#elouann

PAYMENT IS NOT FOREIGN TO HIS BLOOD, dark as any dirty currency would be and thicker than pouch or purse. always paid in full, even when fenced between black market violence and troubling underground disarray. coaxed from unforgiving religion and tied to skin with brand alone. a sinner. he knows what consequences lay at the feet of magic's unnatural display. coiled deep within its faux grandeur, the power to be anything, achieve and manipulate anything, all against the will of gods. he's paid this price many a time, in ichor spilt against the tongue, in bruise and troubled heckle. sin, sin, sin !! unworthiness builds his pyre, a bed for him to lay in warmth as it burns. and still magic wants to be further paid, to take with it more life, drain from the very soul it weaponizes. he understands that well, bathes in its concept with each and every flicker of gold that licks against dark lashes. and he could not even control the way it ate him, how aether clung to hair and bone, dug deep within his very being and embedded itself like a parasite and a plague. no, he could not escape this price, and he knew that far before the other could speak upon it.

what he didn't know what the kind of price a god would pay to be the very mortal that worshipped it. after all, not many gods clung to mortality the way dominants did. such people always at the brink of demise, whether by their own hand or in the grasp of others. dion speaks and it is a different kind of magic and price paid altogether: that of royalty, of unyielding duty, of unspeakable holiness that blinds weak mortal eyes. and yet, arthur stares at him and finds his very essence riled by the look alone. the god speaks to him, begs for mortality on immortal lips. ‘ you can see me, ’ it says, ‘ so witness my demise. ’ such death tastes of burden, salted like ocean and stone. cold. and arthur thinks to self: how can light be so cold ?? how can dragon be so chained ?? he tilts his head at dion's words, solemn expression pressed between the curl of dark brown hair. clay eyes glisten — he molds himself this time, distorts what iris would be dirt and unearths the gold beneath it, resonating the kind of celestial spark that stirs them both. this power will blind him one day, he knows ; turn his eyes to stone like any other broken piece of the lonesome prince. but he does not speak to that price. does not even speak to the blood it will draw upon him as he finally finds some words to throat.

“ A PRICE CAN BE SHARED. ” he speaks in soft tongues, such quiet words leaving crimson lips, where golden gaze falls onto equally golden hair ( and he ignores the way wrapped skin is marbled stiff beneath its gauze, and he ignores the way vision blurs for but a moment, color fading from the sight ).

@elouann asked: ❝Define❞ pls :)

"Comforting" 

‘ —YOU ARE UNCLEAN. ’

marble breaks under insurmountable pressure, but it does not crack as loud as stone, where the saturation of his face falls below the pristine whites, gets muddied in sand and salt, and turns to HALITE: crusted between the crevices from friction. river rock washes dark as water rushes over it, the rapids causing deeper fissures under the skin by the time it reaches clay eyes. the deep browns hold as a dam against his plights. but the same skin that splits like rock also SHATTERS LIKE GLASS and, delicately, he becomes unwound.

marble breaks, the tide of his eyes changing. WOOD to AMBER to GOLD. and he becomes a husk for the power that swells within him, the surge of aether pushed between his veins like the strike of lightning on sand. FULGURITE and he is a fossilized precipice ; DANGEROUS — but it does not move to spill blood. rather, the archway behind him crumbles under an invisible hand, covering the room with dust and leaving him trapped in front of the rubble ( no escape, only FATE ). nothing but heavy breathing and loud footsteps follow the crash of his destruction. he is petrified, and yet, the rupture of his soul commences. it is a spiral, a crystal pool that whirls beneath the pinching of his brows and the breath at his lips. with each minor twitch of skin and bone, he draws his blade and waits.

‘ it would be a mercy ; die for cause, redeem your flesh in blood. ’

his steel waivers. the other stops in front of him, having witnessed his unholy conundrum, seen the ways his crystalline gaze illuminated in the color of the heavens and, with but a breath, he broke down the structure behind him as if he commanded it to fall. trapping them in. letting others out. volatile, hungry voices still echoed heavy in their chamber, swirling around panting and shifting, metal clinking against metal.

‘ abandoned ?? IT IS A MERCY for we do not KILL YOU where you stand. ’ ‘ then i shall die here so that you may leave and live beyond me. and i shall die indeed, i shall die indeed. ’

a cough erupts between them as the debris from his outburst settled. gilded eyes rest upon white and steel and iron. blonde and brown. a face that was stern becomes soft at his gaze and he FROWNS ( he is fragile, seething under pale and trembling flesh, for he feels the fires of all hells burn within him and boil his blood — UNCLEAN, and he ruptures again, even if it is only visible behind the glassiness of his eyes ). he does not want to be looked at like that, like his enemy knows that his heart is aching, like his adversary can see that he has resigned himself to death to save those who remain UNGRATEFUL. he was already stirring mad, overcome with confusion and loss, he did not need the other's pity ; he did not need COMPASSION when it has NEVER BEEN GIVEN before.

insanity must be shared, as well as loss, as well as fragility, for in the few moments where they look at each other in silence, he realizes he is not the only thing that is breaking. struck like axe to wood and splintering, he is not the only parting piece that struggles to be whole. his enemy shifts and he feels it before he sees it, TRUE FLAME, true light in the dark that overwhelms his gaze until he is squinting against it. a gust of air parts the dust so that vision is CLEAR and it is like LOOKING AT THE SUN ; under white, under skin, there is not bone and blood but RIGID SLATE-COLORED SCALES and a blinding cold light that burns BLUE, settles hot in his throat until he thinks he is choking. the color of ice, the salted ocean water filling his lungs, but it singes where it touches in the same way that it suffocates where it drowns, filling every crack of his body with sensation. so PURE, undiluted in power, mixed with heaviness ; bearing weight, substance, DESTINY in its sticky claws.

he shutters. the tragedy on his face contorts to fear, then something entirely other ( awe ?? bewilderment ?? ). arthur finally speaks and there is a guttural sound in his throat that erupts into a foreign language ( haearanni, and it is an old word that is rough in the mouth as it grates against the ears ). within his tone, there is a silent reverence and a subtle question. ( “ dragon, you shine too brightly for your own good. go away. — ” ) it is odd that he does not seem to talk directly to the man across from him, for his words are meant for OTHER ( other, other, other — it swirls his mind in confusion, fuels contempt at his bones because he is also other but he does not burn so bright. who is this other ?? is this what a god looks like ?? ).

he does not regard dion ( the prince, the soldier, the human ) until their eyes meet. finally, he thinks he sees a MAN and not a MONSTER and he is reminded of compassion, of kindness, of love. and it breaks him further ; he does not want to kill man, he does not want to be killed by man either. AND YET HE WILL, because he has been condemned to do so. his mission failed, his body abandoned. he has no where else to go. he has no other delusion to run to.

his sword is shaking ( trembling in his weakness and he scorns himself, scorns the world, then falls quiet knowing that his kind heart cannot latch onto hatred long enough to swell ), and he pulls the weapon up between them to create distance in desperation. golden eyes fluctuate in the light, twisting with aether that fills the room in a dense presence, though it is hardly denser than the looming threat to life under an eikon's watchful gaze. his thinning lips part again and, this time, it is a common tongue that leaves him, soft-spoken and underwhelming. “ and so is it my fate to be passed from hand to hand, from one god to another ?? it is a mercy that i should not be afforded. ” he pauses, tongue thick in his mouth, a bile erupting that causes his face to wrinkle in concern and pain. he must be going crazy indeed ; he cannot help the void settling in his chest, the stirring of emotions and thoughts that spill from him, TORN ASUNDER under the burning blue light of the moon and the stars ( wrapped in the image of the sun, THE HOLY — IT MUST BE !! a glimpse of the parting sky, the falling rain, the fulfilling touch of peace and then it FALLS FROM HIS GRASP, just out of reach — dion looks to him and he is suddenly, quietly weeping ).

@elouann asked: ☀️+ random. ( i have no clue whats going on )

This man is the literal WORST. UNCLE MONTY .... SCREW YOU. He's kind to everyone BUT Rapunzel ..... he hates her because she 'doesn't respect tradition' .... she changed the design of a flag... basically said that her coming back was ruining the way things were.

@elouann asked: 😳 for a kiss on the forehead ( ok now for real )

[send 😳 for a kiss on the forehead]

As   lips   pressed   against   her   forehead,   silken   lashes   fluttered   shut   and   a   melodic   giggle   fell   from   rose   tinted   lips,   soft   and   sweet.   "Happy   new   year   to   you   too,   Dion."     eyes  gleamed   with   fondness,   a   faint   blush   highlighting   her   ivory   features.

@elouann asked: “ i think you’re beautiful ” he says it confidently and in support !

She   stepped   into   the   light,   adorned   in   a   gown   as   white   as   the   finest   pearl,   golden   hair   cascading   in   a   loose   braid,   accented   with   delicate   flowers   that   only   bloomed   within   the   walls   of   Corona.

"T-Thank   you..."   Rapunzel   replied   softly,   a   faint   smile   curving   pon   her   rose   petal   lips.   This   was   her   introduction   not   just   as   the   lost   princess,   but   as   the   legendary   Sundrop,   her   very   presence   celebrated   as   a   salvation   for   the   people.

Joshua knows Dion is not entirely comfortable at the Hideaway. Actually, it feels that the only thing he has in mind is to defeat Ultima. And of course it'll come soon. They all want to deal with the so-called god very soon. But it doesn't mean they should wait for this moment to come. For the first time since the events of Phoenix Gate, Joshua feels that his life finally makes sense. He plans to survive that confrontation with Ultima, but he still wants to do his best to enjoy life while he can. He knows he could die, as much as he tries to ignore it. And he also plans to cheer up his friend.

"Dion... you should try that new apple pie everyone has been eating. It reminds me of Rosalith." And that's the truth. For the first time in too many years, Joshua finally feels home, and he wants Dion to feel in a similar way, or at least to be comfortable.