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#shedding of claws and feathers is a sacrifice

bimobuddy · 7 months

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Fizzarolli x Asmodeus TK Headcanons

I love these two so much!! If you haven't seen S2 - E6, I highly suggest you go do that right now.

These might contain spoilers, but nothing too big, I don't think

Fizzarolli

Lee:

He's a giggler!

While he usually wakes up first, on the rare days he doesn't, Ozzie will tickle him awake. Partly because he thinks the sleepy giggles are adorable, but also partly out of revenge for the air horns (it's not gonna stop Fizz from using them though)

With anyone else, he'll fight back, but with Ozzie, he enjoys it and finds it fun. He'll even go as far as to try and provoke him sometimes.

Worst spots are his sides and tail, he'll probably start flailing. If you're unfamiliar with how he reacts, it's easy for you to accidentally get swatted, but Oz knows him and knows just how to avoid the swinging limbs or wagging tail

The tip or 'blade' of his tail REALLY gets him kicking

Tummy gets him curling up and giggling, tail thumping against the floor happily

He even gets flustered and giggly when Oz starts kissing on his cheeks and forehead. Not the most ticklish place, but just enough to get him giggly and smiley

Ler:

Back when they were kids, Fizz used to go after Blitz all the time. He'd usually win most of their tickle fights

Now, his main target is Ozzie, even if he isn't able to get him most of the time, as Oz usually just turns the tables on him

With his extendable limbs, it's pretty easy for him to wrap up his victim and still get at their sides or tummy

This is usually how he gets Ozzie, the rare moments his attacks actually work

Has chased Ozzie around their room a couple times during a chaotic ler mood (Poor rooster is just such a big guy though, it's hard for him to get away)

Has only ever gotten Blitz once since they've made up, but Blitz is an assassin now and was very quick to escape and turn it back around on him

Asmodeus

Lee:

Usually isn't much of a lee, as Fizz is really the only one able to get close enough or catch him off guard

And even then, it only works if he's in the mood or if Fizz sneaks up on him

DEEP CHUCKLES DEEP LAUGH

Fizz absolutely adores his voice, especially when he laughs

He knows he could easily overpower the little imp, but why in Hell would he risk hurting his Fizzy or ruining his fun? He'd much rather sacrifice his sensitivity to Fizz to see him happy

If you get him good, he'll accidentally crow. This has only ever happened one time when Fizz snuck up on him and grabbed his hips. However it didnt last long because he IMMEDIATELY wrecked the imp afterward

Sometimes Fizz starts kissing (or even scritching under the chins of) the other two heads in Oz's fluff. It's not exactly super ticklish, but it has gotten a chuckle or two from the Prince, as it felt weird, and he'll usually gently pull Fizz away with a soft "stooop"

Worst spot is his hips

Ler:

oh boy

This man can be absolutely ruthless

It's easy for him to scoop Fizz up in one hand and tickle him with the other

If he's feeling evil, he'll go after Fizz's tail and hips

But he's also such a sweetheart though, the SECOND he hears Fizz so much as even start the word 'stop,' he stops. He'd feel so bad if he overwhelmed his little clown

When they're alone, he'll start peppering Fizz's face with little kisses, while his other two heads do the same to his neck (in a sfw way) and it gets him super flustered and giggly

Big fan of teases. He'll go for the cliché 'tickle tickle tickle,' and stuff, but he'll also make kissy noises, make that clawing hand motion right over Fizz's tummy, or make him ask for it. ("I don't understand what you want, Fizzy, you're going to have to ask")

He's got feathers, he's basically a demonic chicken man. Sometimes he molts (sheds) his feathers too. (see where I'm going with this?)

When he loses his feathers, all he's gotta say is, "You know, Fizzy, it's molting season," and the imp is either immediately running away or hopping up into his lap for the gentle tickles.

Just like Fizz, he gets chaotic Ler moods too. He can and WILL chase or hunt down his partner, which is sometimes a challenge. Yes, he might be bigger, but Fizz is also very good at outmaneuvering him

But jokes on Fizz, this just makes the attack worse when Ozzie finally catches him

On mornings when they don't have to work, when Fizz goes to get up and out of bed, Ozzie will just hold him close to his chest, not letting him up, and give morning tickles

#sfw tickling community #tickle community #helluva boss tickles #lee!fizzarolli #ler!fizzarolli #lee!Asmodeus #ler!Asmodeus

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thespacelizard · 1 year

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Just a Crystal, Nothing More

@fluffbruary day 17 - some slightly angsty, reminisce-y Glasya/Mammon today. up on AO3 here.

In which Glasya comes across an old trinket.

Why is it, if Malbolge is a part of her, that she can never find the thing she wants when she wants it? Oh, certainly she could make a new dress, but that’s besides the point—recreated angel-feather drop-sleeves are not the same as the genuine article. She’s hardly going to make the impression she wants in imitation celestial sacrifice couture, now, is she?

With a huff, Glasya hauls another iron chest down from its shelf. The walk-in closet, deep in Ossiea, stretches back an unnecessary series of miles, and she’s already wasted most of her morning scouring them. Archdevils don’t tire the way lesser beings do, but metaphysically she’s sweaty and exhausted and about ready to overthrow a small mortal nation for the stress relief.

The suffering she endures is honestly too much.

“If it’s not in here, I’m sending a hunting party to Mount Celestia,” she mutters under her breath. “Daddy dearest can just cope.”

Glasya is, of course, precisely the kind of person to start an interplanar incident for the sake of her own vanity. Or such is the image she likes to cultivate, anyway.

The chest thuds to the floor and Glasya thuds next to it, legs akimbo, highly unglamorous, but there’s no-one around to mock, so she’s safe to indulge. She scratches one elegant copper claw over the lock and it falls open with a faint sigh. Within are piles of fabric, which is a promising start—she plunges her hands in and tosses out item after item in search of that unique softness that only comes with angel feathers.

This would, she knows, be easier if her palace weren’t wholly warded from locating spells. Truly, the sacrifices one makes for a pittance of security in the Hells are never-ending.

Then, just as she’s ready to give up and go crusading into the Seven Heavens; “A-ha!”

She lifts a waterfall of shimmering grey fabric into the light; long skirt, sheer bodice, and those perfect, perfect sleeves that will trail like broken wings from her perfect, perfect arms. Shining patterns of vivisected angels weave across the material in pale thread, their agony almost audible. She presses the dress triumphantly to her chest. See Baalzebul say no to her in this, there’s no way he’ll—

A glint at the bottom of the chest catches her eye. Glasya lowers the dress, cocking her head. Setting it carefully aside, she grasps the glint and lifts out a small, clear crystal. A golden sheen dances over its glittering facets as she turns it in her hands. It sends a whisper through her fingers that lights up her veins with the desire for more, and she has a brief yet powerful urge to own everything.

Even before she looks into the heart of the crystal, she knows what she’s going to see.

Herself, pressed against the side of another Archduke with beautiful, dark gold skin, and a scattering of verdant scales along his shoulders and sides. Her hand is resting on the centre of his lean, muscular chest, slightly curled—his own partly covers hers, his other arm around her shoulder. The image is cut off at the waist, but she remembers clearly that she had knelt on the snake-coils of his lower half; had to climb up on them to get high enough to fit them both into the enchanted image.

In the crystal, Mammon is looking at her, endlessly, like he loves her. In the crystal, Glasya is looking at him, endlessly, like she—

She tosses the crystal back into the chest and slams the lid shut. She snatches up her dress and, with a neat little kick, sends the chest spinning down the long and improbably endless miles of her closet. She has what she came for.

She stalks back to her rooms and finds that the dress no longer fits. In a fit of pique, rather than altering herself, she tears off the sleeves and goes to her meeting with Baalzebul wrapped in shedding angel feathers.

She gets what she wants. She always does.

Except for the times she doesn’t.

#fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #my fic #glasya/mammon #glasya #forgotten realms #forgotten realms fanfiction #dungeons and dragons fanfiction

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kazeofthemagun · 2 years

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Potential Unsealed

“...And it would happen again. And again. And again. Until they could rise no longer. Until the Black Wind was nothing but a rabid dog foaming at the mouth, until the White Cloud was nothing but a broken doll moving on a devil’s strings to a tune he could no longer hear. But this time, there was hope yet. A cracking sound - he could see the wound spread, fester before his eyes. From within it, laughed Chaos; Wondering just what to take next.”

[Drabble about the hope for the sacrifices, 1.7k words, post-anime, pre-sequel. Relevant to the Creeping Shadows of Anarchy.]

[cw: blood, war, possession, death]

It happened fast. Faster than thought, than death; Faster than the gunshot that tore through the air. Faster than the way his very own flesh turned to dust, relinquishing life to welcome destruction.

A spiral of three colored lights, souls outstretched like the petals of a flower, circling outward. A spectral dance, a spear aimed at the heart of Chaos - unfurling in their shared cry for justice.

Lou. Gunmetal. And he who hoisted up their banner. The light was blinding - and in the light, the Beast was reborn once again.

Gigantic wings opened, feathers glimmering as rotors spun where bone and sinew met metal. A slender frame revealed, silver in all his glory with the Magun's muzzle perched atop a dragon's jaw. He let out a mighty roar, flashing fang and claw as nine sky blue orbs gazed into sickly purples. A promise in a holy devil's eyes.

You won't suffer long, old friend.

No heed was paid to the frail figures cowering beneath them as the two dragons charged up and fired, an explosion shattering the walls and sending Gaudium rocking where it hung. They circled and snapped, tearing through the roof, then through one another. The awoken Bahamut's teeth sank into a blood-red hide, claws working to undo the warped form that imprisoned his draconic sister.

And her vessel, so woefully linked.

"Black Wind..." He could feel that pained soul, feel it in every frantic beat of Tiamat's wings, in every mouthful of god-flesh Bahamut yanked out of a writhing frame. In every stab of a blade into his chest, shearing platinum scales and drawing ichor. A terrible, unsightly duet, a dance of gun and sword in the ballroom of bloodied heavens.

"White Cloud." His spirit spoke in turn, only sorrow in that night-deep voice. The other Unlimited had said this place would be destroyed if they fought. He knew. Calamity was what he cultivated best.

They were standing in a place of nothingness, a silver mirror of a lake beneath an empty sky. A blank canvas, a beginning of a painting before the very first brushstroke. Limbo. The sounds and scents of battle did not reach here. And yet, the wound marring pristine white clothes was a grim reminder.

A spiderweb of cracks extended from the young prince's stomach, marking the spot his own weapon ran him through. Where there should have been blood, there was only darkness, an open gaping chasm spreading like rot across a weakened form. Chaos.

It was a brand, and a promise. Because they had paid the price once, and they would pay it again.

...What will you take from him, Chaos? His power? His memories? His sanity? Mayhaps, his immortal life? What is your price, Truest of Enemies? Before inevitably you rise again.

But will we?

Will we rise again, White Cloud? Will you rise again?

Iced-over eyes shed no tears even as his heart threatened to break where it beat. The Magun was safe with Lisa for now, at least he hoped it was. The distance did not matter, it still hurt. It still hurt like fire pressed with all its might against his flesh - the knowledge that it had already happened once and was happening again, his counterpart now taking up the mantle of the sacrifice like he himself once had.

...And it would happen again. And again. And again. Until they could rise no longer.

Until the Black Wind was nothing but a rabid dog foaming at the mouth, until the White Cloud was nothing but a broken doll moving on a devil’s strings to a tune he could no longer hear. But this time, there was hope yet. A cracking sound - he could see the wound spread, fester before his eyes.

From within it, laughed Chaos; Wondering just what to take next.

For sealing Chaos was unfurling the threads of one's own soul to fashion its binding.

...So he, Bahamut - looked Tiamat in the eye, poised his head and fired.

---------

A dream before all dreams. A land where the sea was the sky and the sky was the sea. An endless expanse of silver, stretching pristine towards the horizon. They had been here before, and somehow he knew they would be here again. No memories, no answers, only that same instinct that had guided him all along the way. One that he always followed, whether it lead him true or miles underwater to another of his deaths.

And so, too, did he follow it now. It lead to the singular object in this chamber of nothing - a gargantuan clam opening to greet him. An animal, and also a dwelling - adorned with flowing curtains of silk, padded with delicate pillows. All throughout, pearls lazily floated, holding squirming shapes of beasts within like unhatched eggs.

In the midst of it all, stood a woman, too-pale digits caressing a vibrant crystal ball. Along its surface danced galaxies, visions of lands future and past alike.

She smiled, the softest thing. Sea blue eyes casting warmth like a spell, a motherly love radiating from an ethereal, flowing form. She was like water - if he were to touch her, he knew she would not be solid.

"Welcome, our child."

Words spoken so quietly, and yet they seemed to fill the entire ocean. The Unlimited's brows creased in confusion, a Windarian's natural alertness urging him to keep up his guard and yet there was something inexplicable about her presence, like a gentle weight wrapped blanket-like around his shoulders. Pouring in a sense of calmness and serenity through every crack in his own worn-out psyche. A witch, casting a spell. It had to be, and yet he found not the strength to care.

"I am Fabula, and I am your Guide." The witch? introduced herself, hands still gently stroking the clear surface of her scrying orb. Even if his gaze had wished to wander, it was impossible with the way her eyes peered into his very soul. Establishing an unwavering connection, ensuring his perfect attention. She was so.. familiar. Agonizingly familiar. Almost more so than Golden Aura, than Swift Flight, than anyone. Maybe she was..?

She was so familiar, so close to his soul it was almost sickening. He did not want to experience that feeling, that ache that overshadowed all senses.

She was a black hole and he could not help but be drawn right in. To be in her presence was tranquility itself.

"He whose name is Destruction. Allow me to guide him through these straits of conviction." Fabula chimed, her eyes not for a moment leaving his. Hypnotizing - even as he was dreaming already. "Return to the source, the eternal sleeping spring from which Chaos cannot drink. Allow me to help him tap into its clear waters... So that our True Enemy may be not sealed, but defeated."

Her words were a labyrinth, a winding maze chiseled with purpose in mind as clear as the waters she spoke of and the waters she inhabited. Words somehow meant for him to understand and him alone. "The souls of the earth, Soil. The souls of the sky, Mist. Locked in war even now, opposed like their very people. As long as they battle, there shall be no peace. And yet, peace can only be attained through battle. A resolution to an ancient conflict. A battle for the future of all spirits."

A pale hand smoothed over a curve of crystal, and the night within became illuminated. A scene of bloodshed, one he was not born to witness and yet knew very well of. Windarians clad in drav gear, guns blazing. Mistericans with masks wide open, swords drawn. A gray sky saturated by Bahamut's Espers and Tiamat's Dragons, waging war in a myriad of colors. He could still hear them, inside his blood. Vying for the demise of a king long dead. Screaming for his only living son.

Another steady swipe of a hand - revealing pained jade orbs, bearing into his own. "His brother, whose name is Salvation. And yet he failed to save his land from Chaos. A tragedy."

The melodic hum of Fabula's voice took on a hint of deep sorrow. "A tragedy they both have tasted. A tragedy that spreads across the Outer Worlds as they fade one by one, feeding Chaos. To halt this sickness, allow me to reveal one last prophecy, recall the oldest of fables."

...One final fantasy to save them all. One remaining chance to stop that chasm from consuming White Cloud's heart. The demon had already broken his mind, he would be damned if he let it burrow and grow into that pure spirit. Snuff out the moon that lit the way for them both.

"Only with true tragedy and breaking hearts, when the earth and the sky collide with all of their equal strength, will they reveal a path to save their souls. Through Destruction, towards Salvation. Betrayal will pave the path for reconciliation. The oldest of feuds must be settled. The Gun's chosen and the Sword's chosen shall do battle yet - but only..."

Kaze's heart stopped. He could taste blood in his mouth - in Bahamut's jaws as it tore open the husk of tainted Tiamat. It tasted like his own. It tasted like the time his own heart was devoured by the Magun.

As was foretold... my Unlimited, who will betray all...

"...for the strength to slay the True Enemy." He finished alongside the woman clad in silk.

Was it Black Wind speaking, or was it Bahamut? Perhaps it was both. Perhaps neither. Were they not a new thing entirely? Did they not deserve a title? He knew just the one.

Another gentle smile upon fuchsia-colored lips, a candle among the coldest sea. A mystery to behold, a speaker of riddles and guardian of lost shipwrecked souls. The Guide of Wonderland. He answered her challenge. A deeper voice spoke up, a singular bold question.

"Why me?"

Once again a hue of blue met his own, a boundless love for a pair of wayward travelers dressed in words that were anything but loving.

"You alone know your brother, Hunter of Chaos. And you alone will see this cruel task to its completion."

#[[drabble #[[Guide of Lost Shipwrecked Souls ║ Fabula #a short drabble that was a bit overdue

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minoracts · 2 years

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THE GARDEN OF THEOPHRASTUS for my son

When at noon the white fire of verses Flickering dances above the urns, Remember, my son. Remember the vanished Who planted their conversations like trees. The garden is dead, more heavy my breathing, Preserve the hour, here Theophrastus walked, With oak bark to feed the soil and enrich it, To bandage with fibre the wounded bole. An olive splits the brickwork grown brittle And still is a voice on the mote-laden heat. Their order was to fell and uproot it, Their light is fading, defenceless leaves.

MEETING for Michael Hamburger

Barn owl, daughter of snow, subject to the night wind,

yet taking root with her talons in the rotten scab of walls,

beak face with round eyes, heart-rigid mask of feathers that are a white fire touching neither time nor space,

coldly the night blows at the old homestead, in its yard pale folk, sledges, baggage, lamps covered with snow,

in the pots death, in the pitchers poison, the last will nailed to a post.

The hidden thing under the rocks' claws, the opening into night, terror of death thrust into flesh like stinging salt.

Let us go down in the language of angels to the broken bricks of Babel.

[THE ELDER TREE]

THE ELDER TREE opens its moons, all passes into silence, the flowing lights in the stream, the planetarium of Archimedes driven through water, astronomical signs that came from Babylon.

Son, little son Enkidu, you left your mother, the gazelle, your father, the wild donkey, to go with the whore to Uruk. The milk-bearing goats fled. The steppe withered.

Behind the city gate with its seven iron bolts you were instructed by Gilgamesh, who crosses the frontier between heaven and earth, to slash the ropes of death.

Darkly noon burned on the brickworks, darkly the gold lay in the king's room. Turn back, Enkidu. What did Gilgamesh give you? The gazelle's lovely head submerged. Dust beat your bones.

THE GRAVE OF ODYSSEUS

No one will find the grave of Odysseus, no stab of a spade the encrusted helmet in the haze of petrified bones.

Do not look for the cave where down below the earth a wafting soot, a mere shadow, damaged by pitch from torches, went to its dead companions, raising weaponless hands, splattered with blood of slaughtered sheep.

All is mine, said the dust, the sun's grave behind the desert, the reefs full of the sea's roar, unending noon that still warns the pirate's boy from Ithaca, the rudder jagged with salt, the maritime charts and lists of ancient Homer.

ROME

Replete summer, at the outermost edge of the sun already darkness begins. Laurels gone wild, behind them a hiding-place of thistles and stones that yields to no voice.

Transparency of the noon light, verses that recall nothing, a bright water touches the mouth.

Persephone

The unfathomable came, rose from the earth, flaring up in moonlight. She wore the old shard in her hair, her hip leaned on night.

No smoke of sacrifice, the universe entered the fragrance of the rose.

SCOTTISH SUMMER 'What seemed corporeal melted as breath into the wind' Shakespeare: Macbeth

Scottish summer, under the oaktree dry as a plait of hair sit the women of Cawdor, some of them hidden in the clouds' light, nettles, their blossom shed, in the sand. Down over the rocks trumpet blasts, a clatter whips up the sea swell.

Fog that engendered it, soon it will be winter, thin wood never at rest, snow flurries this way and that, finely dusting the wilderness.

Dried up and dusky they squat on tattered furs before evening s golden seam. When the moon shifts the clock hands on the tower they stare with dimmed eyes. Uninhabitable this grief that ebbs from the cliffs.

EASTERN RIVER

Do not look for the stones in water above the mud, the boat is gone. No longer with nets and baskets the river is dotted. The sun wick, the marsh marigolds flickered out in the rain.

Only the willow bears witness still, in its roots the secrets of tramps lie hidden, their paltry treasures, the rusty fishhook, the tin with no bottom in which to preserve long-forgotten talks.

On the boughs, empty nests of the penduline titmice, shoes light as birds. No one slips them over children's feet.

THE WATER OUSEL

It I could swoop down more brightly into the flowing dark

to catch myself a word,

like this water ousel through alder branches to pick her sustenance

from the stony riverbed.

Goldwashers, fishermen, put away your gear. The shy bird

wants to do its work in silence.

OPHELIA

Later, next morning, when the first white light glints, the wading of gumboots in shallow water, the thump of poles, an order barked out, they're hoisting the miry barbed wire net.

No kingdom, Ophelia, where a scream tunnels the water, a spell makes the bullet shatter against a willow leaf.

NOTHING to report

NOTHING to report. The unicorn went away and rests in the wood's memory,

in the poppy's valvules when the abbess gives sun and moon to the dead.

Autumn makes a clearing, loses its memory in the beech-tree's blood track.

What remains is no more than the black wire in the air that connects two voices.

In winter's white abbey a soundless wingbeat. In his name who — to the end of time.

--from Peter Huchel, The Garden of Theophrastus: Selected Poems, translated by Michael Hamburger. London: Anvil Press Poetry, 2004. [courtesy lyrikline.org and carcanet.co.uk]

#peter huchel #michael hamburger #ophelia #persephone

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inhuman-obey-me · 3 years

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🙏 with Simeon?

"Plead, sinner. Plead to god for me." - Simeon

Note: This story makes some references to my previous Simeon fic, God-Fearing Faith. It's not strictly necessary to read that one first, but it'll add a lot if you do!

Simeon thought he was prepared to fall.

He'd thought about it for a while, and decided. He was prepared to fling himself between the realms for the ones he loved. He would stand for what he believed in; he'd take a stand on behalf of Lucifer and the demon brothers this time. If your worlds tried to tear you two apart, he'd sooner tear himself apart to be with you instead. When the time would come, he'd bear the cost. He'd be the sacrifice. It would be worth it.

But falling is not always an epic stand-off, a grand symphony, a choir of angels reaching a fever pitch as you're cast out.

Sometimes falling is a quiet, graceless thing.

It came unexpectedly one evening, as he was closing up after the last customers at the cafe finally left -- feathers shedding from his human-like skin, a bath of white wings coming apart like they'd been unstrung. A heaviness settled in his body, an unfamiliar weight that pulled him groundwards. And his whole body felt like it was aflame.

Like it had been back then.

His throat tightened as he realized what was happening; breaths came shallow and broken, recalling the feeling of chains whose scars still lingered upon his wrists and neck. Panic pricked at his skin, a chill on the searing heat spilling from his tenuous form. Helplessly, he grasped at the wood of the cafe tables, searching for anything that would ground him. And then, in the back of his mind, the thought of the sweet, innocent child who could walk in on this at any moment.

He had to get out of here.

Vision blurring, he stumbled his way out of the doors of the Angel's Halo, as he felt his own halo shattering apart, falling down his back in sharp jagged edges. He dared not look behind him, to see the pieces littering his path as he made his way unsteadily towards a nearby alley. Perhaps he could hide there; perhaps no one would see his inhuman transformation.

Without the angelic bindings on him anymore, he could feel the demonic parts of him growing now, both inside and out. Every arrhythmic breath seemed to pulse with new waves of rage and anguish, fury overtaking the edges of his vision -- at the Celestial Realm, at Michael, at their father, at the rules, the hypocrisies, the cruelty, at the illusion of light and goodness he'd been encased in until this moment.

But most of all, at himself.

Wasn't this what he had wanted? Wasn't this what he'd prepared himself for? He'd been so miserable for so long, numb and empty and scarred for centuries. Hadn't he told himself that he would fall? Hadn't he accepted it?

Would the demon prince and the brothers accept him this way, having fallen just by falling? No grand statements, no taking a stand to prove himself? He couldn't let Luke see him this way. Was he alone now? Would he be? He couldn't take it back now; there would be no turning back from this.

Distantly, past the fog of his brain, he realized a man was speaking to him. Across the man's face, a cruel and vicious smile. And in his hand, a gun, pointed squarely at Simeon's forehead.

The wrath bubbling up in him was just about ready to burst.

With his rage focusing in now on a single point, he stood up with new stability, growing as he did so until he towered over the man, a demonic shadow filling the entire space of the alley. Great wings of black flame unfurled from his back -- three sets, each flickering wildly behind him like a mockery of his long-gone seraph form, as he extended newly clawed hands, gripping the man's meager skull between fingers long and sharp as talons.

"Wretch, you threaten harm against me?" he mocked, a new dark undertone reverberating through his voice. "You are nothing compared to what I fear."

The man let out an imperceptible shriek, too terrified of the beast before him to make sound, as thick onyx fire erupts suddenly through his entire body. It was almost comfortingly familiar to Simeon -- unholy embers were not so different from holy ones, after all.

"Plead, sinner. Plead to god for me," Simeon murmured quietly, any shred of mercy or grace gone from his voice, as he watched the man reduce to ashes beneath his fingertips. "Plead so I can see for myself how he ignores our cries."

#obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me simeon #om! simeon #obey me fic #obey me drabble #obey me angst #999 follower celebration #writings #drabble #angels being terrifying #demons being demons #mod chaos in the devildom #sorryyyyyy for the wait!!#this was actually the first prompt request we got for this round but i had to leave it for last #because if i wrote it first i would not have been motivated to write anything else after it #i love simeon so much but all i want to write for him is torment

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umbry-fic · 3 years

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That Beautiful Soul

Summary: A person's Dæmon is said to represent one's very self. But does your Dæmon fully define who you are? What does their presence, their form, mean?

(Original canon with the inclusion of Dæmons from His Dark Materials)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Kratos Aurion, Anna Irving, Mithos Yggdrasill, Martel Yggdrasill, Yuan Ka-Fai, Dirk, Presea Combatir, Regal Bryant, Genis Sage, Raine Sage, Zelos Wilder, Sheena Fujibayashi, Original Characters (Dæmons) Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Zelos Wilder/Sheena Fujibayashi, Anna Irving/Kratos Aurion, Yuan Ka-Fai/Martel Yggdrasill, Kratos Aurion & Lloyd Irving, Regal Bryant & Presea Combatir Rating: T Word Count: 10057 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 10/01/2021

Notes: First fic in a series involving a His Dark Materials AU. Read to the end for the meanings behind everyone's Dæmons.

Series Next fic in the series

~~~

A Dæmon represents everything about you. Your darkest secrets, every sin that you’ve ever committed, will be free to see in the form that your Dæmon takes. A Dæmon is an extension of your soul, and it will show everything.

Zelos thought it was quite a lot to shove on a young child and his Dæmon. The insinuation that Martha’s final form would dictate the person he became, and would pretty much decide every action he would ever take in the future. A little unfair, wasn't it?

The Church’s priests expected his Dæmon to become some grand animal, like every other member in the Mana Lineage. His Father’s Dæmon had been a tiger. Majestic, sure, but no less interested in Zelos and Martha than Zelos’ father had been.

His Mother’s Dæmon had been a cat. A tabby cat, to be precise, and an extremely overweight one at that. Maybe he had once thought his Mother’s Dæmon had been cute and nurturing. He was sure most of Meltokio’s high society thought the same. That tabby cat could conduct itself extremely regally if it wanted to, reinforcing the same facade that his Mother did. His parents’ unshakeable pride meant that no other option was acceptable.

But that image had long shattered for him the moment his mother’s Dæmon had struck out at him. Angry, red claw marks had been left behind not just on Martha, but on himself. That taboo about a Dæmon touching another person… His Mother’s Dæmon had overcome it easily through the strength of their combined hatred.

And so Zelos determined he would prove the priests wrong, just to spite them and this whole cruel world. Martha wouldn’t and didn’t want to settle as a lion or a tiger, and was just as eager to piss off the priests and the entirety of high society. They would leave the choice up to fate.

Martha settling as a snake did cause everyone else to shut up. After all, a snake wasn’t befitting of the Chosen. The Chosen was someone in the favour of Martel herself, who would help lead Tethealla into greater glory. How was it that the Chosen’s Dæmon was something as deceptive as a poisonous reptile? It couldn’t possibly be true.

The priests didn’t like it, but Zelos wasn’t about to change himself for them. And so life went on, with no one addressing what everyone surely thought was a strange Dæmon.

That didn’t stop the whispers behind Zelos’ back, so he did what he did best. He built his Dæmon’s form into a mysterious persona and made use of it to pursue girls, even as his heart ached for only one. A girl with a fiery spirit and a wildcat as a Dæmon, so different from the tabby cat he’d known in childhood.

He’d pushed her away in the hopes of saving her from further pain. Zelos knew that he’d only ever hurt the people around him, and Martha agreed. Isn’t that what her form meant? Better to break his own heart than risk those of others.

It was years later that fate would come through in the end. Deception and betrayal. Martha’s form had been a prophecy from the very beginning. There was no escaping it.

And he and Martha would share one last hysterical laugh in the safety of his room in the Wilder Manor, awaiting the beginning of the end. One way or another, Sheena and Martin would hate them.

He and Martha would be accomplices and companions to the bitter end.

~~~

Colette had never known life without Pan by her side.

Pan was her constant companion in the way that Dæmons were meant to be. An extension of her soul and a being that was closer than a friend, for they were someone who had been there since you were brought into the world.

He knew all her deepest secrets, for he experienced much the same. The deep sense of yearning within her heart that refused to be squashed down at night, the tears she shed silently into the pillow while cradling Pan to her heart, and the terrible guilt that filled her when she told Lloyd goodbye, knowing she would never come back.

Pan would always be there. She was glad to know, even if it was selfish, that there would be someone with her when she died. And that someone understood the terrible regret she felt over all those she would leave behind. All she could do was go with a smile on her face, holding her happiest memories close to her heart. Memories of times spent with her family, with her friends, and with Lloyd.

Colette was glad, at least, that Pan had settled as a hummingbird when she was 14. It was one aspect of a normal life that she had been able to experience before she died.

Why a hummingbird? Colette didn’t know the reason behind Pan’s final form, only that it must somehow represent herself. That was what a Dæmon was.

Pan had always favoured small creatures. Sugar gliders, mice, frogs… It wasn’t surprising that he’d settled as a hummingbird. The villagers had told her it fit her. Hummingbirds were animals that represent love and joy.

She had simply smiled in response. Her facade had been working, then. No one saw anything but happiness and no one had unearthed the sadness buried beneath.

It only made her cry harder in the dead of night.

Until there were no more tears to cry, for the Angelic transformation had taken those away as well. So she would spend the nights, no longer able to sleep, gently stroking Pan’s feathers although neither of them could feel it anymore. Just another thing that had been taken from Pan because of his bond to her. They would talk, until even that was taken from them, about anything and everything but the ascent into the Tower of Salvation that was looming upon them.

Until finally there was nothing else to discuss, and they would once again confide in each other the fears that nestled deep within her heart. That somehow she would fail to act as a proper Chosen, that somehow she would let down her friends, new and old, and that -

That she would break Lloyd’s heart. Lloyd, who loved with all of his heart, and Arielle, strong and brave. She was glad to be able to enjoy their company for just a little bit longer, but at the same time, it meant that she would have to leave them both behind again. Would they hate her and Pan? Would Lloyd ever be able to forgive her?

Not that it mattered. Maybe it would be better if he hated her forever. Better than for him to grieve over her. Better for him to move on together with Arielle. No matter how much it would hurt her… But she wouldn’t be alive to feel that anymore. She would have given her life for a better Sylvarant, one where those she loved could live freely.

What she and Pan felt didn’t matter.

~~~

“Pan! Please, stop running!” Colette screamed, soaked to the bone with the rain. She stumbled blindly over the forest path, pushing her way through leaves and sharp branches that scratched at her arms. But that pain was minute compared to the rope currently looped tightly along her heart, squeezing and getting tighter by the minute. She knew if she let it get any tighter, it would rip out her heart.

Pan had leapt off her palms as a sugar glider just moments ago, disappearing into the forest with the rain pattering down all around them, leaving her shocked and stunned before she gave chase.

Colette stumbled into a clearing, falling to her knees. Her hands and arms were cut and bleeding, but she didn’t care. She whipped her head around blindly, hair falling into her eyes and shivering from the cold. Pan. Where was he?

The string around her heart led Colette to squeeze herself into a log, crawling through the small, cramped space with relative ease. She was small for her age of 10. Lloyd wouldn’t be able to fit in here.

The thought of Lloyd made her flinch, recalling the words the priests at the Church of Martel had uttered.

Finally, finally, she was able to wrap her hands around Pan. He was now in the form of a hummingbird, shivering in a tiny ball of waterlogged feathers.

The storm was cold around them, but Pan was warm in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Pan muttered. “It must have hurt for you too. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Colette shushed him, gently smoothing out his feathers. “It’s OK.”

“Is this what it’ll feel like when you become an angel?” Pan asked, morphing into a squirrel and wrapping his tail around her neck. The question only revived all the emotions she had buried since she had learned the fate that was destined for her. “Like I’m being ripped apart from the inside?”

“I don’t know,” Colette whispered, tears brimming in the corner of her eyes. “I don’t -”

“I don’t want to die. I don’t - I don’t want to leave Arielle behind. I don’t want to hurt them, I don’t want them to feel like this - like everything’s coming to an end and your heart is being destroyed from the inside -”

“I know,” Colette choked on her tears, cradling Pan closer to her chest. “I’m sorry.”

Because that’s all she can say to her Dæmon. The only thing she could ever do was apologise, for she could not avoid her fate. It was both of their duties to sacrifice themselves for Sylvarant.

Perhaps it's what Pan wanted, always favouring birds. The desire to escape and fly away, except he couldn’t, for he was chained to her forever. It had not been her desire to do so, but she had doomed her Dæmon to die along with her.

Would it feel this way for those she would leave behind? She didn’t want to put Lloyd through that. Like one’s soul was being destroyed. That would be how she and Pan felt, and she didn’t want to put anyone else through it.

But there was nothing, nothing she could do.

~~~

Pan. That name… It was the name of Colette’s mother’s Dæmon. Pan had never met his namesake, for the sole reason that Colette’s mother had died in childbirth. The name had been given to him by Julia, Frank’s Dæmon, following the long-held tradition of parents' Dæmons naming their child's Dæmon.

It meant just another responsibility that Pan had to carry. The hopes and dreams of Colette’s mother and her Dæmon rested on his back. It was a burden he had carried since his birth, and a duty he had always been destined to fail.

After all, what mother wouldn’t want their child to live their best life? Sacrificing oneself didn’t seem to fit the bill.

But he wasn’t about to tell Colette that. She held enough of a burden as it was, prepared to fling her own life away like it was completely worthless. Pan was the only one who understood what she was going through and the only one she could confide in. He wouldn’t add on to that burden. The one time he had tried to run away, it had felt like his heart was being ripped straight from his chest. It was the worst pain he had ever felt, and he knew that he’d put Colette through the same thing. It was unforgivable.

But still, what he had said that rainy night was true. Pan didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave behind all the friends he had made. Timothy and Arielle... They’d be devastated in the same way that Lloyd and Genis would be once they knew Colette was gone.

Pan, more than anything, didn’t want to leave Arielle behind. Arielle, with her boundless energy and courage, accurately represented by the dog she had permanently settled as. Who loved to chase Pan around in impromptu games of tag that she always won.

Pan never minded. Arielle was amazing company, and she didn’t mind how shy he was all the time. Before his settling, she had always encouraged him to try to morph into larger animals. Pan knew she meant well, but it was just something he was never comfortable with. He associated dogs and wolves with bravery, and he… he was nothing more than a weakling and a coward. He can’t save Colette.

Perhaps that’s why he settled as a hummingbird. Tiny and powerless.

He can’t change anything. All he can do is stay by Colette’s side, always. Be her emotional support, her closest friend, and the one who will die with her.

And, for now, he would simply enjoy the warmth of Arielle’s fur.

~~~

Arielle had, technically, been the first one to meet Colette. All she had been trying to do was jump from tree to tree as a cat while an exasperated seven-year-old Lloyd had chased after her on the ground, asking her to get down before she hurt herself.

Inevitably, Arielle had slipped. And fallen straight into the arms of a startled six-year-old, staring down at the Dæmon in her arms that was not her own with wide blue eyes.

It had been a strange feeling, to be touched by a person other than Lloyd. Arielle had very quickly learned that people were not meant to touch others' Dæmons. Dirk had made that taboo very clear when she’d sidled up to him as a polecat, with Marie the mole looking particularly unimpressed.

What had followed had been an admonishment from Marie that had lasted 30 minutes. Arielle, who had been sulking at the time, retained little. What stuck with her was how no person was allowed to touch you other than your counterpart. It was the grossest violation that existed, almost like the desecration of a person’s soul. Arielle knew it was serious, so she had stopped trying to jump on people’s heads for fun.

The girl that Arielle would soon learn was called Colette had, as gingerly as possible, placed Arielle on the ground. Then she had backed away quickly, both her and her Dæmon apologising profusely. Pan had been morphing extremely quickly, to the point that Arielle hadn’t been able to pin down a single form. It had been a clear sign of both Colette’s and Pan’s nervousness.

Arielle had been frozen in shock. It… hadn’t felt earth-shatteringly wrong to be held by someone else. She had only ever known Lloyd’s touch, and Colette’s touch had not been… unwelcome.

Lloyd had run up by that point, and Arielle supposed the rest was history. None of them ever really brought up the incident again. It was the one thing Arielle had never disclosed to Lloyd, and she didn’t quite know how she felt about the whole thing.

Dæmons, however, were allowed to mingle amongst themselves, so Pan was fair game. Arielle loved spending time with Pan. She supposed it was inevitable, given that Lloyd was so close to Colette. Two people who were close friends would naturally have two Dæmons who were close to each other, or they wouldn’t have been compatible, to begin with. But Arielle liked Pan for who he was: always fussing over others, but yet incredibly shy.

It was why she constantly encouraged him to morph into larger animals by constantly engaging Pan in her little games. Arielle had never really succeeded in her objective, but at least Pan seemed to be having fun.

And that made Arielle happy, for Pan was always so reserved. If she could help him relax just a little bit, then she was glad. But what exactly was it that always made Pan seem so tired? She wanted to know, but Lloyd didn’t want to push.

In the end, Pan had settled as a hummingbird. And Arielle thought that fit him. Her heart always felt like it was fluttering whenever she was near him, and she was certain that Lloyd felt the same about Colette. A Dæmon almost always felt the same way as their counterpart.

Even if it was something too embarrassing to discuss.

And even if a hummingbird was small, it had a hidden strength. A bird that could flap its wings so quickly that it could still fly, even with its small size. A hidden strength that Arielle was certain both Colette and Pan possessed.

But still, Arielle wanted to protect Pan. She wanted to be able to protect all those she loved, whether it be a person or a Dæmon. Colette had laughed when she’d seen Arielle’s final form as a dog and commented that it fit both of them. Loyalty, bravery and a protector. That was what Colette had said. Arielle hoped that meant she could better protect others.

There was one other reason Arielle had always favoured dogs and wolves.

Pan knew where his name had come from. But all Arielle could remember of Lloyd’s parents was the warmth of being enveloped in fur that was not her own and the cheery chirps of a bird, always arranged into a melodious song. She could not remember who had named her.

Arielle liked to think that, by permanently taking the form of a dog, she was just that one bit closer to the parents who were no longer by their side.

She hoped that was able to bring Lloyd just the slightest bit of comfort.

~~~

Lloyd stood frozen, watching as the girl with golden hair gently set Arielle on the ground.

Dad had always taught him that he should never let anyone touch his Dæmon. The pain would be excruciating for both him and Arielle, Dad had warned, like someone had reached straight into his soul and twisted.

But what Lloyd felt now was nothing like that. It simply felt… warm. Like he was being cradled gently as well. He didn’t know how to characterise how he felt.

Perhaps it was because the girl meant no harm?

It was then that Arielle ran up to his feet, breaking Lloyd out of his trance.

He would dwell on that moment for years to come, even though he and Arielle would never discuss what happened. What, exactly, had he been feeling?

~~~

Lloyd watched Arielle, having morphed into a labrador, pin Pan to the ground. “Sorry, Colette,” he sighed. “I don’t know why she’s being so unruly right now.”

“It’s fine, Lloyd. If Pan doesn’t mind, then there isn’t a problem,” Colette muttered. “They’ll be settling soon, won’t they? You’re turning 14 next week…”

“I’m not too worried. I’ll just let nature take its course.” Lloyd shrugged, mind wandering to what Dad will serve for dinner that night. “Why do Dæmons need to settle anyway?”

“Because one day, everyone grows up. And we stop changing.” Maybe if Lloyd had paid attention at that moment, he would have seen the faraway look on Colette’s face.

But he’s preoccupied watching Pan run by and resisting the urge to reach out, even for just the slightest of moments.

Curiosity filled him. What would it feel like to touch Pan, just like Colette had once touched Arielle?

But still, he pulled his hand back, knowing it would be wrong. “What did you say?” Lloyd asked, turning to face Colette, who once again had a smile on her face.

“Nothing!” She answered cheerily, shaking her head. “Just that you haven’t been listening to Professor Raine again…”

“That’s not my fault! It’s just so hard!”

And things were once again back to normal.

~~~

Kratos woke up, more often than not, to Jordan’s singing. The nightingale had never let anything stop his singing.

It had been what attracted his attention in the first place in the monotone halls of the Ranch. A Dæmon that was trapped, but still sang loudly and beautifully of freedom. The song had reached deep within the heart that he had thought long dead to awaken emotions he hadn’t felt in centuries.

It had entranced Lyra as well, drew both of them towards the pair trapped within a dungeon of suffering but yet could still sing of hope.

Anna would become the strongest person he had ever known, with Jordan being the perfect Dæmon to encompass that. Someone who would never let their spirit be broken no matter what was thrown at them.

“He doesn’t stop singing, does he?” Kratos muttered, tugging Anna closer. He didn’t need to sleep, but it was one of his greatest joys to simply let himself fall into a peaceful slumber with Anna at his side.

“You can’t make him,” Anna teased, the content smile on her face highlighting her rosy cheeks and the weight she was starting to regain.

Instead of retorting, he simply silenced her with a kiss, swallowing her protests.

Happiness. He had almost forgotten what it felt like, lost in the memories of Martel’s bright smile and Christopher’s bright feathers, washed away in the blood that had stained the grass that day.

He had committed so many sins and had the blood of countless innocents on his hands. He had believed he would only have Lyra for company for however longer Mithos and Will continued in their madness, for Lyra was just as complicit as him. They were but two murderers, tied together.

He didn’t deserve forgiveness or peace. But here, in the arms of his beloved, with Lyra sleeping peacefully at the bedside and Jordan’s cheerful song washing over him, he could forget about all that had happened in the past. He could simply exist, here and now.

It made him finally glad that his Dæmon had taken the form of a lion. A protector, his mother had whispered, trying to comfort him when he’d been nothing but a distraught child.

Kratos hadn’t felt like he deserved that when he’d been helpless so many times, frozen in horror as he watched those he loves bleed to death before him. Martel, and before that his mother.

But this… This family he had somehow gained, which only grew with the addition of Lloyd and Arielle, was something that he and Lyra would fiercely protect.

On a stormy night, Kratos would leave the house, not knowing that this would be the final time he heard the nightingale sing.

Once again, he failed to protect anything.

~~~

It’s nostalgic, almost, to feel Arielle curl up next to her. It reminded Lyra of better days when a still-morphing Arielle had loved to climb and bury herself in Lyra’s coat of fur.

Arielle had settled already, without Lyra there to witness it. Just another thing that she had missed in an endless litany that had been Lloyd's life.

“Arielle!” Lloyd called exasperatedly from his spot by the campfire. “Stop bothering Lyra.”

Lloyd was eyeing her nervously like he expected Lyra to bite his head off. That was silly, but he must still be wary of her and Kratos. Not that she could blame Lloyd. To him, they must have been strangers. And she knew her form could be intimidating.

Lloyd had grown up so much. He was no longer the small child who she had comforted with an embrace whenever he had nightmares. The loving touch of a parent’s Dæmon was acceptable, as was any touch spawned out of love instead of malice.

She couldn’t reach out to him now, no matter how much she wanted to. Neither of them could.

She didn’t have the right to, not after failing to protect those she loved 14 years ago. Kratos had asked her to stay with Anna and Lloyd, given her ability to go further than any other Dæmon. Becoming an Angel stripped a person and their Dæmon of the majority of the link that tied them to each other. It meant that their relationship was less intimate, but that Lyra could go anywhere she wanted to.

Lyra had followed Kratos’ request until Anna had successfully convinced her to go back to him. After all, Anna had insisted, a person was not at their full strength without their Dæmon, no matter the existence of the full link or not.

It was a decision she would regret forever, and the smell of blood and the mangled scene that followed would haunt her dreams. Her heart had shattered that day, as she was sure Kratos’ had as well, and it had never healed.

Except it had begun to meld together, just the tiniest bit. Knowing that Lloyd and Arielle were alright had been enough.

But in the end, all she and Kratos would be able to do was their job. Escort the Chosen, and then disappear forever.

Lloyd and Arielle would hate them forever, but that was to be expected. They deserve nothing less.

It didn’t matter if they could be happy and safe. That was all that mattered.

~~~

Lloyd couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened. One second the monster had been about to sink its teeth into his arm, and the next he had been knocked to the ground by Lyra, mouth open in a ruthless snarl.

Lloyd could only watch on in shock as the battle raged on, Lyra stoutly protecting him until Kratos hauled him up.

Later, Lloyd would ask Lyra why. Yes, she had saved his life and he was grateful, but she had purposely risked her own and Kratos’ life. If someone’s Dæmon died, that person would die as well. Lyra had even voluntarily touched him when before, both Lyra and Kratos seemed to want Lloyd gone.

Lyra had been as taciturn as ever, giving him non-answers and avoiding the question like she always did. Lloyd was left with no choice but to give up.

It’s not like it mattered. He would never see them again after the end of this journey.

Lloyd couldn’t quite chase away the slight feeling of regret that thought brought with it.

~~~

Julian settled as an owl when Raine was 14 and Genis was 3. They were still running across Sylvarant, trying to find a place to live where they wouldn’t be chased away and treated like monsters. It was such a frantic time that Raine hadn’t dwelled on her Dæmon settling. She was simply thankful that Julian was a diurnal species and was available to help her in the day, and that she wouldn’t have to change her sleep schedule to something akin to a vampire. Timothy seemed to like Julian’s form too, for he enjoyed being carried by Julian into the sky.

Otherwise, Raine had no other concerns over her Dæmon. Julian was her closest companion, the only one apart from Genis and his Dæmon who knew the secret she and Genis were hiding. He had been there for her in the moments when the responsibility of taking care of a child when she was naught but a child herself had gotten too much to handle, when she had felt like giving up. Julian had been Raine’s only support until Genis and Timothy were old enough to begin to understand and take up just a little bit of responsibility.

It was only after Raine and Genis had permanently settled down in Iselia that the fears over Julian’s final form began to hit her.

Even as the memory of her mother began to fade, one detail remained clear in Raine’s mind. Her mother’s Dæmon had been an owl as well. Worse, it was the same breed as Julian had become.

Any similarity Raine bore to her mother made her feel sick. It was bad enough that the face that stared back at her in the mirror undoubtedly belonged to her mother. To realise that something as intimate and life-changing as a Dæmon was the same as well…

It was horrifying for Raine to think that she could be anything like her mother. That perhaps one day, she would simply grow tired of it all and abandon Genis, the same way their parents had abandoned them.

So Raine sought to suppress those thoughts, pushing them away to the deepest corners of her mind while Julian reassured her that things would never turn out that way. After all, Julian told her, surely she could see that she loved her little brother too much to do something like that?

Raine understood that what Julian said was true and that he was the voice of reason. But it wasn’t called an irrational fear for nothing. She couldn’t get it out of her head, no matter what she tried.

But things got even worse when one day, Genis had asked her where their parents were.

“Sis should know, right? Your Dæmon’s an owl, so that means you’re all-knowing!”

Raine had looked into her little brother’s innocent eyes, heart sinking in her chest, and truthfully told him that she didn’t know. There was no lie she could tell. Her little brother had been heartbroken, Timothy along with him.

A few years later, eyes just a little sadder, Genis had asked why their parents had left them here.

Dæmons were supposed to represent a person, weren’t they? To show who they truly were?

An owl was meant to represent knowledge and wisdom. So why was it that, for the one question Raine truly wanted to resolve, she had no answer?

~~~

Martel’s Dæmon had been beautiful. Asriel had been a peacock, and a proud one at that, sticking out among the ragtag group of tired people and Dæmons that Yuan first came across.

Perhaps Yuan and Margot had fallen in love with Martel and Asriel at that very moment. Yuan thought a peacock fit Martel. Inner beauty and strength, which often shone in Martel. It represented her amazingly.

Margot had settled as a crow. From that moment, others had shunned him because he was perceived to bring misfortune, for crows represented bad luck and deception. It was something Yuan had mentioned to Martel once, hesitantly, wondering if she would reject him just like everyone else had.

Martel had laughed and shut him up with a kiss, telling him that he was being silly. She had whispered against his lips that a Dæmon was a representation of yourself, but that only you could decide what it meant. No one was limited by what their Dæmon became. Why let what others said control you?

Martel believed that a Dæmon represented the best of a person. And Yuan thought that maybe he could believe that too. That he wasn’t cursed or whatever other names he had been called in the past by cruel people who couldn’t see past his Dæmon’s form.

Yuan had wondered if the day would finally come where he could touch Asriel. The action of touching another person’s Dæmon could only occur if two people truly trusted each other and loved each other. It was a sacred act. Otherwise, it was forbidden.

Instead, the only time Yuan would ever be able to touch Asriel was a final comforting touch as he choked on the scent of blood, powerless to do anything as life left Martel. Martel had tried to comfort Mithos, but Asriel had been quaking.

Dæmons understood your deepest emotions, and it had been heartbreaking to know that Martel was putting on a strong face but was, in fact, terrified. The war was over, so why was this happening?

Yuan had let Mithos be with Martel for her final moments while Yuan had comforted Asriel. And he had watched Asriel fade away into motes of light as Martel had closed her eyes for the final time.

Yuan had never felt more grief and guilt than at that moment, wondering if he could have done anything. He and Margot should have followed Martel and Asriel instead of agreeing to stay behind. And the doubt was back, creeping through the back of his mind.

Had he truly cursed her by being with her?

And in the aftermath, all that was left was a broken boy with a Dæmon that would never settle. Becoming an Angel meant severing the link that held Dæmon and person together in the most excruciating way possible, meaning a Dæmon could go anywhere he or she wanted. Perhaps most people would wish for that if they didn’t know what it felt like. It was terrible.

A Dæmon was supposed to know you better than anyone else, and for that fundamental knowledge to no longer be true was devastating. The basic security that the presence of a Dæmon provided had been stripped away, leaving behind nothing but desolation and loneliness.

And Yuan could do nothing as he watched Mithos fall to the point of no return.

~~~

Crows were also a sign of betrayal, weren’t they?

Ironic, then, that Yuan would have to betray all the people he had once loved.

Would any of them be able to forgive him? It was a question he often mulled upon during quiet moments in his office, trying to drown the intruding thoughts in alcohol that failed to dull his senses.

Once the truth was out, it was unlikely that any of them would be willing to look at him again. One lost to insanity, the other lost to a heart that had turned to stone. And all of them, himself included, were lost to the throes of grief.

But then again, once the truth was out, Yuan would either be dead or he would have killed those he loved. And that would be akin to killing himself.

There was no comfort to be found anywhere. Only more heartbreak and misfortune, just like Margot’s form had foretold.

At least it was useful for reconnaissance. After all, no one would look twice at a crow in a tree.

~~~

Lloyd never really thought twice about Dæmons. They were something everyone had. It was a basic rule of the world.

And he was thankful that he had Arielle. Someone that would always be there for him, and who he could confide in about anything and everything. She was someone who understood everything he felt without him having to explain.

Somehow, Arielle was even more outgoing than he was. Sometimes to an excessive amount, but that’s what made Arielle Arielle.

Otherwise, he paid little mind to the specifics of Dæmons. He knew they settled and knew the taboo about touching others’ Dæmons, but that was it. So he cared little that Arielle settled as a dog, though he was happy that she liked her form.

He didn’t understand why some people were so concerned with what their Dæmons became. Did it matter all that much? The people around him in Iselia, even Colette, always said that Arielle’s form meant that he was a loyal person. That he was a protector.

But Lloyd didn’t feel that way. Arielle settling as a dog didn’t make him feel any different. He was just… himself. Much in the same way Arielle was still herself, no matter what she settled as.

Lloyd had more important things to worry about. Like Desians, and the journey Colette would one day undertake.

~~~

At the Tower of Salvation, Lloyd understood, finally, the disconnect between your Dæmon’s form and who you were.

Lloyd was powerless to do anything, even as he screamed for Colette not to go. He couldn’t imagine a life without her: a life without her smile to brighten up his day, a life where Pan wasn’t there for Arielle to mess around with. Such a life… it seemed like the darkest and dreariest existence possible.

But still, Lloyd could do nothing as Colette’s voice echoed in his mind and she told him goodbye. His and Arielle’s pleas were in vain, for Colette’s mind had long since been made up. She could offer him nothing more than a sad smile. Pan, having lost his ability to speak, could express nothing.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he watched Remiel snatch Pan from Colette’s desperate grip, pure anguish alighting in her eyes for a split second before they went completely blank.

Nothing could describe how Lloyd felt as he watched Pan fall to the ground, grey and lifeless. It’s wrong. Any Dæmon was supposed to be full of life, especially Pan, who was always in motion, wings flapping as he flew around as a vibrant yellow blur.

Everything was wrong as, in the chaos of their escape from the Tower of Salvation, Lloyd was the one who had to scoop up Pan. He should not be handling someone else’s Dæmon, especially someone as important to him as Colette. It was the grossest breach of trust, but Arielle was no help, seeming to have gone into some kind of shock.

What’s even worse was that the sense of wrongness was only due to his knowledge of the taboo. There was no instinctual feeling of wrongness, as it doesn’t feel like he’s holding an extension of someone’s soul or even a living creature.

He’s wondered many times what it would like to touch Pan, but it shouldn’t be like this.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on how Pan laid in his hands like a dead animal until after the ensuing chaos at the Renegade base. Until finally, free to sit down on the bed in the inn of Meltokio, Lloyd could think over everything that had happened.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalled the praise the villagers of Iselia had heaped on him. He was meant to protect others, huh? He hadn’t managed to protect Colette at all. He had unknowingly, but willingly, led her to the Tower where she had sacrificed herself.

It was a miracle that Colette was still here, still alive. So Lloyd would work to keep it that way and to find some way to free her soul and reconnect her and Pan.

“Hey, Arielle,” Lloyd whispered to his Dæmon, who he knew was hiding under the bed right now. Arielle had been jumpy ever since the events of the Tower and seemed to refuse to face anyone, even Lloyd. Shame, perhaps? Lloyd could understand what it felt like. They had both failed.

“I know that… it feels like you don’t deserve your form right now. That we’re powerless. But there’s nothing else we can do but try. If we try, then… then maybe…” Lloyd closed his eyes, knowing that if Colette could, she would be encouraging him right now. “Maybe we’ll become worthy someday.”

~~~

Colette sobbed, cradling Pan as close as possible like she was trying to fuse them into one.

When her soul had been sealed away, Colette had finally experienced what it meant to be well and truly alone. She had screamed and cried in the darkness, and for the first time, there had been no response. Because Pan wasn’t there, and therefore there had been no one. No one to comfort her, to listen to her, to accept her no matter who she was or what she became.

Loneliness. That was true loneliness.

The only thing that had kept her sane was listening to Lloyd’s voice and the things he would tell her: whether it be the events of that day, Lloyd’s thoughts, or what he felt at the moment. Arielle would tune in sometimes, too. She was mostly just trying to annoy Lloyd, but it added an important element of normalcy.

She wanted, so desperately, to reply. To tell him what she thought, to comfort him, tell him that everything wasn’t his fault. It had been her choice, her duty, to sacrifice herself.

Except it wasn’t, was it? It had all been a lie. She had caused Lloyd so much pain and ripped apart her bond with Pan for nothing more than a lie.

Finally free and able to move again, the first thing Colette had done was try to find Pan. It had been terrifying, as for just one split second, she had been unable to sense his presence and had thought him well and truly gone.

Pan had flown into her hands, then, and she hadn’t let go since.

She’s afraid to let go. Afraid that if she did, Pan would disappear like he was never here. Their bond had been shattered and then rebuilt, but it would never be as strong as before. And Pan should -

“I don’t hate you,” Pan whispered, nuzzling closer. “I never could. I’ll always be your Dæmon, no matter what.”

And Colette only cried harder, happiness warming her heart.

~~~

Genis had never liked the forms Timothy took. Timothy hardly ever morphed away from a rabbit, and that only made Genis feel more vulnerable.

Rabbits were prey, meant to be hunted for sport or entertainment, much the same way half-elves were treated here in Sylvarant. He and Raine would never be able to erase their half-elf blood, which meant they would always have to live with an underlying sense of fear.

Genis hated that.

Everything just made Genis feel weaker, but he wasn’t going to bring it up with Timothy. If Timothy felt safer that way, then Genis had no right to ask Timothy to change.

Genis just hoped that someday, he would stop feeling so scared. That maybe Timothy could feel confident enough to take some other form and stop hiding in the shrubbery all the time.

But that was just a useless, hopeless dream, wasn’t it? Things had been like this for who knows how long. How would anything ever change?

~~~

Mithos didn’t cry easily, something that worried Martel. To her, tears were hard to come by after years of witnessing the carnage of war and all the devastation it wrought. Somewhere along the way, the tears had simply dried up.

But Mithos was still a child. He shouldn’t be used to the horrors of war, and Martel hated that the world had forced him to be that way. Forced him to grow up so quickly that he’d lost his only chance of being a child.

The one thing that reassured her was the excited manner in which Mithos asked when Will would settle. It was such a… mundane question, something children loved to ask. It was cute, honestly, to see her little brother show such childlike excitement.

Mithos had told her that he wanted to know who he was. Martel had teased him that he just needed to be patient. She had wondered whether to tell him that there was no need to pay such close attention to the form of his Dæmon but decided against it. She would let Mithos have his fun. He deserved it.

But Will would never settle.

And the first time Martel saw Mithos cry again would be the day she died. She had tried so hard to comfort him that day, to tell him that he would be alright. Despite the terrible events of the war, the two siblings had gained a family and one that Martel would forever be thankful for. Even though she would have to leave him that day, Mithos wouldn’t be alone with just Will for company.

And Martel could only watch as everything went wrong. Watch as Mithos drifted away from everyone, even Will, slowly sinking further into insanity, clutching onto any attempt to revive her. Martel was all alone, knowing that Asriel was somewhere but unable to find him.

And Will would never settle, for Mithos had frozen his clock. That excited question he had once asked would never be answered.

“It’s alright. Everything will be alright once we're together again. Right, Sis?”

Martel could only watch in growing desperation and grief as all those that she loved continued to get more and more blood on their hands. Where had it all gone wrong?

~~~

“Your Dæmon’s a boy too,” Mithos muttered, watching Timothy chase after Will. They were both butterflies now, wings sparkling in the sunlight as they fluttered through the sky above the flowers in Altessa’s garden.

“Like yours. It’s rare for anyone to have a Dæmon of the same gender as themselves. What’s the probability both of us do?”

“So rare I don’t want to calculate it.” The corner of Mithos’ mouth quirked up into a smile, sending a current of warmth down Genis’ side. “It’s something else we have in common. How strange.”

It was nice to have a friend his age that was also a half-elf. Genis was glad that coming to Tethealla had allowed him to meet such a special individual, even if the actual circumstances were terrible. He had thought he would never meet someone who had the same experiences.

Now he had gained a friend who understood how he felt and that he wouldn’t outlive.

Genis continued to watch their two Dæmons and observed Will flying even further away, almost to the limit that a Dæmon could reach from its counterpart.

In the coming days, Genis would realise that this was something Will repeatedly did. Confused, he would ask Mithos why Will always flew so far away from Mithos, always at the limit of the bond a person and Dæmon shared. Did it not hurt?

Mithos would shrug in response, answering that it was something Will had always done and that the two of them were simply used to it. There had been something raw and vulnerable in Mithos’ expression that made Genis uneasy, but he didn’t dare question Mithos on it. It seemed like something too private to ask.

Genis couldn’t understand why any Dæmon would consistently try to test the limit of their bond given how much it hurt. That bond was something to be treasured, for it meant your Dæmon was still there. A consistent companion meant you would never be alone.

Then again, he’d seen stranger things. Humans lost in the ranches, the bond between them and their Dæmon completely severed, leaving both looking like grey ghosts. It was cruel, for no person could survive without their Dæmon.

Then there was Tabatha, who didn’t have a Dæmon at all. It was unnatural, and almost unnerving sometimes. But she was just as alive as any of them.

So maybe there wasn’t anything too strange about a Dæmon who seemed to want to be free from the person they were bonded to. It was something he didn’t understand about Mithos, but he wouldn’t question it.

Genis never connected that the savage wolf by Yggdrasill’s side was the same being as the beautiful, fragile butterfly that flew next to Mithos. Not until it was too late.

The final time Genis sees Mithos, it is only a remnant of him, fading fast. Will is but a spectre, a beautiful butterfly with the same rainbow wings as Mithos.

And somehow, Genis feels like Will has finally settled. At long last, they are both free.

~~~

The first time Sheena met Zelos was the only time she would see him genuinely scared for years to come. He had physically flinched and even gone pale as a sheet, his Dæmon wrapping herself around his arm like it was trying to hide from Sheena.

Zelos never reacted the same way again, but he always seemed nervous when they met up for the first few times. The way both Zelos and Martha’s gaze would stray towards her Dæmon occasionally didn’t go unnoticed.

She didn’t understand what about Martin was so special or terrifying. Martin had settled earlier than most when Sheena was just 12. He’d settled as a wildcat, something Sheena was thankful for. There were members of Mizuho who were unable to become ninjas despite their training for the sole reason that their Dæmons were unsuitable. That was simply the cruel reality since one couldn’t control what their Dæmons would settle as, and one’s Dæmon could never leave one’s side.

It was something Grandpa would have praised her for, but Grandpa wasn’t here to do that. And that was Sheena’s fault.

The isolation from the villagers and the loneliness she experienced was something she had brought upon herself for failing to form a pact with Volt. She deserves nothing less for all the innocent lives that had been ended that day and the harm that had been inflicted on Grandpa.

She had failed, and that was all that mattered. At least she would never be fully alone, for Martin was always with her. They could commiserate in their guilt.

For just 2 short years, Zelos and Martha became part of her world as well. It had been an incredible feeling, for her and Martin to not be entirely alone anymore. For there to be a friend that she could confide in and trust.

It had taken time, but Zelos eventually got accustomed to seeing Martin. And Martin loved playing with Martha. Her Dæmon had never gotten much chance to play with other Dæmons, given how no one would approach her in Mizuho, and no one in Meltokio even wanted to get close to her.

And then Zelos Wilder had shattered her heart with a cruel smile and a nonchalant shrug. She had handed over her heart with reckless abandon, and he hadn’t valued it. It had meant nothing to him.

And Sheena was left alone with just Martin again, left to cry over all the people who had left her life. Martin was, clearly, the only one she could trust to stay by her side. That, and her newfound companion, Corinne.

“I shouldn’t have expected anything better from a person with a snake for a Dæmon.”

That wasn’t something fair to say. Grandpa had told her that a Dæmon didn’t necessarily dictate who you were. It may show aspects of your personality, but it didn’t control you. A person could always change.

She would regret saying that to his face for years to come but didn’t know how to ever bring it up again. Not when she couldn’t talk to Zelos without him and Martha ridiculing her. Every interaction with them after only served to enrage her until she had no choice but to avoid them.

Still, Sheena would never be able to forget the split second of hurt that had flickered across his face before vanishing as if it had never been there.

~~~

The night before their ascent into the Tower of Salvation, Zelos disappeared from his inn room.

The entire journey into Flanoir, Zelos had been withdrawn and quiet, a large contrast to his usual abrasive self. Martha had seemed almost shy, avoiding contact with any of the other Dæmons like she usually did, instead spending her time wrapped around Zelos’ arm. Every few minutes, Martha would flinch like she was recoiling away from Zelos, which made no sense. Sheena had never known of a Dæmon that was physically repulsed by their counterpart's touch.

It reminded her of their behaviour when she and Zelos had just met. But why would he be acting like this now? It worried her, and she couldn’t leave him alone. Not after all the tragic events of the night and the growing suspicion that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Sheena found him easily by following his tracks in the snow. Martin could have easily sniffed Zelos out, but this saved him the trouble.

And under the falling snow, she would finally tell him what she had bottled up for years.

“Snakes aren’t just about deceit. In Mizuhoan culture, they represent the duality of good and evil. You choose what you do and who you become. Remember that, OK?”

It was an apology she had owed him. The way society automatically characterised people by their Dæmons was something Mizuho had always railed against, and yet she had stooped to that despicable level in her anger.

Faced with a still impassive Zelos and with Martha not meeting her eyes, Sheena could only hope that, somehow, the message had gotten through.

~~~~

Regal’s Dæmon settled rather late as a mountain goat when he’s 16. His family seemed rather confused, with his Father finally concluding that it was rather meek, but at least nothing depraved.

Alicia’s Dæmon had been a canary. Cheery and hopeful, just like her. Despite striking out alone to a big city, she had never let that get her down. She had remained smiling and been a bright spot in his dreary life.

He had wanted to protect that beautiful smile, hoping Alicia would remain in his life. But of course, that wouldn’t be the case.

Regal had watched Alicia die in his arms, still smiling and trying to comfort him, like the kind person she inherently was. Ariana had been bleating in distress, trying to get Oliver to respond.

But there was nothing Regal could do. It was far too late. He couldn’t save Alicia, and her blood was on his hands.

Years later, he would recognise Alicia’s image in Presea. An almost lifeless girl with the same pink hair and blue eyes, trailed by a Dæmon who didn’t seem to register anything around him. Another tragic victim to Rodyle’s Exsphere experiments, who had lost 16 years of her life and didn’t even know it.

Her Dæmon had somehow settled in those 16 years. A swan, elegant and graceful. Something that Presea couldn’t seem to accept, just as much as she initially denied the death of her sister.

Regal had heard a story, once when he was young, about how a goat was sacrificed to absolve sin. Perhaps it was a sign that Ariana had settled as a goat. He hoped, then, that Presea could get her revenge. He didn’t deserve to live with all the sins he carried on his back that could only be absolved by paying his life. Surely, that would make Presea feel better. What better resolution could she receive than the death of her sister’s murderer?

But, in the end, Presea didn’t bring down that axe.

And Regal was forced to live on, shouldering the sin he had committed and the hopes that Alicia had once held. To die would be to let down Alicia, for he would never be able to make up for anything he had done in death.

“A goat represents an opportunity. An opportunity to move forward, and become more.”

Those were the final words Alicia told him before Presea shattered her exsphere forever.

It had been that simple, all along.

And Regal would do his absolute best to protect this world, innocents and Presea in honour of her sister.

Regal hoped that, someday, Presea would be able to accept herself for who she was.

~~~

“Martha! Stop hiding in the cups!” Zelos yelled, scanning the kitchen exasperatedly.

“Hiding again, is she?” Sheena elbowed her husband, watching his predicament with amusement. “You know she likes it because of how warm it is.”

“Found her!” Martin announced, marching into the kitchen carefully holding Martha between two paws.

“Let go of me!” Martha complained, struggling half-heartedly against Martin’s grip. “Am I not allowed to have a nap?”

“Very funny, Martha. You’ve been sleeping the whole afternoon. Now come over here, I need your venom!”

Sheena leaned against the kitchen counter, content to watch Zelos bicker good-naturedly with his Dæmon while Martin egged them on. Zelos was so much more at ease now, happy with himself and his Dæmon.

Everything was alright, and things could only get better.

~~~

“Hello, Genis.” Presea waved in greeting, a small smile on her face that Genis was glad to see. It showed him that Presea was learning to express herself better.

Brandon, flapping his wings, honked in greeting, leading Timothy to gently butt him in the head. Thankfully not too hard. Even as a small antelope, Timothy still had enough strength to potentially push Brandon into the canal next to the Altamira Amusement Park.

Not that it would be a disaster, since Brandon was a swan. But the problem would be getting Brandon out of the water without Presea also having to get in the water.

“How long are you stopping off for?” Presea asked, one watchful eye on Brandon, who was now running awkward circles around Timothy. Brandon is a lot more animated now than he was years ago, just as Presea now seemed much more alive.

“Just today. Then I’m heading to Exire to visit my mother with Raine,” Genis replied, gently patting Brandon on the head. “I’m sorry that I can’t stay longer. But enough about me. What about you? How are you doing?”

Presea’s smile grew brighter as she turned to look at the bright lights of Altamira, the wind now whipping her long pink hair around. She’d grown, no longer frozen as a child who didn’t understand what had happened to her and why, able to enjoy the world.

And even if both of their Dæmons had settled, they were still young and free to explore this world. They were free to find out who they were, not held back by the restrictions of society.

Everyone was free to find out the meaning their Dæmon’s held, for people would always change. No one was static.

“Good. Everything’s good.”

~~~

Somehow, amid their journey, they had ended up in Flanoir again. Given that Flanoir had only one inn, it wasn’t odd that they had ended up in the same room that Lloyd had stayed in the last time they were here.

Not that Lloyd particularly cared about the details right now. Without the weight of the world hanging on his shoulders, he could simply stand on the balcony and enjoy the night.

And he could freely admire Colette, who was standing next to him with Pan resting on her shoulder, cheeks flushed from the cold and a red scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a hand stretched out into the night sky, eagerly catching snowflakes like it was her first time seeing snow. It wasn’t, but her excitement was contagious.

That excitement was encouraging Arielle to roll around in the snow at his feet, but that was a problem to be dealt with at another time. After all, it was difficult to do much now other than stare at Colette. She was beautiful like this, outlined by the light from the stars and looking so at ease when just a year before, she had seemed reluctant to let herself freely enjoy the world.

Without much thought, Lloyd reached out his hand, pausing just above Pan’s head. It was reminiscent of the many times he had reached out to touch Pan, only to realise and stop himself.

Lloyd had learned, over time, that touching another person’s Dæmon wasn’t always taboo. It was simply… Well, incredibly intimate. Unwanted touches could cause damage, and that wasn’t what he wanted to achieve. He would never forget the pain that Remiel had caused, and Lloyd promised he would never let that happen to anyone he loved, least of all Colette. She had suffered enough.

He lets out a single breath that crystallises before his eyes, meeting Colette’s gaze. It was like she knew what he wanted to do, having turned to face him directly. And with gravity, she nodded as Pan chirped his approval.

Gingerly, he placed his hand on Pan’s head, gently ruffling his feathers.

He would never forget the expression on Colette’s face. The wonder, the joy and the love.

~~~

How could she ever explain it? The sensation of your Dæmon being touched by a hand that is not yours.

From young, she had always been taught that the touch of another was taboo. She had realised why, when upon Remiel laying his hands on Pan, the only thing she had felt was excruciating pain. Like someone was stabbing a knife straight into her heart and twisting.

But she had finally learned that it was the intention behind the touch that mattered. And she knew what Lloyd’s intention was, standing there among the snow in Flanoir with her. Surely, he was driven by the same emotion that filled her whenever Lloyd took her hands, whenever Lloyd smiled at her, whenever Lloyd was with her. The emotion that made her feel giddy and light, which made both her and Pan perk up whenever Lloyd and Arielle were in the vicinity, that made her incredibly happy to still be alive in this world so that she could experience all of it with him.

Colette was unable to stop the shudder that ran down her back as Lloyd caressed Pan’s head. It was a beautiful feeling.

To know that you were loved, for all and everything that you were.

~fin~

~~~

Dæmon List

Lloyd Arielle settles as a Labrador. Dogs represent loyalty.

Colette Pan is named after Pantalaimon from His Dark Materials. There is no yellow hummingbird, unfortunately. The closest would be a male rufous hummingbird, which has a yellow patch on its neck. Hummingbirds represent love and joy.

Genis Initially, Timothy takes the form of a Holland Lop (a breed of rabbit with floppy ears). Vulnerability and fear. In the end, Timothy settles as a Dik-dik, which is a species of small antelope. Freedom and free-spirited!

Raine Julian takes the form of a Northern Pygmy-Owl, a diurnal owl. An owl represents wisdom and knowledge.

Presea Brandon settles as a swan, specifically a trumpeter swan. Swans represent elegance and grace.

Regal Ariane settles as a mountain goat. Goats are used as sacrifices in different religions. However, goats can also represent new opportunities.

Zelos Martha is named after the female snake on Hermes’ caduceus in Percy Jackson. Martha is a black mamba. Generally, snakes represent deceit and lies. However, in Japanese culture, snakes are often used to represent the duality of good and evil. Mylene Wilder (Zelos’ mother) has a tabby cat as a Dæmon. Zelos’ father has a tiger for a Dæmon. Tigers are associated with strength and courage.

Sheena Martin takes the form of a wildcat, specifically a Southern African wildcat. Cats themselves are associated with a difficulty in trusting, magic, and even healing.

Alicia Alicia’s Dæmon is a canary. Canaries represent happiness and selflessness.

Martel Asriel is a peacock. A peacock represents integrity, and can also symbolise guidance, protection and watchfulness.

Mithos Will is named after William Parry (nicknamed Will) from His Dark Materials. Will takes the form of a wolf by Yggdrasill’s side mostly for intimidation purposes. Wolves can represent the strength of spirit and also aggression. Otherwise, Will likes to stay as a butterfly even though he hasn’t settled, one with rainbow wings (though this breed does not exist in real-life). Butterflies represent metamorphosis and change.

Yuan Yuan’s Dæmon is a crow! Which represents deception and deceit but also represents intelligence and mischievousness. In many different cultures, the crow is a proponent of misfortune.

Kratos Lyra is named after Lyra Silvertongue from His Dark Materials. A lion is a symbol of strength and protection, especially in Eastern culture where lions are seen as protectors.

Anna Christopher is a nightingale, a breed of singing bird. It represents virtue and goodness.

~~~

Next fic in the series

#fanfiction #tales of symphonia #colloyd #sheelos #colette brunel #lloyd irving #kratos aurion #anna irving #his dark materials #presea combatir #zelos wilder #sheena fujibayashi #regal bryant #genis sage #raine sage #mithos yggdrasill #one shot

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

Dragon Dancer III: Godfall

Major Spoilers: Spoils Luminous and The Finale of Book 3 and current story line

Trigger Warnings: Cruel Imagery

His face was inches from mine. But it wasn’t in a mask. It was a face I knew. Tachibana’s face.

“H...how...?” I managed to grunt before he let me go. I collapsed.

“Soul Skill: Doppleganger. It was far easier to get what I needed done if I could play both sides. Of course, in order for you to survive, I had to sacrifice the Tachibana identity... but at that point it had fulfilled its purpose.”

I looked to where the King’s body had been but there was nothing there. Frozen transfixed, I struggled to breathe, moaning with the effort.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time.” He retrieved the parasite's container. “The ritual begins now.”

He returned to me and grabbed me by my hair. I heard the box open. Something cold and wet touched my skin. I couldn’t even struggle as it crawled around my body. But then it stopped.

The King dropped me. Shattering pain exploded inside. I cried, helpless.

The King put the baby down just out of my reach. The parasite was attached to its temple. My eyes burned and tears fell when the corrosive spider silk began to grow from its little nose, tiny chin, round feet and fingertips and connected to the silks already covering the red well.

“No... No...” I tried to get up reaching out to him.

The King marched over and put his boot on the hilt of the blade in my back and pushed down hard. The tip pierced the ground, pinning me. “You’re not going anywhere, if you teleport you die quicker. The Sword of Damocles is for you.”

The silk formed something like a crochet blanket around the child. “You can’t save him now. His soul is already lost.”

The baby sat completely still among the silk. There was no light in his eyes any more.

Somewhere outside my vision, the King continued his lecture. “The White King never had any intention of helping humanity achieve eternal life. She only wanted to extend her own own existence by using humans as a host for her own rebirth. Behold your son, the Light King."

He was not my son. My son was dead. The cocoon had nearly enclosed him like a lacy casket.

"As a newly reborn dragon, the White King’s blood has the strongest effect and the weakest toxicity.”

His voice grew louder as he returned. “I was going to use you as a host and let the child grow up with me as a dragon... but... This is not a permanent setback.”

“I must say despite that you were very valuable to me. I couldn’t have fought Chisei on my own.” He gave me a mocking sneer with Tachibana's face, unwrapping a thick needle and medical tubing. “Thanks.”

My lungs spasmed painfully against the blade in my chest. I coughed a red mist to the ground.

“Herzog... I... hate you... I hate... you!”

He inserted the needle into the child’s neck, attached the tubing and inserted the other end into his wrist. Bright red blood flowed from the baby through the tubing into him. I struggled to break free of the sword. I looked to the unconscious Chisei. I filled my lungs with air, sobbing. "I'm going to kill you!"

Herzog’s eyes began to grow golden. His skin started to shed those white filaments until he was cocooned. His laughter could be heard within. Then moaning, choking, and a low guttural snarl.

I forced my elbows under me, but I was fastened to the ground and losing strength.

I could only watch as a claw tore open the silk. What emerged was no man, but something similar to a death Servitor, pure gleaming white. Two membrane wings split the cocoon down the middle.

It fell over, legless with wings and arms only, but it still had a human face. It was only a little longer than a man was tall but the size belied power Herzog now had. It aimed its eyes to the sky and beat its pinions to soar up out of sight, out of reach.

I sank back to the ground, gazing at the pale, cold body of my son. I'd failed Chime and this little one. But I no longer had the strength to cry.

"Daddy... I tried."

"Carli!"

A familiar voice shouted my name, a pair of sneakers kicked up dust next to my face.

Mingfei yanked the sword out of me and tossed it aside. "Carli..."

I couldn't help but smile. This was so familiar, just like in the cave when he held me as I turned servitor. He was holding me now, crying, as I died again. I would have laughed but at this point, but each breath was a conscious choice.

Mingfei was screaming. "Save her! Save her, damn it! I don't care what you do! W...wait who ...who are you?"

As my vision dimmed, I thought I could see my father, prismatic scales sparkling in his own light. He was standing over me.

I blinked, remembered the dragon words he taught me. "Eternal... Cycle, Unity in All Things.... Self-suffi...."

The final gasp of adrenaline in my chest was fruitless. I went limp and it felt like falling into darkness.

I never would have stopped falling were it not for a sudden call. "Carli."

"Chisei?" He was in the darkness with me. He had golden eyes. I remembered Johann.

I couldn't leave someone.

But which someone? Johann? Or Mingfei? My mind was muddled and I couldn't decide, but I just didn't want to leave this dark place without Chisei.

I felt myself being drawn back up. Breathe. I needed to breathe! I grabbed Chisei's coat. "Come back with me!"

Those cold killer eyes regarded me briefly.

And he smiled.

I came back into my body, gasping for air, but something was different. I couldn't see anything but white. The world was strangely loud. I could see and sense the invisible forces that composed it. Fire, Earth... Wind... Water.

Spirit.

"Ouroboros!"

Mingfei's commanding call made me stretch the length of my body, my clawed hand of glassy scales reached in front of my eyes.

"Ouroboros..."

Chisei! I gasped with joy. He came back with me! He'd turned away from death and knew my name!

"....Meixiu..."

"Johann! Johann!" My heart beat loud in my ears, eager to reunite with my loves.

I stretched my wings and they burst from my cocoon, tearing it completely apart. Bright white and gold feathers draped from my back like the train of a wedding dress, as crystalline as diamonds. Next to me, a dark-scaled person stood with black membrane wings and a human face. "Mingfei?"

An intimidating aura radiated from him. His reptilian eyes made me shudder.

He held out his clawed hand to me. "Can you fly?"

His wings stirred the air and he rose from the ground. I followed, shedding the last shreds of the cocoon. After two experimental beats I could let go of him. Together we tasted the freedom of dragon flight. The ground shrank away, the endless sky spread above.

Mingfei's smile made me blush. He seemed suddenly mature and mischievous.

Another form zoomed past me leaving us behind, silver-scaled, like a flying bullet. In one wing stroke I caught up to him.

Chisei looked different. He was even more reptilian before, eyes covered with a faceted scale that made him look like he had insect eyes. He was larger, stronger, faster, but I had the feeling he was not nearly as strong as I was.

I felt that power surge through my muscles and beat my wings once again and accelerated past him. Mingfei matched my speed then surpassed it. I laughed.

I wasn’t angry or filled with hatred any more. I was enthralled with my own power. I spread my wings to stop myself. There was one I was missing. He was coming. Always so slow.

Turtle. I mocked him in my mind.

As I looked in the distance, I became aware of a roaring sound coming towards me. I blinked. They were like birds, but moved more like fish, fins stiff, stuck straight out their sides.

Fighter jets.

This was a human's world and I was a dragon. I was the enemy.

I forgot.

I called Mingfei and Chisei in my mind. We turned away from the aircraft and split up. I blinked into the darkness of the void and returned behind the jets without bothering to visualize first. Slipping in and out of this reality was so much easier for me now.

I wouldn’t permit the other dragons to harm the humans inside. Just disable their aircraft. Mingfei attacked from below and ripped out their engines. Chisei severed the wings. They obeyed my orders immediately and without question.

The real target was up ahead.

Herzog was not difficult to find. He was recklessly toying with the Earth’s elements, aiming destructive tsunamis, typhoons and earthquakes at the helpless human population. He was like me. Control of these powerful forces was only a thought away.

He was playing with the lives of humans just like a child who didn’t understand his actions, dancing and laughing in the sky, creating disaster as though jumping in puddles on a rainy day.

I screamed a command at him to stop. The command reverberated for miles around. Far below, every living thing trembled.

From within the clouds, I could feel his attention directed at me in indignation at my authoritative voice, the one who dared challenge his newfound reign.

The feathers turned from white to red and whipped out like bright tendrils, like I was flying with wings of fire. I aimed at him, bright like a comet in the sky.

Mingfei roared at my side. Far below us the corpses of the Devil Clan and the Hydra Elite forces, who had been entombed in silk, burst out and took to the air as Death Servitors under his command.

The war would continue! Dragon against dragon!

Herzog turned and began to climb into the air above the clouds. But I was gaining on him, his tail growing closer to my teeth. He let out a furious howl of frustration. He turned and dove, seeking an escape, only to fly right towards Chisei’s gaping maw. He dodged at the last second, snatching his wing from between the silver dragon’s jaws.

Another surge of strength stretched the flames of my wings even farther, turning them white hot. Pursued and hounded by an ascended Chisei, Herzog couldn’t dodge me and we collided. I embraced him and sank my teeth into his neck. He twisted out of my grip, howling as my fiery wing tip lashed him across the eye.

Desperate gripping his bleeding eye, he dove down at high speed. I didn’t follow him, letting Mingfei and Chisei pursue. As soon as he broke below the cloud cover however, he was met with yet another force of nature: A blast of heat so fierce it punched a hole through the clouds.

Chu Zihang. His scales were molten hot, shimmering like lava, and like a volcano he was in a constant state of blast and eruption.

Herzog’s wings folded limp, thin tendrils of smoke rising from his singed scales. After moving away some distance, he pivoted on one wingtip and aimed his eyes towards me, nearly invisible, arrayed in the glare of my wings of pure light.

Mingfei’s wings stroked against mine, completely unharmed, still holding on to the metal he’d torn from the jetfighters. I batted him away. He laughed.

He addressed Herzog. “Humans are really stupid aren’t they? Dr. Herzog. You have successfully evolved into a dragon after years and years of time, toil and countless human lives and yet we have achieved it in an instant.”

The newly hatched White King didn’t respond. This new so-called Dragon God had nothing to say.

“You made me sad. And when I’m sad, I want to kill. It doesn't matter to me if I kill a fellow dragon.”

“Who are you... what are you? What are you?!” Herzog hissed, trembling in fear and pain.

Mingfei's wings stroked the air. “I’m Zero... didn’t I tell you? As for who I am, you should be able to guess.”

“It’s you! It’s you! It’s you! You... you are him!” He pointed his clawed finger screaming with disbelief.

I’d never seen a dragon so cringing and pathetic. Was this really the White King? I turned to ‘Mingfei’, happy to finally have had a mystery unlocked in the end. No wonder I preferred him over all. It was only logical. His voice in my head was like a booming church bell.

“You are such a great existence...” I whispered to him.

“And yet you still reject my touch.” He replied.

I grinned at him.

Herzog was beside himself in shock and disbelief. “I was so close to the world’s ultimate power!”

Lu finally grew irritated. “What you call power is a pathetic imitation. At any rate... at least you’ve dressed well for your funeral.”

Herzog stopped yelling a moment to stare in shock.

Mingfei's voice dripped with derision. “Isn’t it your funeral tonight? You didn’t think you were going to leave here alive did you?” Mingfei looked into the sky. “This moonlit night is very suitable for burying a king. The rise and fall of a God in one night. Unprecedented.”

Herzog beat his wings, writhing and seething with anger. “I can’t believe it! So many years! So many years to get here and in the end, who do I meet but YOU! You are DEAD! You! LONG AGO! DEAD!”

Mingfei snorted. “You rebel against reality, but there is only one here who can truly change what’s real and what’s not. You exist only by her permission,” Mingfei chuckled.

“What are you saying...? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Mingfei folded his arms across his chest. “You made a mistake. You offended someone who you shouldn’t have, Herzog.”

The newly hatched White King turned to me. He opened his mouth at me and directed a powerful soul skill. Royal Fire.

Mingfei looked at me with a confident smile. The flames only reached half way before Mingfei spoke. “Canceled.”

The flames, as powerful as a nuclear bomb, dissipated.

Herzog was taken aback. He tried another. “Wind Lord’s Stare!” A powerful tempest swirled in front of me. “Cancel...” said Mingfei. It died before arriving.

Scorch! Canceled!

Glacier! Canceled!

Majesty! Canceled!

I tilted my head at him. “Are you showing off?”

Mingfei shrugged. “I know that if I used my Soul Skills they wouldn’t be effective against him either. We cancel each other out. You can end him with a word and yet you don’t do it.”

I turned away from him momentarily.

He took the two pieces of metal fragments he carried in his claws and in a moment they melted. He molded them into the form of a large sword.

The swords called The Seven Deadly Sins were forged after the death of the White King to kill the four dragon lords. They would not be effective against the White King.

But this one that Lu Mingfei created was specific for this opponent. He let out a roar and charged forward, Chisei and Zihang flying after him. The legion of death Servitors joined the fray.

To the people on the ground, it sounded like a horrific storm of strong wind and thunder. Dragons were always mistaken for forces of nature and this was no exception. Every time Mingfei clashed with the White king, they spit fire and lightning and roiled the clouds.

Powerful surges energy made for an unnatural display of an aurora in the sky and the sound generated was enough to shake the foundations of the buildings still standing, knocking out what power still remained in the city.

Herzog spewed jagged forks lightning from his mouth, stunning the Servitor legion, but stopped to grip the blade of Mingfei before it could split his skull. He wrapped his serpent's body around him and raked his claws across his chest.

Chisei collided with the White King Herzog’s back, digging in his claws. Herzog whirled on him, slashing him across the face.

Chu Zihang slammed his elbow into his jaw at full speed, heat blasting like a furnace. They tumbled, screaming towards Tokyo Bay. Mingfei said a word and a frigid wind began turning the sea waves into jagged peaks of ice.

Chu Zihang let go, preferring not to land on it, but Chisei zoomed by, tackled Herzog and held on, smacking hard enough onto the cold surface to crack it.

Their hot blood sizzled on the frozen ocean as they separated, facing one another. They were all wounded and bleeding. Herzog held his hand to his throat, forcing it to heal shut. When he looked at the wounds sustained by Chisei, Zihang and Mingfei however, he began to laugh.

“So you’re not invulnerable either! You only have the shape of kings and emperors but you are FAKE! If you were complete, I would be dead!”

“True... none of us are complete.” Mingfei said. “But I have the heart of a dragon, while you... You only have the heart of a man no matter how much blood you drink.” Mingfei sneered.

“You are a great creature and I am also an equally great creature. Why are we fighting each other?” He slithered across the ice toward him.

Suddenly I looked up at a bright form that was like a star as it began to move up from the horizon. I gasped in realization and sent a silent command to Zihang and Chisei to keep quiet. The fight was over. Herzog had lost.

“We can share this world. There is still the Wind King that needs defeating not to mention the rest of humanity and the Hybrids.”

“Share the throne with you?” Mingfei asked.

“Humans and Dragons are ants to us...” He said. “You are the only thing in this world with any value.” Herzog kept his eyes on Mingfei, looking for any signs of weakness.

“You are nothing but a maggot! How dare you ask me to share a throne with you!” Mingfei charged forward. The blade he had created impaled Herzog as if he had no bones.

Herzog screamed and hooked his claws into Mingfei’s chest but Mingfei beat his wings and took Herzog with him into the sky. The dragon king bit him over and over. Lu took the punishment, soaring ever higher.

“Doctor, you don’t know dragons at all. There are no true alliances without coercion. Dragons fight endlessly! I will die before I align with you!” He sank his fangs into Herzog’s neck and continued to drag him into the sky like a leopard making off with its prey. Herzog screeched. The atmosphere became cold and thin as they rose beyond an altitude where flight was possible.

Lu Mingfei’s pupils began to dim.

Sensing his ebbing strength, my heart sank and beat my wings, making a little mournful circle below.

Gasping for air, Herzog wrestled the sword from Mingfei’s weakening grip and chopped his wings off with it. He heaved his tail to free himself. Mingfei fell.

I soared to him and caught him in my arms. Calling my two other soldiers, we soared away form Herzog a good distance. Mingfei smiled at me.

“Hold me up so I can see... Meixiu...”

I halted my flight and turned him back to face where we came. Herzog was staring at us in midair, hovering. He had a confused, puzzled look on his face.

Something bright like a meteor plunged from the sky and struck him directly. Followed by five more. There were, not one, but six swords of Damocles that were released from the space kinetic weapon, the bright star I saw moving across the sky.

I wasn’t sure how, but Mingfei had manipulated things so that the sword didn’t fall on Chisei and me. While we were unconscious in our cocoons, the satellite carrying the swords had begun to complete another revolution around the earth. Mingfei had waited until the right time to put Herzog in the line of fire.

The metal rods melted in the heat of re-entry and disintegrated into a hot rain that inflamed the atmosphere and turned it red. The swarm of space debris engulfed Herzog in pure fire and tore his body apart.

The molten hailstorm hit the ice sea, prompting great geysers to erupt into the air. The bright bits of metal continued to glow as they sank and put boiling water under the ice. The frozen water cracked and burst with the pressure of the steam. Herzog’s ravaged corpse hit the half frozen, half boiling water and shattered.

After several seconds, nothing further happened. Bright debris continued to streak across the sky as I looked down at the bloody young man in my arms. He raised one hand to my face.

“Ouroboros... always on the sidelines...” he chuckled.

I stayed silent. A power like mine was not to be wielded lightly. Not even by a goddess. I turned my eyes to the horizon far beyond Japan.

Mingfei’s smile dimmed. “Really? That guy?”

“Were it not for interference, he wouldn’t have died.” I closed my eyes, gasping with the effort. “By turning back this small injustice… Herzog will be completely erased.”

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #Chisei Gen #Chu Zihang #Mingfei Lu #Ming Z Lu #Spoilers

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maedarakat · 4 years

Text

Covered in Mud

——

The sky had been threatening to spill all day, all gray clouds offset by deep threatening purples. Nobody could predict when it would happen, but when it did, the clouds seemed to crack open like an egg, coating the Edge in a sudden shower of hailstones, rain, wild gusts of wind and crackling peals of thunder.

It was a truly impressive act of Thor, Astrid thought, drinking from her mug under the Clubhouse roof she had mended and patched herself before the rain season came. Not a drop so far. She was feeling a little smug, especially because Hiccup had waved away all her reminders to fix his own roof in a timely manner and was now grumpily carrying in an armload of drenched blueprints, notebooks and maps to dry out in front of the fire.

Toothless sneezed as he followed after, ears flat and drenched to his skin. More wet scrolls were sticking out of the saddle bags and Astrid came over to help unload them and spread them out.

“No, no, I got this,” Hiccup sighed. “I brought it on myself, you were right. I should have fixed the roof.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Astrid said.

“You didn’t have to. I can tell you’re dying to say ‘I told you so’ because that’s the expression you always make when you’re about to.” Hiccup’s tone was playful but also not, and Astrid tried her best to navigate the tricky waters of what he really meant to say.

Passive-aggressiveness, Ruff had supplied once, when both of them were in their cups and Astrid had found herself venting. It was nice to have a word to it, but what an oddly perfect word for every situation with Hiccup she seemed to find herself in lately.

Right now he either wanted her to reassure him and apologize, or go back to her warm drink and leave him alone. Neither option seemed ideal, but she was saved from the guesswork by a frustrated groan from Snotlout who tossed some dry wood and a pile of bundled kindling out of his cloak onto the floor.

Lout was wet, but a few hours worth of firewood had been rescued thanks to his quick thinking and the sacrifice of his cloak. Grumbling, he started stacking it into a pile. Astrid gladly went to help with that chore instead, and Hiccup huffed. He’d wanted her to choose the first option apparently, but it was no good to backtrack now - no matter what she did, it would become an argument later that everyone would pretend they hadn’t heard. She didn’t engage, playing dumb to his irritated glances and once the wood was stacked, she checked on the stew.

He was having trouble keeping one of the maps from rolling back up instead of laying flat. Astrid knew better than to suggest getting small stones from the potted flowers outside to weigh down the corners. It would be insulting somehow.

“What did you make for dinner?” Hiccup asked, just giving up and holding down the corners with his hands. He was apparently going to stay like that for a while.

Astrid sighed inwardly. “Yak stew.” Hiccup didn’t acknowledge the answer or look up at her, seemingly deep in thought and scowling.

“I’m tired of yak. When can we have boar or venison again?” Snotlout butted in and really, honestly, bless him. Astrid hadn’t wanted to hear Hiccup’s attempts to dodge out of eating any. He never seemed to be hungry on days when it was her turn to cook.

“When the rains let up, we can go hunting. But yak meat is what we have the most of.”

“Who first decided to eat a yak anyway?” Ruff asked, walking in with Fishlegs. “They’re like giant adorable sheepdogs with horns. That you can practice braiding on. They just stand there and let you. What ‘honorable viking’ decided to ‘hunt’ that?”

“Well, sometimes during famines when there’s not a lot of food to hunt -“ Fishlegs started, until Ruffnut gave him a withering look. “Oh you weren’t really asking, never mind.”

He was carrying a Maces and Talons board and the rule book. It had become necessary to have the rule book present; while playing, the twins liked to bend and tweak the boundaries of every single one. Astrid had to admit, it was thrilling to watch. Hiccup might even forget his bad mood and have a good time.

The only one missing now was Tuff.

When dinner was ready, and had been roasted thoroughly as well as stewed, Tuff had still not shown up.

Astrid left it up to the others to serve themselves and carried a covered bowl for Tuff toward his hut. It wasn’t like him to be late for dinner unless he was dramatically late. She relaxed when she saw a candle on in his window and the chimney putting out smoke.

“Hey, Tuff. Get attacked by a wolf or something?” Astrid asked automatically when he opened the door. She’d said it carelessly, an inside joke between all of them, but Tuff’s appearance took her aback.

He was a wall of mud with eyes and stiffening braids. He currently held a peeping ball of damp fluff in a towel draped over his hand - apparently trying to dry off the chicks before seeing to himself.

The storm had caught everyone at least a little off guard but ... “Why are you covered in mud?” Astrid asked.

If Tuff could have looked any angrier, the mud surely would have baked and fallen off him in crisp pieces.

“Because that ... that absolute waste of feathers-“ he started, absolutely fuming.

“Peep,” the chick helpfully interrupted.

“Excuse me - because your father,” Tuff said instead to the chick, voice dripping with scorn. “Would not come inside when he was directed to before the storm hit, oh no - Fustercluck knows best! Fustercluck thinks a rickety old toolshed is the best place to keep his chicks safe during a storm like this! And so he led me on a merry f-“

“Peep.”

“-cking chase around in the mud with half of you guys unhelpfully following him, until I finally grabbed him so you would follow us all inside.” Tuff sighed dramatically and Astrid shook her head, grinning. He was more a mother hen than Chicken. It was endearing.

“Imprinting’s a fine concept and all, really,” Tuff said, like he was letting her in on a secret. “Less fine when there’s a complete doorknob standing there on hatching day. Sorry, I won’t be hanging with you guys tonight, A. I gotta get them dried off so they don’t catch colds. I can’t come to dinner looking like this anyway.”

“So did you let your dumbass rooster inside or did you throw him back out to stay in his shed?”

“Oh I wanted to, believe me.” Tuff made a face and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. There, on a perch made for two, Fustercluck and Chicken were preening each other’s feathers and burbling lovingly. “She wouldn’t have it.”

And he wasn’t anywhere near that heartless. Astrid knew that better than he seemed to himself. She came in, set the bowl on the table and picked up a towel. “Tell you what. After we dry off the chicks, I’ll help you get all this mud off you.”

“Oh. Okay, thanks,” Tuff said, offering her a smile and a different wet chick.

They got them clean and fluffed up and Chicken accepted them into her nest for the night, preening them the rest of the way dry. Tuff closed them in and noticed the bowl on the table. “Could I have some of your soup if you aren’t going to eat it? It’s going to get cold.”

Astrid smiled. “It’s yours, I brought it for you. In case you were sick or reading or decided to paint a wall.”

“You did?” Tuff didn’t give her time to take the offer back, picking the bowl up and draining it. He loved it when people cooked for him - Ruff had told her that.

She set a pot of water on his stove to heat up and looked for towels while he shed all but his leggings. He was trying to tie his hair back and out of the way but his braids were heavy and caked.

Astrid took over, making him sit in a chair and lean his hair back into a basin of clean warm water. Another pot of water was set to warm up on the fire. Poor Tuff would need more - probably most of it for his hair.

He sighed blissfully as the first soak drew the worst of the dirt and mud away, turning the basin water immediately opaque. “It feels like the fifty pound Night-terror napping on my head just woke up and flew away.”

“Yeah, I bet. This is mostly clay. You guys should put a potters wheel in your hut.”

“I’m not going to make anything resembling a normal piece of crockery,” he vowed.

“That’s alright. I’m sure Ruff won’t be making anything resembling a non-offensive piece of crockery,” Astrid said, and Tuff laughed.

He helped her change out the water to do his hair once more until it was closer to its normal golden color. A swim in the morning would help get the rest of it clear.

Astrid dabbed a towel into hot water and gently ran it over the patches of mud on his skin that had caked dry. When it was softened, she wiped the dirt away just as gently. Tuff followed her motions, getting his chest and arms and legs while she got his back.

Tuff sighed softly when they were finished, his exhaustion and relief tangible. “Thanks, A,” he said. “Did you have dinner yet?”

“No, but it’s fine. I’m sure there’s plenty of yak stew left over,” she said wryly.

“Stew would be cold by now. Here.” He got up, and headed to his pantry. He gifted her with a plate of cracked walnuts, dried apricot slices, goat cheese, and a few hard boiled eggs.

All put together, it looked like a feast for some warrior elf maiden traveling Midgard. Astrid smiled and cleaned her plate of everything that had been offered, eating slowly while Tuff - clean and in much better spirits - laughingly recounted his madcap adventure of chasing a very stubborn rooster all across a muddy, slippery, hole-filled yard. Barf and Belch had dug a man-sized pit earlier to hide their favorite bone and it had filled up quickly with a foamy slurry of mud and rainwater. Tuff had apparently forgotten this and went down with a splash.

Astrid couldn’t stop laughing - not at his story but at the way he told it. “I wish I could have seen that! You probably looked like some ravenous troll clawing its way out of Niflheim - no wonder the chickens freaked out and ran away! I would have run too, if you’d just popped out of the ground! And with all that lightning and thunder -“

“You would have run from a troll? You?” Tuff scoffed. “That poor thing would have been tied to a chair in an hour, begging you to call his mother to come pick him up.”

She cackled and rubbed at her cheeks, which were seriously aching by now. Astrid hadn’t laughed this hard in a while. It was definitely good for her.

They said their good nights a little while after Ruff came back to the hut, not drunk but definitely not sober. “You guy’s missed a really dumb boring match in which everyone followed the same dumb boring rules.” She stared at her brother, still casually shirtless, only wearing his leggings. “And apparently you guys played strip-poker instead. And my brother ... lost? Won? Who knows. Not asking ‘cause I’m gonna forget everything in the morning anyway!” Ruffnut stomped cheerfully up to the loft to pass out across her own bed.

Tuff still had his face in his hands by the time her snores drifted down and Astrid was beet red, snickering helplessly.

“On that note, we should probably get to bed too,” she finally managed, wiping her eyes.

Tuff nodded, getting up. “Yeah, I’ll walk you to the door. Thanks for everything. This was a good night.” He grinned at her, soft and hopeful and Astrid leaned in without thinking, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

She pulled back and they stared at each other, neither one wanting to blink first.

“Goodnight,” Astrid managed to squeak out finally, because her mom had told her that shield maidens never started what they couldn’t finish. “See you tomorrow?”

Tuff hand went up to touch where she had kissed him and then he seemed to remember himself and dropped his arm down. “Yeah. S-Swimming, right?” It was an offer to stay friends, if she thought she had made a mistake.

“Sure, I’ll dress for it. See you at dawn?”

“Yeah.” Tuff stared at her from the doorway and she really wanted to kiss him again. Astrid thought of Hiccup still trying to dry his papers and feeling slighted that she hadn’t stayed to help him. She weighed the pros and cons of tipping her boat over and refusing to navigate anymore of his confusing waters ever again.

Happily, Tuffnut leaned forward and caught her lips, solving the equation.

#httydrarepairbingo #tuffstrid #tuffnut #astrid #httyd

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spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

A Pact and an Awakening

The wizard fell to his knees in the dark hall. Tapayaxi prostrated himself before the imposing stone skull that represented the immortal “Architect” who gave counsel to their god-emperor.

He remained there for so long that his knees went numb and his mind spiraled through all the memories and thoughts he had pooled. Memories of his encounters with the outsiders who had taught him so much of what he now wielded, of the rush of power he felt when he held the glowing gem that thrummed with the shreds of torn souls amassed within its mirroring confines. Thoughts that cut through a mist of secrets and occult mysteries.

In a world where the sun never set and night never arrived, only the wandering of floating islands in the sky could tell how many hours had passed as Tapayaxi knelt there, lost in confused meditation. Light poured in from the entrance to the skull-shaped edifice, blending with the glow from eternal flames that flickered in their braziers.

With no sense of time and reality slipping away, it took far too long for him to notice the footsteps of a man walking into this solemn sanctuary. The Architect known as the Altecayotl had arrived.

He stood in silence behind Tapayaxi, awaiting for him to rise.

And rise, the wizard did. He stood before the Architect and bowed to him in deference. The Altecayotl exuded a majestic presence as he stood there completely still, clad in black cloth with gilded threads, and a dress of iridescent feathers that fanned out from a hawk-like mask.

Although Tapayaxi was sore from awaiting the Architect’s return from the capitol, and he had always lived his life in reverence to this ageless, undying man, his blood now bubbled with envy. It boiled with the fire of ambition.

“The god-emperor has spoken after hearing me report to him. He heard of all that you experienced and all that you learned in the borderlands,” spoke the Altecayotl. His voice echoed through the yawning emptiness of the hall, magnifying the imposing and commanding tone in his words. “As I was impressed with the creature you created, so was he.”

Silence draped over them as the Architect stopped speaking to the wizard. Tapayaxi remained silent, unsure of whether the Altecayotl expected him to reply to that in any form, or if he had more to say.

He failed to see any further instruction in those words.

The Architect tilted his head and his piercing gaze wandered all over Tapayaxi’s face, studying his features closely in an eerie fashion, reminding the wizard of his experience with some of the stone-cold killers he called his bodyguards.

“Your next task comes with a simple order, but it is one of monumental scale,” continued the Altecayotl, letting his soft words slice through the silence. “You are to find more of these radiant pools of power, drain them as you have done with the one above the confluence of waterfalls—and return the resulting soul gems to me.”

The ambition that burned within the wizard flared up, and the envy turned to greed.

He knew he could do things with those gems—things undreamed of. With the souls of the sacrifices contained within them, saturated with the blue-glowing energies that they had drained from the “pool of power.” Creating a giant made of flesh and bone that obeyed his every command was just the beginning. He could do so much more.

He could rule this world.

“Perish such thoughts, Tapayaxi,” the Altecayotl said.

He wanted to protest, but then realized that the Architect had read his mind. As he searched his senses, he felt something invading his being, like needles piercing the cloud of his thoughts. The more he tried to focus on it, to perhaps push back this invisible presence in his mind, the more it strained him and sapped him of his strength.

He wiped under his nose and found blood on his hands upon doing so. The wizard’s eyes went wide with surprise as he glared at the Architect.

How had he done that? There had been no sign of him casting any such spell.

“Just like your captives, slaves, and soldiers who sacrificed themselves for your cause, you too, are expected to make your own sacrifices to the god-emperor. And to me,” said the Altecayotl. The tone made his words roll out as smoothly as molten butter, dripping from a ladle, yet they were as venomous as a deadly snake’s bite.

Tapayaxi’s hands balled into fists by his side but he found himself impotent in his anger. He dared not explore any thoughts of rebellion in the Architect’s presence now. He also decided that he was right. Yet—

“Sacrifice is not giving up that which you do not want,” said the Architect.

“But surrendering that which you cannot do without,” the wizard ended, completing the second half of their creed.

The Architect surprised the wizard with an emotional response he had never witnessed from him before: he chortled.

“We all make our sacrifices for the empire, for it is the best for our people. I trust you will make your own, in kind,” he said. And before the wizard could process these words fully, the Altecayotl added, “Travel north. Cross the mountains with your wardens. You may take your creation for protection. Find the floating isle upon which the northerners have built a brass sanctuary, where they practice alchemy and idle indulgences with spirits of the air. There, you will find another pool of power. There, you will fill more gems.”

Tapayaxi awaited more instructions, but when no more came, he bowed in reverence once again. It was time for him to leave. He felt that the Altecayotl had nothing more to say to him for now. He felt it in the back of his mind, because the presence that had drilled through his thoughts now withdrew.

The Architect walked past him, standing before the giant skull in which braziers illuminated its huge eye sockets.

Tapayaxi left, and days later, he was wandering north, just as instructed. Breathtaking vistas from the heights, overlooking his homelands, occupied his mind, distracting him from the unease that continued to haunt him.

The wizard had focused on his task, preparing meticulously both in the form of engraving stone tablets with magick symbols that he had studied, as well as with reagents that he would use for such spellcraft. A dozen of his most loyal warriors accompanied him, followed by a veritable army of indentured servants. And that giant made of the bones of many.

A whole boneyard of remains, held together by bronze fittings. It thundered with every step that it took while it marched along this company. No beast they encountered was ever a match for his warriors and this magicked death-machine.

But with the passage of days, the distractions turned monotonous and could distract him no longer. He contemplated the Architect’s power and concluded that it was something that his wizardry could never attain. Yet he needed not emulate it, nor mimic it—within means of his own, he needed only to rival it.

Eclipse it.

He shielded his eyes with a hand as he stared at the sun one day. It hurt, and he cringed, but continued to stare.

The pain cut deep into his mind and suffused his thoughts. It made the envy bubble up; his blood boiled once more.

If he could use such soul gems to create the boneyard giant, he could make other magick permanent, binding it into objects of his own making. What powers could the Altecayotl possibly possess to rival a man who could see through every illusion? Mold shadows and stone just by willing it so? Control human beings with a thought, rendering them into fleshy puppets?

Such thoughts occupied his mind throughout the days, as well as when they rested and he stared into the glow of the campfires by which they warmed themselves in the cold mountains. Staring into the fire reminded him of staring into the sun, only it hurt less. He dwelt upon those thoughts, those ambitions.

One night, when he slept, he awoke with the sensation of jumping out of a nightmare.

Or had one just begun?

The world burned. Wherever Tapayaxi looked, he stood upon a sliver of land, surrounded by a sea of fire. The horizon had turned a blood-red hue that reckoned back to all the blood he had shed, to that festering pile of corpses upon which his servants dumped each once-living sacrifice. Severed limbs, wriggling with swarms of maggots surfaced on the burning lake around him, reminding him of his deeds and his sins.

In that crimson sky, a burning sphere hung low, a sun far more ominous and threatening than the one Tapayaxi had known all his life.

Screams reached his ears, always ringing from a direction to which he turned and found himself incapable of locating the source. Twisting and turning to determine where the screams came from, it took him forever to understand that they were his own.

His skin rippled and crawled with the fire of a thousand ants crawling underneath it, biting at his flesh from within.

Beyond the lake of fire, the silhouette of a winged monstrosity loomed on one side of the horizon, watching him with sadistic glee. Whatever looked like mountains in the distance around it—were not. It was a moving edge, like jagged black teeth churning and threatening to devour the skies.

Tapayaxi turned and turned until this hellish world spun around him ever faster, and dizziness made his knees buckle with weakness. His screams made way to the laughter that only insanity can bear, and his mad dance came to an abrupt halt when he stared into a steel mask, engulfed in a pillar of fire.

A giant of steel, with claws shaped like daggers. He felt that it was empty—empty of all charity, void of any benevolence. In the hollow sockets of that steel mask, pure malevolence burned in a pitch-black fire.

The sensation of insects crawling underneath his skin intensified, and Tapayaxi laughed in this entity’s face until he understood that this was no mere dream. It felt all too lucid—too real.

“The unseelie lurks in the shadows, protecting your precious pool of power. Kill it swiftly, or it will take your face and end your path right there,” the steel mask whispered. And shouted. It reached him through many voices, some of them screaming in pain, others luring him in with seductively dulcet undertones.

“Who are you?” screamed the wizard at this apparition.

It stood motionless, not like it was undisturbed by the inferno engulfing it, but as if it was one with the evil flames.

“There will be many perils on your path beyond the creature,” whispered the entity, ignoring his question. “Of shadows made flesh, seas of spears and blades, and of dragon’s fire.”

“What do you want?” Tapayaxi screamed in agony at it.

He scratched at his wrists, and the length of his arms. He scratched until they bled. He bled black tar, oozing from the wounds, and something—some things—with thousands of legs that crawled forth, but he dared not look upon it.

“If your wisdom guides your decisions, then you may gain power far greater than the one you call the Altecayotl. You may rule these lands one day,” the entity spoke in sixty different voices, blending together all manner of ages and genders, still shrugging off the wizard’s questions.

Tapayaxi’s eyes teared up, but with thick, viscous matter, like blood. He dared not pose any more questions, he only hoped this would end soon. That this was all but a vivid nightmare. That he would wake up.

But like the dagger piercing the back of his mind that had been the Altecayotl reading this thoughts, this too felt like the invasion of an alien consciousness. All too sinister, and all too real.

“You must only surrender your soul to me—and the key will be yours. The key to the world of your desire.”

Tapayaxi’s whole body trembled. It quaked. He finally dared to look upon himself. Only with delay did his screams of terror reach his own ears. His comprehension shut down at the sight of whatever was crawling from his self-inflicted wounds. The things that dripped from the scratches wriggled and lived and they glistened with shiny surfaces, reflecting the glow of the flames.

The hollow masked entity stretched out an arm, with a steel palm turned skywards and blade-like fingers splayed. Like an open hand, offering aid and succor.

Driven not by despair—for he knew deep down that this would not end his suffering—driven by that voracious greed that festered in his essence, Tapayaxi reached out and took that hand.

He took the offer. The blade-like fingers clamped down around his hand, piercing skin and drawing blood and digging into his flesh.

“Swear it. Surrender your soul to me, and you shall have everything,” it whispered in a seductive voice. Smoky, gravelly, and honest. Like a silky forked tongue touching against rows of tiny sharp teeth.

Tapayaxi awoke, covered in a sheen of sweat. His disheveled hair clung to his forehead. He had jolted into sitting up upon his bedding by the campfire, in the shade of his tent. Some of the wardens kept watch on the perimeter of their camp, some of the servants were still awake, while most others rested in their own sleep.

Disoriented, the wizard examined his wrists. They were reddened, as if he had scratched them in his sleep. They still itched, though with nothing unnatural about them.

The dream—the nightmare—lingered in his thoughts, hauntingly real and still hauntingly present. The whispers echoed, fusing with his memories of real experiences. But this nightmare, too, had been real. Too real.

He had made up his mind. This was his awakening.

He echoed those whispers with his own, “I swear it. My soul is yours, for the key to the crowns of this world to be mine.”

The campfire flared up.

Nobody else had seen it.

At first, Tapayaxi felt no different in that moment but he knew that everything would change from here on out. Once that realization set in, he felt a tingling in his fingertips. It traveled from his digits through his limbs and reached his heart. At first, it reminded him of that wriggling, sickening sensation from the nightmare, of the things gnawing at his flesh from underneath the skin.

He fought it back, resisting that knotting in his stomach, and dispelled the horrid memory as best he could manage. It made way for a dark fire, now enkindled in his beating heart.

In there, he knew: the world would be his.

—Submitted by Wratts

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probablyevilrpgideas · 5 years

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On Kobolds, Appearance, Sex and Gender

Kobolds descend from the mother of dragons, Tiamat. As far as many adventurers are concerned, they’re little more than occasionally perilously tricky, usually laughable weak, yapping lizardpeople. But this ignores the blood of dragons and essence of chaos that runs within them, as well as the culture that they have.

As descendents of the mother of dragons, kobolds hold within them a sort of primal stew of potential, which they make great use of in their fashion and personal identity. A kobold can manipulate the minor features of their bodies, such as scale patterns and style, horn and spine growth, and even the growth of features such as grills and feathers, through the use of alchemical mixtures, usually incorporating eggs and tissue from a reptile or avian that exhibits the desired trait, spread on the area they wish to alter. More drastic changes are possible, such as claws, horns, even breath weapons and wings, but the alchemical mixtures for such changes are much more involved, and often some sacrifice of the kobold's own essence is required.

This morphic biology plays a large role in kobold reproduction and even gender presentation. In their natural state, kobolds are a neuter race, displaying no reproductive organs (though they have the basic cloacal structures of any reptile). In order to reproduce, kobolds must find an Egg of Tiamat, which is less a literal egg and more a sort of crystal of magical essence, hidden within the ground. The exact nature and origin of Eggs of Tiamat is unknown. Kobolds believe them to be crystalizations of a variety of energies and fluids from ancient dragons, most notably Tiamat herself, such as Tiamat's blood or the acid of Tiamat's black head breath weapon, shed in long forgotten battles. This is the very reason that kobolds spend so much time mining, the very future of their race hinges on their ability to find these arcane crystals.

When an Egg of Tiamat is found, the crystal is turned into a substance known as Musk of the Ur Dragons. Musk of the Ur Dragon changes a kobold's neuter anatomy into anatomy capable of sexual reproduction. This might mean testes and hemipenes (kobolds usually manifest five hemipenes, a manifestation of Tiamat's five heads), ovaries, or both.

Sometimes this musk will be used immediately, but if conditions are such that a clutch of eggs is more liability than investment, the musk will be stored for future use.

When the tribe does decide to use the musk, they hold a grand festival and revel, where certain members will be selected to be anointed with the musk before the festival culminates in a mass orgy (while kobolds are neuters without the musk, they still have the capacity for sexual pleasure). Impregnation is all but certain for those anointed with the musk, and for this reason, while it's a great honor to create the next generation of kobolds, the leader and most powerful members of the tribe seldom anoint themselves. A kobold may only be gravid for a week or so, but in that period, they can do little bit let the eggs develop within them and ensure there is a safe place for the eggs to be laid. If all the most powerful members of the tribe were gravid at once, it would make them a very vulnerable target. That said, kobolds are well known for their evasiveness and traps, and some tribes, wishing to show their devotion to Tiamat and her doctrine of strength, will allow only the most powerful members of the tribe to reproduce.

As a neuter race, traditional humanoid genders like male and female are meaningless to kobolds. Instead, kobold gender is all to do with personalities and body shape, and is described in terms of elements.

Uvelu- Uvelu is the gender tied to acid. Uvelu kobolds tend to be gaunt and thin, storing fat in flaps of skin that hang from their extremities. They commonly have long frills, singly or in pairs down their back, and horns that either sweep back framing their forehead or extend out of the temples and arc forward. They are frequently acerbic, and approach life with a “through is quicker” philosophy, preferring to take the quickest, easiest method to dealing with their problems, regardless of how destructive it might be. Uveluc are commonly expected to be tactical thinkers, and a great many kobold raidmongers were uveluc. Their scales are frequently black, green, copper, or a mottled patina of all three. Uv/Uvem/Uver

Xarzi- Xarzi kobolds are tied to cold and ice. They are usually stocky and thick, covered in dense muscle under an eternal layer of fat stored evenly over their bodies. Xarzi have some of the shortest frills of kobolds, seldom taller than a few inches and almost always running only the length of the back of their skull. If they have horns at all, they protrude directly back from their heads behind the ears. They are quiet loomers, preferring to stay unseen and take in the whole situation before acting or speaking. The sappers, trappers and snipers of kobold history are frequently xarzin. Xarzi scales are usually white or silver, but they also commonly have pearlescent scales of white with a silvery gleam. Xa/Xar/Xarm

Aluji- Aluji, or lightning gender, kobolds tend to be thickly muscled in the chest and neck, with thin abdomens and legs but powerful tails, which is also where most fat is stored. They often have almost no frill, and very short horns, either singular spikes on their snouts or a pair of short horns atop their heads between brow and ears. They tend towards absolutism, either being mercilessly tyrannical, or intolerant of anything with even a whiff of injustice. Alujin kobolds are frequently expected to be oracles, diviners, and riddlemongers, putting their minds to the greatest puzzles their tribes uncover. Alujin have scales of blue, bronze, or a mixture of the two. Al/Aluj/Aljem

Ixa- Ixa could also be called fire-gender. Ixa kobolds tend to be willowy and wiry, storing fat mainly in frills and their tails. They usually have impressive crests, pairs of long horns emerging from the tops of their heads or broad plates from the sides. The most notable trait of ixa kobolds is their jaw and chin spikes and whiskers. They can be quick to anger, but also charismatic. Some of the most renowned sorcerers of kobold history were ixan. Their scales are commonly red, gold, brass, or a mixture of the three. Ix/Ixes/Ixem

Miiri- The rarest of the elemental genders, miirin kobolds are tied to sonic energy. Miirin kobolds often have horns and spikes like crystal growths, and scales of deep emerald, sapphire, or a glassy black with inner orange glow, being linked to emerald, sapphire and pyroclastic dragons. They are known most for their singing voices, but also for their secrecy and isolationism. Mii/Mir/Miirs

Other Genders- Kobolds are innately tied to dragon kind, but not all dragons have an elemental breath weapon, or any breath weapon at all. As well, kobolds can easily alter their gender presentation through the use of alchemical elixirs. The above genders are simply the most common, but there are kobolds who resemble planar dragons, faerie dragons, dragons known for their light or force breath weapons, and even mixtures of genders. These kobolds are essentially the equivalent of nonbinary humans, and frequently choose their own pronouns. The most common, however, is Te/Ter/Teim

#Dungeons and Dragons #Kobolds #Worldbuilding

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ilovearticlesoffaith-blog · 5 years

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God Loves You with a Greater Love

This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you. GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN THIS, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.

John 15:12-14

The great love of God will change your life forever. This love is greater than anything found on earth. When a man says to a woman, “I love you”, it cannot be compared to the greater love that I am writing about in this book. Your mother may love you, your father may love you; but none of them will die for you. Your boyfriend may love you and your girlfriend may love you, but none will die for you. This book is about the greater love of God. When you open up your heart to receive this great love, you will be born again. If you open up your heart to this great love from God, you will become a new creation and live a totally different life. If you open up your heart to this great love from God, you will escape your punishment in Hell. You deserve to go to Hell and so do I. But through the love of God who sent His only Son that we might not perish, we can be born again! Hallelujah! We can become new creatures! We can escape the outer darkness and the torments of Hell. What manner of love is this that we can be called the children of God? What great salvation has been shown to us that Jesus should shed His blood to save us from our sins! I want you to open up your heart and enjoy the great salvation that Christ offers to you. I am sad to say that many Christians do not understand salvation. That is why I am writing this book. Salvation is rarely preached about these days. It is time for us to bring back the solid foundations on which Christianity will forever stand.

Seven Things You Should Know about Greater Love

1. There are different kinds of love, but Jesus’ love is the greatest. God has a special kind of love which is the greatest kind of love in existence. Just look at these Scriptures which describe God’s love. What manner of love is this? God’s love is the great love, the everlasting love and the greater love.

Behold, what MANNER OF LOVE the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God: therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him not.

1 John 3:1

But God, who is rich in mercy, FOR HIS GREAT LOVE wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved;)

Ephesians 2:4-5

And we have known and believed THE LOVE THAT GOD HATH TO US. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him. Herein is our love made perfect, that we may have boldness in the day of judgment: because as he is, so are we in this world. 1 John 4:16-17

The LORD hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have loved thee with AN EVERLASTING LOVE: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee. Jeremiah 31:3

The Beloved and the Greater Love I once knew a young lady who had a beloved. This beloved young man wanted to marry the young lady but he did not treat her well. He seemed to be torn between his beloved and some other girls. Their relationship was tumultuous, to say the least. One day, this young lady finally came home and said, “It’s over.” She was tearful because her heart was broken by the broken relationship. But I comforted her and told her that God would give her somebody else, an even better beloved. After some months God answered our prayers and a nice young man came out of nowhere and fell in love with her. They seemed to be enjoying their relationship and one day I asked the young lady, “How is your new relationship?”

She smiled and said, “It’s far greater than the first relationship. God has been good to me.” In other words, she was experiencing a greater love and a better relationship. So I asked her, “Why is this relationship better?” She said, “I didn’t even know that this is how happy I could be. I didn’t know there was a much greater love that I could experience.” Indeed, this young lady experienced a greater kind of love. This is how God’s love is. It is a far greater kind of love. What manner of love is this?

2. The love of Jesus is greater than ‘the love of brothers’.

Seeing ye have purified your souls in obeying the truth through the Spirit UNTO UNFEIGNED LOVE OF THE BRETHREN, see that ye love one another with a pure heart fervently.

1 Peter 1:22

Many families have disintegrated despite the fact that they are related. They break up and fight each other time and time again. The love of Jesus must be far greater than the love between brethren.

The Kidney Donation

One day, there was a prayer meeting in which prayers were offered up for a brother who needed a kidney donation. They declared their love for this brother and wanted him to continue to live through a kidney donation. However, as the prayer meeting went on, they realised that no one was prepared to donate his kidney even though that was what they were praying about. Finally, the leader of the prayer meeting decided to allow God to choose whose kidney should be donated.

So he took a feather and told the gathering that he was going to throw the feather in the air and whoever it landed on would have to donate his kidney. Everyone agreed to this process of divine selection. He threw the feather in the air. Up it went and came sailing down, amazingly, in the direction of the leader himself. Suddenly, the leader began to shout and blow at the feather so that it would not come to him. It was evident that no one was prepared to donate his kidney; not even the leader. It is one thing to say you love someone but it is another thing to have the “greater love” which makes you sacrifice yourself for him.

3. The love of Jesus is greater than the love of women. Many songs have been written about the love of women. Actually, most songs are written about the love between men and women and yet much of the pain in the world comes from the break-up of the relationships between men and women. Oh, how easily the love of women goes sour! The love I am writing about is the greater love.

I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou been unto me: THY LOVE TO ME WAS WONDERFUL, PASSING THE LOVE OF WOMEN.

2 Samuel 1:26

AND JACOB LOVED RACHEL; and said, I will serve thee seven years for Rachel thy younger daughter. And Laban said, It is better that I give her to thee, than that I should give her to another man: abide with me. And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her Genesis 29:18-20

AND THE KING LOVED ESTHER ABOVE ALL THE WOMEN, and she obtained grace and favour in his sight more than all the virgins; so that he set the royal crown upon her head, and made her queen instead of Vashti. Esther 2:17

The love of women is the love of the female body; with this kind of love the woman gives her body to a man to indulge him. The love of women is short-lived. Most women are unable to keep the attention of a man for very long. I had a friend who had two girlfriends. I asked him how he could have two girlfriends at the same time. Then he answered, “I used to have eight girlfriends when I was in sixth form but now that I am in the university I have only two.” This young man had a very short attention span for the different women in his life. The love of Jesus lasts longer than the lust a man has for different women. The love of Jesus has lasted throughout the centuries. It has persisted until it reached you and me. The love of Jesus Christ is a far greater kind of love than the love a man can have for a woman. There are limitations with this love of women. Even the most intense couples need counselling shortly after they are married. Many who say “I love you”; “You’re my dream”; “I’m so happy I met you” will often say the same things to another person. Obviously there is something missing in this “love for women”.

The Widow

There was a certain pastor who lived happily with his wife until he died unexpectedly. The wife was heartbroken and she cried continually. Her pastor tried to counsel her but she could not be comforted. One day, she went to the graveside and wept from morning to evening. As she cried she scratched and clawed at the grave. She wanted to pull her husband out of the grave.

One day, the pastor had a vision and he was taken to Heaven where he saw the husband of this lady. To his amazement, this man was very happy in Heaven. He spoke to the pastor and told him that he was very happy to be in Heaven. The pastor told him, “Your wife is crying every day and she cannot be comforted.” Then the dead pastor told him something truly shocking. He said, “Oh, don’t worry about my wife. The Lord told me when I got here that she was going to be okay and that He was even going to give her a new husband who would be better than me.” He said, “Please tell my wife when you go that this is what the Lord said.” “But she won’t believe me.” “Don’t worry, the pastor said, I will tell you a secret between her and me. When you tell her she will know that you have spoken to me.” Then the dead husband told him a secret that only he and his wife knew. After the vision, the pastor called this woman and told her that he had seen her husband and that she was going to have a new husband who would be better than the old one. She said, “No way, it can never happen. I will never have a new husband and no one could be better than my husband.” Then he told her the secret. She screamed and said, “You have been standing outside our window to listen to our conversation.” It was then that she realised that it was a real vision. As time passed she did marry again. One day the pastor asked her, “How is your new marriage?” She smiled sheepishly and said, “Indeed this new husband is far greater than my first husband. I am experiencing a greater love.”

This lady experienced greater love in her second marriage. Indeed, there are lesser and greater kinds of love but Jesus’ love is a far greater love than the love of women or the love of brethren.

4. The love of Jesus is greater than the love of a nation. People claim to love their countries. But when the country is poor, they claim citizenship of another country if they can. A lot of Ghanaians and Nigerians have changed their nationalities and are now proud to be British, American, Italian and German citizens. People change their accents and dissociate from their countries at the slightest opportunity. But Jesus Christ stayed by His cross and died for the whole world. The love of Jesus Christ is far greater than the love anyone can have for his country.

5. The love of Jesus is greater than the love of a mother for her children.

Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

Isaiah 49:15

Mothers can and do forget their children. Some mothers drop their children on the doorstep of another and turn away forever. Indeed, the love of a mother is a great thing to behold. But it cannot be compared to the greater love that Jesus exhibited when He gave up His life for the whole world.

6. The love of Jesus is greater love because He sacrificed Himself for us. This love is greater because one usually gives something when he loves. Jesus did not give us money, houses or cars as some do; He laid down his life! He gave His life; He did not live to be seventy years. He poured out His blood for us. The blood is the life. He gave us His life by giving His blood.

HEREBY PERCEIVE WE THE LOVE OF GOD, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.

1 John 3:16

And from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, and the first begotten of the dead, and the prince of the kings of the earth. UNTO HIM THAT LOVED US, AND WASHED US from our sins IN HIS OWN BLOOD.

Revelation 1:5

The Man in the Deep Freezer

One day, a young man met a lady and told her how much he loved her. This young lady was enthralled by the love the young man showered on her and decided to marry him. They got married, moved into their new house and bought furniture, a deep freezer, a fridge and all the things they needed to make a happy home. One night, they were in bed when armed robbers broke into the house. The husband managed to escape into the living room and did not know where to go next. When he saw the new empty deep freezer, an idea occurred to him to jump into it and hide in it. When the armed robbers could not find him, they beat up his wife and maltreated her. As the wife screamed and called for help the husband was nowhere to be found because he was hiding in the deep freezer. When the armed robbers finally left, he came out of the deep freezer to console his wife. But she would have none of it. “You don’t love me,” she said. “If you had loved me you would have come out of the deep freezer to save me.” The husband said, “I love you but not that much.” Then he continued, “Don’t you understand? There is nothing much that I could have done. Those guys would have killed me. I would have lost my life trying to save you. I would have been a hero but I would have lost my life.”

Later on when the lady went to church, she heard the pastor preaching, “Greater love hath no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Then she realized that her husband had been unable to lay down his life for her. Even though he did love her to an extent, her husband’s love could not be compared with the love that Jesus had for her. Jesus Christ laid down His life for her. Her husband did not do that.

7. You shall not escape if you neglect such a great love. To ignore, to despise and to neglect the greater love of Jesus is to leave yourself to suffering and unhappiness. If you reject such great love, I wonder who will love you in future.

How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation; which at first began to be spoken by the Lord, and was confirmed unto us by them that heard him;

Hebrews 2:3

The Desperate Beauty

When I was in the university, I knew many beautiful Christian girls. There was this particular Christian girl who was outstandingly beautiful. All the young men wanted to be in a relationship with her and marry her. She received many letters from many young men. She simply read every letter and made fun of the people who had written to her. She would show the letters to her friends and they would have a good laugh. Eventually, she left the university and fewer and fewer young men were interested in her. At a point no one proposed to her anymore. As the years went by, she became desperate and decided to join a church where the pastor did not have a wife. After some time she realised that the pastor was not noticing her so she decided to dance in front of him during the praise and worship time. Somehow, he still did not notice her.

Eventually, she decided to go and propose to the pastor herself. She went up to him and said, “I would like to marry you. Will you marry me or not?” But he did not want to marry her. How embarrassed she was! What a shame! Someone who was desired by so many people now had no one who loved her and wanted her. You see, if you reject great love you will one day regret it. A day will come when you will not get such love showered on you. You will live to discover that you cannot escape if you neglect the way of salvation that Jesus brings. The Grieving Widow

One day, I met a lady whose husband had died. Her husband had been a pastor who had died in his early forties. She told me how her husband loved to pass by her and make swipes. She said, “Anytime he walked past me at home, he would touch me. But I did not like it. I did not appreciate his constant touching.” She proceeded to tell me about how he had been stricken by cancer in the midst of his years. According to her, a time came when he would lie down at home, unable to raise his hands. She would pass by him, as at other times, but this time he could neither raise his hands nor give her one of his cuddles. She said, “As he lay there dying I wished so much that he would stretch his hand and touch me like he used to.” But it was all over. She had rejected his love many times but wished she could have it again. The very thing you reject may be the only way by which God will bless you. Open your heart to the greater love of Jesus and enjoy His love, forgiveness and blessing.

by Dag Heward-Mills

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brooklynislandgirl · 5 years

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@whosxafraid {{xx}}

Bitterness keeps her tethered to the darkness.

Hovering on the other side of the Veil, a small and vengeful spectre. An omen or harbinger of doom. They call crows a murder but ravens are an unkindness.

But that wasn’t really it. She’d done all that she could in the heat of the moment, and some day...some day he’ll thank her for it. Or maybe he’ll have succeeded in destroying himself. Maybe he’ll let...the other...do it for him. But for all that she might wish otherwise, she has to let nature and man take their course. Still, she watches. It pains her to see how delicately he ministers to the little caern-raider. How he continues to let her grow and spread inside him like an unchecked disease, tearing him apart bit by bit. If the rules allowed her to, she would have done away with the girl the second Cathal had laid eyes on her again all these centuries later, letting one small grief spare him lifetimes of agony. Instead, she has to watch with no real way of comforting him. Of reminding him that there’s more than just one stupid witch. To remind him she has been his ever and constant.

And while she was never as beautiful, she was also never as fragile, sharp slivers of broken glass for him to cut himself on, to ooze out his feelings. But the witch never thinks of that, does she? How much of himself he sacrifices for her day by day by bloody day. Doesn’t appreciate how much of his own pain and agony he ignores just to get by and all she ever does is add to it. If it wouldn’t destroy him... she would wish the other had his wants and that Cathal would finally surrender to him.

But he doesn’t. And he aches in unfulfilled trauma, the centuries dragging his body along for the ride until every muscle, every nerve cries out to surrender. That’s when he reaches the ends of the bottles and makes it easier for her to slip in, almost invited, without feather. Without claw. Because he needs her softness. Not what draws his eye. Because she knows what he keeps there. He avoids walking over those floorboards most days, but this isn’t wasn’t one of them.

She can almost feel the craving from her roost and as much as she’s willing to bend for him, this won’t do at all. So she finds a different corner, where his eyes are not drawn and crosses over the Gauntlet, shedding feathers to do so because he will need human skin. He will need gentle hands and a welcoming face, he will need softness and something he can bury his hate inside. She hates them all for this.

Slender thighs glide over far larger, far harder ones as she settles in his lap. A breath drawn that near chokes her with the heaviness of the smoke from each laboured exhale. Hands slide over skin and into hair, feigning caresses while they’re actually searching for injuries. There’s pain blooming when she recognises the desire he’s staving off with that bottled mess of his has nothing to do with her and everything to do with other substances to numb himself.

So she gives him the absolution he craves. Small hands glide down over him. She finds the rents in his flesh and lets her fingers pry their way inside of him. Digging deep over raw wound and nerve alike, hissing out a breath while steeling herself for the roar that will come after. And just when she knows his agony will become unbearable, she reaches out for gifts that were not common to her kind. Stolen from bear and wolf. Stolen from a merciful grandmother. And then comes the emptiness, the soothing absence he craves. It’s not a high but it’s a close second, that exclusion of everything, even herself.

Because she knows he’s trying. And a weaker man would have caved. But then again, maybe it was time that everyone learned Cathal had never really been a man at all.

#whosxafraid #Wolf-Wyck|Cathal #Branches and Roots|Luka and Beth #Third Wheel|Quothe #Tra La La La La/SBN verse #{{borrowing Quothe for this as Beth is technically out cold

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flyingthehedge · 5 years

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Bone Magic Series: Introduction

This year I have two series planned, one about the spirits of each sabbat and the other about bone magic. Traditional witchcraft and hedgecraft often incorporates the use of bones and animal remains, whether it be shells, feathers, fur, or any other part of an animal, in spells and rituals. This series will focus on all zoological or animal remains, although bones will be heavily focused upon within the series. It is important to keep in mind that you do not have to work with animal remains to practice witchcraft. However, many witches have found the use of animal remains deepens their craft, and I have to admit, there is something magical about using practices similar to those our ancestors used to use, especially when you're a hedgewitch like myself.

What are zoological remains? Zoological remains refer to preserved body parts of an animal. I'm usually just going to refer to them as animal remains, but realize some of you may prefer the term "zoological" because it separates the animal from the remains. Examples of animal remains include bones, feathers, antlers, horns, shed skin, claws, whiskers, teeth, fur, hides/pelts, wings, fat, preserved organs, and even blood. These remains are carefully harvested and preserved, often times with the animals spirit still intact and attached to the remains. However, not all remains will contain the animal's spirit. There are cases where you will come across remains that the spirit has left. These make great homes for spirits you summon to our realm, but more on that later.

The use of animal remains in witchcraft is based on the ideas of animism, the belief that all things, living or nonliving, have a spirit. Animism is the underlying theme of witchcraft, so it should be no surprise working with animal remains is based on a belief in animism as well. If an animal's spirit has chosen to remain with its remains, the spirit can either be helped to the Otherworld or you can contract it to help you in your magical workings. Helping a spirit cross over is relatively simple, but contracting a spirit is a little more complicated. The spirit will only remain if it receives something in return, while the witch has the opportunity to gain a powerful spirit alley, each spirit with its own talents and abilities. During this series, we will delve into how to release a spirit and contract a spirit to work with you.

I realize the use of animal remains may bother some witches, especially those that abide by the Wiccan Rede and/or the "harm none" mentality. If you don't wish to work with animal remains, you are by no means obligated to. However, I would like to mention that all remains should be acquired ethically. Killing an animal for the sole purpose of harvesting its remain for magical use is wrong unless of course, its a ritual custom passed down from your ancestors or part of your modern cultural heritage. For most modern witches, animal sacrifice is frowned upon, even if you are practicing traditional witchcraft.

For this series I will cover a variety of topics regarding animal remains and bone magic, including a brief history of animal remains in magic, different types of animal remains and what they can be used for, how to ethically acquire remains, methods of cleaning and preserving remains (specifically bones), how to contract a spirit or release it, how to feed your bones, and how to create your own bone tarot. I hope that you will join me during this series and keep an eye out for upcoming topics!

Interest in the rest of the series? Here's what's to come!

Bone Magic Series

Introduction

A Brief History of Animal Remains in Magic

Types of Animal Remains and How to Use Them in Magic

How to Ethically Acquire Animal Remains

Cleaning and Preserving Animal Remains

Working With the Spirits of Animal Remains: Crossing Over & Contracting

Feeding Your Bones

Throwing the Bones + Build Your Own Bone Tarot

#bone magic #bone tarot #hedgewitch #hedge witch #witch #pagan #tradcraft #traditional witchcraft #witches of tumblr #pagans of tumblr

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crazy-creative-maxx-blog · 6 years

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Vermilion Bird and the White Tiger AU

Long ago, there was a small kingdom ruled by a just Emperor and his kind Empress. Under their rule the kingdom prospered- fathers could feed their families and mothers didn’t lose their sons to war. All was well, except for one thing; there was no heir to the throne. The Emperor and Empress had longed for a child for many a season, but each attempt the Empress’s womb remained empty.

“I fear the problem lies within me,” the Empress said mournfully, her words lost in the empty throne room. “We have prayed to the gods for a child, but they continue to deny us. Perhaps this is a sign that I am not fit to stay by your side, my love.”

“Nonsense!” the Emperor replied, stepping down from his throne to kneel before his wife. Taking here hand he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “We just need time. One cannot force nature and only you can be my Empress.”

For a time, this granted peace to the Empress but after another season passed with no promise of life in her belly, her spirit began to wane. As her health began to deteriorate, the Emperor became desperate to save his wife. However, when healers and magi failed, he turned to the gods. Praying to them night after night, asking them for mercy. On the fifth night, as the Emperor lit incense and knelt before the alter, his prayers were interrupted by the rustle of feathers and talons clicking across the alter.

Looking up the Emperor was stunned by the vermillion bird perched among the incense offerings. Swan-like in size, the bird’s feathers seemed to glow under the torch light; flecked with gold all the way down to the thick fan of its tail where the feathers were topped with emerald green. The same deep green as its eyes that were watching the emperor intently. Tilting its head, the Emperor swore it looked like it was pondering something.

“You seemed troubled, your majesty.” The bird spoke, voice a warm timber.

“Yes, m-my lord,” the Emperor bowed deeply, the hairs on his neck stood up and his tongue ran dry. “My wife is ill, and none can cure what ails here.”

The bird hummed, the Emperor peeked up through his lashes to see it looking beyond him. “Ah, I can see why. For there is no medicine, nor magic to heal a broken heart.” It spoke at last. “Raise your head, Emperor.” Licking his lips the Emperor warily met the eyes of the vermillion bird.

“You and your wife have been loyal to your people and have shown great faith in the gods. Instead of raising a sword in malice, you extend a hand of compassion, creating a kingdom of peace that many can only dream of.”

The Emperor could only stare in awe as where once was a bird- there was now a man. Dark skin wrapped in rich silks of crimson and gold that made the warm blue of his eyes shine. White-gold hair braided with vermilion feathers, golden chains and jade beads tumbled across his broad shoulders to curl at his waist.

“I have lived for over a millennium, watching as humanity has grown for good but as it also favors violence.” The now revealed god knelt before the Emperor, taking a hand in both of his. “For so long I feared that my blessings would disappear from this world, but your family has given me hope that humanity will finally know mercy.”

Golden light began to cover the gods dark skin, sparkling around him like stardust. “Your wish for a child shall be granted and your love’s heart will be whole once more.” The god smiled as tears of joy spilled down the Emperor’s cheeks. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything!” The Emperor clung to the god’s hands bowing his head to press his brow to their joined hands.

“This world, with all its wonder and beauty, is still full of shadows of evil. Teach your child the virtues of this world. Teach it the ways of kindness, love and mercy,” the god gripped his hands tighter. “Teach it that strength does not lie within the pen or the sword but in the one who chooses which to wield.”

“Yes, my lord,” the Emperor bowed deeply, hands holding tight as stardust danced around them.

“Now go to your wife, your majesty.”

Bowing before the god once more, tears of joy and prayers of thanks on his lips, the Emperor ran from the temple. Leaving the god alone surrounded by stardust and incense smoke. He smiled after the Emperor, his joy and love filling his heart with warmth. Pain flared across his back and he glanced at his wings, watching as another feather fell and turned to gold dust.

“I know you’re there, my brothers,” he sighed, falling back to lean against the alter. “Please come out so I may see you one last time.”

Black smoke creeped across the tiles like dark fingers- twisting and clawing the air as it rose to take shape. “Why?” the shadowy figure rasped, stepping forward to reveal a dark scarred face and broad shoulders clad in black armor speckled with rubies like drops of blood. “You’re killing yourself for humans, why?!”

“Gabriel,” another spoke, stepping out of the light with armor of gold and silver. “It’s Zadkiel’s choice, we can’t take that away.”

Gabriel snarled at his brother. “Like hell we can’t! I am not going to stand here and watch our brother die.” Smoke began to gather in his palm.

“Brother don’t.” Zadkiel said weakly, pulling himself up on shaking legs. “You may be the god of death, but you are not its master… and you cannot stop this.” More feathers fell, filling the room with stardust as he faced his brother. None moved as the gods stared each other down.

“No…,” Gabriel chocked, the smoke curling violently around his fingers before it vanished, his hand falling limply at his side. “But I can try.”

Zadkiel smiled. It had always been this way: Gabriel the rash, overprotective big brother, Jack the mediator always there to pacify his temper and Zadkiel at their heels. “Gabe… Jack… I-”

His knees buckled but two pairs of warm arms caught him like so many times before. Zadkiel sighed, the breath rattling in his lungs as he sank into his brother’s embrace.

“Still as clumsy as ever,” Jack chuckled weakly, the mighty god of war fighting a loosing battle against his tears.

Zadkiel only smiled and pulled his brothers closer. His back burned and he could feel the familiar weight of his wings slowly fade. Fear throbbed sharp in his breast and he reached for Gabriel’s hand. The lack of warmth making Gabriel flinch but hold tight, chasing the fear away.

“Why?” Gabriel whispers, tightening his fingers around Zadkiel’s weakening grip. “Why must you sacrifice yourself for the humans?”

Jack said his name in warning. Instinctively pulling his brother closer when the last of Zadkiel’s feathers fell.

“Why, Kieli?!” The god of death held back a sob as Zadkiel’s body began to shimmer and he could see his soul fading.

“I have to do this, Gabe,” Zadkiel whispered and his chest ached at his brother’s tears. “They are lost and they need guidance. We can’t hide away, expecting things to change for the better by caging ourselves in the heavens.”

Zadkiel blinked back tears and with his remaining strength, pulled his brothers closer. “Our blessings were made to be given and shared throughout the world, not to be kept away from it.”

He could feel the end coming but he felt no fear as black began to invade his vision. Tears poured freely from the gods of death and war as their brother began to fade.

“Ssh, brothers,” Zadkiel murmured, “We will… meet again and I-I will… always be… with… you…”

Stardust flooded the room, surrounding the two gods in a warm embrace as they surrendered to their grief.

The following spring, tears of joy were shed across the kingdom. For the Emperor and Empress were blessed with the birth of a baby girl. A princess, born with hair dark as night and beautiful blue eyes.

This is the first of my Overwatch AU collection and I hope you like it. This is where I will post a bunch of oneshots that may be developed into full stories based on popularity/request and my own creativity. Please feel free to request and AU or pairing (even though I’m mostly a Gency main). Critiques are appreciated!

Fanfic.net

#overwatch #gency #overwatch gency #overwatch skins #zhuque mercy #white tiger genji #oni genji #overwatch au

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bl-giftexchange · 6 years

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“That Fuzzy Feeling”

To: @rednaelo

From: @thethespacecoyote

Merry Christmas! Please enjoy some modern-AU Rhackothy fluff! :)

Sometimes, giving someone the perfect gift required a bit of sacrifice.

Rhys didn’t dislike cats, not necessarily. They were cute enough in pictures and videos, stuffed into ridiculous costumes or hunting laser pointers on the ground. He even had a cat plush, gifted last Christmas, that was soft and extremely huggable and strawberry-scented and a decent enough substitute for comfort when he was upset but both boyfriends were still out at work or running errands.

So, the idea of cats? Pretty great.

But cats in reality? Absolute murder on his poor sinuses.

And yet, Timothy had been gushing about the grand opening of a “cat cafe” a couple of blocks from their apartment. Thanks to Jack, Rhys had picked up the bad habit of snooping at people’s phones, and throughout the entire month he’d been catching a whole lot of Cat-Ucchino’s social media page on Tim’s.

So when Jack had sat down to brainstorm with Rhys about what to get Tim for Christmas, the answer had been obvious. There was really only one thing they could get him to really knock his socks off.

Jack wanted their gift to be so good it would make Tim cry.

So he had flashed enough cash to get them a reservation on Christmas Eve, when the rest of the country was busy bustling around scrounging for last minute gifts. But the cafe was peaceful, painted in pink and peach pastels and draped in minimalist decor stripped right from Instagram. A private little oasis, away from the festive madness sweeping up everyone outside.

However, even the mellow indie music filtering through the bluetooth speaker on the front desk counter did little to ease Rhys’ growing nerves.

He tapped his foot. He checked his phone. He scratched the back of his neck. Tim had said he was on his way, but he was late.

“Will you stop?” Jack hissed, grabbing Rhys’ forearm as he went to bite his nails. It was a bad habit that he was trying to kick, and both his boyfriends knew it. But only Jack would usually call him on it.

“I’m just nervous.”

“Why?” Jack snorted. “We’ve got this whole place rented out for the rest of the evening…it’s not like he’s gonna miss it. These people aren’t gonna skip out on the 300% commission I’m paying.” Jack waved to the employees, most of whom were either idly playing with or feeding the cats as they waited for the third guest to arrive.

“I know, I just want him to get here before I—ah—ah—achoo!” Rhys sneezed so violently that one of the cats leapt into the air, landing on her feet and shooting him a look that transcended the human-animal language barrier. Rhys frowned, rubbing at his numb nose.

“Before you sneeze your brains out?” Jack finished for him as Rhys gratefully accepted a square of tissue from one of the employees. He blew his nose, rubbing ruefully at the swollen skin. Not very attractive, but Jack was also absently scratching his balls from the outside of his jeans, so at least they matched.

The younger man snuffled, distastefully balling up the used tissue and tossing it in the small, stainless steel trash can near the front desk.

Jack had said their gift would be good enough to make Tim cry. But if his allergies kept acting up, Rhys was fairly sure he’d be the one to shed a tear first.

They stood in the foyer leading into the cafe, able to look inside the main room. The flooring was sleek, fresh with lacquer and free of the usual scuff that came from running a business in the city. The patterned chairs and cat trees looked almost new, not ratty from the endless claws that probably kneaded them every single day. Even the cats seemed clean, their fur fluffy and shiny as they padded softly over the floor and mewed at the waiting employees for treats or pets.

Not that it helped much. You could run the cats through a washing machine and it wouldn’t help stop the dander the inexorably invaded Rhys’ sinuses.

“Ugh.” He pulled his silk scarf up over his nose, breathing deep of his own cologne. Teakwood and vanilla. He wasn’t allergic to that.

Next to him, Jack huffed as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth in place. Rhys had noticed he’d been trying to distract himself by looking at his phone or readjusting his cuffs, but his eyes always drifted back to behind the front desk where the cats were playing. One of the employees had pulled out a toy with a bundle of colorful feathers at the end and was dragging it over the floor. One sleek, sable cat was chasing after it, blue eyes slitting as it batted the helpless toy. Jack’s eyes followed the movements of the paws, and Rhys was pretty sure he caught a quick flicker of a smile on the older man’s lips before he suppressed it.

“Why don’t you go play with the cats, Jack?” Rhys spoke up, voice muffled by his scarf.

The older man bit back his yearning, before shaking his head.

“Nah. Me and cats don’t really mix too well.”

Rhys snorted, disbelieving.

“That’s not what that smile said.”

Jack deliberately furrowed his brows and deepened his lips into a steady frown.

“…I mean, I’m not a walking quarantine like you, kiddo. But lets just say….you have one bad experience with a cat, kiiiiinda taints them all. No matter how uh…really frikkin’ cute they are.”

“At least you’re not constantly suffering like me.” Rhys took the entire tissue box from the front desk, wiping a clump at his streaming nose. He felt like someone was stuffing cotton balls into his frontal lobe. Probably trying for the World Record.

Rhys was about ready to call Tim and badger him on the arrival time, holiday traffic be damned, when the cafe door opened with a tiny, chiming mew. Both Rhys and Jack whirled around to find their man of the evening, Timothy Lawrence, dusting snow from his jacket. A bright smile already beamed across Timothy’s face, his freckles scrunching in that way that sent Jack and Rhys’ hearts aflutter.

“You guys….you didn’t…”

“Tim!” Rhys cried, though with his nose, it came out more like “Timb.” But even swollen sinuses and snot couldn’t damper the joy he felt at his other boyfriend’s arrival. He wrapped Tim up in a firm hug, careful not to rub his streaming nose against his boyfriend’s peacoat.

“Merry Christmas, kiddo,” Jack chuckled, wrapping both hugging boyfriends in yet another hug. He planted a kiss on both of their temples, rubbing them affectionately on their backs.

“You know Rhysie’s too allergic for us to get ya a real cat, so….next best thing, right?” Jack winked as they disentangled from the hug. “Play with these guys for the next six hours and you might just get it out of your system.”

“Heh. Fat chance of that.”

Tim sidestepped to look around the front desk, utterly charmed as he watched the cats, some bounding over the floors after toys, others curled up in the empty chairs for a nap. Rhys sidled up besides him, hand around Tim’s waist as he leaned in close.

“Before we start though, um. I think I know what I want for Christmas.”

Tim cocked his head, looking up at his boyfriend.

“What?”

Rhys opened his wallet, placing a five in his boyfriend’s hand.

“Some Claritin from the pharmacy across the street.”

#Borderlands #Rhackothy #Handsome Jack #Rhys the Company Man #Timothy Lawrence #Fic #Holiday Theme #SFW

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