike and all traces were grown cold, Michiru had pushed herself to her own breaking point and limits, both physically and mentally, with her powers finally growing (or was it breaking?) to their fullest potential.

Vision after vision she had witnessed Haruka suffer…or get tortured…

As vague as her visions could be, the pictures they brought to her this time always remained crystal clear. Right to the point where Michiru, for all she knew, felt like she too was with them back at that chamber of tortures. A powerless bystander to Haruka’s cries, her screams…to every damage inflicted on her bruised and broken body as well as to her spirit.

At times, Michiru was sure Mars knew she was there as well, for she could feel a grin behind the searing flames occasionally appearing on the edge of her mind. For some reason, they both shared this strange connection to this realm of visions. And Michiru was sure the only reason Mars allowed her to stay was because the senshi of fire knew to have Michiru watch her lover’s endless tortures would do way more damage, than burning down Michiru’s thoughts.

It never made a difference anyway.

No matter how many times Michiru returned back to this living hell, no matter how many times her visions either overtook her out of nowhere, or she forced her mirror to do her bidding, she never got closer to actually find Haruka or reveal her location.

The prickling on her skin, the actual shift of the wind should have warned her, but Neptune cast away all instincts of the warrior inside her because they could not matter less.

She still managed to dodge Uranus’ attack, close as it was, but never rose her arms to send the roaring sea down at her attacker in response. Instead, Neptune’s thoughts, ever so calculated even within the fiercest battle, grew blank.

Too many things she wanted to say... too much to apologize for...

But there she was, staring back at eyes clouded by a dark and restless storm, that did not even seem to recognize her and her own regrets and guilt bound her tongue, as she looked at Uranus with disbelief.

„How pathetic.“

Uranus‘ voice was as cold as her appearance and demeanor. It did not bear any emotion other than the ever so small sign of growing impatience.

The senshi of the skies took one single step towards Neptune’s direction and with it came another set of attacks Neptune barely managed to avoid. Uranus always had been fast. Way faster than her and it never took long for the raging winds to cut deep into her skin. Those blows she reflected with her mirror didn’t make much of a difference, leaving Neptune bruised and shaking, way too soon for her own liking.

„This is a waste of my time.“

Again grey, empty eyes looked down on her and if Neptune recognized anything it was the displeased hint marking the end of Uranus‘ patience.

This wasn’t the challenge she had hoped for. Too easy. Too weak. It was a mere mystery to her how no one before her had not already silenced the disobedient sailor of the seas. But it wasn’t her place to question the princess‘ orders. She had been sent her with a clear mission and order she planned to execute without further toying around or wasting her time.

A sudden change of energy washed over Neptune senses, a spark, bright and clear, that spiked the second Uranus across from her summoned her sword.

„You got it back..-“

Neptune watched the scene in front of her utterly puzzled. Seeing the mighty talisman appear in her partner’s hands shocked her in a way she never had expected. It took the ground from underneath her feet and Neptune never grasped the moment Uranus charged at her without further hesitation. Instead, visions flickering in front of her eyes robbed her of the reality. Fast and hectic fragments, all tinted dark and red drilled themselves into Neptune’s consciousness.

Flashes of chains…of pain and suffering…a broken pledge of obedience…the cover of nothing…of strength..and purpose…and power born anew…

Neptune choked, both from the impact of her visions rendering her frozen, as well as the force of the blade knocking out of breath.

„Does it mean, it’s gone..?“

Neptune barely noticed it, the searing blade cutting through flesh and bone, nor the pain exploding from her abdomen to quickly cover and wreck every last part of her body.

„All your suffering and pain....“

Neptune blinked. Her vision blurred from sudden tears and pain, neither of which she could differentiate at this point. But still, the strangest kind of smile flickered across the dying soldiers face.

„I-I … I am glad…-“

She tried to raise a bloodstained hand. Just once... just one last time...but another thrust cut off her words, robbed her of her breath.... her pain...

Her last moment, gone just like that...

The transformation of the warrior vanished, leaving behind the body of the young woman who suddenly appeared way more fragile. The storming sea gone and vanished from deep blue eyes, turquoise locks torn and tattered while the mirror shattered on the ground.

A broken relic to prove the execution of her order.

A useless thing the princess told her to keep, without Uranus ever grasping the reason or intention why.

#personal headcanon #yeah no still not sorry for this piece #i actually like it a lot still #michirukaioh #harukatenou #my writing

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lxxxladamneron · 4 years

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Title: Pilot of The Raging Storm

Chapter Three: The Revenants

Word Count: Too Fucking many

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It took you two weeks to heal your wounds; two weeks full of rest and being brought space delicacies from Poe whilst in bed. Every night he’d make up a new excuse to visit you, be it an odd creature he saw or simply some witty comeback he’d spit at some manipulative trader. Either way it brightened your day, the both of you spending hours talking to one another; but anytime you’d respond in UI’Zabrak, he’d give you a look of confusion, quickly following up with a smile. You laughed at his confusion, shortly deciding to strike up a deal with him; if he taught you how to pilot a ship, you’d teach him how to speak UI’Zabrak. He humbly agreed and the language lessons started shortly, beginning with the smaller words. Despite the more simplistic words being rather easy to pronounce, he still struggled, repeating them with stutters like an infant learning their first word. With each attempt you couldn’t help but giggle, hiding an elated smile behind your bandaged hand.

“Alright, noon-”

“NooEEn.”

“Noo EEEEN- whatever. What’s a word of endearment, like a nickname or something.”

“Well, there’s multiple..There’s Pelira for love, Amina for Goddess...Kenivar, as if to call someone your sun, your light- why do you ask?”

He glanced down at his lap, giving his lip a bite before looking up, “No reason..Amina.”

A gradual warmth arose from your stomach up like a fire being lit in a hearth, slowly rising to the top. Your eyes widened, accentuating your lilac hues turned widened marbled. Once the warmth reached your cheeks, you couldn’t hide the pleasure or embarrassment you felt hearing those words pass his lips explicitly to your ears. The two of you shared a brief moment of silence, enjoying the simple company of each other’s presence until the night finally drew you both to sleep.

The following day was a big one, not only was the Resistance planning an attack on a small First Order base, you & Poe were setting off for Dathomir which caused you extreme anxiety at the thought of it. Poe noticed immediately at breakfast when your utensils were uncontrollably trembling, rhythmically clamoring on the table, your claw-like fingernails rapidly tapping against the table.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked in his usual cool, soothing tone; taking a knee at your side. You looked down at him with furrowed brows, allowing yourself to drown in his brown hues; the trembling coming to a halt once you focused your attention onto him.

“Yes, just a tad bit-”

“Nervous?” He finished your sentence, watching your eyes flicker away from him at the static overwhelming your head; but it was more than static. You were receiving everyone’s anxious thoughts, the profuse clamoring causing your head to twitch to the side.

“I just need everyone to keep quiet.” You whispered, returning your gaze to his, “Please tell me we can depart soon.” Each word laced with eagerness, your darting eyes causing him to wrack his brain for any sort of relief for you; but coming up short.

“Let’s hit the skies. I’ll grab our bags, meet you outside in a few.” He wanted to reach for your hand more than anything, your distraught brewing a swirling storm in his gut, but instead he gave your shoulder a gentle caress before rising and turning to hurry down the crowded hall.

You wasted no time, dodging every rushing rebel that seemed to not notice your small stature in the crowd. Before you realized it you made it to the ship yard, littered with ships of every kind and people rushing to one another, things being put into transporters and fighters, bot units of all kinds desperately trying to keep up with their masters. You had no clue which one to board, your eyes getting lost in the busy picture being painted by every moving person. Suddenly a rebel bumped into your shoulder, sending you forward a step.

“Sorry!!” They yelled back, disappearing into the crowd.

You were going to start searching for the ship instead of standing around, but before you could a hand grabbed your shoulder and you turned, being pleasantly greeted by Poe who had two hefty packs slung over his shoulders, “Hey, get lost?”

You nodded, reaching out a hand to retrieve your pack. He slid the pack off his shoulder and handed it to you, motioning you to proceed forth. With a hand gently placed on your lower back he helped navigate you through the busy strip, the pressure of his hand becoming more dominant the more people you had to dodge until finally, you arrived at a slick black transporter. The two of you quickly boarded, the both of you wasting no time settling in. While you situated, Poe headed to the cockpit, powering up the auto-pilot and setting the navigation for Dathomir.

You began walking around the transporter, taking your time while gliding a hand across the surfaces of the interior. Every object gave you a glance of the history behind it, your eyes falling shut with every flash. Each one was a new sensation an emotion; love, fear, excitement, sadness, elation.

Poe finally stepped away from the navigation, parting his lips to speak but stopping as he realized you were somewhere else entirely. In silence he began watching you; fluidly traversing around the ship with your eyes shut, your fingers dancing around object after object. Once you opened your eyes they instantly flew to Poe, your heart skipping a beat.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you. You looked...peaceful, more than you did at the base.” He inferred, stepping into the small kitchen to begin making you both drinks. Once he finished filling the glasses with ice, he snatched a bottle from the lower cabinet and headed over to you, welcoming you to sit at the crescent moon shaped seat & table. He followed after you, sure to give some space for he didn’t want you to feel claustrophobic, sliding your glass over to you. You watched him pour the caramel brown liquid, shifting the cubes until they clacked and floated. Poe was the first to drink, but you instead twiddled with the glass, watching the cubes move around one another.

“Are you doing okay, Amina?” He asked, watching your hand fidget.

You smiled at the word passing your ears, red rising to your cheeks, “May I admit something?” You asked, flattening your hand to act as a conduit for the force. The glass began to turn ever so slowly, scraping against the table surface until it started to elevate. Poe’s gaze glued to your hand, watching in amazement at your quick-learning ability to manipulate objects,

“Of course you can, Amina..”

“I...very much enjoy you calling me Amina, Dameron..albeit it’s the only word you can say correctly-”You teased. With ease, the glass pressed against your hand and you grabbed it, feeling the anxiety, once again, rise along with your heart beat. You raised the glass to your lips and took a large swig; a burning sensation traveling down your throat, following with a spreading warmth that began to subside the growing anxiety.

His head rocked back with a short chuckle, eyes crinkling with a smile, “Alright, alright, I could say that one word-”

“No you can’t.” You interrupted with a smile. Poe’s gaze couldn’t pull away as he took another swig of his drink before pouring another, offering you one in the process. The night was quick to fall into a blur once inebriated, the lips of both of you becoming looser with loud laughter and booming voices. For once in a long time you felt...free, no longer battling an internal war. The more the two of you exchanged words and freedom of pure emotion, the more exhilarated you found yourself becoming. You and Poe stood up in excitement of your stories and relation, finding it impossible to control yourselves. You watched his chocolate brown curls bounce with every nod of his head, a wide smile continuously pulling the corner of his brims.

““You’re beautiful, Amina..” The words blurted out, the admittance even surprising him the moment they came out. You stared at him in awe, a short, shuddered breath escaping your parted lips. Without a moments hesitation you leaned forth to clash with his lips in a saccharine burst at the taste of his own against yours. A wave of shock fell over you at the realization and you pulled back,

“I-i’m s-” “No.” He bluntly stated, gently placing his hands upon your cheek as he pulled you back in for a song reconnection. The first few moments felt like a dream as you moved against his lips, the kiss growing deeper with each passing moment. You rose your hands up to cup his, gliding your fingers lightly against his skin, feeling every scar, every vein that his hands possessed. Simultaneously your lips pulled away, never opening your eyes as the softness of each others brims lingered on the surface. You were the first to open your eyes, finding Poe to be looking back at you. Neither of you spoke a word, the mass of differentiated tension being felt all throughout both parties. You laid your forehead against his, a soft prick of your horns pressing into his skin, but he didn’t mind; instead he grabbed hold of your hand and led you to the bed at the end of the transporter, careful whilst letting you down upon the surface. As soon as you sunk into the soft comfort of the mattress, the whole world began to fall with you, spiraling with excruciating faintness. You shut your eyes, the sight of Poe sinking in beside you before your whole word was swallowed into darkness.

You were awoken by an incessant beeping as the navigation informed you of your arrival to Dothamir. A disgruntled moan escaped your lips and you shifted to your side, short to realize you slung your arm over a shirtless Poe. At the warm touch of his bare chest your eyes shot open, freezing you of your movements; but Poe was none the wiser for he was out cold, a slight twitch here an there but completely unconscious. With slight hesitance you circled your finger up to his temple, unfolding your fingers upon his head. Your eyes shut as, despite your grave haziness, you attempted to find your connection with the force. You found yourself slowly falling down an unexpected cavernous rabbit hole, a flurry of voices trying to latch on as you passed by, until finally you reached the connection you were hoping for.

Poe.... Wake up, Poe...We’ve arrived.

At first his eyes just fluttered like rapid butterflies, trying to level his disoriented mind as his head shifted from left to right. Once he laid his on you, he rested his head back down into the pillow,“I heard you...in my head...Did you-?”

You nodded, sliding your hand down his chest to point towards the cockpit,“We’re here, Dameron. We’ve arrived..”

A deepened breath elevated his chest as he sighed, rubbing his hand against his eyes. Somehow he’d forgotten all about Dothamir in the hazed memories of the night you two had. As he rolled over to sit up, he looked back at you to admire your wearied beauty, watching you fidget to try and gather yourself. He leaned over without giving you a moment to realize, pressing his lips into yours in a passionate kiss. He couldn’t help but want to feel you again, longing to feel the softness of your rosy upper on him once more. Since his first taste of you it awakened an insatiable hunger for more. He was a worshipper at your pedestal, anxious to give and receive more from your grace.

The warm slickness of his lips pulled back, a gentle yet slow nip of your lower lip following in between his teeth before retreating entirely. He lifted himself from the bed, a small flex of his arm muscles baring as his applied pressure to rise to his feet; making way to the cockpit.

The day was starting slow, the first steps proving to be difficult as you were experience one of the few symptoms of a hangover, hobbling over to the sink. As you reached the sink, you quickly turned on the water, cupping your hands under the stream and splashing the cold wave across your face. You did this a few times, the cold starting to abate the dizziness but as you stood up straight you realized the water did no justice.

As the transporter broke into the exosphere you and Poe hurried to prepare, breaking out your packs to retrieve the holsters and blasters, “I got snacks and...uh snacks.” He abruptly said, holding out a granola bar for you to take which you quickly grabbed, breaking it open and taking a bite. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, your stomach growling like an angry beast as the food hit your empty stomach. The transporter creaked and crashed as it lowered its legs into the sandy plantation, giving out a soft buzz once it settled in. You an Poe approached the doors, waiting idly by as he pressed a button on the touchpad. The door slid open and the ramp slid out, kicking up dust as it dug into the ground. You guys walked down, being angrily greeted by the vicious rays of the sun, causing you to squint your eyes.

“Couldn’t we be sent somewhere...I don’t know, cold.” You spat,

“Nah, all the dangerous, fun stuff has to be on a hot planet.” He retorted, flashing you a smile. You simply rose your brow in response, pulling from his gaze to scour the red environment. Everything looked wicked, pulled from the words of every story you heard of your race’s counterpart, the deadly home of the Dothamirians. You both began to set out, beginning towards a rocky pathway that led to a tall curved door. Poe was the first to attempt at the door, pushing against it with all his might, yet it wouldn’t budge. He scowled, nose twitching in agitation as he turned towards you, looking all around you for other signs of entrance,

“You wanna try?”

“Me? I...Doubt I can do better than you-”

“Do that-that force thing, you know...You can move things with your mind.”

Your shoulders rose in a sigh, after all, what harm could come in trying? You motioned for him to move behind you, planting your feet firmly in the ground before shutting your eyes. Once more you tried to find that level ground, searching your deepened mind for the inner power. Instinctively you positioned your hands as a conduit, fingertips connecting to create an orb shape. Shortly, a blue, jittering energy started growing between your hands, starting small until it began overflowing your hands.

Now spoke a whispy voice and you followed shortly, shoving your hands forth. The concentrated orb launched into the door, blasting them open with wooden fragments exploding from it. You reopened your eyes at the commotion, batting your eyes in subtle surprise at the accomplishment. Poe placed his hands on your shoulder, giving it a light pat as his eyes lit up.

“You did it, Amina.” He applauded before releasing you and proceeding through the doors. You followed closely after, being greeted by a darkened cave littered with vines and broken vases. It wasn’t long before a commotion from the back of the cave focused your attention, following with a group of Nightbrothers wielding electro-staffs and bows shining with a bold, green aura like a torch in the dimly lit cave. They hurried into a defensive line, blocking your view from the exit of the ominous cavern.

“What do you wanna do here..?” Poe whispered to you, slowly reaching down to the blaster attached to his hip. You quickly placed your hand over his, ceasing him from grabbing it,

Not yet you thought, focusing the silent-spoken words into his mind. Poe glanced over in surprise, checking to see if you’d been verbal or not.

The Nightbrothers stared at the two of you with sneering growls curling their brims, bodies trembling with aching anticipation, “What is your business Mali?! (Inferior clan member)” One shouted, pointing his staff in your direction.

You raised your hand in hopes of diffusion, taking a single step forward which caused a chain reaction of them readying for attack, “I’m here for the retrieval of a weapon that belongs to none of us, Nightbrother. We offer it sanctuary so the sjenors (enemies) don’t get their hands on it.”

The Nightbrother scoffed in response, his patience clearly wearing thin as he itched for you to give him any reason, “If it belongs to none of us, why should we give it?” He riposted

“So you may avoid quarrel with the First Order, it is a war you want no part in.” You inferred

“By giving it to the Resistance we would have solidified our position in the war, thus putting us in the thick of it, Zabrak.” A female voice cut through, the Nightbrothers parting as a a woman walked through, shrouded by a red hooded cloak.

Your hand lowered to your side at the sound of her, expression beginning to soften as she revealed herself, “They wouldn’t know you had it. We’d take it and be on our way. That’s it, Nightsister.”

She laughed at your response, shaking her head in disappointment, “The Resistance has always been a little hard headed, what information you have, i’m sure they do as well.”

“We need the Darksaber, and i’m not leaving here without it.”

“Is that a threat, mal’et? (inferior)”

The unadorned word grew excitement in the Nightbrothers, their weapons readying with trembling excitement as the Nightsister began to glow with a green aura.

“Did we just start a war?” Poe whispered, quickly pulling his blaster out in defense,

“Maybe” You replied, reaching your hand out towards a nightbrother who held a staff loosely in his thirst for battle; the staff leaving his grip and flying comfortably into yours, resulting in an infuriated exclamation passing his gritted teeth.

“Dispose of them.” She ordered and the Nightbrothers gladly obliged. The staff wielding brothers rushed forth towards the two of you, leaving the archers to position on high ground, raining down a wave of glowing arrows that split you and Poe apart. As Poe’s blaster rang out shots against the archers you took on a group of brothers who carelessly swung their weapons at your head and legs, causing you to jump and duck. At the first opening you swung your staff at a Nightbrother, colliding with his jaw that spew blood from his parted lips. As another brother took a step forth with a wide swing, you used the momentum of the first swing and brought it around, swinging it into his head with a devastating blow snapping across his skull. You pulled back the staff to regain your composure, watching as three Nightbrothers rushed towards you, one was swinging for your head while the other two left themselves wide open. As the battlefield began to slow on command, you planted your left leg into the dirt, outstretching your other into a powerful kick that knocked back the Nightbrother in front of you, simultaneously leaning back until your body flattened under the swinging staff. You watched the crackling electro-staff fly inches away from your face, reaching down with your free hand to pull out the blaster that laid comfortably on your hip. Once the world began to resume, you pointed the blaster at the Nightbrother to your right, firing a shot straight through his head that instantaneously caused him to collapse. With a spin of momentum from your rechambering leg, you straightened yourself up to face the last Nightbrother, almost effortlessly dodging under his swings left and right. Once able you stood up straight, putting two shots into his shoulders to wound him before letting a final one into his head. You took a short moment to catch your breath and place the blaster back into its holster, scanning the cave until you found Poe who was returning fire at a few archers who had him pinned down,

“Dameron! The back!” You exclaimed, using your staffed hand to point at the end of the cavern which was painted with welcoming light. He looked over after taking down an archer, giving you a nod as you both began charging towards the remaining crowd of rather large Nightbrothers who’s expression were covered in patient anger. There wasn’t a foreseeable way to get through them without struggle, perhaps even failure. As you grew closer your mind began race with trepidation, desperation lacing your intent as you drew your left hand back. As a desolate cry escaped, you shoved your hand forth, a wide ripple of fearsome red energy cutting through the no longer sturdy crowd. The red energy left an indentation into the soft ground, lingering with a whispy crimson cloud.

What the fu- You thought yourself but a strong grip around your arm cut you off as Poe yanked you forth into the blinding sunlight, managing to pull you out of harms reach of a green sphere exploded into a rock next to you. As you were forced to turn around, you watched the Nightsister approaching the boundary of darkness meeting light, green ambience coating her as she readied to attack once more. You raised your arms towards the brim of the cave end, channeling the force into the conduit that were your fingertips. A roughened sensation brushed against your fingers, the feeling becoming softer as you clenched your fingers tightly, a resistant force keeping you from completely clenching your fists. A growl escaping through the cracks of your clenched teeth as you gripped harder, desperate to collapse the cave. Don’t let her escape, from the cave or her hardened life. She must DIE a disembodied voice screamed into your mind, only fueling your panic an anger even more. At first there were only a few soft cracks spiderwebbing across the top, dust and debris beginning to fall; but as you dug your fingers deeper into the cave top and swung your hands down, the rest of the cave end began to follow with a deafening crash, collapsing right before another fiery sphere was launched.

A cloud of dust rose as the rocks started to settle, causing you to cough as you attempted to catch your breath. Poe looked at you with a bead of sweat drawing a clean line down his dirtied forehead, reaching out a hand to pat your shoulder,

“We gotta keep moving, that isn’t gonna hold her forever. Hell, she can probably just go around.”

You shut your eyes with a heavy breath, only reopening when a new sensation tingled the surface of your skin, traveling up and down until taking hold in your core, ”The Darksaber...It’s close..” You huffed.

Poe squinted his eyes at you, darting his head left to right, “Wh- where?”

“Follow me.” You simply put, taking the lead as you broke into a sprint down a broken walkway. With every step, the physical furor grew in intensity, allowing you to know you were at least getting closer. Shortly after you skidded into a halt with Poe doing the same, almost slipping in the dense sand. You began to comb the broken down temples overgrown with abnormal plants stretching across for miles, stopping momentarily when your instincts gave you a kick as your eyes skimmed a spot that appeared to be slightly dug in.

“There.” You pointed, wasting no time to rush forth as the vibration shook ferociously throughout your entire being, the sensation only stopping once you stepped foot into the low hanging room. Although most of of the room had been overcome by dirt, a table containing scattered parts was left, and alongside it a dimly glowing blade carefully placed with wrappings only partially covering it. At first touch a rush of voices pierced your mind, filling your head with excruciating pressure that only seemed to grow by the second. You reached a hand up to your head, a soft cry of torment growing in volume as you let the blade clatter to the floor. You fell to your feet, tears welling upon your lower lids as the emotive finally began to leave you. In the midst of silence with only your soft whimpers being heard, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot came from the entrance and Poe followed in. At the sight of you collapsed he rushed to your side, careful with the placing of his hands upon you.

“The cries of Mandalore...All the death that..” You looked up at him with droplets sliding down your cheek, collapsing against his chest as you attempted to regain your sensibility. The visions insisted of those that lost against the blade; with every clench of your eyes they burned into your mind more and more, cries of the suffered insistent against your begging heart that felt to weigh more the longer you lingered.

“I’ll take it, you don’t need to hold it.” His arms wrapped around you in a firm embrace, entangling his fingers into your hair with a graceful caress moving across your scalp, “We got what we came here for, no point in overstaying our welcome even though the locals have been extremely hospitable.”

You slowly pulled away from his warm embrace, forcing him to release his grasp as you suddenly felt more eager to leave. As you stood up Poe reached down to pick the Darksaber up, fixing the cloth that poorly covered it as he made way out of the broken down temple. Once his presence left leaving you to your own purgatory, you took a look around once more as the feeling of one last thing of importance nagged. Your eyes were instantly drawn upon the scattered parts; a burst of satisfied intuition spreading from your core, compelling you to take them. You reached back to swing your pack off, pushing the scattered parts into the bag. You then hurried out the temple, eyes squinting as you tried to locate Poe amongst the blur of red and tan. Once you spotted him standing over a cliff, un-moving, you rushed over; but immediately after stopping at his side, he reacted none, keeping his binoculars staring into the distance. A mere feeling of suspicion grew into more as his silence heavied, attempting to follow his gaze into the heat waved horizon.

“We got trouble, The First Order.” He said, a pitch of fear an exasperation loading his words. He handed off the binoculars and you anxiously took them, watching a small blackened dot grow larger by the second; identifying it as a First Order Transporter as it came into close enough view.

”Gotta go.” He reached his hand out to grip your arm, but as the both of you began to run, his grip slipped, taking lead once the transporter came into view. You were run off course as an ear splitting roar echoed across the desert land, following with a TIE Fighter flying above the cliff side. As the turbulence kicked up a furious cloud of dust, forcing the two of your to cover your eyes, the Fighter lingered on your presence, darkness only staring back when you looked through the cockpit window.

“Give us the Darksaber, Poe Dameron.” A graveled voice boomed from the fighter, causing your shoulders to jump.

You looked over at Poe who looked at you, shaking his head. You gave a small nod, negligent as to how the escape would excel considering the odds, but you had hope.

“You want me to ship it to you?!” He shouted over the roaring fighter, “What’s your address, i’ll have to write it down!”

Silence followed after as the First Order transport settled off in the distance. Your throat began to tighten at the feeling off the walls closing in, tremulous breath lacing with your ever-shifting gaze from the approaching Squadron to the residual TIE Fighter.

“Such a shame that an extraordinary pilot like yourself was put to such waste. Goodbye, Commander Dameron.”

MOVE A voice screamed, echoing from ear to ear with a level of desperation increasing. You looked over to Poe who was mid sprint for you, making an attempt to get you out of the way of the impending fire. A muffled shot rang out, sundering your blurred world until the fiery crimson beam flew between the two of you. The beam was slow to enter the ground yet quick to rupture the steady floor, leaving you with the realization that you were beyond getting out of the way. In an act of despair you released a shockwave from the palm of your hand, slamming into the chest of Poe and sending him flying backwards. For a moment you watched Poe collide into a rock wall before the TIE Fighter’s relentless shots forced the world to resume, the explosion of crimson mixed in with the kicked up clouds launching you back. You fell onto your back, only a moments notice to recuperate as the line of fire reached your feet. You tensed your core, rolling back until your feet reached over your head, landing on your feet with a staggering balance; but the fighter refused to let up. Despite your bold efforts the shots eventually reached you, feeling the excruciating burns graze your arm before falling to the floor again; ending the flurry of lasers.

You bat your eyes to try and rid the painfully dry coating that had coated your hues, feeling a severe pressure linger along with other discomforting sensations. With a groan you sat yourself up, a sharp wince slipping your lips as you brought your eyes down to your arm. As you brought it close to your gaze you couldn’t help the uncontrollable trembles that broke out, examining the three wounds that gaped from your flesh, vapor clouds emitting from the extreme heat that the lasers brought. You brought your arm close to your chest with a gentle grasp from the other, slowly beginning to stand yourself up

“You’re a resilient one.” The voice called out, almost convincing you that they held a small touch of admiration for your effort. You looked up at the Fighter, the pain of your wounds making it hard to concentrate. You turned away, looking off into the distance in hopes of seeing Poe, and you did; but there lay the First Order troops as well. When Poe didn’t resist against them retrieving the blade at his feet, your heart plummeted. It wasn’t until you squinted your eyes, straining to see his face that you realized he wasn’t...conscious. Behind his head a wicked spider-webbed blood stain coated the surface, dribbling down the wall until it fused with the tainted sand.

“No no no no..” You muttered, shaking your head with trembling denial with the ever-growing fear taking root. Slowly but surely the dread overcame, causing a rupture of echoing voices that extended throughout your mind. You couldn’t stand it, every voice telling you what you feared, hammering away at your fragile lucidity in a fit of anger.

“You killed him-”

“NO!!!!” You screamed, cutting through anguish and insanity that filled your head to the brim; but they persisted, begging to be heard as they lowered to furious whispers. You turned back to the Fighter, reaching out a hand to grasp it as it started to pull back, managing to stop it from moving, but it resisted; forcing you to exert more power. You gasped out as a stinging sensation gnawed at your body, dragging your feet in the sand as the resistance pulled you in, but you persisted. A roar from the fighter’s engine shook the floor with its struggle for dominance, smoke spewing as it turned to get you into view. A few shots rang out towards you, causing a fisted hand to raise in front of your face. To your satisfaction the shots ricocheted right before you, burrowing into the sand with clouds uprising, yet the Fighter didn’t stop firing. You grit your teeth with the gradual pains of the slipping grip, insistent on not letting it go as you pulled you arm in a bit closer. The fighter finally started to pull in, the shots getting harder to protect oneself from with every one pushing against your weakening stature. At long last of the struggle you yanked your hand grasping the Fighter back, taking a step aside as it was launched past you and into the side of a rock ridge, exploding on impact with a shockwave pushing you back. The commotion drew the attention of the First Order squadron that was leaving with the Darksaber in hand, incoherent voices nervously clamoring as you began to head in their direction.

You approached the squadron in a sprint, force pulling the Darksaber into your grasp. At first touch, the hauntings of the blade collided with your own demons that had lingered, but only momentarily as you spun the blade in your hand, using the littlest bit of the force as you threw the blade at a trooper. The blade penetrated the separation between the helmet and armor, dropping the trooper to their knees. As you reached out again, the blade wiggled against the slick flesh before flying back into your hand,

Allow yourself to feel it

Feel the anger

The hatred Allow the guilt to consume you

Regardless of how much you resisted the pull of the dark side, every word filled you with an awful energy that empowered you; every single cut and slice through the defenseless troopers making the voices more tumultuous until you decided to give in. As the blade entered the heart a trooper, you viciously pulled it out, a fresh coat of blood dripping down to the tip and falling into the sand. For a moment you were entranced by the fearful roars from the blade that no longer pained you, but a small whimper caused you to look over, being greeted by a trooper that was frozen in place with blaster in hand. You cocked your head, every step closer emitting a petrified gasp from them; but it didn’t bother you. Instead you curved your brims in a wicked smile as you forcefully brought the trooper to their knees, outstretching a trembling hand; your fingertips shook with adrenaline, a gradual cry coming from inside the tainted helmet. A rough scrape graced your fingertips as you felt the blood inside the trooper slowly harden, stabbing their insides as every ounce of their crimson fluid formed into spears. With a small flick of your pointer finger a spear emerged from their stomach, every twitch bringing another to the surface until their torso was littered with skewering spikes. Their head lifelessly fell back, hitting the surface of the rock wall with a small thump.

As your gaze danced across the bloodied mess, it led right to Poe’s growing pool of blood underneath him, immediately snapping you out of your intoxicating rampage. At once, the guilt overflowed you as you fell to his side, lingering hands unknown where to touch or grab. It didn’t take long for you to decide that he had to get back to the base as soon as possible, taking precautions as you carefully pried him from the wall and carried him to the transporter; hobbling and struggling with every step. Everything felt too slow as you anxiously entered the transport, gently laying him down on the bed with a pillow propped under his head.

“Set course for the rebel base.” You vaguely called out as you approached the sink, turning the knobs and running your hands under the freezing stream. You hadn’t a clue on how long you stood there, feeling your heavy breath echo into your ears, refraining from giving in to the pressure of tears that pushed against your eyes. You gulped to push it away, bringing your hands up to your eyes, feeling a sob escape before crumbling completely; dropping to your feet in a mess of stinging tears that fell down your cheeks. You were dangerous, unable to control your power. Instinct allowed you some unknowing control, but that was the extent of it; and the darkness tugged with every exertion. It was getting harder to fight it, it made you feel powerful when you needed it; almost effortlessly bringing armies to their feet, having the upper hand in battles, but you knew it wasn’t right. The dark side was a parasite, insatiable once it settled, and it settled in you. After your first taste you found yourself wanting-

A loud beep rang across the interior, a vibration being sent all throughout as the transport passed the exosphere an approached the landing strip, but you still sat unmoving; even when the door slid open and a group of Rebels rushed in, a few rushing for Poe. Your looked over, watching as they picked up his lifeless body, arms loosely linked around their necks before disappearing out the door. A young female rebel rushed over to you, maintaining a softened expression as she examined your arm wound, “We should get you to the medical bay..We don’t want this to become infected.”

“I-I...I need to see the General.” You stuttered, falling your gaze to avoid looking at the rebel.

The gentle touch of her fingers grasping your hand caused you to look down, still unfazed by her act of kindness, but you gripped her hand anyways,

“You can see the General after we get you some help, the state of these wounds are severe.”

Your felt your eyes roll along with your head teetering in a circular motion of annoyance, bringing your gaze to hers. Her eyes widened with a glisten of pure fear as her eyes linked with yours, pulling her hand away in a short jerk. You heard a shuddered breath leave her parted lips, but you hadn’t a clue why. Instead you reached to grip the edge of the sink, pulling yourself up to stand with a soft wince at the tension upon your arm. Without a mere word muttered, you pushed past the rebel in a bitter manner, walking down the ramp and breaking into a sprint into the base itself. Upon entering through the doors, you were met with a vast crowd of rebels shouting and running past one another. You bit your lower lip, holding your arm against your chest as you started against the flow of the stream teeming with rebels, pushing through until you finally reached the doors of Leia’s room. You raised your hand and gently knocked against the door and Leia revealed herself from around the corner, stopping short as she scanned you up and down.

“Leia I-” you started, but she shook her head at you with every approaching step, leaving you a nervous lump in your throat.

“You channeled the dark side didn’t you?” Her voice fell to a hushed whisper, concern dripping as her eyes switched from each of your own. You had no words, finding it almost impossible to answer besides a hesitant nod.

“I...I hurt Poe....I tried to save him...The First Order came an-an they shot and I tried to p-push him away but I-” You broke away, turning your back to hide the tears pressuring once more, but Leia placed her hand on your shoulder, pulling you back to face her.

“Listen to me very closely, that isn’t your fault...You do not understand the extent of your power. It is very hard for any jed-” She paused at the word, not wanting to use it loosely but also worried at how fragile you were, “It is very hard for any force sensitive to understand without proper guidance, and perhaps it was foolish of me to send you on this mission so soon..” She curled her lips inward, raising her hands upon your shoulders to give them a comforting rub, “Meditation is what you need, and education. We can start this week with daily meditation and training, it will be hard to fall into habit, but it isn’t impossible.”

You nodded, bowing your head with slight shame at the acknowledgment of your actions, but Leia placed her fingers on your chin, pulling your head up to meet eye to eye, “You will get through this, Kenivar (sun). You are the sun and the moon, the thing that can make this kind of world we strive for possible with a little help from you. We all have our parts, and you have found yours with us.”

She forced a smile for your own sanity, releasing her grip as she pointed you out the door, and you followed, exiting the room in silence. As you left her smile disappeared, a heavy inhale of anxiety filling her up. Your eyes were that of darkness, burning orange like that of the sun staring right back at her. The eyes of a Sith she thought to herself, watching you walk down the hall before disappearing past the bedroom door.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #fanfiction #star wars #star wars fandom #oscar isaac #oscar isaac is daddy #UNF #chapter three #The Pilot of The Raging Storm

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writersblockandapotoftea · 4 years

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Worldbuilding Post

DWARVES

Dwarves are an agender and asexual humanoid species that frequent the caves and mountains on both continents of Unitien. They are divided into two species, modern and elder. While elder dwarves are largely thought to be extinct, modern dwarves ascribe many of their culture and lifestyles to them, including their love of trap making, forging and their luscious beards.

Now, before delving into Dwarves and their culture, one must learn about Dostine, the goddess of dwarves, tricksters and blacksmiths. She is known by dwarves as All-Creator and creates the dwarves in a secret ceremony that follows the specifications of this poem.

One dwarf is forged of gold, Two are of molten steel and bronze Three from the bones of old The last four are the best, Made from silver and all the rest.

Dostine loves all of her children dearly and the ceremony is preformed every fifty years or so, meaning that there are twenty new dwarves every century. No human, elf or dragon has ever seen it. She also gifted the dwarves with the four massive interconnecting tunnels that allow them to go to whichever part of the world they so please, meaning there are modern dwarves on both continents and in the southern straights, all with their own unique quirks.

Straitien Dwarves ride jewelled spiders, which are blue and white spiders that allow them to climb all over the cliffs and avoid predators. There's even a contest where they joust across the canyon on a massive spiderweb. They also are less likely to wear heavy clothing as they live in a jungle, so it's not unexpected to see a dwarf wearing nothing but a loin cloth around humans, then nothing in the jungle.

Eastern Dwarves are the dwarves who occupy the Barliosian Empire. They are more adapted to cold weather and take great pride in their workmanship as where they live is full of iron and other ores.

Western Dwarves don't live underground, rather in massive pyramids built overtop of over-mined quarries. They have darker skin and coarser hair to deal with the sand in their local environment. They like roasting camels over massive fires for food.

Modern dwarves are a welcome and frequent sight in the human cities and towns wherever they are found, acting as blacksmiths, miners, and small business owners. Dwarves are easily differentiated from normal humans by their thick beards, small stature, unique forging abilities and ability to consume anything poisonous with no repercussions.

No one quite knows why modern dwarves and humans get along so well, as elder dwarves and humans often fought bitterly, but where there are dwarves in a community, they are well beloved. Even in the dwarven settlements deep in the mountains, there is usually at least one human. This is because of the dwarven tendency to adopt children from other races, as they cannot have their own. These adopted children are well cared for and are given the nickname of switchers, as the dwarves often rescue them from unhappy homes, leaving cursed jewels in the crib of the adopted child. Other switchers are left at the doors of Mountain keeps to be found by dwarves in times of famine. While many humans view them all as male due to their beards, all dwarves have no notion of gender in the sense that humans and elves do. They view everyone as equals and organize their society in terms of what needs to happen for everyone to thrive.

Domas: This rank means parent and can be held by anyone with a youngling. They raise and protect their youngling or switcher and teach them the tools of their trade and when the youngling is old enough; they send them to find their own cave, usually nearby so they can maintain their lifelong bond.

Trapmasters: These are the masters of the forge. They craft armour so light that it feels like a woollen coat and shields so strong they protect you from a dragon's breath. Every dwarf practices for years hoping to become a trapmaster. However, as they can only be appointed by Dostine, the goddess of dwarves, there are only two remaining in the world.

Carvers: These fine folk spend their days in pursuit of the true beauty of stone and crystals. They polish, whittle and crack these into beautiful works of art and sculptures. The most talented of them can turn jewels into windows that never crack and reflect light in a thousand different patterns. They tend to never become domas, instead recruiting younglings from larger families. Forgers: These are the dwarves that go out into the larger world. They are talented, hardworking and make things of a much higher quality than human smiths could ever dream. These dwarves are accompanied by switchers because it is an innate dwarven instinct to see a child in need and adopte them.

Miners: These are the ones who are pulled down, down, down into the darkness by some unknown voice. They dig and dig and they have no idea of what they're about to find. They come up with gold and jewels and iron and go back down again. They are probably the strongest of dwarves and are also the warrior class of modern dwarves.

Prayerhands; These are the holy and scholars people of modern dwarves! They are also in charge of dwarven funds, acting as treasurers and conducting official business with human officials. They dress in all grey and shave their beards in reverence to Dostine, who has no beard and are frequently referred to as women by humans. Do not do this. Please ask what their preferred pronouns are. Your head will remain in place for much longer if you do.

Humans and modern dwarves have fairly stable relations, with the humans exchanging gold and silver for various services. However, some concepts that humans have are completely alien to dwarves. These include the concept of drunkenness, as dwarves cannot get drunk as their livers process alcohol inhumanly fast. Other concepts include the idea of marriage, sexual attraction and gender; however, they do understand aesthetic attractions.

If you have stuck with me for this long, congratulations, you have more patience than my younger brother.

We're finally entering the mysterious world of the Elder Dwarves; strange creatures with six arms, thick beards and more talent for forging than all the trapmasters combined. Elder dwarves are currently thought to be extinct, although some trolls claim to have seen them in the deepest caverns.

Thought to be greedy, always hungry and quite mean, Elder Dwarves were considered monsters by trolls, humans and elves, and frequently clashed with them in territorial disputes before sealing off their caves and tunnels for nine centuries, before modern dwarves appeared and began to make ammends. (Modern dwarves argue this point quite fiercely, pointing to the evidence that Elder dwarves had closely knit communities and largely fungus-based diets, like their own) They had their own language, the ability to stick to walls and were terrifyingly quick on their feet. The things they created that were found by humans gave rise to energy-storing crystals, zeppelins, clocks, ballistas, and even the system Epidamnos uses to keep the ocean from destroying it every stormy season.

The few Elder Dwarven caverns that are accessible by modern dwarves are called Pitches and are filled with bones, artifacts that glow with malicious energies and lava pools. Many Prayerhands believe that Elder dwarves bathed in the lava and it was actually an important part of their forging process, as the writings that are translated describe them being friends with a mostly extinct species of dragon, the Earthshaker dragons, who spewed lava so hot that even the gods were fearful of angering one. How the Elder Dwarves managed this, no one is sure. One theory thinks that they watched over the hatchlings, keeping them safe from hungry demons and greedy monster hunters that came from the surface looking for an easy kill. Earthshaker dragons are blind until they reach adolescence so having the dwarves to protect them while providing them with the lava they needed would form an inevitable symbiotic relationship that benefited both parties.

It is unknown why elder dwarves had six arms and modern dwarves only have two. Humans assume it's because dwarves needed to assimilate better to human culture or risk extinction, but dwarves aren't sure, as some dwarves are born with four arms to this day. They tend to become miners, as the extra limbs make it much easier to fight and mine at the same time. Some believe that Dostine merely decided that she didn't like making the extra bones and gradually shifted. Others think that as the dwarves moved back to the surface, the terrain became easier and there were less demons to fight, they simply didn't need them anymore, and so Dostine removed them.

Another key difference between Elder and Modern Dwarves is that while Modern Dwarves are agender and asexual, Elder Dwarves enjoyed representing themselves in various genders unrecognizable to humans and made a wild array of jewelry and combs. The jewelry currently found is mostly bracelets that jangle in a pleasing way. With all their arms decorated, they would have been able to compose entire rhythms with their bracelets. Certain bracelets seemed to be reserved for certain people, with one half of all bones found wearing bracelets of pure ruby, with the other half wearing bracelets of amethyst.

However, bones from Elders are incredibly rare because, as stated in the poem above, Dostine enjoys recycling and most of what is known about Elder Dwarves is patched together from paintings, frescos and a few pieces of jewelry found in Pitches. Perhaps if modern dwarves dig deep enough, they will find their answers, and maybe even some old friends.

#my writing #my worldbuilding #fantasy #dwarves #worldbuilding #fantasy worldbuilding

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hookaroo · 6 years

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A Captain’s Heart (23 of 33?)

Chapter 1 Chapter 22

Rated T for language and graphic descriptions of injuries.

Also on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12937105/1/A-Captain-s-Heart

Tagging @therooksshiningknight & @killian-whump by request :)

Marvel’s well-meant warning was not nearly enough to deter Killian from trying to get free. As soon as she was out of sight, his wrists were up by his mouth, the ropes between his teeth despite the ache from a heavily bruised jaw. For having had less than a fortnight’s practice with her hands, Marvel had managed frustratingly admirable knots. Long centuries of observing, it seemed, had taught her the theory, and a clever brain allowed her to replicate her memories.

The tangle of knots was out of range on the undersides of his arms, so Killian set to work trying to tighten all but one strand that encircled him. He hoped to find enough slack to slip his hand through: that would significantly simplify the rest of the process. No such luck, though. Despite Marvel’s concern for his well-being, she’d had no qualms against tightening the ropes too securely.

The most obvious course of action would be to slip his stump free from the brace. Then there would be enough room to free the other arm. But Killian hesitated. For one thing, the leather was concealing the increasingly-sore wrist’s end, controlling the bleeding and allowing him to pretend, for the most part, that nothing was wrong. The other thing, though, was the inevitable pain of the procedure, and he just wasn’t desperate enough to bring that upon himself. Yet.

He still had the ropes between his teeth when Marvel returned, carrying bandages and a glass of water. Her frown at his position was less angry than sad.

“Love, please,” she whined. “Just rest.”

“Not my forte,” Killian reminded her between tugs. She knelt beside him and grasped the knot. Sighing, Killian didn’t resist her as she pulled his arms downward.

“Your lovely Swan would ask the same.” She lifted the water glass and helped him to drink half.

“Were she here, we wouldn’t be in this predicament,” grimaced Killian. Another lash mark was opening up on his back, and it was growing progressively more uncomfortable to be resting against the wood, even through a pillow.

Marvel made no reply, resolute in her decision. She unhooked the remainder of his shirt’s buttons, then paused, at a loss. With a shrug, she pressed a large gauze pad over the saturated bandage covering his Excalibur wound, holding it in place with one hand while she unrolled a long linen strip with the other. Killian fidgeted uneasily, not thrilled with the idea of what she was intending to do.

“Marvel, darling, perhaps this isn’t-”

She slipped an arm around his side, then wormed it behind his lower back, below the ropes binding his torso. He snapped his jaw shut and hissed as she inadvertently brushed against several inflamed cuts. Killian arched his back as much as possible in an effort to allow her arm passage. Despite her caution, she also bumped his tender ribs, and he cringed away. Marvel winced right along with him.

“I’m sorry, dearest,” she murmured. As quickly as she could, she snagged one end of the linen and tugged it through. When she saw the streaks of blood on her arm as she pulled it out, she paled.

She could curse with the best of them, and it was almost enough to draw a chuckle from the anguished pirate.

Marvel tied a tight knot to hold the gauze in place, then straightened. She looked scared. “Your back. How bad is it?”

“The concern is probably less the severity, more the sheer number,” he grunted candidly.

“A flogging?” she guessed.

“More than one.”

“What should we do?”

“Assuming an immediate return to Emma is out of the question?” He raised a wry eyebrow and she nodded firmly. “Untying me would be a good start.”

Marvel looked thoughtful and completely ignored the suggestion. “Perhaps I could attempt to heal you. Her Holiness Eris may have taken away your natural ability to heal, but she said nothing of magic use by another.”

“Give it a go,” Killian told her, though he doubted it would work. It seemed too simple a solution for Eris to have overlooked it.

“Problem is… I haven’t the foggiest how to even begin.” She placed a hand over the short slash on his cheek. Maybe starting small would give her confidence. “How does your Swan manage?”

“I’m… a bit clueless, myself,” Killian admitted. “Something to do with emotion, I gather.”

Marvel made a face. “I’m not exactly an expert in emotion.”

But she closed her eyes, and after a moment, so did Killian. The pirate sat as still as he could for a long while; he didn’t wish to distract Marvel from her efforts, however unlikely she was to succeed. He would gladly take any relief from his multiplying pains, in whatever form it took.

With the human ship in such close proximity and distracted by a state of deep concentration, Killian could easily overpower her. Lift his tied hands over her head, manipulate the rope to block her airway. He had no wish to do so, of course, but his reluctance was arguably in a similar vein to her own motives: placing her well-being above those that could be harmed by Eris’ mischief. Wouldn’t it be hypocritical of him not to make the attempt?

The logic didn’t make it any easier to follow through, and his irritation with her earlier decision quickly faded. Why did the right path always have to be so damn difficult to take?

Just as Killian was bracing himself for the physical and emotional pain that would accompany his attack, Marvel suddenly lunged forward and locked her lips over his. Killian’s surprise chased away all thoughts of his plan. He sat stunned for several seconds, passive, with the unfamiliar and awkwardly unpracticed kiss happening to him but not with him. And then the shock dissipated and left him feeling only pity.

Gently, Killian turned his face aside and placed his hand on her midsection, pushing her away. She was immediately searching his face, chest, and shoulders.

“Marvel, what-”

“Did it work?” she asked, breathless.

“Work?” So thrown by the unexpected kiss that he was having trouble keeping up, Killian shook his head in bewilderment.

“You said True Love’s Kiss could reverse the curse. So, are you cured?”

Killian blinked at her. And in that instant, the cut from Gold’s cane, just below his left eyebrow, split and oozed blood down the corner of his eye. Marvel’s face fell.

“It didn’t work.” The crestfallen woman took a square of gauze and patted away the blood, and Killian’s heart ached for her. He couldn’t bring himself to explain the reason, the mechanics behind True Love’s Kiss. He didn’t doubt the sincerity on her part; the trouble was on his end. But even though he would only be speaking the truth, he just couldn’t remind Marvel that he didn’t love her. Not like that, anyway.

“Do you see now?” asked Marvel. Her tone was desperate, almost angry. “We can’t go back to Emma. She can’t help you. To save you, we must travel to the island. It’s the only way.”

“I don’t… it’s still…” He sighed. “Oh, love… it may be different. With Emma, I mean.”

She looked confused at first. Then her expression hardened as his meaning began to sink in. She got slowly to her feet, avoiding his gaze. “I ought to… confirm our heading. Please stay here.”

Killian closed his eyes and let his head sink back against the pillow. But he couldn’t escape the sadness he’d witnessed. The muting of her spirit, the dulling of her sparkle. From the moment he had truly accepted her identity, he had wished only contentment for her. He never wanted her to have to experience what a human life meant. How hard it was. And now here she was, in the thick of it. Absorbing blow after blow, while he sat powerless to protect her.

And unless he allowed her to turn over the damned potion to Eris, and the goddess removed the curse in thanks, Marvel would experience the hardest lesson of all: loss.

By the time Marvel returned, Killian had fallen into a light doze - the best he could manage with the methodical tearing of his flesh in different places every few moments. At first, he didn’t react to her kneeling beside him. But then he felt the ropes around his chest twitching, and he dragged a weary eye open.

“Decided to release me, did you?” His heart wasn’t really in the banter, but old habits. Marvel wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“I need to see your back.” The coils of rope gathered at hip level, still encircling the mast but significantly more loosely. “Perhaps you could turn and lean sort of sideways against the mast?”

Killian understood what she was asking, but questioned his ability to assume the position without significant pain. At the very least, the wriggling about would pull at the open wounds littering his skin, possibly hastening the curse’s effects. Gingerly, he shifted his weight more toward his left hip, then bent his knees slightly, inching his heels back until his feet rested flat against the deck. There he paused to catch his breath: the increased pressure against his back was agonizing, and every twitch of his abdominal muscles tugged at the searing Excalibur wound in his gut. It was still superficial, centimeters deep at most, but Killian harbored no illusions. As the curse continued to act upon him, the wound would follow its original course straight through him. Opening muscle, viscera, blood vessels… finally resulting in a chasm as fatal as the first. He could already feel the exit wound stinging, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the lacerations on his back. But Killian remembered. He could differentiate.

Wincing, he allowed his knees to topple to the left, at the same time twisting his upper body in short lurches until all of his weight rested against his left hip and shoulder. Marvel nodded encouragingly, unsure how else to provide assistance. Killian growled through an intense wave of pain that left him shuddering and nauseated. He fidgeted again in a vain effort to make himself more comfortable.

“This would be significantly easier if you were to untie my arms,” he panted, the flesh surrounding his eyes tight with pain. Marvel looked sympathetic but held to her resolve.

“I’m sorry, dear; you know I can’t do that.”

Killian centered his weight once more. “Ah. Well, in that case…”

His sudden lunge up onto his knees definitely took the woman by surprise. A second push hurtled him sideways toward Marvel. Lifting his bound arms, he reached for her, intending to wrestle her to the ground and force her to release him. Or maybe knock her senseless until he could regain control of the situation.

He didn’t anticipate the terrifying dip in vision resulting from his head wound. Or how much his equilibrium would be thrown off by blood loss. Or how stiff his joints were, how swollen his injuries, how diminished his capacity for movement. As Marvel ducked by instinct, Killian’s blow missed completely. He managed to vault most of the ropes piling around his lower legs, but that only meant he ended up sprawled on the deck, feet entangled, arms uselessly outstretched. The impact knocked the breath from him, ratcheted his anguish noticeably higher... but somehow didn’t cause him to lose consciousness altogether.

As Killian struggled to pull a breath, he was already writhing into a position more amenable to pushing himself up. But he kept slipping on the blood spattering the wood beneath him.

Marvel’s whine of consternation drove into his dazed brain. Killian pulled his arms inward, attempting to put at least one elbow beneath him. His blunted wrist sparked with agony as he rested weight on it. A quieter twinge in his shoulder echoed the sentiment.

Only seconds had gone by, and Killian felt as if he were trying to swim through honey. And breathe it, too; though his lungs burned, he could get no air. Halfway up on to his elbow, he felt a cool hand cover his eyes. His mind grew remarkably more muddled, his trembling muscles went limp. With one more thrash, Killian vented his frustration at the situation and then surrendered.

Marvel caught him just before he struck the wood again, and his eyes closed in magical slumber.

The next time Killian woke, it was to find himself in almost the same position as before: bound to the mast, more ropes than previously. Feet and legs secure. This time, though, his mummified right wrist was attached to his side by several coils of rope around his waist. Bandage linen extended over his hand, freezing his fingers into a fist and obstructing his ability to worry any of the knots loose. Wasted effort, really, given the reawakening wrist fracture that would seriously hinder such attempts anyway.

Killian couldn’t prevent a tiny groan at all of the pains trickling back into his awareness. Every one of them worse than before… and fated to grow worse still.

A gentle hand was holding his aching stump. Another blotted the raw end, ruthlessly removing blood and trying to assess the seriousness of the wound. Fighting his instinct to pull back from the tortures, Killian finally forced his eyes open.

The usual disorientation was not at all alleviated by how dark it had gotten. Had he slept the whole day away? That would infer that they had already been to the island and left. Blinking, Killian slowly tilted his head to get a better view of the sky.

Not dusk. Ash. A hazy plume blanketed the sun, swirling bits of pulverized rock looking like sand and bubbles caught in a breaking wave. And now that he could see it, he realized he could smell it, too. Sulfurous menace; boiling, burning rock; toxic filth not unlike the scent of the Underworld itself.

The next touch against his amputation had extra bite to it, and Killian jerked his arm back, hissing in pain. Marvel’s grasp faltered, but she didn’t release him completely.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Then she shifted her grip and once again extended his arm. Killian looked away. The sight had too many associated nightmares for him to stomach just then. As Marvel lay a gauze square over the bleeding scars, she added, “It must be difficult, reliving those horrible days. It hurts me, as well.”

Killian said nothing, only swallowed. She began winding another bandage around the stump in order to secure the dressing in place.

“I was so certain you would die. You made such awful noises that first night. And then later, when the fever set in and even Mister Smee was doubtful, and there was no medicine because we were already trapped in Neverland…” She tied the bandage neatly but did not release his arm, beginning instead a delicate massage of quivering muscles. “I wanted so badly to help, yet all I could do was try and remain gentle in my rocking while I prayed to all gods of the seas that you would live.”

At long last, Killian turned his face back toward her, meeting her melancholy gaze with his pained one.

“I would not have thanked you then,” he admitted. “But I do now.”

Marvel smiled softly and continued her comforting massage. “Would you have guessed, back then, how adept you would become at using the hook? How well you would adapt?”

Killian thought back to those first clumsy months and cringed; the memories were made all the more real by the myriad of accidental nicks in his skin - particularly his leg - reopening. “Not at first, no. But it does have its uses beyond the mere weapon I had intended it to be… When it hasn’t been confiscated by a mutinous sentient ship.”

He tilted his head meaningfully toward the discarded brace, as the actual hook was nowhere in sight. Marvel released his stump then, saying,

“I’ll return it after we’ve succeeded in our mission. Not before.”

Killian sighed, wracked by a sudden chill despite the almost-tropical heat in the air. “How much longer?”

Marvel looked past him to the island of their destination. “Less than an hour, I’d say. Are you cold?”

Killian gave a shake of his head, but the shivers in his jaw told a different story. Marvel quickly searched their surroundings and spotted his leather jacket, which had been discarded at some point - he couldn’t quite remember when. She hurried to collect it from its heap near the hatch.

“I could always retrieve a blanket from below, if this isn’t enough.” She returned and draped the leather backwards over his chest, tucking the lapels behind his shoulders. Too exhausted to do much beyond sit passively, Killian did not make any attempt to follow up on his earlier attack.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “And… apologies for earlier. You know I don’t want to hurt you, I just…” He trailed off. He’d made his position clear. She may not agree, but she must understand by now.

Marvel blotted blood from his forehead. “I know.”

Killian dug his blunted arm from beneath his jacket. Marvel had not yet bothered to secure the limb, and though its use caused all sorts of complaints from wrist to shoulder, the pirate appreciated that small bit of freedom. He gently but insistently pushed her arm away as he began to speak.

“I don’t demand or expect your loyalty, love. I can’t say that I even understand it. Long years together doesn’t necessarily equate to devotion.”

“Perhaps not. But a good captain does.”

“And that’s your honest assessment of me?”

“How could it be otherwise?”

With a grimace, Killian raised an eyebrow at her. “I traded you away. To bloody Blackbeard, of all people.”

Marvel shrugged. “And then got me back.”

“By chance, not through any persistence of my own.”

“Even so. You far outvalue that ridiculous oaf. Captain Blackbeard isn’t even deserving of the title. He hemorrhages crew and squanders his wealth, and is a pompous prat to boot.”

Killian managed a tiny smile, but it didn’t last. Earnest, he searched her eyes for any hint of falsehood. “Did he at least treat you well?”

Her response was noncommittal. “More or less. Mostly the bare minimum; the occasional extra care if he felt like throwing orders around. His sailing lacks all finesse, though. It’s a wonder I came through as unscathed as I did. Both times.”

“Thank the gods,” agreed Killian. He tucked his stump beneath the jacket again, wincing. “Well, rest assured, darling, you’re quite safe from that git now. Even if he was still in possession of a magic bean, he would have had to use it to flee Neverland.”

“Neverland?” She sounded both surprised and amused.

“Aye. Damn fool was trying to escape in a row boat, last I saw him.”

“That’ll never work,” she scoffed.

“Indeed not.”

Killian couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he would never regret the trade that had enabled him to bring Emma back.

Neither did he want to impart that the other pirate believed himself to be her rightful owner now. Again. He grimaced through another round of shivers, then said,

“Well, in terms of loyalty, you unquestionably have mine. Wholeheartedly. There will never be a vessel your equal, not even the ludicrous fire-eating contraptions in our adoptive home. And let me also add: I got the raw end of that deal. One measly bean is hardly worth even one of your lovely sails.”

Marvel grinned, pleased with his compliments. “Why, thank you, darling. But there’s no need for flattery. I already know my true value.”

She winked at him. Then, a low rumble in the distance drew her attention to the horizon, and she stood. “I should take a sounding. Are you comfortable enough?”

“I’ll survive,” Killian replied ironically. There was no guarantee of that, even if they did hand the potion over. Eris herself had admitted to her unpredictability. And if he was in rough shape now, he couldn't imagine his state after several more hours had elapsed.

Unaware of his pessimism, Marvel scurried away to attend to the business of sailing. And, left to his own devices, Killian could finally get to work on the plan that had been formulating in his mind ever since the first moment his jacket had been laid upon him. Poor Marvel - her act of compassion would turn out to be her downfall.

Of course, wiggling his sore and heavily bandaged stump into the pocket containing his rescued hook was far more easily imagined than accomplished. Especially without drawing attention to himself. Killian disguised his movements as attempts to seek a more comfortable position, complete with winces that were only slightly exaggerated. He eventually had to take the leather between his teeth in order to keep it from sliding down his shoulders; he also trapped the other edge between tied hand and torso. And then it was simply a matter of inching his way inside.

The pocket was just wide enough to accommodate the bandages, although the top layers were pulled back as his wrist slipped deeper. Through the lining, Killian could feel the hook’s outline against his ribs and used that as a guide. He would have to snag either tip or locking mechanism under a strip of linen and then draw it out without dislodging it.

Another booming rumble shook the mast; Killian was a tiny bit grateful that he couldn’t see the volcano ahead. It was sure to be an awesome and terrifying sight. The ash polluting the air had grown thicker, flakes and tendrils of char curling on the breeze, coating the deck, staining the sails. He thought of the toxic gases mentioned by Eris: how was one to know where the boundary lay? Whether the window of respite had truly begun? When they sailed past the point of no return and collapsed into a choking, dying heap?

The hook shifted in his pocket, resisting Killian’s efforts to catch it with a stray strip of linen. He cursed softly and pressed harder than he wanted to. A shock of pain from the aggravated nerves nearly convinced him to give up. The steel tip was positioned perilously close to the lacerated wrist, and he cringed at the thought of puncturing the throbbing flesh. But with extreme caution, he managed to tilt the weapon by degrees until it posed less of a threat, and then he inched his stump forward. Success. He could feel one strip of bandage tighten around his arm as the hook was pushed beneath. Killian added a slight twist of the wrist before attempting to withdraw it, hoping to add security to the captive hook.

Pulling his stump from the pocket was just as difficult and painful a process, especially once the steel neared the seam. Afraid it would catch and be pushed out of the bandage, Killian twisted his arm further, which set off explosions of pain in the old spear wound through his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move slowly and patiently while maneuvering past the pocket’s opening.

His caution was rewarded. The hook slipped through the hole, one intense moment of pain occurring when the tip dug into his inner wrist, but he was fairly certain it did not break the skin. With a discreet glance at Marvel to be sure she was still distracted, Killian removed the rest of his arm from the pocket, hook dangling obediently from the wrapping. Casually, the pirate adjusted his arm until it disappeared beneath the jacket, then bent his elbow and rested his stump across his abdomen. There was just enough give in the rope securing his hand that he could reach up and retrieve the prized weapon. Even tied into a fist, even with a sore-as-hell wrist, his hand was strong and flexible, and he had no difficulty gripping the base of the hook between thumb and palm.

Killian let his head fall back and relaxed his shoulder, releasing a sigh of relief. More struggle lay ahead, but he believed the hardest part was over. Or… the hardest part of freeing himself, at least. What came after would be a different story.

AN: Decided to combine what used to be two chapters here so that we don’t end on an unconscious Killian AGAIN :P So if you noticed a change in estimated chapter count, that’s why!

#ouat fanfiction #killian jones #the jolly roger #bandages #escape attempts #a captain's heart

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fetishmael · 7 years

Text

arme angstyturgy fanfic

Summary: POSTED TO THE RIGHT BLOG THIS TIME YAY i got nothing for this one i can’t make weird summaries out of angst :(( just kno that it has Arme it has Erblu and it has sadness

Pairing: AtH x EE

He cannot keep Arme here forever, he knows.

They are certainly both celestials, both born from the same call of the same Goddess in a separate time, they are both Ainchase Ishmael, the being of light sent down to Earth with a sole, guiding purpose in mind, and they both have fulfilled that purpose, to the best of their capabilities.

But he is not Arme–he will never be Arme, the version of him that could look upon Ishmael’s most beautiful creations and cast them aside, the version of him that wants nothing more than to return to the Goddess’ side, with his mission fulfilled, finding nothing else left to remain for on this world.

He will never understand Arme’s desire to simply disappear. He cannot understand it, but he cannot ignore it.

Arme casts his eyes towards the goddess every night, kneeling by the window when he must believe that Erblu is asleep, and gazes heavenward, a sense of longing painting his face with a wistful expression. He mutters quietly under his breath, his normally strong voice dimmed to a faint whisper, praying for something Erblu wishes he didn’t know.

Erblu has long learned to turn away from this rare display of vulnerability, to keep his eyes shut and his breathing steady as Arme leans his head against the cold glass of the window and questions his purpose once more, his reason for continuing to remain on this human world. Most nights, Erblu bites his lip and holds his tongue and swallows the questions he wants and dreads the answers to.

But when he finally returns to the relentless tug of sleep, he dreams of the first time he saw snow in this human world.

He and the El Search Party were in Hamel, layers upon layers of white erasing their footprints from the floors of the Frozen Temple. The purple-headed mage shrieked when the wind crashed into them with full force, wrapping her arms around herself in a protective gesture, shouting something utterly incomprehensible into the gale, and doubt flickered in Elsword’s eyes, as if he was considering turning back.

The snow was their enemy, the sleet underneath their shoes delaying their progress and hindering their ability to effectively fend off the hideous demons that lurk within the area. The cold seeped into their bones and slowed their blood and robbed their hearts of any desire to continue on.

Arme later told Erblu that he thought that it was beautiful, a rare statement from the more cynical celestial.

He had liked the cool sensation of soft ice against the skin that did not belong to him, the way it hid any sort of demonic taint under a cover of gentle white.

But most of all, he had admired the way that the snow fell, roaring and furious and passionate when it first came from the sky, whipping up a hurricane of terrifying beauty, but when it touched the ground, it evaporated, like it had always meant nothing.

Erblu shivers underneath his blankets when he thinks of the snow, of the conversation he’d had with Arme shortly after. It’s a strange sort of sensation, different from the external cold he’d begun to feel since fulfilling his duty and slowly becoming human. Instead, it is a hollow chill that starts from somewhere within his chest and slowly leaks through his veins, one that only dissipates when Arme returns, at last, to their bed, quietly slipping underneath the covers and running a gentle hand through Erblu’s hair.

This process–the departure and return of Arme’s presence from his side–has become a habitual routine at this point, with little variation from one day to another.

And yet, every night, Erblu worries that there will not be a next.

Arme never appears more alive to Erblu than when he fights, slipping between his enemies with the grace of flowing water and quickly dispatching them with the deadly force of Ishmael. His eyes, a cold, wintry blue are sometimes calm, sometimes filled with hate for the corrupted beings he kills, but they are always illuminated with the light of life.

Erblu can see it, the noticeable difference in Arme between when the other releases his Spiritualism form and when he returns.

When Arme’s feet return to the ground and his wings dissipate into faint shards of light and his eyes return to that dulled shade of monotonous normalcy, he always appears more tired, the normally perfect posture of his human form weighed down by flesh and bones and blood that is not his own.

Erblu wonders if Arme is tired of him, as well.

Arme’s eyes are distant at first, looking somewhere above Erblu’s head, but eventually, he focuses his gaze on him.

“You’re hurt,” is all he says, placing his gloved hand on Erblu’s shoulder and turning him more towards him, quietly examining the bleeding wound on his upper arm.

Erblu smiles reassuringly, covering Arme’s hand with his own and summoning an Eid with his free one. “It’s just a tiny cut! I can heal this in a second!”

But Arme only frowns, his fingers tense beneath Erblu’s own as his eyes regain that faraway, utterly lost look in them that terrifies Erblu to the core, and makes him wonder how long he has before he loses Arme for good.

“You got hurt,” Arme repeats, slipping his hand out from underneath Erblu’s and Erblu tries not to reach out and catch it. “So I wasn’t strong enough to protect you this time. But I was before. I know that I was.”

Both of them have always known that Ishmael was initially the sole source of their power, and while Erblu managed to reach out and bond with the already existing source of power in this world to create his Eids, Arme always has and always will rely entirely on the Goddess to provide him with his strength.

With the completion of their missions, the Goddess no longer had reason to provide them with power, especially considering their decisions to remain in the human world rather than to return to her side, and as such, Arme was left with the power he possessed at the moment of his choice–power that was rapidly waning with every day that past.

Erblu, at least, has his Eids to rely on, and he cannot imagine how Arme must feel, to know that a part of him that he deems so vital to his being, his ability to exterminate threats to the peace of this world and protect the will of the Goddess, will soon leave him.

But when Arme touches Erblu’s now healed arm and turns away from him, in a subtle request to return, he thinks he can, in fact, understand how Arme feels.

Perhaps it is the same emptiness that Erblu himself feels without Arme.

He has taken to praying to Ishmael himself, recently, if the Goddess is even listening to him anymore, now that he is infinitely more human than celestial. He prays for an impossible fantasy, wishing for Arme’s happiness and Arme’s presence all in the same breath.

He does not deserve either of those two things, he knows, but he continues to try, resting in a field of grass and allowing the sun to warm his face as he shuts his eyes and murmurs his desires.

“You are so strange, Erblu,” Arme comments, his face as serene as ever as he sits with his back pressed against the trunk of an aged tree, its branches reaching towards sky. He cannot hear the words that Erblu repeats to himself, and Erblu is grateful for the way that the wind swallows his selfish desires in its embrace. “True, it is…pleasant here, but I fail to understand why you enjoy such close proximity with the ground and the dirt.”

There is a small, futile, yet persistent spark of hope in Erblu’s heart at Arme’s words, that perhaps Arme actually enjoys something in this human world, that maybe he would stay for this, if not for Erblu.

Erblu laughs lightly, knowing that Arme would never be able to truly differentiate between his genuine and forced emotions. “Well, it’s more comfortable than that tree you’re leaning against, anyways. Besides, the grass is soft!”

Arme does not respond, merely blinking his deep blue eyes, and Erblu lets out a heavy sigh, covering his face with his hands as he feels Arme’s aura shift in concern.

He cannot lay in this open field, facing the heavens himself, and lie to himself or Arme any longer.

“Do you hate me, Arme? I know you hate it here, but do you hate…me?”

He has surprised Arme with his question, and Arme shifts uneasily beside him, his face as unreadable as ever, and Erblu very much wishes he had never been bold enough to ask in the first place, as much as it had to be done.

But he cannot take back his words anymore than Arme can take back his decision to remain in the human world with him.

“No, Erblu. And I do not ‘hate’ it here, either. It is not the world to which I belong, but it is bearable. And thus, I will tolerate it. Perhaps I wanted to leave, in the beginning. This world is cumbersome and my human form still does not feel as if it is my own. However…you do. And as long as I have something to lay claim to in this world, I will not abandon it.”

Arme’s admission is quiet and vague, and delivered without much emotion, but it’s enough for Erblu to realize what Arme is trying to tell him–he’s had more than enough time to get to know Arme, after all.

And now he knows that he will have infinite futures with which to understand Arme, as well.

Perhaps it is still wrong of him to want to have Arme stay with him, to be happy that Arme would choose him over what may have been his true place.

But selfishness is, after all, a human emotion.

#elsword #eltag #aincest #AtH x EE #fanfic #blblblblbl mfwwww posted wrong blog ded #all dis struggle over 1 lame af fic

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