There was a strange thing about Cei: nine nights and nine days
could he hold his breath under water; nine nights and nine days could he go without sleep. No doctor could heal a wound from Cei’s sword. Cei couldn’t be beaten. He could be as tall as the tallest tree in the forest when he wanted. There was another strange thing about him: when the rain was heaviest, a hand’s breadth in front of his hand and a hand’s breadth behind would be as dry as what was in his hand itself, so great was his body-heat; and when the cold was heaviest on his companions, he would be their kindling to light a fire.
Culhwch and Olwen, trans. Craig Davis
guess who finally got to read Linda Gowans' Cei and the Arthurian Legend! new thoughts have been unlocked, ideas are coming together! I also got my hands on some scans from medieval armor reference books, which is also essential to the ideas
the 'unless god etc' quote is from Pa Gur/What Man Guards The Gate
When he drank from a horn,
he would drink for four;
when he came into battle,
he would kill like a hundred.
Unless God himself should perform it,
Cei could not be killed.
(trans. Craig Davis)
ko-fi⭐ bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app
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Hi! I dont really now how requests work so I’m so sorry for any mistakes!! I was wondering if u could do a Hannibal x fem(or gn) reader where she gets kidnapped and he finds out and saves her(but she’s injured). Heavy angst to pure fluff!!
PS: I couldn’t find if ur requests r closed or open so if they are closed rn I’m so sorry!!!🌷🌷🌷🌷
A/N; Hi! Thank you for this request i hope you'll like it. Sorry for any typos. Enjoy! Let me know what you think :)
Warnings; Kidnapped reader, injuries etc.
(gif isn't mine)
When she woke up from her nightmare her head was hurting her like a bitch.. only her nightmare was real. She was trapped in a basement, the last thing she remembered was that someone broke into her house and hit hear head, she was cooking dinner when the attacker came, her plan was to have Hannibal over for dinner, to thank him for helping her etc. She wanted to impress him so bad.. but now she was in a dark basement and her hands and feet were tied. She had to take deep breaths to calm herself in order to make logical desicions. The door of the basement was opened and soon her attacker hit the light, it was yellow and hurt her eyes, ''Rise and shine sweetheart.'' a man's voice was heard, ''Why am I here?'' she asked trying her best to not freak put, the man had a mask and he was wearing an expensive suit, he came close to her, holding a knife, obviously trying to scare her, ''You're just a pawn in my game little dove. It's your boyfriend I want.''
''Boyfriend? I don't have one, sorry.'' she rolled her eyes, what was he talking about?!
''Aww you haven't realized? Doctor Lecter is quite smitten by you. Even a blind person could see that.''
Well, she wasn't sure but she had been feeling a strange pull towards him, recently they've been seeing each other, bumping into each other, it was as if Hannibal was just standing where ever she goes... or was it not a coincidence?
When Doctor Hannibal Lecter walked into her apartment the door was wide open, only sound he could hear was the stove cooking something, he silently walked in, didn't close the door just in case if he had to run. Turns out, there was no one except the broken plates, he turned off the stove with his gloved hands and picked up the small piece of paper on the kitchen table.
''Come find us Doctor Lecter...''
This must be about the latest case Hannibal has been helping the FBI with, a murderer was loose, killing young women and dropping them in the forest, his heart skipped an awful beat when he thought of the possibility that his Y/N is being killed... if he alarmed the FBI Y/N most likely would be dead in a couple hours so he had to be alone on this case.
He quickly drove to the place where he had suspicions of, there was an abandoned house close to one of the victim's body, of course the FBI searched but couldn't find anything but Hannibal had to try and find her.
Meanwhile Y/N was on the ground, her right side hurt, ''If you let me go I won't tell anyone... please..'' she had to give..
The tall man with the mask laughed, punched her lower stomach, she coughed up blood. ''Shut up before I cut your face.''
She didn't dare to say anything else.
After a while the masked man went upstairs and she heard some noises, like two people fighting and then a gun shot... she almost jumped from the ground and started to pray to any god that's out there. Her back was turned to the door this time so she couldn't see anyone, but familiar footsteps approached to her.
She looked up to see Hannibal with few bruises on her beautiful face, he left a relieved sigh, ''I was so worried Y/N...'' he knelt to free her hands and feet, they felt numb. Hannibal started to rub her hands quickly, ''Hannibal,'' he wasn't hearing her, ''Hannibal,'' she stopped her, looked with her dove eyes, ''I'm fine.''
''No,'' he lifted her chin to take a good look at her face, ''I should've tortured that man thing before killing her. How dare he?!'' he was actually talking to himself than talking to her but she didn't mind, she was happy that he came to rescue her... for once in her life she had someone who would choose her.
Hannibal lifted her and carried her outside, ''You'll be living with me from now on. Understood?'' he asked with a dominant tone, ''Yes Doctor.'' she said sarcastically and it made them both laugh.
She had a new home and someone to spend her life with.
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Like albedo, dottore, Baizhu, and tighnari with a reader that loves going to the doctors or doing any non painful experiments
Like they find it relaxing
Omg I love this, even though I hate the doctors office hopefully I can do this justice its just too cute
Loving the doctors
Warnings: Mentions of doctors/medical procedures/medical related things, some possible dark content/insinuations
A reader that enjoys going to the doctors and taking part in experiments.
Albedo
Albedo would love to have you with him while running experiments as his control group or baseline
Like when he was testing the traveler for strange properties that allow them to do main character feats
He might also just enjoy having you around while testing things whether you’re helping him out with small things or if he’s working with you (gives me a fic idea aha maybe I’ll stop procrastinating for once and actually write that)
If he’s trying to use alchemy to create something he might have you try to recreate his experiments to figure out if he made any mistakes or if something needs to be revised
Baizhu
When trying to get a god idea of anatomy or the functionings of a healthy body you would eagerly volunteer to allow him to examine you, enjoying the time yu get to spend lying around or sitting down while he asks you simple questions
You might also enjoy helping him to gather herbs and concoct medicines
He would be so glad to get to spend quality time with you while also getting work done
He would find it extremely endearing that you like letting him examine you and do basic checkups
He also loved doing those checkups because what better way to ensure that you’re healthy
Tignari
Would love to do regular checkups on you just to brush up his understanding of the human body or to ensure that you’re doing alright
Might have you try headache ailments he concocts if you ever have one
Finding out some of the effects of herbs found in the Sumeru forest together is a favorite activity of his
You might both end up with a slight headache after sniffing one too many strongly scented flowers but the addition to medical knowledge is invaluable, especially if he can kiss away the headache
Dottore
While running experiments, if it doesn’t pose harm to you he’d gladly indulge in your want to take part
Whether it’s to test joint movement or body function for his duplicates he enjoys spending this time with you and getting to know your body
If he’s doing some of his less reader safe experiments and you’re fine with it he would gladly allow you to help him or to keep him company while he did them
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Do you have any headcannons about Eyeless Jack or even Laughing Jack by chance? :0] For Cryptpasta
HI YES I DO
EYELESS JACK
- He's 6'3 in his typical form, but as he gets hungrier, his body shifts into a more demonic and beastly form. At his peak, he's about 6'7-6'8
- Jack is sort of like a host for the demon Chernobog. He needs to feed it to keep it contained. If he starves it by not giving it proper sustenance (living things, human organs give the most sustenance), then Chernobog will "take over" and cause Jack to go absolutely feral
- He can see pretty well in his typical form. His vision is just muddied and he's colour-blind
- The more beastly/hungry he gets, the worse his sight gets. When hes at his peak, he can't see shit and acts completely on instinct
- He is a huge geek. Very interested in classic literature, maths, sciences, and especially medicine
- Jack was a college student before he got sacrificed, and was working hard to become a doctor
- After his transformation, he began to really look into herbal medicine and started to use the plants around the forest in his medical practices for the other Creeps
- He's very good at fishing, but he fishes like a bear. Jack will jump into the water and catch fish in his mouth. He hates it, but he's more efficient like that than with a rod
- He grew up in a very religious household, which made him very atheist and anti-religion as he grew up
- As a teenager, he was very into things like politics, anarchism, video games, rock music, anything he could to rebel against his parents. He eventually grew out of it and mellowed down
- Jack was always a very intelligent and wise person. But he found himself so angry all the time, and isolated from his peers
- He experiences a lot of guilt now for his anger. He never wanted to hurt anyone, and after losing everything, Jack quickly realized that all he wanted was to make peace with the world
- When he turned into a demon, he felt like the only thing he could grasp was God. He has a very complicated relationship with religion, but its all he has left
- Even after everything, he's at God's mercy. Always rebelling
LAUGHING JACK
- He was human once, back around in the 1930s
- Jack was a serial killer who worked as a clown for a travelling circus
- "The Laughing Jack" was his stage name, he wore all black and white, mixing the traditional clown costumes with the mime act. He only ever talked to children, and would immediately go mute as soon as an adult was in hearing range
- Everybody knew he was a little bit strange. He was irritable, off-putting, didn't quite understand boundaries or when he was going too far. Parents thought his torment of their children was just apart of some sick act, but his coworkers knew it wasn't
- LJ would lure in children from parks or their yards and murder them right before his circus was about to leave the next morning. He wasn't careful at all, very messy and thoughtless
- This carelessness eventually led to his arrest, and he hung himself in prison
- He's actually technically a Zalgo proxy, because Zalgo is the one who granted him an afterlife as a ghost of sorts after his death
- But he always does his own thing. He targets who he wants, talks to who he wants. And it's almost always strictly children.
- Laughing Jack tends to target the boys more than the girls. Nobody really knows why
- He's generally a fun, goofy guy outside of the creepiness and he likes a good classic prank. But once the mask drops, he's very brooding and sinister, and has a tendency to make everyone around him uncomfortable
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more sans au headcanons because if i do not share them, i mayhaps will explode into a million pieces
• i once broke my school computer (stay with me here) and the inside of it smelled like chemicals. like nail polish remove, but more hospital. that’s what the anti-void smells like, and by extension, error.
• getting the feeling that Killer is a bit obsessive with who he likes. like, he won’t straight-up stalk them because he knows that’s apparently terrifying for the victim, and he doesn’t want that. but he WILL watch them really carefully, hang out with them as much as possible, and probably write a list about them. generally, really toeing the line between ‘okay’ and ‘kinda creepy’.
• Dream and Nightmare have synesthesia. Dream can see emotions, Nightmare can taste and smell them. (Although, he thinks it’s weird, so he doesn’t talk about it at all.)
• dust is from a Handplates AU, Killer was homeless until 18, and Horror is part of Gaster’s split brain if you’ve seen Matpat’s theory.
• nightmare has about a million ways to pass the time because as a kid, he had like no social contact whatsoever, and instead read a lot, screamed into a forest, pondered the meaning of life, and made up several conspiracy theories. because he was bored.
• yknow how the Gang is portrayed in this awesome gothic castle/mansion? well, the Stars are permanently broke. they literally just share a tiny little hobbit-hole house in the omega timeline.
• Nightmare stole a money-printer from the government in a Mafiatale AU. that’s how he’s so rich.
• also Killer somehow got everyone to name it Jasper. like, if Dust ran out of money, Horror will just tell him “go talk to Jasper.” and everyone just accepts it.
• cross and epic have a thing where if either of them say the word corn, they chant the corn thing from Slimesccle. they have no clue where it came from.
• error, nightmare, cross, epic, and chino have started the Fresh Hate Club.
• Nightmare somehow keeps getting mistaken for Satan. He doesn’t know how. (and it definitely does not bring his already-low self esteem down.) But if there’s a satanic cult nearby, he won’t correct them, in case they can be useful.
• You know how gods have a ‘true form’ that’s ineffable to mortals? all of Reapertale, Ink, and Error. Reaper’s gonna teach Ink and Error how to access their true forms. Dream once saw Ink’s true form and fucking sobbed because he could barely handle it. he’s not a mortal, so he’ll live, but he can barely comprehend it.
• (inspired by The Stupid Chair on ao3). the gang has The Stupid Hat. it’s a horrible bright yellow neon construction hard hat that gets duct-taped to someone’s head if they’re dumb enough to make an easy mission complicated. ex, if Dust provokes the Stars into a fight during a supply run, he gets the hat.
• ccino is a licensed therapist, but he is still depressed
• dream and nightmare have a lot of insecurity around the auras they emit. ‘do they genuinely like me, or do they like my aura?’ ‘does my aura make them feel that negative? do they wish i weren’t here?’
• cross and killer impulsively started a band called StashMark. They made the instrumentals for half of a song and that’s it. nothing else. they forgot to actually do stuff.
• Dust gets really nervous around medical, scientific places, and doesn’t trust any doctors or scientists except for Sci. but he still refuses to take anything from him, whether it be a shot, or a lollipop. he’s just not having it.
• killer sleeps on the floor because sleeping in a bed still feels strange to him. he also keeps the windows open because he used to sleep in the cold. gets really anxious about the price of something, money in general, so even if he can afford something, he just steals it.
• horror will get random flashbacks of the Core, or Gaster, and he’s not sure why, but on the rare occasion he meets a Gaster, he always ends up feeling “fake” afterwards. like he’s not supposed to be here, not supposed to do this.
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HEADCANNONS
c/w: drinking, drugs, addiction, abuse, slight nsfw
AGED UP TO 18 MY PEOPLE!!!!
A/N: ok so in the headcannons he’s with Stan cause Style is very dear to my heart but in the relationship headcannons he’s with reader xx
Kyle Broflovski
- Massive fucking NERD!! (pls i love nerds).
- Got straight A’s throughout high school.
- Was on the honour roll and was on student council.
- Firm believer in basketball Kyle supremacy.
- Came out as Demisexual and Bisexual (male leaning).
- Stopped being super strict on Kosher throughout high school but kept that a secret from Sheila.
- Never stopped being insecure about his nose. Literally at one point started saving for a nose job till Stan talked him out of it.
- Drinks almond milk.
- Thinks thrifting is gross cause he’s a germaphobe. Washes his hands like 50 times a day.
- When I hear the song Basic Instinct it reminds me of Kyle.
- The Smiths > The Cure.
- Style: Stan fell first, Kyle fell harder (bro i love these dweebs lol).
- Was legit so in denial about being in love with Stan for the longest time.
- His Dad pushed him to study law but he ended up studying psychology to become a child psychologist because he saw the effects of unchecked mental health in children while he grew up.
- Got really drunk once and Kenny pierced his septum. He has it flipped up most of the time.
- Hates glasses so wears contacts.
- Such a fkn mummas boy lol it honestly was a problem at one point.
- Didn’t do his own laundry till he moved out. Did not know how to put sheets on a bed 👍
- Such a good relationship with Ike, he would die for his little brother.
- Did someone say abandonment issues!!!! Could not keep a partner to save his life during high school.
- Smoked weed with Kenny twice and then freaked out after he greened out.
- Got addicted to nicotine during college and used it as an outlet because he put so much pressure on himself to be perfect. Spoke to his doctor and he’s trying to quit.
- Defs listens to Phoebe Bridgers because he has a strange relationship with his dad.
- His dad pushed him to be perfect all the time until Kyle had a massive breakdown in junior year that burnt him out for a long time.
- A family man!!! Wants kids pretty early on into his life.
- A god at poker.
- Hates taking photos of himself.
- Still pretty insecure about his hair but Kenny and Stan helped himself to accept it and even start taking good care of it.
- Really struggled with anger issues.
- Stopped speaking to Cartman completely.
- Forest green is his favourite colour.
- Writes poems and makes people cry with how nice his birthday card messages are.
- First out his friends to get a license. His parents paid for his car.
- Such a damn backseat driver.
- Didn’t really work until he moved out.
- I think he’d help Heidi out at the community gardens.
- After Heidi finally ended things with Cartman, her and Kyle became really close friends.
- Had a friendly academic rivalry with Wendy through high school.
- Him and Wendy study together in college often.
- Has a record player.
- Grew closer to Craig’s gang in senior year of high school. Goes record shopping with Tolkien.
- Very accident prone.
- Has diabetes.
- Loves picnics and simple activities like stargazing.
- Smells like pine needles and the ocean.
- Actually a fantastic swimmer.
- Did drama in sophomore year.
- A massive library in his house. Had to instil a book ban on himself because he was spending all his money on it.
- Really nice eyelashes.
- Comes home to celebrate Hanukkah with his family every year.
- Did long distance with Stan during college. They almost broke up a few times but pulled through.
- Enjoys taking pictures of nature.
- Takes Ike to the movies very often.
- Has the nicest knitted sweaters.
- His guilty pleasure is Taylor Swift.
- HE IS SO MIRRORBALL CODED.
- When he’s in a good mood he loves baking and often bakes for his friends.
- Kenny, Kyle and Stan do day trips together super often. In my world these three never grew apart they are inseparable 🤞🤞
Kyle in a relationship
- An absolute gentleman. Refuses to let you get out of his car without him opening the door for you. Holds doors and pulls out seats. Always gives you his jacket.
- Was very insecure about his sexual inexperience. But y’all guided each other through it. I think there’s something so sweet and special about that.
- Touch tank by quinnie is all I have to say 😼.
- Loves kissing your neck and ears. He kisses your knuckles as well it’s very tender.
- Combusts when he sees you getting along with his family. Especially his Mum and Ike.
- Let’s you touch his hair, it relaxes him a lot.
- Opens up to you about his struggle with his Dad and nicotine. You are his biggest supporter through it all.
- Even though he hates photos, he’ll have a polaroid of y’all in his phone and wallet. Plus a photo booth strip in his car.
- Y’all will bake at midnight together.
- You go on fancy dinner dates together and rate the restaurants in the car together.
- Avid Letterboxed users lol! Give each other show and movie recommendations all the time.
- Kyle always had trouble sleeping but there was something very comforting about your presence so he’ll spend a lot of time at your dorm.
- Writes poems for you.
- Brings you flowers every time the old bouquet dies (ugh what a man).
- BUYS YOU LEGO FLOWERS!!!
- His love languages are gift giving and quality time.
- Keeps a list of all the dates you’ve been on.
- Will take such good photos of you fr! Your biggest hype man.
- I think his short temper would be a problem for you guys but he loves you so much he works on it so hard.
- Your praise means the absolute world to him.
- You guys always go to carnival together and share a caramel apple, it’s like tradition now.
- Couples costume for halloween always.
- Asks for your Dads/Mums/Guardians blessing before he proposes to you.
- Loves the smell of your perfume/cologne. Like it’s seriously intoxicating.
- Proposes to you with his Grandmas ring.
a/n: guys i love kyle so much i’m gonna make his mood board now <3
also if any of these are ooc in ur opinion it’s just for funsies and my opinion hehe
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FEAR OF GOD: Chapter VII: For: Before
Series Masterlist ; Moodboard
Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC
Summary: Fate and irony make for strange bedfellows.
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: canon typical violence; explicit descriptions of injuries; gore; PTSD
A/N: Art is Cupid Making His Bow (detail) by Parmigianino (c. 1533-1535)
Word Count: 5.3K
Read on AO3
CHAPTER VII: For: Before
Grief is an amputation, but hope is an incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed.
-David Mitchell, Slade House
You come to in increments, taking stock of your body, each limb, slowly, as consciousness re-enters your mind. The taste of iron sits heavy on your tongue, thick and viscous in your mouth, and your side is on fucking fire. Your breath starts to wheedle in and out of you quickly, each gulp a stoking of the flames, but you can’t control it – can’t seem to hold onto composure as you regain your senses. Your left shoulder is a sharp throbbing mangle of searing agony, and you can immediately tell from the way you’re laying on it that it’s been dislocated from your fall. You try to shift your legs, make sure you haven’t hurt your back, and yes, yes there, they’re moving, thank God. You stretch your left knee, shift your ankles slowly. Not broken, that’s good.
Your eyes flutter open – you’re laying in a small pool of your own blood, and the woman from the forest is sitting directly across from you; rifle propped up on her bent knee and pointed straight at you. Her abdomen is ripped open, savaged, the gleam of her entrails peeking through her clutching fingers, the edges of torn skin shredded as if hacked at with a serrated knife. The sight makes your stomach turn.
“Fucking finally,” she spits. Her voice is a guttural whisper.
You swallow several times, try to find your voice again. “Where’s Noah? Vero?” You tilt your head up, searching for them, only to be met with Vero’s open, empty stare inches away from you. You jerk back, scream caught in your throat, the abruptness of your movement makes your injuries howl in protest. A hoarse, mangled sound, half groan, half scream claws its way out of your throat.
“Yeah, she’s dead,” the woman deadpans. “You’re the girl from last night, aren’t you? From the woods?” You can’t answer, your voice is gone. The sight of Vero’s empty eyes – what will you tell the others? She clicks her fingers at you. “Hey,” she snaps, “Boy here said you’re a doctor. That true?” The gaping hole in her head – there’s chunks of her brain and skull splattered in the trajectory of the bullet behind her prone body. What will you tell the others? What will you tell the others? You should have never asked them to come out here. This is all your fault. “Noah. Where’s Noah?” You move to sit up fully.
“I asked you a fucking question,” she spits. “Is it true you’re a doctor?” There’s a small trickle of blood coming from her mouth. Her color, gray and ashen, breaths coming in short, gulping pants.
“You killed my friend…” your voice is hoarse and grating “You killed her.”
“Answer me!”
“I– yes, yes– I have some training. Where is he?” She jerks her chin behind you.
“I thought you all were with that group from last night – the ones that attacked us. Didn’t know it was you. And look what the boy’s done to me,” she looks down at her savaged abdomen, there’s such resigned disappointment in her voice. As if this is the greatest inconvenience in the world. You shift to turn, but she snaps, “Don’t even think about moving. My daughter – she’s six months old. I need you to take her.” Noah’s lying face down a few feet away from you. From here you can see that there’s a large laceration to his scalp, the flap of skin hanging grotesquely – exposing the slick bone of his skull beneath – bleeding profusely, a bullet wound to his left shoulder and his left leg is bent at a sickening angle. What the fuck did this woman do to him? But you can see the small, subtle rise and fall of his back, and there are no protruding bones from his leg, a good thing. The pool of blood beneath him is significant, but not a call for hopelessness. At least, you think so, from here, from what you can tell with just your eyes. But then her words penetrate the haze of your mind, the small grasp of concentration you’re tenuously hanging on to snaps to attention – the baby, the baby she had with her.
You turn back to her. “Where is she?”
“I’m –” she gasps, her words pain her – she’s losing time, “I’m not going to last much longer.” She lifts her arm, looks down at the brutal wound marring her belly, and a gush of dark red streams from her. “Seems to be more than just a little scratch, huh?” She lets out a small hysterical huff of laughter.
“Where is she?” you say again, more forcefully.
“There’s an abandoned cabin – about fifty yards in that direction,” she jerks her chin, “I hid her there.” The rifle is starting to slip off her knee.
“Alone? You left her alone?”
“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I? Her father was killed. Those fucking animals last night, they found us – killed him. Couldn’t wait around like a sitting duck, couldn’t hunt with h– her on me. Doesn’t matter–” Her words are starting to slur. “But if you’re a doctor y’can take her. No one she’d be– be better off with. Please, please, you have to take her.”
“You don’t even know me. What I do means nothing–”
“I saw your face last night. I recognized you…”
“Recognized me? What do you mean you recognized me?” A terrible sense of premonition begins to churn deep in your gut, and the words out of your mouth are hysterical because she’s right, and you know exactly what she means. Somehow, somehow, it was like you’d known her, even though you’d never laid eyes on this woman or her child before in your life. But there was something, some sort of preternatural call you’d heard from her. As insane as it sounded, you’d recognized her also.
“Don’t know… just– just did…” her head lolls over the hill of her shoulder, and you watch her glazed eyes stare off into the distance. She mumbles something else you can’t make out.
Your mind feels broken, your body just as mangled. You have enough foresight left to register that if you don’t stop the bleeding in your side soon, reset your shoulder – restore the blood flow you can tell is disrupted by the tingling numbness that’s starting in your fingertips – that things are going to get very bad and very complicated for you, very soon.
“Her name is Kate,” she says with the last of her strength. That snaps you back into focus.
Kate.
“Yes– yes, I’ll take her.” Because there is nothing else to say. Because there is nothing else to do – no other choice. You’d known, since last night, since you’d heard that high pitched cry of terror, that this was what you were moving towards. Perhaps that was why it was so easy to leave this morning, despite everything else. Perhaps that was why there was no doubt, no thought for the concern you’d leave behind because you knew, somehow, in some preternatural way, that this was what was waiting for you. She seems to almost deflate at your agreement. All the urgency and fight leaving her eyes like you’d just pulled the string of a lamp. “That– that’s good,” her eyes flutter shut, finally resting. “That’s good,” she whispers.
You begin to shift, get ready to move, pushing Vero’s dead body from your mind, you can’t dwell on that right now – shoulder first, you think. “Knew – knew last night,” her words are stuttered, almost incoherent. You sit more firmly on your bottom and bend your knees to find purchase with your feet spread apart on the hard ground – slowly you begin to slide your jacket from your back. “S– Some– something in your ey– eyes.”
You keep your sight on her as you fold the sleeve of your jacket into your mouth to bite down on. She’s going to die soon – minutes, seconds, is all she has left. The pool of her blood surrounds her completely now, a macabre barricade for the place of her death. You lay back, flat on the ground, shoulders level, feet planted, knees bent, and slowly start to pull your left arm up with your right one – it really, really fucking hurts, and your stomach heaves, bile stinging in your throat, vision wavering, tears burning. You swallow a cry, bear down harder on the jacket, press your feet hard into the ground, as you straighten the arm with your other hand. Slowly, slowly, you can feel the joint making the painful shift. You can’t pass out, you can’t pass out, please, please, you can’t. You hear Joel’s soothing voice in your mind, my brave girl, the feel of his palm enveloping your cheek. You have to be brave now. Noah needs you, there’s a baby waiting for you. Kate. You focus your mind on the thought of her, what she might look like, trying to dissociate from the feel of the rotating ball of your bone shifting back into place – muscles screaming with fire, your flesh shooting bolts of pain down the lines of your back and up into your neck and head. Your movements are gentle but firm, and you feel the joint settle in place. You open your clenched eyes, she’s staring in your direction, eyes starting to take on the far away look of death, like a small light being snuffed out.
“Good job,” she whispers it like she’d laugh a little if she still had it in her. “I really loved her…” A single tear makes a slow track down the side of her face. You watch her hand laying on the ground twitch, “My name’s An– Anna.” And then she’s dead. That feeling of premonition comes to a screeching head, makes your heart drop into your stomach.
Fucking irony. If you had it in you right now, you’d cry for them all. Anna.
-
You find that Noah has another bullet wound low to the right side of his abdomen, besides the one through his shoulder. Both seem to be bleeding steadily, but thankfully, slowly. The one in his belly, low and lateral enough for you to guess, based on your approximated path of trajectory, is not life threateningly concerning, at this moment, if you can get them closed soon. His head is bleeding much more profusely, and poses the greater concern. You quickly realize that the leg is pulseless and will need to be reduced as soon as possible. You need to get out of the open before you do anything, though. You’re too vulnerable here.
You manage to coax one of the horses down to the ground for you to pull him onto its back. Doing it one handed is difficult, but you have to avoid using your hurt arm as much as possible. If you make it worse you run the risk of losing function in the limb forever. The pain and exertion is making you delusional. You keep hearing Joel’s voice through the trees. Beth’s dying screams. Fucking concerning that you’re already hallucinating. Vero’s body will have to be left, there’s no other option. You need to get to the baby and tend to Noah as soon as possible. A constant litany of prayer is running through your exhausted mind, that she’s still in the cabin, that you’re even able to find the goddamn cabin, that she’s okay, that no one’s found her, that no one else finds you, that you can save Noah, that you don’t pass out. You wish Joel was here so badly.
But he’s not. The only one here right now to help Noah and that baby is you.
You start to move.
-
You find her in the cabin, exactly where her mother said she’d be. And as you take her into your exhausted embrace, as you take in her little face, the big blue eyes, dark lashes, wet and clumped together, the little cherub mouth, it’s like everything around you is screaming: the wind, the trees, your heart.
Your choice to leave, your choice to go after this baby, your choice to walk away from him, even when you would rather die than do such a thing, to risk the tragedy of him not following – it feels worth it in this second. You’d thought once that nothing would ever be able to take you away from him, but as you look down at Kate’s little face, you realize, she is worth it. Coming out into this hell alone, if only to find her, this is worth the possible loss of everything else. This is what I was meant to do, you realize.
Anna had left a pack of supplies with her, fairly well stocked. Shockingly, with several canisters of formula, God knows where she’d found those. You set water to boil while you prep your supplies.
Stitching the slash of the bullet wound to your side proves more difficult one handed, than you’d imagined, but you manage it – thanking every higher power you’ve ever heard of for the fact that it’s only a flesh wound. The blood loss you’ve experienced will pose a problem soon, you need to work fast before it catches up to you and the adrenaline wears off. You inspect your butchered stitch job once you’re done, not your best work, but at least it’s closed and doused in the alcohol you’d packed in your kit – albeit minimally. Noah needs it more.
You reduce his leg first, which restores pulses to his foot – good sign. The muscles are malleable, the color of his skin normal, another good sign. You’ll have to watch for stiffness, though. You say a silent prayer of thanks that the fracture hadn’t pierced the skin. That would’ve been something you’d worry you’d not be able to save him from. Next are the two bullet holes. Both are through and through, and the trajectory of both are optimistically positioned. You douse both in alcohol and stitch them up. Then you shoot the both of you up with penicillin from your pack. Over-preparedness is truly the gift that keeps on giving. You give your past self a metaphorical pat on the back. The laceration to his scalp is closed quickly, as well. No obvious fracture to the bone underneath.
He mumbles a few slurred words, but other than that, he remains unconscious. Kate is sleeping peacefully after her bottle, and you know you need to rest too. Although, it would be incredibly shortsighted to fall asleep right now, your body isn’t giving you much choice. Your aches and pains and the blood loss are all catching up to you, and you’re fading incredibly fast. You fashion yourself a makeshift sling, and then pull the lone table in the room in front of the door, barricading yourselves in. If anyone tries to break in, you hope you’ll hear the jostling of the piece of furniture, and then you drag Noah’s body to the farthest corner of the room and place Kate’s little bundle between the two of you. You lay down between the two of them and the door. You’ll just rest your eyes for a while, rest your body, you won’t fall asleep. You only need to lay still for a few moments, you’ll feel better after that.
You told Maria you’d be back tonight, promised not to be gone after dark. When she sees the three of you haven’t returned she’ll send someone out. As soon as Joel realized you’d gone, he’d probably come out to search. You hope. His words from last night ring in your ears, but you can’t think of that now. Despite what he’d said, despite wanting you to go, he can’t have wanted this for you. You hope last night’s damage isn’t irreparable. That he hasn’t decided to be completely done with you. And that thought jump starts your anger. If that’s what he’s decided, well then fuck him. You feel the small warm press of Kate’s little body up against your back, and despite the position you now find yourself in, you can’t regret your decision to come out here, to come find her. You have bigger things to consider now. You press your hand to your belly, to the fear you’ve carried with you these past few weeks. Much, much bigger things to worry about now.
-
You dream of him. Over and over. His face swimming through the dark lake of your unconscious mind. There’s a house somewhere, shrouded by trees. You know somehow that there’s water near, and you think that this must be his home. You know he’s somewhere near, but as you walk through the lonely house, you can’t seem to catch up to him. He stands just outside the scope of your dream vision. You want to ask why he’s here, if this is his house, if you live here with him too. But he won’t answer your questions. His omniscient voice keeps telling you to not forget, over and over, he repeats it. Don’t forget, Birdie, don’t forget, don’t forget. And you want to scream that you don’t know what he’s talking about, that you don’t know what it is you’re not supposed to forget, but suddenly your voice won’t work anymore. All you can do is continue to follow the possibility of him, around another and another corner of the house.
You come to a room suddenly, with an old couple within. They sit alone, side by side, looking out a window that faces upon a wide, green field. You wonder if perhaps they’re his parents, but something tells you that’s wrong. His parents? No – they’re someone else. Someone you know but can’t place in your mind just yet. You’ll think on it, you’re sure it’ll come to you eventually. They sit quietly, holding hands. You can ask them no questions either, so you sit on the floor, knees pressed to your chest, slightly behind them, watching them look out the window. Their silence is so comforting, as if they’ve been sitting here their entire lives, as if they will always be sitting here.
-
You pass out for longer than you’d intended. Startling awake out of a dead sleep, scrambling on the cold ground at the sound of Kate’s sharp, piercing cries. You can feel her little wiggling form at your side, and you wrap an arm around her to pull her up onto your chest, her squirming settling as your warmth seeps into her. The inside of the cabin is freezing, and your mind is so hazy, your entire body screaming in pain. The sun coming through the murky window is bright with the light of afternoon. Fuck, you’d slept much, much longer than you’d intended, it’s probably the next day now. You turn your head towards Noah, passed out, but still breathing.
“Noah,” you croak, and his head shifts a tiny bit at your voice, eyelids fluttering. You need to move, need to get up and feed the baby. Try and get the three of you home. You need to find the strength to do so.
You manage to force your body into moving, slow and painful. You give her another bottle and examine Noah one last time before leaving. His wounds are holding up well, pulses still present in his leg. He’s strong, you know he’ll survive. You force yourself to eat something small from your pack and load the horses. The exertion of doing everything with half of your dexterity compromised is excruciating, but you manage it.
The real issue now’ll be finding your way back. Plagued by a lifelong poor sense of direction, you’re hopelessly turned around after last night’s struggle, but you think that if you keep east you’ll find your way eventually. If someone else doesn’t find you first.
-
Dawn creeps over the horizon, the sky a meld of pinks and blues, orange streaked, as if smeared by the fingers of a child. Your rational mind seems to have abandoned you miles back. Your blood a bread crumb trail leading back to the site of death, of catastrophe, you’d left behind. Vero, Vero, I’m so sorry. Your haphazard stitches popped a ways back with the exertion of getting Noah’s unconscious form draped onto the back of his horse again and yourself on to yours. Your body sways with the cadence of the horse's pace. You’ve tied your left hand loosely to the pommel, in case you lose consciousness and fall off again. But despite all this, the baby is tucked into the front of your jacket up against your breast, sleeping and warm, and Noah is still breathing. You’re still breathing. That’s all you can care about, all you can focus on now. You pray no one you don’t want finding you comes upon the three of you. You’re certain there’s nothing left within you to fight anyone if you need to. You keep hoping you’ll miraculously come upon Joel. That he’ll find you somehow. That whatever connects the two of you, whatever has always prevented the two of you from staying away, leads him to you now.
For the first time in years you’re able to recall the exact cadence of your mothers voice. Keep going, sweet girl. Just a little longer, you can do it. She was always gentle and understanding of your sensitive nature. Always understood that you were the child who liked to color inside the lines, follow the rules. That your heart was soft and easily hurt, but that there was strength and steel within you, as well. It only needed a little coaxing to be lured out. Sometimes Beth and your father, for all he liked to exploit your obedience, made it seem like this was a weakness, but not your mother. Never her. She always reassured you that it was your greatest strength, your greatest asset. That a soft heart never meant weakness, if anything a wealth of patience, of tenacity, of understanding and care for the world around you could only ever bring you good things. She always encouraged you to push that heart to greater lengths, greater realms of understanding, but to never let anyone take advantage of it. You hoped you’d done as she wanted, so far. That she’d be proud.
The mountains in the distance look so terrifying. They whisper at you that you’ll never make your way back. That the three of you are going to die out here. That you’re not strong enough to find your way home. That you’ll never see him again.
Your mind flits from place to place, like a butterfly nursing on the nectar of a sea of flowers. You think of your mother, the feel of her soft hair. The years of study – you’d tried for so long to be perfect, you’re sure you never achieved it. Connie’s familiar scent of peppermint and mothballs and paper. I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again. Beth, your last night together. Your shared childhood room, the drawings of stars you’d glued to the ceiling. The two of you would lie on the floor of that room with the soft pink walls and look up at your pictures, imagine constellations connected between the lines of your made-up heavens. That last night she was alive, lying together under the open sky, you’d connected the real stars in the hanging darkness, mapped the constellations out. Planned for a future together you’d never have.
Why do non-reasons sometimes feel so much more urgent than actual reasons? Like the things you really want, the things that are truly important to you, get pushed to the back burner in favor of things that never really mattered in the first place. Joel. The two of you should have just figured it out. Been more open, more honest, less afraid. The feel of his hands on your skin – you wish you had them now. You can’t help but wonder if you’d done anything different, even a single thing, if the outcome would have changed. If you could have eased his fears, if you could have helped him be a little braver. If you had been braver, if you’d had the courage to just ask for what you wanted out loud, if he’d have readily given it to you then. You’re terrified you’ll never see him again, never make it back, never hear his voice again, never get the chance to tell him all the things you need to.
-
You think you get lost several times. Too delirious to properly navigate your way back home with any real sense of direction, the sun sets and rises more times than you have a mind to pay attention to, it seems like. You feel like the three of you ride aimlessly for days, years. You get to a point where you can’t even soothe Kate’s desperate, hungry cries, and eventually the only thing keeping you balanced on the horse is your sheer force of will, the thought that if you fall, you’ll crush her.
Eventually, you assume it’s her cries that draws them near, that helps them find you. Because suddenly, out of the dead quiet of night, you hear shouts of what you think you remember your name to be. It’s a little lost to you now. Who you are. You don’t know if Noah’s still alive – haven’t had the mind or strength to even turn your head back to check if his chest still moves. The only thing that exists anymore is the sway of the horse beneath you, Kate’s wailing.
And then your name, being shouted out of the yawning darkness, and you think you hear him. The deep cadence of his voice, so familiar to you. You think you could recognize it even if you weren’t yourself anymore – through anything, time, space, death. The sound of his voice is like the sound of your own beating heart – it lives inside of you now.
You hear a pounding, pounding, pounding – the sounds of war, and you flinch away, curl your screaming arm around the baby. Even if you’re dead, you still have to protect her. And then there are lights and movement surrounding you, and it’s too much for your broken and exhausted mind, and you’re falling, melting off the side of the earth.
Gravity overtakes your body, takes you away with it, and you brace yourself for the agony of your injuries screaming against the hard earth, but then he’s there. You recognize the strength of him immediately – his scent, the pressure of his touch, before you hear his voice pressed against your ear. The precious bundle clutched protectively in your arms screams at being jostled, stolen, starved, frozen, traumatized, and the wound in your side writhes with fire. You could howl into the frigid night air if your voice still worked. You grit your teeth together, jaw clenched so tight it feels on the verge of fracture.
You press the baby tighter to your breast as you feel Joel’s arms lower you slowly to the ground. Your head is a two ton weight, unbearable to sustain. You’re bleeding heavily. You can feel the hot, slick warmth of your blood pool and mingle with the cold, wet grime of your clothes and the dirt beneath you as he settles you between his legs. You’re fading fast, and you have the sudden, jarring thought that if you die, this little girl will be alone. You promised her mother you’d take care of her, and now you’re bleeding, and your body won’t fucking listen to you, won’t get up and do what it needs to – to take care of her, protect her. Joel’s voice is a panicked buzz in your ears, you can hear your name on his lips. His hands gripping and pressing along your body checking for injuries. You cry out in pain as he comes into contact with your wound, and you’re gasping out his name then – a pleading litany you need him to recognize. His horrified gasp comes as his hands find the dark vermillion of your blood. “Come on, baby, please.” Your moans are high and pleading, and his panic answers yours, clashes and twines with it. “I know, baby, I know.” He clutches you tighter against his body, and you want to say that you’re sorry. That you didn’t mean for this to happen. That you never meant to make him go through a hurt like this again.
“I know it hurts – you’re gonna be okay. Listen to me, I gotta get you up. I gotta get you up, alright?” he says over and over again in your ear. You wish you could just be quiet together for a moment. That you never had to move again. Just the two of you here together, just for a little bit.
“Tommy, help me!” He’s shouting. He’s afraid again. You can hear it. You wish you could open your eyes, look at him one more time.
Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.
No other words matter in this moment. The encroaching darkness echoes with his confession, soothes your blistering agony. You will hold on to that, you decide, hold on to him telling you he loves you. That will anchor you.
-
He’s been here before. His panic is full blown, screeching in his ears, his heart a fist punching against his chest, his worst nightmares come to fruition again. Searching for you for days without success. It didn’t make sense, he was always supposed to be able to find you, always, always, no matter what. The most terrible, gripping fear he’s ever experienced in his entire life. And now finally, here you are, he’s found you, but your blood covers his hands. The sight so abhorrent to him it drives all sound, thought, understanding from his mind. Sarah, dead in his arms, again and again and again. The sick fucking vision of the person he loves slipping away from him eternally. Her big brown eyes, vacant, and her purple t-shirt, the one he never forgot, made dark with the gruesome sight of her blood. Never being able to stop it. Your head lolls back at a sick angle, your eyes flutter behind your closed lids. The skin tinged blue with the hue of your veins, stark against your shockingly pale skin. And then he sees the baby – tucked inside the zipper of your jacket, her wails not having registered in his mind until the moment his eyes meet her big, wet blue ones – and he freezes. “Birdie, who is that?” he whispers, tries to grip your jaw, but his fingers are slippery with your blood, leaving horrifying streaks of rust in their wake across your pale, frigid skin. It’s a baby.
-
“Joel… please,” you can’t open your eyes even though you so badly need to look at him, to reassure him, you don’t know if he can even hear you, “I promised her mother…” Your voice feels invisible, broken. You think of Ellie, what she must have been like as a little girl, her face comes into your mind. She’d told you once her mother’s name was Anna.
Anna, Anna, Anna.
Fucking irony. You want to laugh or cry or scream, but all you feel is the slide of a tear track back into your hair. The universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor. You think of how hard it is now for you to recall your own mother’s face some days. You hope she and Joel can forgive each other. You think about how fate robbed you of a sister but gave you Ellie, gave you Connie, Joel. You hope the world can gift Kate someone like that one day.
He’s still there, his voice begging you to come back to him. You don’t want to fail him. He loves you.
And then nothing. Darkness.
Chapter VIII
Netherfeildren's Masterlist
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If you're still doing prompts: Mulder and Scully both learn something new about each other in the same conversation.
Mulder sprawls along the vinyl bench seat, all rangy limbs and untidy hair. It’s getting so that she can look at him without seeing a phantom gun pressed to his temple.
Scully picks at her Cobb salad, pondering.
“I don’t like spiders,” she says finally. “I respect them as a scientist but I don’t like the way they move. Too many legs.” She shivers a little, imagining the finely articulated hydraulics.
Mulder grins at her. “Really?” he says. “Spiders?”
She scowls. “Sorry it’s not esoteric enough for you. But yeah, spiders give me the creeps.”
He bites into his cheeseburger, pink juices running down his chin. My god, what wouldn’t she do for that metabolism.
Scully watches him chew, watches his mandible move, tries not to imagine it blown to pulp in that sad little room. Tries not to imagine Modell laughing.
“Mmmf,” he says, swallowing. Clearing his throat. “My favorite movie is The Princess Bride.”
She coughs around a wedge of boiled egg. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he says. “And I might add that being wigged out by spiders isn’t really a “fun fact,’ Scully. Not in the traditional sense of fun.”
“We both know you’ll have fun with it down the road,” she says darkly. “The Princess Bride though. Huh.”
“It’s so quotable!”
She allows that it is.
“What’s yours?” he asks. “Favorite movie, I mean.”
Scully ponders this. Does she have a favorite movie? Is it Casablanca? Is it Citizen Kane? She feels a weird, clenching panic. What if Modell had killed her and she didn’t have a favorite movie?
She can’t say The Exorcist, she’s said it once already and it’s not exactly true. And she’s not ready to say Silence of the Lambs.
“Scully?”
She looks up at him with a shy smile. “It’s A Wonderful Life.”
He smiles back, his eyes crinkled and the colors of a temperate forest in September. “That’s a good one,” he says.
She pushes Modell away firmly now, into his lonely hospital room. She’s a Catholic and a doctor and a law enforcement official and she hopes all the same that he dies.
“I don’t kill spiders,” she says, by way of penance. “I try to ignore them”
Mulder reaches across the table for her hand. He squeezes it briefly and Scully feels everything in it, the friendship and the fear and the strange understanding.
“They give me the creeps too,” Mulder says, then eats a fry.
Scully is touched by his goodness, his compassion.
She pretends she is not in very serious danger of being in gasping, headlong love.
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COTL x SDV Crossover AU
I've been brewing something, and it's not Ancient Fruit Wine I promise. Inspired by Husky's Farmer AU I started working on a Crossover AU with Stardew Valley.
Prepare for some of my unfiltered notes and messy doodles.
Lamb - Charlie, he/they
Their family owns a livestock farm, which is owned by their parents. He and his siblings often help out around, taking care of the animals but he still has enough freedom and time to help other villagers and farmers such as Narinder. Livestock because that's kind of similar to taking care of the cultists, right? Right?? :'D
(this is basically like Marnie's Farm)
Charlie was found as an infant in the forest by his parents who brought him home to be raised like one of their own children. He is not aware of that, but he understands junimo language & can sense a certain aura from the deeper parts of the forest. He's also better at picking up the magical aura surrounding the magical creatures.
Bishops
Their god form is similar to their Eldritch form, whilst their disguise / mortal form is similar to their regular Bishop design. In their mortal form they still stand out though, considering they're usually taller than regular villagers and always surrounded by a mystic aura of sorts.
Narinder
Narinder moved to the valley recently. It's not clear if he did so on his own wish or if someone, or something made him. Either way he's here to start a new life, and despite not having any experience he still somewhat grows into this role. He's glad he can turn over a new leaf without the prejudice of his past life.
Lamb welcomes him the day he moves to the valley and quickly notices he has no idea what he is doing, and after watching him struggle for a bit he offers his help. Narinder, being too prideful to ask help on his own accord, accepts the neighbouring farmer's advice and help albeit a bit hesitant at first.
His original domain is the very bottom of Skull Cavern, but since he left for unknown reasons the residing monsters have run wild and rampant and the very cavern itself has twisted and distorted by the uncontrolled magic, making it run seemingly endlessly.
Twins
Baal is a full time adventurer in the Adventurer's Guild, he frequently goes on long trips down the dungeons to slay monsters, collect loot and bring home ores, minerals and weapons. Aym used to be an adventurer as well, but stepped down from a full time position after he injured his eye. He runs a flower shop attached to Forneus' General Store & sometimes helps out in the Guild selling goods.
Most other characters fill pretty expected or similar roles.
Forneus runs the local general store.
Rakshasa works at the Saloon.
Kudaii runs the blacksmith/weaponsmith. Clauneck is the fortune teller, perhaps also with a semi-permanent location in or near town.
Fisherman runs the fish shop.
Leshy
Leshy, a magical, possibly godly creature residing in the deep woods [based on the DeepWoods Mod that adds an infinite dungeon to the secret woods]. Sometimes he surfaces to the lighter parts of the forest. Not the only godly creature in the valley.
Heket
Heket resides in the Witch's Swamp. She stays mostly hidden and rarely shows herself to mortals, being more reclusive and drawn back. Few villagers are aware of the strange rune in the cave near the Railroads leading to her Swamp, and even if any dared to enter they'd be chased away quickly.
Kallamar
Kallamar resides in a deep ocean cave near shore. He frequently exits his domain to pass as mortal and help the villagers around town, usually dealing with illness and disease. He does not disclose his godly status though and villagers are under the assumption he's the doctor from the next village, coming into the valley ever so often to help patients.
Shamura
Shamura is the museum curator, at least that’s what it seems like. Them being the oldest they are very skilled at passing as a mortal with little to no flaw. Despite this they avoid the outdoors and don’t attend any holidays or town gatherings so as to not slip up in their disguise.
Their origin is unknown, but some suspect them to come from a faraway island.
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lowkey got inspired by ur post about floating and maybe half in half with barbie fairytopia (iykyk)
reader with wings/flies/floats and stumbles across foul legacy injured one night. reader taking care of him, slowly becoming friends with fl until he is strong enough to fly again.
fl and reader flying/floating/dancing mid air and playing tag and generally having fun
one day reader's wings being clipped and no longer being airborne so now fls turn to help them out and care for them. they go on a journey to maybe uncurse the reader/get her wings back/look for a healer
*muttering* tengu reader... tengu reader... TENGU READER...
you know as much as anyone how dangerous Inazuma can be- you've lived a few hundred years, watching mortals and gods grow and develop side by side. you're a bit strange for your species, choosing willingly to live amongst humans rather than in the mountains; although your home is still a fair distance from the city, on the edge of Chinju Forest so you don't have to deal with constant stares at your crow-like wings, and it's here in the woods that you come across something- or someone- unlike anything you've ever seen
an injured Abyssal beast
the feathers on your wings flare as you stop in your tracks, immediately reaching for the blade you keep on hand at all times until you spot the splashes of dark, starry blood already seeping from multiple gashes and punctures, and the monster cranes its head to look up at you, letting out a heartbreakingly pained whimper
slowly, you lower your weapon, and the creature visibly slumps in relief
his name is Foul Legacy, you learn, and you're fairly convinced that he's the singular sweetest monster in the Abyss, if not the entirety of Teyvat. even when he's injured and can barely walk he insists on trying to follow you around the house, chirping curiously and poking at what you're doing or watching intently as you treat his injuries- soon the mortals who see you start spreading rumors of how you're accompanied by an intimidating but friendly beast, although he allows no one but you to touch him. Foul Legacy is particularly entranced by your wings, gently nudging them and fluttering his own with happy chirps. you're faster than he is, as tengu are known for their speed, but nighttime flights become a favorite pass time for you and him, especially when you can look up and see all the stars and their stories
so when one of your wings is grievously injured during a horrible lightning storm, Legacy shakes off his fear and prepares to venture into town in search of a proper doctor, not as a repayment, but as your friend
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A New Life
Two Shot. Part 1.
Yandere! Neteyam Sully x Human! Reader x Loak Sully.
It was hard to believe your eyes as you stared blankly of the funeral rituals of the Ocean Navi.
That's right. The funeral of your Mate. Or in human regulations. Your late husband. Neteyam Sully. The mighty warrior who sacrificed his life for the safety of his siblings.
Once more.
And it got him killed at a young age.
Barely an adult.
Almost a father.
You were expecting his first half breed child. You made history as the first human to soon soon birth a new specimen.
Remembering when Neteyam was alive, he told you how he wanted unlimited children with you. One after another. Year after year.
His own clan.
That made you cringe. Earth was dying and needed resources. Vegetation and natural food especially was in dire need. As a doctor to study edible plants. Steal them and grow them in Earth. But, fate had other plans. You must have caught the attention of Neteyam. Perhaps because you can breath the Pandora air without a mask. Your mutant genes made you exceptionally healthy and beautiful.
You never expected you would commit beastiality with your kidnapper.
Neteyam was kind to you. But, he got fed up with your attitude and rebelliousness to run away. So, he would reluctantly beat you.
As expected, he broke your spirit. And eventually, you became pregnant with his baby.
Neteyam knew you wouldn't abandon or hate any child of yours no matter who the father was. He took advantage.
You couldn't go back to the RDA. Your baby will go to the scientists and studied and imprisoned for the rest of its miserable life.
No. That is cruel.
And if you did leave your child with Neteyam, he will be bullied by the other Navis and your parents will disown you for bringing disgrace upon the family once they find out.
The thought of your child being motherless and a freak will cause it to have mental illness and sadness. You didn't want that. The love you had for your weird child made you stop attempting to leave your capturer.
You bitterly bid good bye to Earth.
Your new life began. Like an empty shell, you let Neteyam thrust into you. You responded to his kisses and closed your eyes. Pretending he was someone else to moan.
Neteyam was no fool. He wanted you to naturally love him and forgive him.
He was mean to you. But, you were mated with him by the decree of the Great Mother.
You told him that you were hated by many. Women out of envy. And the men tried to use you for carnal desires only.
Neteyam tried to tell you he loves you despite being a foreigner and odd. But, you were betrayed before and had trust issues. You were so stupid. Neteyam rolled his eyes. Screw it. He beat you and ignored the pain in his heart.
Then finally, he tamed you in your womb.
When his father's enemies came back as Navis, of course, he made you come with him to the ocean tribes.
He could say good bye to his friends and Grandma but not you or his future unborn child.
Neteyam had it worst than the others in his family. His mate was a demon.
Protecting you was harder than he did in the forest. He was no longer the son of the chief. But, a normal citizen.
No respect.
As the months dragged, Neteyam watched you swell more.
You wished either you and your baby die or him.
God answered your prayers. But... Some strange reason... You weren't happy he was dead
In fact, you wished you died with him.
What have you become?
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SUNNA 11 (doctor strange/reader) (loki/reader)
◂ previous chapter first chapter ▴
----- words
warnings: the after effects of mind violation; canon-typical violence.
AO3 MASTERPOST
Through the flames I spot a crack, leading to a cream-colored hallway. Another memory.
An escape.
A crack in the fabric of my mind.
In the distance the monster howls grow steadily closer.
I sent a searching glance out into the forest but Loki is nowhere to be seen. We'd gotten separated somewhere in the flames and smoke. I wasn't suppose to leave him, but this is an out.
What had been a crack the size of a large tree rapidly stitched up, if I waited too long I would lose the opportunity.
The howls grow closer - the creature is after me.
I throw myself through the crack, misjudging the drop onto the carpeted hall and grazing my knee. The crackle of burning wood is shut completely out as the gateway to the forest vanished, leaving this new alien environment eerily quiet. I suddenly know exactly why I am not supposed to leave Loki. What do I do now?
Shit. I have actually fucked myself.
AO3
What Would Wong Do? Gotta get my bearings. It's office building but not, very corporate feeling, clean and efficient, everything made from synthetic materials and white or off-white or beige or gray. The open doors show big rooms, and stacks of chairs that could accommodate a decent group of people if needed, but the building is seemingly empty.
Somewhere a phone is ringing.
Some of Loki's words begin to sink in. It's not that he's suggesting that Stephen is behind all of this - even if I'm realizing I don't actually know Stephen that well, I trust him, implicitly. I don't know why, I can't put a feeling into words, but I do. Even if I have just embarrassed myself, I still trust him. Maybe that's why I like him. Am I crazy for liking him? I'm definitely crazy for kissing him.
The hallway led to some kind of foyer area which was a lot nicer in appearance than the beige hallway. New looking couches as well as ornate flowers arranged in vases and paintings decorated the room, though I recognized nothing.
Maybe I'm not crazy. I'm not the only one who thought Stephen and I had a connection, even if the only other person is Loki. I literally just watched our meet-cute. Stephen is very attractive, super smart. Witty. And I swear I can feel his hands linger on me every time he touches me, even if he makes a point of touching me very sparingly. He makes my heart race. I make him snort with laughter like at least once a week. God, this the world's stupidest crush. I have to get over it, because he made it perfectly clear- I barely see him as it is. He turns up for five minutes after avoiding me for a month, or it definitely feels like he's ignoring me and then we get- I get too close and he avoids me again. I don't have any other friends as it is, the last thing I need is to chase one away.
My mind quivers at the thought of him, tightening like a heart pulsing. I can do it, I can get over him.
A low rumbling vibrated the walls. No matter where in the building I went the ringing of that stupid phone never seemed any closer or further away.
WWWD? Keep moving, I think.
The ringing gets louder and louder. I push on the crash door to get outside, only to find myself next to a waterfall in a lush looking rainforest and face-to-face with Kuema. The ringing ceases as the door shuts behind me.
“You,” I reared back a little, “who are you to me?”
“You know, I really don’t remember,” she smiles brightly.
“What?” A bird called loudly from where it was perched on some vines, distracting me, but when I looked back Kuema was gone. “What do you mean?” I call to the forest, the humid air hard to breathe and I gasp, my throat closing up. It's only a few seconds but time doesn’t seem so fixed now that I'm away from Loki. I’d assumed that he was using his magic to keep the area around us stable enough for us to explore, and now I am confident that my assumption was correct.
I continue to choke on nothing. I claw at my throat, desperate to stop the burn in my lungs, but by the time my nails began to sink into my flesh, something slid into place inside me and I gulp the fresh air down.
While I was distracted a golden throne room had grown around me. Kuema stood next to it, wearing long delicate white robes and a tight smile, her hair braided into a white crown that wraps around the top of her head.
“I didn’t make you up,” I realize. She didn’t fit here. I could just feel it. She originated elsewhere.
“No, you didn’t,” she replied, suddenly serious.
“You’re not a memory. This- you’re not a memory.”
“No.”
“What are you?”
“A safety feature.”
Again, my mind pulses. The setting sun shines through the columns, bouncing off the smooth edges of the ornate stone. I clutch my head as it begin to grow heavy and ache. Sleep would be so, so easy.
Kuema vanishes in a blink of an eye, the room melting like it had suddenly turned to liquid, reforming to place me in the center of Stephen’s office.
“Your relationship with Stephen is unusual, don’t you think? That you’re so enamored with him, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. Another word for the Loki list - insightful. I know that you think Loki has some valuable points, though even torture likely wouldn't get a confession out of you.” Kuema smirks, her tone playful, like she was dancing around a lesson, but wanted me to come to the conclusion on my own. She reminds me too much of Loki.
“It’s Loki, even a broken clock and all that,” I say, wiping spit from my mouth, “I’m not worried about him, I’m looking for my memories. Where are they?”
In the hall, that godforsaken phone began to ring and Kuema’s head whipped towards it, a slight frown tugging at her mouth. “I don’t know.”
“Did the real you plant you in my head?”
“I don’t know. I assume so.”
“You’re the only thing in my head that isn’t a memory? The beast?”
The Kuema copy shook her head.
“What does it want with me?”
“It doesn’t want anything from you .”
My blood chilled. Loki. It was after Loki. And I’d left him.
As soon as I decide I need to get back to Loki, the scene comes undone like a loose thread on a gray wool sweater, the carpet beneath my feet frayed, causing me to trip as I try to steady myself. The roof lifted off and the walls began to dissolve as though touched with something very acidic. Another stumble takes me to my knees. Something else inside my head clicks into place and purple light glimmers my fingertips. My magic. I can feel its energy thrumming. My magic returned. Somewhere, wherever he was in my head, Loki was fixing my brain and I’d left him alone while the beast hunted him.
A quick glance below me revealed other memories, filling thousands of feet below me. The fall would kill me.
“What does the beast want with him?”
Another pulse causes a spike in my reclaimed power that I can’t tamp down quick enough. I plummet, memories whizzing pass me as I fall. My hair whips in my ears. The memories, around me, always moving, shifting, showing things I cannot remotely declare as truth. One such memory moves below me, as if to catch me, but I fall through it as if it would nothing but a cloud. Chunks of land and parts of scenes flew past me, faster than I can grab with my magic. Desperately, I try to cling onto a statue from work, but the impact on my reaching arms and bloody hands causes instant agony. The world around me responds in kind, turning red and inflamed. The collision with the statue had set me spinning and I smash through the floor of my bedroom at the Sanctum, splintering the wood, and opening up an exit wound in that scene. Again the world responds, squeezing in on me like a heart valve with no blood, pulsing to an inaudible beat, and my magic responses in kind, tightening then releasing. It's excruciating. My magic is back, but I'm so out of practice using it.
New York quickly comes into focus, but I can barely process the nearing pavement, too busy pondering the result of landing on concrete at speed when something invisible wraps around my middle, slowing my descent, my feet finally make purchase with the sidewalk, but they don’t have the energy to keep me up and I fall straight on my hands and knees, nauseous and grateful for solid ground.
Loki made no move to help me. "I have been looking everywhere for you!" His coat was gone and the edges of his trousers singed, but he doesn’t look too worse for wear. "If I hadn't looked up, you would be a splatter on the pavement right now."
"Because you care so much about my wellbeing, right?" I cough, breathing heavy. My heart pounds. I clutch my chest as though it would stop it from tearing out of me. Everything is getting so vibrant. My brain hurts.
“You abandoned me, even though I am the only thing standing between you and madness."
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same if the positions were reversed.”
“That’s the thing, Sunna, you don’t know a thing about me. Your entire perception of who I am is based on assumptions, I understand it, it is the same of every soul I encounter, but when it comes down to it, like everyone who exists, you choose to save your own skin first. You’re not better than me. You’re the same as your perception of me, and your moral superiority complex grows tiring, child.”
“Your reputation knocked before you did. Boo-hoo. You tried to take over New York!” I managed to push myself up, leaning back on my ankles and swaying dangerously.
“But I didn’t.” Indignant.
I face plant on the ground, my body limp.
I have no idea if I have dreamed this dream before.
“It’s not you, you know,” Stephen mutters. “I don’t fall for people. It’s always a mess when I do.”
"Listen to him," Kuema's voice splinters around us.
When I wake, I am confronted with the distorted image of Loki leaning over me. “Thank Ymir. You’re awake.”
But before I can answer there is a thunderous crack and he's knocked out cold, crumpling next to me.
I scream.
“It’s okay,” said Another Loki looms over me, a plank of wood in his hands. “He wasn’t real- that wasn't real, no, no, no, no, stay with me.”
Again, I pass out.
It's like watching bacteria multiply, one Stephen becomes many, each a memory or a thought, but all about him. I can feel on my body the imprint of every time he’d touched me, a shoulder brush as we passed each other in the hallway, heat blossoming across my skin from the remnants of sparring bruises, the impression of his lips over mine when I'd kissed him, the feeling of his hand tangling in my hair after he’d found me wandering New York, concussed and frightened.
Intoxicating to me.
When Stephen and I first met, it was like basking in the warmth of the sun for the first time after a life of shadow. His laugh, his humor. Even in the beginning he'd been able to make me laugh, loudly and without care. I care about him. I do. He makes me feel safe! He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel safe.He makes me feel safe.He makes me feel safe.He makes me feel safe.He makes me feel safe.Hemakesmefeelsafe.Hemakesmefeelsafe.Hemakesmefeelsafe.hemakesmefeelsafe.hemakesmefeelsafehemakesmefeelsafemakesmefeelsafefeelsafesafesafesafe.
I'm in some parking building when I wake up. All grey concrete and dotted with a handful of cars. Loki is next to me, sitting on the dirty ground, head resting back against the wall.
His eyes opened narrowly to observe me, before squeezing shut again in annoyance.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"I've had worse beatings," Loki said with an air of nonchalance. Still he winced, his hand raising to the opposite shoulder. Red stains his shirt. Claw marks.
“What happened?”
“You passed out, and I’ve had to lug you around until you woke up, so not only are we even, but now you owe me,” he sounds exhausted, but clearly not too exhausted to be frustrated at me.
“I… thank you,”
He says nothing.
“Why are you helping me?”
Loki doesn’t have time to react before the flash flood hits us. His body slides against the wall, smashing into mine, winding me, and pushing me under the surface, the current sweeping me down to the next level of the parking building. Is it possible to drown in your own mind? The tumultuous waters kept flipping me, and I can't tell which way is up. My brain forces me to breathe in, choking on water, flailing in the pull of the undercurrent when arms wrap around me, hoisting me so my head comes out of the water. My back is against Loki’s chest, and I cough and splutter. His own breathing heavy, laborious in my ear is swept from him entirely when the wave crashes, and I sandwich him against the wall. We descended another level.
A small white car barrels in my direction, about to crush me when Loki pulls me out of the water. He had managed to heave himself onto a nearby staircase, one hand hauls me up and the other gripping onto the railing.
Once I am out of the water, Loki drops me, more out of exertion, so that I stumble onto the stairs.
The beast is swept past, trying to fight through the rushing rapids.
Loki hasn’t noticed, still focused on me, as the featureless monster defied the thundering water to make its way over to us. The prince is in the middle of saying ‘what are you doing?’ when I yank him away from the beast’s outstretching claws, even though he falls against me on the hard edges of the steps. If this was real-life my ribs would have broken against the concrete, but even in this form the pain overwhelms me, and I whimper, trying to fight through the feeling.
The parking building vanishes and we are laying in long grass in the middle of a meadow, still soaking wet, Loki straddling my waist.
“Get off-” I try to push him off, but his hand covers my mouth (covers half my goddamn face), silencing me, though it is just as likely his expression would have silenced me on its own.
Loki has gone preternaturally still, his gaze searching as he listens for something I can’t hear, his supporting hand pressed palm first into the soil above my shoulder.
The grass rustles.
Nearby, the monster stalks.
It could not see us over the long grass, though without eyes, I’m not sure how its been able to see us in the first place. It croons, a long, sad mournful sound, broken with gasps for breath.
My body shakes against my will, trying to contain the fear when the creature takes a step in our direction. Loki does not release his hand from my mouth, though I wasn't inclined to speak again. His hair has come out of its braid, dripping water onto my nose.
Another step towards us. Again, that anguished call vibrated over our heads. Was it crying? It sounded like it.
Neither of us had the energy to run again. I wonder how Loki had managed to keep me alive while I had passed out, but the beast takes another step and Loki lays flat on top of me, keeping me pressed into the earth. I hold him tight. Even wet from the flood his body is particularly cold, though he does not shiver.
If I die, I am going to miss Stephen so, so much.
The strong pungent smell of earth fills my noise. I could hear Loki whispering faintly in some language I can’t understand. The beast is close now. I want to tell him to run. It’s not after me, I scream in my head, but there was no falter in his whispers to suggest he’d heard.
The beast bore down on us and I couldn’t help but jolt in fear when the warm earth beneath us began to drag us into its embrace, plants and bugs and soil and Loki’s arms wrap around me tightly, holding me against him as we sunk out of sight.
I have no control over anything in my whole life. The Spellcaster uses me for an unimaginable end. I have lost my memories. I feel like some fantasy that mistakenly gained sentience. I don't know who I am.
A phone rings. My cell.
It’s in my pocket.
Slide to answer.
When we rise out of the earth we were no longer in the meadow. We weren’t even outside. The walls of my old apartment were closed around us. It seems normal on the surface. The layout was as I remembered, familiar even. The kitchen is stocked with food, dirty plates in the sink. An open door to my bedroom reveals an unmade bed. There is art on the walls and a busted TV that only plays a few free channels and had a bad habit of giving anyone who touched it a static shock.
Somewhere in the room, a phone rings.
The apartment shudders and becomes double exposed, showing memories over the top of other memories.
Every memory that I’d had in this apartment.
Kicking off my shoes at the front door and slumping on the sofa to watch TV after work. Cooking a midnight snack.
He props himself up on one elbow, and I am vaguely aware that I have my own body, and he his, and I falling back against the floor as he raises himself up.
A flick of Loki's hand and a wash of green is all it takes to reveal the magical signatures in the room, mine, all mine. Purples and violets and blues laying overtop of everything like a fresh bruise.
Hundreds of ghosts of me go through the motions of living, each memory laid one on top of another, reenacting every single moment I had in this apartment.
“Diplopia, I know that it might not seem like a good sign, but it is.” Loki slid off of me, he offers me a hand up, which I accept. He's relieved. “An anchor point in your mind, usually your childhood home. Interesting that you only have adult memories in this place,” he swept his hand through the air in a wide arch, gesturing to my compatriots.
Every thought seemed to mix together, slurring words and images into a brown smudge. Loki looks badly drained.
“No, no, don't-” Loki is at my side, holding me up, strong fingers gripping my upper arms. I hadn’t realized I was swaying. “Oh dear.”
The window shows the street outside, and the beast whines like an ignored dog, wandering back and forth, looking up and pawing at the brick occasionally.
Inside the memories kept flowing.
Only of them seems solid. It's me, sitting in the heap against the wall, staring into space.
Motion sick. Not well, not well. I have the urge to vomit.
"Stop," Loki's voice is rough in my ear, like I am a child who needs chastisement. "Don't go to sleep, that's what it wants. The key to getting your memories back is in this room."
It seemed that he'd sensed that my eyelids beginning to droop before I had.
The memories around us are making me dizzy.
Something calls to me in a sleepy whisper in my ear, "lay down and rest." The voice feels like family.
Someone snaps their fingers in my face. I open my eyes expecting to see Loki, but it's Kuema's hand, her other arm wrapped around me, supporting me as Loki had.
Next to us, the window opens, sliding up.
The beast stretches its bulk in order to fit through the window, flopping into a puddle on the hardwood, where it sits contained and unmoving.
Kuema, slightly taller than me, braced herself so that I wouldn’t trip when I stumble backwards away from the beast.
The creature is bigger than a horse with grey mottled skin that reminds me of the worst kind of spiders. Featureless flesh stretching over the sockets where its eyes could have been, its thin, lipless mouth held no expression, and strangely enough, no teeth. Its bones must be able to maneuver into unnatural positions.
Where is-? My own thought it cut off when I see him.
Loki is collapsed on the floor, seemingly asleep. The beast made no move to harm him.
“She's after Loki,” Kuema mutters in my ear sharply, “not you, okay? It recognizes him as a foreign body in your mind. No one intended for him to be here.”
I nod, but my head hurt from the movement.
“This can all be over in a moment, but you have to listen to me,” Kuema’s tone was almost… motherly. Commanding and gentle at the same time, like I would be smart to do as she said. “This creature here, she wants to take Loki’s memories. And you’re going to let her, okay?”
“Wait- what?” I slur through the words, shaking the fog off my brain.
“There isn’t time-”
“No,” I push her away, a moment of clarity emboldening me, enough. Without her I wobble. “Why would it want that? His memories? What is it?”
I try to throw off the sluggishness overtaking me, but it weighs me down, and again Kuema is holding me up, only this time I accept the assistance.
"You're asking too many questions," Kuema snaps.
"If you don't give me some context, there is no way I am acting on your recommendations."
"You have to trust me."
"Why would I trust you?"
"Please! I don't know why I'm here, but I know I have a job to do." Her golden eyes narrow. "This apartment, this room, is the last thing holding your memories from splintering away. It is the anchor point in your mind, your memories are here, but the person who cast that spell on you booby-trapped it. As soon as Loki entered your mind, this point birthed that creature to hunt him down.”
"To protect me?"
Kuema doesn't answer me. "My duty is to protect you."
The beast cocks its head to the side, quizzically. When the monster leans back on its heels, it looks humanoid. It's not angry anymore. Neither am I. Anger was for elsewhere, maybe outside this anchor point, maybe for outside of being in my own head. This creature is just lost in here like I am. When faced square on, it looks horribly misshapen, marked and wrinkled and yet bland, the kind of thing the audience imprints their own fears upon.
“It’s your deepest sense of self, it's the offspring of a great trauma,” Kuema said from behind me, sadly. “It knows the pain that Loki caused you, it knows what he has taken from you. It wants revenge. It wants him to feel the vulnerability- the violation."
The beast just looked mournfully at the sleeping prince.
I get the impression that she is trying to whip me up into an angry frenzy, but I just can't. Anger does not exist here.
The heap in the corner, the only other solid me in this room full of memories looks at me.
The double exposed memories stop and stare. I could not meet the hatred in their eyes, so I stare at the beast, and the beast, without eyes, stares back at me.
They all ignored Loki.
“And I-I could get my memories back?”
The room breathes in unison, it's subtle but I can feel it, I breathe with them.
“Yes,” Kuema takes my hand, rubbing her thumb along the back of it comfortingly, “and all you have to trade is his memories. You could get even with him.”
For a long moment, I am tempted.
A really long moment.
But I can't do to Loki on purpose, what he had done to me inadvertently. “What if I don’t want him to lose his memories? I wouldn’t wish this fate on my worst enemy.”
“It’s yours or his. You cannot have both.”
“Why not?” I snapped, turning on her, “why do you get to make all the decisions Kuema? I’m getting out of here and I’m taking both of our memories with me!”
“That is not possible. Right now, I am the only thing keeping you alive. Loki’s been wandering around your mind, he’s gotten you your powers back. When you wake up you will find the physical symptoms of his invasion totally healed. Out there-” she pointed up, “Stephen and Wong have made sure that your body survives the physical toll of this treatment,” she called me by my name, but it sounds foreign on her tongue, “but right now? The only person intervening in the natural order is me. If it weren’t for me, the beast would’ve taken its price by now, and this anchor point would have remained as it was created- to erase your memories permanently. I am the only reason you get a choice. So choose, and quickly. If a decision isn’t made soon, I don’t know what will become of any of you.”
The beast observes me coolly, no hint of expression.
“You’re thinking of saving him. Of giving up everything you are. Would he do the same for you?”
I glanced at the solid me, glaring from where it rested.
Somewhere in the distance, a phone rings.
"Lay down and rest," that sleepy voice whispered again, only it's the room that is speaking to me. Each memory, each version of me whispers it over and over again.
I looked at Kuema, and she holds my gaze, a hand sliding to each of my cheeks, as she looked at me in sympathy, "I know, this is hard for you, but you have to put yourself first."
"Can he hear us?" I whisper.
“Loki knows everything that is going on, the room has subdued him to prevent further damage to your mind, but he is powerful. He watches from his slumber,” Kuema guides me to make my decision.
"And he won't remember any of this?"
“He is at your mercy this time.”
AO3 MASTERPOST
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god Verg I love a Structure so much, it’s gonna be “despicite, dei, gaudete” for the WIP game & I would love to hear more about the said structure if you feel like sharing it!
hello!! an excuse to talk about my project? yes please thank you <3
so it’s three “layers” which are entangled (maybe laced is a better word — i’m still ironing out final structural presentation, but the core is there)
1. sopwith, a book published in 1950 about pilots in WWI — aiming for an american modernism style, steinbeck influences (god i love steinbeck) with a dash of the faintly surreal, though i wouldn’t call it experimental. presented in standard book style, not terribly long
2. the life of sopwith’s author, who was himself a pilot in the second war, discharged after a serious plane crash — sopwith is published after his stint in the air force and he spends the last six years of his life in a new york hotel (based on the chelsea) obsessively redrafting a second edition of sopwith and filling a horde of journals, which themselves are published 50 years later as an academic text (though the second edition of sopwith never sees the light of day). told in journal passages
3. the efforts of a lit studies doctorate to piece together what it was sopwith’s revised version (never published) was really trying to say while she struggles with her own psychiatric health and her relationship to literature and the world at large. told in footnotes on sopwith, journals, and letters to her brother.
that’s the simplest sort of breakdown — the lit. studies doctorate ends up living in the same hotel the author lived in while she’s working and enters a psychological spiral where she becomes entangled with those last years of the author’s life and the thing he was trying to excise via his book, so the lines get a little blurry as the whole thing progresses. there are lots of throughlines about doubling/communication/the effort of people to corral the world with the written word/etc — inspired a lot by jorge luis borges and also house of leaves. i’m still in the glorious haze of Throw It All On The Page so i expect there’ll be some. refinements? (please god)
despicite, dei, gaudete is the first thing the author ever wrote and published — it’s a novella about an odd family myth a grandmother is telling her grandson, but taking a borges tact what we read instead of the actual novella is the lit doctorate’s essay about it, an excerpt from the middle of which i shall offer you here :)
thanks much for the ask my friend <3 <3
The seemingly obvious moral is twofold: old gods are infinitely cruel, and splitting up in strange forests is a terrible idea (a fact any B-list horror film will readily remind us of). Little chou hears this story, and when the telling of it is over, we discover that chou is now an old man, telling the tale to his granddaughter, and we have been hearing the telling of a telling, itself impressed upon by dimly-recalled circumstance and the erosion of an old man’s memory. Now we see why the impressions of intermediate narrative — a family dinner, a bedtime, a certain firelit drawing room — are so loosely sketched, so half-filled and yet so elemental. They are the memories of a child.
Most take Despicite as Witten’s first establishment of in loco, absentia on the basis of the fact that the real narrative concealed within is the life of chou, understood to us by the particularity of the details he does remember: his mother’s hand vividly recalled, posed mid-stir over a soup pot, thought by many to imply both her early death and chou’s pursuit of the culinary arts; the flames in the hearth and the strange vision chou has of the stones blackened, suggesting at one time that the house burned down; chou’s exquisite ekphrasis of the ceiling in his childhood bedroom, so vivid one cannot help but think that this is where we find him now, perhaps confined to the same quarters he slept in as a child, an old man at the end of his life. Legion readers have pointed out the obvious Biblical influences, the echoes of Cain and Abel (raised as a Protestant in his hometown of Valentine, Nebraska, it’s no small wonder that Witten’s works tend to touch on Christian themes). The first brother, killed and then dismantled by the second, plays our ready Abel, and the second our more hapless Cain, whose inciting sin is perhaps his abandonment of his brother to the dark wood in pursuit of his own reckless belief. He then attempts to “hide” his sin by rectifying it, collecting his brother in an attempt to reverse his transformation into earth. It’s no great leap. Our Cain, of course, is not condemned to wander, but instead condemned to a miserable stasis, from which he similarly does not escape.
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Bite to Bruise - Prologue
tags: modern-fantasy mashup, werewolves, witches, monsters, romance, learning to trust, hurt/comfort, violence
BITE TO BRUISE - PROLOGUE
Their territory had been prized by other packs before the modern age, before the treaties and the borders, before the highways and the cities. Their pack had claimed it and held that stretch of valley and river along the edge of the deep woods when it was a constant battle to keep it. And they held it when the world forgot about it, suddenly just a patch at the edge of fenrir territory with that ancient wood as a barrier between their piece of Dog Land and the beginning of Blood Country.
It wasn’t like any of the blood suckers in their sprawling stone cities could venture through the merciless green, but long ago, when the wolves still feared the gods of biters, that line on the map had frightened off weaker packs from trying to take what was theirs.
But Arlo’s pack had never been one to be frightened off. They had made their life in that valley and in the edge of those old woods. They had fought plenty of strange things that came out of them, things most wouldn’t believe still existed.
But the witch was the strangest.
One day they sensed her inside the forest. She was just within their territory but had not stepped foot beyond the trees. The pack waited to see what she would do—if she would make them hunt her and push her back into the deep of the forest where hungry ancient things still lived, or if she would leave on her own. And then they saw her. The fenrir of the forest edge had not expected her to be a child, let alone a broken, thin slip of a creature. Surely the winter would finish her if nothing else did before then.
No wolf wanted to be the one to kill a witch, not even a small one abandoned by her own kind.
Bad luck was not enough to describe the consequences for snuffing out magic like that unprovoked. The blood drinkers and the gods might be willing to take on those consequences, but no pack wanted to deal with them.
Arlo made the decision to leave her alone—to leave her to the woods and let nature have her.
They avoided the forest where she was, but Arlo watched that line of trees from his house. Day and night, his gaze was drawn toward that unknowable danger. What did she want and what was better for his pack? Her death or her life?
Witches were dangerous things.
Let the sunlight creatures and the midnight biters make their deals with witches. Wolves would not.
But it was a hell of a chore keeping his youngest boy from leaving food and blankets for the witch.
They made it through summer and into autumn.
The witch was still there in the woods on his territory.
The pack had almost gotten used to her being there, her scent and her magic becoming a fixture in that part of the woods. They avoided it and almost never laid eyes on her, but there was no mistaking her presence or the way she stained the land. They might have to abandon that area even after she left…or after she died.
His stomach twisted every time he let his thoughts stray to that fate. She was only a child, even if she was a witch.
Maybe it wasn’t his stomach twisting.
Arlo wasn’t the sort of man used to feeling his resolve weaken.
So, every morning and every night he watched those trees, grappling with what was best for his pack and what he could live with.
There was no returning her to her own. Witches were rare and few were free.
There was no chasing a child into the deep woods to die.
And maybe there could be no leaving her to the winter either.
Whatever choice he might have made on his own was altered, the way fate is always altered, by the unpredictable happenings of the world.
That autumn, just when the chill began to crawl into the valley, people in the town started to fall sick. A blood fever, one that had started in a city miles away with the spoil of some blood sucking shade. The perfect disaster of illness and power that burned a line across the territories. The human doctor in their town was overwhelmed and some of the residents of Maeve drove their sick to the nearest city, only to find the hospitals swamped and more illness there than in the valley.
Someone in Arlo’s pack let slip mention of the witch and a mob, driven mad with fear, rolled onto his land with an aim for those trees.
It didn’t take much to turn them back.
Humans lived peacefully in Dog Land so long as they lived by the laws of the packs and the laws in that valley were Arlo’s words. He said to turn back, and they did, after some whining and some pleading, but they did.
Lands had been cursed for lesser offenses than killing an innocent witch. Turning a blind eye to her was one thing, but allowing a mob to drag her from the woods? No. He would not let his pack be cursed nor would he allow anything like that to happen in his territory.
Perhaps the illness would take her before he had to decide what to do about the coming winter.
She was so frail…
As if to punish him for his wicked thoughts, Arlo’s youngest got the blood fever and he had to realize how frail his boy was too.
They kept the other little ones away and the rest were too strong to catch it. They tried everything they could to save the boy. They called on every favor, every healer, every pack in the territories.
No one could help them and soon he could smell death in his boy’s hair.
He had forgotten all about the little witch until she walked into his house one night.
She was barefoot and dirty, crusted in blood and dirt, wearing one of his son’s old hoodies. One of the items Sunny had put out for her before Arlo made him stop.
She shivered like it was her permanent state, like she had been shivering for months now and forgotten about it.
He suddenly wanted to hold her too—hold both the children he had failed to protect.
But she was not a child like any other.
Wolves howled, the alarm going out when one of his other kids realized she was there. He felt them shifting before claws clicked across the floors and teeth snapped. His eldest son, Ever, stepped into that space between them, ready to protect.
She waited, staring not at Arlo but at the boy in his arms.
“Let her by,” Arlo said, so tired from those long nights up listening to struggling breaths. He was ready to pay whatever this creature wanted for his crimes against her.
The growling never stopped but the witch crossed the floor, leaving filthy tracks in her wake. Her hair was tangled with bits of moss and twigs, and her eyes seemed huge in her thin face. She reached for the boy and Arlo’s heart jerked in his chest. He growled and reached out to stop her. He had been prepared for her to play the tiny reaper but not to come for the kid.
Her eyes flashed to his and the air in the room thinned.
He could taste her fear.
But then her gaze flicked back to his boy and one of her hands twisted in the front of her hoodie. Sunny’s hoodie.
Arlo lowered his arm and ignored all the growling and whining of the wolves filling his home.
She hesitated, not like the reaper he’d imagined, but like something skittish.
He had scared her.
Arlo had scared many people and monsters in his life, but never a witch. He slowly slid back across the bed, laying his son out between them, and dropping to his knees on the other side with his arms still out—still touching his boy. He couldn’t let him go. That wasn’t in him to do.
She sighed and it was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it.
She came another step closer, to the other side of the bed, and looked at the sick boy. She unclenched her hand from her hoodie, the very tips of her tiny fingers black as though she had touched a freshly painted wall. All of her fingers but the smallest that was missing. She put her hand on the boy’s chest and Arlo held his breath, terrified that his son would draw his last.
She closed her eyes and for long seconds neither the girl nor the boy breathed.
No one in the house breathed.
No one surrounding the house breathed.
And then she lifted her hand and a wind burst through the room. Doors rattled, chairs overturned, a window cracked, but when the wind had gone, it had taken the stink of death with it.
Sunny coughed a few times before whining and rolling toward Arlo. He pouted, still asleep but breathing strong, and reached for him.
When Arlo looked up, the witch was already leaving.
“Wait,” he called, but she didn’t.
No one stopped her and no one growled, they just watched their tiny invader return to the woods.
The blood fever cleared out of their territory overnight, not just from his boy but from the infected in the towns as well.
The next day, they picked up supplies and set out into the woods. Into her woods.
She did not want to come out, Arlo knew that now. She did not mean them any harm, but she was there to stay.
So, they built her a little house with a wood stove and a chimney while she watched from the trees, always out of reach and scowling like they were up to no good.
They brought her pieces of their own furniture and dishware. Arlo’s mate sent him with quilts, bedding, and boxes of food. His eldest son chopped wood and stocked it for the winter.
Arlo would come back a couple times a year to see to the woodpile, but he never saw the witch again.
She was there and when the children left presents just inside that stretch of woods, the offerings always disappeared.
Rumors spread about the pack with a witch, but no one believed it.
Wolves and witches did not coexist.
If they were in the same place for too long, one of them would have to die.
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Adam/Shepherd
"Mad Faith" incident
This trollge was a shepherd in one of the churches until he went crazy and left it. He grew up in a religious and strict family. Adam was an obedient and quiet child, he had no friends, so he lived in the house most of the time, had a clear daily routine that he was obliged to follow. His father later died when he was 10. Years later, he became a shepherd in the church like his father. He lived in the church for a long time helping others. One day he found a strange book in the hallway. Taking it and opening it, he heard a voice. The voice was indescribable, as was the language. The guy seemed to have fallen out of reality and did not feel anything during this monologue. Then darkness, and then he woke up among the soft walls, still in his clothes. He smiled and generally behaved differently than usual. In the walls of the hospital near his room, prayers were always heard ... in an unknown language at a well-defined time, scaring the guards and doctors on night shifts. He later escaped but did not kill anyone.
Facts:
- Adam lost his mind, but he always says that this enlightenment is from someone [Redacted]
- Adam is very trusting. For example. Oscar found him in the forest, and Adam thought that Oscar was the messenger of his God and obediently was brought to us. This also applies to the various books, jewelry, and eye-shaped symbols that Adam collects in his room.
- Adam will offer to accept his new religion in honor of his deity and there are answer options:
[Consent: Adam will become your ally, but you have to adapt to him, which is quite difficult.]
[Refusal: will either kill you in a ritual way, or drive you away and hate you.]
[Neutral: distract him, or give an ambiguous answer, then he will be neutral towards you.]
- Often in his free time he likes to read the very book from which he met that God.
- This deity is not the Weeping God.
- Kills those who do not agree with his views, or offend his god.
- Hates rats and snakes, considering them a threat. More likes birds and dogs.
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Twisted Fairy Tale Retelling Picks
The Wolf and the Woodsman by Ava Reid
In her forest-veiled pagan village, Évike is the only woman without power, making her an outcast clearly abandoned by the gods. The villagers blame her corrupted bloodline—her father was a Yehuli man, one of the much-loathed servants of the fanatical king. When soldiers arrive from the Holy Order of Woodsmen to claim a pagan girl for the king’s blood sacrifice, Évike is betrayed by her fellow villagers and surrendered.
But when monsters attack the Woodsmen and their captive en route, slaughtering everyone but Évike and the cold, one-eyed captain, they have no choice but to rely on each other. Except he’s no ordinary Woodsman—he’s the disgraced prince, Gáspár Bárány, whose father needs pagan magic to consolidate his power. Gáspár fears that his cruelly zealous brother plans to seize the throne and instigate a violent reign that would damn the pagans and the Yehuli alike. As the son of a reviled foreign queen, Gáspár understands what it’s like to be an outcast, and he and Évike make a tenuous pact to stop his brother.
As their mission takes them from the bitter northern tundra to the smog-choked capital, their mutual loathing slowly turns to affection, bound by a shared history of alienation and oppression. However, trust can easily turn to betrayal, and as Évike reconnects with her estranged father and discovers her own hidden magic, she and Gáspár need to decide whose side they’re on, and what they’re willing to give up for a nation that never cared for them at all.
The Salt Grows Heavy by Cassandra Khaw
You may think you know how the fairytale goes: a mermaid comes to shore and weds the prince. But what the fables forget is that mermaids have teeth. And now, her daughters have devoured the kingdom and burned it to ashes.
On the run, the mermaid is joined by a mysterious plague doctor with a darkness of their own. Deep in the eerie, snow-crusted forest, the pair stumble upon a village of ageless children who thirst for blood, and the three 'saints' who control them.
The mermaid and her doctor must embrace the cruellest parts of their true nature if they hope to survive.
Dark and Deepest Red by Anna-Marie McLemore
Summer, 1518. A strange sickness sweeps through Strasbourg: women dance in the streets, some until they fall down dead. As rumors of witchcraft spread, suspicion turns toward Lavinia and her family, and Lavinia may have to do the unimaginable to save herself and everyone she loves.
Five centuries later, a pair of red shoes seal to Rosella Oliva’s feet, making her dance uncontrollably. They draw her toward a boy who knows the dancing fever’s history better than anyone: Emil, whose family was blamed for the fever five hundred years ago. But there’s more to what happened in 1518 than even Emil knows, and discovering the truth may decide whether Rosella survives the red shoes.
The Crane Husband by Kelly Barnhill
“Mothers fly away like migrating birds. This is why farmers have daughters.”
A fifteen-year-old teenager is the backbone of her small Midwestern family, budgeting the household finances and raising her younger brother while her mom, a talented artist, weaves beautiful tapestries. For six years, it’s been just the three of them—her mom has brought home guests at times, but none have ever stayed.
Yet when her mom brings home a six-foot tall crane with a menacing air, the girl is powerless to prevent her mom letting the intruder into her heart, and her children’s lives. Utterly enchanted and numb to his sharp edges, her mom abandons the world around her to weave the masterpiece the crane demands.
In this stunning contemporary retelling of “The Crane Wife” by the Newbery Medal-winning author of The Girl Who Drank the Moon, one fiercely pragmatic teen forced to grow up faster than was fair will do whatever it takes to protect her family—and change the story.
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