@deathburns Asked; I Am So Glad We Were Born During The Same Lifetime [ GIVE ME THE GOOD BELLATTE CONTENT

@deathburns​​ asked; ‘ i am so glad we were born during the same lifetime ’  [ GIVE ME THE GOOD BELLATTE CONTENT ]

►  ❪  POETRY  //  accepting  ❫

         It's quite interesting how life often doesn't go the way you predict and how it chooses instead to fly in the face of plans. The line Ellatte's own life tread was a nostalgic one, diligently followed with points clearly mapped out, marking where it was to head and steered by decisions formed long ago: helping her dearest friend in his responsibility as the Head Warrior of the Celestials. For an age, the best option was tantamount to being the only one in her eyes. A choice easy to accept for she never minded. If she stayed on route that familiar affection born over years of inquisitive pouring over books, speculations and long talks, watching the clouds below, and so much more would await her at the end of it.

         But Ellatte's not in the Sky Temple. She's not by Solaad's side.

         Her path once clear and narrow, slowly branched from the given story meant for her, spiraling into new possibilities. The discovery of other races still inhabiting the earth below an incredible shock to the Clan, calling into question much of the knowledge they knew, and so she volunteered to descend to the mortal realm of Brittannia.

         (  ❝ Ellatte, no ! ❞  Lady Vaness' protests ring through the room, already she can see the frowns of disapproval and disappointed shakes of the head from other council members to her bid.  ❝ This is foolishness ! You cannot do this so suddenly and without knowing the level of danger. Another can take on this task. You must to honor the traditions ! ❞

         It's a first, the age old tradition  ( the Head Warrior and his new wife accepting their new duty, taking custody over the sacred Winged Sword and protecting the clan )  broken with a rite of succession carried out in the most harrowing of times, but the situation has led them all here. If she leaves, she can no longer be considered Solaad's fiancee.

        ❝ I have to refuse. ❞  A cool tone cuts through the chaotic din. Her resolve is not so brittle as to bend and crack under the pressure from detractors.  ❝ Traditions are something to heed the wisdom of, but you know as I do that they also would have been the reason we all died. Meliodas helped us, and everyone chose to brush it aside because he was a demon. What a backwards sense of convenience !  We are Celestials, members of the great Goddess clan, but none of us could have stood up to a monster like the Indura, much less the high rank demons that escaped before that thing !  It's a fact we barely escaped complete destruction, and it's thanks to a demon and his companions that Solaad brought back ! ❞

         Most wrote him off as running away from his duties but Solaad braved this trial – despite needles of skepticism / doubt pricking the softer outer shell, his own fears and misgivings, and the weighty expectations foisted upon his shoulders – and saved his people. This was the least she could do.

         ❝ And now we know that the other clans survived the holy war this whole time ?  I will go to Brittannia and see with my own eyes. I will learn what the world is like now. ❞

         There's other avenues to assist Solaad beyond the ties of marriage and getting a clearer picture of what the world had become over 3000 years would be a good start. Sure, it'd take time but she's only in her 200s, and Solaad was managing fine on his own. She already garnered his approval long before she stepped foot in this room. ( a sunny smile, tittered with slight nerves but accepting of her decision, and she's reminded again of why this must be done. ❝ just be safe, okay ellatte ?  that's all i can ask of you. ❞ ) Her telling them this was really just a courtesy. If it ever became more than she could handle, she could seek out the Seven Deadly Sins for assistance.

         When her mission was complete, it'd be fine if things resumed. A place - her best friend - would be waiting for her. She'd be happy with that. )

         Again, life has trouble adhering to plans. Now she's down here, and much has changed. The dramatic pivot can largely be traced back to one simple connection. The last she ever thought could be made.

         Bellion.

         Her Bellion.

         And it remains a wonder, even after all the time that passed since that became a reality, to be able to say that, to have the confidence to allow it to fall from parted lips so that others may know who her affection has been bestowed upon, to know he let her. Her Bellion. Four syllables fizzing on the tip of her tongue, drawing forth a special kind of warmth–- hers. he's hers and she's his, to love and be loved.

         Perhaps her attentions originally ( strictly ! ) stemmed from an abundance of caution / ill-placed fascination over what instilled the jarring absence of the unrelenting, terror inducing rage presented to her prior - but it to underwent a change. More malleable, adaptable, it had grown into something – no, many things more, the flourish of fondness not the least among them. It’s still strange to think, for a variety of reasons, that a simple happenstance led to these smiles, this laughter, the company / comfort of another, but Ellatte knows she wouldn't give it up. Yes, she loves Solaad, a feeling as sure as the rising of the sun, a care for her friend she always has and will continue to cherish, an irreplaceable bond held close to her heart, but it's different type of intimate love.

         Maybe it's only now she's falling in love for the first time.

         Charmed as she was, Ellatte's normally averse to interrupting his duties. Well, what bits and pieces she has seen of it. After all, she catches him stealing plentiful moments of rest more than actual work. Honestly, it's a wonder the village is still standing  ( she knows, how hard he tries now, to make things better, to move forward from the darkness of his past, vigilant against threats encroaching on his newfound life ). She had just returned from visiting villages to the east, making a beeline straight for the unsuspecting demon. It'd surely be fine to steal him for a night, right ?

         She hadn't announced their destination, simply coaxed him to follow her through the skies until they reached here. A little meadow once privy to only her, now known to them. A steady stream of water falls over the rocky crag into a basin, a swift stream flowing from the natural depression and cutting through the grassy field speckled with a number of varying flowers. Rather difficult for those earthbound, all manners of peril impeding traversal, but when the ease of flight was available such deterrents meant little to those who could simply float far above over them.

         The ground beside her after she seats herself near the river is patted in invitation. And so they rest, lounging on their backs watching the sun close its eyes for another night, cool evening air slowly replacing it. Sunset paints the sky and the curves of their shoulders & jaws, the full of their cheeks in shades of reds, oranges, and pinked purples. The moments in-between are small and quiet, conversation filling the comfortable silence. News of events in the village exchanged for recollections of the places she's traveled to since. Their time together was peppered with occurences like these. Introspective, reflection, an exercise in understanding. Learning, she's always learning new things about him, the world.

         And occasionally, during these stolen moments, where tiredness thrums through their bones, every touch is a soft, gentle thing meant to warm, soothe, comfort. Bellion’s nuzzles have gotten no less surprising, in some ways. Even in the ways they have, they don’t lose how they simply endear her heart - an tension unbeknownst to her drains from her body, shoulders slouching as Ellatte leans into the gesture, warm breath feathering the curve of his collarbone, a giggle slipping free as the edges of his hair tickles her cheek.

         But alas, pretty as dusk was, it was not the event she brought him for. Celestials, and perhaps their ancestors before them, always had a knack for sensing changes in the celestial bodies, the shift of the light within the endless dark above. Pinpricks of distant lights soon begin to dot the vault of sky high above them, an array of streaked light for the people of Brittannia to cast their wishes, their hopes, and dreams upon. It's not the same spectacle as the star shower that graced the land's skies some time before the Egg Rock cracked open, a bewildering show of crisscrossing patterns across the night sky, but watching stars shoot by always carried a certain magic, sparkling trails on the cusp of night and day.

         They're fewer in number now, stars falling one or two at a time, and she’s lost track of how long she’s had her eyes closed now, the chirp of cicadas used to measure the passage of time - but even that’s given way to silence since, leaving her only the falling water to count his slow, deep breaths to.

         It’s then she hears him. The first instance is quiet, a  ❛ thank you ❜  buoyed by the content silence. There’s a minute furrow of brows, a purse of sun loved lips before they smooth out, something reminiscent of a smile dancing over them - gentle and soft, as rain is after an endless summer.

         Fingertips brush against the inside of his hand - the callouses make themselves known immediately, spots of hardened skin betraying the years of ache and punishment they've undergone  ( she has her own, a product of working on her skill with the sword, burnished by the unusual heat of her harsh light, accumulated during the years preparing for the next onslaught, but they aren’t nearly as pronounced ). An easy sigh escapes her, rosy cheeks coloring her features,  ❝ You don't need to give any thanks. I wanted to show you something nice, and I just like spending time with you. ❞

         But he continues. The second instance a small murmur, a confession lingering through the stillness of the air:

‘ i am so glad we were born during the same lifetime ’

         Teal eyes flicker upward, a steady gaze awaiting her. One that’s unreadable in some areas, but softer still in others, wisps of affection curling in those gold depths. It settles deep within her chest, both the words and the look, the weight they carry mixing and weaving with all the things she feels for the man resting in the grass, tucked against her side. It warms her soul, blossoming out, flowing through starlit veins.

         The celestial shifts, a brief rustle of clothes against stalks of crumpled grass, wings falling flat against her shoulders as she turns so she rises off the grass, leaning against an elbow. Hand moving to tuck silver strands behind an ear, she smiles down at the one calls friend, lover, hers.  ❝ ...Same lifetime ? ❞

         It'd be more accurate to say they came across one another in the same lifetime. A chance experience that never should have come to pass. He was born many years ago, sealed away then and freed now. He is depicted in all his fierce intensity upon the murals of her temples, should have expired along with the rest of his kind. But he persists.

         Celestials themselves are no longer so long lived. There is no Supreme Deity, magic decaying over the years and with it their extended longevity.  If she was a Celestial  ( a goddess, your true birthright; celestial is but a different label to the same brand )  of old, her years spanning millennia instead of the few centuries, then she could make that proper claim.

         Their very first impossible, never meant to occur meeting still stands stark amongst her recent memories. The time of ruin, a dizzying cacophony of confrontations. Steel blades clashing, hellish retribution conflicting against valiant deterrence.  ( failed vessel for something more divine, you were never designed to last / is that why the light of your spirited anger burns so fiercely [...] so brightly ? )  The suspicion that followed, seeing him on earth thereafter in the middle of her assignment, spotting him again in the Sky Temple. A series of the unlikeliest of encounters.

         A palm smoothes down the length of his jaw — the movement leading her forward until she’s able to grant a careful nuzzle to his cheek, and then another to his jaw, until finally landing a light peck up upon his temple and then simply pressing her forehead to his. Inner light buzzing at the proximity of his darkness, her movements are careful. They carry the grace of battle in them --- but also the tender care of someone who treasures what she holds. It’s accidental when their noses brush, the sensation enough to draw a light sound of amusement; still, the hand on his cheek seeks out one of his, fingers interlocking with ease, like they belonged nowhere else.

         ❝ I am too. ❞  For a moment she breathes, taking in him, soaking in the heat he radiates, green fixated on gold.  ❝ Thank you for finding your way to me. Despite everything, I’m glad I get to be here with you. ❞ 

          Rumours and tales of demons hail them cold, dead creatures, darkbloods with too many hearts that beat naught but cruelty, only existing to feast on the souls of the pure and righteous, and to sew chaos and destruction. It’s a sin to spare them. By all accounts they should be foes, not sweetly indulging in each other's time without a care in the world. 

          She, a smitten Celestial maiden, cradling he, a demonic warrior borne of the dark, ever closer and dares the world to cast judgement for her actions.

         (  it's alright now icarus, you may rest now / i will be the wings that withstand the sun, that will catch you when you fall  )

@wynsm​ asked; 👤 + arthur / for merlin uwu

►  ❪  CHARACTER MUSINGS  //  accepting  ❫

         ❝ He is a curious but very kind young boy, you know. A unique individual, like you. However, it would do him well to focus less about what others think of him. ❞  

         Exhaustion, ever present, tugging at her bones with a sickening weight, taut as it catching on lungs, but this much... this much she can allow herself say, within the confines of this quiet interlude alone. The beat of silence jumped into the air, hovering longer than initially intended, before eyes settled on the sky beyond the window pane.

         ❝ I could tell from the moment I met him, he would have an incredible destiny. ❞  Hearing that, one could say  ( that level of foresight / premonition / attained knowledge )  Merlin was using him. A valid assessment, as it was true. Plans set in motion all those years ago would be seen carried out to complete regardless of new bonds forged in the interim, though somewhere along the way... 

         ❝ Arthur was the son of Uther Pendragon, Camelot's king before him, but he was adopted into another family instead. However, you know that nothing lasts. When he was left destitute, I took him in as my student. I deigned to teach him how to read, and then to write. I even brushed up on my old sword skills to try and help him learn a thing or two in that field, although it's not my expertise. And from there I supported him as a mage. For years, I have watched over him and was... happy to see him grow and flourish, becoming a wonderful king in his own right despite only recently taking the throne. ❞

         (  as his new teacher, it's best to dismiss these encroaching doubts here and now. amber locks onto purple, confidence palpable as a pledge is heard, hand squeezing his shoulder, her presence in his life now as real and as cemented as that touch.  ❝ i don't care if people think you're a disappointment. i swear i will always help you out. if there’s one thing you should take away from this, it’s that no matter the situation, you won’t ever be forsaken by me. ❞  )

         She'd never be a mother — too riddled with cracks and holes to properly care for a child as her own, heart set on the chaos looming beyond. But... Merlin supposed Arthur was what she imagined having a son could've been like.

         ❝ He’s something that I’ve been lacking for a very long time. He is my hope. ❞

*strums 'i can go the distance' on a ukelele* another day, another session of fighting with ps to make refs. at the rate i’m going i will end up coding this man into the game itself.

PERSONALS DO NOT REBLOG.

bonus constellation image under the cut bc i didn’t feel like making the whole page

serving up one prince of darkness and one princess of light :’)

PERSONALS DO NOT REBLOG.

➤ ` BELLION. (  deathburns  )

it dawns on him that perhaps no other race really acts like this. predatory, claws and fangs ( hunters / they learned to fight like this / they learned to feed like this ) — he can tell after a few moments of silence and her soft breath that she’s … well … she’s not used to this. oh, and he must look a sight! blood on his hands, on his clothes and his face — crimson smeared from where he sank his fangs into raw flesh. ( she sits quietly but in shock / he realizes how frightening this must be / the celestials sat for their meals, didn’t they? ) ❛ er … ❜ 

there’s warmth, blue fire wrapping around the meat he’s taken ( roasting was normal, right? it smelled nice, too! ), free hand moving to wipe the blood from his mouth ( but really, it only smudges more / he’s trying, if nothing else ). ❛ sorry, right, you’d rather eat something cooked — ❜ but, it isn’t just that, in the end, is it? it’s a sobering reminder of the differences between them. this must seem horrific to her — and yet, this is how he lived every day of his life. there is still such a divide between the celestials and the demons ( the goddesses even moreso! ), and it is not the first time, now, that bellion wishes the divide would close. 

because he wants to be close to ellatte. for whatever time they have left, he wants to be at her side ( and isn’t that an odd feeling / they come from vastly different worlds / she is all that he can think of, now ). ❛ i … i can clean up. and fetch you something else, if you want — there were some trees with some really delicious looking fruit that i passed by when i went to … well … get this … ❜ 

         As expected, keen eyes caught the celestial red handed. The sight of blue flames jolted her out of her musings. Wide eyes blinked, stupefied, before they're wrenched away from thick blotches of red streaked across his maw, pointedly fixated on the smattering of tall trees off to the side.  ❝ Don't apologize. ❞  A firm retort, interjected as he stumbled over words, the frown playing on pale lips directed not towards him but herself. Hastiness to correct mannerisms, his thoughtful consideration to abate concerns and accommodate her spoke more than enough.  ❝ I should be doing that... It's rude to stare. ❞

         An innocent wayward look, her sole offense, yet a small amount of guilt curled up, sitting heavy in an unsettled stomach as a tinge of pink brushed the apples of her cheeks. The shock, while sudden and unexpected, wasn't meant to accuse or condemn. She's not here to criticize his palate, to inspect the extensive details of his natural diet.

         The offer had her shaking her head, a smile arising to placate his worries,  ❝ You don't need to go out of your way for me like that. I'm not very hungry right now, but thank you. I just... wasn't prepared. ❞

         If he’d asked, Ellatte wouldn’t have minded making him something. The cultivated art of culinary exploits was highly sought after, creating a fine meal to be enjoyed as an experience like none other. This wasn't that, abrupt flash roasting to get some approximation of cooked food. It's... an attempt ?  He’s skilled at great number of various things, often revolving in his expertise in the ways of combat, but this was one he faltered in. Maybe demons lacked the skill in general, absent among their lexicons of curses and magic, only a vague notion of cooking in their peripheral awareness. Hunting's a factor, a survivalist trait borne of carnivores and at the same time they consumed other normal things like fruits and grains, but... souls sat prettily at the top of their list of edibles too. A prize source of replenishment that needed only a bit of extraction. Who would ever find the need to cook a nigh immaterial object, a collection of thoughts, feelings, and memories ?

         Rather than comment on that aspect, sidestepping the pitfall lying in wait for a single misstep, the most pressing issue was brought up. A fitting answer still eluded her, his response from last time never manifesting, brushed over in wake of shortening his hair and his admittance over losing a bet.  ❝ Aren't you going to get sick ? ❞

WISTFUL HOPE           ﹂ Those flowers pinned in your hair... are they the gentle blooms of the immortal wisterias or the fleeting red petals of the spider lilies ?

During the fall of Khaenri'ah, the Raiden Shogun  ( the first Electro Archon ), and her kagemusha participated in the conflict. There are several contributing factors for the decision, but the most prevalent at the forefront of her mind was preserving the safety of the people of Inazuma. Tragedy befell all sides, and amidst the many casualties was Makoto herself.

Despite being shaken by the death, Ei inherits both her gnosis and Musou Isshin, assuming her sister's position as the Shogunate and member of The Seven with an ideal of Eternity. Makoto's body is buried beneath the Sacred Sakura, the final resting place of Ei's original body from which the great tree sprouted during the Archon War. Thunder Sakura are then formed from branches of the Sacred Sakura and parts of Makoto's own spirit lingering within the empty shell that eventually becomes one with the tree. The first incarnations of the siblings forever defend Inazuma together, cleansing the land of its impurity.

Yet the flame of a divine will is not something so easy to extinguish. The physical form perished, yes, but the purity of memories are a powerful thing.

In a dark place, a woman finds herself awakening many years after the Cataclysm with naught but her stray thoughts and the barest snippets of a forgotten memory. Cognizant of the world around her, yet unable interact with it, lacking the ability to freely move. She has no mouth, but desires to speak. Over time, the woman acquires self-awareness and remembers who she is bit by bit along with pieces of events prior. As this self perception expands, it formulates a mental domain, a plane reflecting her existence. One steadfast yet ephemeral. Upon it's completion, the woman realizes what has taken place.

Rather than experiencing the same fate that some did upon their passing, Makoto had come back into existence, revived in the image of her final imprint upon the world instead of manifesting in a new, separate entity like so many others. It took an extended amount of time to coalesce her energies and form them back into what she was  ( an archon / a divine being )  due to the strains placed on her, and the nature of her destruction. There was but one caveat. Her body had long since been consumed by the Sacred Sakura. In the same technique known to Miko and Ei, her consciousness and the remnants of her spirit not yet absorbed into the tree had to latch onto the one object untouched by the erosion of time: the ornate hairpin worn at the moment of her death.

Post realization, Makoto is left to ponder the state of the world beyond her grave. How long has it been ?  Is Inazuma still safe, enjoying the peace she wished for ?  What was the state of her sister, Ei ?  All questions she couldn't seek answers for.

One day during her meditations, a light breaks into the periphery of her enclosed world, illuminating the small shrine enclosed within the space. Apparently she'd been residing in a cave and bandits came knocking. They waste no time pocketing any treasures to be found, including the hairpin, certain a high price would be fetched from the incredible haul. During transit to pawn off the goods, forces led by Kujou Sara blindside the group and swiftly capture them, taking them into custody. However, the ornate box housing the hairpin was in lost in the skirmish, knocked into a nearby river and carried off by the currents. Unbeknownst to Makoto, the treasure hoarders were subsequently brought before the Raiden Shogun and personally executed for the unforgivable transgression of defiling her sister's sacred resting place.

Following this, some time passes before another discovers the box, fishing it from the bottom of a river in Chinju. A young girl named Chika, hailing from a small rural village hidden from most on the outskirts of the forest. Elated, Chika takes to wearing the hairpin everywhere in her daily life. Through her, Makoto silently observes the changes in this part of modern day Inazuma.

Then, news of the vision hunt decree reaches the village. Most carry on with their lives, unaffected as none of them bear a vision. The sole exception is one resident unseen to the rest. The land closing it's borders ?  Countless visions being seized for the almighty Shogun ?  Unsettled and apprehensive about what such acts indicated of both the world at large and her sister, Makoto can only watch over Chika.

More months trickle by. During a standard chore of delivering goods, in her haste Chika accidentally strays off the beaten path and winds up cornered by a pack of hilichurls led by a Mitachurl. Defenseless to the threat, she flees and missteps, the ground crumbling away beneath her feet and caving in. Falling through the cracks of the hole, she's knocked unconscious. When she comes to, Chika is laying in a patch of soft grass a safe distance from the pit she was certain she collapsed into, not a hilichurl in sight. Only the charred husks of singed weapons and the crisp smell of ozone thick in the air remained. No one can explain the sound of rolling thunder that echoed within the forest that day.

Shortly after, Makoto makes an effort to speak to Chika. It's done sparingly, but the girl takes it in stride, happy to talk to the voice. When asked of her name, there's a pause before the response comes.

❝ You may call me Setsuna. ❞

Most write off Chika's 'one-sided' conversations as overactive imaginations at work. After all, it's nothing more than a child spinning up a pretend friend to play with, right ?

Extra Notes

Her twin used a technique to specifically craft an automaton after a lot of trial and error over the course of years. An artificial vessel designed to seamlessly accommodate Ei and she's had hundreds of years to adjust. Makoto's process was not so meticulously constructed, so she's still learning in a number of different things.

Unlike Ei, who can and will communicate directly through the puppet to share her thoughts, Makoto prefers to mentally speak to the holder of the hairpin she resides in. Chika is her default but there can be situations where others get their hands on the hairpin.

As her new repertoire expands, Makoto devises another method of interaction. By gathering enough elemental energy she projects an image of herself into the world, like a type of hologram. She can't touch anything and is bound to staying with a certain distance of the hairpin.

She can circumvent these restrictions by creating a physical clone out of elemental energy, splitting her consciousness in half. This is what happened when she saved Chika from the hilichurls. It's not that different from when she created Ei's body anew or from when Azhdaha made an avatar to spy on the people of the surface, but without a gnosis she can never make a full, permanent replacement like before. This technique requires a large expenditure of energy and the construct is fragile compared to her original body. Her full powers can't be used in this state. It's powered by the energy used to make it but it can't be replenished, and the longer it's active the more taxing it is to maintain, so Makoto limits usage as much as possible.

When Makoto saved Chika she manifested a new sword that she stores within her hairpin, the Setsunai Kibō / Wistful Hope.

It's possible for her to channel some of her own power through the holder and assume control over the body. They become a conduit, an avatar. An extension of the former Shogun. A change in eye color to Makoto's own signifies this. Taken one step farther, she can alter the holder's outward appearance to the point they entirely mirror her original image. Essentially a full possession where she can use her full strength. She does not do this unless she has a sufficient bond with the holder and their express permission.

In time, she can bring others directly into her Ephemeral Plane and speak to them face to face. It has the appearance of an idylic field with a sakura tree at the center of it.