#WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO FIND MY WEAKNESSES OCHRE

[therenlover]

Put Me Back In It (I Would Do It Again) Chapter One: Down, Down On Your Knees

Pairings: Ascended!Astarion/Tav, Raphael/Tav

Word Count: 4,900~

Synopsis: A desperate Tav comes to Raphael to bargain for Astarion's lost soul, but he intends to take everything she has left to give in return.

Rating: E (+18) For Later Chapters

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Emotional Manipulation

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Ownership, Power Imbalance, Deal With The Devil, Raphael is a Smarmy Bastard

You can find this fic on AO3 Here or find the other finished chapters on Tumblr Here

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It had all been such a horrible mistake. 

Tav could feel the flames licking at her face, burning away the silk of her nightgown as she pushed through the portal, almost collapsing against the hard stone floor as she passed through to the other side. She couldn’t pause to assess her injuries, though. Not even when the shackles on her ankles continued to sear her flesh in the ambient heat or when her skirt ripped clean up the side in her scramble forward. 

He could be right behind her. 

Not even one moment could be spared. 

The candelabras sat unlit in the darkened great hall, but the ochre glow of Avernus lit Tav’s way, streaming in through the windows and chasing her down the hall. 

Her chest heaved. Sulfur and rot spread through her screaming lungs as she forced herself forward. Only forward. If she looked back, if he was there hiding in her shadow…

She choked back a silent sob and pushed through the panic. The door to the banquet hall was only a few more steps away. If she could force her shaky legs to carry her at least that far, she could-

In one fell swoop Tav felt her legs give out below her, her broken body collapsing against the stairs below. The door remained closed just paces ahead. 

This time she let the screaming sobs fall from her mouth. 

“No, no, no, no, Gods no! Please, please please please-” 

Just like that, it was over: the months of agonizing over whether it was truly the right choice to make, all of the begging and hiding and stealing and pretending to love the monster she'd created with her own two hands. She’d done it all just to collapse moments from the finish line. Why? She just hadn’t been strong enough. 

The savior of Faerun, the woman who had beaten the odds and risked everything for the chance to see the people of Baldur’s Gate safe from illithid rule, now reduced to nothing more than a whimpering mess on the floor. She could almost hear Astarion’s sneering voice following her to her end. 

Weak. Pathetic. Utterly alone. 

He would surely find her here. 

Astarion would come back from his meeting, follow the portal out of his chamber straight into the hallowed halls of the House of Hope, and he’d know exactly what she was trying to do. There would been mercy this time. No hissed words of false forgiveness as he dragged her back towards whatever punishment awaited. Tav had run through those chances already. Any fondness that had once resided in her lover’s unbeating heart was gone. Only covetous spite remained. 

Her disobedience would not be tolerated any longer. Broken toys needed to be replaced. No one else could have what he had claimed for himself, though, and she knew far too much about his weaknesses to be allowed to roam free once he was done with her. 

She would need to be eliminated. 

For the first time since escaping the Nautiloid, knowing the odds of defeat filled her with a certain relief. At least it was almost over. Not long left to suffer now. 

Then the doors before her opened. 

She had never been happier to see a devil in her life. 

“Well, well, well,” Raphael tutted, “what do we have here? It seems a little mouse has burrowed her way back into my home,”

The tears flowed freely now, each one rolling down Tav’s cheeks and disappearing with a soft sizzle as they hit the tiles. Astarion could be following her through the portal at any second. It was now or never. 

“I need that favor, Raphael,” she whispered. 

From her view on the floor, his responding grin felt feral, like the gaping, bloodied maw of a hungry lion looking down at its mauled but still squirming prey. She almost could’ve sworn that he licked his lips in anticipation before he replied. 

“In that case, let’s see what I can do for you,”

———

Tav hadn’t been able to lift herself up off the freshly bloodslick floor (was it her own blood? She couldn’t quite remember. It all felt so fuzzy…) so Haarlep had been called in to carry her to Raphael’s personal baths while she rested and he drafted the contract. Even knowing her soul was on the line, she drifted through the water without a thought in her quiet mind for what felt like hours. 

There had been voices at one point, shouts and shuffling beyond the translucent golden veil that protected the boudoir’s entrance, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of the enchanted water against her bruised flesh, the billowing of her sopping nightgown in the miniature tides, and the diet calm of Haarlep’s breathing on the chaise lounge beside the bath. 

If she closed her eyes it almost reminded her of the beginning of the end. Of endless lounging afternoons in the opulent washroom of their upper city manor, the air thick with incense while Astarion rubbed oils and soaps into her skin with a reverence reserved for the most beautiful things he possessed. She had been his crowning jewel, after all. The shiniest toy he could possibly flaunt before his guests or thralls. 

Until he’d broken her, that was. 

The sound of approaching footsteps and the soft thrum of the veil lifting pulled Tav’s mind back to reality before it could wander too far into darkness. Raphael had returned and from the looks of it, he was happy to see her.

He had chosen to present himself in his human form, wings and horns tucked away somewhere in the ether, and even though Tav was aware it was probably some sort of ploy to earn her trust in this infernal bargain she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of gratitude. When was the last time someone had made an effort for her sake? Considered her comfort? Night stuffed beside Astarion’s meditating form in the claustrophobic dark of his coffin flashed behind her eyes.

Haarlep cleared their throat. “Finally returning, oh glorious and expedient master of mine? I was not contracted to act as your babysitter, you know,” 

“I had business to attend to,” Raphael shot back, coming to sit on the cushion beside them. “We couldn’t exactly leave that nasty little portal open, could we? Especially not one that led right to the lair of an ascended master vampire. Under normal circumstances I might have been happy to make a deal with the lord of house Ancunin again, but while holding his most precious possession?” He tutted softly, “Sloppy, sloppy little mouse. I may have a problem on my hands yet. What do you have to say for yourself?” 

Guilt tugged heavily in Tav’s chest. She hated it. Her gut shouldn’t be sinking at the thought of someone seeing her as Astarion’s property. Her chest shouldn’t be tight, setting an apology for the trouble she’d caused right at the end of her tongue, daring her to spit it out at Raphael. Most of all, she shouldn’t be in Avernus selling her soul for the second time with absolutely no plan to get it back. 

Nothing really made sense anymore. 

Raphael’s eyebrows raised in the quiet. “Bat got your tongue?”

And just like that the hopeless drifting feeling in her chest had something to cling onto: Rage. 

Despite the screaming protests in her muscles Tav was up and out of the bathing pool in moments. All of her warrior training remained, buried deep as it was within her brittle body and mind. Utilizing it again was as easy as flipping the switch from fight to flight. Before Haarlep could even jump away she had Raphael straddled between her shaking legs with his neck between her palms, squeezing with all her might.

It had no visible effect. He was the son of Mephistopheles after all. Compared to that Tav was nothing. She didn’t even have the tadpole to gift her its extra strength anymore. Her squeezing and screaming and scratching couldn’t bring a bruise to his throat no matter how hard she tried. His pulse just thrummed, steady and warm under her fingers. Raphael made no movements to escape and instead raised a hand to Haarlep, keeping the incubus from coming to his defense. He laid as still as his cooling body once had beneath her raging form. 

They both knew he held the upper hand this time. 

Still, he lay there, something distant and uncomfortable flashing in his eyes just long enough for Tav to see. 

Her hands went loose. “I don’t know why I did that,” 

“Oh little mouse, no need for lies,” Raphael replied, shifting onto his elbows beneath her. His voice was like honey in the air, protected from the revolting stench of the outside world. It eased the basest part of her in some awful way, the same part of her that had yearned for Astarion to protect her with his newfound power. She could feel muscles go slack after months of strain. 

“We both know exactly why you’ve become so… feral. The caged dog has become the master, and his kennels could not remain empty for long. It was only a matter of time before you too forgot how to love and learned how to bite. You haven’t got the teeth for it yet, though. Not looking forward to life as a spawn?” 

She hated that she couldn’t find anything to say to prove him wrong. 

“Leave us, Haarlep,” Raphael said.

The incubus took a moment to respond, eyes flicking between their bodies. “If you’re certain, Master,” And with nothing more than one last glance they excused themself and passed through the veil heading towards the dining room.

There was something strange and informal about feeling the devil’s warm body against her own without anybody around to witness it. This was Raphael, after all. In another life she’d taken his own and given it back in exchange for a boon. Now they sat pressed together like lovers in his boudoir while her real love raged on unaware, stuck in some horrific shell of his former self. She wanted it to bother her more than it was. 

Astarion had always been so cold and lithe. Tav had almost forgotten what it felt like to be pressed to the heat of a broad chest with a steady pulse, however inhuman the heart inside may be. It was almost comforting…

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Was that his heartbeat in your ears or her own? 

How long had it been since she’d arrived at the House of Hope? 

Hells, how could she feel so at ease with a cambion waiting to rob her of her soul? 

The whole world had gone mad. 

Tav had gone mad, Raphael and Haarlep had always been mad, and Astarion… oh, Astarion. Insanity wouldn’t cover the least of the depravity that hid behind his eyes now.

"I made a mistake,” Tav gulped down air, squeezing her eyes shut against the world. Against reality. “Astarion never should have ascended. I never should have let him ascend. All of this is my fault. The power was too much for him, he’s lost in it, and I don’t know how to drag him out. After everything he worked for-” 

“I’m afraid I can’t help with that particular predicament,” Raphael had the nerve to sound apologetic when he interrupted. “Astarion’s ascension is, unfortunately, a bargain with a god. The process would require a power even greater than my own to reverse,” 

Tav could feel her heart shred itself over and over and over again. A thousand little ribbons of loss fluttered down to rest in her ribcage. 

“But,” 

But. 

But, but, but…

“I may be unable to take the gifts that have been bestowed to him, but what was lost… well, I could be persuaded to return it to the little lordling. For a price, of course,” 

There it was. The sliver of light through the keyhole. The boon. Lady Hope had returned to her house bearing her sweet poisoned fruit and Tav ate of it with no reservations now. What else could she do? 

“You could do that? Bring him back?”

“In a way,” 

Raphael’s tone was far too nonchalant. Flippant, almost. Tav didn’t care though. She gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer from his place below her. Their chests were touching now. In her excitement she had pulled him closer than she’d intended to. 

“How?” Tav asked. She knew you probably reeked of desperation, especially given her proximity. Raphael made no moves to pull away even as her frenzy took over. He just grinned. 

“This house holds many priceless souls within its vaults, little one, and when the vampling ascended I just so happened to have an interest in harvesting what he had just discarded for my collection. I assumed it may come in handy someday. Once his soul is returned Astarion will have all the power of a master vampire but be tempered by a human heart. It’s almost poetic.” Raphael chuckled. “Sounds good, no?” 

It was more than she could have hoped for really.

Tav hated to admit it, but for a few moments, as she raced through the portal away from the little life she had carved out for herself under Astarion’s iron rule, she had considered that killing him might be the option to free him from himself. It was an impossible choice. In fact, it had almost been enough to pull her out of her stupid, crazy escape plans and back into bed. She had made your choice, though. She would exhaust all of her other options first, but if death was the only way Astarion could rest she would make sure he rested peacefully and without any more to regret, no matter what the cost of that may be. 

But here was a chance to fix things without death.

Astarion could live as a free man with the power to protect his own peace, only he could be himself again. No more late-night rages leaving rooms worth of furniture in splinters. No more piled bodies reeking in the halls, blood still draining from their mangled flesh and sitting in wasted puddles on the floor just to show his power and hunting prowess to anyone who entered. No constant threat of becoming a thrall or spawn the moment she disobeyed. Everything could go back to the way it was, only there would be no illithid tadpole looming over them this time. It would just be her, Astarion, the sun above, and the well-trodden paths of Faerun below with the rest of eternity to decide what to do with their lives… Except Raphael would never let that happen. 

Her next question didn’t need to be said for him to know what it was. Even silently it rang out in the quiet of the boudoir, filling the gaps between each of Tav’s shaking breaths and whispering in the burblings of the fountains in the bath. 

At what cost?

For the first time since she’d burst into the House of Hope, Tav wasn’t sure she had made the right choice to seek out Raphael’s help. 

He was still just reclining beneath her, perfect teeth bared in a grimace reminiscent of a cat that had gotten the cream, chest brushing her own with every breath he took. When had he gotten so close to her? She could almost smell a hint of bergamot beneath the sickly sweet of carrion, cherries, and runepowder on his pulse. Astarion had smelled of bergamot once when he had cared enough to cover the aura of death on his skin.

Tav slowly went to dismount from Raphael’s hips, hoping to avoid his attention, but his hands came up to hold her in place as he tutted softly. Her heart skipped a beat. 

“Aren’t you going to inquire as to what your end of the bargain is?”

It was a bluff. It had to be. This was all some dare for her to go further, or a test of her strength that had gone too far. She would sign over whatever he asked for— Hells, if he asked for the Crown of Karsus again she’d fistfight Mystra for it herself— and they’d go back to the normal antagonistic bantering that they had always shared.

One of Raphael’s hands slowly drifted down to her thigh, resting at the top of the rip running down the skirt of her silky nightgown. His hand was warm through the thin fabric but it purposefully did not touch her skin through the tear. He was toying with her now, and Tav knew it. 

They were too far into it to back down now, though. This was for Astarion’s very soul. No price would be too great. 

“What do you want from me Raphael,” Tav asked, voice steady despite the uneven fluttering in her chest. 

“Oh, I think you know,”

The room felt ice cold now. 

It couldn’t truly be. Steam still floated up from the baths and engulfed them, slightly obscuring the finer details of the furniture and the room around her. Its heat didn’t reach Tav’s skin, though. Instead, the wetness of her sopping nightgown, now cooling in the air, sent a flurry of involuntary shivers down her spine. The only heat that remained radiated from Raphael’s blistering palms into her legs. 

She shook her head. She’d use up her free will before she had no choice but to give in to him. “Just spit it out,”

“I just want what I’ve always wanted; what should have been rightfully owed to me when I offered you the Orphic hammer only to get nothing in return.”

“Please, Raphael I-” 

The heat in his hands was building now. Tav could’ve sworn he was searing the brand of his fingerprints into her hips.

“You knew what kind of a deal you’d be making when you chose to ask for my assistance, little mouse,” Raphael’s voice was deceivingly soft but no less dark as he spoke to her. “You could have asked your friends for help. I’m sure the Blade of Frontiers would have been happy to slay the little vampling for you, or you could have asked your pet wizard to beg Mystra for an answer to your woes. You didn’t ask them, though. Instead, you chose to crawl all the way down to Avernus,” something new sparked in his eyes, “to me, knowing exactly what I would ask for in return. Why drag things out now as if you didn’t know your fate the moment you called upon my services?” 

Why not give him what he wants?

Tav couldn’t think of anything to say despite the hundreds of angry rebuttals swarming her mind. Her mouth was so dry. It was like someone had shoved a handful of dust down her throat. 

She loved Astarion. She’d never had a choice but to love Astarion from the moment she’d had his dagger against her neck. It was his encouragement that had given her the courage to take on the goblin camp. When nights camping in the shadow-cursed lands got dark, he had been the one at her side giving her a reason not to succumb. He had placed his future in her hands when he shared the truth about Cazador with her; when he let her accompany him to the ritual… and then she had failed him. Only when they were both completely powerless to change things did it become clear just how badly she’d failed. Not even with the help of her friends would she be able to bring back the sanity he had lost. No one could hold a candle to Astarion’s power now. 

No one besides the devil between her legs. 

Tav took a heavy steeling breath. Astarion had given up everything to accompany her on her journey. This was the least she could do to right the wrongs she’d committed then. 

“What are your terms,” 

Raphael beamed below her. With a wave of his hand, the new contract appeared, feather pen drifting lazily beside the rolled parchment as she had drifted in the water so soon before. “I retrieve Astarion’s soul and personally return it to his body. It will be as though he is waking from a particularly unpleasant dream.” His fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm on her hipbones as he spoke. “In return, you will reside permanently in the House of Hope, bound to me in body and soul, until I see fit to release you,” 

Tav shook her head. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening. Stuck here forever? Praying for a death that would only cement an eternity of torment at Raphael’s side? She’d always known it would come to this but hearing the facts outright made her want to burst into a fit of hysterical laughter or tears or both. There was hope, though. Always hope. “Astarion will come to find me, you know, once he’s himself again. Eventually, he’ll figure out where I am and he’ll destroy you for taking what was his,” Her voice was far too calm given the circumstances.

“Will he?” Raphael questioned, grip loosening.

And that was all it took to shatter the small bit of confidence she had built up within herself. 

“Are you trying to get me to back out of this?” Tav asked, “Because you aren’t helping your case,” 

He waved a hand through the steamy air. “I’m simply being honest, my brave little mouse. Imagine Astarion’s shame when he wakes surrounded by the horrors he has wrought with only his victims to greet him now that you’ve escaped to Avernus. Imagine his shock when he realizes you ran right into my arms to get away from his madness. From him.”

The ever-deepening pit in Tav’s stomach threatened to open up and swallow her whole. 

“He will look in the mirror,” Raphael continued, “and find Cazador the Second staring back at him,”

Realization dawned on her slowly and all at once. 

“He’ll let me go,” 

The devil looked somber when he fully released his grasp on Tav’s hips as if he had no choice but to do the things that he had done. If he weren’t about to get everything he’d ever desired she would have believed he actually cared about how his actions were affecting her.

“I’m afraid so,”

Things were quiet again. A hive of bees thrummed ceaselessly within Tav’s mind. Every bone in her body was filled with the vibrations. She could barely keep herself upright as she clambered backward off of Raphael’s lap only to collapse limply into the empty space where Haarlep had been sitting beside him. 

His hand came to rest on her shoulder. The heat of it cut through the numbness and shot straight to her chest. How was he always so damn warm? She leaned into the touch without even realizing she had moved.

“He really did love you, you know,” Raphael’s nails scratched thin raised lines into Tav’s soft flesh. 

She scoffed. “Again, not making this any easier for me,” 

“It should,” 

Her next question quivered in the air, more desperate than hopeful. “How?” 

Tav knew she was playing into his game. Raphael was no better than any predator or any toddler for that matter, he just couldn’t help but play with his food. Still, she wasn’t any less petty than he was. As long as she still had the strength to fight against his machinations she would make them as painful and drawn out as possible because for as much as Raphael liked to toy with his victims his greatest victories came when a great foe finally rolled over and surrendered to his mercy. Tav may be desperate enough to give up her soul but never in a million years would she give it up without at least a bit of a fight. 

Still, a drop of desperate, honest goodwill remained in her, looking for some possible way to make all of this pain worth it. Anything to keep herself from falling into total despair at the thought of the empty future ahead. 

Raphael’s fingers kept up their soft dance on her skin. “You are making the ultimate sacrifice in the name of someone who loved you. His soul for yours? That’s the fairest bargain you could have asked for, and I think you know that,” 

“I-” 

“Besides,” he continued, “That love is dead and gone now. No use wishing you could run back to it. I want your honest answer Tav: Do you think you could genuinely go back, look him in the eyes, and make love to him after the things he’s done to you?” And with one sharp jab, Raphael’s fingers made their way to the pair of raw, gaping punctures on Tav’s neck, digging into the meat of her throat. She screamed out as he prodded about inside the flesh. “This was the turning point, wasn’t it? The proof that it was kill or be killed? The thing that sent you running back to me? I want to hear you say it,”

Blood wept from the open wound that never seemed to close no matter how much she healed, bathing Tav’s shoulder in its sticky warmth. 

That’s right. She’d almost forgotten all about her neck in her panic to get away. 

He’d gone too far this time. 

Astarion hadn’t let go, even as Tav raked her now broken nails down his back, even as she begged for forgiveness if he would just let her go. Only when he’d drank his fill had he let her squirm away to freedom, and not before ripping a wicked chunk of flesh from her neck first. It was purposeful. She’d had just enough vitality left to sit and think about what she’d done and what was coming while he was gone, and when he returned? It would have been over. 

The empty look in his crimson eyes, cheeks flushed with her lifeblood… it was the tipping point. There was no coming back from that.

Even now with his soul within her grasp, there was no coming back. Maybe for him, there was, but not for Tav, and definitely not for their partnership. Not in any way that mattered. 

There would never be a them again. 

Raphael’s pupils dilated in the candlelight. “Poor little canary in a world of cats. Don’t you wish you could be taken care of? A gilded cage may still be a cage, but cages offer protection.” Still covered in Tav’s blood, he swept an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. “I could keep you safe here, make sure he and those like him could never lay a finger on you again. Unlike that thoughtless boy, I like to take care of my things,”

Despite the fact that she’d done all of this to help Astarion, a little piece of Tav couldn’t help but feel like she’d betrayed him somehow. That didn’t matter now, though. She would never see him again. Soon, never soon enough or maybe far too soon, the memories of his moles and his laugh and the feeling of running her fingers up the ridges of scars on his back would fade. He would turn into a shadow of a memory from a time and place before Avernus was her home.

His face, the face he would now know every inch of in the mirror, would be a stranger to her. 

She didn’t have any more tears left to cry and yet she found some, just enough for one last soundless sob in Astarion’s honor. “I just want all of this to be over,” her voice sounded pathetic, even in her own ears, “I just want to go home,” 

“So let me take it away,” Raphael leaned in. His breath seemed to catch along the sensitive ridge of her ear, sending a shiver up her spine. He looked human for once, collar ruffled beneath his doublet that strained with every breath. Even his perfect hair was disheveled above wild, wide eyes. “The memories, the pain, the guilt; let me absolve you. Let me show you that you can be wanted,”

Tav remembered eyes like that. Eyes that coveted, with hints of softness lurking within the mystery. Those eyes were enough to make her forget to check the fine print. At least this time there was no malice waiting within them.

The promise of being cared for was just tempting enough to push her over the edge. 

“Let’s get this over with. Where do I sign?” 

“No signature necessary.” The feather quill that had been floating about was nowhere to be seen now, sent away somewhere while her mind was elsewhere. The scroll remained though, suspended in the air above them, tightly bound together with a red ribbon that reminded Tav of Astarion’s eyes. Had that been on purpose? Some way to stake a claim on another powerful hellish adversary’s prized possession once her soul was in his grasp? She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about anything anymore. 

In one last show of rebellion, Tav scoffed at Raphael. “Then how the fuck am I supposed to make a deal with you?”

“I think it’s only fair that a deal this poetic be sealed with a kiss,” Raphael’s voice made Tav feel like someone had cast grease on her stomach. The fresh, weak wave of disgust washed over her and settled into an empty acceptance. 

“I hate you, Raphael,” 

And without hesitation, because if she had given herself even one moment to hesitate she was sure she wouldn’t be able to go through with it, Tav lurched forward and pressed her lips to his. 

-------

(A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be part of a taglist for future chapters just reach out and I'd be happy to add you on)

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#fanfiction #astarion #bg3 astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 raphael #bg3 haarlep #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #raphael x tav #baldur's gate 3

[madeliefkrans]

you give me fever

this fic is my manifestation for the upcoming episode "sick day"! gregory better miss janine at school and act on with that feeling! it was originally only a sickfic, but i figured that janine's birthday is also soon since she's a sagittarius, soooo i combined the two.

fandom: abbott elementary (tv series) type: sickfic meets birthday fic with lots of fluff pairing: janine x gregory pov: janine’s word count: 4,556 on ao3 as well

summary: it’s janine’s birthday and... she’s at home with a cold.

you give me fever

Janine shivers under her ochre duvet cover, even though she’s put on clothes that should warm her up: her striped woollen socks and Christmas themed pyjamas. Sure, she loves Christmas and yes, she’s the person to secretly listen to Christmas songs during summer and okay, Christmas is right around the corner, but that’s not why she’s wearing them right now. They’re the warmest outfit she owns and bonus, they’re covered with deer whose noses are as red as hers right now. She could be wearing them because her heater is broken, but no. It’s Janine’s birthday and she’s got a cold.

Obviously, this was not how she planned this day to go. Her plans were to go to work and tonight, meet up with Erica. Yesterday, she daydreamed (during cooking, not a great time, she almost burnt herself) about walking through the doors of Abbott, stepping into to the staff room and seeing the incredible, thoughtful, creative surprise her (work) friends had orchestrated for her. Up next, her students, with their smiley little faces, would sing Happy Birthday to her. And after that, she would meet up with Erica and head into town for the most fun night ever. They would go to the street food festival downtown or a comedy show or a glow-in-the-dark mini golf course. Or all those places.

Alas. Even though Janine keeps her side of the street clean, apparently, today, karma and she don’t vibe like that. It’s fine. Technically, her birthday is a day like any other. She could celebrate her birthday next week. She could find out the surprise (which, at this point, only exists in her fantasy, its presence not yet confirmed) waiting for her at school later. She could be sung to by her talented students later. She could head into town and make a fool of herself together with Erica later.

That’s what she tells herself as she sneezes, stuffing a tissue to her nose. It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

She spends her morning sleeping, tucked in bed with a hot water bottle at her feet. During her lunch break, Erica video calls, congratulating her and wishing her well in the same sentence. She asks a million times if Janine needs anything and how she’s feeling. Promising Janine they’ll head into town the moment she’s her old self again. Janine’s glad she welcomed Erica back into her life after Halloween. The call wears her out a bit, though. So, after they hang up, she tries to get cosy on the couch with a fleece blanket and watch some TV. The rest of the afternoon passes by with sniffing, sneezing, and shivering.

It's around five when she realises she’s doing worse than earlier this day. After sleeping all morning, she perked up a bit, but as the afternoon dragged on, she’s feeling more and more uneasy. She’s not hungry, but her breakfast early this morning feels far away. Her blanket is not keeping her as warm as she would like it to. She debates whether she should take some painkillers, but her thoughts are interrupted when she’s hears the doorbell buzzing.

She’s trying to remember if she expects a package to arrive. Unfortunately, but expectedly, her brain is not cooperating. So she bundles up her burnt orange blanket across her shoulders and shuffles to her intercom. Getting up was a bad idea, because now she feels light in her head. She brings the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” Her voice weak.

“Hi. Janine? We, at Abbott, made you something. Can I bring it up?”

She’s not sure she’s hearing correctly. Is Gregory standing in front of her apartment building? If she did hear his voice, she’s having a hard time processing what that means.

“Janine? You there?”

“Yes! I am. Sorry, zoned out a bit. I’ll buzz you through.”

She does, and hangs up the phone. Then she stands there as it dawns to her. Gregory is here. He’s never been here. She’s wearing Christmas pyjamas. There’s at least a hundred tissues spread on the floor. Her hair is a mess. And she feels dizzy.

On a better, brighter day, this would be her cue for quickly trying to clean her living room, scanning the room for dirty dishes, clearing out her side table. But right now, even standing is too much, so she leans against the wall next to her intercom, until Gregory rings her doorbell.

She opens the door.

He’s standing in the hallway in all his glory. Holding a big bag in his right hand.

The strength is leaving her legs, but she’s happy to see him. She smiles, feeling self-conscious. And you know, not well.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he smiles back.

“Come in.” She makes room for him and gestures at the coat rack next to the front door. “You can leave your coat and shoes here.”

“Thanks.” He puts down the bag and does so. “Is it okay I’m here?”

Janine nods. Then regrets it because her dizziness is now ringing in her ears. She’s sweating, but she’s cold. Gregory is looking at her, a frown forming between his brows. She’s not sure what kind of face she’s pulling, but she doesn’t want him to worry.

“Hey, are you alright?” He takes a step towards her.

“Yes, I’m fi–” she starts to say, but she cannot finish, because suddenly, her legs give out. And only distantly she feels the impact of the side of her body against his chest as his arms embrace her. The next moment she’s laying on the floor, still caught in her blanket. She looks up at Gregory, who’s on his knees, bent over her.

“Janine? How are you feeling?” His voice is soft. Not at all distressed, what she would be if someone next to her fainted. Her body is the heaviest it’s ever been.

“Tired.”

“You fainted.”

“I figured.”

Janine tries to sit up, leaning on her elbows.

“No rush, take it slow,” he urges.

She does. And slowly, she’s able to sit up, leaning back on her hands.

“I think I wanna rest for a bit.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Thank you. And sorry.”

“It’s totally fine.”

Bit by bit, she makes her way up to standing, with Gregory watching her every move. She shuffles to her bedroom. Takes some painkillers on the way. In the back of her head there’s a voice trying to point her attention to the fact that Gregory is in her apartment, that he can see her messed up bed, the stuffed animal (Kurt the koala) she’s had since she was a little girl. She cannot seem to care though, because she’s distracted by how good it feels to slip under her duvet.

“Before you fall asleep, what is your favourite type of soup?”

She meets his gaze; he’s standing in the doorway of her bedroom. Despite feeling the heaviness of sleep pulling her down, she can’t help but let out a little laugh. Is he for real?

“It’s spicy tomato soup. What are you planning to do with that info?”

He grins. “You’ll see.”

She doesn’t imagine the possible scenarios for long. Because after pulling Kurt close to her, she cannot seem to keep her eyes open and she drifts into sleep.

It’s dark out when Janine wakes. Seems like Gregory closed the door and her curtains too. Sleeping during the day is the strangest thing, but she’s not sweating anymore and the extreme coldness in her bones is gone, so she did the right thing. She’s glad her nap and the painkillers worked.

She hears water running and clanging of what sounds like dishes. Then, miraculously, her stuffed nose is able to identify the smell coming from under her bedroom door. Food.

Janine’s belly rumbles loudly.

For a moment, she braces herself to leave the warmth of her bed. Then she flips her duvet and reaches her feet to the ground. Once again, she grabs her loyal plaid, wrapping it around her body. She makes her way to the door but stops in front of the mirror on top of her dresser. Good to know her nose is still red as Melissa’s cape on Halloween this year. She pulls her hair into a half bun, noticing she’s feeling a bit embarrassed. She shouldn’t expect to look like her usual self when she’s down with a cold. But Gregory is on the other side of the door. And somehow that makes her want to make an effort to look presentable.

She opens her bedroom door and steps into the aromatic kitchen. Standing by the sink is Gregory, doing the dishes. He looks up, midway scrubbing, a trace of worry on his face.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Janine is stunned. She looks at the pan on the stove. The collection of clean dishes behind Gregory. The floor, which is empty of tissues, but now covered with balloons in all colours imaginable. She feels a wave of gratefulness wash over her.

“Gregory, oh my god, I can’t believe this. This is crazy. You didn’t have to do all this.”

His smiles at her. “I wanted to. And you’re not feeling well, so it’s the least I could do.”

“Thank you. Really.”

She drops the blanket on her couch and walks over to stand next to him. “I’m feeling a lot better, sleeping helped.”

“I’m glad. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, actually. What did you make?” She walks over to the stove and peers into the pan. Steamy, red soup that smells wonderful. “You… made my favourite soup. You’re gonna make me cry.”

Her overly, but truly genuinely, touched expression makes Gregory let out a laugh.

She points Gregory to the high shelf that has her bowls on it (glad to not use her improvised stool for once) and pours both bowls full. They sit at her round table.

The soup tastes incredible. And not only because she’s hungry. Gregory is a good cook. It doesn’t surprise her.

“This is delicious,” she tells him. He answers with a smile. The steam of the soup opens her nose. It’s a welcome sensation.

“I like your outfit.”

“Thanks, where’s yours?”

“I left my Christmas sweater at home. Hope you can forgive me.”

“Oh? I didn’t peg you as a person who owns Christmas themed clothes.”

“It was a gift. But it’s very soft. It’s a green turtleneck, with a huge deer face on the front.”

Janine grins, imagining Gregory with the jumper on. A proud, stoic Mr. Darcy. She wonders whether he knows his sweater is a reference to Bridget Jones’s Diary. And she wonders who gave him the gift. His mom? Or maybe an ex-lover?

“Did your family give that to you?”

Gregory snorts, spoon full of soup mid-air. Janine is surprised by his reaction.

“No, my dad hates Christmas,” Gregory answers, his voice almost devoid of any emotion. Almost, because Janine’s sure she catches some bitterness in there. She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Silently, he continues to eat his soup. She follows his movements with her eyes.

“When I was sick as a kid, my mom didn’t really care for me. I learned to take care of myself.”

She didn’t realise that was on the tip of her tongue, but it’s out before she knows it. He meets her gaze. She breaks eye contact immediately. Her turn to stare at her bowl and lift a spoon to her mouth.

“That must’ve been tough.” The softest voice.

“It was.” Her throat feels tighter than usual. She forces out her next words. “It’s alright, though. It could’ve been worse. It meant I had more cooking and cleaning experience than the other kids in my class. Which paid off when I finally moved out.”

She laughs a little. It feels fake, she knows it. But she doesn’t want him to pity her. She’s glad he’s silent.

“My dad is all about tradition and sobriety. Whenever I got too excited as a kid, he would put me on time-out. Everything that came with Christmas, like the presents, decorations and Santa Claus, which made me ecstatic of course, was a reason for him to discipline me.”

She looks up at him. He gives her a small smile, almost apologetic.  

“But the one thing I love most about kids is their carefree enthusiasm.”

Gregory shrugs. “Guess my dad didn’t think that way.”

She’s silent for a bit.

“That explains why you’re so composed,” she says, before quickly adding: “Which is not a bad thing by the way, I think it’s a great personality trait.”

His smile is back, a bit bigger this time. “You taking care of yourself as a kid explains your resilience.”

She answers his smile. It’s true. Her memories of growing up aren’t always great, but her childhood did bring her to where she is right now. And it resulted in the traits she’s most proud of: her spirit and optimism. It’s reassuring Gregory can see that.

She remembers the conversation they had on the day Tariq performed for F.A.D.E. at Abbott. They were standing in front of the school, sharing an umbrella he held up, in the rain. It confused her that his dad didn’t want him to be a teacher. She agreed with what Gregory said that day: it shouldn’t matter what his dad thinks, it should be about what makes him, Gregory, happy. It doesn’t surprise her that Gregory’s dad dislikes Christmas. Janine’s mom couldn’t be the mom she wanted and often needed. Maybe Gregory’s dad was the same.  

Despite that, he turned into this person who decided to take a chance and continue teaching, because he thought it could make him happy. And even more, he showed up on her birthday, even though she has a cold, making her favourite soup, cleaning up her apartment, decorating it. Her heart inflates like one of the balloons covering the floor. She’s glad he’s here. It makes her see him in a new light.

They finish their bowls. Together they clean up the rest of the dishes. Janine is storing away cutlery when she sees Gregory rummaging the bag he brought.

“I have something for you,” he says. “We all pitched in on this, so Barbara, Melissa, Jacob and me. Originally it was just for your birthday, but now it has a get-well-soon part as well.”

He takes out a big, wrapped present out of the bag and places it on her white dining table. Janine is overjoyed. A birthday gift! And everyone pitched in! She can’t stop grinning.

“Oh my god! Thank you!”

Carefully, she opens the present, unfolding the paper until she can see what’s inside. It seems to be a basket filled with different things. There’s a box of ripe, shiny plums. A shawl in lovely pastel green and pink colours. A small ficus plant. And some tea. She picks everything up to inspect it with the widest grin imaginable.

“This is so great, thank you so much!” she beams up at Gregory. “I really have to get better soon so I can thank the rest.”

“Happy birthday, Janine.”

Janine can’t stop smiling at him. She looks into his eyes, and the feeling of wanting more washes in, even though he’s right there, giving her his fullest attention, smiling at her.

“You know,” she starts, feeling brave, “whenever I’m sick there’s a movie I watch… Want to stay and watch WALL-E with me?”

“Yeah,” Gregory replies, almost without missing a beat, nodding, “sounds good.”

“Okay, great!” Janine plucks the tea from her gift basket. “Do you also want a cup?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

She makes tea for them both. A few minutes later, they’ve set up on her couch. Steaming cups in front of them on the side table. Movie paused right at the beginning on her TV. Janine’s more conscious than usual of his presence. Her couch is not that big. Three people on it would sit knee to knee. Earlier today she couldn’t get her body to warm up, but it now seems her skin is radiating heat and it’s not because she’s running a fever.

“You ready?” she asks.

“More than.”

Janine knows exactly why WALL-E is her comfort movie. It calms her down, watching a story of how meaningful connection is still possible long after the Earth is no longer inhabitable. A story of how robot WALL-E travels across the entire galaxy to follow this meaningful connection. It’s magical, touching and has so much heart. It makes her think about the consequences of her choices, but in the most soft and grateful way possible.

It’s exactly because it’s her comfort movie and Gregory sitting next to her makes her feel safe, that she starts feeling drowsy and drifts into sleep. She blames her after-dinner dip too. And her sleepless night. And her cold.

She dreams of them sitting on her couch. Or rather, she’s laying on her side, with her head in his lap, on one of her cushions, knees pulled up a bit. WALL-E is still chasing after EVE on the TV. Gregory runs his fingers through her curls. Each touch a lullaby. It soothes her.

“Don’t stop…” she mumbles.

Gregory hums gently in question.

“Your fingers in my hair… feels good…”

He continues. She nudges the side of her face into the cushion. She never wants this dream to end.

Inevitably, it does. She was only taking a small nap, apparently, because when she wakes the movie is still running. But something is not right. It’s not WALL-E’s adorkableness. It’s that she’s laying in Gregory’s lap, like in her dream, covered by her blanket. Immediately, her heart rate rises. Did she fall over while sleeping? Or did she decide to rest her head here while she was sleeping? Her cheeks glow from embarrassment. Did Gregory let her and cover her with the plaid?

Slowly, she turns her head for as much is possible with her laying on her side. Her eyes fall on Gregory’s sleeping face, resting his head on the backrest of her couch, slightly leaning to his right. His breathing is slow and steady. The skin on his face relaxed. It’s cute. Something flips in her stomach. It makes her skin burn even more.

Maybe she rested her head on his thighs while he was sleeping. There’s still a way to make sure he doesn’t know this ever happened.

With utmost care, as quietly and slowly as possible, she rises from her position. She holds her breath getting up, the only sound her heart beating and rustling of the blanket on top of her clothes. And, she notices the next moment, to her deepest regret, the rustling of his clothes too. He’s moving.

“Janine?” A croaky voice.

He’s awake.

She jerks herself up. The impact comes with a thud.

“Ow,” Gregory groans. “Shit.”

Oh god. She headbutted him. His chin, to be precise.

“Oh my god, Gregory, I’m so sorry,” Janine has never been this flustered. She sits up and shifts in her seat, so her body is facing him, sitting on her knees. “Are you alright?”

“I’m definitely awake now.” Gregory rubs his chin, folding one leg on the couch, the other one still over the edge. He’s laughing, to her relief. Which makes her laugh too. Laughing at the situation, her clumsiness.

“I come over to bring you a birthday and get-well gift, cook for you, and this is how you treat me,” he says, before pulling a serious face. “If you want me to leave, you can say so, Janine.”

She laughs some more. “Don’t leave. I still have to give you a black eye.” She holds up her fists to her cheeks, bouncing her arms, pretending to prepare herself for hitting him in the face.

As she does so, the blanket on top of her shoulders slips off. The next moment, Gregory reaches for it, his face close, stretching his arms on both her sides. In a swift motion, he pulls the blanket over her shoulders again, closing it in the middle, right before her chest, where she’s still holding up her hands, now in loosened fists. His hands brush over hers. His folded knee touches hers. He gently takes some of her hair to pull it out of her blanket cape, so it rests on top. The sound of the movie still running is miles away. She meets his gaze.

In that moment, she doubts her dream was a dream. It’s all there in the way he touched her hair just now and how he’s looking at her in this moment. And it’s locking her eyes with his that makes her realise this: she wants to kiss him.

He’s so close. His warm gaze not only soothing her but causing a tingling feeling across her forearms and the back of her neck. He’s everywhere around her, taking up all her senses.

His hands rests on his folded leg, his fingers touch her knee. Is he doing this on purpose? The sensation is enough to light her whole body on fire. She breaks eye contact, looking at the TV again.

“You know, it’s pretty fucked up we assume WALL-E is a boy. It’s a robot. You know? It makes no sense. It’s sexless.” She’s rambling, she knows it, but she cannot stop.

Gregory just hums, slowly nodding. She can feel his eyes on her face, but she’s looking everywhere but him. His finger traces a small circle on her knee. She feels the skin underneath burning up.

“And you know what! The movie’s message is really well handled. Under capitalism, the environment is doomed. We thrive when freed from the confines of oppression! After all these years, WALL-E is still relevant, maybe even more so today than when it got released.”

He hums again. It agitates her. How he’s simply sitting there, while she’s freaking out, trying to decide whether she should push her feelings away. Or give in to them. She clutches the fabric of her blanket in her hands, staring at her lap, at how his fingers trace the soft fabric of her deer-covered pyjama pants.

She can’t take it any longer; she’s almost bursting. So, she takes a shuddering breath. And looks up.

His face is there, filling up her whole vision. His fingers stop tracing her knee. He rang her doorbell, cooked for her, cleaned and decorated her apartment, wanted to watch her comfort movie with her, brushed his fingers on her knee. And now he’s here, on her sofa, sitting in front of her, close, so close. It’s only a split second, but meeting his gaze is all she needs.

She leans forward. And kisses him, quickly, before pulling back again.

Her heart is racing, unable to process what she did. She looks up to see his reaction, even though her nerves are killing her. She needs to know.

His surprise quickly makes way for a grin. Before Janine can feel even more nervous, he leans forward, cupping her face with his hand, the warmth of his touch and breath on her face, closing the distance between them.

It feels incredible.

It’s no use being careful when she already fainted in his arms and headbutted him in the face, when he’s seen Kurt the koala and her Christmas themed pyjamas, when she opened up about her mom, when she cuddled up in his lap. It’s no use being careful, so she leans into his hand, into his touch, taking in everything he’s giving her.  

She’d expected kissing him would ease her longing to pull him close, but it only makes her want him more. It’s like something inside her set off. Or like she passed a stop without knowing. She doesn’t ever want to return, though.

She senses he wants to get closer too, but their legs are in the way. The heat rises to her head. At this point, she cannot say whether it’s her fever acting up or that she’s feeling hot. Hot for him.

Her hand is on his chest, gently pressing. He pulls back. The look in his eyes knocks the air right out of her and for a moment, she stops in her tracks. He’s completely open, meeting her gaze with all he has. She’s never seen him like this. Her heart swells. She can’t go back.

She clasps his shoulder for stability as she straddles him. His eyes never leave her face as she settles and cups his face in her hands. She leans forward, his hands travel up her thighs, resting on her hips. It feels amazing, her body pressed to his, kissing him, his warm hands pressing into her hips, her lower back.

It’s not until she’s out of breath because of her stuffed nose that they pull back. Which is sooner than she would’ve liked. Her whole body is tingling, her thighs still pressing into the sides of his body, his hands still roaming her back, waist and hips. Her blanket long gone, bundled up on the side of her couch.  

He’s looking at her with so much fondness, a small smile lingering on his lips, she wants to kiss him all over again. She feels bare, naked, but it’s alright if he’s the one holding onto her.

“Do you think I passed on my cold to you?”

He chuckles softly. “Maybe. I’ll survive. It was a good trade.”

“Yeah,” Janine grins.

A moment of bliss passes. The next, she backs out of his lap and positions herself next to him again. She grabs one of the cups of tea they made. It’s cooled down entirely. Figures. She takes a sip anyway. Looks like WALL-E is almost over.

Gregory puts one of his arms on the backrest of the sofa, and she scooches closer to him, resting the back of her head in the crook of his armpit. And like that, they watch the remaining part of the movie.

It’s when Gregory’s putting on his coat to head home that she realises there’s no way she could’ve guessed how his day would go. Before going to bed yesterday, her plans were to go to Abbott and meet up with Erica afterwards. After waking up, she decided to stay in and recover from her cold, taking it easy even though it was her birthday. Not for a moment did she expect Gregory would show up at her door. That he would make her favourite soup. That he would kiss her. He has no idea how happy he makes her.

“Did you run your fingers through my hair while I was sleeping in your lap?” It’s not really a question.

Gregory meets her gaze, smiles softly, and nods.

“And then I told you to keep going.”

“Yeah, you did.” His smile deepens. “Want to do that again sometime soon?”

She beams up at him. “Yes. I would love that.”

He’s packed in to face the cold evening outside. She doesn’t want him to leave just yet. There’s a beat when they’re looking at each other. The next she takes a step forward. He folds his arms over her shoulders, her head, resting his chin on top of her hair. She places her hands on the broad of his back. Breathes in. And breathes out.

She could live here. In his arms.

#abbott elementary #janine x gregory #gregory x janine #janine teagues #gregory eddie #fanfiction #this is the longest fic i ever wrote i put lots of my fav trops in it hope you ENJOY

[nanakithewarrior]

onewinged-tragedy​:

He was thrown by the question, but the more he considered the beast, he supposed it made sense he’d wonder that–creatures such as this, their fangs, jaws, claws, and physical strength, their very body was their defense as well as how they take care of their needs. But he shook his head. “Human technology is essentially only made a reality for the purpose of making everything easier and easier with each advancement. So no, there’s no confusion.”

Full, from when he ate on the breezy hill? His senses were back on alert, and there was just the faintest heat to the back of his neck, but he fought to keep it going any further. His hand did grip his gun a bit more firmly though, even if it was raised near his head, no longer aimed, and finger off the trigger. How did this beast know…?

“…Yes, basically. You could call this my territory that I protect. So where would yours be? Why are you here? And what do you know of me eating on a hill?” he questioned. His ease in trying to understand this beast lessoned, after that comment. Had he been spying? Was this unusually intelligent, speaking beast in service with someone that was targeting Dr. Crescent? Even if his natural instinct pushed him to take aim again and demand answers, he knew the better process would be to patiently assess this thing and see what answers he could find without things getting too tense.

“Well, your scent was in the grass. Very weak, however. You didn’t roll hard enough. You should remove all that cloth when you do that, actually. I keep forgetting humans are particularly bad at marking their borders properly.” That was why, he had learned. they preferred to build fences and walls. Like those that surrounded the mansion below them.

Valentine had asked a lot of questions just now, a little too many to respond quickly. Yet Nanaki didn’t let that bother him. Flicking a look at the large mansion in question, his ears swiveled to the back of his head with apprehension.

“I come from the south. My home is pretty far… I’ve never ventured so far away on my own. But there was something I needed to see. I was going to… somewhere else, when I caught a familiar scent that lead me this way instead.”

His nostrils flared again, twitching and curling at the sickening putrid stench that leaked from the bowels of the mansion. It came right from the stones at its base, faint but concrete enough to make his stomach twist.

Nanaki’s fangs bared briefly in an automatic reflex, head shaking to regain composure, the fiery tail by his side twitched its tip on the ground, surprisingly not setting anything ablaze with its heat.

“… There is something vile in these mountains.” He informed the human. “It smells very bad… and it’s scaring all life away. My Grandfather has been concerned about the Lifestream. So I thought I should check.”

It was his time to ask questions. Just one, but most direct, as the ochre gaze returned on the human.

“… What are you keeping inside that house?”

#01 || Son of Seto [IC: Nanaki] #02A || ΕΓΛ 1959/1983 [CANON VERSE: LIFE OF NANAKI] #12G || United by Gilligan [Vincent Valentine] #04 || Four Seasons [Divergent Megaverse] #umbralstigmataunbound #umbral-stigmata-unbound #00h || i've seen this before. [transfer from primary blog]

[greenbeany]

FILM for Crimson?

Film is a word

Crimson is a person

Let's do this bitch

F) What's one thing that Crimson is really bad at?

Oh I can list a few:

Starting regular conversations.

She's good at leading, she's good at following orders (if she agrees with them), she does a lot well but starting conversations without yelling or bitching is hard.

Crimson is dumb.

She might be organised but my girl missed two and half years of school, she's still learning stuff most her class knows. Most of her brain is glitter anyway, it's cool.

Early riser.

Crimson wakes up early, wakes up everyone and in her sleepy state will break something and try to fight someone. Often in an attempt to exhert energy she'll collapse on team RGLLs floor.

I) On a scale of 1 to 10 how much does Crimson love herself?

Crimson is good at loving herself. Sometimes she curses her semblance, and she hates the fact that she constantly remembers dumb things she's said or done. They're nearly as bad as the flashbacks. She's probably a 6.

L) What is Crimsons favourite board game?

She likes exploding kittens but that's a card game.

Probably the game of life, adventures edition. It's colourful :)

(sidenote, my favourite is the great game of Britain, but it's way too nerdy for Crimson ngl)

M) What is Crimsons favourite dessert?

Key lime pie

Crimson likes cronuts, and tirimisu and profiteroles. She's a sweet person.

Asks for OCs and Canon Characters are open!

#rwby #oc #WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO FIND MY WEAKNESSES OCHRE? #ITS NOT GONNA WORK #I'M STILL GONNA CRUSH BOMZ

[rodeoxqueen]

Me again 😖😖😖 I hope you like angst cuz I got a doozy. Sparda twins when the sibling dies to protect the other. This was inspired by the Marineford arc in One Piece.

Howdy Howdy,

I just wrote some very sweet and soft work about the Spardas watching One Piece, and then I remembered this was requested. Duality and coincidence, man. 

Needless to say, my friends found me trying to bury myself in another shallow grave after writing this. 

-Rodeo 

Dante Dies For Vergil 

When Vergil sees a flash of red knock him over to the ground in the midst of battle, he never expects the sight before him.  

Dante stands before his older brother, staggering and shaking. A giant gaping wound bleeds crimson onto the earth, and it refuses to close. Vergil’s widened eyes slowly look at the line of red that follows his brother’s lips. 

Vergil doesn’t know what to do, seeing Dante like this. So solemn, serious, and-

He swallows thickly. 

A lightning bolt shocks his veins in a frigidity he hasn’t felt in a long time. His hand reaches for his brother as he is reminded of the past he fought to never repeat. 

His brother is so solemn, serious, and-

Dante’s dying. 

Vergil quickly gets up and grabs his brother before he falls. It’s a clumsy excuse of an embrace, and anyone who was watching would know it was nothing but. 

“You-you-” 

Dante chuckles weakly, his body pliant and weak. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” Vergil stammers. His own legs are weakly supporting the two of them. He can’t fight this. He can’t do anything. 

Dante squeezes his arms around Vergil, and his blue counterpart can feel the strength and soul leave him. 

“Why would you-after everything I’ve done-” Vergil is stammering, his body screams at him to have more grace than this. He is weak. Why is he weak?!

He can’t stop rambling, he cannot focus, he is not composed, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t-

He can’t be alone again. 

Dante claps his hand against Vergil’s shoulder. 

“I’ve never been one for regret-” 

“And I’m not going to start now.” He coughs dark red. 

“But I can’t help but feel sorry.” 

 Vergil feels himself fall apart as Dante’s arms seem to fight to stay wrapped around him.

 It’s tragic. Dante spent his whole life trying to piece things together just for both the twins to shatter at this moment. 

“Take care of yourself alright? Tell everyone, tell everyone I’ll miss them.”  

“Vergil?” 

“Dante?” Vergil croaks dumbly. 

Clear tears wet his coat. 

Dante’s attempt to keep his words steady fails him in his last seconds. 

“Thank you for loving me.” Vergil is still and Dante’s body finally slumps, a long sigh as his soul is freed from this mortal burden. 

 Dante’s amulet has gone cold against Vergil’s neck. 

 Vergil falls to his knees, his rapidly and painfully thudding heart rattling in his ribs. Dante’s body softly lands and turns over on the earth. 

Dante’s pale face, eyes closed and gently smiling, greets him. He looks at his own shaking hands

Red. Why are his hands red? No. No. This is Dante’s blood. This is his brother’s blood. It’s on his hands. Why is it on his hands? 

Dante got hurt. Dante got hurt. Dante got hurt. Dante-

Dante’s dead. Dante’s dead. 

Vergil’s breaths are quick and he finds he still can’t breathe like he’s drowning from the air. 

He lets out a guttural scream as he beats the earth with ochre hands. Vergil pulls at his hair and streaks blood on his face. 

On his hands and knees, he has surrendered to his humanity at last. And it is a terrible sight. 

He screams until he can’t anymore. And he sobs brokenly, a house fire of a man.  

Vergil Dies For Dante 

Blue and red. Blue and red. Blue and red. Dante always wanted those colors to be of him and his brother. Together, complementary. 

But today. Oh, today. 

Today Vergil stands before him, blue coat soaked in crimson blood that is all his own. Even when he is fatally wounded, Vergil stands with attempted poise. 

When The Yamato falls onto the earth with a clang, Vergil begins to come forward with a dying man’s tread. 

Dante is quick to grab Vergil, and he is panicking. 

“Vergil!” He tries to staunch the bleeding, the hole in his chest right over his heart the size of his hand. His brother stops him, eyes blank and mouth leaking blood. 

“It’s no use,” Vergil says, coughing red flecks. 

“No, I can do something. Vergil, I- We can find Nico, she-she can build you a new heart, come on, we-we have to get help-” 

“No!” Vergil barks out, legs losing balance and leaning upon his brother. The fall breaks Dante out of his in-shock rambling. His brother’s embrace chills the blood in his veins. 

Dante failed. Dante let his brother, his reason for fighting, get hurt.

Vergil looks away from him, eyes weary as he fights to stay. It is a losing battle, the amount of time left slipping away like sand through his bloodied fingers. 

“Vergil-” Dante hugs his brother and he sobs. Vergil’s skin is unnaturally cold.

Since their rekindling, he has familiarized himself to be used to the new contact. Vergil’s arms shake as he slowly brings them to clutch his brother’s leather coat. He sighs. 

He has sacrificed his body and mind all his life. He sacrificed himself for revenge, for power, for strength, and for his own selfish intentions. 

This was his last time sacrificing himself. And he felt no shame. 

“Do not cry for me, brother,” Vergil says, his voice quiet. Dante holds him as if he fears he will squeeze Vergil’s life out of him if he pressed any harder. 

“Now, my time is running out. I can only say this once. So heed my words.” Vergil rattles. Dante nods and his broad shoulders shake in fear. 

“I have been a terrible brother, a terrible father, and a terrible man for a very long time. I blinded myself in isolation. I had abandoned you, my dear little brother. Forgive me.” Vergil says, swallowing thickly. 

Dante’s eyes are wide open as he shudders in breaths. This is the first time and last time his brother will ever ask for his forgiveness, his death bed his brother’s embrace. 

“Forgive me, as I had lived for so long thinking I had nobody. And I may hope Nero forgives me for this.” Vergil stirs, his arms moving around Dante’s neck, one of his worn hands upon the back of Dante’s head. 

“I’ll take care of him.” 

“I know you will.” 

His life is leaving him, his ice-blue eyes rain-clouded as he thinks of his existence. A stray tear leaves his face. 

“Even though I've been good for nothing my whole life, you have not relented in my redemption. Stubborn devil.” He wheezes. Dante laughs and it turns into a sob. He knows. He knows. He knows. 

“You saved me, but most importantly, you loved me.” 

It’s Vergil’s turn to cry. 

He forces his weeping voice to work before he expires. He lets out a choked sob. 

“Thank you for loving me,” Vergil says right into Dante’s ear, his hand slowly losing grip of his brother’s hair. 

A smile slowly creeps onto his face as the twinkling sounds of a woman’s voice ring in his ears. 

Vergil, where are you, Vergil?…

Vergil’s unseeing eyes shine with unshed tears as he mouths something to no one in the living world. 

I’m right here, mama. 

The storm has approached and dissipated, and Vergil surrenders to his end. 

When Vergil’s nose brushes against Dante’s jugular, Dante already knows. And the truth is fatal. 

And yet, he pushes Vergil’s body away from his in hopes to see his brother take another breath. 

He doesn’t. 

His dead brother’s face is calm, eyes clouded over with a rare smile on his face. Bits of his hair has fallen to his face. Dante dumbly moves his hand over, shifting to brush his hair aside. 

Smears of Vergil’s crimson soak into his hair. Dante realizes his hands are covered in red. 

Dante shudders and he immediately goes back to holding his brother with a grip tighter than he was holding him prior. 

Red and blue. Red and blue. Red and blue. 

He looks down. All of Vergil’s coat is ochre. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore. 

He is mute, a long pathetic whine leaving his mouth as he falls to his knees, cradling himself and his brother. 

History repeats itself in a new way.

Dante kneels with his head down, just like he did when he was a child during the first time he thought he lost Vergil. Instead, now his brother is in his arms, this time-

This time he knows for sure. 

It is red, and all there ever will be is red.

Half of him has disappeared. 

Dante stays there for a very long time, a shell of who he used to be. 

#dante imagine #vergil imagines #dante sparda #vergil sparda #angst #rodeo is best at angst #rodeo cried several times because of this #request #devil may cry angst #devil may cry imagines #devil may cry

[puckwritesstuff]

What if... Sigyn was the one who died first in their old age and Loki still has a few centuries left? angst alert T^T

Y'all, I write these at work in my down time and post when I get home. I was holding back tears trying to write this so I didn't cry in front of my boss' secretary. Y'all are killing me. XD

Thank you for the ask!

---

It had originally been just a few stones and some flowers. Even later, two of the stones had been removed as Thor and Loki came back, and it was just a place for her to go and remember her father. Now, it was a full memorial garden, and Loki sat on the bench across from the larger stone with his wife’s name carved into it. Heimdall’s stone rested against the base of hers.

It had already been 50 years since she died. It had only been 50 years since she died.

He closed his eyes, his magic pushing at his mind. She had gotten so weak at the end— the golden hair he loved was gone, and she weighed less than Hofund at the end. Magical healing could only do so much against degenerative diseases. But he could see her in his mind’s eye, young and healthy again. She was sitting in his window back on Asgard, the sunset painting her in soft light so that she seemed like she was glowing. Her dark eyes looked up at him, and she smiled.

“Darling…” he muttered. “Please. Come to me like he came to you. Give me some comfort, please, I beg of you.”

He opened his eyes, and the bench was surrounded by clouds of peach, yellow, and ochre. He wasn’t alone on the bench either— Frigga was holding his hand and smiled softly up at him.

“Mother?” Loki said.

“Hello, my son,” she said. “It’s been a while.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

She gripped his hand tight.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said.

“I never got to say goodbye,” he said. “To say how much I loved you.”

“I knew,” she said. “I always knew.”

“Where’s Sigyn?” Loki asked.

Frigga looked away.

“It doesn’t work like that, Loki,” Frigga said. “It’s not that she couldn’t, but this magic… it sends who you need to see.”

“Ah,” he said. “I thought there was a catch. Is she happy, at least? Now that she’s reunited with him?”

“She is,” Frigga said. “But she misses you. She is anxious for your arrival.”

“Do I even get to go to her?” Loki asked. “Will I merge with the other, will I be sent to the people that the TVA pruned when they took me? And if I am there and he is there, how can I ask her to choose?”

Frigga shook her head. “We don’t know what will happen. But you will see her again. In some form, in some way. The universe never could keep you apart for long.”

“I may yet still have centuries,” Loki said. “How long must I wait?”

“Live your life, Loki,” Frigga said. “That’s what she would want. That’s what I want for you. Live however you choose to and find some happiness in the world before you rest.”

“I thought I had,” Loki said, his eyes burning. “I thought I had forever.”

Frigga smiled sadly. She stood and kissed his temple. He closed his eyes. He’d forgotten what it was to be held by her.

“We will be waiting for you,” she whispered. “And you will have forever, I promise.”

He opened his eyes, and he was back in front of Sigyn’s stone. He took a deep breath, composing himself for the walk through the village back to the empty house.

#prompt #fanfiction #loki #sigyn #frigga #logyn #mcu #Love Duty and Glorious Purpose fic

[dulcidyne]

Writing Tag Game

Tagged by @dispatchwithlove <3 <3

How many works do you have on AO3?

16

What’s your total AO3 word count?

233,438

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Experiments in Diplomacy (ME: A Jaal/Ryder)

2. The Cursed Hand (Cullen/Trevelyan Edwardian Fairytale AU)

3.  Ghost in the Machines (Shakarian Control Ending)

4. Big, Dramatic Love Confession (Shakarian, smut)

5. Experiments on Attraction (Cullen/Trevelyan modern college AU)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to always respond to comments, although sometimes it takes me a really long time depending on how crazy my life is. Even if it takes me forever and a day, I am over the moon over every single one. I get that no one owes me their time or attention and it's really touching that not only has someone read something of mine but also taken more time to tell me what they think. It's incredibly touching.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

White Rabbits and Wormholes. Ghost in the Machines is very angsty but the ending is not.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Portrait of a Man. It ends with the nicest moment I think I've ever written and I think best of all, it reinforces the central theme of what it means to live in the shadow of your own legacy and how a normal person possibly handles that. Cullen's gift is...so perfect and fits in so well to the emotional core of the fic. I don't like to re-read my finished work but the ending of this gives me a bit of a gut punch of warm fuzzy feelings and catharsis every time.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

No, I need my sandbox to be more limited by canon in order for me to focus enough to write fic for it--which is why I don't typically write non-canon couples even if I really, really ship them (Femshep/Tali, Femshep/Miranda or Jack, MaleShep/Garrus, MRyder/Evfra...ugh, I REALLY ship this one, I was was so tempted to write fic for it)

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not to my knowledge?

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

As of now, yes. And...I don't know? I see smut as the sexytimes version of an action scene. I need character motivations, needs/wants and impediments that get resolved through physicality (with tension and timing) otherwise it's a momentum drag for me. Physical intimacy for physical intimacy's sake isn't something that really intrigues me from a writing perspective (reading on the other hand...lol, I have a much easier time enjoying other people's work than my own)

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No idea, I don't think so.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes? My best friend in high school and I co-wrote original fic together. I think it is still up on ff.net.

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

It's a four- way tie: FemShep/Garrus, Elizabeth Bennet/Darcy, Usagi Tsukino/Mamoru Chiba, and Fenris/Hawke. I don't write for the last three, but they are most of what I read.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The Cursed Hand, sadly. I was re-working it for original publication and ended up quitting that midway through so now it is an absolute mess and I don't remember where I left off.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I do well with character-driven writing and most days I'm happy with my prose--not all days though.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I have an issues with cluttering my writing up with too much description and losing the central action. I think I am better about it than I used to be but my impulse trends towards more pretty prose = better. Now, I try to use it more sparingly and with moments I want to really land/linger. But most of the time I only catch it in edits, when I can see more of the forest through the trees and get a sense of how much it's dragging the pacing.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Hah, I'm just flashing back to Sailor Moon fanfics littered with just the worst, most cringe Japanese phrases. But no, I like it for the most part now. As long as it isn't "Kawaii desu!"

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Sailor Moon. Once and never again haha. I should go find that fic because it is a showcase in the whole 'problems overdescribing a scene'

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

White Rabbits and Wormholes has a special place in my heart because it's a fic written for my childhood. It's...uh, hard to write about childhood abuse for obvious reasons. And it IS sad but it's also not about the explicit abuse itself, but about imagination and escape in that context. For me, these are the hallmarks of my experiences--I never faced it head on. I was always escaping into my imagination.

I also absolutely love this opening: 'In a house tucked away in the countryside, a boy is locked in a closet. The thin, flat finger of daylight curls around the doorframe to pluck curiously at his ankles and he counts the hours by it, watches the bright digit of pale gold deepen into sunset ochre then grow faint and grey before finally withering to nothing in the dust and dark.'

Tagging: @otemporanerys and anyone else! I'd love to hear more from other fic authors!

#dulcidyne writes #fanfiction #writing

[mythiica]

amber astrolabe | ikevam | leonardo

title |  amber astrolabe fandom | ikemen vampire character | leonardo da vinci  genre | angst, bittersweet warnings | well i dont kill anyone, but i dont make any promises for your feels intended gender audience | neutral audience  word count | 2.1k pov | second person  check out the others in this collection | comte, mozart other comments | reuploading! i decided to edit it a bit before doing so, sorry for the wait

The museum looms in front of you, practically swallowing you with its grand glory as it reaches for the sky. Sunlight sparkles in the new windows, yet to be touched by peoples’ hands as they stare into the street. Even from the outside, you can see the top of the arched glass roof letting natural light pour in.

          You remember it when it was the train station and how you would sneak past the guards to climb the stairs hidden behind the walls. Tipping your head back, you squint hard against the bright sun to spot the window of your old room on the top floor. 

         It’s a bad idea to return to the museum– this beautiful building hosts so many memories that are not as wonderful. Still, against your better judgement, you pay your admission ticket like any other tourist that clamours through the doors of the Musée d'Orsay before melting into the crowd. 

         In honor of the museum's grand opening, more people have gathered to see the new displays for themselves. You were specifically interested in the exhibit that you had read about in the newspaper a few days prior. After nearly five decades, the lost works of a famous artist have resurfaced. A trove of sketches – namely hundreds of half-finished drawings of an unknown woman. Pieces of her face were scattered across blueprints, hidden on the backs of oil paintings, and even etched into the lacquer of strange wooden contraptions. 

         You walk past the main exhibit, not really having an interest in seeing the Mona Lisa again. Still, the painting smiles at you from over the churning sea of heads, as if she knows something you do not. 

         Now in the traveling exhibit, you take your time, pacing around to admire the art. You marvel at the broken wing of a plane that did not survive a test run, awe at the elaborate blueprint of a flying machine with gold sails, and even laugh at the obligatory comedic comment that this mystery artist must have had an obsession with someone. 

         However, from the corner of your eye, you notice something glinting in the spotlight just a few meters away. As you approach it, you can’t help but be a tad bit sad to see that it has lost its original shine over the years – in fact, you had held the astrolabe when it was brand new. The hands of the device point towards the end of the exhibit just beyond the corner, but you don’t pay it much attention. Instead, you search your memory, thinking hard to collect the pieces of the past before you can fall against the events that transpired nearly a lifetime ago. 

“Cara mia, close your eyes. I have a gift for you.” 

         “If you drop a screw in my hand again and say you found it behind my ear, I’m going to throw it at you!” 

         His laugh rumbles deep in his chest, but you close your eyes to humor him. Without wasting a moment, he takes your hand and presses a cold, circular object into your palm. “You can look now.” 

         Your eyes flutter open, but you don’t know what to say. “A pocket watch? Did you steal this from Arthur?!” 

         “No.” He pulls the lid back to reveal a much more complicated interior. You take a moment to admire the fine engravings around the edge of the disk before your eyes graze over the centre of the object: an oblong piece of metal resembling the hands of a clock stretch across the diameter, overlapping the intricate second layer that sits atop what looks like a miniature map of the world. It is a deep copper color, and you immediately think of his eyes. They are nearly the same shade of amber, so deep and intoxicating that you wonder if he made it like this on purpose. “It is an astrolabe.” 

         “Well, it looks like you took a watch and a compass and made some… strange hybrid. What does it do?” 

         When he cups his hand over yours, your breath catches in the back of your throat. His hands are so large and warm. “It’s used to calculate the position of the Sun and other stars in the sky. Here, I’ll show you.” Now, his fingers lace with yours, the astrolabe pressed between your palms. It fits there perfectly, as if it were made to be held by your hand and his. 

         The two of you step over the incredible mess that has accumulated over the past week. No matter how hard you try, this place always remains a mess. It is no use to scold him for it now, for he has something set in his mind – nothing you say or do will be able to draw his attention away from showing you what this strange device is capable of doing. 

         He allows you to climb up the winding staircase first. 

         What a gentleman. 

         Then again, it’s the perfect opportunity for him to place his free hand on your waist. To ensure you don’t fall, he explains with the slyest of smirks. 

         Upon reaching the roof of the building, he leads you to the large telescope pointing towards the night sky. A breeze ruffles through your clothes, so he pushes you between the device and his body.  Warmth radiates from his chest, so you lean against him slightly as he explains what he is doing. 

         “This telescope is completely uncalibrated, alright? Cara mia, are you paying attention? Look inside. You’ll see that it is not pointing at anything memorable.” 

         You smile to yourself. He always is so passionate about his work. To humor him, you take a peek through the lense. There is only darkness. 

         “I see.” 

         “Now, if you’ll give me a moment…” Lifting the astrolabe to the sky, he fiddles with it, mutters to himself, and then changes a few settings on the telescope. It swings around to point at a seemingly equal void in the sky – you cannot see anything of importance against the night sky, but he nudges you slightly, prompting you to look through the lense once more. 

         “Is… is that Venus?” 

         “It is!” 

         You lean back and squint, trying hard to see a flicker of green against the black. However, your eyes are too weak to spot anything. “That’s very impressive.” 

         “Oh, but that’s not all!” He side steps around an open box of art supplies and turns over a large piece of paper. It is obviously a flying contraption, but it looks so strange… like it is straight out of a steampunk novel. And is that gold on the sails? How is this thing supposed to fly? 

         Raising an eyebrow, you take a seat on the small stool next to the lamp resting on the ground. “What is it for?” 

         A grin captures his lips. “I’m taking you to the stars. No more sitting around on Earth. I’m tired of this place. When we wed, I promised you a life of adventure. We left the mansion, and now we’re living in the closet of a train station. This isn’t the glamorous life you should have.” 

         “I think it’s pretty fancy, actually–”

         He shakes his head with a laugh, and his dark brown hair falls over his forehead. “We’re going to fly amidst the galaxies that make up the vast universe. How tiny we are, compared to them.” He whips around. “Imagine, reaching your hand out and catching a handful of dust from the time of creation. How amazing that would be…” 

         You laugh, but don’t correct him. Instead, you take his hands between yours again and kiss his calloused knuckles. “Where would you like to go first?” 

         He leans his head against yours and points at the horizon. “Sirius. It is one of the brightest stars in the night sky.” Turning to meet your gaze, he brushes his thumb against your cold cheek. “There is only one star that rivals its beauty. Would you like to know which one?” 

         “Of course.” 

         “A moment, if you please.” 

         Taking a dramatic step backwards, he plays around with the astrolabe until it clicks into place. The long hand is pointing directly at you. 

         “I don’t understand,” you tell him. 

         “Cara mia, you are the brightest star here tonight. You will always be the most beautiful star as well. Trust in that.” 

         You flush at his words, and it is hard to contain your smile. “You’re such a smooth talker, why can’t you put some of that effort into cleaning your room! I swear, it looks worse than it did when I first arrived here. Remember that time I found a mouse amongst your things?!” 

         “Don’t bring Lorenzo into this, he’s done nothing wrong!” 

         The two of you break into a fit of laughter, and that’s when he puts the astrolabe in your palm once more. “This is yours though.” He’s looking at you again with those pools of ochre mischief. “In the case that we are separated before we can reach the stars, use this to find me. Go towards Sirius, and I will meet you there. I’ll wait for you.” 

The white noise of the museum filters into your mind as your eyes flutter open, and you ease back into reality. Tears roll down your cheeks, but you do not move to wipe them. 

         Looking at the astrolabe again, you see the tender scratches against the metal: his initials coupled with yours. An impressive layer of grime dulls the shine of the device, making it less impressive than how it looks in its natural state. 

         A week after he showed you his plans, a tank of a train exploded, plunging the east side of the station in flames. As the fire grew, it stretched to the opposite side, where the hotel was. You had begged him to escape before the roof collapsed, but he insisted on returning for the astrolabe and his telescope, because he had been using it to calculate stars the night before. 

         As you had expected, the wooden beams were not strong enough to withstand the fire but, by some stroke of luck, he managed to thrust you to safety before everything collapsed. 

         Neither him nor the damned astrolabe made it through. 

         A painful hatred for the device burns in your lungs, so you turn away from it and nearly run into someone. Tossing an apology into the air, you hurry forward and move past the rest of the salvaged artworks without paying them much attention. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings and weighs your feet down, retarding your motions. 

         Despite the tears blurring your vision, you throw your head back and glances back at the astrolabe. You don’t know if it is taunting you or trying to tell you something. And yet, your eyes follow the long hand forward, just beyond where you’re standing, until you realize that it is pointing directly at the final, most impressive display of them all. 

         It towers over your head, stretching up the entire length of the wall. Pieces of blueprints, canvases, loose papers, wood, and more are all arranged to create a larger than life depiction of– you. 

         The eyes.. Her nose.. That beauty spot on her cheek that you hate… it is all there. He had to have reproduced it all from memory because you don’t remember him taking any photographs or sketches of her. 

         In the bottom corner, you see a plaque: 

         Believed to be a portrait of his lover, our favourite artist would have had to spend years creating this piece: in fact, our experts needed months to put the pieces together in order to reveal a face! In the left margin of the paper with her eye, the phrase ‘my star’ is written, so we have named her ‘Étoile’ for reference. Who was this woman? It was thought that this was lost to a massive fire in the nearly five decades ago, but the recent excavation proved fruitful in its treasures among the basement of the Gare d'Orsay when preparations for the museum began...

         You hear his voice loud and clear in your mind. 

         Cara mia, I am waiting for you, but do not rush. When you are ready, join me, so that we may explore the world beyond this one together. 

         Unable to contain your emotions anymore, you break into sobs. The sadness ebs from your broken heart and stretches through your body, making your legs click in place. You lose your balance and fall to the polished tiles, clutching your chest in an attempt to relieve the pressure. Other guests swarm to your side, offering you help or to call for someone, but you ignore them all. 

         Even overwhelmed with memories, you can feel the warmth of his promise, just as if he were standing beside her. 

         I’ll meet you again, Leonardo. 

         I’ll meet you at Sirius. 

#ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevam leonardo #ikevam x reader #ikevam leonardo x reader #cybird #otome

[goloyieng]

Yugi Riong'o, the Debate Smith of Muriethi: A Memoir

I was born on July 1st, 1952 in an Agikuyun village of Muriethi. I am of the Yonye clan; a cluster group that make up 25 major clans of Kikuyu people( also called Agikuyu). The Agikuyu people are close to numbering to 7 million living souls; it won’t take a mathematical guru to figure out how we became the largest tribe in Kenya. The Agikuyu must have done something extraordinary to have generated such a large number of people when some tribes number only 800,000 mere souls. My father was a ladies man through and through; he had 16 wives; my mother was the seventh wife. My childhood coincided with the arrival of the British 88 years earlier. They came because we Africans believe in the ubuntu philosophy: meaning, you are a person through other people. The world had to be connected somehow, and they did their ultimate best to bring Africa on par with the rest of the advanced world. There were some instants were they look down on black Africans, but that is because they were trying to know us. Even now, in the 21st century, those Africans who earlier ventured into farming look down on the red ochre, pastoral communities, because they are stereotypically thought to be still more attached to their animals who they largely depend upon for survival necessities. Even within the same racial groups, cultural differences still abound. Contemporary African nation states are no exception either; Zambian leaders have sold their nation to China in the name of having gone stale on the western economic developmental ideals who took pains to leave their motherland in droves to make sure economic infrastructure of the likes of Zambia become the launching pad for the rest of continental Africa; however, the leaders had their own agenda at hand, and soon after, they became mired in debt; the end result was that, Chinese started arriving in Lusaka in the name of saying you owe us and it is time to show you how wrong you were from the very beginning. I went to Yube High School; in those days, both the elementary and secondary schools were not separate institutions, as we know them today; one had to start from the first grade and stayed until the 12th grade. At Yube, I was more interested in getting good grades with the ultimate mission to earning a full scholarship to Makerere College (as Makerere University was known by then). I wanted a sustained reputation of a classy and great scholarly student; the one meant to presevere even when the conditions change during the course of my further studies, I won't fall out with my sponsors; so I studied and read all kinds of subjects, from mathematics to social sciences to natural sciences; not to discredit the mighty field of literature, which is perhaps the first field I fell in love with. Now, people have come to love my novels such as Weep Not, Child; the River Between, A grain of Wheat, Matigari, Wizard of the Crow and the memoir series ranging from the Birth of a Dream Weaver to, In the House of Interpreter; however, my political writings in the fold of Moving the Centre and Decolonizing the Mind, are equally scholarly master pieces on their own right. Just as Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart and Elechi Amadi's the Concubine are regular required readings for African literature in high schools and colleges around the world; Moving the Centre and Decolonizing the Mind, are also read widely across the globe. In these political writings, I argued that the arrival of Europeans was ubuntu at its core, connecting humanity through trade, technology and being able to compete through cultural customs and that was how Moving the centre came to assert itself; the development of home grown languages so that the past teachings of our people become our launching pad for economic development; it was in essence, allowing our cultures to join hands with the rest of the world. I was one of the first clansmen from the whole tribe to have gone to school because rigorous academic pursuits were considered foreign imperial influences and were less considered prospective lifetime careers. The British didn't require

our families to pay our fees; for one, it wasn't that our families were too poor to pay, but on the other hand, it was considered a trial and error period. By 1965, I was enrolled at Makerere College. Makerere was a meeting plethora of academic minds from all over Africa and some even came from Afghanistan. Makerere College was one of the best institutions of learning in those days; it was one of the top 7 elite colleges on the continent; unlike the washed up Makerere University of Yoweri Museveni of today, that had become copy and paste come and go as like you like slut. Milton Obote knew that our female counterparts were not naturally reliable in the career world; so it was better to equip the boy child with the best education that life could afford, besides, it wasn't his business to change the God way of life, where women are required to be natural incubators of life.

At Makerere, I immersed myself in deep and intense literature studies, but as I always had an insatiable appetite for learning; I took extra courses on mathematics, natural sciences and physical sciences; the so-called STEM of today. Milton Obote may have been weak on the development front, but he made sure 25% of the national budget went to the educational sector. Education was free from the elementary level all the way to the tertiary institutions of higher learning; so by the time, the students attend the universities, it was something unlike any other in the world, students were great at debate, laboratory sciences and had a knack of imagining greater future world for the fatherland. For this, Makerere College had lots of money going into the hands of their star students of which I was a proud member of. Our quarterly vacations were spent on, you know, 'my baby got back moments.' These Ugandan mama booty became something else when they find out you have a weakness for romance. They came in all sizes; from the Northern Uganda lean looka to the lumpy Buganda type; size didn't matter, because they knew how to play their role well. My rigorous academic pursuits with a multidisciplinary approach served me well after I became the professor of African literature at Yanykath University in Yeng; I have been teaching African literature for 34 years and counting at Yanykath, after I had a fall out with both Jomo Kenyatta and Daniel Arap Moi's administrations. I have been invited to lecture about African literature and the political future of the African continent in colleges across the globe; and I have to say, had I not studied all kinds of subjects at Makerere, I would have been a scholarly beggar; DP William Ruto is a prime example; those who depend on thieving the hard won scholarly research of others is the exact opposite of the mind field of the meeting of the debate smiths.

Yanykathing Golo Yieng to Rooy Gapayer

We have been particularly hard on the kid from Gapayer; I mean, the homeless lad we tragically sent to America in the early 2000s; we did this without thinking everything through, because we thought we would be better off with him suffering on the streets of Yauketui, New Mexico, when he should be eating good meals in Gualyek, Yekker, every single day. Hey look, how he turned now, he cries every single day because he has no inborn stamina to withstand the nonsecured life on the harsher streets of Yauketui. Why didn't we send Jacob Mabior Dau, who I truly think has the hunger to serve his people well with all his heart. We still don't know how this lad, who called himself Golo Yieng came to live among us; I mean, are we sure that he is of the same blood as everyone of us. He claims, the ancestor of his adopted father, Maliduon artificially maneuvered his way onto the love canal(wall) of his adopted grandmother, and for that he was never ryithfully born among the Maliduonei. Southern Sudanese leaders of Rer Reclamation Army/Movement robbed him of the right to return to his rayierooy, Gapayer when they started a meaningless war against the Yemenis of Sudan, when in fact, hundreds of thousands of South Sudanese, if not millions still live in refugee camps up to this very day. Why didn't we give him enough money meant to last his lifetime before we sent him to America? Was our greed that too great that we refuse to help out the great guest from another yunerse. How do we speedily sent him to his homeland now that he seemed stuck in the quagmire wretched life of our blue earth? It is a give and take world; therefore, we must give him the just kind of treatment he truly deserves, if we want to continue to keep our heads held high. Are we truly sure that it is growth that we were all after with Golo Yieng; what if he just suddenly disappear after greasing himself with corn the same way as the yonce scene he saw with Jimmy Dyke and Mama G with a Nollywood flick?

[rainingjewel]

Sweet Nothings - An Ochre prompt

Something simple for @teirrart

As far as Pigment was concerned, it was a beautiful day. The breeze felt wonderful against his skull and the scent of the wide variety of plants that thrived on Sandy’s mountain was soothing. It was a little cloudy, but that just meant he didn’t have to worry about his bones getting burned in the bright sun here! Despite how empty the mountain was, it was a very beautiful place and it kind of reminded him of where he grew up. Just without the beach part.

 Sandy, however, was looking up at the sky, noticing the cloud patterns. Rain was going to be upon them, and what was worse, a storm was brewing in the east. He would have to take Pigment up the mountain, into his old home for shelter… or they’d have to leave. That was not going to be an easy case to make. The smile Pigment wore warmed his soul… he hated to break the news to him that his perfect calm day of learning was going to be put on hold.

 “Minty,” Sandy called out to the daydreaming skeleton. “Come now, we should get moving.”

 “Why? We have all day! You’re always telling me to slow down, why the rush?” Pigment tilted his head in confusion, innocent eyes filled with orange and yellow shapes.

 “A storm is coming later. We won’t be able to do as much field work as we originally planned.”

 “Huh? But it’s such a nice day!” Pigment declared as he protested Sandy’s assessment.

 “For now it is. Come on, you grew up on the beach. Don’t you remember how the weather would suddenly turn?”

 “I guess…” Pigment pouted.

 Sandy sighed at the disappointed look on the younger skeleton’s face. He couldn’t help it, what emotions he did have, Pigment wore on his sleeve. It was endearing, and one of the reasons he had fallen in love with him. Seeing his boyfriend upset in any form twisted his soul, but weather was one thing he could not help with.

 He gently leaned in, kissing the top of the smaller skeleton’s skull. “There’s still time before it all. And while we wait out the storm, I’ll let you use my supplies. You can start your own potion, on your own. I’ll just keep back and watch, okay?”

 Pigment’s pout turned into a gentle smile at the alchemist’s promise. He hadn’t really been able to use any of Sandy’s tools without his extensive oversight. It wasn’t unwarranted either. Pigment had attempted to mix several dangerous things together with his powders in the past. But that had been some time ago, he was better now, not just grabbing random things because they were a certain color.

 “I wouldn’t mind you being close and observing either,” Pigment snuggled into Sandy’s chest, embracing the taller skeleton with an unintentional flirt.

 Intentional or not, it always got to Sandy when Pigment would be forward like that. A light golden dusting appeared on his cheekbones as he felt the tip of his boyfriend’s nasal cavity scratch him lightly through his clothes. “Heh… I suppose I can arrange that.”

 Pigment laughed a little as Sandy fluttered kisses down his jawline, a bit of a rainbow hue brightening his cheeks. Despite them being skeletons, Sandy’s kisses tickled and he knew he was sensitive, especially along the side with his mark! He barely pulled away, giggling for a brief moment, before their teeth met together.

 Pigment, despite being kissed many times before, was always slightly overloaded with the emotions that flowed through him whenever Sandy got this close. It was surreal and addicting. He could never pick one emotion that was prominent when it happened, which was what he tried to do when he overdosed. This wasn’t like that. His cheeks burned, his head felt light and dizzy, part of his chest felt like it was inflating with… something, he didn’t know. It took him a moment or two to recover, just holding onto his boyfriend’s arms as his head continued to swirl.

 Once Pigment was back together mentally, the two would walk around the mountain, doing some field work. The apprentice was quizzed by the master on a variety of things, allowing him to take his samples and ingredients for later.

 While collecting some thistle, Pigment heard a faint sound further into the plants. He slowly moved through the thistle and tall grass, stopping when he saw some stinging nettle… his old enemy. He glared at it, his round face rather humorous to look at from the outside. Carefully, he went around it, trying to find the source of the sound…

 Laying at the edge of the nettle was a black and white cat with longer fur. The sounds were its pitiful mews of discomfort. Instinctively, Pigment went to reach for it, but he felt himself yanked back by his jumper.

 “What are you doing?”

 The quick, harsher tone of the alchemist startled the smaller skeleton, and Pigment’s hands went to his chest, pulling himself closer together.

 “It’s hurt,” Pigment said innocently, looking down at the cat.

 Sandy glanced down at the cat. It had been stung by the nettle… how did it get sick enough by the amount it had walked in, he wondered… it was at the edge of it.

 “Minty…”

 “Sandy, please! I know how painful that is! Don’t you have more of your medicine for it?”

 “I do but—”

 Pigment started digging through Sandy’s satchels, looking for the right ointment. “It’s in this one right?”

 “Pigment!”

 The smaller skeleton jolted back up, looking uneasy at the tone his boyfriend had just used. It wasn’t often he did something to warrant the tone, and he couldn’t comprehend why Sandy would use it now. He only used it when it was serious…

Sandy had been trying to push the smaller painter away from the cat since he saw it, but Pigment was having none of it. He felt for him, and the cat. It wasn’t as if Sandy wanted the creature to suffer…

 “It’s a human pet, Mint,” Sandy emphasized, leading Pigment way.

 The younger skeleton felt his fight leave for a moment, letting himself be moved away from the small, suffering creature. As he moved further away, tears started lining his eyes. He remembered very clearly what the warnings were… humans were toxic, especially to monsters in this world… anything domesticated was to be avoided too… tainted…

 “I-it’s not… it’s a cat, Sandy… it’s not a human…”

 “If the pets aren’t toxic themselves, they can still poison you if it scratches or bites. You don’t have a soul to ward it off, I can’t treat you the way I have the other monsters that have been exposed. I won’t risk you for a cat, Mint.”

 “Please…” he pleaded. “C-can’t you check it or something? I…”

 Sandy’s soul twisted in his chest as Pigment looked up at him with those pleading eyes. Watery, innocent eyes… it was hard enough to not want to help it. It was just a cat, and Sandy had grown very fond of the species thanks to a mutual friend of theirs…

 With a heavy sigh, he relented. “Fine… but you have to stand back,” and he pointed to a tree across a clearing, a good distance away.

 Pigment wasn’t thrilled with that idea. He wanted to help but he understood why. “Be careful…”

 As the smaller skeleton walked over to the designated waiting spot, the alchemist turned his attention back to where the cat had been laying. This poison was something he was used to, but it caused serious damage… it always got his nerves up…

 Carefully, Sandy walked toward the cat, his bare feet softly crunching the brush beneath them. He looked at the cat as its chest heaved, as if not getting enough air or it was hard for it to breathe. His own soul felt tight as he fell into his old role…

 “Sorry, kitty…” he whispered as his hand started to glow with a gentle yellow. The weakened feline’s soul was surrounded by the same light and brought to the foreground…

 Much to Sandy’s surprise, the taint of the humans of his world was barely upon this cat. A small amount, but not nearly enough to suggest it lived amongst them. That alone was strange… did the animals start to move into the forest? That could be dangerous… he would have to investigate…

 But that was later. Now, he had a patient… he still couldn’t risk Pigment being bit, even with this low level of taint, but at least if he was bit, it wouldn’t be serious. He had been around this type of poison for far too long and had grown resistant… but it was something that was forever with him, and it would give him nightmares if he could sleep…

 He had medicine for the taint… he had medicine for the nettle… but something else wasn’t sitting right with him about this whole thing. How did this cat end up being so badly poisoned from the stinging nettle if it was so close to the edge of the patch?

 As he attempted to treat the cat, forcing medicine into its mouth a lot easier than he thought, given how weak it was, he found his answer… talon marks… a bird had scooped this cat up and dropped it into the nettle. How many internal injuries did this poor cat have?

 Pigment fidgeted as he watched Sandy barely move. Sitting still was not his forte, he wanted to move around. He wanted to help. He was getting better at medicine. If nothing else, a second pair of hands couldn’t hurt, right?

 But he also understood Sandy’s concern. Monsters were incredibly susceptible to the toxins human souls produced in this world… and without a soul to combat it, he was uniquely compromised… but after minutes upon minutes standing there, and not being able to tell if the cat was okay, Pigment couldn’t take it any longer.

 He tried to mimic Sandy’s quiet steps, but his shoes always gave him away in the brush. Despite his best efforts, he just… couldn’t be quiet.

 “I told you to stay back.”

 “I want to help,” he quietly declared. “You’re in danger too if it’s tainted… I won’t risk you for this either!”

 Golden eyes met watery blue and green and Sandy couldn’t help himself. “Oh, Minty…” he sighed with a gentle smile.

 Pigment moved in with Sandy’s gentle coaxing and he sat down beside his beloved. The sight of the cat still struggling to breathe worried him.

 “What’s wrong with it?”

 “Between human toxins, the nettle, and being dropped from a great height… there’s a lot, Minty… I don’t know if I can help it…”

 “But… you have to! You’re a doctor!” he began to plead.

 It was times like this Sandy deeply regretted never being able to follow in his father’s footsteps, never inheriting his gift for healing…  “Minty, I don’t… I’m not…”

 Sandy felt arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tightly. “You’re the best doctor ever, Sandy! You can do things no one else can, you see things that everyone else misses. I know you want to instantly make someone better, but your healing is better than that. I know it’s not easy but I know you can do it. And I’ll do whatever you need me to, to help!”

 The alchemist glanced back at his partner before resting his forehead against the other’s. Sandy’s success rate of critically injured patients wasn’t the greatest… that instant healing would be really handy to get them out of the woods… but it did generally lead to complications down the road. Things went overlooked or missed in the rush to close a wound, poisons got left in, infections would spread… neither method was superior but his was all he had at the moment.

 With a little help from Pigment, Sandy did what he could for the cat. He tried to ease its breathing, treating symptoms as well as the overall problems. Medicine took some time to work so it was a waiting game… but all in all… it was a good experience for Pigment. He got to really apply what he had learned so far, and perhaps learn a little more… not to mention he did what he did best… Sandy was always humbled by how quickly Pigment would cheer him on, how he always supported him.

 As he was stabilizing the cat, a faint rumble was heard above them.

 “What?” Pigment started to fret. “It was sunny a second ago!”

 This was what he was worried about. Sandy ripped off his half-cloak and very carefully used it to pick up the cat. Luckily it was too weak to really fight.

 “We need to get inside, Mint,” he spoke up, snapping the other back to reality.

 “O-okay.”

 Running up the mountain to the old, abandoned village, the sky ripped open and started letting out its torrent. Pigment cried out a little as he tried to cover his head from the freezing cold water while Sandy just tried to lean over the cat more.

 It felt like it took far longer than it should have before they finally made it to his old home. It was a modest cabin, made of logs and stone with some straw for insulation on the roof. It was fairly dry inside despite the pounding weather outside. Sandy went and gently placed the cat down on the floor, still wrapped in his cloak. As he tried to start a fire in the middle of the living area, Pigment began to whimper. He didn’t handle the cold well…

 Sandy glanced back at him, managing to get a small fire going. It wasn’t as if he kept a lot of firewood here… he didn’t stay in this house too often, preferring to camp out… too many memories. But what he had left… it would hold them for now.

 “Jeez, Mint,” Sandy went over, beginning to tease, “I think you took in enough water to fill a lake.”

 “Sandy…” he whined.

 “All right, all right,” the elder chuckled before leaning in, gently kissing his boyfriend’s cheek. “Take off those wet clothes and hang them by the fire to dry. I’ll go scrounging around for something for you to wear in the meantime.”

 A rainbow tint came across Pigment’s face. “U-um…”

 “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before, Mint,” Sandy smirked a little at his lover’s embarrassment. “Or are you wanting to do it in my old house?”

 “N-No, I-I…!”

 “Though, I suppose it would be a good way to warm you up.”

 A high-pitched whine escaped Pigment as his entire skull erupted in his rainbow-hued blush, hands covering his face.

 A soft chuckle and another peck to his flushed cheek, Sandy gently caressed Pigment’s skull. “I’m merely teasing, Mint,” he whispered with nothing but love coating his words. “But I am serious about getting you out of these wet clothes before you get sick. Can you do that for me? Once we’re in dry clothes we can cuddle by the fire and keep an eye on our new friend.”

 The blush didn’t fade, but Pigment nodded. He understood the why, but emotions were still… difficult for him to process and it wasn’t always sure when Sandy was serious or teasing. It made for some awkward moments, despite Sandy’s patient and nurturing nature. Pigment was glad he was so sweet and understanding with him…

 After finding a spare set of clothes for them both, Pigment swimming in the taller skeleton’s already baggy clothes, Sandy had also found a blanket for them to wrap up in. The cat was wrapped in a blanket as well, the cloak hanging to dry with the rest of their clothes.

 Despite it being early in the afternoon, Pigment managed to fall asleep against Sandy near the fire. It was a cozy little scene after all… a nap with his boyfriend sounded like the best thing in the world right now… it was too bad he couldn’t sleep…

 As he debated about laying down and just pretending for a bit, he heard a sound coming from the other blanket. Hating to abandon his cozy love bug of a boyfriend, but needing to check on his patient, Sandy reluctantly laid Pigment down on his own, wrapped in the blanket. He scooted over to open the blanket. He was greeted by a weak hiss. He should have expected that… Cats were the most dangerous when they were vulnerable.

 “Easy there…” he spoke softly, gently extending a finger for the cat to sniff.

 A low growl, but after a moment, the cat began to sniff his skeletal finger. Then, as if recognizing the scent, maybe realizing it was Sandy who had helped it, the cat put its head down. He took a chance and went to gently stroke the feline’s head. It didn’t seem to mind, or perhaps was too weak. What did surprise him was the soft purr that emanated from the ball of fluff.

 It was something to focus on as the storm raged outside, and as Pigment slept. As the hours passed and the storm settled, however… Sandy began realizing that they had no way to truly care for this cat… sure, he could medically take care of it… to a point. But there was no food and he wasn’t qualified to care for a cat… but he knew someone who could.

 Pigment awoke to find himself alone on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. He whined a little. This always happened! He couldn’t blame Sandy, things needed to be done while he slept… but just once he’d like to wake up with him…

 As he sat up to look for him, he realized that he wasn’t far this time, holding something wrapped in a blanket…

 Right! The cat! He was embarrassed that he had forgotten. He shot up, forgetting that he wasn’t in his own clothes as well, and tripping over the baggy pants he insisted he wore, despite the fact that Sandy’s spare shirts were almost down to his knees…

 “Mornin’ sunshine,” Sandy smiled at Pigment as he blushed.

 “Is the cat all right?” he tried to distract from his own embarrassment.

 “Better than I hoped… not truly tainted… and friendly, despite that…”

 “But..?” he pressed, knowing that tone.

 “I don’t think I can keep taking care of it. I’ve never really taken care of a pet before… I mean, Muffet had a pet chicken I would look at once in a while but…”

 “Muffet… had a…” Pigment had to shake his head to get himself back on track. “But you did so well, Sandy! I’m sure you can do it!”

 “I could probably fumble my way through… but that’s not fair to this little one… not when we know someone who could do much better than I could.”

 Pigment blinked, then smacked his forehead. “Ccino!”

 Sandy couldn’t help but chuckle softly. He had the cutest reactions. “So get dressed, we should probably go and take it to someone who actually knows cats.”

 “Yeah, could probably tell us if it’s a boy or girl too so we can stop calling it “it”.”

 The alchemist snickered and held his tongue so his boyfriend would focus on getting dressed. He had already gotten back into his classic clothes, not that his clothes were much different from one another.

 Pigment cut open a portal with his giant pallet knife into the fabric of reality itself. It was still as strange to Sandy as he first saw it, the concept of it all anyway… however, he was well versed by now and knew well of what the multiverse could offer… this was just one of those things you had to learn to accept.

 As they crossed into the portal and appeared on the other side, they were welcomed by a familiar, friendly voice.

 “Pigment, Sandy! Welcome back!” he said enthusiastically.

 Ccino was always glad to see his friends. They were good for business too, as Sandy spent so much gold on coffee and coffee beans for the road. He missed them when they traveled the multiverse…

 His attention was quickly grabbed by the blanket in Sandy’s arms, however. He knew that shape better than anyone. In a moment, the coffee in his hands were put down and he ran over.

 “What’s this?” he had to ask, curiously.

 “We found a cat!” Pigment exclaimed.

 Ccino’s eyes lit up for a moment, before he was sobered by Sandy’s explanation of the situation, “It’s pretty badly hurt… I can only do so much medically…”

 “I’m not a vet,” Ccino quickly fretted, catching onto Sandy’s inflection.

 “But you do know cats!” Pigment pipped up.

 “A lot more than I do,” Sandy smiled softly at their friend. “I was hoping you’d help us nurse them back?”

 The sweater-clad skeleton looked up at the other two. “So you… wanna stay and work together?”

 “Absolutely!” Pigment grinned. “And then we can keep it!”

 “Minty…”

 “Aw, please, Sandy? With minty leaves on top?”

 “We don’t have a place for a cat.”

 “Your house?” he tilted his head.

 “We travel too much.”

 “You can always bring it back here, I’ll cat-sit,” Ccino offered with a grin.

 “See?”

 Sandy glanced between the two, before letting out a defeated sigh. “I’ll think about it…”

 “Yay!!” Pigment wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, barely missing the cat.

 “Well,” Ccino chuckled, “How about we check out this little fluffball, huh?”

 “Careful, it still has some taint on it.”

“What?” Ccino blinked.

 “We’ll explain as we go through,” Pigment smiled as the three walked into the back.

#ochre shipping #ochre #sandy sans #pigment ink #sandy pigment shipping #ochre fluff #ccino cameo #save the kitty #lore building #world building #for teirrart #writing #undertale #undertale writing #writing prompt

[raleigh-ocean]

how it all started (or how to literally blow up a cover by your true and only bobbi morse) | bobbi morse x astrid winters

words: 4,276

summary: if someone could ask her right in that moment what the fuck was going on in her head, Bobbi would have answer that love was as powerful as baseball bat hit to the head. Why? Because it made you stupid in less than two seconds and also made you feel that everything was a good idea afterwards.

The silence that ruled over everything in the apartment was the most comfortable one Bobbi had been part of. It filled her with warmth - against the crippling cold that was trying to get her outside of the thick quilt - and some kind of privy feeling that she was enjoying too much. 

The bed wasn't a full king side one, so the proximity with the other body in it also helped greatly with giving her the so needed heat. Her hand, previously tucked under the pillow, travelled the short distance until her fingertips touched skin, earning a lazy mewl that only made the other body to close the gap between them. Bobbi couldn't help but smile when she felt a pair of lips in the base of her neck and the comfort of another weight over her chest.

"Don't tell me you have to go early today too," a voice heavy with sleep made Bobbi tighten her arms around the new body better. "I was planning to make french toast."

"I know you don't know how to make french toast."

"That's why you should stay," this time was a whine that made Bobbi chuckle against soft hair. "Because I'll probably burn down my shit ass stove and the whole building with it."

That's what made her feel alive and made her want to stay more time in that bed, which wasn't the one in the safe house she was supposed to be in. The thought itched annoyingly in the back of her head but it itched less when Astrid's fingers traced her abdomen with care before pressing her knuckles there too. Bobbi looked down where the woman had made her chest her personal pillow just to find ochre eyes looking back at her with nothing but clarity.

And God helped her, because that made her weak.

Looking into someone else eyes and knowing there wasn't an ulterior motive behind.

"I also know you don't have bread," she mumbled, lifting one hand to brush away a few strands of hair. "So what are we truly gonna have for breakfast, sweet cheeks?"

"Damn...then I should run down to the cornershop, don't I?" Astrid laugh was as clear as her eyes, such strange hue that kept Bobbi hypnotized. "Let me think in my way there and I'll surprise you, okay?" a soft grumbling in Bobbi's stomach made itself known. "Someone agrees with me."

And Bobbi couldn't help but indulge. This was so wrong in so many levels, but she couldn't stop now...and she didn't want to.

When Astrid piled herself off Bobbi, she missed her warmth right away, but was soon tucked in better in the soft quilt to prevent the cold. The gesture itself made her feel both loved and amazed right away, because she couldn't believe how the woman in front of her was able to resist the cold that well and because she was slipping in her sweatshirt, thumbs tucked in the end of the sleeves. Which, by the way, was a hugging Astrid in the right places so wonderfully that Bobbi was tempted to not let her go...until she put the thick black yarn jacket over it before finish to dress up, then her chest burst in nothing but pure softness.

How could something so simple had that effect on her?

Bobbi didn't feel that calm and warm in a long, long time. 

"Keys, purse, pants…" Astrid's voice brought Bobbi back to Earth, eyes focusing in her when the woman started to move towards her again, leaning over the blonde cocooned in bed and pecking her lips. "...and kiss, I have everything now."

"Why do you listed pants?" Bobbi asked with a new chuckle in her throat looking how Astrid was about to go outside without a coat on.

"If I tell you everything, you're gonna get bored of me," the playful wink Astrid sent over her shoulder to Bobbi should be illegal. "Anything special before I go, my Amazon queen?"

"Can you buy me a…"

"Donut? Chocolate one," Astrid finger gunned Bobbi, knowing her answer before being said. "Gotcha, I'll be back in fifteen Bee. I left the calefactor on, okay?"

Ah, there was the itch again.

Bobbi was starting to hate that part, the one in which she was lying to Astrid too. Burying her face where the other woman had been sleeping, taking in the scent, she deeply wished she could have met her outside of a job. 

Not that Bobbi would have tell her right away her line of work, but at least her true name was a good start instead of Beverly whatever-the-fuck-she-was-now. At least she knew her feelings were sincere, because when this thing between them started Bobbi went out of character to show herself as she was. But the rest? Well, a pure curtain she had to put up for five months already. Sometimes missions were quick but her superiors knew that she was good at going undercover and those...well, many times those were long. Too long.

She had been five months working undercover in the decks, getting information about smuggled Stark Industries' material along other things, and she felt in her bones that the job was drawing to an end soon. Five months in which she managed to fall hard for the waitress of the local deck's bar, which was the absolute sweetheart and ate up both lies and truths like a champ. 

Bobbi felt bad for the lies' part, bad enough to make her be ultra sweet with Astrid when they were together. As if that way she was telling the woman that in between the big lie, she was still connecting with the truth. The thought made her turn around in the warm cocoon to scan, once again, the whole apartment trying to calm herself somehow. Astrid didn't live somewhere in which she could make a real difference between the different rooms, the only door aside of the front one being the bathroom's. It had enough to live, the kitchen old but functional and a couch in the corner of the room, back towards the only window and facing an old television.

Sometimes Bobbi wished to live that simple and be as happy as Astrid seemed to be with only that.

The loud ring of her phone put her out of her thoughts quickly, however, and Bobbi found herself way too cocooned to make it in time so she jumped like a quilt caterpillar to get it where it rested in the kitchen counter. Only sneaking her arm out of the warmth made her rattle her teeth, but she had to take the call.

"The final exchange is going to be tonight," Mack's voice sounded half his serious tone and half his happy tone. "We arranged the shifts, so today you work at night." Bobbi closed her eyes, cursing under her breath but managed to hummed in response. "Everything okay?" there was concern now behind Mack's words. "Yeah, only that's so bloody cold in here that next time I'm gonna ask for a rise and a mission on Cancun," she managed to joke in between the rattle and the uneasiness. "Take the day to warm up then, coldfeet. We'll get you tomorrow when everything is clear, okay? Eat a bagel or two for me." That made Bobbi to bark a laugh but replied a soft 'aye aye' before hanging up.

Well, she would at least eat donuts, wasn't that bagel shaped?

Still wrapped in the quilt, Bobbi jumped a couple times more to make it closer to the calefactor and practically stood there for what it seemed forever and a while, recreating in the comforting heat so she didn't have to think in saying goodbye to Astrid that very same day. She wasn't prepared this time, she couldn't just leave her behind with a bittersweet half handed apology and a 'I got a better job offer and have to move like now'. It was plainly cruel to say the least and Bobbi was doing mental gymnastics to find a way in which this could work out.

Because she didn't want to say goodbye to the first person since Hunter that made her feel something so raw, intense and pure at the same time.

"Fifteen minutes I said and fifteen minutes it took me," Astrid's voice made Bobbi to turn her head towards her, teeth still rattling lightly. "Come here, you big fluff, let me give you warmer clothes than my old quilt."

Astrid was a view to sore eyes: cheeks red because of the cold, a sparkle in her eyes that shone brighter than any sun and arms full of groceries. She was clearly munching on a chocolate donut, a bit of chocolate in the corner of her mouth and half donut balanced in between her index and thumb while the other fingers closed around the handles of a bag.

Bobbi just swooned with all of that.

"But they will be short on me," Bobbi singsang in a whine, walking to Astrid and kissing the chocolate away. 

"God almighty, Beverly Jones, you only pass me by an inch!" Ah, yeah, the surname was Jones.

"An inch is enough difference between freezing to death and living one more day."

"You're so fucking dramatic…" Astrid shook her head but the goofy smile never left her lips, now offering her half donut to Bobbi...who munched more than a half of the half in one go. 

After that and Bobbi getting dressed all warm and comfy with clothes that smell wonderfully to Astrid's soft perfume and detergent - that little thing was what Bobbi liked the most -, she couldn't help but hug her lover from behind, just watching her cook breakfast. By the time the scrambled eggs with tuna - who on Earth ate that, anyway - and some more stuff was on the counter for them to enjoy, Bobbi thought that maybe it was for the best. To indulge this last day by Astrid's side and cherish the memories forever after parting ways.

But the reassuring feeling of having Astrid's weight pressed against her body was proving her otherwise.

"Everything okay?" Astrid turned around in her arms after settling the pan safely in the counter, loving the way Bobbi didn't let go of her even when she was cooking and moving around the kitchen. 

"Yeah. It's just that I got a call from work and well, I have the day off since they changed my shift for tonight," Bobbi couldn't help but smile when Astrid's long fingers intertwined in the back of her neck, caressing the soft baby hairs there. "So I was wondering if some pretty girl would like to spend a lazy day with me in bed."

"Some pretty girl, hmm," Astrid kissed her chin then her lips and then her neck. "Will one that always have night shifts at the bar suffice?"

"I can make it work," she hummed content when Astrid's chuckle trembled against her pulse point, her hands travelling to the soft curve of the woman's ass. "Can she make it work?"

"You won't regret it, I swear," that voice, low and ever so soft, hypnotizing her in a way that made her close her eyes in pleasure. "But let's get some food in that belly of yours, I made my special of the house just for you."

…

Never in all her life Astrid felt like this.

Well, she once felt like that, when she started to concentrate in her powers. It made her feel powerful in someway yet scared...and somehow all of that made her feel amazing. Maybe it was because she was starting to lower the doses of pills or maybe it was because love made her like that, but whatever it was, it felt freeing.

Looking around the guard cabin where Beverly should have been when she came in twenty minutes ago, Astrid only put her hands over her belly, humming just to do something else than looking at the ceiling. She wasn’t good at waiting, it gave her too much space to think and wonder and that led her to have massive headaches. The idle wonder of her mind never ceased to amaze her, even as muted as it was, and it only kept poking at her own autocontrol to rip it off.

Astrid only reached for the container with food she brought with her - cheeseburger, fries as crispy as they could be - and placed it better over her belly to steal a fry. Beverly wouldn’t mind, she told her once she was probably the only one she could get away with it, and that made her chuckle. 

Sometimes she wondered how Beverly gave off this vibe of ‘I can make a cookie out of you’ so easily, maybe it was that she was a security guard. Part of the job, Astrid thought.

Kinda sexy, if someone asked her.

Astrid was too into her thoughts, still humming while munching on the last bit of her fry, to hear someone running outside of the office, so when the door opened suddenly she couldn’t help but let out a loud yelp…

...and then the next thing she saw was a gun pointing at her.

“What the actual fuck!?” Astrid had her hands in the air almost immediately, frozen on the spot while she took in the details of who was pointing at her, and she only knew one blonde woman with that beauty mark by one of her eyebrows. “Bee? What are you-”

Bobbi didn’t expect many things of that night, but when her heart stopped upon seeing Astrid’s expression of utter panic, she couldn’t help but press her free hand against her lips as fast as she could. With the safety of the gun on, she put it away before pressing one of her gloved fingers to her own lips to ask her for silence.

Things were complicated already and now it went into another level.

She looked into Astrid’s eyes, pupils full blown out of panic or fear she didn’t know, while trying to get any sound that could give away the two goons that were following her. Her plan was to get to the guard cabin and ask for immediate extraction, but now that she had a civilian with her everything changed.

“Don’t scream, don’t panic,” watching Astrid nod against her hand gave Bobbi a rest from her frenetic heart, not only beating loudly in her throat because of the adrenaline but because of the proximity with the other woman. “Sweetcheeks, I need you to trust in me, everything will be alright, okay?” Astrid nodded again, her hand over Bobbi’s squeezing lightly. “Okay, easy there…”

She felt like she should reassure her more than just words, leaning softly to press her lips to Astrid’s was the only logic option, right? Bobbi felt her relax under her with the gesture and when she looked into Astrid’s eyes again, there wasn’t that much of a panic. Good, that was a good start.

“What’s going on Bee?” it pained Bobbi to hear that tiny whine come out of her lover. “Why do you have a gun...and that suit?”

Oh yeah, the suit. At least she still didn’t see the batons. 

“Look, it’s a really long story and this is not the best time,” Bobbi lowered her voice, taking Astrid’s hands in hers. “But we have to move, now, and once I get you to safety...I promise I’ll explain, okay?”

“Okay,” why Astrid was so sweet and compliant? It was making worse for Bobbi to eventually say goodbye. “But I can’t promise I could make another cheeseburger with trembling hands.”

Yeah, Astrid was making it too hard for her.

Pulling her up from the desk chair, Bobbi took Astrid’s hand in hers before taking her gun with the other, and she was again with her head in what was going on before the brief stop. The fingerless gloves were fluffy under Bobbi’s harder ones, her grip as tight as the one she kept in her gun, and when she was sure there wasn’t none around, Bobbi opened the door and started to run with Astrid at her tail without letting go of her hand.

For a great part of the trip from their hiding spot to where Bobbi was trying to take Astrid there wasn’t any trouble. It was too easy to make it out in the docks and Bobbi didn’t like that at all, it was a bad feeling in her gut, a churn that was always present when bad things were going to happen.

Astrid, for her part, wasn’t that scared after Bobbi took her hand. She knew, she felt, how worried her companion was but even with all of that she felt safe the same...and maybe a bit dizzy, nauseous even. But she thought that was a bit of an after effect from the shock of watching her lover with a gun in hand. That was quite a view, even more when Beverly pointed at her with it - by mistake, she was really sure she scared the shit out of her - but there was something else bubbling in her chest along all of that.

Something she wasn’t sure she felt before.

The cold air hitting her face was reassuring once they were out in the decks. There was some ruckus in the distance but otherwise Astrid could hear the water, the soft waves crashing against the wooden pillars of the decks and the boats around. It was almost as one of those nights Beverly had gone to pick her up from work, both walking hand in hand towards her apartment and chattering the night away like two teenagers instead of people in their late twenties. That made her smile for a second.

And then the shooting started.

The sound was deafening into her ears the second Beverly pushed her behind some boxes. Not even covering her ears with her hands helped her to muffle the sound. She could see Beverly a couple meters away, shooting back every bullet she had in her and by the time Astrid saw her go for her batons, it clicked inside of her a solution.

Even when the sound was making her dizzier each second it passed, Astrid managed to stand up again. Her heart was going faster and faster, making her feel as if she was the biggest champagne bottle on Earth right in that moment and she caught Beverly looking at her as if she was out of her fucking mind. Astrid couldn’t hear whatever Beverly was yelling at her but everything seemed clear to her in between all the uneasiness.

“Get in the water,” she felt herself saying that, but by the way Beverly was looking at her Astrid knew she didn’t moved a muscle. It was always so natural for her, while for others was so strange. “Please, get in the water.”

Bobbi thought she was getting crazy because of the stress, but she did was she was told and God that falling into freezing water was the worst. Swimming towards the nearest boat, she managed to get a view from what was going over the decks. Astrid was still there, standing up behind the boxes, and now four goons were walking in her direction with their weapons drawn. 

What the fuck was she going to do and why Bobbi obeyed so willingly to let a fucking civilian take care.

Astrid felt it taking over, she felt the power running through her body hot and intense like lava...like magma. Yeah, that was perfect, magma was a better term for what was she feeling inside. Every bit of her that she tried to bury as deep as she could was coming to life, her head buzzing like a honeycomb and then she stepped in front of those four men armed head to toe, as if she was too.

“It’s okay, sometimes you have to let go, darling,” what a time to hear her voice, Astrid thought for the last time. “You can’t bottle up the storm, but you can redirect it...you can make sense of it once is out.”

In almost thirty years of her life, Bobbi never saw something like that. 

Her worry for freezing to death disappeared the second Astrid stepped in front of those goons. That was so wrong in so many levels, the oath she took cracking so fiercely in her mind, but then her sweet girl - oh, wow, she was falling hard - raised her arms like a orchestra director…

...and she started to scream on top of her lungs, as if the Devil had possessed her. 

At first Bobbi didn’t notice but a second after everything started to vibrate. And when Bobbi said everything, it was everything. The boats, the water, the wooden deck, the goons; fuck even the world, started to tremble with the might of Astrid’s scream. It was scary, her body felt as if she was many meters underwater instead of in the surface of it. 

After what it felt forever, everything stopped from trembling and then there was wood everywhere, the decks blowing up as if there was a massive bomb under them and Bobbi was really sure the four men literally flew across from Astrid’s position to she didn’t managed to see where. Everything that was breakable was breaking and Astrid was still screaming as if she didn’t care a bit for her throat or her lungs.

Bobbi only blinked once after that and Astrid wasn’t screaming anymore.

Not screaming and falling to what was left of the decks, pretty much unconscious by the way she fell without control.

The only thing Bobbi thought before starting to swim like crazy towards her was that she needed a two hours long hot bath and that there was more explaining to do than her having a gun.

…

Bobbi felt like she was going to die in Astrid’s living room if she couldn’t get to warm up in the next few minutes.

After getting to the apartment and lying Astrid in the couch, Bobbi stripped down as fast as she could and using one of the knives in the kitchen when her bodysuit didn’t want to unstick from her skin. Someone was going to get pissed off because of that, that’s for sure, but Bobbi didn’t care at all.

She dragged the quilt from the bed and wrapped herself in it, sitting down in front of the television in a poor attempt to entertain herself while trying to not die. Was she worried that Astrid was still out? Of course she was, but she already made a quick check when she neared her in the decks and everything that could be unusual wasn’t. 

It was a relief knowing that her probably possessed lover was still alive.

“...where…” and talking about the queen of Rome, Bobbi chuckled to herself, there she was. “Bee, fuck, God.”

“Yeah baby, I love when you talk dirty to me,” Bobbi managed to joke, shivering like crazy, watching Astrid stripping down as steady as she could in her condition.

The moan that left her lips when Astrid’s body joined her under the quilt was too loud, but she didn’t care because Astrid was hugging her and that was all that mattered in that moment. Her warmth was stronger than anything, even her babbled apologizing, and Bobbi truly didn’t care about a single thing in that moment. Heck, if Mack decided to search the whole fucking town to extract her, she will proudly walk naked and wrapped like a koala to her sweetheart.

How much time they were like that Bobbi didn’t know, but when she felt much better the need of getting this out of her chest was heavier than anything she ever experienced before. She knew that Astrid was awake, feeling how she the woman was pressing her palm to the back of her neck to keep her hidden in the crook of hers, as if she was protecting her like that somehow; so she knew she was going to be heard.

“My name isn’t Beverly,” did she loose neurons on the ice water? It seemed so. “It’s Bobbi. Barbara. I prefer Bobbi way more than that, please, don’t call me Barbara.”

Astrid chuckled groggily or watery, she didn’t know, but the sound made Bobbi’s heart hurt in her chest.

“Hi then, Bobbi,” ah, God almighty, she could die right there only listening how Astrid said her name in such sweet way. “I’m still Astrid.”

“Are you sure? Aren’t you possessed by a demon that’s trying to seduce me and suck the life out of me?” she managed to joke lightly, tightening her hug around Astrid’s body, which only got another chuckle in response along a soft caress along her spine. 

“A hundred percent sure I’m still me,” Bobbi felt how Astrid took a deep breath, deep enough for her to look up and encounter ochre eyes that seemed to hypnotize her even more under the moonlight that was falling over them from the window. “Always have been, you fell for a not that regular human being.”

“Not that regular?” with that question, Astrid was the one trembling and Bobbi got worried right away, and she wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.

“Tell me Bobbi-not-Barbara, did you ever hear about mutants?”

And it was then when Bobbi knew, she was fucked.

(Not because she didn’t know about what Astrid was talking about - and she was so willing to listen to her already - but because if her sweet girl called her full name again, she found herself not minding at all.)

#bobbi morse x original character #marvel #bobbi morse #astrid winters #original character #agents of shield #x-men

[the-hellion-studio]

The traveller

Little story written off of @ab-arts 's last midnight prompt! It was hella fun to write and that reay inspired me!!

Enjoy!

Somewhere near three in the morning, Joey finally gave up on his work to get some rest. He really didn't want to but his body was begging for it. He knew that he shouldn't have taken a nap at work earlier, as it made him sluggish all afternoon and now he really needed to sleep. He entered his bedroom, a half-finished glass of whiskey in hand. It might have just been anxiety, but the whole room felt off. Joey glanced out the window, the soft ochre sky not bringing any comfort in his soul. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. Why was he even trying? He sighed, settling on the matress, sitting against his pillows, his glass on his lap. An hour passed. Joey was still awake. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on nothing but his breathing. Deep. Slow.

Something moved under the bed.

His whole body tensed up. He stayed silent, trying to hear more. It's true that now that he was paying attention, he felt that he was not alone here. Thats why the room felt strange. He opened his eyes, looking around the room. There was nothing in the corners, nothing over the bookshelf. Must be under the bed.

It moved again.

Joey was used with creatures taking his home as theirs, as he did some mistakes in the past with the wrong spells and rituals. But most of the time they didn't manifest physically. Here he could hear some wretched being breathing, writhing and scratching right underneath him. He took a deep breath, slowly reaching for the hunting knife sitting on the bedpost. He always had one there, just in case. As he laid his shaky fingers on the weapon, he heard a growl from the creature. From the sound of it it didn't seem to be too big, thankfully. Joey growled back, as loud and deep as his body allowed. He heard the thing curl up in fear under the bed. That helped him feel a bit more confident. Now he was thinking of a plan to get out of the bed. He decided to escape by walking over the chest that was sitting at the end of the bed, as he didn't want to risk getting his ankles attacked from under. He quickly draped himself in his dark green nightrobe for style -also because he didn't want to be seen in anything but a t shirt and boxers- and carefully walked back to his side of the bed, where he thought the monster was. As he started to bend down to see where it was, it sneezed. Joey was too tired and drunk to remember to be rude and that there was a potential threat under his bed.

"Bless you." He mumbled.

The second after he talked he realized how stupid that was. He felt ashamed.

Then a voice rose from under the bed, hoarse and weak.

"Thank you."

Joey raised his eyebrows. He really was not ready for this. He gripped his knife harder.

"Get the fuck out of there. Now."

Silence.

"I know you can understand what I say. Get out!" He roared, hitting the floor with a foot furiously to accentuate his last word.

The creature made a little sniffy noise before risking a hand out of under the bed.

"No harm, no harm!"

"You came to the wrong place for that."

Joey tensed up again once he saw what he thought was a demon slip out of under the bed. Its weak and crooked frame was covered by sickly pale yellow skin and it had small black eyes at the top of its skull. A very rough, discolored piece of rag was wrapped around its elongated body. Joey pointed his knife at the strange apparition.

"What are you and what's your name?"

The creature cowered, hiding its face in its thin misshapen hands.

"Raf. Just a traveller. Don't kill me!"

"What are you travelling for? Do you even know where you are?!"

Raf whined, swipping its tail on the floor.

"You're in my sanctuary. You have nothing to do here. The sentence for violating this place is death."

The demon's beady eyes widened.

"No! Please no!"

Joey took a step closer, making the blade of his knife shine in the late moonlignt. Raf screamed and slipped back under the bed, but Joey stepped on its tail before he could be out of reach.

"What do you want to do here?"

"Please have mercy!"

Joey growled and pulled the demon out and glared at it.

"I asked you something."

"I-" Raf gulped, then licked its wrinkled lips. "I just want to gather food for me and my mother. She's ill and-"

Joey sighed loudly.

"My, my. Do you want me to play the violin to go with your sad story ?"

Raf tapped his clawy foot on the floor, nervous.

"No, please. I just need food... I swear I'll go away."

Joey grumbled.

"You think there is food there?"

"Yes?"

Joey didn't really have any food at his appartment, and he wasn't feeling very generous anyways. He scoffed, raising his shoulders.

"I don't have any food."

The creature looked down, sniffling again.

"Are you sure?"

"Okay. Come." Joey barked, leaving the bedroom to show Raf how empty his kitchen was.

The strange creature followed him, scared out of its skin. It quickly caught a glimpse of the hundreds of skulls stacked in every corner of Joey's living room and prefered looking at the wood floor. Once to the kitchen Joey turned on the lights angrily and gestured at everything, still holding his knife menacingly.

"I have nothing here for you!"

Raf tiptoed to the table and leaned against it, squinting at the sudden light.

"What about this?"

It pointed a finger at an almost empty jar of cherry jam sitting on the counter. Joey stared at it, an exasperated and tired look on his face.

"... Really?"

"Yes!" Raf clapped its hands happily.

Joey instantly cut him off.

"No."

"Why?" The demon whined.

"Because it's mine."

The redhead took the jar and hid it high in a cupboard. It was really childish but he didn't care. Raf frowned.

"Where can I find food?"

Joey sat on the counter, silent. Then something clicked in his brain.

"I know."

A very faint smile appeared on his lips as he climbed down his seat, slowly walking out of the kitchen. Raf followed, completely lost. Joey was standing near the entrance door. It was completely painted blue with eyes all over it. Raf didn't like it.

"Okay. You're gonna walk down the stairs quietly- as quiet as you can. There's an old lady living on the lower floor. She loves to help people, she's very generous. Because it's so late she might be sleeping, but you can slip under her door and get as much food as you can."

Raf's dark eyes lit up with hope.

"Really?"

Joey nodded.

"Yes, yes. Don't forget to break something in her home to thank her."

He opened the door to the staircase, pushing the creature out with a foot.

"Thank you! That was very kind of you!" Raf squeaked, almost forgetting the sharp knife in the man's hand.

"Yeah, right, now fuck off."

Joey slammed the door shut and locked the door, hoping to have some peace now.

He grabbed a pack of cigarettes and matches in the pocket of his coat by the door and went back to bed to take a nap before the morning comes.

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #hellion studio #joey drew #joey a. drew #batim au #midnight prompts #ab-arts #hellion's stories

[honestsycrets]

A Scarlet Dream II

Masterlist

Gif credit: whenimaunicorn

A/N: No warnings other than batshit crazy bitch margrethe.

When you awoke the next morning, it was to the glare of sunshine in your quarters. The french doors that led out to the balcony were pulled apart against the chirping of free forest dwelling birds. All of Commander Ubbe’s land was surrounded by the sprawl of the forest. Rows of hedge and high arching black iron gates kept larger animals out-- but also were intended to keep you inside as well. You heard more than one story about a rogue omega trying to escape into the woods where creatures of far darker intent lay.

“Miss lady, it’s time to get up. Mistress Margrethe wants you up before long.” A warm, humble voice that sounded like a fresh slice of apple pie soothed your heart. You met this girl yesterday, Ane. She was of an older age than you, approaching her later forties. Her skin was deep ochre, tinted like that of ruddy clay.

“Isn’t it a bit early Miss Ane?” You shiver as you sit up in a the crimson nightdress that graces your shoulders. She smelled of a beta. That meant she likely was one as well, considering all unbreedable omegas were cast either to death or sex trafficking rings. She was gorgeous-- you could see way the Commander kept her.

“Nope!” She chaps her plush lips at you. “It’s time for you to get set so you can see the commander off to work. It’s how he likes his women.”

His women? You’re hardly that. You’re nothing but a toy to settle in his children. Still, you nod as you slide out of bed. The floor is like the snow of a winter morning. You convince yourself to get up and wander to your dresser. A simple thing with no afforded luxuries. The drawer squeaks as you pull it out, looking over your many gowns for the right one. You slip off your smock and slip on a skirt that would be worn for the day.

Ane saunters over to you, pulling a crimson corset across your breasts. She begins to figure with the laces when there is a loud cracking knock at the door. Ane looks to the door apprehensively as you hold the corset on your breast.

“Good morning.” Came a thick, deep voice.

“She ain’t decent.” Ane says fearlessly. On the other side of the door, there is a contended grunt.

“May I come in?” He asks. You scramble to cover your self as Ane pulls the laces tight. Don’t let him, she tells you. Who told an Alpha no? They were known to have temper tantrums! You hold the corset against your breast when you finally answer.

“Come in.” You turn away from him toward your modest doors that streamed in a bounty of light. The door would squeal apart. His boots clack upon your cool floors. Ane fidgers her nimble fingers against the laces of your corset, pulling each and every piece of ribbon through their individual holes before pulling them tight.

“Good morning commander.” You attempt to cut through this awkwardness. It’s untypical for him to be here, improper to be around a fertile woman when his did not know of such interactions. Ane’s presence here lessens the blow some, but you know much better than to melt like those sweet butter cookies that you had the other night.

Ane pulls the ribbon tight. Tight enough that you stumble back against the muscular chest that stands behind you. You quickly realize that no-- it’s not Ane whose firm, deliciously calloused hands has pulled your corset in tight. It’s the Commander, dipping his lips across the shell of your ear. Your chest felt weighed down by ice, hardly breathing at all when he leans in, nose crooking in the waves of your hair uncombed from your sleep.

“Very good morning to you, my little rose.” Ubbe husks. His hands are shifting, tying the back of your corset in a forceful bow. Saliva seems to have clogged your throat like a solid because all you can do is gasp as he turns you around to face him. Your hands are tight on your skirts as Ubbe looks behind himself to Ane, who has busied herself with making your bed, then back to you.

“Commander, sir… shouldn’t you not be here?” You chalk out the words with stumbling fingers at your heavy skirts. Ubbe’s arms fold firmly over his slender chest in his tight black suit, a red tie kissing the beginning of his ruddy beard.

“This is my house, isn’t it?” Ubbe sways, raising his eyebrows slightly as he looks down upon you. You have to look away. Those brilliant blue eyes are feeding you lies, lies that you swear upon your bible will land you straight into bed. For better-- or for worse.

“Yes s-sir, commander. I did not mean it in such a way.” You choke out.

The curt straight line of his lips pulls into a smile. “Of course you didn’t. I came to help push along your heat.”

“Sir?”

His back stiffens up straight as he stands upright, coaxing you to look into his eyes. With such a look, your knees are suddenly feeling weak. If he hadn’t been amused before, he was now. He snickers in a decadent hum. “I want your heat, you know.” He says, pausing before continuing. “You’re throwing me into an early rut.”

Your mind flew out the window with that. It wasn’t uncommon-- alphas could be thrown into insanity just as omegas could. That was why it was so important for Omegas to stick to one alpha. Breeding races, bets in which alphas chased and bred omegas for sport, had been outlawed. Now, like civilized people Omegas were bred to one Alpha. They would carry out their duties within fertile years and either be kept or disposed of. Most often by their mistresses.

Ubbe jerks in front of you, his firm frame towering over yours. Fly aways from his hair tickle your face. You convince yourself that it is better to look at that nasty scar above his eyebrow than melt. Anything to curb the ache that begins to burn in your core. Yesterday had began the onset of your heat. But now… now, you feel it radiating deep within your warm channel.

“Oh…” You stammer, finding that the clock in your room trills with the coming of a new hour. Ubbe snaps back, head shaking as if he had been far too taken with you. You clear your throat as you look to finish dressing.

“I’m late.” Ubbe murmurs, slipping out of the room with no more than a passing goodbye to Ane. As soon as the door slid shut, you heard her humming behind you.

“He is a buncha bad news.” She warns you, fluffing your pillows. “All his brothers are too.”

Brothers? You wince as you slide on your bodice. You weren’t aware that he had brothers. Then again, for an alpha, no one needed to know about other alphas. They were incredibly territorial. Then again--

“Ane!” Margrethe was hollering through the home and you were shuddering, rushing to dress as if Margrethe didn’t know where Ubbe had come down from. A short huffed out breath escapes her lips, and she would scrunch her button of a nose at you.

“If you want my advice, you listen to Mistress Margrethe and remember why you here. He might own this house but she owns that cute little ass of yours. And if she don’t like what you’re doing, you’re ass is grass.” Ane slips out behind the tall arching door. Your bones went stiff-- how would you ever manage that?

She invited you to knit with her.

“Drink some tea.” Margrethe sat upon a deep red velvety couch. The weight of her costly starry blue skirts took up much of the skirts, glistening like stars with the gemstones. She was knitting Ubbe a new blanket to take on his trips throughout the country. She had been quick to tell you all about that as you sat-- just as she liked, quiet.

“I can’t.” You look to the gold edged teacup.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Margrethe flashes you a smile that carries a double meaning. On one hand, she’s softly imploring you to drink. On another, you have a feeling that the way her teeth grind together means it is a threat. That isn’t suspicious at all-- you’re inclined not to drink it even more.

“I know you won’t understand but-- my heats are intense. I’ll throw it up.” You whisper. The ache had been steadily growing between your legs. For hours you felt the need brimming, the dignity of being a lady stripping away into something more primal. Something that would nag you to care for it day after day until the remnants of such eagerness is taken care of. Even now, you feel eager perspiration soaking layers of your heavy dress.

“So intense that you can’t handle tea?” She snorts.

Your fingers stop upon the needles, moist by the sweating of your palms. “It is difficult to understand if you’ve never had one.”

Ane, who had been shifting behind you, bit back a grimace at those words. Margrethe’s eyes ever sharpen at those words. Her knitting needles drop altogether on her lap and instead her hands fold as if to begin a prayer.

“I know he might make you feel special. For some time--”  She begins to rise. “But remember, I am his wife. He comes to me for pleasure, not duty. You should remember that and remember your place. You’re not the first one to come through here, you know.”

Inevitably Margrethe came behind your shoulders, hands pressing with equal force down upon you. You hid behind the red lacen edges of your veil incapable of replying to what she was saying. It was not out of spite that you said such things to her but nonetheless, she feels threatened.

“Omegas make babies. Betas make wives. Can you say it with me?” Margrethe leans down deep into your ear, the words carrying on the rouge of her lips.

“I make a wife. And you… --make his sons.” You finish the remainder of her sentence, looking to the tea that has garnered a strange film over the top. Your heart pulses when you look back up to her.

“I’m glad we have a mutual understanding. It would have been just so unfortunate had we not.” Margrethe takes your cup of tea, spilling it over your dress and the hardwood floors.

“You’re excused to your room and that only. Ane pick this up.” Margrethe flicks the cup of her fingers, smashing into a million bitty pieces for poor Ane to clean. Much like your confidence that has burst apart, you slide up, soaked in this strange sticky tea and the beating need that courses through your legs. Your heart is strumming harshly, clothes scratchy as if they were fire on your very skin. The warmth flooding over your body tells you that its’ time-- that Ubbe needs to hurry home from work. Because with every step up the stairs to the second floor, slick excitement pours over your legs. The rich pheromones would be enough to drive even Margrethe insane.

It was time.

@bougalouie, @rekdreams247, @directionlessbuthappy, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @Huntingbears, @dakotacheyenneee-blog, @seize-the-droid, @ilvebeenabad, @Im-bored-how-are-you, @squirtleandeeveearethebest, @multi-fandom-imagines8, @queenmissfit, @calaena-banrion, @hallowed-heathen, @AzmentineDaWinters, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @imamom-makingadifference, @mblaqgi, @imavulcanatheart, @Itendswithpessimism, @that-darling-babygirl, @attorneyl, @nina2697, @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ateliefloresdaprimavera, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @concretewaywardangel, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @Kirah34, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou

#ubbe #ubbe ragnarsson #vikings ubbe #Ubbe Lothbrok #a scarlet dream #vikings #vikings imagines #viking imagine #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #Ragnarsson #honestsycrets #ubbe's wolfpack #ubbe x reader #ubbe/reader #Ubbe Lothbrok x Reader #ubbe ragnarsson x reader

[gloxinian]

bolder’s cave is one of the favorite parts of my campaign and it happens extremely early so it’s so good at setting a tone for how i like to DM.  one of the things i like abt it sm is that it could also work as a one shot (or repurposed) because of how simple and easy to alter on the fly it is.  you can also run it with pretty much any level characters but i prefer painfully low lvl ones (1-3 is the most fun bc of how much easier it is to spook them bc theyre weak).

the general premise is that for some reason (could be for a monster hunting mission, general exploration, etc) the party finds themselves at a cave in the middle of a desert.  this cave slopes downward, doesn’t seem naturally made as there are signs of a large burrowing creature, and there are veins of glassy blue crystal lining the walls.  there are small creatures scattered about in different rooms.  i generally stick to slimes since they’re easy to pick off and give (esp higher lvl) players a sense of security and these monsters aren’t meant to pose a threat.  they have a different purpose.  

see- here’s the fun thing about the cave.  whenever a loud sound happens in the cave or something hits the walls, the crystals give off a bright blue light for a moment before dissipating.  the louder the sound or harder the hit, the brighter the light and the longer it stays.  if it’s loud or hard enough, and the players look for it, they can hear what sounds like the rushing of water or wind with a faint crackling sound beneath it.  if players haven’t already found this effect by trying to excavate the crystals or doing something dumb, they’ll definitely trigger it during contact and it will spook even higher lvl characters because of how unnatural this effect is.

the player’s don’t know this but (and the specific reasons WHY this happen can be changed to fit the DM’s desires.  this is just the general one i use for low lvl players) the crystals lighting up is essentially a security measure.  they’re reacting to outside stimuli and lighting up all around the cave to notify the creatures that live in the cave that someone is there.  now, if you wanted, you could instead say that these crystals lighting up is meant to signal an incoming trap (that i’m about to mention) or anything else.  the real purpose of them is just to put players on edge because they don’t know what’s going on so the details can be changed.  what happens next is (obviously) dependent on how the player’s react and what lvl they are.  here’s some examples:

i’ve had one group of three lvl 5 players immediately run out of the cave because they thought the crystals were signaling that water was about to flood the cave.  upon leaving the cave, they stepped on top of a young blue dragon (i’d redesigned him to be between young and wyrmling so they could handle it) who had been waiting beneath the sand.  the player’s got a chance for a perception check as they were already listening to see if water came rushing in and one of them crit meaning they got to look down and notice the sand moving in time to react to the dragon popping up and attacking them.  combat moved forward from there with the players running away to the safety of the cave (ha) because they didn’t think they could handle the dragon and things went from there (got them low but they did great bc i had fixed the dragon’s stats).

i recently ran the same set up with a group of 4 lvl 2 players.  they were confused and nervous but didn’t leave the cave as they were looking for their mentor who had disappeared in the cave and they were worried.  i only threw a single ochre slime at them which hit them pretty hard and i decided to keep combat to a minimum as that wasn’t the point.  instead, they wandered into the room where the dragon ate (bones aplenty) and drank.  there was a newly born dragon hiding beneath some bones watching them.  once they noticed, three of them were enamored and played with the baby.  two of them talked about adopting him while the third worried about if the mother was nearby.

the fun part came in to the dreaded “party split”.  see, you may have mentioned i only said three.  that’s because the fourth player had decided to wander deeper into the cave which opened up to a beach and ocean.  he stared in wonder at the ocean (never seen it before) until he spotted a dark shadow approaching him and started panicking.  the guy decided to bury himself in the sand to hide and he and the rest of the party thought “oh shit...the mom is here and that guy is going to die”.  but that’s not the job of a DM and c’mon... they’re lvl 2.  so i just spooked the guy by having a young blue dragon (baby’s older brother) casually walk over the guy, walk into the room to see three humanoids playing with his little brother, notice they’re scared of him, and take the opportunity to scare them.  the young dragon jumped into the drinking pool, swam up to them, and jumped out while shouting “boo!” and laughing.  a lightbulb went off and all the players relaxed.  they ended up loving it and having fun.

since these players were weak, i changed bolder’s cave a bit.  bolder is actually the name of the young blue dragon in both scenarios (the baby is pebbles named by bolder).  in the second scenario, bolder and pebbles are domesticated by an immortal living nearby and the dragons are thus quite friendly to humanoids and see them as creatures that bring them food (so don’t eat them).  this quest ended with the players finding their mentor talking to the immortal further in the cave and all was well.

bolder’s cave is fun to me because of how easy it is to adapt and how many different directions it could go.  i could absolutely have those crystals lead to the cave flooding if i wanted.  i love being able to run the same quests or areas with different groups and having them run so differently.  this post got a bit longer than expected haha.

#ahritext #dnd #d&d #long post

[a--world--apart--fic]

A World Apart - Chapter Six 1.2

Notes: Ask and you shall receive! Wednesday we’ll post just a sneak peak of chapter 7. Enjoy part two of chapter six! Discusses serious & dark adult topics. Please heed the trigger warnings! Tagged long post for mobile.

Rating: M

Trigger Warning: Assault, Violence

Word Count: 3918

Musical Accompaniment: Florence + the Machine - Howl

Tag List: @writtenbycandy, @hopefulmoonobject, @heatherfilliez, @theroyalweisme, @indiacater, @tmarie82, @enmchoices, @the-everlasting-dream, @diamond-dreamland, @lizeboredom, @drakewalkerwhipped, @youwontlikewherewewillgo, @mfackenthal, @kingliamthirst, @snyggflicka, @debramcg1106, @choicessa, @drakelover78, @starstruckzonkoperatorbat@blackcatkita , @drakewalkerfantasy, @jadedpixiescribbles, @walkerismychoice, @walkerduchess, @hamulau, @simplyaiden-blog, @hhiggs, @drivenbyfantasy, @penguininapinktuxedo, @viktoriapetit @breaumonts

Chapter Six ~ The Beaumont Bash 1.2 May 1914

This night has gone from passing strange to decidedly bizarre. It begins with the ivy leaves. Lord Rashad and Maxwell pass a golden plate of them around the circle, and each man chews his while trying not to wince. 


"And what is the meaning of this, Lord Rashad?" Liam tries to frame the question genially, not missing Rashad's insolent eye roll. The man needs to be shown his place, but Liam will have to be swift and merciless when he does it. Disturb the waters too briskly, and it could incite a mutiny. And Liam, of all people, knows how flimsy the bonds of this court can be when threatened. Snip the wrong thread, and the whole labyrinth will collapse. "Why are we eating ivy leaves?"



His wife's lover snorts. "They are sacred to Dionysus, your highness." How is it that every honorific out of this man's mouth sounds like a slur? The smoke from the brazier is thick and aromatic, and when Liam stares into the coals, he can see faint shapes that look like men, moving through a hellscape. But when he breathes the sweetish smoke in, the faint honeyed scent of kythi, pine and moonwort perfuming the air, it is gone. 


Rashad signals to Bertrand, whose face is already flushed from drink. "Step forward and be crowned the Lord of Misrule." Bertrand beams from ear to ear, stepping forward.



Maxwell lays a crown of ivy on Bertrand's head, and intones in a sonorous voice, "I call upon loud-roaring and reveling Dionysos,
 primal, two-natured, thrice-born, Bacchic lord..."(1)



The servants beat on a tambourine beyond the topiary, and blow discordant pipes. The wind picks up suddenly, throwing long shadows dancing across the lawn in the firelight, and strange shadows leap across the faces of the company. Liam swallows, trying to shake the deep unease that has begun to creep across his flesh.



Some sort of signal passes between Rashad and Maxwell, and then Rashad signals a footman. "Bring the wine." 


The footman hands Maxwell the bottles, and then departs. The young lord places the three bottles atop the sundial and fetches his saber. The blade whistles through the heavy night air and the corks roll at their feet like the heads of men, dark red wine dripping thickly from the bottlenecks. 


"A Beaumont tradition!" Bertrand crows with jovial bonhomie, though his voice sounds strange and low, another man's voice, a wild god's; looking out across the faces gathered here tonight, Liam feels displaced from time, as though he witnesses a ritual three thousand years in the ancient past, when men drank the blood of bulls and danced with ritualistic frenzy to the beat of the cymbals and the drums. 


"This wine, gentlemen, will make gods of men. It is the root of the love apple, satyrion, and ivy, macerated and stirred in a clockwise manner thirteen times then left to steep under the moonlight for three weeks." Rashad raises his glass.



"Dionysos, bearer of the vine, thee I invoke to bless these rites divine: florid and gay, of Nymphs the blossom bright, and of fair Aphrodite, Goddess of delight. 'Tis thine mad footsteps with mad Nymphai to beat..."(2) Maxwell is swaying, his eyes already inky wells of darkness. Liam would suspect he has already been drinking this wine, but in truth, he does not know.  


He raises his goblet, and they all toast Bertrand, and then Dionysus, and wine and women and their cocks. The wine is red and honeyed, with a slightly metallic bite. He does not want to drink it, but the other men are staring at him with eyes gleaming in the torchlight, and Liam knows he must. He downs the entire glass, and holds out his goblet for another.



They drink until the wine is gone, and then a servant brings out a platter filled with something reddish, oozing. Before Liam knows what's happening, Rashad and Maxwell have stripped Bertrand's shirt off, and the other men get the gist, all stripping to the waist, some pale and pudgy, others sleek and taut with whipcord muscle.



"We will paint ourselves like warriors of old, and become the masters of the wild hunt!" Rashad proclaims amidst cheers and howls. The sun has almost sunk entirely now, and a blood red crescent is swelling in the sky. The torches gutter as the wind whistles through the wind chimes in the branches of the trees, tossing the remaining ivy leaves in a whirl around them.



"The god hears us!" Bertrand bellows, his teeth stained dark with wine. "The god has come!" 


All around Liam, their eyes glitter, pupils inky wells in the flickering light. Tariq begins to strip off his trousers as well, but Liam stops him with a firm shake of his head. 


"I smell them!" Neville says suddenly, his chin red with ochre or wine, dripping in the firelight. "I smell cunny!" 


Heads whip up around the brazier, and Liam's stomach curdles in revulsion. Only Maxwell looks slightly anxious, and Liam remembers his friend is a virgin, and wonders whatever possessed Maxwell Beaumont to take part in this madness. But he knows. The pressure is too much to refuse. Even Tariq, whom Liam has wondered about for years, is here tonight, when the man would normally prefer to avoid the company of the fairer sex. 


Rashad whistles, low and deep, and Liam hears the nickering of horses. They are led towards the men by the grooms, deep chested blacks and grays and a wild Gypsy horse that tosses its mane in terror at their smell. Rashad has brought his stallion, a big black called Lucifer, truly a warhorse, eighteen hands high. He mounts the beast with catlike grace, and watches Liam mount a frisky roan with his eyes like slits, searching for any show of weakness. Rashad would murder Liam if he could, and Liam knows it in that moment, and a sudden thought trembles on the edge of his brain, What if --



"Steady there, Bertrand, you'll make  a widow of the girl before she's ever a bride!" Hakim claps a hand on Bertrand's shoulder, and it takes two men to help Ramsford mount the horse without slipping off.



He cackles drunkenly. "Give me my horn, brother! I wish to summon the nymphs!" 


Maxwell makes eye contact with Liam as his brother jokes lewdly with Hakim and Rashad. "I'll distract them if you want to slip back to the house now," he whispers solemnly. 

Liam nods, barely. "I'll double back. Good luck tonight, my friend. If you do not yet have a lady in mind, may I suggest the one with the green and black sash? I'm afraid you may not find the pleasure you seek with one of Madame Louisa's strumpets." Because you are too soft, and they are too hard, he thinks. They will rip you to shreds. 


Maxwell grins sheepishly. "I'll do all right. Thanks for the suggestion." He wheels his horse around, and blows on the horn once before passing it to the drunken Lord of Misrule, and Maxwell turns back to Liam and gives him the barest of signals, his face entirely lost to the shadow of the night.

•••

Sophia feels a deep frisson of unease run through her at the sight of the moon, a fat red sickle hanging deep and preternaturally large in the sky. As the women wind through the gardens in single file, masked and nude, Sophia's foot catches on something, and she stumbles forward, just barely missing the sash of the woman in front of her, who hisses over her shoulder, annoyed. Sophia grabs whatever it is, and keeps moving. The torches gutter in the darkness, and a sudden wind has picked up, throwing the scattered ivy leaves in a whirlwind before her, whispering Run, run.



As the gardens end and the lawns stretch out towards a twisted wood, the women come to a complete stop. There is a smoking and scented brazier here, and the rich honeyed scent of kyphi is stronger now, almost intoxicating, mingled with moonwort and pine, teasing and taunting the senses. A sundial, seemingly innocuous, is covered in sticky red streaks in the torchlight. 


The wind rises, and the torches gutter for a sudden, warning moment -- and then the howling begins. All of the fine hairs on the back of Sophia's neck rise, and the woman next to her, nipples rouged red from the communal pot, clutches her arm and whispers, 
"What in the name of...?" Her fine, cultured voice shakes with terror. 


The whores answer the howls with ululating yips, while the noblewomen draw back, discomfort in their postures. But it is too late to turn back now. The ominous clatter of hoof beats seems to echo across the night garden, like the beating of a tribal drum, and Sophia does not want to turn, and yet she must.

Closing her eyes, she listens to the grey wolves in the wood howl with the men, calling to them to their pack. Sophia pictures them lined on horseback, lips curled back, teeth bared, hungry for the flesh of their prey and shudders, tightening her fists in a panic, gasping as she pricks her finger on the object she picked from the ground. She opens her palm and is aghast, balking at the notched stone carved with a symbol -- Thurisaz. She has seen this symbol once before; cast in the bone runes of a Roma fortune teller the night before she ran from Kane. She recalls the old woman's warning (that she did not heed) and her throat constricts.

The howling stops, and in the still, fleeting silence she takes a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs, steeling herself for what is to come should she be caught. Sophia focuses intently on the dark shadows between the looming trees, anxiously plotting a path to asylum. The lawn is long, but if she is quick and crosses through the gardens, she may escape the clutches of the depraved men behind her.

The long, low rumblings of a hunter’s horn is heard, its vibrations thrumming through her body, quaking the earth beneath her feet. There is one measured blow, then another and she is running, against the whipping wind fast as her feet can carry her to the black of the wood, the raucous laughter of the hunters and the drumming of hooves muffled by the sounds of her raspy breath.

•••

Sophia is not in the room, nor is she anywhere in the house, and Liam has begun to have a terrible suspicion creep over him. He thinks of the other men, stripped to the waists, chests and faces painted in red ochre not ten minutes before: Bertrand crowned in ivy, looking like a wild god, Maxwell and Rashad beside him with their pupils blown out in the torchlight. On their black and white steeds, they could very well have been ancient centaurs, half-men, half-beasts, come down from the hills to slake their lust on mortal women and drink wine until they go into frenzies of ecstatic, wild madness.



Liam, too, is painted and masked, and the housekeeper lets out a scream of pure terror when she sees him in the kitchen.



"Where is the girl who showed my lady to her room?" Liam bares his teeth. "I am your king and you will answer!" 


The servants pull a girl with a copy of the Grimm’s Fairy Tales in her hands out of the larder, and she blinks like a mole in the light. When the housekeeper prods her to answer, she stammers out that she put Sophia in the room "with the other women." Liam feels the blood drain from his face. With the servants on their knees in terror, he storms from the house. 


That's when he hears the haunting call of the horn. And Liam runs.

He mounts his horse in one quick movement, clucking his tongue so it breaks into a steadfast gallop. No one but I will lay a finger on you. His words repeat in his mind like a broken record as he rides, pressing his spurs into the side of the gelding, urging it to go faster, faster.

But it is too late to stop it. It is bedlam on the lawn now the horn has been blown, a cacophony of unsettling sights and sounds unfolding before him -- the garish moaning of women on their knees in the grass, thundering hooves, the boisterous roars of nobleman. He rides on, desperately searching for any sign of her, but there must be a dozen women with honey hair in the horde. So he calls to her, intending to keep his promise, no longer caring for social station or who hears him shouting her name.



•••

Sophia’s leaden feet pound the ground beneath her, each footfall more painful than the last. The horses are so much faster than her and the lawn is long, too long. Her heart beats frantically in her chest, her breath labored, thighs burning. She’s so exhausted she feels she could collapse involuntarily at any moment, though she does not slow her pace. The silhouette of a great oak is in her sights, and she will run until her feet bleed to hide in the crest of its branches, enduring what she must to free herself from the fate of what awaits her if she gives up and allows herself to be taken by one of the devil men.

She’s almost to the oak tree when, so faintly she’s almost sure she’s imagined it, she hears his voice calling for her through the thick of the noise. Liam! Against her better judgment, she turns away from the haven in the wood and runs back into the heart of the field, following the sound of his voice growing louder with every step.

The calls stop for a moment, then begin again, closer than before, but her name on his lips is different… the voice sounds coarser, darker, and Sophia cannot put her finger on why. Still, she pursues him, raring to feel safe in his arms and get away from the madness around her. Then, suddenly, she lets out a sharp cry of pain as a strong, unwavering hand grips her by the back of the neck, pulling her up onto their horse by her hair. She looks down at the hand bruising her thigh, squeezing tightly, and is horrified, for it is indubitably not the hand of the king.



"Hello, Sophia." It is the Queen's lover, captain of the Royal Horse Guards, the man whom Savannah warned the other maids about. A flirtation with him means death. 


How he knows Sophia's name, she knows not, and she struggles against him, clawing at his cheek, drawing blood. "Let me go," she begs hoarsely, and he laughs, low and dark.



"He thought to keep you all to himself tonight." Rashad's voice is threaded with vicious delight. "Well, let him see how it feels to have the thing he loves most taken from him." 


Sophia opens her mouth to scream, and then his lips are upon hers, hard and bruising. She bites his mouth and he draws back, bleeding, his eyes dark and terrible beneath his devil's mask. 


"Bitch!" he snarls, and his palm connects with her face, her head snapping back from the force of it. Sophia tastes blood on her tongue, thick and coppery, and she screams Liam's name. 


"Sophia!" she hears Liam's anguished howl as though from far away, and the world is blurring before her eyes, though she cannot tell if it is from the tears or the blow; branches whip at her face as they plunge into the dark wood, and Rashad is laughing, low and dark, filling Sophia with terror. 


She hears Liam shouting for her, hears his horse plunge into the thicket after them. He's coming. Liam is coming for me. She twists in Rashad's grip, pummelling his chest and his face, teeth bared. Rashad pushes her down, holding her by the back of the neck, and they break out of the woods, beside a ruined shrine and a little spring.



He dismounts, his hand twining in her loose hair, holding her up by it, and she has never hated her long hair more, for the weakness it brings. He seems to be waiting for something, listening, his head cocked toward the wood. Sophia listens too, and she hears it: Liam fighting against the thicket, almost upon them now. 


Rashad forces Sophia to her knees, his hand twitching on the buttons of his breeches. He is waiting, she realizes, for Liam to come. He is playing some terrible game here, dark and twisted. 


"Unhand her!" Liam bursts through the trees and Sophia nearly sobs in relief to see his face. He dismounts, striding towards Rashad, who jerks Sophia up and kisses her roughly. Liam wrenches Rashad away from her, and then he is atop of him, his fist making a monstrous noise as it slams against Rashad's flesh. "Have you had enough?" Liam hisses, his face twisted with rage. 


Rashad begins laughing, laughing, the harsh echo filling the night. 


Liam hits him again and again, and then he is in a frenzy, and Sophia grasps at him, trying to pull him off Rashad, screaming in his ear, "Liam, stop!" but he does not hear her. He will murder Rashad tonight if she cannot stop him, and the realization of what it will mean chills her straight to the marrow. She dashes to the spring and fills her hands with water, which she throws upon Liam, breaking his concentration.

He shakes his head like a bull, coming back to himself. "Sophia...?" Liam asks, unsure. His hands are slick with Rashad's blood.



"He didn't hurt me, Liam," she says firmly, drawing him away. "Come, let's return to the house."



Behind her, she hears Rashad moving in the grass, so she knows he lives, but beyond that, she does not care.

•••

Sophia kneels before Liam on the bed, gently wiping the blood from his mangled hands with a cold cloth. She has wrapped herself in thin blanket, hiding her wounds from his view.

“Sophia --”

“Don’t, Liam,” she whispers sharply. “I want to return home at first light. Please, I cannot bear to be here any longer than we must be. I want…” she trails off. Drake, she yearns to say, but does not dare, for tonight she has seen to what violent lengths Liam will go to keep her as his own, and it strikes fear in her heart.

“I cannot just leave, Sophia. It would be unspeakably rude to the Beaumont’s, and they are a valuable alliance to the crown. The estate will look different in the light of day. I’m here now. You have nothing to fear,” Liam smiles gently, pulling her into his arms, the blanket falling from her body. He gasps seeing her in the light, stunned by the sight of her battered frame: deep purple welts on her back from Madame Louisa’s switch, bruises in long lines the shape of fingers on her thigh, burning red marks settling in the crook of her neck from being carried by her hair.

“Oh gods,” tears well in his eyes, his voice breaking. “You said he didn’t hurt you. That pompous animal will pay for his sins, Sophia. He will pay for what he did to you, my love.” Liam’s eyes darken, and Sophia tries, in vain, to swallow the bitterness burning in her throat at his hypocrisy.

“You will not kill a man in my name, Liam. Rashad has paid for his sins tonight at your hand, it is you who has not paid for yours,” she rises from the bed, ripping her hand from his. “I should never have come here with you. I am not your plaything.”

“My sins? I know you are upset my love, as am I, but I had no more control than you over what happened here tonight. You were never meant to see those horrible things, and for that I am contrite. I acted the moment I knew something had gone terribly wrong. Surely you do not blame me for the mistakes of a silly servant girl.”

“You forget, I too am a silly servant girl,” she spits his words at him, fuelled by the feelings she has kept tightly coiled since laying in his marriage bed with his queen. “You promised me no one would lay a finger on me but you and look at me!” Sophia grasps his jaw and turns his head to her. “Look at the marks left by the hands that have been on my body this night! I have been beaten, tormented and nearly…” she stops, a choking sob swallowing her words.

Liam rushes to her, holding her in a warm embrace. Her hot tears cascade onto his shoulders as she grips him tighter, weeping. “You promised me, Liam. You promised me. You promised.”

“Oh, my darling. I know. I know and I’m so sorry. No one will ever hurt you again, Sophia. I will protect you. Always.”

“And who will protect me from you?” Sophia gently pushes Liam away from her, thoughts of Drake swirling in her troubled mind, thinking of how she has never felt so safe in Liam’s arms as she does in his.

“You don’t mean that, Sophia. I would never hurt you,” his voice is small and frail, his face twisted in anguish, like she has shot an arrow through his heart.

“But you already have, Liam! Beyond measure. When you summoned me to you and Madeline, you swore I was safe with you, but I wasn’t, was I? I was so terribly drunk I could not stand, Liam. You barely gave me a choice. What’s worse is you would not even look upon me when the deed was done, like I was nothing to you.”

Tears are slipping down her cheeks freely, every bit of raw emotion she has buried deep since that fateful night pouring out of her like a burst dam. The anger, confusion, the pain, overwhelming and pure joy when she discovered… their child. And then, unimaginable grief realizing she could not keep it, not now. How could she after what they had done?

“I never meant to hurt you. I was so ashamed, Sophia. I love you, and I will be with you until my dying breath if you will have me. Without you, I am nothing. You are my strength, my joy. Madeline, what we did to put a child in her, that is the terrible price of wearing the crown.”

“And will our child pay a price as I have?” Sophia cries, so tired of keeping her secret that it spills from her mouth unwittingly. “Where does it end, Liam?”

Liam’s eyes widen at her admission, as do hers, and he stares at her for a long moment, assimilating her words. “Our child? No, it’s not possible,” he proclaims, mystified.

“I have not bled since early March.”

Liam falls to his knees before her and presses his forehead against her stomach, kissing it over and over, softly, weeping.

“I am with child, Liam. Your child grows inside me.”

Orphic Hymn 30

Orphic Hymn 46

#historical au #tw assault #tw violence #trr #choices trr #trr au #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #choices fanfiction #liam x mc #king liam #drake walker #drake x mc #maxwell beaumont #a world apart

[kiruuuuu]

You answered your own question - of course you can request it :) Glaz is one of my favourites, so I loved writing this ♥ (Rating G, fluff, ~1.2k words)

.

His movements are what gets to Kapkan the most. He’s seen him squeeze the trigger, end the lives of countless men, efficiently stab and gut people, just like he’s seen him engaged in deep conversation, giving advice, recounting childhood memories, seen him sleeping and eating and lost in thought, fidgeting, smiling secretly at a funny remark he overheard. Yet in all the time they’ve known each other, he’s never seen him paint. Of course he’s come across some of his paintings before, noticed his paint-spattered hands when he got too much into it, stared after him when he returned from one of his sessions, bright eyes and visibly calmer. His art doesn’t speak to Kapkan, it’s too abstract and shapeless, though he has to admit he admires the colours, the playfulness.

Glaz’ hands are moving to their own rhythm, fluid and confident, then there’s a sudden interruption, maybe a change of his brush, and it’s back to elegant flourishes and precise swipes. The longer Kapkan watches, the more he realises there’s method in his madness. The longer he watches, the more beautiful it becomes.

He steps out of the doorway, approaches the bench on which his teammate is perched while making no effort to be quiet, nods curtly when Glaz briefly turns to him to see who it is and takes a seat beside him. It’s early morning and the sparse grass is sprinkled with dew, the base enshrouded in a thin mist. “What are you painting?”, he asks and feels his knees go weak as soon as the full force of Glaz’ smile is turned on him – a fiercely gorgeous thing, oblivious, open and so vulnerable Kapkan wants to hide it from the world. This was a mistake, he’s slipping deeper into thoughts better kept to himself and best not formulated in the first place.

“How I feel when I wake up”, Glaz answers readily and there’s a myriad of possible answers, most of them hurtful jokes or light-hearted jests, resulting in a chuckle or a roll of eyes but none of them feel appropriate. Because even with how little Kapkan understands both the drive to paint as well as the subject matter, the fact that he was deemed worthy of an honest answer instead of a self-deprecating or even mocking one makes him lose all motivation to joke around – it’s respect that silences him and he knows it’s mutual since Glaz undoubtedly would’ve answered differently if it had been Fuze or Tachanka.

All that Kapkan can create is death. He’s tried extensively, strived to find something, anything that was worthwhile and made for his blood-coated fingers but remained unsuccessful. Glaz’ ability to produce instead of destroy suddenly feels precious. “Can you teach me?”, he blurts out before he can stop himself and the sniper halts, lowers his brush. “Maybe a little. I know you went to art school and there’s no way you could cover all that in five minutes, I know that, but I was just thinking -”

He’s starting to rant and in response, Glaz’ eyes twinkle. “Sure”, he replies softly, “I can teach you a little about drawing, if you want.”

“Yes.” Kapkan nods eagerly and accepts the sketchbook and pencil Glaz hands him, flips through the pages and hopes it doesn’t show on his face how impressed he is. It’s mostly doodles from the looks of it, parts of their base, operators draped over couches or each other, standing up taking aim, a few seemingly random motifs thrown in there. They’re more realistic than Glaz’ paintings and show off his skill better than the vague shapes on his canvas – at least that’s Kapkan’s opinion.

At first, Glaz tells him to draw boxes, simple geometrical shapes from different perspectives, but Kapkan quickly gets bored and so Glaz switches to basic anatomy, proportions, sketches a few basic models while he explains, completely absorbed in his task and the familiarity of the subject, his words precise and Kapkan catches none of them. Not a single one, not past the point where Glaz’ attention shifts to the paper entirely because that’s when Kapkan opts to just stare at him openly. It seems to last an eternity, the pencil lead continuously travelling over the paper, leaving trails that carry meaning inescapably lost on Kapkan while Glaz speaks for longer than ever before, uninterrupted and reminiscent of a time where he was probably surrounded by like-minded people who appreciated the fine arts better than Kapkan ever will.

It feels like waking up when Glaz encourages him to try implementing some of his advice and returns to his own painting. Kapkan eyes the drawings, produced seemingly without any effort, and listlessly attempts to recreate some of them, his lines uncertain, his hold on the pencil tentative. He begins to understand how much work it actually is. “Why don’t you just do drawings?”, he inquires curiously. “You do them so well.”

“I feel that they’re less expressive. There is more to the world than what you can see and I attempt to capture that. I’ve always associated people with colours, did I ever tell you?”

They’re starting to tread into artistic territory that feels vaguely uncomfortable to Kapkan so he just answers non-committally: “I don’t think so.”

“There’s a medical term for it but I don’t remember. It’s an actual thing, don’t look so put-off.” He laughs gently and makes their thighs touch for a moment, soothing some of Kapkan’s scepticism. “That’s why I prefer painting, I can try to express the way I feel and see others on canvas.”

For a while, there’s a busy kind of silence between them as Glaz continues and Kapkan struggles to even draw the simplest of shapes because he’s lost all concentration yet refuses to let it show. A question buzzes around in the back of his head so insistently that it eventually ends up on his tongue. “Which colour am I?” He doesn’t know why it means so much to him, why it was so hard to say it out loud. Why so much depends on the answer. He only knows that it does.

“You’re brown”, Glaz replies absent-mindedly, his focus elsewhere. Kapkan is about to protest because surely, that’s the ugliest colour he could’ve picked – apart maybe from ochre and that’s almost brown anyway –, only his teammate isn’t quite done yet: “The shade depends on the day. Right now, you’re dark, like coffee, sometimes you’re the colour of a deer’s fur or the soft earth you like so much because it muffles footsteps. Or you’re a chestnut that just popped out of its shell.”

Kapkan stares at him, at a loss for words, and notices that Glaz isn’t actually painting anymore, merely appearing busy yet not contributing to the canvas, avoiding his gaze. He can feel his heartbeat sharply all of a sudden, powerful against his ribcage.

“Brown is my favourite colour”, Glaz adds quietly and Kapkan’s hand that previously held the pencil steadily if awkwardly starts to tremble.

#rainbow six siege #kapkan #glaz #kapkan/glaz #fanfic #oneshot #request #if you're curious it's called synesthesia