#and he has an iris flower on his leg with a silver chain

[nikolausstark]

↪ brief introduction to nikolaus stark.

BASICS

full name: nikolaus frederick alfonse stark. nickname(s): niko. age: twenty-seven. date of birth: 22 march 1995. zodiac sign: aries. place of birth: landstuhl, germany.  ethnicity: white. nationality: american. gender: demiboy. sexual orientation: pansexual. romantic orientation: panromantic. religion: roman catholic — as an adult niko doesn’t practice his religion all that firmly. he hasn’t been to mass in years but when he was a child his mother took both him and his little sister frequently.  education: bachelors in business administration from the university of southern california. occupation: former lance corporal in the united states marine corps. currently the owner and head florist at silver sun flowers. language(s) spoken: english ( primarily ). he knows bits and pieces of german and pashto for wildly different reasons but whenever he tries to speak either language it’s clumsy at best. accent: he doesn’t consider himself to have a discernible accent but he does have a ‘west coast’ american accent.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: charlie rowe. hair color: dark brown. eye color: brown. height: 6′0″. weight: 163 lbs. build: slim, lanky. tattoos: he has a watercolor iris tattooed on the inside of his right forearm ( here ), a gladiolus tattooed along his right ribs ( here ), his family’s initials on the inside of his right index, pointer and ring fingers respectively. piercings: he has a septum piercing and a stud in his left nostril. distinguishing characteristics: the fact that he always seems to be smiling, the cane he uses to help him walk on days when his leg is especially sore, how easygoing he is.

PERSONALITY

label: the flower child. positive traits: adaptable, adventurous, articulate, charismatic, charming, clever, compassionate, confident, creative, eloquent, intelligent, passionate, resourceful, witty. negative traits: competitive, sarcastic. argumentative, decadent, haughty, hedonistic, impulsive, obsessive, possessive, rowdy, vindictive. goals/desires: to make people happy, to live in a way that makes him feel like he’s more than his trauma, to fall in love, to be happy. fears: athazagoraphobia ( fear of being forgotten ). hobbies: cloud gazing, people watching, doodling when he can remember to bring a sketchbook with him, making flower arrangements, reading botany books, gardening, going for walks when his leg isn’t bothering him, playing with his cats, meeting new people, studying floriography, hanging out with his sister, listening to music, playing guitar, anything that lets him be creative, baking, working with his hands, flirting with people when he’s in the right mood. quirks: he chews at the skin around his nails when he’s especially stressed out, he tends to hum some song or another he has stuck in his head while he’s working if no one else is around, he tends to go pretty sharply from being a huge flirt to blushing every time someone smiles at him just right, he can talk about flowers with almost no provocation, he has a habit of making little daisy chains and flower crowns if he’s spending a lot of time alone or he’s manic-- just to put his energy into a productive habit. likes: pretty much every baked good he’s ever tried, the feeling of the sun on his skin, fantasy novels, nature documentaries, finding the best places to nap wherever he happens to be spending a lot of time, making people smile, hot chocolate on especially cold days, rpg video games, video games in general, finishing to-do lists, hanging out with his friends, surfing. dislikes: not being taken seriously, bigoted people in general, having to be patient for just about any reason, being referred to as ‘crazy’, intense cold, nightmares, fireworks, the smell of lit matches, the fact that he smokes regularly, being alone for long periods of time.

FAMILY

father: thomas stark.  mother: mackenzie stark née carson. sibling(s): adelaide stark ( younger ). pet(s): he has a one year old maine coon named luna, a nine-month-old russian blue named lucas and a three-year-old burmese cat named lily. financial status: middle class.

BIOGRAPHY

(TW: mentions of bipolar disorder, injury and amputation, mental health rehab)

Niko Stark was born in Berlin to Thomas and Mackenzie Stark– his father was a US Marine and had been stationed in Germany shortly before Niko was born. Niko was their oldest child and he would eventually be joined by his younger sister two years later after the family had returned to Camp Pendleton again on orders for his father– as a result of the fact that they moved back to the United States when Niko was still very young he very much considers himself more American than anything else ( neither of his parents were permanent residents or citizens of Germany when he was born and he is solely American where citizenship is concerned ). He was an incredibly easy going person even in childhood– his mother often told him stories about his temperament as a baby and the fact that he rarely cried or fussed or gave them any trouble at all with temper tantrums and things of that nature. He was quick to make friends and often spent weekends with friends when his parents allowed it.

By the time he was eleven he was well aware that he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and join the Marines– his father was reluctant if only for the fact that he’d seen war and knew first hand how it could change a person and he worried constantly about something happening to his baby boy. Still, when Niko turned eighteen he enlisted immediately and was sent overseas for his first tour of duty within a year. Military service was something he took to easily though he had a difficult time adjusting to the violence of it all and the deep suffering the people around him ( both those who served with him and the local populations he interacted with ) were experiencing. He’d always been an empathetic person and it tore him apart the slightest bit not to be able to help anyone or feel like he was overseas for anything close to the right reasons. Still, he served faithfully and returned for a second tour of duty without batting an eye.

It was during a patrol on his second tour that his convoy ran into a series of IED’s that had been placed between sweeps of the road between outposts often traveled. Though he was med-evaced and brought to surgery as quickly as possible the accident eventually resulted in Niko’s right leg being amputated just above the knee before he was sent to a military hospital in Germany to recover properly. His family was there to greet him when he finally woke and though their presence was comforting to an extent Niko still fell into a deep depression that seemed to last months before it evaporated in an instant only to be replaced by a mania that his parents took notice of immediately. Several conversations with a psychiatrist later and Niko was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder– resulting in medical retirement from the USMC after his case was reviewed.

He was devastated by the turn his life had taken and he lived with his parents for nearly a year once he’d recovered enough to return to the United States. He relapsed several times in the first six months of being treated and wound up in a mental health rehab facility before he began to take his mental health seriously and threw himself into therapy and sticking to a medication regiment and doing everything in his power to take care of himself. During the course of his recovery he earned a business degree remotely from USC with the intention of opening a business of some kind– his broad idea was to do something that would serve the express purpose of making people happy. It was his mother who suggested a flower shop and his father who suggested he consider relocating to Providence Peak– where his father had grown up– to be in a calmer environment that might allow him more stability in terms of his mental health.

Niko moved to Providence Peak two months later– just shy of his twenty-fourth birthday and bought a space with an apartment above the shop so he wouldn’t have to travel at all to get it up and running. It took him a few months to open properly but he’s run Silver Sun Flowers happily since that moment. He’s doing his best to return to normalcy and feel like the same person he was before he’d joined the Marines– it’s difficult even on his good days but he’s never been one to shy away from things and he remains open and honest with his struggles while he’s in the pursuit of genuine happiness in his life as a whole.

#intro.

[rxgerthatt]

we’re both monsters, and that’s okay

Summary - Bucky is a broken man, and you’re a broken woman. What happens when worlds collide?

Warnings - SMUT/violence/adult themes 

A/N – hi sooooo, I’m working on something big for Steve but I wanted to get something out because I’m having the dreaded writers block and it’s annoying. I really have no idea where this came from, and honestly I’m not sure it makes sense but fuck it, it’s late – if you like it lemme know darlings.

Bucky Barnes is smitten the moment he lays eyes on you.

The firecracker of a dame, with a whip for a tongue and the strength of ten super soldiers. Slight exaggeration, but the point is – you’re strong as fuck.

Seriously, he watched you pull off a man’s arm with your bare hands in Moscow – creamed his pants at the sight. Gore splattered across your face in garish red, coated your hands and you sucked your fucking index finger into your mouth – released it with a pop.

You’re really fucking morbid.

“hmm – don’t get blood like this in the states.” You smirk.

You’re also insane.

Bucky stutters, watches the way your hips sway as you slink away from him and he thinks about those sinful legs wrapped around his –

“Hurry up Barnes – Kimmel’s on at ten.”

Damn – you’ll be the death of him.

He travels to Venice with you – romantic right?

Two enhanced humans running from their problems, trying to find the pieces that were taken – trying to remember the pieces that weren’t. It’s like some tragic love story, spun together and bound by flames and cindered rope.

You remind him of fire – uncontrollable, breathtaking. Don’t get too close or you’ll burn because you’re untameable, one of those new world modern chicks who hate commitment and snort white powder from vials on the weekend.

You’re more dangerous though.

Venice is other worldly. You and Bucky sit on a bridge and watch the sun descend over brightly coloured buildings. It burns tangerine orange and this violent blood red, soft clouds blushing pink with the last of the suns attention. Cornflower blue sky pulled apart from the sea revealing a fleshy wound.

Gondola’s pass beneath your feet, charred and midnight black as they slosh through the water – couples kiss and laugh and Bucky wonders what it’s like to be so completely in love you’re blinded.

“Do you ever wish you died? Y’know, when you fell off the train?” you ask him, and it’s totally out of the blue because you’re sucking on salted caramel gelato over sea foam green water and that question is entirely inappropriate.

“No,” he answers with a smug grin. “Wouldn’t get to be sittin’ here with you if I did.”

Oh it’s smooth, and he feels kind of proud. That is, until you roll your eyes and chuckle. “You trying to get laid?”

Bucky chokes on a chocolate chip, it’s wedged in his throat like a stone and your bluntness turns him fifty shades of vermillion. God, he needs to stop hanging around Steve so much – he’s lost his touch.

“It’s okay if you are you know,” you look straight ahead. “I’ll suck your dick if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Jesus Christ doll, you’re something else.” Bucky laughs – a deep belly laugh, and for the first time in a while he feels normal.

You’re the only one that makes him feel normal.

And that’s the weirdest part of the whole damn thing.

***

Bucky sees it for the first time in Naples.

Word of an underground trafficking ring associated with Hydra shook loose and Steve wanted you both to check it out – drugs, weapons – the works.

It’s not end-of-the-world type shit, but the dude that runs it is bad news.

Giovanni De Luca, the man with Naples under his thumb - your ex-handler from your time in Hydra. And suddenly the mission becomes a lot more personal than simple recon and a fire burns deep in your loin.

There’s children. Six shivering corpses tethered together by metal chains - glossy marble eyes, painted with grime and so unnaturally thin.

They were being smuggled.

It hits you like a freight train, knocks the wind from your lungs and you remember the day you were taken – screaming, crying for your parents. But they were dead, painted the wall of your small home in gaudy scarlet and bone. And with them died any possibility of you having a normal life.

They would do the same to these children. They would make them into killing machines – turn them into monsters.

They would turn them into you.

“Y/N, we should call backup.” Bucky warns you. He can see it simmering under your skin, begging to be unleashed and he knows you can’t control it. It’s a reflex, it’s you – uncontrollable, impulsive.

“There’s no time.”

“Darlin’ there’s fifteen of them and -”

“And we will crush every single one of them,” you growl, eyes set alight like a matchstick – tar black pupil licked by the flames of your iris and Bucky is almost scared of you.

You kill all fifteen with ease.

You pop Giovanni’s eyes from his sockets, they spill from his skull glossy red and roll across the floor in a river of gore. The last thing he sees is you. The last thing he feels is excruciating death as it swallows him whole, the dust from his skull powders your fingers.

Bucky can’t stop you. You maim and break and kill and you never even bat those pretty eyelashes – possessed.

It bursts through you – unhinged, deadly – this monstrous being that isn’t really you but it is. It’s the ‘you’ they created. The assassin with no remorse and the devil in her belly. It’s a tragedy, breaking apart in front of his eyes like petals being ripped from a blooming flower and scorched by death so suddenly.

You rip a man’s head clean off his shoulders; the loud tearing of flesh and the crack of bone is the symphony to match your turmoil – the melody that plays and you’re dancing in the centre, coated in blood and muscle with the smell of thick iron in the air – Bucky tastes it on his tongue.

Bucky can’t stop you. He won’t stop you. There’s some deep, shadowed part of him that understands the need to kill, the want to kill those who harm you and it’s all either of them know. He dances the same dance, sings the same symphony and it’s beautifully macabre but it’s them.

And that’s okay.

***

Bucky has nightmares. Lurid red rivers, mountains of bones and it’s all people he’s murdered – their faces printed into his mind in thick ink, forever.

He throws himself from hell one night, sweat slicked and screaming into the black void of night as if anyone’s listening - as though he were looking for the old him.

Bucky grips his hair in his fists, pulls and tugs and he wants to reach into his skull and rip his brain from the top of his spine – smash it until it’s nothing more than matter and blood, because that would be so much less painful than having to see their faces every night.

“James?”

His head whips to the doorway, your silhouette illuminated by the Italian moon and he almost thinks you’re an apparition, a silver skin, as you glide across the floor towards him.

Bucky throws his legs over the side of the bed, pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and watches the vivid colours dance across the darkness of his eyelids.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Bucky says, voice choked and broken by despair. “You should go back to sleep.”

You’re in front of him now, kneeling on the floor. Your hands pull his own away from his face because you’re one of the few people who have the strength to do so and he looks at you then.

“I see it all too,” you say softly, a whisper into the night.

Your hand is like a balm to his burning skin as it skims up his arm, fingers grazing the ugly scar at the base of his shoulder, and you’re the only woman that hasn’t been frightened by it – you’re the only woman that’s stayed.

“Do you know what makes it worse, is that I remember who I was before,” Bucky opens up. “I wasn’t always a monster, and I suppose that makes it harder.”

You run both your hands across the wide expanse of mousy skin on his bare chest, your grip more urgent as those small yet powerful hands grip his muscular thighs.

“We’re both monsters James,” you look up at him through those long wispy lashes. “And that’s okay.”

James – no one’s called him that since his mother – and somehow he likes the sound of it on your tongue. You stir something inside him that he thought would never wake up again – caress it with those unusually soft hands and it purrs at you.

And it’s dangerous and dark, and he should probably push you away, but he doesn’t stop you when you reach for his pants and pull them down.

He doesn’t stop you when you lick up his shaft, and tease his balls with a barely-there touch he didn’t think you were capable of. Bucky doesn’t stop you because he wants it – he wants you.

You push his chest down until he crashes against the mattress, primal groan ripping from his throat as you take him deeper into your mouth. It’s wet and hot and everything he ever imagined it would be to have your mouth wrapped around him – bliss.

You swirl your tongue around the tip and look up at him with big, doe eyes and he almost applauds you at how easy you make yourself seem so innocent. And maybe in another lifetime you were, maybe if it were a hundred years earlier, he’d be the dominant one.

“Fuck, baby,” he drawls out, vibranium hand shooting down to lock in your thick hair as you run your teeth up his shaft and no woman’s ever done that to him before. And you do this thing were you twist your head and Bucky swears he sees stars on the ceiling.

He sees heaven and Valhalla and a place he doesn’t deserve, but he knows you don’t deserve it too and he’s not alone.

You moan around him, take him deep into the back of your throat with ease, spit and come are coating your cheeks in transparent ribbons but he knows you don’t care and when he shoots into your mouth you take it all. It’s thick and sticky and leaves behind a burn as it pools in your own stomach with a heavy weight – fat and filling.

You release him with a pop, climb up his body like a monkey and the night air passes over his spit slicked dick and makes him shiver. There’s something about it that’s oddly normal – strangely romantic.  

Bucky reaches his hand out towards your face, runs a calloused thumb across your sharp cheekbone and your lips part slightly at the gentle gesture.

“Gotta admit doll,” Bucky chuckles, humour bouncing around in those stormy eyes. “Was scared you were gonna bite it off.”

“There’s still time yet James.”

And doesn’t he know it.

***

“I’m obsessed with you,” you tell him in Tuscany – bathed in the golden rays of the sun, caressed by the tongues of grass you lay in and you look celestial – as though the gods made you themselves and sent you down as a gift to the earth.

“Obsessed?” Bucky quirks, that Brooklyn glint of mischievousness dots those beautiful blue eyes and he turns to you then.

“Yes,” you reply. “I don’t know what it feels like – to love I mean.”

Bucky pushes himself up on his elbow, drags a cool metal finger up your arm and your nerves dance beneath your skin.

“Well in that case – I’m obsessed with you too.”

And you smile.

***

He makes love to you in Positano.

It was beautiful. Patchwork buildings climbed the Cliffside in all colours – mustard, beige, coral. Scattered along the rock as though it were natural. It was the treasure of the Amalfi Coast – a diamond wedged between lands.

There’s a hotel room. It’s all Old Italian decor – fresh white walls, arched openings, oak curved doors and tile flooring in a burnt copper. An old renaissance style balcony overlooks a deep azure ocean that blends with the sky like paint on canvas, and it’s the purest Bucky has ever seen.

And he feels out of place in between the flimsy opaque drapes and the twisting bougainvillea, which wraps itself delicately around the wrought iron fence in all the colours of a bright summer’s eve.

He feels out of place everywhere.

“There’s this super dope pizza place down the street.” You break through his thoughts with that sultry voice – stop his heart when he sees you.

You’re wearing this pretty dress – buttoned up the front, cotton pink – and Bucky’s tongue catches in his throat like glue at the sight. Because you look at home among the magenta and fuchsia flowers that decorate the lattice with your silky hair and your smooth skin.

And you’re so fucking pretty it stings. Burns deep inside him and presses its weight against his head and he’s dizzy with you.

You smirk at him knowingly, drop the pizza box on the table.

“Like my dress?”

He throws you against the wall

Pushes your back into eggshell painted brick and claims your mouth in a hot searing kiss. It’s more passionate than usual and it takes them both by surprise, because they were both so used to the needy, nasty kisses – stolen in dark places to chase away the shadows.

Bucky’s hands run up your thighs, draw softly over the smooth skin until he reaches your waist – pink pooling over his arms and he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

When he drops you onto the bed he wastes no time crawling between your legs, tangling his hands into your hair and you moan into his mouth – smile at his lack of patience. You grip his shoulders; feel the muscles quiver beneath your strong hands – the way he opens up to you.

The way he begs you to love him because he can’t do it without you – he would drown.

He travels down, pulls open the front of your dress and you gasp as a button flies off – cracks against the wall.

“James! That was the only pretty thing I own.”

“You’re pretty.” He replies, sucking a nipple into his mouth and you arch your back into him as his fingers crawl down your bare stomach. “You’re really fucking pretty baby.”

It makes you blush. It’s so unfamiliar to you – the compliments, the longing, the way he holds you. It’s foreign and unorthodox but you yearn for it all the same, you need it. And so does Bucky.

He slips his fingers past your folds, his metal hand coming to grip your breast and you hiss at the icy touch – at the way his fingers delve into your wetness and you pull his face down to yours once more, sink your tongue into his mouth and bury it in the warmth of him.

You want to feel more of him, you need to. You want him to fill all your senses; you want to be breathless with him.

His tongue rubs against yours as he fingers your cunt, slides in and out and you’re almost embarrassed at the whines he’s pulling from you. His vibranium hand comes up to cup your cheek as you spill your pleasure onto his hand, something snaps inside your gut and your legs quake.

“I need you,” you breathe to him, warmth brushing across his cheeks. “I need you inside me.”

You push his trousers past his hips, sink your nails into the firm muscle of his ass and he bites your neck – hard. You bleed on his lips as he buries himself into you, your blood smeared across his cheek like war paint and it’s fucking erotic and you love it.

You’re like a dream beneath him and he leans back to watch his cock slide into your velvet pussy, his nerves buzz and he tastes metal on his tongue, he tastes you on his tongue – raw, bare.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he slams both hands beside your head, thrusts his cock into you as he chases after pleasure, after all he’s been longing for. And you clench around him, whine as you come all over his cock – blood streaking down over your breasts from the opening in your neck.  

You drag your tongue up his ear when he comes and it’s so fucking hot that he thinks it makes him orgasm twice. And you kiss him when he collapses on top of you, suck his bottom lip into your mouth and gnaw on it until he bleeds – grips your hip with titan force.

You chuckle, hum in delight as you lick his blood from his lips. “You taste nice.”

“God, you’re so fuckin’ crazy.” Bucky laughs, breathless.

“Normal women won’t satiate you soldier.” You throw your legs over his waist, plant firm hands on his chest and he loves the way your eyes glisten in the light of dusk – it’s captivating, all encompassing.

“Plus, you bit me first. I was just returning the favour.”

Jesus Christ he loves you.

***

You drag him up a clock tower in Florence.

People gasp and pull faces as you both scale the building but you don’t care – you drag his ass all the way up to the top to watch the stars over the city because you’re impulsive as fuc and he’s infatuated with you.

Bucky’s fingerprints are peeled off by the time you reach the bell, replaced by a raw stinging.  It’s old gold and rusted in parts but it’s beautiful. The sky is dark indigo, fiery lights smeared across the ebony blanket of an Italian night.  

“You made me come all the way up here to watch the stars?” Bucky pants, drops down beside you and watches the stars spill across your face as you scowl.

“You’re no fun,” you pout, bottom lip pillowed. “I betcha Tony would’ve done it for me.”

Bucky scoffs, sees green and he knows it covers him like a filtered light because you give him a smug smile before pecking his cheek.

Space is stretched before them, a promise of life even in the dark, and Bucky steals a glance at you and sees home. He sees the only woman that could ever full understand him, the only woman that can look at the darkness in him and bathe it in light.

“I love you y’know,” Bucky takes your face into his hands, sees the flash of shock in your eyes – scattered among the stars that sparkle crystal in your irises.

But it settles, and you smile when he pecks you. “I haven’t ever loved someone as much as I love you, and I don’t think I ever will again.” He turns back to look at the sky.

“Does it scare you?” your hand clasps the back of his neck. “If I say I love you too.”

“hey – we’re both monsters right?” he smiles.

“But we’ll get there someday.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x enhanced!reader #bucky barnes fic #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you

[unseelieofficial]

Fate Cards

All Fate Cards we’ve encountered, and who pulled them. Bless Feo for compiling this here.

The Angel

Description: It depicts a being floating among golden clouds and arcs of dark red flame, shadowed face turned upward, silver halo shining bright around its flowing black locks. It’s dressed in brilliant blue robes, two dark grey wings outstretched, both hands planted firmly on a brilliant sword the colour of the sky. There are numerous vibrant golden eyes dotted across its wings, looking to the heavens, lined with black. Meaning: Divine intervention, guidance Victim: Wally

The Bluebird

Description: The card is a simple design- a small blue, red breasted bird on a branch of a white tree with black leaves and purple berries, a gorgeous red sun setting behind it. Meaning: It represents having to leave a part of yourself behind for the sake of your freedom. (Jasper) Victim: Sadie

The Caretaker

Description: The card shows a light grey figure with curly white hair and a brilliant gold tunic on a pale green background. It's hunched over its work- one hand in the air holding a black needle, pulling taught a red thread keeping its project together- a patchwork quilt. Every square is another dazzling colour, a different pattern, seeming to change every time you move your eyes over it. The quilt takes up the bottom half of the card completely. Meaning: It represents relationships where people rely on you to look after them. Deepening a bond with someone you care for deeply or like... Adopting another teen or something I guess. Victim: Poppy

The Chessboard

Description: The card depicts a battle scene, blocky silver and gold soldiers frozen in the middle of a scene of battle, spread out on a long expanse of black and white checkered territory. All the pieces are in full armour, some wield bows, some swords or axes, but all of them are bleeding, looking weary, standing under the same blood red sky choked with black smoke. Some lie dead by the feet of their comrades. Meaning: It represents being thrown into a dangerous struggle between opposing forces. The outcome is up to you. Victim: Poppy

The Cinders

Description: The card depicts a somber scene, dark ash spread mingled with snow, a single jagged, charred cross poking up through the salvageable wreckage around it. Embers still glow faintly, dotted around the burned wood like Christmas lights, red smoke spilling up into the dark sky above. Meaning:  Victim: 

The Clairvoyant

Description: This card has a dark skinned figure draped in gold, standing in a similarly golden archway emblazoned with eyes. The figure has their blue kohl lined eyes closed, one silk draped arm over their chest and the other held out, palm open like a pledge. In the place of their mouth is a purple aster, beneath their sandaled feet a set of stairs leading into a dark blue river. Meaning: Bring some much needed insight to someone. Resolve a bad situation with that insight. (Poppy) Victim: Poppy

The Clock

Description: The card shows golden grandfather clock with a silver face, both ornate black hands pointing towards the 12. White lilies grow around the base of the dark mahogany wood, red roses bursting out from inside it. Meaning: A repeat of past events. Or something from an alternate future.  Victim: Dorian, Saorise

The Clover

Description: A small, green shamrock pushing up through a blank field of snow, light sparkles of it still clinging to each of its four leaves.​ ​ Meaning: Good Luck (Saoirse)  Victim: Poppy

The Crow

Description: The second card depicts a large black bird, perched on the skull of some sort of canine creature with blood on its sharp, jagged fangs. The bird looks serene, with a small red button trailing red thread in its beak, eyes empty and white. Meaning: A loss of someone, or something, that is tied to you by fate. (Character?) Victim: Jimothy, Wally

The Crown

Description: The second card depicts a large black bird, perched on the skull of some sort of canine creature with blood on its sharp, jagged fangs. The bird looks serene, with a small red button trailing red thread in its beak, eyes empty and white. Meaning: It's an intrigue card. Put loosely, it means a sudden, tremendous power is coming your way. Maybe snatched from someone else's possession. Whatever it is, it will be a great responsibility! That's a lot of pressure... Victim: Sadie, Calypso

The Devil

Description: The card shows a dark green figure on a dark red background. They're slender, clad only in black chains, a spaded tail curling around one leg and up across their chest. Two small, triangular horns poke up through their thick hair. There isn't much detail other than their grin- white, sharp, twisted, dripping blood. Purple flames dance on their skin in the light.  Meaning: An encounter with something evil. Something that makes you question your morals- whether it be through trickery, or something stronger. It's a problem that's almost impossible to overcome, Much like an ex lover. Tough break. (Cosmo) Victim: Isaiah, Saoirse

The Eye

Description: The card depicts a large black eye set in a pale silver face. Golden tears pool by the bottom, black lined lid, spilling down the drawing's porcelain cheek. There's a reflection of something in the dark iris, something that seems to change as Jimothy looks at it. Meaning: An awakening. Finally seeing something that was hidden- or something that you were hiding from. Figuratively or literally seeing things in a new light. (Feli)  Victim: Jimothy, Sadie, Jasper

The Fallen

Description: The card shows a figure, falling through the twilight sky. They're splayed, silver hands stretched out to the heavens, mutilated, feathery stumps where wings used to be still streak blue blood across their battered body, shed black feathers as they fall. Their white robes are shredded, one arm shielding their eyes and face from whatever's up there. Meaning: Usually means a run-in with demons, or dark magic, or a corrupting force. Victim: Isaiah

The Fighter

Description: The image depicts a sort of soldier in dark blue armour, cracked and falling apart in places. His exposed golden skin is dirty, scratched, smeared with violet blood. He's slumped over, down on one knee, arm braced on his shining silver sword propped against the ground. Behind him is a purple pentagram- the right side up. Not a satanic symbol. Meaning: It represents bringing the end to a conflict. Could be war, could be a relationship problem. (Wally). Victim: Jimothy, Wally, Poppy

The Glacier

Description: This card is entirely black, with outlines of the stormy sea, and the tip of a giant chunk of ice etched into it in silver. The iceberg is much larger below the water, but this outline is in red. Meaning: This is... trouble. This card is big trouble- trouble that is way more than it seems on the surface. Victim: Othello

The Hero

Description: A single figure, half its body green, the other half blue. Adorned in a very fancy uniform covered in a pattern of white sunflowers, a cape swirling off to the left side, right arm bearing a shining silver sword. A crown sits atop a tangle of curls, made of silver snowdrop flowers woven together. Meaning: It represents coming into the roles of your ancestors. (Fionn) Victim: Calypso

The King

Description: The card depicts the white silhouette of a man seated on a black throne in a clearing of silver trees with black leaves, and the purple twilight sky behind him full of stars. Both his gloved hands are on the pommel of his sword, which is stuck in the ground and giving off beams of golden light. Two red, moth like wings stretch from his back, emblazoned with white roses. Meaning: Getting meddled up in politics. Whether that's good or bad is up to how you handle it. (Oberon) Victim: Isaiah, Wally, Sadie

The Legacy

Description: A card with a rather grisly scene- a white sky with a blood red moon over a black plain, blocky, eviscerated corpses littered across the field, pools of dark red blood and disembodied limbs littered between them. A single red rose is blooming from a particularly detailed corpse in the middle of the card, from the pool of golden blood dripping from its chest. Meaning: It represents the inheritance of the sins of your ancestors. (?) Victim: Jimothy

The Legion

Description: The card has a tall dark skinned figure in white and blue armour with long black hair holding two banners, one in each hand. In the left is a black banner with a white rose and in the other is a white banner with a black sunflower. The white banner is half burned, the black one torn almost in half. Behind the figure stands an army of gold and orange armoured figures in helmets, in a black field under a dark red sky. Meaning: This is a good card. It’s like, the aid of many or something. Victim: Dorian, Wally

The Lover

Description: The card shows woman in a long violet dress, standing in a field of dark red flowers as the sun rises behind her. Her face is turned away, long auburn hair covering her features. Her arms are outstretched, covered by the white wings of the dark blue heart pierced by a silver sword in the foreground. Meaning: Self-sacrifice. When the time comes, you'll have to make a choice between yourself and someone you love. (Mack) Victim: Poppy

The Magpie

Description: A strangely geometric black and white bird on a light grey background. It has red eyes, and red smeared over its beak and unusually long talons. Ruffled feathers seem to be falling out of its ragged wings. An arrow sticks out of its back. Meaning: A fight for something that you love dearly in the future Victim: Jasper, Calypso

The Mirror

Description: This one is just... a reflection. Isaiah sees their face, looking back at them, with the writing down by their chin. Meaning: Self reflection! Fucking hate that. It's about dealing with your problems. Victim: Isaiah

The Mist

Description: This card is... Hard to read. It's almost blank, but if moved, it shows off other colours- faint ones. Almost holographic. Meaning: This is you losing yourself- or donning some sort of... mysterious persona. I dunno. It's hard to read. Victim: Sadie

The Moon

Description: The third card depicts a simple silver crescent moon in a dark black sky. There are no stars in the depiction. Meaning: A symbol of serenity. A slow change of pace from what you're used to. A total transformation into something entirely different. Lucky you! (Max) Victim: Othello, Dorian

The Psychopomp

Description: The card shows a dark blue figure on a black background, standing tall and proud, hands folded behind its back respectfully. It's got on a top hat, and where its face should be is covered by a white skull, bright blue liquid streaking down from the holes of the eyes. Its finely tailored violet pinstripe suit has a bright red feather tucked into the lapel. Meaning: A bargain with death itself! Getting through a near-death experience, sometimes too. (?) Victim: Othello

The Prodigy

Description: This one looks a little more hopeful- a dark blue figure hunched over a black desk covered in brightly coloured scrolls of parchment on a white background. Colourful notes of music scroll across the blank background like bursts of light. Jimothy can almost hear a familiar tune in his head when he looks at it. Meaning: It's a triumph. Finding a new talent, or succeeding at one you've been working on for a while. (?) Victim: Jimothy

The Queen

Description: The card depicts the black silhouette of a woman sitting on a black throne in a clearing of golden trees with white leaves. The red sky of dawn shows the golden sun slowly rising behind her. Both her delicately gloved hands are resting on the sword in her lap, a long silver rapier. Two butterfly-like wings stretch out from her back, emblazoned with black sunflowers. Meaning: The queen is a responsibility. A sacrifice you make for your people, when faced with an unbeatable force. Whoever your people are. --- This card says you’ll be getting into some trouble soon. A power struggle between you and a force you can’t beat. A sacrifice will have to be made for the good of your people. Whoever those people are. (Titania) Victim: Isaiah, Saoirse

The Quill

Description: The card depicts an unreasonably large feather, like that of an albino peacock, resting in a violet bottle of ink, that's spilling its red contents over the side, on a black background. Meaning: Rewriting some aspect of what's past- or what's to come. Victim: Jasper, Wally

The Reaper

Description: A self explanatory card, with a dark hooded figure on a horse made of black bones, pawing at the ground. The cloak seems to be made of the night sky, stars winking in the fabric. In its hand, it holds a scythe that seems to glow with golden light, carved with hearts and moons, and little skulls. Meaning: Some other death thing? Maybe it means you'll die? Maybe see someone else die? I'd ask someone who's better at this. Victim: Jasper

The River

Description: The card shows pale blue river, white crests of water sloshing up against the green grassy banks, swarms of purple flowers choking the green out, dangerously close to the water.  Meaning: Moving past something that's been holding you back. (Athena) Victim: Othello

The Saint

Description: The card depicts a tall man with his hands extended, black blood dripping from holes in his dark palms. He has long, dark curls that cover most of his face, dark blood dripping from his golden eyes, down to his gold and white robes, covered in patterns of angels and demons. He has a red halo, shining silver beams into a dark sky. (Zach) Meaning: Martyrdom or divine intervention. Victim: Poppy

The Scales

Description: The card shows a set of ivory scales, perfectly placed in the middle of the card with a blue background. On one side is the dark red skull of some sort of ram, black liquid dripping from the void of the eye sockets. On the other, the black skull of a wolf, dark red blood dripping from its horrific fangs. Meaning: The Scales represent a deadly balancing act. Tip too far one way, there'll be consequences. Victim: Wally, Dorian, Calypso

The Spy

Description: The card shows a green figure, dressed in a black tunic and hood with a dark red mask over their eyes on a golden background. two dark red branch-like antlers come up off their head, covered in flowers. Black roses, red sunflowers, golden snowdrops, strings of green ivy curling up like spider's webs. Meaning: Someone in your life can't be trusted. Either that or you're gonna learn a big secret about someone else's identity. (?) Victim: Saorise

The Stars

Description: Every time Poppy moves the card even slightly, it seems more silver dots appear in the dark violet sky shown on the card. It would take a while to count them- there's so many, in familiar constellations, in patterns none of them have seen before. Meaning: Absolute truths - Clarity through interference from otherworldly forces. Something to keep you grounded as you try to find what you're looking for. Victim: Poppy, Sadie

The Storm

Description: The card depicts something... it's hard to tell, really. Every time Wally moves it, it seems to change colours, a flurry of cool blues that seem like they could be a tropical hurricane, then a dark storm cloud, then a windswept canopy of lush forest. It's inherently chaotic. Meaning: Something on the horizon for you - Something big. Something that will sweep through your life, changing it forever. Might be good, might be bad. Whatever it is, it'll hit hard. Victim: Wally

The Sun

Description: The card depicts a dark gold sun in a cloudless red sky, the rays reaching towards the golden edges of the card.  Meaning: A good development. Something breaking new grounds and beginning anew. Victim: Othello

The Tower

Description: This card shows a tiny, far off lighthouse, up on a rocky, storm battered shore. It's small, white and red, shining silver light into the inky blackness of a dark sky that bleeds into the white capped sea. Meaning: A great effort! May result in a mighty climb- or a mighty fall. (Ledge) Victim: Saoirse

The Trickster

Description: This card depicts a hooded figure against a gold background, standing on one foot on a dark floor as their dark green cloak billows behind them with both their amber hands outstretched. Playing cards are flying everywhere, floating around them in a circle. Looking at it too long seems to make golden, animalistic eyes appear in the darkness of the hood where their face should be.  Meaning: This one's... Well. Tricky. Multifaceted. It's an unexpected happening- mostly a new power, or a new ally. Could be a revelation- something terrible, or something joyful. Something to make you feel like you're the plaything of the gods. Exciting! (Ori) Victim: Jimothy

The Troubadour

Description: The card shows a figure standing at a music stand. It seems they're addressing an orchestra, both arms in the air, notes of music bending and shifting around on their lines, dipping to weave through their fingers. They're in a ratty coat, however, plain brown clothes contrasting with their copper skin and mousy brown hair.  Meaning: A self made hero from humble beginnings. The resolution of a problem in a peaceful way. Power and prestige. Not bad! (Character?) Victim: Othello

The Vulture

Description: The bird depicted on the card is really just the skeleton of a vulture, black and red bones with dingy, dark orange feathers still clinging to them. There's a silver dot in the otherwise empty eye socket, and black smeared over its beak. Meaning: An opportunity to gain something from someone's death. Victim: Jasper

The Wanderer

Description: The card shows a silhouette in a cloak that only reaches to their shoulders, face covered in shadow. They have a billowing cloak, rainbow in hue, primary colours on one side, secondary on the other. Half of their body is white, the other is red. On the red side, they hold a bag, brimming with... something. On the white, they hold a sword, golden and glowing. Meaning: A vagrant. This one’s new! Huh! Well. This is something big wandering into your life. Or wandering out. Could be good, could be bad. That’s the spirit of the wanderer. Sometimes it’s both. (Jimothy) Victim: Saoirse, Poppy, Jimothy

The Wasp

Description: The card depicts an wasp, curled up into a perfect circle. It's black and yellow, stinger long and gold and engraved with the same symbols adorning its blue metal armour. Its face is covered with an ornate helmet, angular and sharp, all its legs covered in plates. The background is white. Meaning:  Victim: 

The Witch Bottle

Description: The card depicts a green glass bottle. There's an assortment of items at the bottom, warped, with their colours mottled by the colour of the glass. There seems to be a bird skull, resting on a bed of dry grass and dark flowers with big, heart shaped petals. A faint lavender smoke comes from the open top. Meaning: A brush with a very old, often forbidden sort of magic. Victim: Poppy

The Wolf

Description: A wolf- an old one, by the looks of it, thin and lean and battle scarred, walking through a forest of silver trees and black grass. Patches of fur are missing from its golden coat, mottled with dark black scars, stained with purple blood, wary red eyes downcast. More blood blooms from its coat where arrows have pierced through it, and there is a hole in its chest dripping violet in a pool on the ground, possibly because it’s missing its heart, which it carries gingerly in its blood streaked jaws. Meaning: It represents breaking free of a relationship that was holding you back.  Victim: Calypso

#Fate Cards

[keeper-of-the-lilacs]

Dresses & Things

(( Warning: transphobia – it’s vague, but it’s there. Hyacinth is referred to as a ‘he’ only because at this point in the story she hasn’t figured herself out yet. After this write, she/her pronouns are used. ))

“Haven’t ye outgrown dresses yet, Cinthie?”

Gelert, the gardener’s son, gave a skeptical glance to the youngest son of their lord Delacroix, who was peering down at himself with owlish purple eyes. Tiny fingers picked nervously at the front of the bright blue dress he was in, full of lacey bits that went above his ankles. The boys were ten and eight respectively, playing under the shade of a great oak by the back of the garden. 

Hyacinth peered with his large, downturned eyes up at Gelert, giving the older boy an immediate pang of guilt: “…I’m not pretty?” Hyacinth gnawed on his lower lip. “I…Iris made this for me…”

“No,” Gelert backtracked, rolling his eyes. “Ye very pretty–don’t cry, ye ninny, hush up.” Dirt-caked hands from working by his da this morning plapped at the younger Elezen’s cheeks, who was already beginning to sniffle. Truth be told, he was just irritated that Hyacinth got nice clothes; the lowborn Hyur was always left to his dirty overalls, except on days to worship the Twelve or at funerals. Hyacinth always got to wear pretty things, even if dresses for boys were only for when they were toddlers. 

He did look cute. It was annoying. 

“If ye cry,” Gelert grumbled, still mushing Hyacinth’s sad-eyed face until he had fish lips, “then your hellion of an older brother is gonna blame me and m'gonna get walloped by him.”

Hyacinth tried to appear sorry, pulling at Gelert’s hands, but it was a futile effort when his upset feelings were breaking into a small smile. “Last time was because you burned my books.”

“You don’t even like those books!" 

"They were decorum books and Missus Abernathy had me punished cause she thought I was lying.”

Gelert frowned. And then he released Hyacinth’s face, who goodnaturedly rubbed at the dirt now flecked on the chubby, pale cheeks. “Yea, I'm…sorry about that part.”

Hyacinth lifted his shoulders, oblivious and happy to use a gesture that would send that wicked Mrs Abernathy into fits. “It’s okay. But that’s why Jack got mad at you.”

“Yea, well, your brother is a demon.” Gelert rubbed the back of his head, his hair as brown as the dirt he got into it. He glanced to the nearby garden maze walls, to the flower beds he had just worked on in preparation for the trellis the Viscountess desired to have there. When the jingle of mithril links and heavy boots suddenly struck his ears, however, he snapped his attention back to Hyacinth and began shoving him behind the tree. 

“Get, get!" 

"Wh…Wha?” Hyacinth was back to that owlish look, confused. And not moving nearly fast enough behind the tree for Gelert’s liking. 

“Sir Bastille is here, ninny, he’ll–" 

An Elezen man, straight-backed in worn but well-kept chain mail, suddenly appeared around the outside of the hedge maze with a severe gaze, the same silver as his hair. 

"Master Hyacinth,” his voice drawled, sharp and low like the drag of a sword being drawn. His eyes snapped to Gelert, who tensed beneath it with an untrusting leer of his own; he was, after all, what stood between the man and the second son of the manor’s lord. “Cowering behind the gardener’s son, when you should be in the Green Hall for your fencing lessons. How predictable.”

Hyacinth shrank behind his friend, clutching at his shirt sleeve and shaking like a leaf. The older Elezen terrified him, his judgments as swift as the punishing lashes and hits he gave to the boy when his form was poor. “A…Apologies, Ser Bastille. I–" 

"Pray,” interjected the man, who flapped his hand dismissively towards the manor behind him. “Cease your excuses for your distractions with the servants. Your lessons began an hour ago. The spoiled child that you are, you have forgotten them in favor of rolling in the dirt with commoner ilk.”

Ear tips and eyes burning, Hyacinth ducked his head. Gelert was sneering at the Ser, who deigned not even to glance again at the boy as he spoke of him as if he was trash. He looked at Hyacinth as the boy gave a small hiccup sound, but Hyacinth released Gelert, hurrying in a wide berth around Ser Bastille. 

“Yes, Ser Bastille,” mumbled in fear and pain the scared young lord, disappearing around the hedge. Gelert didn’t imagine or miss the look of disgust as Ser Bastille caught the last bit of blue lace before it was gone. His hands closed into fists as the older gentleman of Ishgard sniffed and finally gave actual regard to the tall boy. 

“You’d do best to remember your place, boy.”

Gelert was always getting in trouble for his mouth. His da, calm and gentle man that he was, laughed and blamed his mother, Twelve rests her soul. It was hard to control it, but he did around the lord and lady of the house because they were good nobles. And he controlled it around their demon of an heir, because of the walloping the man would deliver should he be overheard. For that, the boy nearly respected the infamous Jacques ‘Jack’ Delacroix. 

This Ser Bastille was just a chevalier, a 'noble’ as common as him but with years in active service to rise him in status. He might be a friend to the lord of the manor, but to the loyal servants, he was no one. And yet–

“Playing games with a second son,” the gentleman continued, tongue lashing, “who is meant for the clergy or knighthood, when he has some proper discipline and ceases being such a sniveling runt in those ridiculous dresses–" 

And yet–

”–Twelve help us if anything should happen to our lord’s son, though that is quite within the realm of possibility with his carriage racing and the disreputable bastards he takes up with. Gods preserve, the Viscount does humor his spoiled sons.“

The man turned his back to Gelert and he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to stick up for his lord, at the very least. A friend to his father when Gelert’s mom died. A good man who treated them fairly.

And Hyacinth just wanted to wear the dress his sister had made him. 

Gelert opened his mouth–

"For fuck’s sake, old man, I’m trying to nurse a hells’ damned hangover here, and your peevish voice is like the cloy of a rake’s fornications with a chalkboard.”

–and then Gelert closed his mouth, perplexed. That wasn’t his voice. That sounded like the voice before a thrashing from the Viscount’s son. 

And indeed, apparently, it was the Viscount’s son who had spoken. Or rather, growled. He was suddenly there a yalm or two away in the stone alcove at the edge of the garden, with leaves sticking out of his thick, curly black hair and a black scowl painted on his dark face. The Duskwight noble, a gangly teenager of already imposing height, straightened the lapel of his jacket while the man of martial teachings visibly reeled at the surprise of being caught venting his vexations. Gelert had the pleasure of watching the accursed old man sputter stiffly on apologies, but kept his eye on Jack. Who knew what the mad son of Delacroix’s name would do? 

No sooner had Gelert had an inkling to keep an eye on Jack, Jack acted. Those long legs deftly leaped over the stone edge of the tiny sitting area and Gelert moved just in time from the lord son’s wake to miss being trampled by the prowling march to Ser Bastille. The man of military leaned back with a bitten back look of horror, as the taller youth grinned in his face, all teeth, and hissed at him in less-than-benign speech. 

“But pray go on, Ser Bastille the loose-tongued, I seem to have caught you in the middle of beseeching the Twelve. What about dearest father and his milksops for sons, hm? What about his heir? HM?" 

"N-Now, Master Delacroix, really, I–" 

Jack lurched a few inches forward, teeth bared like a crocodile’s. "It’d be in your best interest, my dear chevalier, to keep your nasty little opinions to yourself. Perhaps pick on someone your own size and age, Ser Bastille, instead of picking on the children of the common ilk in the middle of the bloody garden like some drunken clout.”

Ser Bastille was visibly coloring. Gelert’s eyes were the size of dishes. 

Jack jerked his chin, voice slipping soft. “It is mildly suggested, good Ser, that you vacate this garden while you still have a job, and are not still in the Brume where father found your sorry arse. Because father might be a forgiving, mild man, but I’m not one to hear tongue lashing about my dearest siblings in my presence, and you know bloody well what happened to Violet’s last fiance to prove that.”

The color drained from Ser Bastille’s face. Gelert watched as the man muttered some horrified excuse to leave, then quickly turned on his heels. As he left, Jack held a hand to his mouth and called: “And if I find any more welts on my sweet little brother’s legs and arms, Ser, you’ll be packing your bags…and praying that the Brume is far enough from me.”

Ser Bastille was quickly gone. Gelert, eyes now on Jack, stood perfectly still as the older young man held his hands on his hips and sneered at where the older man had disappeared. A few muttered curses later about the old 'windbag’ and Jack finally regarded Gelert, who gave an intelligent 'uh’. 

Jack sniffed and gave an imposing point of his finger. “Don’t burn his books, sprout.”

“…Fine.” Gelert forced his shoulders to unstiffen, jaw jutting out at the older boy. He refused to show he was scared, even if he still did in his obvious suspicion of Jack, legs bunched and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

For his gall, he got a grin, brilliant white in the ash-grey face of the noble’s son. And then Jack sauntered out of the garden, whistling a bawdy bar tune under his breath. 

Gelert waited for a bit in the garden. Then, instead of looking for his da like a good gardener’s son, he headed off for the window of the Green Hall’s room, to watch Hyacinth’s lessons. After all, where would he be without Gelert’s secret tips in the garden?

#writings

[ffxv-monstrosity]

74 with Werewolf!Gladio (Heather)

“I would never let them kill you.”

Teeth like razors, nails the sizes of small knives implanted deep within the skin of his fingers. Cotton clothing had been ripped in some areas, a jacket became a vest and his shirt had popped open just enough to show off the fur that had grown abundant on his body. Sickly golden eyes staring from the dark, out to you as a growl fell from his lips as if it were his own drool. Long, chocolate brown hair spilled over his shoulders, his ears poked through in small points that were hidden in ashen-brown fur.

Saliva dripped down from beneath his fangs, dripping and slipping through from the splits from where the transformation had made his teeth look that of a monster's. His heavy jaw split open, a pointed tongue pushed back into his mouth as a roar rumbled through him.

The scar that stayed in this form, making sure to show the crusted red line between the gray fur made sure to show it was a scar, and there are weaknesses to this monster.

His eyes seemed to shine brighter as he stalkers closer until he reels his shoulders back, his jaw snaps closed and he starts to lower himself onto his haunches until...

Your skull smacked against the cold window pane, a groan managing to slip over your tongue as your eyes blink open. Squinting away from the pale blue light shining in front the window directly next to you, your fingers carded into the fur of your jacket that sat on your shoulders before pulling it closer.

The train was quiet if you didn't count the constant clacking of the iron wheels against the rails as well as the obnoxious horns and blares of the whistles.

You felt woozy. Being on this train for a day made you feel sick to your stomach.

You could only imagine how Gladiolus feels.

Sitting up in the leather seat, your gloved hands brushed themselves along the soft cotton of your dress before moving up to fix the hat that sat upon your head. Your thumb had stalled at the pin of a gladiolus flower that had been pressed into the stiff material, you traced over every detail until your hands fell to your lap again.

The train had turned quickly, stirring passengers from their slumbers as the train had started to slow down so it could nestle its way into the station in the crown city.

Your eyes watched as Ford cars and horse carriages cluttered the busy streets, steam roared from both buildings and boats, roars of engines that truly screamed the 1920's.

One last final whistle from the train before it finally stopped, the smell of burning coal finally starting to thin.

Looking out the window once more, you eyed the Citadel standing tall over the buildings and homes.

"I'm coming, Gladiolus," you murmured as you snatched up the silver cane.

"Mrs. Amicita, what a pleasure it is to see you once more," Jared greeted as he pulled open the grand Citadel door. "We have been awaiting your arrival for quite some time already. How was your trip from Altissia, Mrs. Amicita?"

"It was alright, Mr. Hester. It was long, but I suppose that is the price I pay for taking on such tasks," I replied as your heels clicked against the polished marble flooring. "How are you, Mr. Hester? Is young Talcott alright these days?"

"I am fine, I cannot complain. And Talcott is doing well." He lead you down paths and curves and hallways, down a flight of stairs and then down two more before he had opened his mouth once more. "I hope you know that this... him.... cannot last longer down here."

"What do you mean?" I murmured as I had stopped.

"He has not told anyone. Not Iris, not his father, not Ignis, not even the King or the Prince themselves. Only you and I know of it, Mrs. Amicita. But the guards, they're starting to figure things out."

"What do you mean Gladiolus has not told anyone yet?"

"He planned on telling both his sister and his father, however... nothing went as planned..."

"What do you mean? Where is he?" you asked as you started to walk once more, pushing past him.

"Mrs. Amictia!" Jared called as he reached out.

His hand tightened around your wrist.

"Let go of me, Jared Hester!" you snapped as you whirled around.

Something sounded out from the end of the hall.

"Mrs. Amicitia, I'm sorry that this has happened!"

"What did you do to him?" you snapped. "Where is my Gladiolus? What is happening to him?" A loud roar rattled through the hallway. Your jaw slackened and your eyes widened. "Gladiolus."

"Hunters came for him. They see that it is despicable that a werewolf is to be the guard for the future king."

"What will they do to him?"

Jared stayed quiet, his eyes falling to the ground.

"Get him out of here now! Before this beast fully turns!" a nasily voice called out from behind the door. "We have to get him to Lestallum so he can be treated."

The doors opened to reveal two men dressed in white, a color so crisp and clean that only doctors wore. Gladiolus stood in between them, clothes ragged and torn, his skin slightly covered by his fur that was crawling around on his skin. He had chains that weighed his arms and legs down. The doctor behind him held a pole that was being used to push your husband forward.

His golden eyes landed on you, he stilled. When the doctor behind him tried to push him forward, Gladiolus snarled lowly before whipping the doctor around to slam into the one in front of him.

Jared backed away when Gladiolus had appeared before the two of you, his rough hands reaching up to your face to cup your cheeks, his nails tracing your soft skin as a low growl emerged from him.

"Do not let them do it to me, my dear," he whimpered in a deep voice as his grip on your face tightened just a bit.

“I would never let them kill you,” you whimpered as your fingers carded into the fur growing along the sides of his jaw.

"Time to go, mutt!" one of the doctors snapped as Gladiolus had been dragged from your grip.

Tears trailed down your cheeks as you watched on, there was nothing you could do but try to keep him safe in your own ways...

The silver ring felt so heavy on your ring finger as your mind traveled to the silver cane you left at the doors.

"Oh, Gladiolus," you whimpered out before he had been dragged out of your sight.

#ffxv #ffxv imagines #gladiolus #Gladio #gladiolus amicitia #gladiolus x reader #werewolf!Gladio #werewolf gladio

[wayward-hums]

Backscratcher Solved

The things you believed in will stay like the needle in the eye of your son, forever, while violet lights on Christmas windows tell their young to count the stars above for the tow trucks to come.

One snap of both fingers on both hands is that quick to forget the loss of the eye for the storm. Bjork and her son on some island are editing magazines, as the newspapers cut their font accordingly.

Believe in Weimar - all the dogs that make you happy today are the cats with burnt tails at night, and that weeps you out.

Tell Eno about the sign, as present continuous couldn't be if not for being alive. Forget the Judge, he knows.

My fire is despairing in Chernobyl while the elephant's leg is laughing inside one snake turned into a wrong god.

My orange later is the new blue and black depending on the dalton in the snow.

Cilla approves of my literature beyond the thistles of the pale lilac rainbow.

Roma follow lithium when Kurt knows how right Reznor could have been if he still believed in self destruction from Lucas.

There's too much actor geometry in my systems. I think this is stolen from Ballard. Ballard who did you steal it from? Jews probably... Then I feel shameless to steal it from you once more.

If you want to find my twisted sister, my anchor has made a pact in Panjeea not to look in the eye when the Celtic ring is breaking on the middle finger.

The man hammering the anvil still sits on the fence before the oval, surrounded by coal and covered by the trees.

Pigeons not only develop a coop, they wait before the docks positioning themselves in the manner of your being and everything turns against Gira machine because his Polaroids don't match the patterns on Andy's chest.

My murder of crows never Rows M for H anymore, as the P is at composed consolidation with the Mac and cheese.

Is your purple super handed man still escaping through your husband's elbow while you stick your eye in it to see how close you are from reaching your own screw? He says quietly that they always come and so they do. They really do. I see them wandering around me in Jung and its shadows. I see stars. Little openings, usually of green glow.

My hook aura can do a cucumber before 9pm.

***

Keep all lose ends, you never know whether the mercurial son won't end up trashing background music.

Your belt in hypercube can do prime numbers showing the tree that cut its own head and turned into a stone from which Pegasus took young self into nowhere.

Gabo Othala Gabo Othala Gabo Othala.

The silver lining is on your apricot.

Remember that babies are on the mint trolley so the smoke is showing you Odin from the blood to the excrement in the river.

Mondays are manic and ratty, Tuesday is for the eternal love of Thom. On Wednesdays the leprechaun is flexing the muscles, while Thursday belongs to David... and it is so low, Lou needs to cut himself in the reeds for Iggy to pop alive on television. Running around the beach with a yoggi.

Jessica's Fridays are doing shrimps in the green mile jar for a doormouse.

Weekends don't come around. Or they do when Moz is unable to look me in the eye, cursing the father.

No-one really sells the world exactly, not even my self, my voided body.

Saturday could be the moment for Nick Cave's split with Blixa if not for the fact I'm on Jupiter and she is on Pluto.

No matter how much your raisin shows, the towel will sweep the others for you on a snow creamed Marilyn kiss from three Irelands visiting to and fro and then back to young Erin again.

This is not the time for the b&w, but for the 'S' that goes onto 'M' for the demon that doesn't breathe (it lives in the idea in the hallway-room that wasn't reversed to the time before the great break)

||

So count to nine (hee-haw) because 13 is the number reserved for jumping Heather / feather of the church of Brigid.

Silvans blow their Peruvian pipes for Oliver to replace Stuart, like a fiver killed through my barking girl hidden within an exhibitionist gym for when we were young animal girls.

Sometimes things feel like faceless beauty looking cardinal purple for Art to go turquoise and celeste on a mean lean green sunflower pact with a-cordian Jon.

There's too much carnelian on the Fubar for the floss of Leviathan and red weather drums hiding Indian eggs on mount I donated a paper plane to cover the moon of wolves in my polar bear lying on the floor.

A misogynist chef that cooks awesome hospital food without much attitude for love sings "wo' y'all yall".

"Keep it snappy for suffragette equalizers on central Deadpool Rock Resistance", said Edith in Glasgow while singing bread melody of the morning frost in pure mist.

David lynch knows not to pull 7 for a very long time in this factory.

Sunglasses at night might help, but children of the plague have begun their surreal journey with abacus to give a three - fingered hand shakes.

Bolt the doctor in the eye of your chin.

Apples don't talk of piety when they're unafraid of the mirror iris. Ewe and Grace won't ever do the thin daughter's water scale channel in the open.

There is a teal in Argos for the Chinese salmon and eels.

We won't scratch Hungarians to bring turkey to the bridge for the anti-heroes hidden in literature's fantastic eyelashes.

Please remember the terrifying future of the freeze. Why your brother is so full of angst about spiders and machines from war of the worlds. You love him and you understand how step-ladders work now.

Although you're still around the difficulty to forgive, regardless of the amount of Tzur's Ho and purple Sign O' the Times, she must have your name.

Gather self around the time you crunched and went back to say Carlin was not just right, he was essential.

You don't want to die holding an Artaud shoe but pancreatic cancer doesn't feel appealing either. Why is it always cancer or suicide by society?

Don't slice the ear, keep the slave in the black tulip for scientists to wonder.

Japan is saving the moment of air / water release for the grainy deserted field of barley, Roxy Boney.

Yoko Ono never meant to tell me until this December that I am Pepe Pewing lasers for Hong Kong.

I am forgiven.

There is sorrow for Libby in my dust bunnies, I crumble my rib and lung.

The right side of the body hailing to the man is the realm of the dead. Live your hands separately, I told them enough.

Raspberry slipper hill on Francis the magpie turn leopard once for the Tinkerbell to off herself for Disney-Pasta with a sample of Finland for the birds on your assessment notes.

At first you may think that the weirded masked nympho is having a pact with a hoover man and denotes the conversations to the red lion man blackmailed by the pen handling yellow, 9"11 causing peckers, over and over.

I said I won't Sanchez you that white frame for Chris and John, but I allowed my blue trousers to go full circle and come back as I don't feel much like creating portals in 2005, so don't dare stealing my love.

Time and morality are so relative it feels it was me who has always been giving to the eternity; I have given flowers for the red crown that brought cracks on the crocodile pavement for ankh girl go sandman.

I have awakened you and nursed Joe in his dream on the 01/12 by spitting on my totem.

If they are looking through my right eye, my left fountain keeps flowing gum that will come back in style, since the owls have left the ward with marlboro and lassoes, Dennis Jordan won't buffalo buffalo even for the ear.

***

Birds see my floaters and I don't catch black snow. One tiny spoon of Italian ice-cream wounded by an old relative (that is not with me anymore) is enough to convince Vienna of waiters.

FedEx kid told Tom who lately broke a lot of wall not to look me in the Wilson this time, one neighbour on covid19 is enough, we reckon. His son did some Buckley a while back. Who else looks like dope?

I learned that my cairn was a farmer. The one legged Alan tossed the coin to me. The deor collects no dandylion.

The tin with the stag in four A reflected the same pattern as the Rudolf before the || hallway, just like my radiator - dried bobble today.

They tried to recount me by removing my magnetic field of mice away, while adding heavier than life gravity onto my atlas that still reminds me of clear bag in Hungarian.

***

When I spoke to you the first time your blonde hair and pale skin were set on fire. I love every time you move your head towards a cat caress.

Phil Spector is still reincarnating outside the window. Swayze's wife must be furious about the theft of patsy Cline into the crazy vein of my middle finger.

The teared rose on Mexican palms have led me to a higher wisdom of Armenia.

Now that I listened to you I understand the highs of organic artists better and I'm disappointed it is leaving me while the gravity of rock and roll becomes too heavy to relate to my foetus on the leash the way I could relate before.

You have to be that tall to pass my headge-row with a lion tattoo on the armpit, when you drive over the body of that girl and get away with it, buddy.

Tear for Eddie.

Who is off the nut today? I'm only playing poker cards on my brown paladium. The ancient black cat knows no Asian bullshit

Hyenas are laughing about their shimmering initiation. Bird laughs with droplets falling on my right elbow. It serves me not (back when I got scared in the restaurant chain) until I'm served Jasmine knot.

I'm that girl everyone keeps selling and that man you can't look in the eye on your right. Stop using my raspberry rabbit, it is mine!

Why do You insist on using language as if it couldn't harm you? I'm least likely to, anyway.

***

[siren-dragon]

Long Live the King - (Ardyn Izunia x Reader) Prologue

Hey everybody! I have started a new fic again, hurray! Anyway, this fic comes curtesy of @maty-yami, who gave me the lovely prompt.

What if Ardyn had a family when he was king, and ended up losing them, which spurned his desire for revenge. But everything is not as it seems....

So here we go, hope you enjoy! ^_^

They say that every person suffers a great betrayal in their lifetime. And it is in that moment, one is often given a choice; a safeguard. A coin of Fate with salvation stamped upon it, to rescue those who were blind to the traitor of their trust when flipped. But when one gambles against the gods themselves, they should know that winning was never an option. A lesson you were harshly taught….

All your life, your family has tended to the gardens of the Citadel. It was hard work- but one you took pride in. And it was not uncommon for your father or the other servants to find you sitting amongst the flora and fauna, dirt across your face, playing a tune upon your ocarina. Your father often teased you, calling you his little nymph, a name that you carried like a badge of honor.

“Oh, my little nymph,” your father chuckled. “You could charm the Kings themselves with your sweet melodies.”

It never failed to make you laugh at the irony of your father’s words. For it was only a decade later that you would meet him: the one that would claim your heart.

The summer evening was uncommonly warm that day, causing sleep to elude you. And so, you left the uncomfortable warmth of your bed and walked the familiar hallways of the Citadel before coming upon the royal gardens. The scent of roses made you smile as you slowly walked through the grass to your favorite place within the garden. A simple gazebo, standing beside the edge of the garden and hidden by the roses that twisted around it. Sitting upon the bench that stood by, it allowed you to enjoy the view of the small lake and the cherry blossom trees that stood beside it like silent guardians.

Lifting your cherished instrument to your lips, you closed your eyes and played, allowing your mind to wander.

“You play beautifully.”

The sudden voice had startled you, causing the sweet melody you were playing to dissipate into the evening air. You turned to face the man who had caught you by surprise; dressed in fine clothes of black and grey he seemed as if he was part of the shadows themselves. His hair was a vibrant shade of crimson like that of a fine wine, surrounding strong features that surely belonged to an aristocrat. The man cocked his head to the side, frowning slightly at the abrupt end to your music. “I apologize, it was not my intention to frighten you.”

You stood immediately, dusting your skirt of dirt. “There is no need for apologizes. And I am sorry but, I must be going- “

“Will you continue?” The man spoke, causing you to halt in your tracks.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Will you continue to play? Your music…I find it soothing.”

You looked down at your ocarina before meeting the man’s gaze. His golden eyes seemed to glow in the evening light, making you flush slightly at the intensity of his stare. “If you do not mind….”

“Not at all.” The man smiled, sitting upon the bench and gesturing for you to sit beside him.

And so, your father’s words spoke true, for Ardyn had become bewitched by you, and you with him. So many nights you both spent in the company of one another, often ending with you playing music.

But all good things do come to an end……

“Please, no! Not him, not my baby!”

“Shut yer trap, witch!”

The force of the backhand sent you spinning to the floor, the swelling of your cheek promising a bruise there. A round of mocking laughter echoed around the large throne room, causing fresh tears to fall from your (e/c) eyes.

“Leave them be Izunia! I beg of you, do as you would to me; but spare my family.” Ardyn pleaded, his handsome face now bruised and bloodied from the force of his brother’s blows.

“What is this? The King of Lucis; begging for mercy! Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Izunia sneered, gesturing to the guard holding your child. “Bring the boy here.”

“No!” both you and Ardyn shouted, the later collapsing from the force of a punch to the stomach while another guard twisted your arm behind your back.

Izunia took hold of the sobbing child, his cries echoing around the throne room. He smiled down at the child, it’s cries slowly dying down to mere whimpers of discomfort. “What a lovely child you have been gifted brother. He even has your eyes!” The elder prince laughed, cradling your son gently across his chest, “Tis a shame his fate was doomed from birth.” And in one swift motion, Izunia removed the dagger strapped to his thigh and plunged it into the stomach of your child.

“NO!” You and Ardyn both screamed in horror as the bundle fell to the floor, a crimson flower blooming across the ivory blanket. A cry of terror ripped from your throat as you collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down your face as you tried desperately to reach your baby with the guardsman restraining you. Izunia walked down from the steps, bypassing Ardyn who thrashed against his chains like a wild animal, before kneeling in front of you. He yanked you up by your (h/c) hair, the dagger in his hands trailing alongside your cheek; the once silver blade now stained ruby-red.

“Do you not see, my dear? This is what that daemon has given you: nothing but pain and the corpse of your child. I hope it was worth it.” Izunia smirked before standing up once more. “Take her to the dungeon, she will stand trial for her association with this abomination.”

“No! Don’t take her too! Leave her be!”

Izunia turned to look at his brother, a mocking smile gracing his lips. “Oh, dear brother, what right do you have to give me orders? You could not save your child, and now you have damned your wife. Where is your power now ‘Chosen King’?”

“IZUNIA! IF YOU HARM HER I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME!?” Ardyn screamed as he watched the guardsmen drag you away from the throne room. Your (e/c) eyes met your beloved’s golden iris’ one last time before the double doors slammed shut.

It was cold, yet the temperature did little to bother you. Curled into the corner of your stone cell you sat, your tears turning to dry, heaving sobs. Your poor child; the spark of light that was the proof of your love for Ardyn…was gone. Ripped away from your embrace before departing this world forever. He sounded so scared in those final moments, his cries still echoing inside your mind. You clawed at your hair as your sobs continued, begging for that accursed sound to stop as it taunted you.

“Do not despair little nymph, all is not loss.”

Your head jerked upward so fast, you felt a brief spell of vertigo from the harsh movement. Standing before you, opposite the bars of your prison cell, stood a black-haired woman; clad in a kimono of black silk with white and gold embellishing. Though her eyes remained closed you could feel them pierce through your flesh and gaze into your soul. “…Who are you?”

“I have many names, but you may call me Gentiana; a Messenger.”

You rose shakily to your feet, eyes glaring in outrage at the woman that stood before you. “How dare you…How dare you show your face before me”

“Your anger is justified, but let it be known-

“Justified!? I lost my SON! MY HUSBAND!” You screeched, the anger and sorrow becoming too much for you to bare. “He was murdered, before my very eyes and I did NOTHING! My precious boy....my sweet King…. gone…all gone.”

Gentiana watched as you fell to your knees, hands clenching the iron bars of your prison, drowning in the ocean of your sorrow. She knelt beside you, gently grasping your hands; her own as cold as ice. “Your son knows you would have taken his place if you could have. And it is the love you hold for him that he will always remember.”

You stared up at the woman in surprise, her kind words a lifeline in the storm of emotions you felt. She opened her eyes briefly at you and smiled, “sometimes we forget…how fragile mortals can be….”

“Yet you still forsook my husband.”

“In darkness the Accursed must walk, until that day when the King of Kings will come; purging our star of its scourge.” Gentiana gave you a sad smile, “you are brave little nymph. Though I ask you this: will you stand beside your King even in the darkest of times? Is your courage as strong as your love?”

You did not even ponder her questions, answering immediately with a nod of your head, eyes shining with the fire of determination. “Yes.”

“Then come with me, and we shall see if your words ring true.”

The door to your cell creaked open, before Gentiana spun on her heel, walking down the dungeon corridor. Quickly you followed, the once warm corridors of the Citadel feeling unbearably cold, with the temperature falling with every step you took. Your breath puffed out in small clouds as you shivered, following your guide throughout the place that was once your home. At long last you arrived at your destination: the royal gardens, frozen in ice. Large icicles clung to the cherry blossom trees while frost covered the ground; the roses you once loved now trapped in a prison of ice, forever frozen in a state of full-bloom.

“When the King of Kings shall come, the true test will begin. For now; sleep brave nymph....and wait for the dawn.”

You shivered in the frozen air as the Messenger placed to fingers to her lips before gently pressing them to your forehead. Instantly the world seemed to stop; your limbs becoming heavy as the winter air creeped through your veins. Soon the death-like chill consumed your entire body, causing your legs to fail you as you fell backward into the lake with a small splash. As you sunk deeper into the water you watched the moonlight fade away as darkness clouded your vision….

“Awaken, little nymph, the time has come….” The Messengers voice whispered into your mind.

“Dad, there’s someone in the lake!”

“By the Six! Someone call the physician, she’s still breathing!”

And there’s the prologue! I hope you all enjoyed it and please stay tuned for the next chapter (which I am working on as fast as I can). Take care everyone! ^_^

#ffxv #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn izunia x reader #fanfiction #Long Live the King - prologue