#here have some lesion/echo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

r6shippingdelivery · 1 year

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I posted 7,676 times in 2022

495 posts created (6%)

7,181 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@leevila-today

@n3ongold3n

@gigacat

@thefishychicken

@kendrene

I tagged 1,673 of my posts in 2022

#r6s - 1,298 posts

#rainbow six siege - 412 posts

#rainbow 6 siege - 411 posts

#sgtnicoloff - 160 posts

#anonymous - 144 posts

#shameless self-reblog - 66 posts

#r6e - 65 posts

#kapkan - 44 posts

#rainbow 6 - 35 posts

#mah bois - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#so wait if he's descended from aliens and is associated with neptune in some way... does that mean wamai is that universe's aquaman? xd

My Top Posts in 2022:

Made this for Twitter, realised I forgot to post it here. Nothing special going on, just a Spetsnaz bbq! If you’re wondering why Fuze is missing, maybe they’re waiting for him... or it’s because it was for a question of what 2 ops you’d invite for dinner, and I snuck an additional one making Tachanka the chef 😄

84 notes - Posted January 19, 2022

See the full post

102 notes - Posted April 1, 2022

I have no excuse for this, your honor, I just... I love him

107 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

A high-res image of Harry’s new board just dropped, and I’m gonna analyse and transcribe as many of the notes as I can. There are parts I couldn’t decypher, so if you want to zoom in the image yourself and help me fill out the blank, I’d me more than grateful!

Under a cut cause it’s going to be a really long post.

The yellow post it above everything else says: The most practical application of my skills is to determine who works best with who. I eliminated interpersonal friction as best as I could so we can move forward efficiently.

We see that some of the names in the teams are circled in red, probably the ones who cause interpersonal friction... with the team leader, I assume? Below, I’m gonna detail the operators in each team, followed by the text on the first note (written by Harry, presumably), and at the end the text of the note under the picture of each team leader (this one signed by Zero).

Thermite’s team

Kaid Gridlock Tachanka Fuze Kapkan Buck Sledge Ash Oryx Thorn Goyo Amaru

Harry’s note: Some profiles are best suited for high-risk missions, and I’m not one to keep people from their calling. [REDACTED] is the cavalry - caution thrown to the wind get the job done at any cost

Zero’s note: Trace is motivated, and he’s seen more explosions than most, the years have been good to him despite going through hell and back. This squad needs to be led by a bad motherfucker

Hibana’s team

Thatcher Alibi Blackbeard (in red) Mute Dokkaebi Jäger Echo Jackal Blitz Maestro Kana/Flubber (hint of a new operator?) Mira Rook

Harry’s note: Members of [REDACTED] are the careers. A wide range of skill sets can be adapted to any scenario. They can lead their own missions or they can assist one of the other squads as required

Zero’s note: Imagawa is a (??) soldier and a fantastic leader. She’s been a reliable player in the past. I think it’s time we put her connections to good use and I’m sure she’d agree

Doc’s team

Lion (in red) Clash Montagne Twitch Nomad Bandit Frost Ying Castle (in red) Thunderbird Melusi

Harry’s note: A humanitarian unit was an idea I had a long time ago and I’m glad to have found a (??) that fits the bill. [REDACTED] will be perfect for sensitive operations where collateral is not an option.

Zero’s note: Illegible

Caveira’s team

Maverick Vigil Zofia (in red) Lesion Valkyrie Glaz Nokk Warden Iana Mozzie Zero Flores

Harry’s note: Every good organization needs a covert espionage unit and for us it’s [REDACTED]. Caveira’s team is the best in the world at infiltration, surveillance, intelligence and elimination.

Zero’s note: Illegible

See the full post

170 notes - Posted February 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

There’s been a lot of talk about AO3 and censorship lately, due to one of the candidates to the OTW board. And I realised I have very strong Opinions:tm: about censorship and the freedom AO3 stands for.

Censorship is not a solution. It doesn’t work and it’s not even easily agreed upon where the line should be drawn. What some people might deem as immoral or reprehensible is not the same others will consider so. For example, you and me can agree that sexual stories about minors turn our stomach, yet other people would also include LGBT+ content there, even the sfw ones, and others might decide that any sexual content at all is immoral. So, how do we agree about what to ban, when nothing of it is even illegal?

because let’s be honest, it’s all fiction. As in, not real. Things like incest, rape and pedophilia are illegal irl, but not in fiction. Cause they’re not harming anyone. Really. You can find it disgusting, I certainly do, but I also recognize no person, no actual human, is harmed in the making of those stories. Because they’re made up and about made up characters. I won’t seek it out, and if I see someone making that kind of content I will most probably avoid them/block them (without harassing them), but they have the right to create any kind of fiction they want.

It always baffles me how readily understood that is when it comes to murder and violence in fiction. Nobody thinks that someone who writers murder mysteries or procedural shows really wants to go out and kill people. However, as soon as it’s about sex, people are up in arms ready to believe that those make believe scenarios are an indicative of someone’s real desires. Why is that? And since we’re on the topic of double standards: why are people clutching their pearls about fanfic, but literature gets a free pass, more or less? You go into a library and you’ll find lots of books with shocking and distasteful topics, including those that contain pedophilic content (like Lolita, to put a famous example), incest (Game of Thrones, among many others), rape, murder, etc. But they want me to believe that fanfic, the medium with severely impaired social acceptance and magnitudes smaller reach, is the actual problem that will “normalize” those ideas? Nah fam, I smell a moral panic, and people finding fanfic writers easier to bully into submission. Because this is all about controlling what forms of creative expression are deemed acceptable. Fanfic IS a form of art, popular art if you will, but still art. And by virtue of how AO3 is designed, it’s ridiculously easy to never see the kind of stories that you find objectionable.

Tags are a wonderful thing. I can specify what I want and what I don’t want in my story results when searching! Tags are the author being responsible and giving due warning. Especially the “dead dove: do not eat” tag, it lets you know that the content of the story will have questionable content, proceed at your own risk or keep scrolling. Same as the “chose to not use archive warnings” that one is a warning in itself that the story might contain triggering/upsetting content, and it’s the prerogative of each reader to decide whether they’re comfortable continuing reading or not. Ultimately, it’s all about taking responsibility for one’s decisions. People who are in favor of censorship in AO3 either don’t know how to control and curate what materials they access, or feel entitled to everyone else taking their morals into account instead of taking responsibility for their own experience in the archive.

None of the stories on AO3 is illegal. Fictional stories are not illegal, not even those dealing with unsavory topics. The archive makes people agree to continue reading whenever you click on a story with a certain rating (or without any rating at all, just in case!), so the reader is giving their consent to continue reading, they’re making an informed choice. Same as with the tags. They’re there, they’re a warning. If someone reads the tags, finds them displeasing and still continues reading, that’s on them. If I find a story with tags about rape/non-con, for example, I keep scrolling. Cause I know I will find the story displeasing and upsetting. The people clutching their pearls and going “but think of the children!” are, mostly, people who refuse that responsibility and ask the world to accommodate them and their morality. And then throw around words like pedohilia and accusations of “kiddie porn” careleslly, watering down the seriousness of such accusations. No, an explicit fanfic of twin, underage siblings going at it is not CSA. Cause there’s no real children involved in it. It might be disgusting for a lot of people (me included), understandably, but you can 100% avoid reading it and interacting with the people who write those.

Finally, let’s not forget the recent history of fandom spaces, shall we? LiveJournal and Fanfiction.net both had purges of content, after some campaigns for censorship gained traction and popularity. So now everything relating to certain topics is eliminated! Well, except that also includes communities of support for survivors of sexual abuse (it happened in LJ). Well, except that the people pressuring for censorship weren’t happy with the gay smut either, so a lot of LGBT related stuff is now also gone! (happened both in LJ and ff.net). Except, in some countries anything sexual at all, is frowned upon, so why not ban that too? Censorship supporters will always move the goalposts, forever shifting their aim whenever they accomplish something. Because it’s easier and more comfortable to make others conform to their standards than accepting some artistic expressions will be uncomfortable to some people. And trust me, none of them will care if the dark fic in question was written by a survivor of similar experiences trying to cope with their trauma or raise awareness, or if it was done simply for titillation or to safely explore different scenarios in fiction. And the topics that were banned in those websites didn’t disappear at all, they just weren’t properly warned for/detailed in the summaries, so anyone could stumblre upon them by accident. The complete opposite of what happens in AO3.

AO3 was created by people who lived through those censorship events in different fandom spaces, as a response to it. To seeing whole communities and swathes of fan content being unceremoniously deleted overnight. AO3 is an archive and an online library, not a social media platform. It’s a safe haven for anyone to host their fan creations, but that doesn’t mean it’s a safe space as people understand the term in other platforms. In AO3 you make your safe space by using the tags. Because that is the only real way we can have a safe haven for EVERYONE.

The thing about freedom of speech is that sometimes, you have to defend things you dislike (that, I repeat, are legal in this case), because experience has shown time and time again that as soon as you give an inch to the censors, they take more and more. And today they’re up in arms about “pedophilic fanfics”, but once that is done? It might be all nsfw content, it might be trans related content, it might be something else. But it will happen.

4,391 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #very proud that the post against censorship is my top 1 post of the year

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enby-hawke · 2 years

Text

Chapter 20- Flirting With Death

Ship: Malcolm/Leandra

Words: 8546

Tw: torture, victim blaming, mentions of sexual assault

Carver added a hundred more lashes to Malcolm’s back as the whole Circle watched. Flogging was a ritual where attendance was mandatory to ensure each mage knew the punishment of stepping out of line. Malcolm’s back was already scarred with all the lessons he failed to learn.

Taylor held Isaac in her arms as he sobbed, begging Carver to stop, flinching with Malcolm at every blow but Carver could not hold back. If he did, another eager volunteer would take his place, and they would only make this moment crueler.

Carver tried to persuade the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter to be merciful. He emphasized that Malcolm had been sexually assaulted, but that didn’t seem to matter to either of them. Malcolm had cost them a deal worth hundreds of thousands of sovereigns, and they were going to make him pay for every copper.

After the lashing was done, Carver helped Malcolm to his feet, ignoring the glare of his colleagues as he let Malcolm lean on him for support.

Malcolm shoved Carver away with the grit of his teeth, standing tall on his own two feet, his gaze hard and pointed forward. The mages parted for Malcolm, not daring to look in his eyes as he and Carver proceeded into the hall alone.

Carver was forced to send him to a magically warded cell with no healing. Malcolm was doing a good job of masking his pain but Carver could still hear his labored breathing and could see the stiffness in how he walked. Fresh new lesions bled from his bare back. Carver tried to make the moment quick, but he could see that he had left new scars upon the marks of the old ones.

Malcolm dutifully laid down on the cold hard stone floor, saying nothing.

The keys jangled in Carver’s hand. He felt reluctant to lock Malcolm in. “Malcolm… don’t make this worse by breaking out again. I know it’s hard being locked in here, but the Knight-Commander was so close to Tranquilizing you.”

Malcolm laughed bitterly, his voice echoing off the runes of the barren cell. “Dude, I’ve been skirting that line for so long, I don’t know how I haven’t crossed it.”

Carver gritted his teeth, annoyance breaking through his pity. “It was me, Malcolm. I’m how you haven’t crossed it. And Maker damn it you don’t make yourself easy to defend.”

Malcolm glared at him, his golden eyes glowing in the dark. “Why should I? Why should I make any of this easy?” Malcolm spat some blood at Carver’s feet. “I played good mage. I kept my head down, did my homework, kissed the First Enchanter’s ass, but what did that get me? Flogged and jailed for rejecting a horny old toad! What’s the fucking point?!”

Carver looked down at his feet, not able to say anything.

Malcolm let out a fractured sigh. “I’m ragged, man.”

Carver could hear it in Malcolm’s voice. Malcolm wasn’t just bleeding from his wounds but from his soul.

Malcolm didn’t even try to hide how broken he felt. He curled up into a ball on his side facing away from Carver, his voice quiet. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Carver squeezed his eyes shut, not able to stand the guilt of knowing his hands caused this. He felt ashamed for even feeling guilty, knowing Malcolm was undeniably feeling worse. Carver’s fingers trembled, still remembering each lash. In truth, he knew he had no idea what Malcolm was going through and didn’t know how to comfort him. “I’m sorry. That’s what I should have said in the first place.”

Malcolm laughed, the odd and jagged sound piercing Carver’s heart. “Why are you sorry? It’s your job.”

Carver grimaced. “It shouldn’t be.” He then sighed, dropping his shoulders, suddenly heavy in his armor. “I’ll sneak you something from outside. What do you want?”

“Elfroot,” Malcolm said immediately, a little perk back in his voice. “And burgers and fries. Maybe a milkshake, too.” Malcolm was milking him, but Carver would let him.

“You’ll have to be happy with edibles. I can’t risk the smell.” Carver sighed, rolling his stiff neck. “I’ll bring it tonight between guard rotations.”

“Whatever, dude, just get me fed and stoned. I have a lot of time to think in here.”

Carver gritted his teeth. “Not if I can help it.”

The door creaked shut. The keys jangled as he locked it. With anti-magic wards, most Templars assumed that mages were helpless, but Carver knew that Malcolm had his ways, and he prayed Malcolm would listen to him and stay put.

Carver made his way back to the forensics lab with a kink in his neck, and guilt eating his gut. His mind burned, lack of sleep from exhaustively scouring the Circle trying to find the abomination. So far every brain scan reading they did on the mages came back clean. Technology was supposed to give them a sense of security, but knowing there were flaws in the system made for a disturbing reality.

As Carver stepped into the forensics lab, he could smell the nauseating aroma of preservatives. Matthew’s body was left displayed out on the table as respectfully as they could manage. But he was just skin, bone, and bits of shredded organs, barely anything left to him, and they covered him with a crisp white sheet to spare looking at his contorted look of horror.

Doctor Akel’s rich ocher skin made a striking contrast against her white lab coat. She had blue plastic gloves on her hands, and a long apron which was slightly bloody. Her shiny long black hair was tied back in a ponytail. When she heard Carver come in, she peeled off her goggles and turned her dark eyes at him. “I got the lab results back.”

Carver’s eyebrows shot up. “That was quick.”

“Had to be. Didn’t want this thing chomping on me next.” She pulled a beige folder from her desk and handed Carver the file. “You were right. Saliva in the wounds, but so far we don’t have a DNA match for anyone in the Circle save for Templar-Recruit Schmidt, which we can safely rule out.”

Carver sighed bitterly. He should have known they wouldn’t get that lucky. “Does that mean the culprit is not from the Circle?” He opened up the file skimming the report. The only organ left intact was Matthew’s brain, which at least narrowed down the search by a few dozen species.

Doctor Akel peeled off her gloves with a snap. “Not sure. Demonic transformations can change the genetic makeup of a person, so I wouldn’t rule it out yet. The DNA we were able to gather was definitely not human or elven. There were trace elements of sulfur mixed in.”

Carver’s lips pursed, knowing that would be the case. “So what do we know?”

Doctor Akel flipped the page in Carver’s hand and pointed to some blown up pictures of microscopic cell samples, but there was definitely something wrong with them. The redness of the cells had turned grey and dull. “There weren’t a lot of blood or organs left in Matthew’s body, but the blood we did collect seemed to have their minerals and nutrients stripped from them. Something’s definitely feasting, but because Hunger abominations are so common, it’s going to be hard to narrow down what kind we’re dealing with.”

“Do you have any guesses?”

“It’s not a vampire since the organs were removed. It’s not a ghoul since the blood was drained. The victimology is wrong for a penanngal. It could be a pischaca since the energy has been stripped from the cells but it’s too early to make the official call. It could easily be a species of aswang and you know how many there are.”

Carver sighed. They were a little closer to the answer, but he knew that if Matthew’s body wasn’t contaminated they might have already found their monster by now and know what signs to look for. “Well, garlic and salt are at least common allergens for Hunger demons. The Knight-Commander already had the chefs add generous amounts to the mages' meals so, if we get any sudden illnesses, we might get lucky and catch our demon.”

“Yum,” Doctor Akel said in a monotone voice.

Carver rolled his neck again, a kink forming. His energy was flagging. He’d need to grab a nap somewhere between shifts eventually. “If you find anything else, Doctor, let me know right away.”

Doctor Akel saluted. “Will, do Captain.”

Carver gathered the report and started making his way back to his office. He planned to add the details to his notes and reconsider all the evidence he had managed to gather. The mages in the hallways shirked away from Carver, which made him grit his teeth in regret. It was always that way after a flogging, anxious mages jumping whenever a Templar moved too quickly in their direction. Carver knew he couldn’t help the distrust. He had tried his best to foster goodwill, but floggings were always a reminder of how easily that trust could be broken.

It was hard enough to keep his Templars in line. They were all spooked, afraid of being the next kill. Carver had to lecture several juniors for manhandling their charges, Meredith being the worst offender. He couldn’t blame his subordinates, even if they should know better. Matt’s death was gruesome. Every Templar casualty was a reminder that, despite their rigorous training, none of them were invincible, and the grisly reminder was unwelcome.

When Carver got to the Courtyard, he heard the sound of irate yelling. Several of his Templar-Recruits were gathered near the train entrance, blocking someone from coming through.

“Messere, the Circle is in lockdown. We must insist that you go back to the mainland and call to make a request for an appointment to see the Knight-Captain. He’s very busy with the murder investigation.”

“Do you know who I am? I demand to be taken to the Carver, right now. He and I have business to discuss.”

When Carver got closer he saw that the man yelling was Gamlen. It had been clear that he had been drinking. His suit was disheveled, his tie falling out lopsided, brown stains on his crisp white shirt. His black usually neat straight hair was a frazzled mess and his blue eyes were wild with fury.

Now, what business did Gamlen possibly have with Carver? Carver had only talked to the other noble once, and didn’t remember having anything important to say to him. Carver tucked the file under his arm and approached the scene burning with curiosity.

“Lord Amell,” he called out politely with an extended hand in greeting. “What brings you to the Gallows?”

As soon as Gamlen saw Carver approaching, his shoulders snapped back. “You!” he growled and shoved the Templars out of the way. He ran up to Carver and split his lips with his fist, knocking Carver backward. The forensics report dropped to the ground, and sensitive documents scattered everywhere.

Gamlen attempted a second punch but Carver caught it with his armored hand. Carver spat blood at Gamlen’s feet. “Alright, you got one free punch, but that’s all I’m gonna give you. Can I ask what I did to deserve that?”

Gamlen snarled. “As if you don’t know!” Gamlen then brought out a gun from his belt and pointed it at Carver.

As soon as Carver saw the glint of metal, he reacted on instinct. He dove forward, disarming Gamlen with a twist of his wrist. The gun dropped to the floor and fired, making a hole in the column past Carver. Carver twisted Gamlen’s arm behind his back and pushed it upwards, threatening to break it. “Don’t make me hurt you,” Carver said, his voice dangerously low and quiet.

“You asshole! I’m going to kill you! You hear that!” Gamlen snapped savagely trying to break out of Carver’s grip, but Carver was not only bigger but had the advantage of wearing all his riot gear.

With quick precise movements, Carver yanked Gamlen’s arms together, cuffed Gamlen’s hands behind him, and stepped on his back, forcing Gamlen to his knees. Carver yanked Gamlen’s arms upwards, shoving Gamlen’s head down to the ground. “Now let’s take a breath and calm down for a moment, Lord Amell. I have no quarrel with you and, as far as I know, you shouldn’t have a quarrel with me. Let’s talk this out.”

Carver’s subordinates watched with uncertain eyes as Carver manhandled Gamlen, uncertain of what to do or what was even going on.

Gamlen seethed as he wriggled. “Fuck you, you puffed up prick! Don’t act all high and mighty! You stole my girl and knocked her up! And I’m going to fucking murder you and piss on your ashes for ruining my life!”

Carver blinked, not sure he heard right. “I did what?”

His subordinates all dropped their jaws and looked wide-eyed at each other in shock. Carver was aware that there was a growing crowd watching in the Courtyard, Isaac’s wide fearful eyes among them.

The cuffs jangled as Gamlen strained against them, unshed tears in his eyes. “You heard me, asshole! That was going to be my wife! The mother of my children! And you ruined everything and if you don’t kill me right now, I swear on my life I will find a way to ruin you!”

Mara had claimed Carver was the father of her child. To what end? Carver was so surprised by this news, he was at a loss for words and completely forgot that he was holding a struggling Gamlen.

Gamlen was spiraling, a few tears running down his cheeks as he drunkenly ranted on. “We were supposed to grow old together. We were supposed to stick together through thick and thin, good times and bad. She was my everything and you ruined her!”

Carver’s eyes narrowed as he huffed. “A woman like Mara could never be ruined.”

Gamlen sniffled, throwing his head back yelling, “Just kill me, you bastard! Get it over with! Put me out of my fucking misery!”

Carver sighed, a stress headache piercing him from the cacophonous noise. “I’m not going to do that, Lord Amell. Please calm down.”

Gamlen sobbed pitifully, broken and defeated, banging his head to the ground as the sun began to set in the west, turning the sky pink and orange.

Carver looked up at the passing clouds as he considered his options. Sure, he could tell the truth, deny everything, but then he wouldn’t be able to ask the question: why did Mara choose him to be the stand-in father in the first place?

Carver turned to his subordinates, as he lifted his foot off of Gamlen’s back, leaving a dirt impression of his steel toed boots. “Please take Lord Amell back to the mainland, gently.”

The Templars looked at Gamlen, snot running down his nose, blubbering as he curled into a fetal position.

“Do you want us to call the Guard to press assault charges?”

Carver's lips thinned, considering the idea for a moment before dismissing it. “No need. It seems like I provoked the man. He’s also clearly drunk and not in his best state of mind.” Carver was never one to rub salt in someone’s wounds, even with a man as foul as Gamlen.

Two of his subordinates took Gamlen by the arms, and this time Gamlen didn’t fight. They led him, still cuffed, back into the train shuttle.

Carver rubbed his lip, still tasting blood in his mouth, very aware that all the mages and Templars present were currently whispering gossip about what they had just witnessed. Carver’s eyes met Isaac’s, and the boy ran off back towards the apprentice quarters.

Carver couldn’t blame Isaac as much as it hurt to be feared. The boy had seen nothing but violence from him lately. Carver sighed bitterly, and started picking up the report scattered on the ground.

Carver was baffled by this turn of events, but there was part of him that was pleased. That Mara chose him for her lie meant she was thinking of him, and the thought thrilled him.

He knew Matthew’s murder was more pressing, but he couldn’t help but be filled with thoughts of longing and hope. He didn’t know what any of this meant yet, but his mind swirled with the possibilities.

Carver’s heart pounded at the thought of seeing Mara again. He shivered at the thought of those dark cat eyes glimmering in mischief as those delicious lips playfully called him ‘Officer.’ The primal urge that stirred in him, though he kept it locked away for no one to see.

He quickly chastised himself for getting too eager. He didn’t even know if Mara felt the same way. For all he knew, he was just a convenient cover, a name she picked at random.

But why would his name hurt Gamlen so badly? Was he imagining the hunger in her gaze the last time they met? He ached to know what he meant to her.

An eager smile found Carver’s lips. “I guess I have to ask.”

——

“Sinag, wake up! Please wake up!” Leandra sobbed as she held Malcolm’s broken body in her arms. He was bleeding from every orifice on his face and his chest was still, devoid of life, his dark freckled skin cold.

Leandra’s throat was hoarse as she clutched Malcolm’s corpse, trying her best to shock life back into his heart with her hands. He jerked and convulsed under her electric touch, but his eyes refused to open.

With a tear-blinded gaze, she glared at her parents. They were wearing clothes she didn’t recognize, intricate robes with red and gold thread and pointed hoods, not in any current Kirkwall style. They frowned at Leandra with the same withering disappointment she had come to remember.

“We tried to warn you,” her father said with glassy blue eyes.

“Why?” Leandra sobbed, her throat raw. “Sinag was my heart! My soul! You’ve destroyed me!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Dalisay.” Her mother tucked a smooth black hair back into place. “He was a slave. Replaceable. You are not. You forced our hand when you tried to marry him. Now you have no choice.”

Leandra snarled, pulling out a dagger from her belt. “There’s always a choice.” Then she stabbed herself in her heart. She could feel the jagged edge of the dagger pierce her chest and she coughed up blood, dark power coming from the pain. With her dying breaths, she gasped, “I curse the Amell's! May misfortune shadow all your footsteps! Your descendants will fall into ruin until your line ceases to exist if you do not learn from your pride!”

A deep malevolent purple aura surrounded Leandra’s body as a voice from the dark depths of the Fade answered her summons. “Your curse is a gift to me, Dalisay. With my power, I will end your bloodline.”

Leandra could feel herself smile as she plunged into darkness.

Then she woke up with tears in her eyes.

Leandra didn’t know what the dream meant, who Dalisay or Sinag was, or why this kept happening, but she was sick of having dreams of Malcolm. Sleep used to be a comfort, and now it was just a cruel reminder of everything she lost.

She looked at the time, 5:07. Her crying-induced nap had made her sleep in. She was meeting Jaheem for dinner at six and she wasn’t even showered or dressed yet.

Despite being late, Leandra was reluctant to get ready. She had agreed to this dinner rather impulsively, and she found nervous butterflies in her stomach. She told herself that this was good, the kind of feeling that came with new love, but the sinking pit in her gut told her differently.

She shaved rather quickly, only focusing on her calves, and stared at her reflection as she blow-dried her hair, which felt dry and dull. It had been apparent that she had been crying from the redness in her eyes.

Her last meeting with Malcolm had left her so confused and angry. He’d protected Colette without thought, and yet Leandra he’d manhandled. He’d pinned her to the ground and scared her half to death. She couldn’t help but feel violated and betrayed by her own body. She remembered how Malcolm’s touch had made her melt and just how little in control she’d felt in his intoxicating presence. When he was near, all sanity went out the window and, while that once excited her, now it terrified her.

She didn’t know how far he would have gone at that moment at Colette’s party. She didn’t know how far she wanted him to. She was too conflicted about her feelings to sort them out. She hated him. She wanted him. He was impossible to live with. But living without him proved harder than she’d thought. No matter how Leandra tried to get Malcolm off her mind and focus on her date, he came creeping back in, like a cockroach crawling under the door. She had to resist banging her head against the wall in an attempt to knock him out of her head.

Mara spotted a new dress for Leandra’s date, while they were shopping for Mara’s maternity clothes. It was a flowy red fabric cut open in the back and was ruffled so it hung loosely above the knee. Her waist was cinched tight with a statement belt, Mara’s idea. She had matching red pumps that were rather high and, for a moment, Leandra’s heart panged as she thought of how she would miss teasing Malcolm in these.

As she painted on her makeup she couldn’t help but notice how dry her skin had gotten, and how her eyeliner didn’t cover how red-rimmed her eyes were. Not even her foundation could mask the evidence of her irritated skin.

She felt so depressed, it was hard to convince herself not to text Jaheem to cancel. She dreaded leaving Mara’s house, but she told herself that going out with Jaheem would be fun. She reminded herself of all the things she liked about him: how handsome and ambitious he was, and how kind and gentle he always seemed to be. His job was something to be admired, and he had the moral compass to match. He was perfect.

And yet her heart yearned for Malcolm. Even with Malcolm’s laundry lists of faults. Even with his insufferable arrogance and broken promises and lies.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

She cursed the Maker for sending Malcolm into her life.

As she walked into the living room, Mara and Harvel looked up from the evening news channel they were watching and nodded to her. The red-headed anchor stared at the screen grimly as a picture of a pale bald man posing in his Templar service uniform hovered above her head.

“The city is on high alert now that Knight-Templar Matthew Marks was found brutally murdered on the job. While authorities have not released any details, witness testimony suspects blood magic, or worse, an abomination. At the advice of the Knight-Commander, Viscount Perrin Threnhold has issued a mandatory curfew effective immediately.”

“Terrible business. Maker save us.” Harvel grimaced, changing the channel to a sitcom where a father was lecturing his son for elfroot found in his room.

Mara smiled at Leandra. She was wearing her new nightgown, a loose ruffled powder blue dress meant to accommodate her growing body. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Mara winked at her. “How do you feel?”

Leandra huffed, her bangs ruffling off her forehead. “Ask me later tonight.”

Mara made an ‘o’ with her mouth. “Dreamed of the asshole, again?”

“Language,” Lolo reminded Mara, his eyes transfixed on the TV.

Leandra threw her head back on the couch. “I’ve been having the same weird dream since Malcolm and I broke up. I wonder what it means.”

“It means you should move on and focus on the handsome man who’s taking you out tonight.” Mara put a hand on Leandra’s knee. “I know it hurts right now, but try to remember to have fun. This’ll be good for you.”

Leandra looked at Mara through her lashes. “Even though it’s the day after the end of my engagement?” She felt like she should be more broken up about that, but she was just relieved that it was done and in the past. She hoped Guillaume could find it in her heart to talk to her one day, but she wouldn’t blame him if he never did.

Mara patted her knee. “Guillaume’s a big boy. He’ll move on. So should you.”

Leandra nodded, trying to erase the gnawing in her gut.

Soon enough there was a knock at the door. Leandra glanced at the time and it was still five minutes until six. Leandra was panicking, not realizing how much she needed those five minutes to prepare.

Mara gleamed her eyes mischievously. “That must be him. I’m going to do some sussing.”

Leandra widened her eyes, opening her mouth to stop Mara, but Mara was already rushing to the door and pulling it open.

Jaheem was standing in an ocean blue silk suit with a sash that wrapped around him and draped loosely off his large frame. He had the same golden jewelry studding his face, gleaming and shiny. There were two new notches shaved into his right eyebrow, a curious intriguing look. His flat top was more relaxed today and the designs sheared into the sides of his head were freshly cut. He had a bouquet of pink lilies in his large hands.

Mara craned her neck up to Jaheem’s towering height, her eyebrows raising to the top of her forehead as her mouth fell open. “Do you have a brother?”

Jaheem laughed good-naturedly, “I’m afraid I don’t, but I do have a sister.”

Mara quirked an eyebrow, smirking as she fanned herself. “If she’s as hot as you then go ahead and give me her number.”

Jaheem laughed again, his deep timber voice warm and bright as he extended his hand in greeting. “You must be Mara. Leandra told me about you. You’re everything she said you were.”

Mara took his hand and shook it firmly. “Better take care of my girl tonight. I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

Jaheem did a playful salute. “Definitely don’t want to disappoint, ma’am.”

Mara giggled, pushing him flirtatiously. “Oooh, ma’am. I like that.”

“Mara,” Leandra tapped her foot impatiently behind her.

Mara put an innocent hand on her chest. “What? I’m being good. This is me on my best behavior.”

Jaheem smiled. “Would hate to see you at your worst then.”

Mara waggled her eyebrows. “I dunno, maybe you would.”

Leandra felt she should be more horrified by Mara’s blatant flirting, but she just was relieved that she didn’t have to talk yet. Even so, as Jaheem talked to Mara, his cocoa eyes never left Leandra. She didn’t realize how nervous she was, and she found sweat running down her back. Was this attraction jitters? Her stomach did flutter under that intense gaze, but she had a sinking feeling in her heart at the thought of being alone with him. What if he wanted to kiss her? Would she want him to? Was she even ready to?

Harvel rose from his seat and reached out his hand to greet Jaheem. “I heard you’re helping dear Revka. Awfully good of you, Messere. I know our Leandra’s very grateful.”

Jaheem took Harvel’s hand and shook it firmly. “I’m only doing my job, Ser. No need to thank me.”

Harvel looked at Leandra with a sparkle in his leaf green eyes. “I like this one better.”

Leandra’s cheeks flamed as she found a flustered warble in her throat. She grabbed the flowers from Jaheem’s arms. “Thank you, these are lovely.”

Jaheem smiled. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but lilies seemed to suit you.”

She smiled, inhaling the fresh scent before placing them in an empty vase. She grabbed Jaheem’s hand and started leading him out the door, hoping to avoid more of Harvel’s and Mara’s interrogation. “We’ll be late for our reservation if we don’t hurry, yes?”

Jaheem chuckled, letting himself be pulled. “I’m sure they’ll save our spot.”

Harvel followed them out onto the porch. “There’s a curfew now with that abomination out! Bring Leandra back before they shut down the streets.”

Jaheem saluted again more formally this time. “I’ll have her back early, Ser, I promise.”

It was clear that Jaheem had come from money. He had a sleek dark blue Antivan Mercado Benz. It seemed to fit the more serious side of his personality, but he had a bobblehead of the Rivaini Tigers Wallop team mascot on his dash that made Leandra smile with warmth, despite her hesitancy about this date.

Jaheem helped Leandra into the front seat, taking care to help her buckle in. His long legs quickly walked around to the other side, where he slid into the driver’s seat and put his keys into the ignition. The engine purred smoothly, barely audible.

Jaheem’s cocoa eyes bored into her. A nervous flutter was back in Leandra’s stomach.

“Are you alright?” he asked with such tenderness, Leandra’s heart skipped.

Was her grief so clear on her face? “I haven’t been sleeping well,” Leandra confessed, her eyes falling to her lap.

Jaheem nodded. “Want to tell me about it?” He offered as he pulled away from the lot.

Leandra couldn’t confess she was dreaming about another man so she said, “Just silly things. Nonsense dreams.”

“You know my mother was a Rivaini Seer. I know a bit about interpreting dreams.”

Leandra looked at him, true curiosity burning in her. “What’s a Seer?”

Jaheem’s smile dropped and he was suddenly serious. The streetlights reflected bright highlights on his deep skin. “Well, they’re not exactly Chantry sanctioned mages. My mother has always been close to the Spirits, and she must commune with them to know how to balance the energy of the land and impart their will.” He glanced at her, nervousness in his tone. “I know it’s not exactly teachings of the Chantry, and we do believe in the Maker, but the Spirits are also of His creation, as is the Fade.”

Leandra had never thought of it that way. Sure the Fade was thought of as the Maker’s domain, but it was always a thing to be feared. “How do they view magic in Rivain? The things you say, and this petition you’re building… it seems so different than what I was taught.”

Jaheem smiled, though it seemed strained. “Well, Rivain wasn’t always ruled by the Chantry. I wouldn’t admit this to just anyone, but a lot of us still worship the Gods of old along with the Maker: the Spider-Trickster and Savior Anaanse, He Who Does Not Speak but Knows Everything Nyumee, Goddess of the Land Asaasse Afua who blesses both earth and wombs with life. I guess there are many others but I won’t bore you with those details.”

“So you don’t believe in the Maker?” Leandra raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t sure how to reconcile this new information with her beliefs.

“We do,” Jaheem said quickly. “The Maker just became part of our tapestry of Gods, no higher or lower than any of the others. Without His Sun to guide us, we would forever be in the dark.”

Leandra furrowed her eyebrows, at a loss. “But you worship other Gods along with the Maker? He is the Creator.”

“Or a Creator,” Jaheem countered. “The Spirits themselves are acts of Creation. And man takes place in Creation all the time with art, music, literature, and architecture, sparking the Divine within us. The Divine is all around us if we know where to look for it.”

Leandra suddenly felt uneasy. She wasn’t sure she could accept any Gods other than the Maker, and she wasn’t sure she see herself long-term with a man who saw the Maker as just another God. She could already see arguments about how they would raise their children, but she stopped herself from that line of thought, telling herself they weren’t even close to that part of their relationship.

Leandra didn’t want to be rude about Jaheem’s culture, so she changed the subject. “How does one interpret dreams?”

Jaheem didn’t seem to mind the change in topic. “Well, every dream is a message from the Gods. Sometimes their message is hard to understand, so they might send it again and again. My mother taught me to look for reoccurring patterns and symbols that might hold meaning. Sometimes dreams are memories of past lives, and the Gods give us a glimpse of that knowledge in times of need.”

Leandra let her frown show at last. “That’s ridiculous. We have only one life. That’s why we need to make it count.”

Jaheem laughed, taking her dismissal in stride. “Perhaps. But in Rivain we believe sometimes the Maker sends back the lives with the most misfortune and gives them a second chance at life. Those who died too young, those who never tasted happiness, those who died with deep regrets. It is said love at first sight is the souls of doomed lovers recognizing each other from a past life.”

Leandra considered her dream in that light for a second. It would make sense, but she couldn’t accept that explanation. She still didn’t want anything to do with Malcolm and to think her fate was tied to him in some way just made her angry. “I don’t believe in love at first sight,” Leandra stared out the window, bitterness lacing her voice. “Lust at first sight, maybe, but love at first sight is too ridiculous to be true.”

Jaheem’s cocoa eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “I wouldn’t count it out just yet, my Lady. Life might surprise you.”

Soon enough they pulled into a Branding Iron Steakhouse in Hightown, a rather busy spot on a Sunday night. Jaheem escorted her out of the car and gave her his arm for her to take.

She slipped her hand into the crook of Jaheem’s arm, feeling the hard muscle there. She blushed, wondering if she would actually like those arms wrapped around her.

They stepped into the restaurant and there was a buzz in the atmosphere. The air smelled thick with meat and perfume. Leandra didn’t actually feel hungry, but she followed Jaheem to the waiter’s greeting line.

Jaheem nodded with a brilliant smile. “Reservation for Jaheem Omenma.”

The waiter pulled two menus aside and bowed. “We have your usual table in the back, Messere.”

Jaheem pulled Leandra forward to a cozy reserved spot with candles. White cloth was spread across the table and more pink lilies were set in a vase in the center.

Jaheem pulled the seat out for Leandra. “My lady.”

She blushed and sat down, feeling his strong arms scoot her chair in.

Then he sat down across from her, turned to the waiter, and without looking at the menu said, “Can you bring a bottle of the Rivaini Bloodspice Carbernet Sauvignon?”

The waiter bowed. “We’ve had a bottle ripening since the Storm Age. I’ll have it right out.”

Leandra raised her eyebrow uneasy again. “Bloodspice?”

Jaheem’s smile was mischevious. “Just a drop of wyvern blood. It really gives it a robust flavor.”

Leandra gulped nervously, not sure if she would really like it, but she didn’t argue.

She felt Jaheem’s eyes on her as she tried to study her menu. She felt like she should just get a salad, but she wasn’t sure if she was actually in the mood for one.

It seemed like he already knew what he wanted and had his menu set aside as he waited patiently for her to look.

Leandra felt overwhelmed by the options. How could there be so many ways to cook a steak? She even saw lobster, veal, and scampi on the menu, but it all sounded so filling and her stomach was still felt uneasy. “I’m not really sure what I want. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Well, I’m partial to their filet mignon, myself.”

Leandra didn’t want to actually make a decision so she said, “I guess I’ll get that, too.” And she set aside her menu, keeping her eyes on her empty plate.

Soon the waiter came and poured the Bloodspice wine into their glasses and Jaheem quickly gave their orders.

The waiter was gone just as quickly and the awkward silence was back. Leandra had no idea what she wanted to talk about and it seemed like Jaheem was politely waiting for her to say something.

But Leandra’s brain was blank. It was like all her conversational skills had gone out the window. She was alone with a man that wasn’t Guillaume or Malcolm, and her stomach was doing flips at the guilt.

Jaheem sipped his wine and cleared his throat. “I admit, my Lady, I’d very much like to get to know you, but I’m afraid I’m so nervous I don’t know where to start.”

Leandra widened her eyes in surprise. Jaheem’s posture oozed with confidence. It would have never occurred to her that he was just as nervous as her.

“I’m an open book.” Leandra picked up the wine and took a tentative sip. It was definitely spicy, leaving her tongue tingling, but it was much tastier than she expected. “What would you like to know?”

Jaheem traced the rim of his wine glass with his large finger. For a moment she let herself imagine that finger tracing her skin. Would that tingling feeling come back? But his question soon startled her out of her thoughts.

“Well, let’s start with the basics I guess. What’s your favorite color?”

Leandra found her breath stutter in her throat, suddenly caught in a memory.

She remembered when Malcolm and she were first still getting to know each other, asking these types of questions. It was late at night and she was lying on her bed, spread out on her many many pillows, phone to her ear with just Malcolm’s voice as company. At that point she was still wondering what it would be like to lay next to him, what it would be like to feel his touch, to taste his lips.

It was she who first asked him that question.

“Black,” Malcolm had said without thinking. “Definitely black.”

“Black’s not a color,” Leandra had argued with a giggle. “It’s the absence of light.”

“Sure black’s a color. It’s a crayon, isn’t it?”

Leandra had rolled her eyes, even though Malcolm couldn’t see it. “It’s so boring, though. Couldn’t you choose something interesting?”

“Black’s plenty interesting. It’s the color of your eyes and I can stare at them for hours.”

She remembered how hot her face had gotten, how badly she’d wanted to reach through the phone and kiss him.

“Besides, black is the color of night and night is freedom. Night is when I can hear your voice. Come see you.”

Leandra had looked down at her hands, wishing she could hold Malcolm’s. “Well, I happen to like all the colors. I don’t discriminate.”

Malcolm had laughed brightly. “Sure you do. Your favorite’s pink.”

Leandra still remembered being baffled by his arrogant proclamation. “It is not! I like all the colors! I do!”

She’d heard the smugness in his smile. “I’m sure you like all the colors, but your lipstick’s pink, your purse is pink, your cellphone’s pink, your nails are pink, hell, even your nightgown is pink.”

Leandra had stared down at her nightgown and nails and sure enough, he was right. “How do you know what my nightgown looks like? Are you stalking me?”

Malcolm had laughed again. “Just a lucky guess.”

Leandra didn’t realize that she had been so caught in the memory that she hadn’t answered Jaheem.

Jaheem raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright, my Lady?”

Leandra’s cheeks grew hot. She cast her eyes down into her wine glass and took another tasty sip, letting the alcohol give her some confidence. “My favorite color’s pink,” she said reluctantly.

She didn’t want to admit she was fighting tears. Malcolm was infuriatingly arrogant at the best of times, but he had a way of pointing out things she didn’t even notice about herself. Could call out the lies she was telling herself, and at that moment she missed that about him.

Jaheem grinned. “I should have known, considering that’s the color you’ve been wearing the last two times I saw you. I’m glad I guessed right with the flowers.”

Leandra blushed as she stared at the lilies at the center of the table. So he had noticed that about her as well. Perhaps she could let herself fall for him, and he could make her forget all the pain she was feeling.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked back politely, even if she found herself disinterested in the answer.

“It’s hard to say. Every color has its charm, but I’m quite partial to blue. It makes me think of the sky touching the sea.” He had a fond smile on his face, as if he was reliving a good memory.

Leandra had to admit that the ocean blue suit did look stunning against his dark skin, the contrast making the colors seem more vibrant.

Jaheem asked her other basic questions: how many siblings she had, about her aunt’s family, what kind of music she liked, and what her job was. Leandra made every effort to be engaged, but her mind kept wandering back to Malcolm, his presence like an annoying gnat in her ear.

Soon their steaks were delivered and Leandra was relieved to pause the conversation to focus on eating. The food was unexpectedly delicious, and she did feel a little perkier as the night went on.

After a while, Jaheem said, “I don’t mean to be rude but I’m surprised you’re not living at your estate.”

Leandra blinked, not sure if she should admit the truth to Jaheem, but she couldn’t find a reason to lie. “My parents and I aren’t on speaking terms at the moment… In fact, I’ve resigned from being their heir.”

Jaheem raised his thick eyebrows in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

“It’s not a sore subject,” she lied, cutting a delicate piece off of her filet mignon. She tried to think of a diplomatic way to respond. “My parents and I… fundamentally disagree on terms of morality.”

Jaheem nodded. “Oh, they disagree with your signing the petition?”

Leandra’s shoulders dropped. Certainly if her parents had found out about that, it would just be another item on their laundry list of things to lecture her about. Usually, she would talk about these things with Mara and, at one time, Malcolm. She wasn’t sure she wanted Jaheem’s ear on this subject, but she told herself she should give him a chance. “What do you know about the Council of Five?”

Jaheem cocked his head as he picked up his wine glass. “This is my first time hearing about this council.”

Leandra stopped cutting into her steak. “I’m not surprised. It’s Kirkwall’s dirtiest secret.”

Jaheem raised an eyebrow, sipped his wine, and waited for her to continue.

Leandra set down her knife and fork and looked at him with seriousness. “The Council of Five is the true power in Kirkwall and runs an underground slaving network. My family is actually in huge debt. My parents have been selling criminals and homeless people on behalf of this Council of Five.” She dropped her eyes back to her plate. “I found out only a short time ago, and I… couldn’t be a part of that.”

Jaheem’s eyes were so wide she thought they would fall out. He squared his shoulders and set his glass down, discomfort clear on his face. “That’s quite a confession, my Lady. I’m so sorry. You must be devastated.”

Leandra lowered her head, refusing to show the tears that she was fighting. “I need to tell everyone the truth about my family, but I admit I really don’t know who to go to. If this Council truly runs everything, then whoever I tell might be in danger. I fear I might have endangered you just by telling you.”

Jaheem put a hand over his heart. “You don’t need to worry about my safety. I'm a lawyer, and I know my way around a battle, legal or otherwise.” He ruffled into his front pocket where he had a stack of business cards. “I have a friend I can introduce you to that does investigative journalism. He might be interested in this story. I’ll let him know to expect your call.”

Leandra took the card from his hand. The name ‘Brett Bauer’ was imprinted in bold letters with his number and the title, Lead Investigative Reporter for the Kirkwall Times.

Leandra’s eyes raised back to Jaheem. “I can’t express how much this means to me. I didn’t even know where to start.”

Jaheem shrugged nonchalantly, stabbing a sprig of asparagus. “Well, I’m very happy to help, my Lady. I’d like to be someone you can rely on.”

Leandra found a blush bloom on her cheeks, and she found herself enjoying the feeling. Jaheem really was a reliable man. Maybe she could let herself lean on him.

The dinner continued more pleasantly, and Leandra was able to forget about Malcolm for a few moments. But then it was time for the check and to go to the museum, and Leandra found her stomach sinking once more.

She felt shy again, not able to bring herself to touch Jaheem. Her hands hovered near her hips, unsure what to do with them.

The sun had set behind the Hightown buildings by the time they left the restaurant. Jaheem walked beside Leandra as they headed to the museum down the block, keeping a respectable distance, but he kept glancing at her, mischievousness in his smile.

Finally, he reached out to Leandra. “May I be so bold as to ask to hold your hand?”

Leandra stared at his hand for a moment, his palms paler than the rest of him. It did look warm and inviting, so she wrapped her fingers in his.

She smiled shyly, his hand unexpectedly pleasant. He felt so foreign and big, a little rough but still comforting. They strolled down the quiet street, enjoying each other’s company in silence.

Jaheem looked down at Leandra, his full lips pulled into a bright white smile. “I know the night is still not over, but there’s a new Opera opening next weekend. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in going.”

“Les Larmes du Créateur?” Leandra found her smile widening. “I'm the first chair in the symphony, so I’ll already be there.”

Jaheem’s cocoa eyes glimmered in the dark. “Well then I certainly can’t miss it.” He brought her hand to his full lips and placed a soft kiss that made her stomach flutter.

“You look incredible in this dress.” Jaheem’s eyes fell admiringly on her open back, making Leandra’s cheeks hot. Then with a soft hand he turned her face up to him, tracing her jaw.

Leandra held her breath. It felt unexpectedly good, not the electric rush she was used to feeling with Malcolm, but pleasant and warm.

Jaheem’s cocoa eyes darkened as his eyes hooded. “May I kiss you, my Lady? I admit I’ve been wanting to all night.”

Leandra’s heart pounded in her ears. His spicy citrus scent was lulling her but her heart lurched, unsure if she could handle the disappointment if his kiss didn’t set her ablaze like Malcolm’s did.

But she remembered Mara’s words and she stepped a little closer, biting her bottom lip. “I think I would like that.” Would she? Was she lying to him or to herself?

He smiled and cupped her face, bringing his head down to hers. She closed her eyes and let herself be surrounded by him. She held her breath as his lips brushed hers.

And then suddenly a man in a ski mask jumped out of an alley and pulled a gun on Jaheem. “Give me your wallets, right now!”

Leandra was frozen, terror caught in her throat. Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn’t even reach for her purse.

Jaheem protectively pushed Leandra behind him, his other hand in the air. “No need for any violence. I’ll give you what you want.” He slowly started reaching for his front pocket.

The thug clicked the safety off and aimed it at Jaheem’s head. “Not fast enough.”

Leandra screamed as the gun banged and a deafening crack rang through the air.

Jaheem moved lightning quick, closing the distance with his long arms, and knocked the gun aside, the fatal shot whizzing past his ear. The gun bounced into the street, another shot firing into a nearby car window, shattering glass. Jaheem twisted his fingers around the thug’s wrist, and then pulled him forward and kneed him in the head. There was a sickening crack. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth as the robber fell to the ground with a slump, knocked clean out.

Leandra’s heart was beating in her ears. It was over so fast, it took her a moment to register she was no longer in danger.

Jaheem rolled the man over onto his back, pulling off his mask. He had a blond crew cut that looked military, his nose and mouth bleeding profusely.

“Funny, he didn’t seem to want my money.” Jaheem started rifling through the man’s jacket pockets where he pulled out a picture with Jaheem’s face crossed out in red. Jaheem sighed. “These assassins are getting sloppier,” he said in a tired tone that told her that this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

“Who would want you dead?” Leandra asked in a horrified tone.

Jaheem rolled his neck, cracking it as he rose to his feet. “Well when you have politics like mine, you tend to make a lot of enemies.” He turned his photo around to the backside where there was an inverted triangle symbol made up of five thick lines. “Strange. I don’t recognize this symbol.”

But Leandra did. Her breath caught in her throat. “That’s the Council of Five.”

Jaheem hummed as he stared at the symbol as if trying to burn it into memory. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his razor black cell phone. “I’m sorry to cut the evening short, my Lady, but it seems that I have some investigating of myself to do. Will you be alright taking a cab home?”

Leandra could only say she was relieved. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Jaheem’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “It was certainly a memorable night out. I hope we’ll have another soon, though, perhaps we could skip the assassination attempts.”

In spite of the pounding fear in Leandra’s heart, she found that tonight wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. She allowed Jaheem to kiss her knuckles, feeling a pleasant warmness flooding her. “Yes.” Her lips curled up hopefully. “I look forward to it.”

#malcolm x leandra #malcolm hawke #leandra hawke #leandra amell #poor Malcolm has been put through the wringer and Leandra is lying to herself still #nobody is having a good time except maybe Jaheem

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shatteredamn · 5 years

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@yokaicanhandleit : enatsu - lazy boy ( ask response here )

“Why it’s 2019 and I do have a few at home...” Entertaining the idea, but not whole heartedly as his japanese boyfriend prefered to enjoy the pleasure of modern technology rather than the classics. Sometimes before falling asleep at night, he would ponder about how their relationship stays afloat. After all, Liu was only six more years into becoming a fifty year old man. Most people lose their patience with such a blunt person. Yet, who could hate someone who never lies? Certainly not Tze Long.

The hongkongese went in for a kiss on the lips after he let out his laugh. “So can I take that as a yes? We can order some pizza and cuddle while we wait for it to arrive.” Liu sat down wrapping his arm around Masaru’s waist to draw him away from yokai. The older knew just how to keep his lover focus on him and away from work. “I will even let you pick the movie and what toppings we get. Of course the food will be paid by me too.”

#[ e c h o ] ; yokaicanhandlethis ✤ ᐤ˚༚࿐#yokaicanhandlethis #shatteredamn #liu-tze-long #enatsu-masaru #here have some lesion/echo #i love this ship so v much

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 3 years

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If I Go, I'm Goin' On Fire - Part 2 (Rick Flag x OC)

Summary: Trapped in her Sight, unable to pull herself out, Delphia tumbles through visions of the future that she does not want to see. But what if there was someone, somewhere, who could help her before it was too late?

Pairing: Rick Flag x OC / Squad Family & OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 3513

Warnings: ANGST (like I'm so sorry), multiple character death (not canon tho), canon-typical violence, gore (blood, burns, gunshot wounds, a singular car crash), various weapons mention, suicide mention

Timeline: April 2022

if i go masterlist

A/N: I'm even more terrified to post this one it's so different and sad and please like it i beg you

Whiteness. Like a cold, icy, baron landscape with no end and no sun. Wait — when did this happen? Hadn’t she just been standing in the front garden, waiting for Abner with trowel in hand? No matter. Must have been an accidental slip.

Delphia concentrated, tried to focus on her self in the present. In the back of her mind, tugging at her like a forgotten dream, she heard Abner’s voice:

“It’s me — Abner. Er….We gotta get weed-eating so if you could just stop doing that now that’d be cool.”

Yes, go towards that, she prompted her mind as she felt — like a ghost on her flesh — Abner shaking her shoulder.

The whiteness faded from her vision like dissipating smoke. But she wasn’t back in the front garden with Abner.

She was in some abandoned warehouse. Drab and dark and dilapidated, lights from a bustling metropolis shining through the broken windows. Most definitely not their country house in North Carolina. There was water dripping somewhere. The drip drip echoing off the glass and concrete walls. There were old crates and wooden pallets tossed about the large open room. Tarps draped over certain areas like they hadn’t even finished building the place before deciding to call it quits.

“What the fuck?” Delphia mumbled to herself.

Why had she not gone back to the present? To her actual body? She tried to concentrate again but it was as if that entire world was blocked to her. She could no longer hear any noise at the back of her mind or feel the ghosts of those around her physical form. A sickening feeling dropped low in her stomach.

Was she stuck here?

A howl of pure anguish ripped through the quiet of the warehouse. And after nearly jumping out of her skin, Delphia edged slowly towards the noise. Unsure if she even wanted to see what was happening in this future. But then she saw a white and polka-dot patterned costume hanging mid-air and she froze.

Abner.

No, no, no, no. She didn’t want to see this. Not this. He was strung up from the ceiling. Hands and feet clamped up in metal shackles. The dots. Oh, God. That interdimensional virus — it was eating him alive. With his hands and feet covered, he had no way to expel them. They were burning away at his flesh from the inside, creating colorful acid-burn lesions all over his body.

“Why are you doing this?” Abner shouted as he wreathed.

“I like to call this — “ A man with a beard and perfectly coiffed hair stepped out of the shadows. “Prodding the bear. Your little super family has become a ripe pain in my ass. And you — you just so happened to be the easiest one to capture.”

“They’ll come for you, you know?”

“Oh, yes, that is the plan.” The man nodded. “For them to come seeking revenge and I’ll pick them off one….By….One.”

“You plan fucking sucks,” Abner laughed before groaning in pain again.

The man cocked his head to one side. “And why’s that?”

“Because — “ Abner picked his head up from his chest and stared down at the man, full of malice and determination. “How do you plan on living through killing me?”

Delphia watched, horror-struck, as the glowing dots beneath Abner’s flesh grew and multiplied. As sweet Abner, so quiet and caring, screamed in agony. No — he was doing this to himself. To stop the bearded man. But still, Delphia couldn’t stop the protest that fell from her lips just as the dots exploded from Abner’s flesh. The warehouse began to fall apart — support beams melting and tarps caught on fire. There was no sign of the bearded man or Abner. Even the very shackles that held her friend in place were gone, reduced to molten metal.

“No, no!” Delphia screeched as she looked around desperately, “Get me out! I want out!”

Her mind couldn’t focus. Wouldn’t focus. It was only this future she didn’t want to see and the pained grief that gripped her heart. This couldn’t be Abner’s future. It couldn’t be. He was safe in the squad house with a good job and plenty of books to keep him occupied. What had made him put on his suit again? Who was this bearded man who wanted him dead? Who was this super family that he had mentioned?

That was, until she felt a distant but sharp slap against her cheek. Delphia put a hand to her skin that stung like a distant memory. There was a similar sensation against her other cheek.

Then Harley’s distinct voice at the back of her mind as she stood in a burning room: “Dee? This ain’t a time for playin’ games. You gave Abner and me a good scare — so you can stop now. Very funny. S’a good prank.”

Concentrate. Concentrate. Concentrate. Harley. The house. Of course Harley slapped her. Harley. Harley. Delphia screwed her eyes shut. Yes! Whiteness. But then she heard the loud rumble of a car engine.

And when she opened her eyes again, she was sitting in the passenger seat of a speeding sports car. Sliding through the streets of what looked like Gotham at breakneck speeds. Delphia gripped the door handle tight even though she was in no true danger. Though it certainly felt like it as the car drifted around a sharp corner. There was a cackle from the driver’s seat. Delphia snapped her head over to see Harley at the wheel, a wicked grin stretching her red-painted mouth and a fury in her eyes.

But this wasn’t the Harley Delphia knew. This Harley was manic, even more than usual, with short-cropped pigtails dyed red and black. With new tattoos and fresh bruises on her face. She was escaping something. Delphia just knew it.

“You can’t catch me!” Harley sang out the window as she chucked a live grenade behind her car.

Delphia watched, dumbfounded, as the grenade went through the slipstream the car created and went under one of three vehicles that were following them. It exploded with a ball of fire and shrapnel. Sending the car up into the air to land on its top with a sickening crunch.

“Holy shit!” Delphia yelled.

The other two vehicles remained hot in their pursuit, however.

A cellphone began to ring over the din of the engine and Harley picked it up with a smile. “Oh, hey Flag.”

Rick.

“Yeah, I made ‘em pretty mad. You guys ready and waitin’?” She looked behind her at the following cars. “I’ll be there in twenny seconds.”

But then Harley slammed the gas through a red light intersection. Not even noticing the incoming semi-truck honking his horn. Thinking that she could make it. Delphia braced for impact, her shoulders scrunching up around her ears and a scream echoing around her skull. One that couldn’t possibly be heard as the truck rammed into Harley’s side of the car.

Glass flew in every direction. Tires slid against concrete as the truck tried to come to a screeching halt. Blood spattered across the spiderwebbed windshield. And all Delphia could do was sit there and watch as Harley’s skull caved in and her heart stopped beating. A wicked smile still etched into her face.

A strangled, desperate cry cracked like a whip from Delphia’s mouth as the car and truck finally came to a stop. Harley’s lifeless and limp body laid right beside her. All horrible and mangled and blood-soaked. With ragged, groaning breath, Delphia slid through the car door and out into the street.

This couldn’t be. This couldn’t be it for Harley Quinn. She swore against a life of crime. She — She had a job she loved, she was planning her bachelorette party, she was happy and free. Not driving speeding cars through Gotham being chased by goons. Delphia fell to her knees, unable to look away from the horrific scene. She didn’t want to see this. Didn’t want to see this tragic end.

“Please stop,” she whispered, trying to concentrate on the present, tears streaming down her face, “Please make it stop.”

“What a lucky accident, eh boys?”

It was the bearded man. And from the looks of him — he had survived the warehouse explosion with Abner. His beard and hair only growing where his glistening burned skin would allow.

When the scene blurred and changed again, this time to an underwater landscape, Delphia gave up. She felt like her insides had been scooped out. All hollow with nothing left. She had been able to stand seeing all that death before because, at the end of the day, she could leave those visions of the future behind. She could come home at the end of the day to her warm apartment. To Rick. With his kind, gentle eyes and loving arms that made it all seem like forgotten dreams. But this. There seemed to be no way out of this. No matter how hard she tried, the visions wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop seeing the deaths of those that she loved most.

She was trapped. Just like her biological mother all those years ago. Her greatest fear come to life.

Defeated and tired and full of an ache that she couldn’t prescribe to anger or fear or sadness, Delphia curled up in a ball and hid her face in her arms. It was better to only hear the visions than to see them. A tactic left over from her childhood when she had so little control of her powers. To only listen as Nanaue was murdered by a man wearing an orange and turquoise suit. As Cleo was left alone to die in the streets of an unknown city. As DuBois was shot dozens of times in the middle of a forest where no one else would see.

But then, quite suddenly, she was laying on a hardwood floor. Wait. She knew this hardwood floor. Delphia sat up instantly. Yes, she was right. She was back home! There was that familiar set of stairs and the white-painted foyer that she only finished decorating last week.

Was she back? Was she really and truly back? Hope lifted in her chest like a flower freshly blooming. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she rushed from the foyer to the living room.

Rick was sitting on the couch. Yes! She was back!

Delphia opened her mouth to call his attention, to rejoice with him. But all sounds and feelings of joy died in her throat when she noticed the state of the room. There was dust coating all the pictures on the mantel. The couch was tattered and stained. There was a white cloth over Rick’s favorite armchair. And Rick….

He looked thin. Worn and beaten. His sunken eyes looked puffy with tears. His beard had grown out. And in one hand he held a nearly empty bottle of whiskey and in the other, he had a crumpled photograph.

No. She wasn’t back at all.

“Rick?” she whispered quietly as she approached him.

“Dee,” he mumbled, jaw quivering, “I’m so sorry.”

He was looking at the photo in his hand. Delphia edged just a bit closer. It was her in the picture. She could remember when it was taken. Their vacation to the beach a few years back, before she had gotten so burned she had to stay inside for the rest of it. In the photo, she was sitting on a rock, sunhat held on her head due to the wind, red hair going every which way and a smile bright on her face. She remembered Rick telling her that it was his favorite picture of her. She remembered seeing it folded up in his wallet from time to time. It made her smile every time she did. But now it only made it feel like she’d been shot straight in the chest.

Rick straightened up, dropping the whiskey bottle on the floor as he tucked the picture away in his shirt pocket. He must have heard something that she didn’t. Delphia turned to see a group of men in black military uniforms, rifles raised and pointed at Rick, walk into the living room. And from behind them, in strutted Amanda Waller.

“Waller,” Rick scoffed as he settled back into the couch, “Shoulda known.”

“Glad to see I didn’t take you by surprise, Colonel.” Waller smirked.

“Why’re you here?”

“I made a mess.” She shrugged, looking around at the house. “I’m here to clean it up.”

Rick stood to his full height. Still so intimidating and strong looking despite his current state. “You call what you did a mess? You killed her!”

“I didn’t kill Delphia Holman, Colonel. You’re the one who did that by getting her pregnant.”

Delphia placed a protective hand on her belly. No. It couldn’t be.

“You’re the one who didn’t say anything — who didn’t tell her that — that having a baby would kill her. You knew and you said nothing.” Rick stepped closer to Waller, a fire in his eyes like Delphia had never seen.

“I knew that was what happened to her mother. I did not know that would happen to Delphia.”

Rick snapped. With one step he had Waller’s throat in his hands. The armed guards swiftly reaimed their weapons. But Waller told them to stand down with a flick of her wrist.

“I could kill you. Right here. Right now,” he hissed between his teeth.

“Hasn’t that been your plan, Colonel? Isn’t that why you sicked all your deranged dogs on me any chance you got? Shaving them down until there was nothing left. Just you in this big ole’ house.” Waller narrowed her eyes and smirked. “And besides — she made you too soft to kill.”

Rick tightened his grip. His voice came out mangled, like a broken thing too weak to stand. “I loved her.”

“I know.”

Waller pulled a pistol from behind her back. And before Delphia could even blink, pressed it under Rick’s chin and fired.

“No!” The word was yanked from Delphia’s throat violently.

His blood and brains went so high it spattered the fucking ceiling. The entire top of his skull was blown out into little pieces. Rick fell back to the floor with a deafening thud. Hazel eyes wide open.

“No, no, no, no — Rick!” Delphia cried.

She scrambled to the floor, holding his head between her hands. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen those lifeless eyes staring back at her. But she couldn’t run from this. She couldn’t go back to a Rick filled with life this time. Her hands trembled as she stroked his cheeks. She couldn’t feel the flesh and hair of his physical body. She couldn’t feel him. All she could do was weep and beg herself to be released from this hell.

Shaking, she watched as Waller wiped her fingerprints from the gun and placed it in Rick’s hand. Then she said casually to the rest of her team, “Fix the blood spatter — and put gun powder residue on his hand. Rick Flag killed himself alone in this house after the tragic death of his fiance and unborn child. Make it happen, people.”

Then Waller walked out. Delphia looked back at Rick’s unmoving chest. At the blood there and the imprint of his dog tags through the fabric. He gave those to her for her to wear once. When she first moved into his apartment and he was going away on his first mission. Apparently, after her death, he had taken them back. Every breath was a burden — a wheeze or a groan. There were no more tears. Only a sorrow so whole and all-consuming that even the truly wretched wouldn’t wish it upon their enemies.

The guards — with ARGUS stitched into their tactical vests — closed in on Rick’s body.

“No! Get away!” Delphia barked, all snarling teeth and wicked rage as she curled herself around Rick’s form.

And something happened then that Delphia didn’t notice. A white ether, like flashing smoke, emanated from her. The guards immediately jumped away from the body, looking around at one another in horrified confusion.

“The fuck was that?”

It was all too much. All of it. It was as if a darkness was welling up inside her. A hatred. A sorrow. An impossible terror. It rose up and up her throat until it escaped from her in a scream. Blood-curdling and ringing in the guard’s ears.

So loudly they clapped their hands on either side of their heads in hopes to make it stop. The white ether exploded from her again in a thick ring. The guards gave a shout of surprise and fear. And then to Delphia’s eyes — it was all whiteness again.

Delphia sat up and looked out over the expanse. The neverending white. So this was her fate. Her mind to be stuck in visions of the future while her body withered away. While the child she carried inside her faded along with her. Which would then cause the deaths of everyone that she knew and loved. A future set in stone, it seemed.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she cradled her barely formed baby bump in her hands.

“I’m so sorry — little one,” she whispered shakily, “You didn’t deserve this.”

However, the whiteness was beginning to fade. As if she were being moved through some invisible tunnel. The edges going from pure white to grey. And suddenly, she was somewhere else. But like nowhere she had ever seen before.

It was definitely a room. That much she knew. With grey, metal walls and floors that danced with ripples of light like reflections of a crystal clear pool of water. Delphia looked up and yes. There was a glass panel in the ceiling with water on the other side. What was this place?

“We’ve been expecting you, Delphia Holman,” a deep voice spoke.

She looked towards what could only be the front of the room to see four creatures sitting before her. Four aliens. They looked near enough to humans. The only difference being their pure white skin, flat noses, and scaly ridges all along their body. Delphia was too shocked to form any words.

“You just destroyed your first timeline. How does that feel?” another of the aliens asked.

“I — “ Delphia cleared her throat awkwardly. “I what?”

“With your power, Delphia Holman, you have destroyed a timeline for this dimension. Made all that occurred on it from a certain point forward cease to exist.” The alien who spoke narrowed their eyes at her. “Are you aware that you’ve done this?”

“N-No.” She got shakily to her feet.

“How were you feeling just moments ago when this event occurred?” The first alien questioned, waving their hand in front of themselves, drawing a piece of white ether with it — looking at the mist as if it could tell them something.

“Sad,” Delphia instantly replied, “Alone. Scared.”

“Makes sense.” One of them nodded. “These are strong emotions — strong enough to bring about such an event in someone with…Latent powers.”

Latent powers? The fuck?

“No — no. This just proves that humans are too emotional to have our abilities. We never should have allowed our kind to stay with them.”

“I agree. Our power is too great for such a sub-standard race.”

The first alien to speak, seemingly the leader of the group, smiled down at Delphia. Though it did nothing to comfort her in her mounting confusion. “I believe the humans to be the perfect heirs to our power.”

“Um, excuse me?” Delphia piped up before their bickering could go any further, “I just — um — who are you? Where am I? And can you get me back to my body?”

The lead alien smiled again. “We are the Lords of Time — an alien species that visited your planet some time ago to bestow our ability to see and wield time itself onto the people of Earth. You are on our ship, wheeling through space.”

“We can see you and speak to you because we exist both in the present and the future.”

“We came to Earth seeking a species that could possess our abilities with all fairness and a lack of prejudice — not wanting to use these powers for their own gain. We are the only four left of the Lords of Time.”

“And yes, we can turn off your Sight — as you call it — and put you back into your corporeal form.”

“However,” one of them spoke with a glare, “You must prove that you are worthy to have these powers. If you do not prove yourself we will send you back to the abyss and let you rot there. Killing off the last of your bloodline and allowing us to start anew.”

Delphia had no further questions. Only one simple utterance to make:

“Shit.”

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installments of this series, please let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother

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nectarous · 3 years

Text

━━ shigaraki x f!reader.

[tags: wound play, gore, blood, quirk use.]

[wc: 1.3K]

⇦ love thy neighbor masterlist.

tomura has taken to watching you through the cracked peephole, unconsciously scratching at the raised scratches in the pine door and the thin skin of his neck. there’s a raging hush, an annoying itch that’s simultaneously caused and soothed by you.

you only live here because of how cheap it is. this apartment is worse than a shithole, and if he wasn’t a criminal he wouldn’t step a hundred feet of the property. stains and scratches, no actual maintenance, and a stench that pervades the entire place. but it’s cheap, the landlord doesn’t ask questions, and it’s the only place a lowly student like you could afford to live by themselves. you definitely work as a nurse or a medical student of some sort, shuffling inside after midnight in stained scrubs and a hunch in your back, looking like you’re one push away from collapsing onto the scuffed up floor.

your quirk’s interesting to him; the complete opposite of his. while he destroys, yours is a remedy. he's watched the neighbors come knocking at your door for months, asking you to heal anything from scrapes to burns. he watches in aroused revulsion at the flaxen glow of your fingers as you brush them over patients.

he needs you to pay attention to him. he wants you to look at him the same way you look at the kids shyly asking you to remedy bruises from tripping at the playground, or the tired smile you give to the hooker next door when you help lessen the ache of her cunt after a busy night. he wants to feel the glow of your fingers, fixing him up.

plain, but annoyingly eye-catching. tomura found the swollen, blackened circles under your eyes pretty; the way you didn’t care about blood stuck underneath your nails and your naivety at helping just about anyone.

if he doesn’t approach you right now he’s probably going to scrape through his skin.

there had to have been red flags, silent warnings in the way he silently pushed his way past you inside your lowlight studio, the way his eyes danced over the mail thrown on the coffee table while he stuck out his forearm, a thin red line oozing from wrist to elbow. silent request for help.

the leathery, worn-out hand that normally protectively cupped his face is odd and gruesome, like a leash holding back. somehow, the decaying smell’s worse than the hallway. he plops down onto your ratty couch without permission, toeing off his red sneakers onto the ground before he’s sitting cross-legged. almost like a child.

neither of you talks. he’s staring at the deep-set lines of stress under your eyes, you’re focusing on drawing enough vitality left in you to heal the superficial cut. the delicate touch you have on his forearm prickles into his bones, burns just a bit. he watches the way your fingers brush away the congealing blood from his arm like you’re stitching the skin back together.

your quirk feels good.

it only takes you a couple of minutes to heal him to the best of your ability, but it only took him a few seconds to decide he wants to feel more.

you try to usher him out, the annoyance that he’s forced his way into your apartment settling in. but he’s grabbing you, pulling you down so your knees clumsily knock into the side of his thigh, and he’s looking at you with such excitement, a childish elation stained with something sinister that makes you want to inch away.

something is telling you that you wouldn’t like the outcome if you tried that, though.

“can you do anything bigger than cuts?”

he’s fidgeting, digging into the pocket of his jacket before pulling out a folding hunter. a rusty, stained pocket knife with drying flecks of pulpy blood, a chipped handle, and no obvious maintenance, that’s being forced into your hand, and before you can even shout out in panic he’s tucking his shirt up under his chin, grabbing your hands around the handle.

he’s making you stab him.

the dread looks even prettier on you, makes a burn in him light up, especially paired with how you’re whimpering in confused fright.

the trembling of your hands makes the knife cut deeper, wider, until the bolster presses flush against his stomach. until his blood spilling cataracts over the scabbed-over lesions in his torso and the webs of your skin and it stains the air in a coppery invasion.

he’s breathing heavy, almost like he’s turned on by a six-inch blade buried in the sickly flesh—holds you like this for a while, the incomplete grip on you trapping you close to him.

you don’t want to be here anymore. you can feel yourself floating away, you’ve never felt this much blood, you’ve never had someone who wanted to be hurt, it's scary. the ringing of your ears, the vacant look in your eyes. only the shell of you is present.

it’s okay. he’s almost giggling, lips cracking and splitting apart as they pull back into a juvenile grin, blood soaking down his chin and down his stomach. it's time to heal him now.

the knife isn’t in him anymore. your shaking hands are dropped unceremoniously into his lap while he tosses it on the ground and tries to wipe the blood onto the weaved gray of your couch. if you were in the right state of mind, you probably would make a run for it, but you’re frozen. there’s no fight or flight in you.

he’s shoving your hand back underneath his sticky shirt. he's not fully grabbing onto you, you notice vaguely, a deliberate pinky resting inches above your skin. the oddly delicate way he’s holding you would have made you laugh under any other circumstance.

digits bump into the sides of the fleshy gaping hole before fingertips sink into the wound, the squelching of bubbling blood louder than your heavy breath of fear, his hisses of rapturous agony sanguinating over you in redhot waves of disgusted curiosity. the sight’s gruesome, bright crazed eyes rolling into the back of his head, neck straining with every grunt, clawing at your skin and the ruined couch cushion.

he’s hemorrhaging out, but he’s obviously enjoying it, and it’s *beautiful* as much as you don’t want to admit.

your quirk starts up uncontrollably, reacts to his pain, you can see the faint yellow glow from your fingertips even buried into the bloody lesion before it starts to pull energy from you. the ripped muscle fuses together around your knuckle deep fingers; you can feel each fiber being melded together again.

healing around your fingers hurts more than it did being stabbed, the foreign digits slowly being pushed out of the injury, the treatment stinging like salt and acid.

you’re horrified to see the erection straining against his pants, eyes tracking the sliver of skin peeking through his clothes ruddy red. his eyes are rolling back in such serenity, it’s blanking your head out, makes you throb hot.

“hey, does your quirk work on you?” it’s not a question, it’s more of an assertion, and before you can formulate an answer in your head, he drops the final finger around your wrist.

bile and screams crawl up your throat as the maudlin scent of decay clog up your nose. it stings at your nerves almost as much as his quirk breaks you down, the scent of death and wreckage burning your skin.

you can’t see your fingers dissolving, mixing with the sticky blood underneath his shirt but the pain is still just as sharp; you can feel the bones disintegrating and tissue being ripped apart, the putrefying agony crawling up up up, eating away at skin and flesh.

the whole building echoes with the wails of sorrowed, agonized fear.

good. he wants you to sing.

#shigaraki x reader #yandere shigaraki #yandere bnha #tag:[gore]#tag:[noncon]#tag:[blood]#thank u grammarly for proofreading #bc i did not

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ecrivant · 3 years

Text

execrated | levi ackerman

(levi ackerman x reader)

he was no more than an object of execration in the aftermath of you;

the one in which levi immerses himself in nocturnal bloodshed to rid himself of you.

c.w. – graphic depictions of violence

word count: 2.5k

In the sink, saliva, sanguine-tinged, a grisly spatter on blanched porcelain. Pain burgeoned from visage’s center as he—with hands shaking and stained red with blood native and foreign—tried to curtail the gore which madly gushed forth, like crimson water from dam awash, made that way through rain-soaked massacre. Body before suffused with adrenaline now felt the seeping agony of ruptured dermis and fragmented bone. The hung mirror before him, begrimed and fragmentary and missing shards from its bottom right, held in it his own demented likeness, from nose down drenched in blood-red coagulate and looking savage as if born into barbarism. This redness pooled in his palms, leaked between fingers. He leaned forward so his head hovered over sink’s bowl and spat up more carmine sputum and removed his hands from his face and with one gripped the bowl and with the other turned the faucet handle and left blood there. The water, weak and cold. He let the liquid run over his hands and watched it coalesce with what was there and trickle down the drain in pinkish amalgam. In the washroom, a pervasive and ferric scent. There were no paper towels, so he impotently stood over the sink with head ducked and perhaps misguidedly let the blood pour from him. Feeling dizzy from blood loss and strong liquor and impacted temples. He winced and contorted his expression, but it only bore another bloom of pain.

In memory he sat on bathtub’s edge and watched you floss and listened to the brush of your shirt sleeves and your open-mouthed breathing and the plucking of floss against teeth. Seeing your face only in reflection as your back was to him. You finished and threw away the thread—pedal wastebasket’s lid slamming against tile wall before shutting again—and asked in a tone of joking condescension when he had last flossed. He replied that he could not remember.

And after he flossed to placate you, he leaned forward—with your body flush to and embracing his—and spat and saw blood in the sink.

He was reminded of you in the strangest of times.

He had migrated from the taprooms downtown that had come to know him as belligerent to the bars of back alleyways and lowdown localities where the population was less made of people and more of nocturnal wraiths of ire who, having long since ceded their humanity, now only knew a lust for blood. These vestiges of personhood fought ferociously and with the desperation of a man who in balled fists held his own life, though they hardly cared if they lived or died, for life means nothing to those who have already forsaken it.

—

The bleeding slowed as if his body grew tired of the exertion. He reflexively wiped at tender features with the back of his hand and felt more pain. Slinking out of a back entrance unnoticed, unsure of whether he killed a man that night. He stumbled off a concrete step into a torrent and had to brace himself on the wall opposite. The nocturne’s deluge—backstreet, flooded. He shielded his eyes from an invisible sun and regarded the pitch swathed in a pall of rain. The rainfall on metal and concrete and the detritus of litter and broken glass unseen created the rhythm to which he blindly walked forward, faltering every other step. Senses overwhelmed, as he did not hear the beat and splash of lumbering footfalls behind him and barely registered the bottle smashed against his head until he was face-down in wastewater and then spitting up fluid from nose and lung as he was lifted by the hair and thrown against the wall.

The rain and the night so thick he could not see his attacker’s face, only the glint of a knife in streetlamp’s diffused illumination. Vaulting sideways he felt the tip of this shining blade swipe his stomach. He ducked to avoid a swung fist and on hands and knees blindly searched for some defense in the remnants of piled scrap which had not yet been swept away by the rushing current. Unfathomable pain erupting in the side of his head as the kick of a steel-toed boot connected with his temple. He laid prostrate and dazed and heard only the deafening surge of blood in his ears and the rhythmic pulsation of his struck skull, and as he kicked weakly and at nothing, he felt the hulking presence of his anonymous assailant above him and found he could do nothing except wonder whether this insensate being would choose to with that knife gorge his eyes or shred his chest or both. By inborn instinct, he rolled clumsily to avoid coming under blade, swiping the man’s legs as he did. The man fell, and with him the sound of bone cracked on concrete cut through the roaring downpour. Levi found the knife dropped and gripped it and sliced the man’s hamstring behind his knee and at once cut up the back of his thigh and plunged the blade into it. The eldritch bellow of a beast now enervated—the man grabbed at Levi’s legs, but he simply sidestepped and avoided those desperate and grasping limbs.

Levi tasted blood and spit and said, “Pick fights you can win,” before backing away from the man and exiting the alleyway.

—

In his wake a bloody trail as he labored up the staircase of his building, heavy and slow and uneven steps echoing against concrete and cinderblock. During this ascent, he passed a flaccid and crumpled human form splayed, drunk or sleeping or dead. He did not stop but in passing softly kicked the body with his good leg, and upon its immediate stirring he continued.

He pulled his shirt over his head in front of his bathroom mirror and could feel the evening’s history in every muscle. His body, battered and contused, and flesh already discolored blue and yellow and inky black; hair matted by rain and gore and falling before visage’s distended and ashen features. His chest was sliced cleanly between pectorals—the mark from that infernal blade—with the layers of skin peeling open like a lipless mouth, inside raw and resembling offal. The grisly lesion coughed and sputtered and spat up blood, and he cried out as he balled up his sodden shirt and used it as a compress, and for a moment his vision reeled. He staggered through his apartment—past the things you had left behind and he could not throw away—and located the means to suture his wound, leaving bloodied handprints behind. He screamed as he poured the alcohol over his chest. His hands shook as he pierced flesh with threaded needle, darkness creeping into his periphery. Upon cutting the final stitch he promptly collapsed to the floor.

—

In a restless sleep he dreamt of the creation of your body by divinity’s hand, of the holy sculptor who limned the corporeal form which housed your eternal soul. At times, those divine hands were his own.

—

With each drop of blood shed he purged himself of you, and he would continue until all his blood drained or from him you were exorcised entirely.

—

He awoke to his body adhered to the floor in a pool of bloodied coagulate. At first unable to move and then taking several minutes to find within him strength to roll to the side and sit up. He thought for a moment of the job he had long abandoned, of friends who had likely forgotten him, and could not remember his last non-violent encounter nor the last time words spoken were anything but vitriolic remarks between hurled fists—he was no more than an object of execration in the aftermath of you.

—

With enough liquor—as if the spirits themselves some heady and greening elixir—previous nights were forgotten. Bibulous and newly invigorated, he prowled the darkened streets, hands pocketed, lusting for the bloodshed he had come to desire in the way he for you once ached. The pavement underfoot slick with mud and effluent like some backcountry swampland through which he waded and searched for violence to placate his id. The night was clear and cloudless but smelled of sewerage and remnants of rainfall, and the stars hung suspended in the firmament’s pitch continuum, supplementing the moon’s light now absent per a new moon. Distantly, a bell tower rung three.

He continued on and watched as the street seemed to come undone—road dead-ending with unfinished pavement, fiercely jagged and potholed and undulating as if there to witness the very shifting of the earth many times over. The roadway’s ceasing was before a collapsing chain-link fence, disfigured and clipped here and there, which separated the road from a lot piled with soil and scrap material. Remnants of some edifice planned but long forgotten. With a running start he jumped and climbed and vaulted himself over the fence with ease, the mesh bending and creaking beneath his weight and clattering after with the tremors of his movement.

The site was one of earthen topography with eminent dirt mounds textured by way of erosion and manmade footmarks, the land entirely devoid of verdure and instead landscaped with metal scrap and waste discarded. Shrubbery of twisted wire and cairns of glass from bottles shattered. He walked through vales between mountainous dirt outcroppings and could not see but for that dim, supernal illumination. Hearing breathing and a rustling near him, he turned around and looked and squinted in that pervasive darkness to make out any movement but could do nothing as the ragged beast who produced the sound descended onto him from above with such speed and force as to bring him to the ground and crumple his neck and knock the wind out of him. He gasped for breath as this hellish face pocked and scarred and seemingly without body levitated above him, eyes wild and themselves luminescent, aglow with a crazed fervor unseen in beings diurnal. How much longer, he wondered, until his eyes would resemble the ones now before him?

“Y’re gonna fuckin’ die here, boy.”

Spoken not as a threat but a gleesome proclamation. He felt against his throat the massive blade of a Bowie knife, no doubt used to skin beings living and dead. Between inhalations he kneed at the air, and his thrust connected with the man’s back, and it was enough to knock the man off balance and cause him to lose his footing in the slick mud underfoot—a falter which Levi exploits, throwing this monstrous aggressor from him. Now free of that savage embrace, he erected himself—looking like some devil from the bogged and muddy earth both born and emerging—and crouched with arms bent for combat. Relishing in his opposite’s struggle to regain footing. Levi could see the man had lost his knife in the fall and smiled. The sounds of squelching and boot-sucking muck and slurred curses were all to be heard. He dashed at the man and in one movement dropped him with a kick to the jaw, and the man landed face-first and unmoving in the mire and seemed to sink. He kicked him again in the ribs and felt them give.

He thought of you and was suddenly suffused with rage and raised his leg to boot the man again but was surprised and let out a strangled yell when the man with uncanny swiftness raised up and caught Levi’s leg in an iron vise and with his other hand drove a broken bottle which he gripped by the neck into that leg he held steadfast. Levi felt an unknowable pain erupt in his calf, and his vision crossed and blurred, and though through haziness, he saw the man’s face—features vague and inhuman beneath a swathe of sludge, save for the feral eyes, now looking even more savage and like those of a fiend from hell, and a bleached smile which shone in the dark—and Levi, with this infernal vision incised in mind’s eye, fell to the ground. The man crawled backwards and looked on as if an artist admiring his magnum opus. The bottle had not broken off in Levi’s leg and instead protruded like some glass tor, and from this wound spewed gore which turned earth red.

He was in and out of consciousness and felt the man approaching but awoke to car’s rumble and was numb.

Climbing stairs with weight supported.

Sprawled on cold tile. Blinded by overhead light. Anonymous hands around his leg, their tender touch. He felt these hands caress his face as a massive umbra occluded the glaring light above. Eyes adjusting. He saw you.

He awoke to a softness beneath him. In your shared bed, head against your chest. He was swaddled in your warm embrace, luxuriating in the feeling of you wrapped around him. You whispered and murmured incoherent nothings but in them he felt your adoration, reassurance, love, unadulterated.

And in some way, he knew he had already died or was a least on death’s brink. For he would never know the pleasure of you unless he was. And with this thought your image dissolved away, and he was again mired in an earthen mess with leg enfeebled and that beastly man atop him. His good limbs pinned to the ground and form incapacitated. Adrenaline and cortisol and all other chemicals in his hormonal amalgam coalesced in his bloodstream, and he found the strength to once again push the man off him, though he could not yet stand. And against his better judgment, he tore the bottle from his leg and plunged it instead into the man’s neck, the blood of one against jagged glass exchanged for another’s. Though still laced with that otherworldly mania, he saw in the man’s eyes fear, and then in those eyes he saw nothing at all. And then the man was dead.

He had not cried since the day you left, but he now found himself wiping at tears which were mostly mud. He dragged himself away from the man as to not touch the soiled blood which from carotid erupted and hyperventilated as he did.

He wished you would rescue him as he had imagined.

But instead he dragged himself through mire and finally came upon that chain-link fence which acted as entrance to the hell from which he came, and even through his abject pain he felt his violent id satiated. He found a rusted and discarded pole and in one hand held it and with the other grabbed the fence and struggled to pull himself to his feet but did.

He would not make it far from the fence, only having crossed the threshold of where the road which once seemed to unwind reconstructed itself, before he collapsed in carnage’s aftermath from exhaustion and indiscriminate blood loss, and again, dumbly, perhaps on death’s precipice, only thought of you. Your unwavering presence outliving him.

—

hi there again! thank you so much for reading!! i’m sorry this piece took so long, school is starting, and i’m adjusting to actually using my brain again. will try my best to keep a consistent posting schedule + i SWEAR i will get to writing the numerous requests in my inbox. much love xoxo <3

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taglist: @flam3bird, @sakusas-whore

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot imagines #aot x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #levi x reader #levi ackerman imagine #writing!

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simpforsnape · 3 years

Text

Sincerely Yours.

Severus Snape x OC/Reader

wordcount: 1478

warnings: minor errors. and plot. I own nothing but my OC, all credit goes to the creator of Harry Potter. JKR

credit to the creator of this gif.

Previous - Next

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Chapter 9

The birds outside chirped announcing that the next day had come.

Anah was laid out on her stomach with the cover only covering her bottom. There was warmth next to her. Something she was familiar with. Her arm extended out as she felt around still asleep.

There was someone there. Her hand landed on the person's face who was quickly awakened. Severus Snape. How could she have forgotten about last night? He removed the woman's hand as he then turned to see she was still asleep, and naked. He was also naked.

It took him a moment to awake and realize where he was. But it was quite obvious. He leaned over to the woman, planting a kiss on her shoulder while his large nose brushed against her skin.

“Anah. Wake up..” His lips mumbled against her skin. She shrugged him off groaning in the process.

“Hm..”

He smiled at her reaction. He did miss this. Being able to wake up next to someone you love. He will admit, work and loneliness got the best of him.

He tried again this time wrapping both of his arms around her, pulling her close. His lips were aligned with her ear.

“My love.”

Anah was already awake. And she heard him loud and clear. She turned her neck to only see the man looking down at her.

“Good Morning... Love..” She smiled planting a kiss on his lips. He returned the smile.

“Good Morning.”

She turned her entire body towards him as she pressed up against him. Thank Merlin neither of them had classes. Her arms wrapped across his neck. They were staring into the eyes of each other again. Only recalling last night's activities.

A smirk formed on her face as she kissed his bottom lip.

“You know.. We didn't use any type of protection..”

He scoffed bringing his hand up to caress her long brown messy hair.

“I'm well aware.”

He knew Anah had used a charm on herself to prevent getting pregnant. She sat up from him allowing the covers to fall from her body.

He remained there with his eyes stayed on her. She glanced over at the clock seeing that it was past noon. 12:36.

“Lunch is going on.. Do you want to go?” She asked turning over to him. He shook his head now grabbed ahold of her hand to kiss it.

“Not at the present time. But, I do wish to.. discuss somethings..” He added comfortably adjusting his head. Anah cocked a brow turning her body towards him. This must have been important.

“Was it about last night?..” She questioned. What was she afraid of him saying?

“Yes.” He mumbled, pulling himself up to speak clearly. He still had her hands in his. He looked down as he continued to talk.

“Anah. Last night made me recognize something. Of how much I still.. care for you.” He paused still not looking at her. His actions made her smile. He was acting like a child, being shy and all. He continued to fiddle with her hand as his words proceeded.

“I do not wish to wake up another day, alone. I'd rather be with someone.. who I love.. and cherish. And Anah, I'm willing to do this with you..”

With his final words, he looked up. When he saw her face he remained still. She had a tiny smile plastered across her lips. Her hands cupped his face as she looked down at him.

“Severus Snape. Are you asking me to date you?”

He was silent. He shouldn't have asked her, she was going to laugh in his face and call him a fool.

“If so, You should know my answer, my love. I'm willing to start everything over.. Just to be with you." She added while pressing her forehead against his. They shared a moment after her words were exchanged. Finally, they were together at last.

It took the two another hour to get up and dressed. They parted ways once Anah was freshened up and dressed. They agreed on meeting up later tonight for dinner.

How else could Anah spend her day? Well grading, of course, she was a teacher after all. She paced down the bright halls of the school with a smile formed on her face. How better can life get? After almost 13 years of being apart.. she was finally reunited with her true love.

While on the way to her class she walked past some students along the way. Some were concerned about why the professor was so happy and cheerful. Someone must have put something in her tea.

As usual, she ran into Harry. He was accompanied by Hermione, Ron, and also the Rat. Which was also.. Peter Pettigrew. How could she forget? She needed to get the rat to Sirius. Well at least help him get him.

On the walk to her class, there was a conversation held, mostly by teenagers.

They mostly talked about the trip to Hogsmeade and everything that happened along with it. Arriving at her classroom everyone entered as she quickly walked over to the pile of papers, which she forgot to grade. Everyone pitched in to help grade of course. The conversation carried on until Harry changed the subject.

"Professor V. May I ask you something?" He questioned which caused her to look up.

"Of course love, ask away." She replied setting down the quill that was in her hand. All attention went to Harry.

"While at Hogsmeade, I overheard something.. about Sirius Black.." He was mumbling by then.

She cocked a brow curious about where the conversation was going.

"What about him Harry?.."

His blue eyes soon met hers. " Well, It was stated that he was.. my Godfather.."

A deep sigh escaped from her. Here goes the conversation she wasn't ready to have with him.

"Yes.. He is.." She replied as Harry kept his eye contact.

Ron and Hermione were only lesioning in, Harry had already told them everything.

"And it was also revealed that I had a Godmother as well.."

Anah gave him a nonchalant look. He knew already that she was it.

She leaned against her desk with her arms tucked.

“And who might she be?” Her words echoed across the empty class.

Harry kept his eye contact. "It's you. You're my Godmother."

Anah's features remained simple as she gave off a sigh. She never did come up with a way to explain to Harry that she was his Godmother. How would she have said it? The boy barely knows anything about her. She brought her hands up to her face eyeing the boy back. He was silent.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He questioned. She shrugged her shoulders as she resumed back to grading. She felt guilty almost.

"It would have been revealed in due time Harry." When she looked up at him, she noticed the look of disappointment written all over his face. It was better if he hadn't known to begin with.

He said nothing more after this. The teens stayed no more than ten minutes until they were gone. She sat in silence for the remainder of the evening. The event repeated in her head. Why didn't she tell Harry?

'I was just protecting him.. that's all..'

Her mind spoke, which eased her nerves a bit.

Hours past and Anah hasn't heard a word from Severus.

She glanced up at the clock that was plastered on the wall across from her desk. It was almost evening. Maybe she should go look for him?

She settled the graded papers on one side of her desk as she got up and went off to search for Severus.

When she checked the dungeons he was nowhere to be found. It was odd almost. Where could he have gone?

She gave off a long sigh before turning her heels to leave out of his cold and empty classroom. Now to think of it she hasn't see Remus all-day and heard no words from Sirius. Maybe.. No. They couldn't have been there. After all these years.

The only other place she could think of was the Shrieking Shack. Remus was always sent there due to his ailment.

They had to have been there. Now out of the dungeons, Anah headed directly to the Shrieking Shack.

It took her no less than five minutes to get to the other side of Hogwarts. Once she arrived in front of the weeping willow she used a curse to freeze it in place. She entered the tree, unharmed making her way down the dark cave. It was almost impossible to see, but the light on the other end made her way clear.

She slowly walked down the cave soon picking up the voices that were echoing around here.

As she got closer, the voices grew louder. Her hand slipped into her cloak quickly retrieving her wand.

“I could do it you know...”

That sounded like Severus? Anah paced slowly up the stairs as the conversation went on. The shack creaked at every given step. Thankfully no one was paying attention.

The hall felt like almost an eternity. Before she could enter the room the commotion in the room changed.

“Harry what did you just do!?” Ron exclaimed as Hermione expressed alongside him.

“You just attacked a teacher!”

Anah rushed into the room as all eyes landed on her. Her wand was still in her hand as she glanced over to see that it was Severus who was attacked.

“Anahstacia..” Remus uttered as she quickly ignored him turning to Harry.

“What. Happened.”

Her tone was almost dark. Remus nor Sirus spoke. The two were more afraid of her than James.

“I- I can explain.” Harry couldn't fix the correct words he wanted to say.

She would deal with him later.

Anah turned her heels now looking over to Sirius. “Where is he, Sirius? Peter Pettigrew.”

“He’s dead isn't he?” Harry questioned as Remus caught his attention.

“He is not, not until you've recently mentioned that you saw him on the map.”

The boy still had his wand pointing over at Sirius who stood in front of the broken bed, which Severus was on.

“The map must have lied-”

A frustrating looked formed on Sirius’s face.

“The map never lies! Pettigrew's alive. And he's sitting right there!” His voice raised while pointing over to the rat that was being held by Ron.

Ron’s face was distraught. “Me!? Are you bloody mental!?”

Sirius groaned in frustration.

“Not you, your rat!”

All eyes landed on the rat that was settled in the boy's lap.

“What! Scabbers is a family pet! He's been in the family for 12-”

“12 years! That an extraordinarily long life for a common rat don't you think?” Sirius added while Harry extended his wand up at the older man.

“Prove it.”

Anah stood in front of the Shacks doors watching everything unfold.

Sirius went over to Ron before snatching the rat out of the boy’s hands.

“Don't hurt him!” He exclaimed as Hermione did her best to calm Ron.

Sirius sat the rat down as soon as he drew his wand. The rat sprinted off making it difficult for Sirius or Remus to transform him.

With one quick move Anah simply pointed over at the Rat as he then transformed into a person.

Peter Pettigrew.

When he came to his senses he soon noticed the people surrounding him.

"Remus? Sirius?" He questioned dumbly as he then noticed Anah standing near Harry.

"Anahstacia! My friends!" He exclaimed still in a rat-like manor. His hands were held up to his chest, teeth chittering. He was about to make a break for it. Before he could run to the room's door he was soon stopped by the other two men who had their wands up aimed at him.

Pettigrew's head flung around until his eye's caught on Harry Potter.

"H-Harry! Look at you! You look so much like your father!-"

"Don't you dare." Anah's voice threw the poor man off with her wand penetrating his neck.

"How could you!" Sirius shouted watching him stagger over to the dust-covered piano.

"You sold James and Lily to Voldemort didn't you!?" Remus questioned with his wand still aimed at him.

Pettigrew began to whin due to his guilt.

"I-I didn't mean to! He was going to kill me! What would you have done!-"

"I WOULD HAVE DIED!" At this point, Sirius couldn't control his anger anymore.

Pettigrew was thrown against the wall with both men standing in front of him, wands at the ready.

They were going to kill him.

"Since Voldemort wouldn't kill you, we will!" Sirius proclaimed.

"Together!-"

"Stop!"

Harry stood from behind his Godmother as he slowly began to walk up to the pair. Remus turned his head fully frustrated.

"Harry.. This man-"

"I know what he is.. but.. We will take him to the castle.."

Pettigrew's sobbing face began to praise Harry. He slowly crawled to him kneeling at his feet."

"Bless you boy!"

"Get off!" He shrugged kicking him off as soon as he stepped away.

"I said we'll take you to the castle, after that, the Dementors can have you."

Pettigrew's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Horror took over his body as he quickly began to beg.

"Please! Anahstacia! Don't let them kill me!"

His eye then went over to Anah who was watching from afar. Her hands were tucked under her chest with her wand still sticking out.

Her mixed eyes glared him down. "I have no control over this Peter. You're choices brought you to this end."

Her words sounded wise to everyone that was settled in the room. It was clear she was angry. Yes, it was Peter's fault for giving Harry's parent's location away. But he didn't kill them.

"Up with you." Remus announced grabbing ahold of Peter with a firm grip around his arm.

“Sirius, take the kids and leave. Remus, Help me escort Mr. Pettigrew to the castle.”

On Anah’s command, everyone did exactly what she said. The only remaining people in the shack was Anah, Remus, Peter and an unconscious Severus.

Anah left Pettigrew with Remus as she walked over to the broken bed to awake Severus.

“Sev.” She called out leaning down to shake him awake.

“He’s out cold Anah. Let him be.” Remus added as she looked back at him.

“I can't just leave him here Remus. Go, I'll be right behind you.”

He sighed quickly grabbing hold of Peter as they left the shack.

Anah pushed away from the broken pieces of the bed that had fallen. She looked down at her asleep love as she quickly smiled whipping the debris off of his face.

"Severus. I know you're not asleep." She mumbled with her hand plastered on his chest.

He shifted slightly slowly raising up to see Anah sitting at the edge of the bed. While raising up, the dust fell off of his clothes. He clearly remembers what happened.

His face was half red. It was noticeable he was angry.

Anah brushed the side of his jaw removing one last piece of debris from his face.

"Are you okay?" She asked with her hand still rested on his face.

His face remained neutral.

"I'm fine. Where's Potter.." It didn't even sound like a question. It was deadlier than anything. Anah cocked a brow as she removed her hand from his face. Well, that didn't do anything.

"Severus, he's a boy-" She implied with him interrupting.

"Who used a spell against me!" By this point, he was up from the bed clearing himself off.

The woman stood up quietly walking over to the shack's door.

"Don't you think you're overreacting?" Her question threw him off a bit.

"I.am.not." he phased throughout his words.

"Well, I think you are. You need to apologize."

He groaned turning away from her. He was acting like a child, and she loved it. Well sorta.

"Apologize? Anahstacia. Really? You know this will never happen. And that's the end of it."

Her eyes rolled at his opinion with her arms tucked under her chest.

"Whatever Severus. Go, I'll be out soon."

He gave Anah a mere look, turning his feet to leave her in the room alone with his cape mounting behind him. The echo of his shoes soon faded of making it know he was gone.

She paced around the gloomy room for a moment. This place had far too many memories for her. A frown formed on her lips as she too turned to leave the room until something caught her eye. There was something crumbled up and crushed in the small dingy sectional that was settled against the wall.

As she grabbed it, she noticed horrible handwriting written on the back.

"June 14th, 1976."

When she flipped the picture over her emotions got the best of her.

It was a picture of the Marauders (James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius.) including Anah, and Lily. Her fingers stroked over the faces that were there. Only four remained alive. Which was soon to be three.

She pocketed the picture for Harry. She should give this to him instead of keeping it, after all.. He never got the chance to thoroughly meet his parent.

"HARRY!"

His name rang in her ears like a bell. Harry must have been in trouble. Anah's body began to move on her own as she sprinted out of the Shrieking Shack off to her Godson's rescue. So many thoughts had gone through her head. Was he hurt? Heaven's, was he dead

Merlin helps us.

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r6shippingdelivery · 2 years

Text

Under a cut cause it’s going to be a really long post.

Thermite’s team

Kaid Gridlock Tachanka Fuze Kapkan Buck Sledge Ash Oryx Thorn Goyo Amaru

Zero’s note: Trace is motivated, and he’s seen more explosions than most, the years have been good to him despite going through hell and back. This squad needs to be led by a bad motherfucker

Hibana’s team

Thatcher Alibi Blackbeard (in red) Mute Dokkaebi Jäger Echo Jackal Blitz Maestro Kana/Flubber (hint of a new operator?) Mira Rook

Zero’s note: Imagawa is a (??) soldier and a fantastic leader. She’s been a reliable player in the past. I think it’s time we put her connections to good use and I’m sure she’d agree

Doc’s team

Lion (in red) Clash Montagne Twitch Nomad Bandit Frost Ying Castle (in red) Thunderbird Melusi

Zero’s note: Illegible

Caveira’s team

Maverick Vigil Zofia (in red) Lesion Valkyrie Glaz Nokk Warden Iana Mozzie Zero Flores

Zero’s note: Illegible

We have confirmation that all these ops joined Nighthaven traitors. I numbered the notes so you can follow better what Harry is talking about. Let’s begin with the missing image, then IQ, Finka, Smoke, Kali, and last Pulse.

1) I should have known something was up with Ela. I hoped that serving together would remind the sisters of their better years but I guess some wounds don’t heal with time…

2) IQ has been enamored with Nighthaven’s technology since she returned from Singapore. Kali no doubt knows how to dazzle her (??) prospect.

3) I can only assume that during her time on Kali’s team Finka formed some bonds with Nighthaven’s agents. She had everything she needed here but maybe she saw something more there.

*Doesn’t Harry know about her illness? Or didn’t even cross his mind that she’s desperate to find a cure, and the lure of high tech resources might have swayed her?

4) I don’t think Smoke was unhappy with us, but I think his philosophies might have aligned better with his new home. Thatcher is not so hopeful. He won’t say it, but he is torn up over this.

5) Cohen is taking this loss heavy, saying she saw this coming. She doesn’t want to question your judgement, but she’s worried that letting Nighthaven tamper with the Program will affect not just our organization, but the world out there - Zero

*Actually, I think Ash has every right to question Harry’s judgement since he dismissed her worries multiple times, and lo and behold, she was right. I bet she’s also right this time and NH are bad news being out there freely

6) Pulse is one I did not see coming but I understand. He’d lost his sense of wonder and he saw that (??) in Nighthaven. I’ll have to see how Hibana is doing.

We see a spread of newspaper cut-outs, indicating unrest and crime are on the rise.

Yellow note: Zero’s pet project is slowly enlisting the aid of (??) specialists. The associations that he’s making aren’t self-evident. I’m not supposed to ask too many questions… that’s the deal he keeps reminding me of. I just hope he won’t exploit R6 resources for this work (??)…

Report under the note: With your permission, Harry, I would like to send Flores out on a (covered part) suggests white collar crime is on the rise worldwide, and he’s confident there’s a syndicate (covered part). I’ll be monitoring his activity Specialist Ryad “Jackal” Ramirez Al-Hassar

Note: If we want to connect with the world, we should find suitable partners in different fields.Yakate Date Security is a candidate that comes to mind, with everything being online these days. I know someone close to Yakate himself. Let me know if you want to make contact Specialist Yumiko “Hibana” Imagawa

Given the content of the note, the redacted passport from a Japanese woman has to be Azami, confirmed to be the new operator for Season 1. No further references about that Kana/Flubber, but since that operator is placed in Hibana’s team, and some leaks talked about a hole-blocker operator named flubber, I wonder if that was Azami’s work-in-progress name and they just forgot to change it?

I’m very curious about the tank schematic, but since it’s placed next to that robot thing that is Osa’s trademark, I think it’s related to this next report:

Note: Harry, you asked me to dig and I did. Here is what I have on Nighthaven’s base. Schematics, location, aerial, vehicles… It’s not perfect but it’s all I could obtain - legally Specialist Meghan “Valkyrie” Castellano

It seems Harry is worried enough about NH that he wants intel about everything possible. More hints about them being a problem Rainbow will have to face and neutralize, imo.

The picture seems to be a teaser of the upcoming map, the Emerald Plains club/lounge. Confirmed by Kaid’s note:

In all my years I’ve seen many countries, but few felt like home. It’s not my Fortress, but this destination in Ireland has proven reliable in the past. It’s a nice place to unwind. Jalal “Kaid” El Fassi

We have a lot of tech stuff here! Thorn’s razorblooms up top, then a heavy mechanized armor with GIGN on the chest - so we can safely assume it’s a sneak peek of Montagne’s upcoming elite. Then there’s the Kóna stations and the “healing pods” they carry, plus a yellow note with some chemical compound. We also have Flore’s ratero drone, and a schematic of Azami’s knives. The round green gadget eludes me; at first I thought it could be Wamai’s magnets, but he’s not part of Rainbow, and Mira would have no reason to tinker on that gadget?

The note pinned between Monty’s suit and the not-Wamai’s gadget reads: I enjoyed the games but I’m taking a break from the field. There’s a lot of work ahead and I need to make sure our gear is still top of the line. If we ever encounter something like Nighthaven out there, I don’t want our specialist to worry they’ll be outgunned. (Covered) need me I’ll be in my lab Dr. Elena “Mira” Alvarez, director of R&D

And this is all I could get, if I missed anyting, or you have decyphered some of Zero’s notes, or have any other info, please add onto this post!!

#rainbow 6 siege #r6s #rainbow six siege #rainbow 6 #lore analysis & rants

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thewritershelpers · 4 years

Text

How to Write (Accurate) Dinosaurs (Follower Article Submission)

By Salvatore Cucinotta

Dinosaurs are probably the most popular subject in natural sciences and show up in fiction in so many roles it’s dizzying. But they are rarely shown with any accuracy. Depending on the story, that’s okay, and nothing to be ashamed of. However, the opportunities presented with more accurate dinosaurs can often outstrip the flights of fancy they have often been assigned. There’s a lot to cover, because dinosaurs are a very diverse group of animals, and we’ve learned a lot about them since they were first discovered: Even more things recently that get ignored for the ‘popular conscious’ image of these animals.

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Taxonomy: Understanding through Relatives

The first thing to understand is about dinosaurs is where they fit in the tree of life. Their taxonomic cousins are Crocodilians, and their direct descendants are birds. This does mean that birds are dinosaurs. Between the two, we have some very interesting and diverse templates to draw from for comparison. We can also make some speculations on things they may have done when the fossil record doesn’t fails us. This article is going to go on with a mixture of things we do know, and things we can infer. If anything strikes you as off or odd, I fully encourage you to dig deeper on your own. Heck, by the time this article comes out, a new find or paper could make some major changes to the broad generalities presented here. But, for now, if you want to get a simplified understanding, Dinosaurs mix some of the best features of crocs and birds, which allowed them to dominate the world for millions of years.

Jaws and Teeth

With that settled, let’s focus on the animal piece by piece, starting with the head. Dinosaurs tend to have rather powerful jaws. Tyrannosaurs are famous for it, but the bites of most dinosaurs are nothing to sneeze at. Their modern relatives, Crocs and birds, are rather noted for how powerful their bites can be. This is because they all share a similar muscle structure. They have two pairs of muscles on the back of their head as well as one in the center of their head (between the eye and nose) which are all to make the bite that much more powerful. In many dinosaurs, these show up as holes so they can be clearly seen. By comparisons, mammals only have one pair of extra muscles in the back for jaw reinforcement. This is why crocs can crush bones and parrots can crack Brazil nuts. So it becomes easy to picture: a Hadrosaur pulling off chunks of tree wood in tough times, a ceratopsian munching down an entire bush to its stem, or a tyrannosaur, which have the most powerful jaws among dinosaurs, crunching up the bones of its prey. Their jaws are not to be taken lightly. Other big predators have weaker jaws than Tyrannosaurs, but still enough to leave scratch marks on bones.

Teeth come next, and dinosaur teeth are as diverse as their diet. The sauropods have simple, peg like teeth for stripping plants. Others, like Ankylosaurs and Stegosasurs have beaks to crop plants, largely forgoing teeth. All these animals likely had gizzards or advanced stomachs or breaking down plant material like modern birds do (we have known examples from Sauropods, but not from the others, but it would make sense). Ceratopsians and Hadrosaurs have massive batteries of teeth for chewing, and powerful ones at that. Ceratopsians shifted their jaws back and forth to chew rather than side to side like mammals do, while Hadrosaurs did something really weird: they flexed their skull. While their lower jaw just moves up and down, the top looks like it’s squeezed by an invisible hand as they separate, which flexes out when the close, grinding any food caught between them as the top teeth slide down and out over the lower set. In life, it would give it very puffy cheeks as it chewed. Finally, predators largely have teeth for slicing flesh and creating gaping wounds in their prey. Except Tyrannosaurs, those animals had more conical teeth for crushing bone and armor, especially Tyrannosaurus rex. After getting a small enough food item in their mouth, they’d then swallow it whole. It seems theropods ripped prey apart like modern birds do, holding it down with a foot and plucking chunks off to be swallowed.

Tongue Actions

Staying in the mouth, let’s talk about tongues. Our two modern examples show great extremes. In Crocodilians, their tongues are fused to their jaws, while in birds, they can take a variety of forms. This is generally covered by the hyoid bone and a study from June of 2018 ran through what we have of hyoid bones. The short of it being, most carnivorous dinosaurs and the big long-necked ones had crocodilian tongues (yes, even the birdlike ones), while the Ornithischian dinosaurs (duck-billed dinosaurs, horned and armored dinosaurs, etc.) had tongues and could be a bit more elaborate with them. Given the simple jaws of Ankylosaurs, it is thought that their tongues might have been used to aid in grazing, being large, rough, and possibly used in pulling in food.

Horns, Frills, Domes, and Other Weirdness

Now there are dinosaurs that have horns, domes, crests, and other ornamentation on their heads, but they didn’t all use them for the same purposes. In Theropod dinosaurs like Ceratosaurus, Allosaurus, Cryolophosaurus, Carnotaurus, and even Tyrannosaurus rex, the horns, frills, and bumps were most likely display pieces like that of a modern hornbill. They look pretty, but don’t do much else. The Pachycephalosaurs dome heads are often shown ramming each other, and that’s likely accurate. We do have some evidence of lesions from impacts they could not withstand on their massive heads. Now, the Ceratopsian dinosaurs use their horns depending on their family. Chasmosaurine ceratopsians, such as Triceratops, Charmosaurus, and Torosaurus, likely locked horns like deer in shoving matches when battling each other, and used the sturdier horns to defend themselves when they could. Centrosaurine ceratopsians, including Monoclonius, Styracosaurus, and Pachyrhinosaurus did more body shoving and scraping with horns along the frill. So, instead of butting heads, they’d either T-bone their rival, or they’d circle each other to try and flip or knock over their foe. Finally, there’s the big tubes along the heads of lambeosaurine hadrosaurs. These were echo chambers for sound, which will be discussed in more detail below, but in general, these made deep, resonating sounds.

The frills of Ceratopsians likely served two purposes: defense and display. Display among other members of their species being the primary with defense a secondary bonus. And it wasn’t just bone covered in skin. The frills were covered in a keratin sheath like their horns and beaks, and like the beaks of modern birds. This means that they were quite durable, and possibly even brightly colored in life. It’s also fun to note that Tyrannosaurs had a habit of ripping off those frills in order to eat the thick neck muscles behind them.

Of course, the thing about Dinosaur heads, especially in Tyrannosaurs, Hadrosaurs, Ceratopsians, and likely Pachycephalosaurs is how much they change as they the animal ages. Ceratopsians show the most change, as they are born with frills and horns that can barely be notices, but which grow into different shapes for each stage of life. Triceratops has 5 distinct growth stages that we can determine so far, and it is likely other horned dinosaurs had similar stages. Hadrosaurs start with ‘cute’ faces, short nose and big eyes, and which elongate as they age. Tyrannosaur skulls deepen and become more robust as they age, to the point where young Tyrannosaurs have more teeth than the adults. Pachycephalosaurs might go through the most changes, starting with horn-covered heads before growing the dome as the horns shrink, but because their remains are rare and usually incomplete, we can’t say this with certainty.

As a final to-do regarding horned dinosaurs, it has been noted for years that their skulls have massive openings for their nasal passages. Holes far too big to just be for an enhanced sense of smell. One hypothesis about them is that they held air sacs that could inflate for display purposes, like that of a modern hooded seal. If that hypothesis held true, then they would be very showy animals.

(Almost) Bird Brains

Our last stop in the head is in the brain. Dinosaur intelligence is hard area to study since brains themselves don’t fossilize, but the braincase gives us some idea of its size and shape, and thus what it could focus on. This is made trickier because of the transition from more reptilian forms to avian ones, but, again, it gives us a rough estimate of what’s going on between their ears. From what we can deduce, animals like Allosaurus and Carcharodontosaurus were about as smart as modern crocodiles, with smarter ones on the way to being bird like. Some, like Tyrannosaurus, are only just, while one of the most intelligent dinosaurs (Troodon) is about 31.5 to 63% of the way to modern bird intelligence.

This does downplay the movie “Raptors” unlocking doors, or being as smart as crows or parrots, but it doesn’t make them unthinking, unfeeling beasts either. Again, crocodiles are more nuanced than most people are aware. Crocodiles have been seen bringing food to their babies, using very simple tools (putting moss and sticks on them to aid their camouflage), and can be taught a few tricks. They also play. They play with objects (wooden balls, noisy ceramic bits, their prey, floating debris, and even streams of water), they engage in movement play (surfing in waves, using waterslides, and riding currents), and even playing with others. And not just other crocodilians, but otters and even some people. Some of these play bonds can last for years. Crocodilians aren’t just reactive to their environment, they have flexibility in their behavior.

And no dinosaur has a secondary brain in the back to help out. That is total bunk.

All the Better to See You With

We can also tell a lot about the animals’ senses from these brain casts. In general, however, we can say that dinosaurs have great senses of smell and eyesight. Their hearing was good, but geared towards hearing lower sounds than humans are used to. This means that overall, the “It can’t see you if you don’t move” trick from Jurassic Park is patently false. Not only could it see you clearly, and in color, but it would just as easily identify a target through scent alone.

Resonance

Moving down to the throat, we enter the realm of figuring out what sounds dinosaurs made. This is a big area of curiosity, especially with the crests of the various Hadrosaurs being full of air tubes like massive instruments. The sounds of those is pretty well known – something like an alpine horn, but that’s not the limit of what sounds they could make. Modern birds would easily be a writer’s first thought. Birds make all sorts of sounds, from hooting owls to the lyrebirds’ perfect mimicry. However, Dinosaurs don’t have the bones for it. Most of those sounds are made with a bone known as the syrinx. This bone evolved in birds after they became their own group, and is found in no non-avian dinosaurs.

But that doesn’t mean they can’t make noises. Ostriches and bitterns and make booming sounds without the use of their syrinx, and crocodiles are very vocal animals. The chirp of crocodile babies in the nest is well known and documented, as is the mating bellow, and threatening hiss. But there are also calls to alert others to danger, call for help, and even an ‘Umph’ call to assure babies that their mother is near. These tend to be low, deep sounds for the most part, with the mating call going into infrasound ranges. This matches with many types of Dinosaurs. The singing Hadrosaurs and Tyrannosaurs both geared their ears for low frequency sounds. The Hadrosaurs to hear and locate each other, and Tyrannosaurs to listen in and find prey. This means that Tyrannosaurus wouldn’t roar, but something scarier. It could produce this sound without opening its mouth, and even if a hapless human couldn’t hear it, it would reverberate through their entire body.

Dinosaurs Can’t Play Basketball

The next thing to talk about is in the hands. In movies, and even in mounted skeletons, dinosaurs are often shown with their palms facing the ground. It gives raptors a praying mantis-like arm pose and is a product of anthropomorphism. Dinosaurs did not hold their hands like we do. Birds are dinosaurs, and birds hold their hands with their palms facing inward. Maniraptors (a group of dinosaurs including Oviraptor, Velociraptor, and modern birds) could almost fold their arms up like a bird does, though their fingers point to the ground getting only half way to a full bird fold-up. This is important for them because it allows for a ‘flapping’ motion. With this down, they could do all sorts of displays, catching small prey, or execute tighter turns.

Gut-Punch

The next topic is inside a dinosaur, and that is gastralia. This, in birds, is known as the sternum or breastbone. In dinosaurs, it’s basically a set of 8 to 21 reverse ribs that run along the line of the stomach. It is known to be present in Crocodiles and the Tuatara, and we have fossil evidence for it in many Theropods and Prosauropods. It seems to be absent from the giant Sauropods and Ornithischian dinosaurs. In life, they provide extra protection and muscle attachment points for the body mostly related to how they breathe.

Huff and Puff

Dinosaurs, like their descendants and relatives, have extremely efficient and powerful lungs unlike any other group of animals. They cycle through without pause, cleanly and efficiently. Throw in the hollow bones of Sauropods and Theropods, and like birds they become even more efficient with their breathing. This means they have very high endurance. The marathon flights of birds are a good benchmark for non-bird dinosaurs. It also means they can survive lower oxygen levels than us mammals can with fewer side effects. So the longer a chase scene goes on with a dinosaur, the more likely it’s going to win.

Serpentine! Serpentine!

The legs come next, and they are one of the defining features of dinosaurs and birds. They are extremely efficient runners. Their ankles and knees are simple door hinge joints, and their hips connect to their legs with a wheel joint. Even better, dinosaurs have a muscle attaching to the back of their thigh and connecting to their tail, making their run that much more powerful and efficient. So, dinosaurs can run quite well and for long periods of time. But they have trouble on turns. The tail can be used as a lever to aid in turns, but they’d still rather run straight than turn. So, when chased by a dinosaur, the best strategy is to get to cover and zig-zag randomly. Because you sure as hell aren’t outlasting them.

Speed wise, dinosaurs can do pretty well. It varies a lot by species. Tracks can tell us some answers, as can biomechanical analysis. It’s hard to pin down, and many a mathematical formula has been put together to try and figure out these speeds, with some variable ranges. The big theropods have a speed range between 10 and 25 mph. Large raptors around 20mph, with their smaller relatives 25-30mph. Smaller therapods can hit up to 45 mph, with the Ornithomimids hitting 50 mph at the most. The hadrosaurs tend towards 25-30mph. Ceratopsians tended to run at most just under 20mph. Armored dinosaurs and large sauropods tend to be the slowest, the fastest of these going roughly 6 mph.

Like today, predators have quicker pickup than herbivores, who are geared for more long distance running. Throw in all those adaptations for endurance and we have some real marathon runners here. In other words, predators tend to be sprinters, herbivores tend to be distance runners, but both are distance runners compared to mammals.

Ouch!

While we’re inside, let’s talk briefly about healing and injury. Dinosaurs are quite robust and tough animals. Their immune system is that of birds and crocodiles. When faced with an infection, their immune system isolates it. This makes it take longer to heal, but prevents septicemia/blood poisoning among other benefits. This does sometimes lead to amputation of toes in some animals. There are instances of healed creatures in many skeletons, though a bad break in a leg or along the spine can still be fatal. They still suffered some diseases. Tyrannosaurus for example has evidence from several individuals of a bone infection that seems to have been spread among them via face biting. Whether this face biting was social interaction of some sorts, violent interspecies conflict, or minor dominance displays while feeding like wolves do today is unknown.

Warm Blooded, Cold Blooded, or Something In Between?

At this point, it’s pertinent to mention how active dinosaurs were. The term “Mesotherm” is often put about them, and it seems to fit. They are between “Hot Blooded” Endotherms like birds and mammals, and “Cold Blooded” Ectotherms, like crocodiles and other reptiles. The short of it is, Dinosaurs were on a gradient of activity levels. Mostly above that of modern crocodiles (who are already geared to be as energy efficient as possible), up to that of modern birds. They wouldn’t bask in the sun by and large, but could do with less food than a mammal of similar size. What’s really fun is the cheat they use to assist that even more. See, most energy in mammals and birds is used to keep us warm and active. But this has a direct relationship with body size. The smaller an animal is, the more energy is needed to keep it warm. But large animals can keep themselves warm through their bulk alone. This is sometimes termed “Gigantothermy.” And dinosaurs hit that sweet spot really well, being able to outdo mammals and be more fuel efficient while doing so. Still, if the idea of the warmth of a group of mammals seems fanciful, remember: opossums, echidnas, and platypus’ have an average body temperature so low none of them can carry rabies.

The Way Out

Next, we come to an ‘exit’ from the internal stuff: a dinosaur’s butt, because dinosaur butts are weird. See, mammals from horses to humans are … different from other vertebrates. We have separate orifices for releasing both forms of waste as well as our reproductive system. Most other animals, well, they have their waste disposal plant and their amusement park in the same place. This is called a cloaca and is a universal organ for waste and reproduction. Birds, crocs, and dinosaurs have it. Even egg-laying mammals have it. It’s the standard from which modern mammals deviated. Because of this, dinosaurs can’t use urine to mark territory because they have no way of expelling it separate from other excrement. So, dinosaur poo would either be like that of a bird, or like that of a crocodile. On the plus side, this does make them quite good at retaining water, and makes them basically immune to being kicked in the crotch.

Eggs, Nests, and Parenting.

The other thing to come out of that hole, eggs, leads easily into nesting behavior. We only have a few nests we can fully identify, as well as dozens more which we can’t tell who they’re from. And the nests and their uses varied a lot. Some animals were nest bound after hatching, dependent on the parents for food. Others were like young reptiles of today, hatching ready to move and work largely on their own. It is likely, given crocodiles, that there was some parental protection early in life for most species. They had a high number of young, which compensated for the high attrition rates of young individuals. So, even the best mother lizards would lose quite a few children with each brood. In short, seeing a single child from a nest or as a yearling is not only inaccurate, but has extremely depressing implications.

In general, there were two major methods of nest building: the crocodile method, and the bird method. The crocodile method was taken up by the majority of dinosaurs. This being building a nest of rotting vegetation and covering the eggs, letting the warmth of rotting vegetation incubate the eggs. The latter is far better known, where the parents) use their warmth to incubate the eggs (though they were nested in rotting vegetation as well, a between stage for bird and crocodilian styles as it were). This more modern strategy is only found in smaller animals, and of those, the ones that were heavily feathered.

Scales, Dino-Fuzz, and Feathers

Yes, feathers. Dinosaurs have feathers. This is partly because birds are dinosaurs, and partly because of the “Ancestrally Filamentous Hypothesis” where the common ancestor of dinosaurs were likely feathered, or more accurately covered in filaments that are ancestral to feathers. This is because we have dinosaurs on both major branches with feathers and filaments of varying types and it is likely that they are from the same source, but it could be independent evolution as well.

But what’s really weird about dinosaur feathers is the fact that they are not mutually exclusive (meaning a dinosaur can have feathers and scales, and not just in patches either, but all mixed together), that some of the scales on some dinosaurs might be feathers that have become scales once again, and that there are occasionally multiple stages of feathers present on the same animal. There’s three basic stages (with 5 when you really get down to the nitty gritty things). These are the filament (hollow hair-like feathers somewhat similar looking, though often shorter, than what is seen today in emus and kiwis), plumulaceous (Fluffy down-like feathers), and pennaceous (and branching feathers from a central shaft). The latter are the majority of feather types on a bird, varying in how they are interwoven.

Armored dinosaurs (Stegosaurs, Ankylosaurs), Pachycephalosaurs, and Sauropods have no direct evidence for feathers on them, and aside from polar animals, very small animals, or sporadic display points probably didn’t have any. The scale impressions we have of sauropods and Ankylosaurs indicate rather crocodilian-like heavy scales, with smaller ones at the joints to ease movement. This includes the armor which, like the backs of crocodiles, were scales with boney core. And yes, some later Sauropods (such as Saltosaurus and Alamosaurus) did have body armor, though not to the extent of Ankylosaurs.

Ceratopsians or Horned dinosaurs have evidence of the first type of feathers on their bodies, namely long quills on the top of the tail of Psittacosaurus (along with a skin of fine scales whose coloration, that is similar to a modern deer, was also preserved). The skin impressions of Triceratops dinosaurs show they had more crocodilian-like armored scales, but also knob points where either spines or feather quills could have grown out. Given the size and placement, they might have been for display structures or they could have been more porcupine-like quill spines. But because this specimen is in the hands of a private collector, it has so far not been studied.

Ornithopods (duck-billed dinosaurs, Iguanodons, and small herbivores often called “Hypsilophodontids”) have several mummies preserving scaly skin, but Kulindadromeus, a primitive member of this family, had a very distinct body covering. Its face, shins, and tail were scaly, easily enough. But the torso, neck and head were covered in filamentous feathers, while its arms and thighs had plumulaceous coverings. So, it’s possible for Ornithopods to have all sorts of feathers, though it seems the larger ones preferred scales as far as we can tell so far, it doesn’t rule out feathered parts of the body as well, or mixed/alternating scales and feathers like the feet of some birds have.

Therapod feathers are extremely complicated since they include birds, and show the most diversity. We generally don’t have evidence for feathers in Ceratosaurs, Abeliosaurs, Megalosaurs, Spinosaurs, Allosaurs, or Carcharodontosaurs, but because of what we know of their ancestry, it is possible these animals had at least some filaments in scattered parts for display. Compsognathids and Tyrannosaurs have family members depicting plumulaceous feathers, including Yutyrannus which is so far the largest dinosaur to have such feathers (30ft long).

From there we get into properly bird-like and the feathers become more obvious. Therizinosaurs have plumulaceous feathers, while Oviraptors, Ornithomimids, and “Raptors” all have pennaceous feathers. Meaning that the latter three had wings. They couldn’t fly with them (well, maybe the juveniles can when they’re small and light enough for it), but they are still useful for a wide variety of things: shading young/eggs when nesting, social displays/mating dances, guiding movement when running like modern ostriches do, to aid in climbing like modern birds use them for (flapping furiously), or to pick up speed while running, or use them for balance when sinking their claws into prey like modern birds of prey do. There are a lot of ways birds use their wings for reasons other than flight, and the same might be true for non-avian dinosaurs that had them.

But let’s not forget the scales too. The do appear on dinosaurs are for the most part rather small. The scales preserved on tyrannosaurs are best measured in millimeters, with an animal up to 40 ft. long, it would make the skin look rather leathery at a distance, but when you get close to it and feel it, it would be rougher, pebbly, but still rather soft like a bird’s foot. Some animals, like Edmontosaurus had a mosaic of tiny scales where the animal would flex, with sections of larger, bumpier scales in between. And then there are the more armored ones on Sauropods and Ceratopsians. Overall, each dinosaur is going to look different from what you see in Jurassic Park.

But, in short, a dinosaur with feathers is more accurate than one without them.

Other weird skin-related tissues include: Edmontosaurus annectens of the animal having a crest of soft tissue or wattle like that of a chicken, Tarbosaurus bataar having a throat pouch like a modern frigate bird, and Diplodocus having Iguana-like spines down their back (though how big they are in proportion to the rest of the body is unknown).

Modern birds have a myriad of fleshy formations on their heads, as well as bizarre ways of arranging feathers. From turkeys and chickens, to kiwi whiskers and quails topknots, don’t be afraid to use them to lend character to your creatures.

Colors

The last part to talk about is color. We actually do know the coloration of a few dinosaurs. Psittacosaurus and a medium sized ankylosaur Borealopelta have deer-like countershading coloration. A tan brown up top with a lighter color for their belly and dark patches around the face or armored scutes. Yes, even armored Ankylosaurs have camouflage. And those were scaly animals for the most part, most color information comes from feathers. Anchiornis feathers are largely black with blotches of gray, splashes of white (forming a white background with black spots across on the wings), and a brilliant red crest. Sinosauropteryx has a color pattern very similar to that of a modern coati, orange-brown up top with a lighter belly, bandit-mask of orange-brown over its face and white/orange-brown stripes running up its tail like a ring-tailed lemur. Finally, the proto-bird dinosaurs Archaeopteryx and Microraptor were black for the most part, with Archaeopteryx having white tips, and Microraptor’s black being more iridescent-black.

This means that, color wise, we have a lot of options between these findings and what we see in modern birds. Animals that rely on camouflage would do their best to match their environment: browns, greens, and blacks being common. But we’d also see brilliant colors for display, possibly leading to dances that go with the colors. Predatory dinosaurs might have colorations similar to eagles and hawks of today. Think first of where the animal lives and what it’s doing. Then you’re going to have to think of birds or other animals that fill a similar basic role and see what catches your eye.

I Blame Society

There’s only so much we can say about behavior that is not tied to the body directly. Footprints tell us some things, but only give us short scenes. Still, we can say a few things with some confidence. There are three ways Dinosaurs group together. The first is in what is best termed a flock. They travel among their own kind as a group for protection. We see this in sauropod trackways, mass grave sites of ceratopsians, and among hadrosaur group nesting sites. It seems Ankylosaurs were mostly solitary. Other dinosaurs seemed to form smaller groups if at all. The next structure is rare and rather speculative: a pack. Popularised among “raptors”, there is also evidence for this among some Tyrannosaurs. A pack is a family unit with parents and children being raised together, sometimes in expanded form. It’s common in mammals, but rare in modern dinosaurs. Only the Harris Hawk displays this social structure, though crows have something...similar, but different crows are always outsmarting things. The last is possibly the most frightening: a bask. Crocodiles can be social animals. In fact, many are. They gather together in certain locations they know food to be plentiful and wait together for it to show up. This is probably best exemplified by the river crossings of wildebeest and zebra in Africa. Crocodiles gather at these points to wait for their prey to arrive, and then work together to take down prey as well as rip it apart. There is evidence of such basks being used by Allosaurus and it is not much of a stretch to extend it to related animals. They gathered by a watering hole in the dry season and took down prey that came to drink.

Wrap-up and Further Reading

This is a lot to digest, but it should give you a very solid handle on how to handle dinosaurs going forward in your stories. They are weird and wonderful animals, but never forget that they are animals and not monsters. It’s fun to hype of the deadliness of predators, but remember: the most dangerous animal in Africa is an herbivore, as are most of the “African Big 5”. Herbivores are more likely to (and more willing to) kill than predators. They just want an easy meal.

If you want more information, and can’t make it to a museum to talk up a volunteer or a resident paleontologist, I suggest checking out the tumblr A Dinosaur a Day, the youtube series Your Dinosaurs are Wrong from the Geek Group, as well as the youtube channel Trey the Explainer.

#How to Write Accurate Dinosaurs #Writing Help #Writing Dinosaurs #Dinosaurs #Writing Advice #Comprehensive Writing Guides #TWH Follower Article Submission #majingojira #Describing dinosaurs

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theskyeandsea · 3 years

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The Skye & Sea || Orion, Shiloh, & Skylar

Timing: Early morning, January 20th

Location: Skylar and Rio’s Home & the sea

Tagging: @3starsquinn, @evanescentform, @theskyeandsea

Description: Rio and Shiloh help Skylar return home.

TW: Drug use, addiction, memory loss, body horror, chronic illness, previous instances of abuse mentions

Cold. That was the first thing Skylar noticed as she pushed open the door to her house. She wasn’t sure when she’d realized that she felt cold, but she felt freezing as she made her way through the house. Her clothes were still soaked in blood, still torn in places from where she’d been stabbed, from where they’d caught on branches when she’d run from… Who’s house had she run from again? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. She was cold and she wanted, she needed-- Shivering, Skylar wrapped her arms around herself, the lesions on her arms beginning to crack as she did. They didn’t hurt, but Skylar looked at them and knew that she needed them to be gone, that her body wanted them to be gone. She wanted to be warm, she would swallow the sun and let it burn her from the inside out if it would get rid of this cold.

As she made her way through the house, Skylar caught sight of Dundee, his hackles raised and dark eyes staring at her with alarm. There was a presence about him, something darker, something strange that she’d never really noticed about him until this moment. Stepping towards him, Skylar was halted when the tiny dog let out a deep, echoing bark that caught her off guard.

Orion rubbed at his eyes and blinked back into focus on the bathroom mirror. He hadn’t been sleeping well, too much on his mind about Skylar’s situation. How had he missed so much? Rio probably saw her more than anyone else. He lived in her house. And yet this took him by surprise. He knew something was off when he heard the door open. He was expecting Shiloh. After what they had seen with Skylar both were concerned. But he could tell it wasn’t Shiloh that had just walked in. The confusion only doubled when he heard Dundee start barking. He slid out of the bathroom and made his way towards the entrance, stopping short when he saw that Dundee was barking at Skylar. On instinct, Rio touched at the palm of his hand wrapped in gauze. “Skylar. Thank god you’re back. You-” Don’t look good. That’s what he wanted to say. She looked horrible. Sad, sick, hurt. He wanted to rush over. Help her clean off the dried blood and fix whatever was wrong. But her words held him back. She hadn’t wanted his help. And he wasn’t sure if that had changed or not. “Are you okay?”

All they could do was wait for Skylar to come home, hope that she would. Shiloh couldn’t stop her mind from going to its darkest thoughts, completely in fear that something bad had happened. With every passing second she feared her thoughts had come true. If she wasn’t thinking about that she was thinking about what Skylar said about hunters. She didn’t know which one was better to focus on. She jumped from her seat in the living room at the sound of the door opening but she still was second - or third to be aware of Skylar’s presence. It was such a relief to see her standing there, alive. Shiloh was the first to walk over to Skye, once again not even taking a second look to see if Skye was armed like before, she just saw how terrible she looked and knew it couldn’t wait. She held out her hand for Skylar to hold onto. Frankly she didn’t know how the girl was still standing. “I’ve got you,” Shiloh spoke, her voice remaining calm and gentle, not wanting to alarm Skylar or make her feel bad for what she had done. Right now there was no room for judgment. All that mattered was making sure Skylar got the help she needed. It didn’t look like she had any blood on her that was fresh, so that was a good thing.

At first, Skylar was alone. And then, suddenly, Rio was there and Shiloh. Both of them. Why were they both here-- oh. He lived there, Rio lived there. But Shiloh, why did she care? Why was she here and why was she looking at her like that? Shivering, Skylar curled in on herself, ignoring the hand Shiloh offered her way. She didn’t want Shiloh to have to touch, to feel the dark scabs that covered her skin. As she rubbed her hands over her arms, Skylar felt a slight peeling followed by a sharp sting of pain. Pain. Pain. Glancing down, she looked at her arms and saw that her arms were beginning to ooze a strange sort of liquid. It wasn’t blood, but it didn’t look good. Looking back up at the two of them with bleary eyes, Skylar shook her head. No, she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay. “I need--” Bliss, she wanted to say. She wanted all of this to melt away and for the painlessness to return. She was just so cold and so tired and the pain was coming back. It was all coming back.

But, what came out of her mouth instead was, “I need my skin. My skin, I… I haven’t turned in,” Skylar paused, unable to remember the last time she’d turned. Months. Months at the very least. She’d pushed the symptoms off for as long as she could, but she was… dying. “I need to turn. I need the ocean and I need… my skin.”

Guilt bit at Orion at how quickly Shiloh ignored any apprehensions and ran right up to Skylar upon seeing her. Should Rio have done that too? Would Rio have done that months ago? He dug his hands into his pockets and glanced at the floor, suddenly ashamed that he was intruding on the moment. He almost turned to leave the entryway, and let Shiloh help where he clearly couldn’t. The least he could do is distract Dundee. But Skylar mentioning her skin stopped Rio before he could completely turn to leave. He shot a glance over at Shiloh, unsure if she knew about Skylar’s secret. It seemed that way, by Skylar’s ready admission to needing it. “It’s in her room” Rio stated simply, nodding to Shiloh that they should grab it for her. “We can get it. Can you meet us at the pool?”

At the sound of the word ‘pool’, the cloying chemical scent of chlorine filled Skylar’s nostrils and she immediately shook her head. No, no, she didn’t want the pool. Just the thought of being in those waters made her skin crawl-- in an almost literal sense, she could see the scabs on her arms cracking and breaking as she twisted to face Rio. “No, I can’t, not there. I need… I need to go to the ocean. The sea. I have to be there, I have to turn there.” She said, unable to put the pull in her gut into words. The cold, the pervasive cold that was sinking into her bones, for some reason it felt as though the icy waves would ease it from her system. Or maybe it was her skin. Maybe if she buried herself in her skin and sank like a stone through the waves, she’d be able to feel like herself again. Whatever herself even was.

Shiloh had no idea what her skin was. Clearly it had to be a selkie thing but, what did it look like? “Uh,” Shiloh licked her lips, glancing from Rio to Skye. So the pool was out of the question and Skye needed her skin to shift. But Shiloh didn’t want to pretend she knew all about that and at the same time didn’t want to look like a complete idiot not knowing anything. “Can you go get it?” She asked Rio, understanding if he didn’t want to go but she really didn’t want to invade her privacy and considering Rio was her roommate… it would be fine right? “We’ll take you to the ocean okay? I promise. Let’s get in the car and go to the ocean.” Shiloh repeated hoping Skylar would trust her. She kept her hands to herself, noticing how Skylar seemed to keep away from her touch rather than seek it. That was fine. Whatever made Skylar most comfortable.

“Got it! Be right back!” Orion spun on his heels and jogged to Skylar’s bedroom. He froze just outside her door, hand hovering over the door handle. The last time he had gone into her room by himself it hadn’t gone well. This time, he at least had permission to get it, but he couldn’t brush off the nerves that kept biting at him. Back in her old apartment, he was breaking into her room to see if she was supernatural. To try to figure out how to keep her safe. Now he lived with her and he was going in to find the same skin that he had found the first time. Only this time she seemed way past needing protection. Big failure there. With a final sigh Rio pushed into the room and started searching her room.

Unfortunately, Orion found way more than just her selkie skin. The room was a disaster, but among the mess, Rio couldn’t miss the pills or the needles. They scattered the bed and the desk, and Rio wasn’t naive or nearly innocent enough to feign ignorance. He knew exactly what that meant. And suddenly, any signs that Rio had wanted to ignore were glaringly apparent. Rio didn’t know how to even begin processing this, but right now he didn’t have the time. He grabbed the selkie skin and ran out of the house to the car, jumping in the back seat. “I uh- Grabbed it. In your room. Where I found the skin. Because that’s where it was. We should probably go to the beach. We can talk later.”

A shiver ran down Skylar’s spine, a violent tremor as another wave of cold rushed over her. She could feel… her limbs. Her arms felt as though they were being pulled from her sockets by the oppressive force of gravity, as though someone had pumped her veins full of lead. She shook slightly, teeth chattering as she tried to hold herself tighter. She just wanted to be warm again, to be nestled in the soft fur of her skin and let it melt into her body. Her bones ached for the soothing touch of the sea and she knew more than ever that she needed it. “Mhm. Need to go to the ocean.” Skylar repeated, following after Shiloh towards the car. When she reached for the door of the car, her hand felt heavier than it had in ages. The boundary of the door and her skin was once more in place, she couldn’t sense the gaps and spaces that existed between them, couldn’t press her hands through the void. But, maybe that was for the best, Skylar mused as the blood crusted bandages around her fingers darkened.

Skylar hardly noticed when Rio jumped into the car, she only felt the warmth of her skin enter the car. Her arms reached out for it, snatching it from his grasp. Skylar pressed it to her chest, the bloodied, matted fur staining her shirt. It was hers. And she needed it, she needed it now more than ever. “Thank you.” She managed, her voice coming out in a hoarse whisper as she looked at the two of them with glazed over eyes. “I just… Please. I just need to turn.”

Shiloh led Skylar to the car, entering the drivers side once she was settled. Rio joined them shortly after and she turned to look at them, catching how Skylar held the skin. While concerned, Shiloh felt hopeful that this time, they would be able to help her. More importantly, Skylar was willing to let them. She gave a small smile and started the car, heading for the shortest path to the ocean. While she drove, she kept glancing in her rear view mirror to check on them both. She worried something would have Skye change her mind in the last minute. Shiloh debated locking the car but she trusted them. It would be fine. She pulled up as close to the ocean as she could and then got out of the car. She walked over to Skylar, close but keeping a respectable distance away. “Do you need help with anything?” Shiloh asked, hoping she didn’t come off too clueless - not that it would be the furthest thing from the truth but she was embarrassed by it.

The ride went by in a blur of street lights and the dull rumble of the car engine. Skylar remained curled up in the backseat, the last ounces of her energy slowly draining from her body. Pain, months and months of pain that she’d been holding off by never turning, it was returning with a vengeance. The weeping sores on her legs and arms felt worse than they ever had, like her entire skin was going to slough off if she moved the wrong way. Her muscles were stiff and sore, pain shooting through her body with awful familiarity. Memories of her childhood, weeks and weeks spent in a haze of pain and delirium as she kept feeling worse and worse. Until her parents finally let her turn. She needed the pain to end, she needed to turn.

As soon as the car came to a stop, Skylar practically threw herself out of the vehicle. The sand shifted under her feet as she stumbled towards the ocean. “I just, I need. I need to get to the water.” She managed, the words more like a gasp of pain than anything else. She took great gasping gulps of air as she lurched across the sand, her hands pulling her shirt over her head on instinct. She needed these clothes off of her, they were wrong, they were wrong. She shed clothes behind her, the scent of the ocean sharp and cold and fresh in her lungs as she ran. She hated it. She needed it. She needed to turn.

The drive to the water was tense, all three too busy worrying about what was going to happen to spend much time talking about it with each other. When they got there, Orion hesitated on how involved he should be in getting Skylar to the water. She had tried to convince him that her words about hunters hadn’t applied to him. But he wasn’t sure that he could believe it. Not when so much of what she had said rang true for himself. But this wasn’t about his own insecurities right now. He just needed to get Skye to the water. “Grab onto me.” Rio reassured her. Even if she was very much topless. He couldn’t focus on that right now. Just helping Skye. Once they got in, she could use the skin to dive deeper down. His jeans and hoodie wasn’t ideal swimwear, but he would probably only need to get waist deep. He struggled with her, wading out into the water and trying to hold her still against the waves. If Rio wasn’t so worried about her well being, he would have to focus on the fact that he was very much clothed and she was very much not. But aside from the averting eyes and bright red cheeks, Rio mostly ignored the sight and continued forward. “You got this, okay? You don’t need us for this part.”

Shiloh gently guided Skylar to the water, going as far as Rio did, following his lead. She figured the clothes would have to come off but didn’t expect Skye to so quickly take them off. She maintained a respectful gaze before looking over at Rio. It seemed he had since averted his eyes too and she smiled at the blush that colored his cheeks. “Should we stay around until she comes back?” Maybe he knew what were the next steps to take. Shiloh was kind of amazed at how natural it was for Skye to take to the water and she felt hopeful that Skye would be able to take care of herself but her previous actions did cast some doubt in her mind. She looked over again, this time unable to see her, it was like she wasn’t even there. She got out of the water, walking over to grab her discarded clothes. She wasn’t sure if washing them would get everything out but it didn’t feel right to just leave them there.

Skylar barely noticed how Shiloh and Rio were guiding her through the water. Her focus was solely on easing the pain that was now running rampant through her body. Her muscles ached and her joints screamed in protest as she forced herself to fight against the waves, her skin draped over her shoulders. The water was cold, so cold against her skin, running in sharp contrast to the thick, warm blood that weeped from her skin. The sores on her arms were oozing into the ocean as her fingers clumsily searched for the long slit in the skin. She needed to do this, she needed to turn, she needed to be… this. If she wanted to live, she had to turn. With a gasp of effort, Skylar sank under the water and slipped into the skin.

Her bones creaked and shifted, unused to this form that they hadn’t taken on in months. Her fins were weak and soft as Skylar did her best to fight against the current that threatened to sweep her away. Her eyes, so used to air, burned around the edges as the salt water rushed around her. But, already the pain was easing, the ache in her bones ceasing, the small sores all over her body closing. The icy water wrapped around her like a soft caress, pulling her deeper into its embrace. It was hell. It was heaven. It was everything she needed. Skylar pushed herself to the surface, sucking in a deep gulp of air before staring at Rio and Shiloh for a moment, her dark eyes blinking at them. They’d saved her. For now, they’d saved her.

With a huffing groan, Skylar propelled herself back into the water and let the current take her.

#p: tsas #tw addiction #tw drug use #tw memory loss #tw body horror #tw chronic illness #tw abuse mentions #p: orion quinn #p: shiloh kent #wickedswriting #//as always if youd like a tw free recap just let me know!#//massive thanks to everyone who's been a part of this plot; you've all been amazing

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lodi-writes · 3 years

Text

Leave a Mark

Fandom: Uta no Prince-sama

Character: Ootori Eiichi

Genre: One shot, Basically Crack idk brah

Rating: T (I guess)

Word Count: 2,062

Based on this concept: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203698

...

The sound of my soft pants felt as though they echoed through the suddenly quiet room, filling the tense air around me. The way my sweat slicked hair stuck to my forehead made my skin crawl, not because of the feeling itself but due to what caused it. “The cause” happened to be the equally out of breath but less tense man lying next to me. His usually messy hair was somehow even messier, his usually pristine skin was heavily bruised with satisfyingly dark punctures littering the purple and red lesions. But best of all, his usually perfectly sized, perfectly placed “all natural” beauty mark was delightfully smeared across his cheek. Getting the absolute satisfaction of smearing that mark was akin to the feeling of seductively removing someone’s gloves. It was utterly, marvelously tantalizing.

I raked my fingers through my hair to pull it off my forehead and sighed. The room was hot but as much as I wanted to push off the thick, bougie covers, I couldn’t help but feel Eiichi’s eyes boring into my skin, as if he were waiting to see me bare naked again. Even after everything that had just happened, I felt as though him seeing me disrobed in a nonsexual setting would make me...unclean. I was relieved to have released the tension that had built between us amidst the hatred and boiling, raw emotions, but I couldn’t help thinking that I needed to do something to get back the bit of dignity I had lost during this encounter. Breaking the silence, Eiichi excused himself to the restroom before placing a kiss on my temple; I waited until he turned his back on me to close my eyes and shudder. I knew that if I was going to act, this would be my one and only chance.

The moment I heard the click of the bathroom lock, I finally pushed the disgustingly expensive leopard print covers off my body, almost moaning in pure content at the cold air rushing over my body. I let myself indulge in the feeling for just a beat before springing into action. I started by throwing my long ago discarded shirt back on, in the off chance that I was caught in the act. The entire time, my eyes were glued on my prey: Eiichi’s vanity, pushed up for some god awful reason against the wall directly next to two side by side full length mirrors. Deciding last minute to also pull my shorts on, I squeezed and tucked my underwear into one of the front pockets as I quickly made my way over to the grossly elegant, deep cherrywood table.

Even before I stood directly in front of the vanity, I started to reach out. I was a woman on a mission. Stopping before I ran into the drawers, I grabbed one of the obnoxiously ornate knobs and pulled open the top drawer. I quickly and quietly rifled through the piles of sharpies and pencils and no-longer-sticky sticky notes when I found my prize: a small tin full of eyebrow pencils labeled “Beauty Mark.” Grinning to myself, I pulled out the tin and ran my hand across all the other contents of the drawer, putting it all back to the organized mess it was before.

I made my way back toward the bed, considering for a moment that I should pull the covers up so they weren’t half on the ground but decided against it. I would not be ashamed to admit that I took a tiny bit of pleasure from the thought of the unsavory sheets collecting dirt from the floor and Eiichi not knowing how to clean it out. I considered for a moment pouring a bit of wine on the sheets from the almost empty bottle on the nightstand, but I wasn’t that cruel. Or maybe I was. I wrapped my fingers nimbly around the neck of the bottle and let a small bit splash out on the bed. The splattered stain, I thought, made the abhorrent design just a little more bearable from the idea that he would have to live with that stain for as long as he owned the sheet set.

I placed the now empty bottle back down on the nightstand with a clink and got to work. I swiftly grabbed my purse off the ground and slid the pencil tin into the inner pouch, noting for the first time since coming here how equally repugnant the overly detailed marble flooring was. Resisting the urge to gag, I slipped my shoes on, threw my purse over my shoulder, and quickly made my way over to the door. I had my fingers wrapped around the knob, so close to freedom, when I heard the muffled padding sound of bare feet on the marble along with an almost inaudible gasp. I sighed and turned around in defeat, knowing I’d been caught, but when I saw the look of despair on Eiichi's face I thought maybe it wasn’t so bad. I got the chance to savor the look for just a bit before I made my escape.

“Thanks for everything, but I’d best be on my way. It’s getting late,” I told him with a cheeky smile. My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and noted that it wasn’t even midnight yet. I prayed he wouldn’t notice. I didn’t give him the chance to respond, gripping the strap of my purse with one hand and giving him a two fingered salute with the other. I turned back to the door and started out, deciding to indulge a bit by throwing a look over my shoulder as I left, catching one last glimpse of his absolutely shattered, dejected expression.

...

Groaning loudly as he turned off the obnoxiously blaring alarm, Eiichi’s slowly waking mind immediately recalled the knot he’d felt in the pit of his stomach as he watched her retreating figure. His throat tightening at the memory of how the sound of the door slamming shut reverberated through his large room. He’d fallen back asleep soon after, but not without tears in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to curl back up in bed and wallow in his misery of now knowing that he was nothing more than a one night stand to her. However, he had a job to do.

As he sat up, stretching out his arms and yawning, he paused. Something was out of place. In fact, several things were out of place. The first he noted was that his sheets were strewn about, half on the floor. Rolling to the side of his bed, he began to blindly pull them back up. Once again he gave pause, this time because a large portion of the fabric felt, well, sticky. At first he thought it was a result of the prior nights...escapades, but upon examination, found a large red stain. He eyed the empty bottle on the nightstand and tightened his fists in the fabric before letting go with a sigh.

Eiichi considered himself to be quite knowledgeable in many regards but home maintenance was certainly not one of those. Given this, and the fact that he lived alone, he thought it wise for the time being to simply flip the sheets over. During this surprisingly laborious task given the large, some may even say irritating, nature of his bed, he caught sight of himself in his vanity mirror. He looked positively awful . His normally messy hair would seem pristine compared to the monstrosity of knots and flyaways it was in that moment. His cheeks were red and eyes puffy with crust in the corners. He quickly wiped his eyes and tried to give himself a smile. It wasn’t anything some dry conditioner and concealer couldn’t fix.

After a good hour and a half of dressing and redressing, combing and spraying, Eiichi sat himself down at his vanity with a smile, a genuine one this time. He was rather proud of the work he’d done making it look like he’d gotten a full night's sleep, void of any heartbreak. His hair looked like it did on an average day and his eyes no longer showed signs of despair. It was finally time for the finishing touch, his most well kept secret: his beauty mark. As if it were second nature, he swiftly slid the top drawer of his vanity open and reached in. Quickly noticing an empty space the size of, say, a pencil box, he scowled and began a frenzied search of every drawer within his reach.

Suddenly, Eiichi froze in place as realization crept onto his face, keeping so still as though he believed that if he didn’t move then it wouldn’t be true. He cautiously turned his head back toward his bed, glaring at the stained sheets. In a burst of energy, he let out an enraged, frustrated scream. Fueled by pure, unadulterated anger, he yanked a drawer out of the vanity and dropped it to the floor. The nauseatingly glossy wood cracked on impact and the knob fell off with a clank. He stood so fast that his chair tumbled and fell beside the drawer but it was as if he didn’t even notice. Racing over to his bedside, he started reaching for random objects, starting with his suffocating decorative throw pillows, and throwing them aggressively against the far wall of his room. Once he ran out of pillows he glanced around desperately until his eyes landed on the empty wine bottle. Gripping it by the neck, he raised his arm over his head, aimed for his vanity mirror, and then-

A series of unending knocks at his front door echoed through the halls up to his room. Only a split second of thought was needed before Eiichi tossed the bottle on his bed, smacked his cheeks a few times, and scrambled to answer the door. The relentless knocking only ended when the door was opened, but was almost immediately replaced by howling laughter that could only belong to a gremlin of a boy who knew exactly what he came for. Of course if anyone were to immediately find out about this, it would be Nagi. If he were being honest, he should have expected Nagi to show up even sooner.

Before he could stop his laughter and begin his teasing, Eiichi started to close the door, but Nagi reached out to keep it propped open.

“Wait, wait,” Nagi finally choked out between lingering chuckles. He cleared his throat and held out a dented metal box.

“I found this in your yard and-”

Eiichi immediately yanked it out of his hand and opened it, but was, for what felt like the millionth time, heart broken.

“And it was empty. As I’m sure you’ve realized,” the small boy held a hand over his mouth to cover his smile, knowing fully well that it was still obvious in his eyes that he was thoroughly enjoying this. Eiichi, however, did not find it as humorous, tossing the box over his shoulder somewhere on the floor of his foyer.

“I can’t show my face anywhere ever again, Nagi,” he began to ramble and his eyes welled up with tears. “I’ll have to become a hermit, I can never perform again, I can’t go to the grocery store without a bag over my head and, and...”

“Oh my god shut up!” Throwing his arms in the air, clearly he was no longer laughing. “You ruined it. It was hilarious but now you're all weepy and it’s just...sad. Hurry up, we gotta get to rehearsal.”

Eiichi wiped some tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand and sniffled. Nagi gagged at the sound of Eiichi’s snot and threw a small package of tissues from his coat pocket at him.

“Hurry uuuuuup, I swear.”

“But, but I can’t go. Everyone will notice. Everyone will stare .”

“ God , no one’ll notice, I promise. It’s not that bad.”

“Really?”

“Yes really, now please let’s go. And blow your nose, I gave you tissues. Use them.”

Nagi pulled Eiichi by the hand out of the doorway and pushed him gently ahead to have him lead the way. From behind, as he turned to shut the door for Eiichi, he raised a hand to cover his laughter once again. Everyone was definitely going to notice.

#tl;dr eiichi throws a temper tantrum #this is basically a 2000 word hate fic #im not sorry #i love to hate this man #utapri #uta no prince sama #eiichi #eiichi otori #eiichi utapri #utapri fic #oneshot

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anotherbeingsworld · 4 years

Text

Always and forever.

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F!MC (Casey Valentine)

Book: Open Heart

Word Count: 4211

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, mentions of death.

Disclaimer:All the characters belong to Pixelberry. I do not own anything, except the storyline.

A/N: *hides myself*Hi! This is officially my second Bryce x MC fic that I manage to write! This is a different take on the story, its a storyline that I have wanted to write for a long time. It is a pretty cliche’ trope for me to write, but I am a sucker for those stuff. Its a bit angsty-ish aswell! In this universe, it was years after the incidents from the first book! And, i apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes since english is not my first language! I want to thank @maria-soederberg for checking for errors, and for all the medical reference in this book! <3 AHH, i am freaking out inside since its my new story, i felt a bit giddy, anxious everything while typing this! So, I hope you all enjoy! Also, missing Bryce Lahela hours :’)

Tags: @choicessa @annekebbphotography !

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Always and forever.

The wind was blowing on Casey’s face, as she stared at the view upon her. She had felt everything that life had thrown at her - love, friendship, happiness, and even loss. As a doctor, she faces something different every day in her life. It's either, a new decease or the death of a patient.

Some people she meets tend to leave a mark on her life. Mrs Martinez who had passed away after getting a medication injected that promised to be a cure for her Rhodes diseases, having the chance of fulfilling her dream.

She had faced it all - pain and happiness. She didn’t know much about life before she met Bryce Lahela, a surgical resident she met on her first day of her medical residency. He had shown her what life is about – that life has more to offer than work and medicine.

His brown eyes shone every day as he walked through the halls of Edenbrook, his smile made those around feel a bit giddy. He also gave people a wink, especially female co-workers. It became his signature and a way to boost his confidence. No one would know what really goes on his mind, as long as he has this cheerful demeanour.

Casey recalls the second day of her residency as if it wasn’t long ago. She remembers she had messed up the patients’ charts, and on top of that her boss Dr Ethan Ramsey gave her hell. He was used to her being a good doctor, knowing what to do. But on that day he was disappointed and so was she. Her confidence was shaken, she felt hot tears stung in her eyes. Casey hurried up to arrive in the empty and hollowed hallway of the hospital where nobody ever goes. It was an old wing where the surgery rooms used to be. Now that they had moved into another part of the hospital, no one ever goes through these halls. A perfect place for Casey to calm down.

Her legs gave in and she slowly slides down the wall towards the floor. She felt like she failed in her dream to become a good doctor. She worked so hard to get here and she feels like she had ruined her chance. When that realisation hits her, she feels the tears rolling down her cheeks. She buries her face into her hands and sobs quietly. Casey is so in thoughts that she doesn’t notice the presence next to her.

"Hey, rough day?" He spoke in a comforting tone.

She just nodded as she wiped away the tears that were still forming. At this point, she didn't mind the company anymore. She had become too exhausted to shoo the person next to her away.

"Me too, I became too over-confident and ended up making a mistake. Dr Tanaka already taught me about the surgery and how to proceed. But yet I still made the mistake so he threw me out of the surgery and took over.”

Casey nodded in understanding as they sat in comfortable silence with each other. The silence was therapeutic for both of them. And that moment was the beginning of something special. Something by far greater than birthdays or festive. But, it all went crashing down on the 5th of October.

Bryce Lahela had been diagnosed with lung cancer. He saw it coming because his childhood was a rebellious stage in his life. He had joined all the gangs that someone possible could join, which include illegal activities including a huge amount of cigarettes and other harmful activities that can hurt the lung.

He remembered the day of his diagnosis. How he suddenly felt nausea and difficulty in breathing. It caused him to faint in the middle of the halls of the hospital . The difficulty of breathing caused the brain to not get enough oxygen. The result was him passing out before he even hit the floor. He doesn’t remember how he got into the treatment room, but he remembers after waking up that Dr Ramsey was standing in front of him. A patient chart in his hand – his patient chart. He only explained they have to make a few test before being sure. And of course, Bryce followed through. After he was finished with all the test, he was assigned to a patient room. He heard footsteps echoing outside his patient room. And then Dr Ramsey, Dr Emery and Dr Valentine – Casey came into the room. Casey had red eyes, as if she had cried. Dr Emery and Dr Ramsey look at him as if they had lost a fight. She makes her way first to him, pulling him into a tight hug. He was surprised by the hug but welcomed it. Bryce didn't let go of her He knew something was wrong when Sienna, Elijah and Jackie enter the room as well. One time, he explained that whenever he gets a terrible diagnose, he doesn’t want to be alone when he gets the revelation.

Dr Ramsey makes his way to him with his results.

"Dr. Lahela, how are you feeling now?" He asked. Dr Emery steps forward and stands next to Ethan.

"I feel better but my head hurts a little." He replied gesturing to his head that was wrapped in a bandage.

"We have your results and, we have bad news." Dr Emery said.

Bryce raised an eyebrow and his voice was filled with uncertainty, "What does it say?"

"I'm sorry Bryce but you have been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. We had seen several symptoms that matched. As you might have noticed we brought you into a CT to see what could have caused the symptoms. On the pictures we have seen space-consuming lesion. After a few more test we found out that this space is a malignant tumor. We also have found out that it had unfortunately spread beyond the lungs." Dr Ramsey explained to him.

He nods expectantly, accepting the diagnosis that was given to him. Casey felt her heart stop at the word 'cancer'. She didn't believe what she was hearing, she doesn't want it to be true. She shook her head in disbelief as she glanced at him.

"It can't be, please tell me it's not true." She screamed in disbelief, Bryce immediately placed his arms around her waist pulling her into him.

"It’s gonna be okay Cas." Bryce pulled a crying Casey into his arms.

"We have set up a treatment for you, we will include you for chemo and we are suggesting radiotherapy or ERBT (External beam of radiation therapy), which delivers high doses of radiation to lung cancer cells from outside the body to kill cancer cells. We need you to stay in the hospital for a few weeks to make our examinations easier. We can let you go for a few days, but we need someone to supervise you during those times. Do you have any family Dr. Lahela?" Dr. Ramsey asked him.

He shook his head, his family was never in the picture. He was cut out from his family except for her sister Keiki. They had been in contact with each other but she couldn't look after him. And he doesn’t even know if he should tell her any of this. She just found a place in college and works out a plan for her life. His illness would just get in the way, and he really doesn’t want this.

"I can." Casey said as she stood up from Bryce's hospital bed and make her way towards Dr. Ramsey.

"Rookie, are you sure?" He asked for confirmation and she immediately nods without hesitation.

Bryce was speechless. She would take him under her care, she would be his assistant.

"Cas, are you sure? I don't want to be a burden to you, and with my condition it’s gonna be a hard one." Bryce questioned her decision.

"I want to Bryce, I owe it to you.. You’ve done so much for me. Now it is time that I do something for you. And it isn’t just me, all of us, we are here for you, we are going to help you." Casey gestured towards their friends.

He smiled at her response, and nod in appreciation.

"Can I have a minute alone with Dr. Lahela? Thank you." Dr. Ramsey said as all of his friends leave the room including Dr. Emery too.

"What's the details Dr. Ramsey?"

"I don't want to break this news in front of the others but, based on your condition now. There is a 4.7 percent chance for you to live for the next five years. We don't have the exact calculations but, the tumour inside your lungs had been spread throughout your body, almost hitting some major parts of your body. Even with treatment, we cannot promise you to win the fight against the cancer. We can only help the cancer to not continue to grow. And to give you a bit more time. At the end, we calculated that you might have approximately 6 months to live. Only with the treatment, without the treatment, you might not survive this month. " Dr. Ramsey stated with a sad tone in his voice.

Six months, 183 days.

After his conversation with Ramsey, Bryce unexpectedly pulled him into a sudden hug. Ethan didn't question his intentions instead he gave into the hug. It lasted a few moments before he leaves the room, leaving Bryce with his thoughts. He knew back then, he knew the risk from his actions before but he was stubborn. He let himself get into the wrong group and ended up with a decease that can’t be cured anymore because his cancer is too far.

He glanced around the room, his days were numbered and he decided to make the most of the life he was given. He immediately dialed Keiki's number, to drop the news leaving no details behind. He decided to give her a chance to know what is going on in his life. Maybe she wants to visit him and have at least the last moments with her brother before he leaves them forever.

After the conversation ended, Casey makes her way back to the room. He smiled at her presence, and he took a deep breath.

"Casey, where are the others?" He asked looking around for their friends.

"They went to get some food for you, and I think Elijah is making a stop to the restroom." She replied as she took a seat beside his bed.

Bryce smiled at the thought, he was debating on telling her about the final detail.

He took a deep breath, and said: "6 months." He said quietly, louder than a whisper but quieter than a shout.

Casey didn't understand what he meant, until a few moments later. Her eyes went wide at his words.

"Is it what I think it is?" Her voice breaks as she said it. She is in disbelief, he knew the truth would break her but he didn't want to leave her in the dark.

"I'm still here, Cas, and I'm not going anywhere now." He said softly as he traces circles on her back. She sat on the bed, and felt her tears flowing once more. He is still here, he is going to make it. 6 months, is just a number. And just an assumption. There were many cases where people with stage four cancer lived longer than the number they were told. Maybe Bryce is one of them.

They sat in the position for a long time before she decided to go back home. As soon as she arrived at home, she curled into a ball, as she silently cried in her room. The night was hard, she barely slept. She doesn’t know how life will be like when he is gone.

The next day, she managed to make it through her shift with a smile plastered on her face. It was not easy to get through the shift. Ethan sometimes asked if she is okay, but after she said ‘yes’ all the time, he noticed that she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Back at home, she heard a knock on her door, and Sienna makes her way inside the room. She was in her pajamas, and with a couple of stuff. She brought some ice cream and a few pillows.

"Hey, let's have a sleepover together. I want to cheer you up." Sienna explaines as she sat on her bed. Casey sat on her bed and smiled weakly at her.

"Thank you, Sienna, I just thought that I could be strong. I want to be strong for him, but I can't." She explained which ended up with her crying again. Sienna placed the pillows and ice cream down before she started holding a crying Casey in her arms.

As the next day arrived the truth hit her harder than before. She packed herself an overnight bag to bring to the hospital with her. She decided to look after Bryce after she finishes her shift. After she was done working her shift, she finally was able to go to Bryce’s room. She finds him eating his dinner alone but judging by his face, he doesn’t like the hospital food much.

"I wished I had some ice cream now, Cas. This hospital food is killing me." Bryce says as she laughs at his antics.

"Well, I could bring you a scoop if you promise to finish up your food." She offers which made his eyes light up in joy.

"Thank you, you're a lifesaver." He expresses his gratitude and continues finishing his food.

She smiles at him, and continues to accompany him for the night. She ended up falling asleep as well. The days keep being like that for them, she would be there for him every night until the day arrived where he was released from the hospital. He was released from the hospital by one condition. He had to be monitored at home. Casey has to make sure that his heartrate continues and that his oxygen saturation is constantly above 85%.

The day he was released, Keiki made her presence at his apartment. Casey was introduced to Bryce's little sister, who is not that little anymore. In the mornings, Keiki would be his assistance while Casey was at work. All of the hospital staff had taken the opportunity to help him any way they can including Dr. Ramsey himself.

One day, Keiki and Casey were having lunch together.

"Thank you for looking after Bryce, Casey." Keiki suddenly says.

"It is nothing, I knew he would do this to me as well." She says as she glances at his room.

"He told me the other day, he was grateful for you. Everything you've done for him. I know I didn't have a chance to get to know him properly because of mom and dad but, I get to know him now before it’s too late and it’s everything." Keiki explains, her voice soft.

"I am grateful for him, and I feel like when it comes to him. It is one of my weaknesses. I care about him a lot, and hearing the news makes me feel sad. I am not ready to lose him yet, he …" She stops, realizing she's been crying.

Keiki rubbed her back and gestures to his room.

"I believe that you should tell him how you feel, life isn't stopping for anybody. Six months for him is all that he got." She suggests before making her way to the living room, leaving Casey alone in the kitchen.

Casey takes a deep breath, and makes her way to his room. She sees him on the bed, he is resting after a long day of treatment. She takes a seat beside his bed, and his head shots up at her presence.

"Hey Lahela, how are you doing?" Casey asks while checking his vitals. So far heart rate looks good, no extra syncopes on the ECG, and his saturation is constantly between 89% and 95%.

"I'm doing good, although I feel like my energy is drained out of me, every day."

"Hey, you're still here. It's all that matters." Casey says to him and he smiles weakly at her.

"So, what's the purpose of your visit to Casa de Lahela." He gestures at his room.

"I wanted to check on you and, I have something to get out of my chest." Casey smiles at him, as she squeezes his hand.

"Consider me checked, did I ever tell you how lucky I am to have you here." He admits quietly as his eyes gaze into hers.

She feels her cheeks burn from the sensation, she decides to lie down beside him. She squeezes herself into the space left on the bed.

"I don't want to lose you." She admits quietly as she lies her head on his chest.

"You will never lose me, Cas, I am always here with you. You can’t get rid of me easily." Bryce explains to her with the same amount of confidence that he always has.

"I know, I just can't bear the thought of knowing that you are sick. I-I love you Bryce. These few months had made me realize that I am in love with you, and I am not ready to lose you yet." She confesses while looking him straight into his eyes.

He placed a kiss on her forehead, "I love you too, Cas, being a sick dude made me realize it. You are the one person who wanted to accompany me after a long day of work, the way you bring me ice cream every once in a while make me fell for you, Casey Valentine. I-" He stops suddenly, gasping for air. Casey’s head shots up to the monitor. His heart rate shows ventricular fibrillation and his saturation went down to 65%. Casey stood up and called the hospital to send an ambulance immediately. After that she starts with chest compression, as long as the doctor needs so they can use the defibrillator.

Clueless, Keiki stepped into the room and stop in her tracks. She saw her brother lying on the bed, unconscious, Casey on top of him trying to reanimate him. Keiki doesn’t know what to do, she has never helped before.

“Let the paramedics in!” Casey orders.

After a few moments, the paramedics arrive and instantly build up the defibrillator. After they shocked him two times, Casey decides to intubate him so that he is not having any lack of oxygen. After a successful attempt, they load him into the ambulance and rush him into the ambulance and into some tests to see how much worse his conditions are.

In the hospital they rush him onto the ICU where gets put onto life support. Dr Ethan Ramsey looks over his vitals and looks at Keiki and Casey who stood there shocked.

“Keiki, you’re his sister. I have to give you the decision. Your brother only lives right now, because he is on life support. He will not wake up again, his cancer is too far for him to survive. The cancer made his lungs collapse which means that he will never breathe on his own. So, I ask you, Keiki. Shall I turn of the machines and help him die peacefully.”

Keiki sobs and Casey puts a comforting arm around her. She closes her eyes, not wanting to witness the situation in front of her.

“I love my brother, but I know he would want to leave the world as soon as he has no chance to live without support.” Keiki starts. “Turn it off, Dr Ramsey.”

Ethan nods and turns off the machines, he injects Bryce an amount of morphia to save him from pain or any other obstacles.

After a while fighting, Bryce finally let himself go. The monitor showing flat lines, no breathing rate, no heart rate and no saturation left. Bryce Lahela has left the world.

Time of death, 8 p.m.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The whole Edenbrook community was shocked at the news of his sudden death. Casey felt her heart break into bits and pieces. She thought about their conversation before and let herself cry a bit longer.

A few weeks later, Bryce's funeral was happening. The rain is pouring as the day went on, she never imagined that this would occur to her. Losing the one you love is the greatest pain that one could ever go through.

Many of his co-workers had come to say their farewell and even his family made an appearance. Casey stood there with her friends close by, she dreaded this day. The sadness, the emptiness she felt at that moment. It was unbearable. There was this emptiness that Bryce had left behind. This funeral made the loss of someone she loved dearly more realistic. At first, she was able to pretend that this was just a nightmare of hers, but seeing he was buried in front of her, she has to accept the fact that he will never come back.

After it ends, Casey lingers at the cemetery for a while along with Keiki by her side.

"He left you this, I found it when we were cleaning up his place before. I think he wants you to have it," Keiki says as she hands her a letter that is sealed.

"Thank you, Keiki."

"No, thank you, Casey for all you've done for him." Keiki pulls her into a hug, and make her way back to the car.

Casey starts to head back leaving the cemetery behind. She decided to live not only for her but also for Bryce. During that time she wasn’t able to read the letter yet. It was too heart-breaking.

It’s been a year since the event that no one ever expected. She makes her way up to a hill. Rocket Hill was one of Bryce's favourite spots to hang, and hike during his days. She holds a polaroid of him standing on top of the exact hill proudly making his mark for the world.

The wind was blowing on Casey’s face, as she looks at the view in front of her. The view from the hill was spectacular. The city of Boston could be seen from a distance. After a few moments, she takes a seat on a bench facing the city. The letter from Bryce was in her hand. She knew she needed a perfect time, and now that time has come. She took a deep breath and slowly opens the letter

Hey Casey,

It's me or Jackie would call ‘the scalpel jockey’ here, I feel like I'm healing every day but I know that's not the truth. We all gotta end somewhere, and I can feel my end is coming closer. I don't want to make you worry but well, I did make you worry, right? Love, I have no idea what to write or say now but Keiki forced me to write and well, we gotta start somewhere right? So, If I'm writing this... It means my time is uo. I just want to speak some truth here. I was cut off from my family when I finished high school. I have been living on my own for a long time. Keiki was the only family I knew, and med school was hard because they knew to whom the name Lahela belongs. But, being here at Edenbrook made me realize I have a family after all. My family are my friends. We may not be related by blood but we're gonna stick together till the end. My time here also led me to you; Casey Valentine, the future of Edenbrook. You stood by me from the beginning until this very moment and I want to say thank you. Life with this decease had made me realize that time is precious, and it should be spent with those we love and cherish. Every day was a special one because you were in it and I wouldn't have it any other way. Well, that's enough of cheesy Bryce for one day. If you ever doubt yourself in anything, remember that you are enough as a human, a doctor, and a friend. Okay?

Love,

Bryce 'Scalpel Jockey' Lahela.

PS: Don’t be afraid to fall in love again, Casey. I want someone to make you as happy as I made you. I want you to have a family of your own, and please take care of Keiki. <3

Despite the sadness from the letter, she feels herself smile at the letter, holding it tight not wanting it to get away. She looks up at the sky, seeing the sky had changed its colours. She smiles at the scenery upon her and starts to enjoy it. She knows Bryce would have wanted it. And even though she has lost the one person she has loved so much, she will continue to live her life for them. But Bryce Lahela, will always be her first love, and she will never love anyone the same as she loved him. Bryce is her forever, and he will always be.

THE END

A/N #2: Hey! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it, I never had any particular experience from what I wrote but, I have been wanting to write this for a long time! I really hope I get to deliver it, it was hard to share this to you guys, but I wanted too! Don’t forget to like, reblog and even comment anything! It would really mean a lot! Once again, thank you for reading it! <3

#playchoices #choices #bryce x mc #bryce lahela #casey valentine #open heart fic #fanfic #choicesgame

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vulturhythm · 4 years

Note

1/2 I have an angsty idea (BTW, this is Tristan and Iseult anon - I'm so flattered you wanted to give me a nickname! If you still want to, Skyleen is good since that's what I've been using on AO3). Anyway, my idea isn't too unique from what you've already posted because what you do you do so well and I like it so much). It revolves around Jaskier being horribly sick/poisoned and Geralt desperately trying to find a cure - maybe it's something specific, like a near-extinct herb or the heart of

... heart of the beast that originally poisoned him, but in any case it's really hard to get and Geralt has to go on a lot of dangerous journeys in search of it. Meaning he has leave Jaskier behind (it's a conveniently prolonged illness). And he keeps failing. He keeps going out on any tips, even the most unlikely, brutalizing himself for a few days/weeks trying to kill monsters/please mages/bribe kings/capture demons or whatever he thinks he needs to do, but he always comes home empty handed...

... and Jaskier's always sicker, weaker, worse when he comes back. He'll spend a few days with him, caring for him, loving him, pleading with him to stay strong, before preparing to head out again. And eventually Jaskier realizes nothing is going to work. Even if Geralt did find something, the illness has progressed so far it wouldn't do any good. So he asks Geralt to stop. Stop hunting, stop risking his own life, stop leaving and just stay with him until the end. And Geralt can't.

Can't give up, can't face losing Jaskier, can't accept (what he sees as) Jaskier losing faith in him. So he goes out again, and again. Eventually, the disease and despair break at Jaskier until he clings, begs Geralt not to leave him, and Geralt does anyway, using his greater strength to remove Jaskier's hands from his arms, clothes, hair, Jaskier's cries echoing worse than any curses from Blaviken. On the last trip, he finds the cure. Having lost his horse to some calamity, he *runs* back...

... to Jaskier, full tilt, past even a witcher's stamina and returns to wherever they've been holed up incoherent with exhaustion and fear. Is he too late? What do you think? (Also, thank you for writing such lovely angst! I think it's the best way to get the love out).

thank you so, so much for sending me this beautifully tragic idea! i do hope this is up to your standards.

- - - - -

i won’t let you die

sorceresses are wretched things.

this is an opinion geralt has formed over a fucking century of enduring their treachery and their torment and their taunting, all the times he’s fallen into bed with one be damned. those times were fucking meaningless when compared to the love he found in jaskier.

meaningless, worthless, pointless - and now, looking back, he fucking hates himself for them.

he hates himself, for it was a sorceress whose rage when denied geralt’s aid in the coup of a crumbling kingdom was unmatched - whose rage led her to curse the bard at geralt’s side, merely fucking standing there, not even doing a damn thing.

he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing.

geralt is snarling, spitting, cursing, demanding an explanation, a cure -

the sorceress drops dead, an arrow through her skull, shot from the ramparts of the castle ahead, and, well.

geralt knows when he isn’t welcome.

he pulls jaskier away, runs from the city square, pulls his bard along through the seething, screaming, rioting crowd.

at first, geralt thinks the curse was maybe just as simple as the little rash that pops up on jaskier’s skin within they hour, as they walk away and leave the kingdom behind.

(it will be decimated by week’s end.)

he learns quickly he is wrong when jaskier doubles over and vomits on the trail.

there’s blood amongst the bile.

geralt’s heart seizes.

he pushes roach hard, hard, hard to the next town over, one where the healer and the mage are one and the same.

“it’s a disease,” the man tells them, and there’s sympathy in his eyes and something sort of like relief in jaskier’s, but - “and it’s one that can’t be cured.”

geralt knows he can never forget the fear that crossed jaskier’s face.

worse, later, is the resignation.

“geralt - “

“i know. i won’t let you die.”

he goes to yennefer next, even though to see her face is to grimace inside.

it’s been a week, and the rash has spread, and jaskier complains of stomach pains daily, even when he hasn’t eaten, even hours before he vomits blood.

yennefer takes one look at geralt before her gaze slides to the bard at his side, and she sighs, and motions them inside.

they learn nothing more.

“incurable,” she says, and if geralt didn’t know full well her loathing of jaskier, he would think she sounded... apologetic. “he’s got two years at best, likely less.”

“there has to be something -“

“geralt. i can’t do a thing.”

“geralt, surely someone will know... a - a different sorceress, a mage...”

“i won’t let you die.”

they go to another mage next, one tucked away in the depths of a town from which geralt has long since been banned.

it’s here that, finally, they get something - a name, a cause.

“it’s eating away at him,” says the old mage, “from the inside out. it’s an ancient thing - dark magic, as dark as i’ve seen. they say... well.”

“what?” geralt snarls, his grip on jaskier’s arm only tightening when his bard sways closer against his side.

“dragon heart, they say. little more than theory, but - “

and just like that, geralt is out the door, jaskier close behind.

“you can’t go after a dragon alone - “

“i won’t let you die.”

jaskier is weaker.

the rash has become boils here and there, on the backs of his hands and arms and shoulders, and he can no longer play the lute without pain.

as much as it tears geralt apart to leave him behind, he does.

he leaves jaskier at home in corvo bianco, begs their nearest neighbors to drop in, keep him well...

swears to come back alive.

“promise me you’ll come back if it’s a false lead - “

“i won’t let you die.”

he slays the dragon, a fierce red thing far up north, slices out its heart and carries it back to blaviken tied to roach’s haunches.

the old mage is waiting, ancient tomes and tablets and scrolls open on every surface, herbs and plants and monster pieces on top of and among it all.

“if this is right,” says the mage, “it’ll be violet at the end, but, well,” he amends, as he checks a scroll, “translating these have been next to impossible,” he admits, as he slices off a section of the heart, “and it might not - “

the broiling mixture in the cauldron turns a horrid, bloody red when the heart is dropped inside.

geralt feels nothing but dread.

“geralt, you can’t possibly kill enough dryads in time -“

“i won’t let you die.”

the second time he leaves from corvo bianco, he leaves jaskier in pain.

the boils are becoming lesions, and the bloody bile is a daily occurrence, and his singing voice is all but gone.

geralt sets off for the forests, and, well...

he slays fifteen of the forest nymphs, and he feels guilt biting at the back of his throat each time he shaves bark from the dead dryads’ trees, but jaskier’s red and bleeding skin is at the forefront of his mind.

the potion goes gray this time, deep and dull and dreadful, and geralt wants to scream.

jaskier is coughing now.

geralt stays home for a week, mourns the loss of jaskier’s warmth in his arms, for his bard cannot bear the touch of another’s on his sore and blistering and bleeding skin.

it pains him to see, and yet...

he cannot rest.

he leaves at week’s end, the edges of the world on his mind.

“geralt, please, just stay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

twenty tongues of elven warriors.

geralt sees the hatred, the betrayal, the disgust in filavandrel’s eyes as he slaughters those that remain.

he sees it tenfold when he slays the elven king where he stands.

he sees it in the surface of the river when he crouches down to wash his skin free of blood, reflected in his own eyes when he does his best to clean his own wounds.

he sees it in the washed-out green the cauldron’s contents turn.

he sees it in jaskier’s eyes when he returns home, tells him of the fall of the elves... tells him of the new scars upon his back.

“please, my wolf, stay behind this time...”

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of demon.

five new claw marks across his jaw.

jaskier cannot stand without doubling over in the worst fit of blood-splattering coughing geralt has ever witnessed.

the potion is black.

“geralt, it’s okay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

flesh of the one cursed before first breath.

a night in a crypt, a broken wrist, a gash on the flank.

jaskier’s eyes are bloodshot and his voice is frail. he cannot walk alone.

the potion is teal.

“geralt, please, if you love me - “

“i won’t let you die.”

eye of the beast upon the highest throne.

a king slain, a kingdom out for his blood, an arrowhead through the shoulder and a ribcage of splintered bone.

jaskier is bedridden.

the potion is gold.

“geralt, my love, *please,* i beg of you - “

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of the lycanthrope.

scar across the chest.

white.

“the cure doesn’t exist, geralt, stay home - “

“i won’t let you die.”

sting of the manticore.

wounded in the side.

bronze.

“it won’t ever work, my love, please let me die in your arms - “

“i won’t let you die.”

vessel of the djinn.

broken, battered, bruised.

charcoal.

at the end of the fifteenth month, geralt leaves his beloved behind for the last time.

he leaves jaskier coughing, choking, begging, grabbing for his arms, his hands, anything to keep him close -

grabbing for him despite the wounds geralt and the healers have done their best to keep bound -

begging for him despite the way his voice is all but gone -

sobbing for him despite the way he can barely even breathe -

but geralt draws away, shakes his head, whispers one last time, “i won’t let you die.”

he can hear his bard’s sobs well beyond the walls of their home.

twenty nine days.

wyvern, harpy, dwarf, virgin, cockatrice, gryphon, chimera, basilisk, leshen...

vampire, succubus, drowner, kikimora, barghest...

the monsters blur together after so long - after so much of his blood spilled.

geralt is growing weak, growing tired -

growing slow.

and then, one day -

one day, he stumbles as he walks back into the mage’s tower, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the cauldron, and -

and his blood, the blood that’s fucking covering from melitele only knows how many fucking cuts and gashes and scrapes and gouges -

his blood drips from his palm, from his wrist, from his fingertips, and it falls into the cauldron -

and the concoction of herbs and roots and flowers and bones and brains and heartstrings and feathers and stones and blood, it -

it turns deep, vibrant violet, and -

and geralt goes still.

he’s never pushed roach as hard as he does that day, the next day, the next...

it’s the third day when a group of highwaymen cross his path, when they fire at him from the hillside, when a crossbow bolt strikes roach through the sockets of her eyes, and -

and geralt tears them all down without an instant of hesitation, and he pauses to mourn the loss of his cherished companion, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and geralt runs.

his legs ache and his lungs burn and his ribs feel as though they may shatter again from the strain, and he is bleeding, and he is dying, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he loses track of the days and of how many times he trips and falls and of how many times he drops to his knees and then to the ground -

and still he runs.

i can’t let him die.

geralt feels as though he may collapse by the time he stumbles against the doors of corvo bianco, but still he moves,

still he pushes on,

pushes the door open and almost falls inside, and -

and he cannot breathe, and his vision is hazy, and he knows that he’s gone too far, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he steps through the doors of the room they’ve shared for so many long and perfect years, and -

and he reaches into his pocket for the vial of antidote, and -

and he looks up, and he goes still.

the vial falls to the floor.

geralt lurches the few steps to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, reaches out to touch the back of a cold, cold hand, closed tight about a scrap of parchment he can’t bring himself to acknowledge.

he lowers his edge to the mattress, and he breathes in, and he breathes out, and...

and at last, the witcher is still.

geralt,

my beloved, i have kept alive as long as i can. i have spent my life at your side, and there isn’t a day of it that i would have changed.

my only regret is that i did not die in your arms.

i love you.

live well.

#answered asks #skyleen #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #gerlion #my fics #character death #don’t break out the pitchforks #you asked for this #it’s not on me this time

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