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mvltisstuff · 11 months

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hi!! i use tumblr on safari - so i’m unable to answer any messages - but i would like to put in a request for conrad fisher x fem! reader smut!

if your comfortable, could you do a imagine with an innocent/virgin reader that is constantly flustered by conrad?

thank you so much!! <<33

champagne & sunshine - c.f**

summary: request

conrad fisher x reader

a/n: i get so nervous posting smut (for literally no reason😭), but i still hope you enjoy this 🩶 warning for smut.

the bonfires were always a good time, usually. once you grow up, the hype of them dies down a bit. belly begged y/n to come, being her older sister figure. it was y/n’s birthday, so belly convinced her that it would be fun. besides, y/n’s mom had been letting her drink today, as long as she was home and with close people. y/n figured she’d leave it at that, not bothering to take anything at the party.

she threw one of the cans in the bag at the corner of the beach, avoiding the full boxes of hard seltzer as her eye landed on conrad and jeremiah entering the beach. luckily, the fire wasn’t bright enough to illuminate her bright red cheeks. she walked away from the drinks, turning away from conrad but also trying to make herself seem noticeable.

she’d grown up with the conklins and fishers next door, but she always had the biggest crush on conrad. every single time he walked in, her heart raced and almost everyone knew it. belly always teased her, someone noticing before she even knew she liked him.

conrad had always had his eyes on y/n. conrad, y/n, and steven had been the oldest, so it was usually him and her together. she acted like she barely knew him, when he probably knew her better than anyone else. now that they were both eighteen, legal adults, they could do pretty much whatever they pleased. somehow, y/n still found herself blushing like a little girl. conrad was one of the first to show her any attention. boys never cared about her at home, and he always made her feel wanted. she was always a shadow to her friends, who had guys clinging to them. she sat around with other people talking about sex and other stuff that y/n pretended to know about. it made her a little bit embarrassed, but who really cares? her whole friend group would laugh at her humorously if they found out she was a virgin, but again, who cares, right?

it wasn’t until she was sitting on the warm sand, feeling it in her hands as she slid them across the floor, that conrad sat next to her on the beach. the music was blaring, so y/n brought herself away to just observe people for a little bit. someone must’ve had the same idea if they tread all the way over to sit with her.

“you got dragged here, too?” conrad asks first.

“belly, jeremiah for you, i assume?”

“the one and only,” conrad laughs, as he kicks away an empty bottle. “you’re not drinking anything?”

“nah, i don’t really feel like it tonight. i’d rather just enjoy my birthday sober, unlike everyone else,” she tells him, pointing to the stumbling people surrounding the fire.

“you’re not the only one,” conrad says. “so it’s just us, huh?”

“y-yeah,” y/n stutters. “i mean, i didn’t even bother getting all dressed up for this shit.”

“i think you look beautiful either way,” he says, and when y/n looks up, his eyes are softly on hers, refusing to crack the shell between them. y/n pauses, looking at conrad dumbfounded. she never has boys call her beautiful, let alone the one she’s been hopelessly in love with for years. but, they always say love hits you when you least expect it. y/n thought that was a lie, but she really believed it for now.

“you too, connie,” she spits out, not bothering to change the adjective for him because everyone is beautiful. he adjusts himself to sit closer to y/n, trying to relieve some of the tension. his eyes can’t help but wander across her body, taking in every part of her that’s breathtaking to him. and the cropped tank top and shorts that she’s wearing isn’t fucking helping his case either. she’d be lying if she wasn’t checking him out, too. his sharp jawline, his hands, his radiant eyes, his lips could never be missed by y/n. someone this pretty deserves to be looked at, they both think without speaking.

“do you wanna head out? come to my place for a bit?” conrad asks, standing up and holding his hand out as she nods up at him, anticipating a night alone.

before y/n can even begin to think straight, their lips are crashed together in his car. she’s leaning over the cup holders in the center, and her hands are against his face. his hands are placed on her hips as he can’t help but steer his mind away from his tongue in her mouth. he never in a million years thought he’d see this side of her, and she never thought she’d see it in herself. she’s kissed guys before, but never this intimately. conrad pulls away, smiling against her lips before connecting them again. every single time this happens, y/n swears her heart skips a beat in the best way possible. like their lips set off fireworks in the car. they decided to leave the vehicle, climbing up the stairs, trying not to disturb the moms watching a movie. conrad places his hands on her thighs, lifting her up and placing y/n gently on his bed. he climbs up as well, letting her legs wrap around him as their kiss does nothing but intensify.

her hands roam all around his body, his waist, his shoulders, his neck. the only time they separate is for a breath of air, just until they can return again. conrad’s wander over her chest, placing one of his hands to squeeze her breasts.

“is this ok?” conrad waits for confirmation until he gets a yes. after, in response, y/n tugs off conrad’s shirt, discarding it to the floor somewhere in his room. her hands run down his back. “if you want to stop, tell me and we’ll stop the second you say it.”

“ok,” she peeps out. “but if this does go any further, i’ve never done any of… this, before.”

“we can stop, y/n, whenever you want.”

“no! no, i want to keep going. can we just, go slower, maybe?”

“anything you need,” conrad reassures her before moving down the waistband of her shorts. “can i take these off?”

“yes,” she tells him, clearly and assertively as he takes off the tank top, too, leaving her in just a gray bra on his bed.

“have you ever… ever been eaten out before?” he asks. she shakes her head no, slightly embarrassed so she puts her head down to cover it, but conrad sees right through it. “hey, look at me. you’re ok, i promise. can i keep going?”

“yeah, please,” she says, squirming in discomfort from her own arousal. the feeling is unfamiliar, wanting someone to touch her so bad as it’s at her fingertips. someone willing to love her is right in front of her. conrad begins to peel off y/n’s underwear, throwing it off the bed like his shirt, ending up somewhere on the floor. she pulls her legs apart, spreading them as conrad’s eyes fall deeper.

“god, y/n,” he says. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“conrad,” she begs, as he flattens himself down trying to ignore his own erection. he wants to pleasure her first, and knowing he’s the first one too might boost his ego a bit. but conrad would never admit that.

his face is an inch away from her pussy, beginning to kiss her inner thighs as she groans from the teasing. finally, his tongue makes contact with y/n’s slit, gathering up her arousal before swirling it around her clit. y/n’s head falls back onto the pillow again in pure pleasure, letting out a quiet moan for the first time. “oh, fuck yes,” she speaks out, making conrad try to contain a smile. he places his tongue on her clit again, moving his flat tongue up and down. he switches between those movements and wrapping his lips around it, sucking on her clit, causing her to fail at concealing her moans. y/n’s hand moves down to conrad’s hair, trying to ground herself on the bed from the ecstasy.

the second her climax starts rolling up onto her, her legs start shaking and that tells conrad that you’re close. “f-fuck, con- oh my god,” she pants out, trying to formulate words but failing. her orgasm creeps up and sends her over the edge, releasing a strong moan from her lips as she comes down from the high, his fingers are gently circling over her clit.

“that was, um, holy shit, that was amazing, conrad,” she smiles as he pulls himself back up to her.

“are you feeling alright?”

“better than ever,” she says, making conrad laugh as he moves over to his drawer. he pulls out the box of condoms before taking one out.

“do you wanna keep going?”

“yeah, i do.”

conrad moves back over, dropping his pants and rolling to condom on. y/n gazes at his length, wondering how she would be able to take it. with conrad here, she knew she would be ok, so they continued. he walks back over, pulling her legs apart and making eye contact with her again. “remember, we can always stop no matter what, ok? just say stop, and we can stop.” she nods and he leans in closer. he plants a sweet kiss on her lips before pulling away, it was her turn to smile against his lips.

once settled in between her legs, conrad begins to run his tip up her slit. he confirms that she’s doing alright and that she’s ready to keep going. after he’s aware, he slides his dick into her, making her nose scrunch and release a high moan.

“you ok?”

“yes,” she replies. “yeah, you can go faster.”

conrad speeds up his pace, thrusting himself into y/n. she didn’t feel outright pain, just discomfort. that discomfort soon turned into pleasure, causing her mouth to hang open. “you feel so good, y/n/n, god damn.”

y/n’s hand falls down to her clit, circling it until she starts to bring that now familiar feeling up. conrad continues to keep the same pace, not changing it to make her feel comfortable and in control, just as much as he is. “i’ve loved you for so fucking long,” he spits out, not thinking about his words. y/n heard him loud and clear, but she’s too distracted by her orgasm coming up.

“conrad i’m close,” she tells him.

“me too, baby,” he says, breathless. “come for me, y/n.”

her release leaves her with stars in her head, the feeling better than anything she’s ever experienced. she was always worrying about sex and what it might be like, but with conrad, he made it amazing for her. she knew he was the right guy. he brings himself down, leaning onto her as he releases himself into the condom. he pulls out of her, throwing away the condom and pulling his boxers back on. y/n grabs her underwear, as she stands up wobbly. her legs are weak from her two orgasms from conrad, making him chuckle in the corner.

“hey, um,” y/n starts. “thank you.”

“yeah, of course,” he stutters a bit, not sure of what to say but trying to still wrap his head around it. he means, he just had sex with the hottest girl in cousins, what is he supposed to say? “you know, i meant what i said. i’ve liked you so much, for a long time.”

she just stares at him, confirming that she’s not in some dream. “i’ve been in love with you since the day i first saw you on the beach,” conrad steps over to her. placing his hands back on her bare waist and kissing her passionately again. he pulls back again to sadly, break the kiss off.

“we should probably clean up a bit, before everyone comes back and yells at us for leaving,” he says, brushing a loose piece of hair behind her ear. she nods, beginning to pull the rest of her clothes on. thank god she left that party when she did, or she would still love conrad, but never say it.

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bookofbonbon · 2 months

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the ground beneath our feet - aemond targaryen.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!reader (third person - no name used).

Warnings: Mention of suicide. Angst.

Summary: Your relationship with Aemond has fallen apart as the war wages on and you remain his prisoner.

Prompts: My love for you is as firm as the ground we stand on (Mary & George 2024).

Word Count: 863.

The hem of her dress dragged heavily across the darkened sand. The treacherous sea binding itself to the satin material as it rose to the bottom of her calves, reaching higher and higher as the tide came in. Each step harder than the last as her bare feet sunk further into the unsteady ground. With the shore disappearing, every new current was stronger than the last and threatened to drag her under if she wasn’t careful.

But careful she was. Though she loved the sea as every Velaryon before her and now has, death by drowning was not high on her list of ways to die. Although, in times - such as right now - when she found herself under the steady gaze of her estranged husband, she wondered if she might let the sea consume her out of spite. Alas, it was too late as sand turned to stone beneath her feet.

Beginning her barefoot ascent to Dragonstone, she walked carefully as she made her way back to the looming castle, weary of the deep cracks in the foundation as the stone crumbled and created an uneven ground of the eroding path.

Careful more so, however, of the Targaryen Prince awaiting her company on the first landing of many.

“Must you come out here every day?” Aemond drawls once she is within ear shot.

Quick to anger, she feels her ears grow hot as her head snaps up from the ground. Gaze finally meeting that of the man who insisted on stalking her every move. Not once could he allow her to suffer his presence in silence. There was always something to be said.

“Must you follow me out here every day? I’m not a child, you need not watch over me as if I am one.”

Her fury however, is met with indifference as Aemond regards her coolly. The one-eyed Prince having grown accustomed to her anger-fuelled outbursts at him- of course, that didn’t make them hurt any less. But, she was predictable and always ready to be angry with him and despite his efforts, there was no balm he could give to soothe it. So, if her anger remained the one thing that she would give then Aemond would take as much of it as he could get.

“Had you not gotten into the habit of wading further and further into the sea, gazing longingly upon its depths as if you may opt into disappearing into it at any given moment then perhaps I would not feel the need to supervise you as if you were one.”

There's a beat of silence. A flicker of hurt in her now glassy eyes that she tries to wash away with a thick swallow that Aemond tracks with his one good eye. He didn't like her hurt, he didn't want her pain.

“So, the sooner you begin acting within reason, the sooner you will be left to your own devices. It really is that simple,” he finishes in the hopes of raising her temper but, it does more of the opposite.

She visibly flinches, Aemond’s dismissiveness of her suffering hitting the soft spot in the back of her throat.

"Is it?" The question catches him by surprise, his back straightening as he stares unblinking at her. She hadn't endeavoured to ask him anything more than a mocking retort of his own questions since the war started but, there was a sincerity to her voice that demanded an answer. "Is it really that simple?"

“It is.”

Another beat as she silently regards him.

“Do you love me still?”

Aemond’s eyebrows furrow, scar pulling inward from the motion as he takes offense at the question.

“Still? I never stopped. My love for you has always been as firm as the ground we stand on. It is yo-”

“So if you claim to love me so, then am I your prisoner or am I your guest?”

“Guest,” he speaks too fast, lying without thinking.

“Guest?" she smiles sadly. "Guests may leave as they please, so can I? Can I leave as I please?”

Aemond’s throat dries. The question hangs heavy in the space between them as he flounders for something to say, mouth agape but no sound coming out; the winds whistle and the crashing of the waves the only thing to be heard.

“Answer me, Aemond.”

The shake of his head is slight but not un-noticeable.

Aemond didn’t want her pain but it is all he got as it spills over and onto her cheeks.

"I take no pleasure in your captivity," Aemond tells her softly.

But then a sound, a sound he had not heard for a long time - a laugh. It’s slight and it's broken and it's watery and one clearly reserved only for herself but, a laugh nonetheless as she gestures to the ground around them.

At the deep cracks in the foundation, at the fragile stones that bowed and bent and broke and created an uneven and unstable ground of the eroding path with each passing day.

“Look around you, Aemond,” she sighs. The same sad smile stretched across her lips. “The ground is not firm, it has crumbled beneath our very feet.”

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen angst #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x velaryon!reader #ewan mitchell fanfic

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picturesofthegoneworlds · 15 days

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Preview for Intertwined, Chapter 17

Laudna feels like a lizard warming its blood on top of a rock, unphased by the oppressive heat. She stretches her legs out from under the shade of their improvised cover, the pallid grey of her skin further bleached by the black sands beneath.

She turns to her side to check on Imogen, fanning Laudna’s open notebook at her face with her eyes closed, muscles in her forearm flexing, hairs holding droplets of sweat like dewdrops on grass, deep freckled tan soaking sun-ray dye to a peeling red

“Your skin…”

Imogen halts, eyes opening to study her exposed forearms. She closes the notebook without ever reading the page, sets it down between them.

“Here, this is one I can share-” she declares, her drawl coloured eager.

She twists around to her rucksack, rummages through its contents briefly before unearthing a parcel with hemp string tied around a dampened cloth wrapping.

“I take a couple whenever I see ‘em, it’s hard to cover up in the heat, and long days on the fields ain’t the kindest to your skin-”

She undoes the parcel to reveal two thick leaves of aloe.

“Y’can either break a bit straight off if you've got a plant, this sorta gunk that comes out is what y’all wanna use like a moisturiser-“

She snaps a segment off from the widest part of the leaf to demonstrate, clear saliva-like substance oozing out from between the outer succulent flesh and the gelatinous centre.

“-but when y’all got quite a bit to cover I tend’ta peel off the outer green skin sorta bit and just rub it wherever I need to. It’s real refreshin’.”

Imogen takes her dagger from out of its holster and carves a clean dissecting line down the side of the leaf, peels its skin back and away in a manner familiar to flaying a fish. She presents the catch with skin held back in her out held palm

“See? Wanna touch it?”

Laudna grins enthusiastically, mentally taking notes on how to further accommodate for Imogen in the future. She nods and gently pushes the pad of her index finger onto the innards that feel like mucus-covered jelly. She supposes it must feel nice, hydrating and certainly accentuating a breeze if there were to be one, if her skin wasn’t - well, what it is. She pulls her finger away with a scrutinising tilt and crane to her head as she observes how a line of connective-tissue-gel creates a bridge between the fingertip and the leaf-innards.

bares resemblance to a sentence she has read once or twice before, to a time before transfusion.

“It looks a little vulgar.”

Imogen’s skin manages to bloom a deeper beetroot red than what the sunburn already offered.

“wh-, Laud- gods. I wasn’t tryna be obscene-” Imogen stutters and retracts the aloe segment in her hand, splitting the tether between it and Laudna, her movements suddenly flighty. Laudna feels a rush from influencing such manners.

“Nothing obscene Imogen, it’s perfectly natural.” She does her best to remain stoic in delivery, though she finds the current display of behaviour both hilarious and adorable.

“I know it’s natural - it’s leaf gunk!” Laudna watches as Imogen looks to either side of herself as if scanning for a space she can retreat to - but they are surrounded by nothing except for exposed, flat, sweltering, and empty onyx desert.

“I’m not judging you for what you cover your skin with, I’m sure it is full of vitamins.”

“Stop talkin’ like that-”

“Like what?” Laudna feigns innocence

Imogen drags both of her hands over her face in flustered frustration

“like-”

“You’ve got some on your nose.”

Imogen grumbles as her skin invents a new, deeper shade of red - it sews quite the feeling of accomplishment, a high already terribly addictive.

She scowls, arms crossing and looking out across the flat landscape.

“I know you’re tryna wind me up.”

“You have quite the advantage there, but I don’t regret trying.”

“yeah, well, you succeeded.”

(you can read the previous chapters here)

#Imodna #Imogen Temult #Laudna #Critical Role #Emma writes #WIP #Fanfic #The origin story for That flavour of my AU's Laudna - if you will.#The sentence it resembles is my own work. More than once.#Sunscreen is sexy.

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mofffun · 10 months

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Kingohger Movie spoiler log

every shot and line i remember in order. reminder lines might not be 100% accurate

started with Gira staring at Rainoir's statue in the Shugoddom throne room. He looks uncertain.

Jeramie is sitting on a spider-string attached across the giant gears to the throne's right

Jeramie jumps down and asks Gira what he wants to do as King

Rita and Douga enter to tell Gira it's time for the coronation

Coronation

Ep1 Kings march scene (Kagu, Himeno, Yanma)

the three chitchat. Himeno complains about making her go outside and Kagu says it's Gira's idea to show the people their kings.

As Kaguragi sits down, a kuroko helps straigten his sleeve.

Gira arrives in Kuwagon

Ceremony starts. Gira's march is interrupted by Debonica and her song

Debonica introduces herself all solemnly as the navigator of the underworld but Gira is just happy to reunite with a childhood friend. The public looks confused.

Debonica used to live in the orphanage/grew up with Gira. She is older than Gira but always lazy and didn't help out.

"I'm here to bring Gira Husty to meet his ancestor and the 5 kings to the Underworld"

reaction shot of Yanma, Hime, Kaguragi looking interested (as if they knew??? ← my interpretation)

Debonica sings and a space whale flies them to Haaka Baaka. The whale is like a zeppelin and what hangs under is a circular disc the kings stood on (like one side of a scale). Rita keeps looking at the direction they came (their back to camera)

Gira recalls the orphans throwing a birthday party for Debonica but she never showed up. Flashback shot shows Gira waking up from a nap and in front of him on the table is the simple homemade birthday cake with a bite taken. Himeno asks if they are "just" childhood friends

Debonica seems upset and sings again, a rectangular dimension gate appears in the sky [Kagu's trailer line about Underworld's gate only opens when a new King of Shugddom is crowned]

Arriving in the Underworld

Haaka Baaka is this floating space with no up/down (a mix of zero gravity/underwater) and ghosts turn into jellyfish-like creatures and fly around. There're ruins of the five castles in the bkg.

Gira, Yanma, Rita land [trailer spinning shot]. Rita asks where did Himeno and Kaguragi go.

Ashes version of Bugnarok foot soldiers appear and attack the trio. They seem to be in a bit of trouble with each of them being grabbed by three foot soldiers or more.

[Aoto said they shot more of wings out-of-suit action here but ended up being cut. When he's in trouble from the enemy dragging his arm so hard it hurts, he turned around and saw Rita doing clean slashes and posing cooly so he felt left out 😅]

Rainoir appears and with a flick of his arm disintegrated the enemy. Each step he goes, a new block materialises from ashes under his foot.

Yanma says the Husty name with weight while Gira recognizes Rainoir as one of the heroes that saved Chikyuu 2000years ago

Debonica calls Rainoir "my king" and Rainoir invites Gira to tell him about the truth of Chikyuu's history as the new generation of Shugddom King

Yanma says "interesting" but the gate closed before he and Rita can enter

Rita: 帰るか Yanma: はやい?!

Rita: Are we leaving. Yanma: Too soon!

Gira meets Rainoir

Debonica was sent to monitor Gira but Gira still thinks of her as an older sister and makes fun of it. [Trailer line give up throne] → cut to wings scene 1

Debonica pinched Gira's cheeks and urged him to just go along like a good kid. Gira hesitates and thought Debonica was just being playful. Debonica said the moment he hesitates, he has lost the right ro be king. But it's alright because Rainoir will take over.

Rainoir explained he understood Gira is a kind person, then showed Gira a vision of people dying to persuade him into handing over the throne

Gira is still not sure because he barely had time to consider. Debonica said it's enough, sang again and a sand glass thing flipped around and they landed on the platform shown in trailer's final fight

Rainoir raised his sword on Debonica and Gira ran to block it out of reflex to his own bewilderment.

Rainoir explained since he's only a spirit so he needs Debonica's "existence" to revive in the physical realm. Gira challenged if that means Debonica will die but she disagreed angrily and insisted that it's fine because it is her destiny

Gira hesitates but took Debonica's hand and runs away

Rainoir commented there's no where to go. The Realm of Death is (a living forest?) → cut to Himeno in a forest

Wings scene

<- Debonica asks Gira to give up the throne

--part 1--

Bkg: underwater N'kosopa

Rita runs with both arms raised straight in the air. [trailer line: want to leave but no exit]

Yanma in foreground studying electronics. [Trailer line about creating a breaking point/picking a lock]

Yanma asks Rita to hand him a cable. Rita asks which one. Close up shot of Rita turning their head side to side in search

Cut to wide shot as each way Rita turns, they find themself in a new colour of a broken Saiban Court. x3 times

many many black skeletons fly towards rita, trailer shot of rita scream → cut to Gira's everyone dead vision

--part 2--

<- follows Kaguragi part 1

(Yanma and Rita are both physically in the underwater N'kosopa space but only Rita can see/hear/enter the vision of Dead Gokkan)

Rita misao pose + cover ears + heavy breathing. Yanma pulls them out of the vision by their back collar.

Rita falls back and lies on the ground facing up

Yanma: You saw something?

Rita: People I put on trial. The dead of Gokkan must hate me.

Yanma: Eh? The Chief Justice cold as ice is afraid of ghosts?

Rita: *catching their breath*

Yanma: Don't mind the things you can't see. Just take on what's in front of you now. How about that?

Rita: I, have a duty.

Yanma: Is that it? *smirk*

(cut to Rita turning towards a sky of flying screaming black skeletons) Rita: These are all, Moffun.

Yanma discovers the spider web Jeramie attached onto his waist before their departure (with a face of disgust)

-> Gira and Debonica scene

Himeno's farewell

Himeno walking in a normal forest and two jellyfish fly towards her. Her parents appear in royal attire and embrace her.

The three are framed inside an ishbana emblem petal.

Himeno: Papa, Mama, I've wanted to see you. 会えたかったよ

Papa: I am sorry (for making you wait that long). I can't let you go/ There is no way back. ごめんな　もう帰さない

environment shifts to dead forest → cut to Kaguragi

--part 2 with Sebastian--

← follow Kuroda scene

[trailer line: i came here to say goodbye.]

"Farewell without Sayonara is not beautiful." (note: sayonara means the never see each other again kind of goodbye)

Papa ghost asks Himeno to stay here forever

"My favourite things are still in Ishababna. The things I want are still plenty to come. I'll see you. bye bye." (またね is bye when you will see the person again.)

["mata ne. bye bye." is not scripted and improvised on set with director according to Erica. and the "too late" remark as well.]

Sebastian: you returned your parents' favour (恩 <- not sure how to translate it, the asian concept of that the parents' care for you is a blessing (and you should be grateful for it)) <- heard this wrong

edit post-release 6/12 : Sebastian simply said "I've come to [receive/greet] your return"

Sebastian brings her her sword and Himeno said it took him too long.

-> cut to ritamoru

Kaguragi

Toufu palace. Already burning unexplained. Iroki waits on the throne.

Iroki: Traitor. Good job stealing my country.

Kaguragi: Outono. It is you who took all the food, the life of Toufu, for yourself. It is you who betrayed the people.

Iroki: And you dirty your hands for this throne. What are you after?

Kaguragi: For the people! For my country!

*iroki evil laughs* (something about one day the same will happen to you) → cut to Wings part 2

--part 2 with Kuroda--

← follows Shiokara scene

The words are too fast for me but the meaning i get was Kaguragi reminiscing about what kind of (selfish) ruler Iroki was, but he is a man who is not afraid of dirtying his hands, that's how he earned the name of Toufu's Outono.

Kuroda does a backflip and kicks the image of Iroki into ember.

-> cut to Himeno & Sebastian

Gira and Debonica

Gira took Debonica somewhere safe and Debonica explained it was her destiny to become a vessel for Rainoir as she turns 20. That's why she never showed up at the birthday party.

Gira refused to accept and asked her to return with him

Debonica hit him and repeated that this is for the best of everyone, that this is what she wished.

The two started tickling each other. Gira said something about the cake that made her hesitate and Gira said thank you

Rainoir followed them here and asked if Debonica has made up her mind. She said yes.

→ cut to Aides scene

Aides - Shiokara

Yanma connects a cable with the spider web and succeeded in making a video call to the living world. He asks Shiokara, who had the lie detector on, to tell a big lie right now

Shiokara returns a "Now?" then do it immediately.

The lie so big that killed him is "Yanma-kun is the strongest at brawls" 喧嘩最強　ヤンマくん!

Shiokara shut the door on arrival. "DON'T!!! THAT WAS OUR WAY OUT OF HERE SUKAPON TANUKI!" "SORRY!"

the other three aides evasdrop classic three heads behind a wall style

Aides - Kuroda

Aides - Sebastian

Aides - Morfonia

Rita & Morfonia

<- follows Himeno & Sebastian

Rita heavy breathing. center close-up. hair blown by strong wind. hand cover ears. mask half down so you can see their nose and upper lip [movie still]

Morfonia: "Ritaaa~ listen closely." (ちゃんと聞いて)

Rita gasps. profile facing right took up half the screen. a small black ghost fly towards them and whispered. "Thank you, Chief Justice." ありがとう　裁判長　(you can glimpse at the blue eye through the messed up hair).

Rita relaxes stop gasping and froze.

Morfonia pulls them up by both of their wrists with a gyaaaa

Morfoina: Seems like among the dead, you are quite popular 😊

Rita nervously pulls their bangs down to cover the blue eye

-> Rainoir & Gira

Rainoir & Gira

Rainoir: Sacrificing one person can save the whole of humanity. Will you rob them of their bright future? a chance of having a family?

Gira: Is that what it was like in your time. Living in this world is hell. Future. Happiness. Those that have those set for them are only strong people like you. In this unsensible world, it's full of sadness and hurt and the unfortunate. The one that made our world like this, is the first king like you. If you think anyone can be easily sacrificed, than watch me destroy 2000 years of history. [trailer line]

Rainoir said bad guy things and "yabbari the king of chikyuu has to be me". the two fight and Debonica tries to make them stop.

Gira promises to bring Debonica back to the living world and make her another cake. She questions why for such a small thing. Gira says it's not small. In a world just like hell, it is the small happiness that gave us hope to live on. "To protect such small happiness, that is the king I will become."

Gira closes and opens his eyes again and jesus light falls onto him

Gira's hair falls down on his left (our right) and he looks SO EVILISH GOOD.

↑ basically that 'raise sword + mantle falls + rule the world speech' in tv but without mantle

the two men fight and Gira asks Debonica to choose who the Crown should go to.

the two transfroms. Rairnoir's transformation is all the ash bugs accumulate on him and he has a monster form like a gladiator.

INFERNO (movie ver.) plays

Debonica throws the crown towards Gira. "I want to live! My king is Gira!"

The others arrive and Gira & co. all say one signature line

Jeramie arrives following spider web on Yanma

Final fight

it's cool trust me.

Kaguragi butt-butting the enemy again

himerita team has three shots

blue white slash from right to left and rita shoots arrow from the opposite side

no mecha fight

soundtrack v1t1 + t24 (waking the king instrumental)

Rainoiru: That path of yours, can you save the people?

Gira: I promise, as the King to a new legacy.

Epilogue

Jeramie narrates in an empty Shugoddom throne room (kinda like ep20 end) as Coronation goes again

Orphans here. Kogane crying

trailer shots of Gira sitting on the throne

Gokkan's throne is there too and Morfonia makes Rita fake-clap by holding their hands

moments of silence when Douga puts the crown on Gira and just after he sits on the throne.

closing words from Jeramie: no one knows what will happen next. even then, he can only go forward in the path of king (王道) he chose.

no op/ed. cast & crew credits played during opening coronation scene.

Debonica eating the cake she deemed too sweet before and says shiawase.

#no spell check and i switch tenses #i can't post pics yet but i marked where the trailer stuff appear if i get the chance i'll do a better report #kingohger #kingohger spoilers #kingohger movie #adventure heaven #ohsama sentai king ohger #tokutrip

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novantinuum · 2 months

Note

you can’t choose what stays and what fades away OR Reunited Alt POV fic? (I am eyeing doing that tag myself except. *glances at WIP folder*)

I am wiggling about my SU wips most of all, so I’mma selecting Reunited Alt POV fic (which LMAFO I need to come up with a banger of a title for so desperately, this one is like 2/3rds done so. Yeah.

This is a simple one to explain, it’s just the battle in Reunited but from Connie’s POV- thus, it covers everything that happens while Steven gets knocked into unconscious psychic ghost zone. Or, at least, my take on what happens. But uh… yeah. Watching your friend get absolutely trampled underfoot is inherently traumatizing, and I don’t think we as a fandom talk enough about this moment and how it might’ve impacted specifically Connie. Also I genuinely honest to god think Steven was seriously hurt from this- and that some of the fractures in his bones we see in SUF were from this strike- and that the reason he took so long to come to in “psychic ghost zone” even was that all his body’s energy was being routed towards Intense self healing. So keep that in mind re: snippit below:

Garnet keeps a watchful eye for any incoming projectiles as Connie skids to a screeching halt next to her friend’s comatose body lying limp in the sand. Okay. Okay. Here he is. Now all she’s gotta do is… carry him to a safe distance. Steeling her core in preparation, she squats down and tries to leverage herself to scoop him right up. Her legs, though… in the midst of her terror, her legs are simply too wobbly to bear his mass, and after one valiant but failed attempt she’s scared she’ll hurt herself (or him!) trying again. Which means… she’ll just have to drag him.

“Sorry—!” she says with a faint hiss of regret as she grasps both of his arms by the wrist and starts to pull him across the battle-swept sands. Sure enough to her suspicions, one of his shoulders definitely doesn’t feel like it’s aligned in its socket right, and she worries that yanking him along like this will only serve to further exacerbate it. Still, what other choice does she have?

What choices do any of them have, all tangled up within the fallout of this thousand year war?

Ever-diligent in her role as lookout, Garnet circles around a few more times as Connie drags Steven off the battlefield, towards what remains of his house. She’s grateful for her help. Truly so. It allows her to focus her energy on protecting her best friend instead of constantly having to keep an eye out for stray attacks from the Diamonds. And boy, oh boy— she digs her heels into the sand, spent muscles all but screaming for her to rest, to drop her load and continue on alone— will her body need every last drop of energy she’s got. That’s why relief surges through her heart with all the ferocity of a tidal wave when Mr. Universe’s frantic voice comes into range once again. Because it means she’s here. She’s succeeded. She’s pulled him all the way to the base of the stairs, out of the way.

The exhaustion hits immediately. Huffing for a lungful of air, she drops the half-Gem’s arms to the ground and collapses to her knees. For an extended moment, the unwanted melody of warfare rings through her ears like canon fire. She can’t move. She can barely even breathe. She swears her friend’s dad is trying to say something to her— can feel his hesitant touch brushing against her shoulder in what barely counts as a whisper— but she can’t even manage to distinguish a single word. Her eyes brim with fresh tears, every last sensory input overloaded. It’s all too loud. It’s all too damn heavy. It’s all too—

“Connie,” Garnet pushes through the static with astute authority.

She snaps her head up, her eyes flitting between the Crystal Gem leader (currently kneeling at her side) and a still panicking Mr. Universe (clutching his unconscious son’s hand). Her breath settles, slowly but surely. Her fingers twitch, tracing shallow patterns in the sand. The ringing lessens.

“Thank you,” she continues, pushing herself back to her full height. The long skirt of her wedding outfit flares behind her as she glances back towards the chaos of the battle. “For protecting him where I couldn’t. Now, keep watch. If they poof all of us, promise me you’ll evacuate the beach.”

“I-I… of course,” Connie says, her gaze still wet with terror and barely contained grief. “But y-you… you don’t really think you’ll—?”

Lose, is the word she can’t bring herself to say. Surely you don’t think you’ll lose?

#ft. Connie carrying Steven outright in her ARMS in CYM being her personal redemption moment from This ‘failure’#or what she Sees as a failure… a failure of her own strength :(#she felt horrible for having to drag him by his arms #jen rambles #wips

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melusine0811 · 10 months

Text

The Space Between the Stars- Ch. 16

"The Space Between the Stars" Chapter 16- A Thousand Years.

Sakura closes the door behind her, and they’re finally alone, smiles still plastered on their faces.

Lis turns on some lights, and Sakura is already walking back to the bedroom.

When Lis enters, Sakura is waiting, standing still at the foot of the bed, just staring at her, eyes shining like moons in the dark. The room is softly illuminated by the lights from the holograms on the strip filtering through the gauzy scrim of dust and sand on the window pane, letting the feathered glow pour in like something magic. Sakura looks at her with an expression of subliminal desperation so intense it nearly makes her knees buckle. Not moving, not asking anything— just looking at her.

Her wedding ring glints on her finger, catching Lis’s gaze, causing tears to sting and redden the rims of her eyes all over again. In slow motion, Lis brings her body closer, nearly transcending in the proximity of the woman who was now her wife. She turns her head to Sakura’s ear, sliding her lips down then from her cheekbone to her mouth, letting the air from her lungs unfurl across Sakura’s cheek. Lis holds her mouth over Sakura’s, millimeters away, as Sakura whispers “I love you” into the hollow of her parted mouth. Lis lets it burn, allowing her to feel her breath, not letting her in just yet, sliding the tip of her nose up Sakura’s. Finally, after several protracted seconds…she can’t hold back any longer.

She kisses her, inhaling sharply through the nose, inundated with the ecstatic taste of her mouth that then sucks the breath from her lungs as Sakura already is sliding Lis’s jacket off of her shoulders. Silent, charged kisses like a bristling livewire that seem to affect the electromagnetic field in the air. It evolves quickly into backing Sakura against the nearby wall, pinning herself to her body as Sakura works on removing Lis’s clothes.

Lis continues to kiss her with a tender passion that drags the darkness from within her. All of that loneliness, all of the seclusion, all of the silence in her soul, lynching it through her teeth. It fills the recesses up with amber, and she feels as though allegorical golden light has enveloped her wife, pouring it through her lips into Lis as she kisses her.

Sakura finally rids Lis of her shirt and her bra, and begins kissing down her chest, Lis’s body arching backwards, the wet heat of Sakura’s tongue sliding and moving between her breasts. Lis has to fight her way back up so that she can unzip Sakura’s dress.

Somehow, in the tussle, Sakura manages to husk out, “Shower…”

Lis nods, and moments later they’ve shed their remaining clothes and Lis is adjusting the shower temperature as Sakura steps in behind her, closing the glass door.

Once it’s perfect and steaming, Lis draws her in, shivering as their cool, bare skin makes contact, Lis’s hands sliding and mapping the curve of the small of her back.

And she kisses her. Achingly slow, gentle kisses that burn with potentiality, gradually becoming more passionate as the moments go on.

“I love you. So much…” Lis whispers.

Sakura can only respond by kissing her deeper. There are no words. No syllables she could possibly utter.

Lis suddenly needs to care for her, so she sits Sakura down on the elevated seat along the wall.

Sakura sighs and allows the water to cascade over her body, and Lis stands between her legs, Sakura turning her head to press her ear to her chest, listening to her heartbeat. Lis rocks her just as they had danced downstairs, and she softly hums the Elvis song that seems to be following them.

Sakura closes her eyes, letting herself be taken by this moment, as Lis reaches over and pumps shampoo into her hand from the bottle mounted on the wall. She works it into Sakura’s hair, letting her fingers do the talking, washing her dark locks and gently massaging her head.

Sakura lets her head fall back, eyes closed and surrendering to her touch.

When Lis is done, Sakura gets a burst of energy, standing to wash Lis’s hair for her. They touch and kiss, laughing at the bubbles piled on each of their heads.

Then they wash their bodies, eventually coming back together to allow the water to rinse them. This dance…these touches are not even sexual in nature, but about intimacy and connection, and caring for one another. Both are overwhelmed.

They spend a long time just standing under the hot water, kissing the droplets from each other’s skin, allowing emotions to overcome them all over again.

Through the moisture that has gathered in Lis’s eyes both from the shower and from the swelling of her heart, Sakura is a stained blur of light in high contrast, refracting in her periphery. She sinks her hands into her hair, framing her head, and she kisses her again, now letting the heat build, sliding her tongue along the seam of her mouth. Sakura responds by meeting her tongue, kissing her deeply, moving her lips hungrily over Lis’s. The tingles start all over again, and neither of them wants to be forced to take a breath.

#horizon forbidden west #horizon zero dawn #the space between the stars #seyloy #aloy x seyka #sakubet #elisabet x sakura #elisabet sobeck #aloy sobeck #seyka #Sakura sobeck #please reblog

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daisychainsandbowties · 11 months

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shannon doing that thing where you paint on your partner and painting a night sky across the expanse of mary's back

she starts with touch, pushing the tips of her fingers under the hem of mary’s shirt, tipping their mouths together. kisses without hunger - lazy, leaning into the taste of her, the sugar-malt of s'mores.

shannon prodding the fire with a stick as mary assembled them, breaking chocolate with her hands, balancing the stick on her knees with a look on her face that made shannon think of architecture, of things that are built to last.

(this is not a category that includes people, or love)

passing it over with sticky fingers. staring as mary licked them clean, warm marshmallow drooling onto the inside of her thumb. putting it in her mouth with mary watching (and that will get to her sometimes; mary’s undivided attention).

it tasted of nothing like communion. there’s a trace of it now in her mouth, in the slow-falling dimness as the fire dies.

mary kisses her back, shivering as shannon drags her nails along mary’s abs. trying not to think of how we got here, where we’re going.

how mary built the fire, kneeling in the sand dressed in her basketball shorts and a borrowed hoodie. her insistence on the right way of doing things. no driftwood, despite its color, because of chlorine ions and dioxins.

and she’s right; shannon is already full of metal, staring in the dark at veins that feel flecked with luminous blue.

(they’re not. she’s just bones and blood and paint-streaked hands wrapped around metal. and its glow is celestial)

you could make paint from divinium, suspend it in compounds. you could put it onto skin, or work it underneath. sometimes, shannon dreams of walking towards mary. they’re on the surface of a black lake, or a mirror that reflects the sky. stars at their bare feet disappearing into ripples.

she dreams of walking. mary stands, waits, her face half-upturned. she’s beautiful, and the only thing for miles and miles.

her skin starts to glow, lines of light erupting, starting in her outstretched hands. lancing over knuckles and into the secrecy of her forearms, her chest.

like all dreams it has teeth and it draws blood and shannon never shows anyone the wounds.

so often she feels as though she’s casting a great dark shadow over everything. she doesn’t want mary to catch light, but set against the fire she is so much like a painting. there are views that make you want to look forever, and others that fill you with a wild longing to preserve, to capture. mary is both.

but shannon’s trying to teach herself to let go.

the hoodie - theirs, ours, other lines that have blurred between us - is laid out on the sand next to a blanket. shannon takes mary’s shirt off, pulling it over her head, feeling how she lifts her arms to let it happen. pliant, tilting forward so her bare skin touches the worn fabric of shannon’s tank top.

she wraps her arms around mary, hands seeking out the familiar plane of her spine. the firm muscle over her hips and her waist, where the contact drags a shaky breath out of her, exhaled onto shannon’s neck.

‘i love you.’ she traces her thumbs into the dip underneath mary’s ribs. all these spaces you never think about until they’re laid bare. it occurs to her that a person is a miracle especially when they give you everything.

the dark shine of mary’s skin in the firelight, and how her clavicle tastes of saltwater and sand.

she kisses mary before she can say i love you too, because she knows. gently, they turn together in the quiet broken by waves, by the faintest brush of wind over sand. mary lays down on the blanket and there’s a length of time that goes missing as shannon kisses along her spine. not counting vertebrae. no calculations, no measurements, nothing but her mouth and mary’s poorly-disguised sounds. the whine of pitched breath through an open mouth.

it starts with touch because it has to. this is how i know you. in the dark with my hands and in the light with everything, with my whole heart.

she maps it then, palms gliding over scapulae, finding the valley between them. up to the nape of her neck, stealing a kiss into the angle of her jaw and then down to her hips again. this is what love does, too. it makes a habit of you.

she learned to paint in the dark, hiding from her father in the closet upstairs and hoping he wouldn’t go looking for her.

it was important, then, to know her canvas with her hands, though it was only a sketchbook, a handful of paints stolen from the art classroom.

tracing her palms over the pages, the bleak little whispers of texture reaching up into her skin. uncapping her paints and dabbing little mountains of colour onto the back of her left hand.

painting with the right, always acrylics because watercolours felt like something that required light, air, breath. listening to her father moving around the house and painting a thing of dripping shadow perforated by light. love is a complicated thing, dappled the way the leaves pebble light down onto their dead, onto the forest floor. mountains with deserts on one side and rivers on the other.

she crouched in the closet with the doors admitting a slant of light. her back pressed against the wood, staring at the tear in the knee of her pajama bottoms, sometimes looping a finger inside to fray the fabric, to feel it open like a mouth.

there’s a scar in the uppermost corner of mary’s shoulder, where bea would tell her the acromion sits, steepling over the subacromial space. funny, how sacred places hide inside of us.

others all scattered across her, impossible to see in the firelight. but tangible under her fingers. a milky way written over skin. when shannon finds one she marks it in her mind and praises it with her mouth. she can tell the difference between knife wounds and the brush of a bullet; or where stray shrapnel hit at an angle and bounced away. this feels worthy of worship, for all that the air smells of seaweed and salt and woodsmoke. not incense or the blunt waxy scent of votive candles.

she sits back on her heels, uncaps the paints. they’re not oils or acrylics, because most are metal-based. because oils take forever to dry, and they don’t have that long.

the body-paint is alcohol-based, and that feels fitting, heady. mary sighs at the first cold stripe of color, presses her forehead down into her arms, hard. shannon stops.

‘are you okay?’

mary makes a sound and shannon feels suddenly like that tear in the knee of her old pajamas.

yawning wider, teased by a finger.

‘i’m good, i’m good.’ but there’s a sob somewhere behind the statement. ‘it’s just… paint, and you, and…’

she breaks off. words escape them so often.

shannon lays down beside her, right there in the sand. mary turns her head to look and her eyes are full of tears. there’s a miniature fire inside them - a reflection - and a darker patch that must be shannon.

reaching out, shannon takes her by the jaw, shimmies in the sand until she’s close enough.

‘can i kiss you?’

‘yeah.’

and she does. breaking it when they’re out of breath and mary’s tears have tracked down her face. ‘love you,’ she says, and it’s so soft you could miss it.

shannon doesn’t. god, she’s in love and its enormous. and she can’t hold it but she can hold mary.

‘want me to keep going?’

‘please.’

and so shannon paints a starry sky, hooking stars into scar tissue. casting flickers of orange-yellow through a tapestry of blues with mary’s dark skin underneath, drawing complications out of each shade. she draws the sky as you might see it on a beach, with a fire casting amber flecks of ash into the air. the stars draped low over water.

she paints the sky as you might see it if you lay next to a beautiful girl. if you loved her very much. if you were running out of light, and life, and you wanted to feel, for a moment, as though so temporary a thing could hold meaning, could capture the sky.

afterwards they lie together, paint still wet on mary’s skin, fire catching on silver-white stars and everlasting blues. mary falls asleep like that, to the sound of waves and shannon’s breathing.

in the morning, they’ll wake up and make a mess of mary’s back with palmprints, and shannon will use her mouth because her hands are stained, but for now the night sky has been stilled. no clouds, no sunrise.

shannon stays awake for as long as she can, but mary’s gripping her hand, holding it so close to her face that shannon feels the occasional brush of mary’s mouth against her knuckles.

i love you now, shannon thinks, and i’ll love you in the morning.

i hope that’s enough

#loooove u so so much #'anon'#mary x shannon #warrior nun

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the-knightmare · 1 year

Text

Dreams of You I Wish Were Sweet

Have some Zoey/Ben from Escape Room (2019).

Warnings for depictions of violence, implied death, and night terrors.

Also on A03

Minos had them again. She was stuck behind the glass as Ben struggled to stand in a rapidly collapsing room. The sounds of glass smashing, and wood splintering filled her ears and reduced any logical part of her to the desperate pleas for Ben to hold on while she thought. Zoey was fumbling with a puzzle box when a pained scream made her drop the contraption. The room Ben was trapped in had shrunk to the point where he could only lay flat on his back. Tears pricked her eyes, as Zoey ran to the window. Her legs collapsed just as Ben was buried under rubble and the room finally closed in on itself.

Zoey closed her eyes in a silent scream, only to have the room reset when she opened her eyes. This time, Ben was standing in a room rapidly filling with water. Frantically, Zoey raced around the room trying to find something, anything, to break the glass. Minos had stripped anything useful from the room, only a secured chair and table too big to throw decorated the room. The water was just over Ben’s head now.

“Hold your breath, Ben, I’m going to get you out,” Zoey cried, pressing her hand to the glass.

Ben’s hand met hers but slipped away as air bubbled out of him. He floated above her, looking like a puppet before a performance.

“No!”

Zoey slammed her hands against the barrier. She battered the glass again, and again, until her hands were bloody, and it was not glass she was hitting, but ice. Kneeling, she watched Ben’s body as it was pulled by the current. Her frozen limbs seemed to move in slow motion as she crawled along the ice. No matter how much she tried, Zoey could not catch up. Her breathing became shallow, cold sweat beading on her brow as the aired thinned until she was dizzily kneeling in an escape tunnel. Ben swayed across the room. There was not enough time for him to make it to safety, and Zoey watched in horror as he stumbled forward and fell. She tried to crawl to him, hoping she could drag him to safety, but she could only choke and cough. Breathable air was running out. Zoey needed to get out, but not without Ben.

She would not leave him. Her mom, Amanda, there was nothing she could have done to help them. But Zoey could help Ben. She had to save him. She just had to get across the room, and they would be okay. Black spots danced across her eyes. Just a few more feet. Zoey’s chest burned, but she could almost reach him.

Her fingers just barely grazed Ben’s jacket when her vision cut out.

“Just a bit more,” she muttered, “We can still make it.”

Collapsing next to Ben, Zoey tried to fight the poisoned air in her lungs. She felt herself slipping away, all the panic she tried to muster faded into a frustrating nothingness.

Just as everything went black, Zoey jolted awake. Her chest heaved as she tried to reorient herself in the new room. Except it was her room, in her apartment, not a Minos trap.

“Zoey?” A sleep-heavy voice asked, “you alright?”

A warm hand pressed against her back, grounding her in the assurance that this was not some Minos trick. Zoey stayed quiet for a moment, focusing on the comforting warmth at her back before turning to face Ben.

“Just a bad dream.”

In the dim light of dawn, Zoey could see the concern on his face and felt a rush of embarrassed shame wash over her. She had hated when Allison had seen her startle awake at random hours, but even though Ben knew exactly what was going on she could not bring herself to tell him exactly what she saw when she closed her eyes. Sometimes she saw her mom fall through sand, other times Amanda, Rachel, Danny, Nate, their faces swapping in the middle of whatever torture scene her mind had conjured. Other times it was Ben. Minos using him to get to her, punish her, recruit her, it didn’t matter. It never mattered. It always ended the same.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

Arms wound around her waist and Zoey relaxed into the curve of Ben’s neck as thumb rubbed gentle circles into her hip. This position was no longer new. They had begun sharing a bed a month after moving in together, it had seemed natural with the number of nights spent comforting each other. Whatever their relationship had become, neither had ever addressed it, caution overruling anything else, though tonight Zoey felt too tired to be cautious.

“I saw you,” she said softly, the only indication Ben had heard her was the stillness of his hand. Zoey missed the comfort of the gently moving thumb but continued her quiet confession.

“You were trapped in rooms; all I could do was watch. Nothing I did could save you, and I…” Zoey swallowed around the rising lump in her throat, “I…I could-”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I couldn’t save you,” Zoey finished shakily, “I couldn’t save you, I tried, but I couldn’t save you.”

“Well, I’m right here, alive, because you did save me,” Ben’s voice was low and soothing in her ear.

Tears slipped down Zoey’s cheeks and soaked into Ben’s shirt as he continued to reassure her that he was alive, she had not failed, Minos couldn’t them anymore.

“But I almost lost you. I’ve…we’ve both lost so many people. I can’t lose you too,” Zoey interrupted.

“And you won’t. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me to go,” Ben said, his words sounding more like a promise than its usual joking tone.

“I don’t ever want you to go,” Zoey confessed.

For a moment they were silent, each taking in the other’s words. Zoey turned his over in her mind, each meaning like another possible solution in a puzzle. She had always had a hard time understanding people. It had always seemed as if they were operating at the same frequency, and she was left in a feedback loop of failed interactions made worse after the plane crash. But with Ben, it had been as if she was finally beginning to connect again. She had started having dinner with her roommate before moving out of the dorms, joined study groups and the physics society.

A soft kiss pressed to the top of her head broke Zoey out of her thoughts.

“In that case, would you want to get coffee sometime?”

Laughter snorted out of Zoey before she could stop it. The normalcy of the question throwing her off balance, where just for a moment she could imagine them as just another boy asking a girl on a date instead of waking up screaming dreams of Minos horrors.

“Don’t we already have coffee together?” Zoey teased, knowing what her answer would be no matter what.

“Well, I just meant like a date, but if, you know, you aren’t into it-”

“I’d like that,” Zoey said, interrupting his nervous stammering, “but I think we have a few hours before anywhere is open.”

“In that case I vote we go back to sleep. If you’re okay with that?”

The suggestion of sleeping again after a bad nightmare was usually enough to send a wave of anxiety through her. Half the time, she chose to lay awake or get some work done rather than face the possibility of more horrors. But that anxiety did not raise its head. Only a heavy tiredness that she didn’t want to fight.

“Sleep would be nice.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ben studied her face, as always more concerned with her wellbeing than what he wanted.

“I am now,” Zoey reassured, settling more comfortable into his arms.

Ben fell asleep first, and she listened to the steady rise and fall of his breathing like a lullaby. As she began to drift into sleep, Zoey hoped that one day she could dream about Ben without it turning into a nightmare. That she could see her mother and dream of the days before the accident. Until then, she vowed to herself to fill her life with pleasant experience to dream about, starting with that coffee.

#escape room (2019)#zoey davis #ben miller #zoey x ben #mild violence and blood #hurt/comfort #tw nightmares

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myreia · 1 year

Text

Bitter Frost

Rating: T Characters: Aureia Malathar, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Haurchefant Greystone Words: 2216 Notes: Frozen and lost on their way to Camp Dragonhead, Aureia and Alphinaud must contend with the events that lead them there. Spoilers for end of ARR patches. Read on AO3

A bitter wind howls across the frozen hills, biting at her cheeks. Aureia bows her head and clutches her scarf around her face, seeking whatever meagre protection it offers. Snow cracks beneath her feet, the drifts so frozen she doesn’t even sink through them. Though she has wandered the highlands many times before, even becoming accustomed to the harsh climate, this time is different. The cold is in her teeth, her lungs, her bones, unyielding and unending. But as awful as it is, at least it has given her an advantage. This way she doesn’t have to feel the pain.

She doesn’t have to feel anything at all.

Alphinaud stumbles beside her, hands stretched outwards as he treads uneasily across the icy terrain. His cheeks are chafed raw from the wind, the tips of his ears rubbed red. He hasn’t said too words to her since they struck out on their own. No complaints about the cold, no questioning her lead or choice of path. He has slipped more than once, falling painfully on his knees. When she extended a hand to help him up, he brushed her away and dragged himself to his feet, plowing forwards with dark look in his eyes.

The flight from Thanalan left little time to prepare for Coerthas. No staff, no rapier, no focus, and dressed in rags and with boots more appropriate for the desert sands than snow mountains. Filo, her faithful chocobo through thick and thin, remains stabled in Ul’dah with the Immortal Flames. The moment she chose to leave her gear and equipment at the Quicksand is seared in her mind. Why would she need it? She was attending a banquet as a guest of honour and invited to a private audience with the sultana herself. If anything, she assumed the audience was reason enough to leave her weapons behind, lest she be accused of attempted assassination.

Fool.

With her description spread like wildfire and the bounty on her head rising by the hour, it was only a matter of time before someone recognized her. Sitting in Brendt’s cart, she took a knife to her hair and hacked away the dark locks, cutting her identifiable red streaks free. Once in Black Brush, she barely had time to breathe. She shed her banquet attire as soon as she could, exchanging the beautiful dress and jewelry for a ragged coat and boots.

It wasn’t a moment too soon. She had only just faded into the background as yet another adventurer on the road when the area swarmed with Ul’dah agents. With Pipin’s help, they managed to escape and board the Enterprise, taking off for Coerthas. Cid flew them as far as he was able, but issues with the engines and high winds forced an emergency landing. Fearing they would be found if they remained, Aureia and Alphinaud set off into the snows on foot.

Alphinaud slows, inhaling sharply, and comes to a halt. The air around them is eerily still—no sound to be heard save their trembling breaths and the crunch of snow underfoot. Even the local fauna is scarce. They are well and truly alone.

Aureia glances at him. “What is it?” she asks quietly. “What’s wrong?”

He shivers, shoving his hands into his armpits. “It is nothing,” he replies, shaking his head. His breath puffs across his lips, rising in the air. “Simply the result of the overactive imagination of a child. I would not trouble you with it.”

She presses her lips together, uncertain how to respond. Though she herself is reeling from their loss, the weight of what happened is breaking him. She’s powerless to help—nothing she can do or say will absolve him of his guilt. The Crystal Braves betrayed them, yes, but it was his blind naivety that allowed for it in the first place. Even if she did have the right words, they may not be what he needs right now.

“Here,” she says, unbuttoning her coat.

Alphinaud’s eyes widen. “Aureia, I—”

She shrugs off the coat and proffers it to him, goosepimples running down her bare arms. “Take it.”

“But…” His shoulder sag and he lowers his head, staring dully at his feet. “But you will freeze. I do not wish to be responsible for any more harm done to you.”

She seizes his hand and pushes the coat into his arms. “Take it,” she repeats. “Please. What would your sister say if you perished from the cold on Camp Dragonhead’s doorstep?”

“I…” He nods and accepts the coat, pulling it on. His frozen fingers struggle with the buttons. “Thank you.”

She smiles, privately thanking whatever gods are out there that the boy has finally seen sense. She may be brutally cold without the coat, but it is better this way. She has survived worse. “Besides,” she continues, pulling down her scarf and wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl. “You need not worry about me.”

Aureia steps back, snow crunching beneath her feet, and pulls a hand into her chest. A flurry of snow spirals around her, dusting her hair and shoulders, clinging to her eyelashes. She closes her eyes and tugs on the aether around her, breathing it in, letting it course through her veins. Fire-aspected aether bursts between her fingers, spinning into a small, burning orb balanced perfectly in her palm. It doesn’t amount to much—without her staff to channel, it is barely more than a parlour trick—but it will keep her warm for now.

“There,” she says, opening her eyes and extending the orb to Alphinaud. “See? I have my own methods.”

With the orb pressed to her chest, Aureia pushes on, taking one hill at a time. Alphinaud follows, a little stronger and more assured on the ice now he isn’t chilled to the bone. The winds shift, bringing with them more snow and greyer skies. She clutches her scarf, anxiety gnawing away at her. She can taste the storm coming. If they don’t make it to Camp Dragonhead soon…

“Not much further now,” Aureia calls over her shoulder. “We’re almost—”

She crests the hill and halts, her stomach sinking. A sea of white stretches out before her, masking the trees and landmarks. They are too late. The storm has come and the path forward is lost to the snows. She curses, her fingers cramping, spasming from their curled position. The fire orb flickers and goes out.

“Shit,” she mutters. She rubs her hands together, desperately trying to get some feeling back into them. They remain curled, refusing to relax, and she pulls on the aether, commanding it to bend to her will.

It does not answer.

“Aureia?” Alphinaud appears at her side, his pale face lost in her coat’s hood. “What now?”

Should have stayed with Cid, that’s what. It was a foolish decision to leave and go on foot. “Shelter,” she says through dry lips. “Shelter is the priority. We can weather the storm, then make our way to Camp Dragonhead once it clears.”

He nods. “Where? The trees over there, perchance? ‘Twould be good to remain on the path, no?”

Hells. It has been years since her defection from Garlemald, but her time in the frozen Imperial capital has stayed with her. She should know better than this. She should know how to adapt.

Aureia raises an arm, shielding her face from the brutal wind as she peers through the endless white. A broken wall rises some feet away, its outline little more than a hazy shadow in the falling snow. “This way!” she shouts, her voice lost in the wind, and veers off the trail. “We need to get out of this wind.”

He follows without comment. That he doesn’t argue is either a mark of his unconditional faith in her, or that he is too exhausted to object. Gripping his frozen hand with hers, she wades through knee-deep snow, leading him to the wall. Once there, she drags them to the far side and hunkers down. She doesn’t know if this will be enough to survive, but it’s all she has.

Aureia and Alphinaud huddle together with their backs to the wall. The snow falls with fury, piling up around them. Though the wind is not as fierce, the brutal cold makes her teeth ache and her lungs burn. She’s freezing. He’s freezing. They were brutally unprepared for this. How laughable would it be if they perished in this storm. A pitiful end to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

“Aureia?” Alphinaud’s voice is quiet, so soft she almost misses it. The snow crunches as he shifts beside her, pulling his coat tight. He exhales a shaky breath and rests his head on her shoulder. He looks so young… Too young. With all his bright-eyed idealism and sheer determination, it’s easy to forget how young he is. “This is my fault. I’m sorry for what I’ve wrought. If I hadn’t.. If I had…—”

She wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “Don’t think of that now,” she says. It’s difficult to get the words out—her teeth are chattering. “There will be time for that… later…”

“There’s… time for it… now,” he interrupts, stuttering through the cold. “At the very least, I would… apologize… for what I’ve done. The others are… unaccounted for, perhaps even dead because of my ignorance.”

She looks down at him. “Yes.”

It’s a bitter truth, but to soften it would do him a disservice. Even now, she can picture that night’s events as clearly as one of her visions. Nanamo, collapsed and struggling to breathe as the treacherous cup rolled across the floor. Raubahn’s rage as he cut down Teledji Adeledji. Escaping the banquet with the Crystal Braves hot on their tail, losing her friends one by one as they chose to stay behind… And most painful of all, the look on Thancred’s face as he bid her farewell, shooting her one final lopsided grin as she turned her back on him and fled into the night.

“How… how do I contend with that?” Alphinaud whispers.

She pauses. “You press on,” she says after a moment. She cups her palm between them, subconsciously pulling on the aether around her, a faint flame sizzles to life, warming her fingers. “Guilt can only carry you so far before it bleeds you dry. Just know that the next time… the next time will be different. Better.”

He’s silent for a long time. “Do you… blame me?”

Aureia closes her eyes, snowflakes crystalizing on her lashes. “You are not responsible for our enemies’ actions, Alphinaud. You did not kill Nanamo. You did not frame the Scions. Take comfort in that.”

If he answers, she does not hear.

Her body is stiff, her limbs numb. A small sphere of warmth With the world gone white, it’s too easy to lose herself to the exhaustion and the cold. To submit herself to the bitter frost…

“…Aureia!”

She stirs, forcing herself out of her stupor. She can’t open her eyes—her eyelashes are frozen shut. Though she has not yet lost all sensation. A small sphere of warmth licks at her palms, her flame still burning against all odds.

“Aureia!”

The voice cuts through the haze. Someone seizes her by the arms, unearthing her from the snow. She groans, wobbling on uneasy feet, and a strong arm wraps around her, putting a cloak on her shoulders. Warmth floods her from the embrace and she lets out a desperate gasp, lungs aching as she inhales frozen air.

“Easy, my friend,” the voice says. “Easy. You have taken a terrible turn.”

“Haurchefant?” she breathes, tilting her head up. She pries her eyes open and a familiar face swims in her vision. She would know that smile anywhere. “What are you… how…”

“Scouts saw your approach on patrol,” he says, easing her through the snow. “When the storm swept in, we did not hesitate to commence a search. The snows in Coerthas are not to be trifled with. I would not lose you to them. If not for your abilities…”

The flame. How in the hells did she keep that going on the brink of unconsciousness? If she had slipped into darkness completely, it would have gone out.

Aureia stifles a cry and clutches at him, her heart aching with gratefulness. “I’ve been stupid, Haurchefant,” she mumbles. Her lips are stiff and blue, frost clinging to her skin. “So damn stupid.”

“You can tell it to me in time, once you are warm and recovered. For now, rest. We will see you safely to Camp Dragonhead.” With one arm still supporting her, he turns and shouts to his men. “I have her! Young Master Alphinaud, too!”

A flurry of activity flickers on her peripheral vision. Knights crowd around them, clearing a path to the nearby carriage. She spots Alphinaud some distance away, wrapped in a cloak and leaning on a knight as he struggles through the snow. He glances over his shoulder and meets her eyes, a grave smile on his face. He nods, silently showing his thanks.

She returns it. Somehow, they have survived this. Where they go from here, she does not know. But whenever it may be, it will be up to them to pick up the shattered pieces of the Scions and find a way forwards.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fic #aureia malathar #alphinaud leveilleur #haurchefant greystone #working on aur's continuity has me flitting from thought to thought #and scene to scene in no particular order 😅#writing tag #post-arr patch spoilers

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sunstone-smiles · 2 years

Note

Love your stories. Prompt idea: Ingo buried in the sand with just his tummy and feet sticking out. Someone found him and accidentally discover he's ticklish when trying to help him out.

Hello Anon! I immediately thought of a beach day when I first saw this prompt, so I hope you like it!

Beach Day Predicament

Series: Pokemon

Characters: Ingo, Emmet, Elesa

Words: 1,100

Summary: When Ingo gets trapped in sand, Elesa accidentally comes across a playful way to have some fun with her friend. Enjoy!

—

The summer sun shines bright above the beaches of Undella town; the rays of light make the surface of the ocean water glisten. The cool arches of liquid rise and fall, pushing the breeze of salted air towards land.

Near the edges of the moistened shore, Emmet and Elesa play with their pokemon in the water, while Ingo’s pokemon bury him in dry sand untouched by the ocean's waves. With Excadrill being a ground type, it’s in the pokemon’s nature to burrow things in the dirt. Chandelure also helps out by piling sand on top of Ingo’s chest and legs using Psychic to lift up small piles into the air, leaving only the subway boss’s feet, belly, and head sticking out of the warm, grainy material.

Elesa emerges from the water and makes her way over to Ingo. She grabs her towel nearby to dry herself off and observes the way the subway boss is being playfully packed into the sand by his pokemon.

“Having fun there Ingo?” Elesa giggles as she pats her wet hair with her towel.

Ingo tilts his head up from his heated cushioning to look at her. “As long as Excadrill and Chandelure are enjoying it, then I don’t mind.” The creatures beside the subway boss give him an affectionate smile, happy that their trainer is allowing them to play like this; however, a sudden call from their pokemon pals asking them to come in the water diverts their attention. Excadrill and Chandelure stare at Ingo with puppy dog-like eyes if they can go over to play with them, to which Ingo nods and says that of course they can. The two pokemon flash their trainer another grin to thank him, then head off to the water to join their other friends.

Elesa watches with amusement as the two dash off with enthusiasm. Afterwards, she looks back at Ingo, noticing his little predicament. “So, would you like some help getting out of that?”

“Yes please. That would be greatly appreciated,” Ingo replies as he tries to shift himself out of the packed material around him.

The electric gym leader leans down near his middle and starts dragging some of the sand away from his sides to try and find an opening to pull him out. “They really packed you in here, huh?” Elesa says when she’s only able to grab small handfuls of sand at a time due to how tightly it’s crammed together. “Hold on—” She moves her hands to his stomach to brush away the sand, but Ingo suddenly lets out a short gasp and a noticeable flinch from her touch.

“E-Elesa!” Ingo stutters, “Careful, that tickled.”

Elesa perks her ears up when she hears this. It wasn’t her intention to tickle him in the first place, but if she’s here, she might as well use this situation to get the usual stoic faced subway boss smiling.

A mischievous grin appears on her face and she slowly moves her fingers purposely closer to his middle. “Oh really? You mean…like this?” Elesa finishes her sentence by skittering the digits of her hand into his bare tummy. Ingo lets out another choked out gasp and giggles immediately start pouring out of him. He tries to wriggles around and shift in his spot, but the packed sand around him leaves him completely vulnerable to his friend’s playful attack.

“Ehehelesahaha! Dohohon’t!”

“Don’t what Ingo? I’m just trying to help you out of the sand like you asked,” the gym leader feigns innocence as she continues scribbling into his belly.

“Youhohou are clehehearly tickling mehehe!”

“Oh, I guess I am. Well, at least it's one way to get you out,” Elesa smiles and changes tactics to claw into his stomach with both of her hands. Ingo’s laughter increases in volume and he leans his head back, trying to shake and squirm away as much as the encased sand will allow him.

Hearing the giggly commotion, Emmet walks over to the silly scene and grabs his towel to dry himself off as well. “Hehe, having fun there Ingo?” Emmet chuckles to himself while he watches his brother’s predicament.

“Hey, I asked the same thing earlier!” Elesa mentions, “But I guess the situation has changed slightly.”

“Ehehehemet! Hehehelp mehehe!” Ingo leans his head forward as far as he can to call his brother. Emmet chuckles again, then notices Ingo’s wiggling feet poking out of the sand.

“Suuure, I’ll help,” Emmet replies with a mischievous inflection. He slowly steps back and kneels down to position himself in front of Ingo’s feet, then curls his fingers into wiggling claws to tickle his exposed soles.

Ingo lets out another yelp and tries to pull his feet back, but the sand still has his ankles trapped, allowing Emmet free range to attack.

“Ehehemehet! Thahahat’s nohohot hehehelping!” Ingo scolds his twin through his laughter. He reflexively curls his toes and wriggles his feet left and right to try and nullify Emmet’s wiggling fingers, but the younger subway twin follows his every move, not allowing his brother a single moment to escape.

“It’s not? I thought I was being helpful, don’t you Elesa?” Emmet turns to his friend with a grin.

“Yes, very helpful! To me, anyway,” Elesa teases.

“Okahahay! Ohokay! Mehehercy!” Ingo throws his head back and shouts through his laughter, knowing that he won't be escaping his confined state anytime soon. After a few more moments, Emmet and Elesa cease their attack to allow Ingo to rest. They then both start to carefully move the sand away from his body, making sure not to accidentally graze any ticklish spots in the process. Eventually, Elesa finds his once buried hand and pulls him up out of the sand, the small grains falling off of his body as he shifts upwards.

“Thank you,” Ingo responds a bit winded as he frees his legs and dusts his chest and arms off for any leftover particles of sand still stuck to his skin.

“Hehe, sorry about that Ingo,” Elesa gives an embarrassed chuckle, “It was way too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“I understand. You two were just having fun, that’s all.”

“Yes, it was verrry fun while it lasted,” Emmet smiles.

Suddenly, Ingo gives an uncharacteristic smirk at the two. “Who said that it was over?”

Emmet and Elesa’s eyes go wide and they immediately take off running through the sand with Ingo quickly chasing after them. The older subway boss isn’t usually the one to initiate revenge, but he’ll make an exception in this case to add on to their already eventful beach day.

#A request from Sunstone!#pokemon #pokemon ingo #pokemon elesa #pokemon emmet #submas #nimbasa trio #pokemon black and white #sfw fanfiction #sfw fanfic #sfw tickle fic #tickle fic

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hollers-and-holmes · 2 years

Note

.....and the one where he has to get her over the mountains?

I don’t have much on this one yet! In this crazy AU, Aragorn and Arwen aren’t betrothed in Lorien, because unfortunately it burns to the ground first. So they have to escape over the mountains together.

Here’s a chunk…

He likes to hear her talk, likes the little tunnels her mind goes diving down, and the bridges she builds to make her way back to her main point without changing the subject, likes her metaphors both absurd and profound, likes how often she references old books and older lays, and likes the sound of all of it, her voice not high and soft, nor too low, and how often she is near to making herself laugh, nearly as often as she is to making him.

But right now she’s going to fall if she doesn’t shut up, and he puts the back of his hand against her bare ankle and nudges it in to where the toehold actually is. He steadies her there until she finds it and pushes herself a little farther up the cliff.

She says, “Thanks. You doing okay?”

Wish she’d pay attention, but yep. He says, “Can you see the next one?”

“I can, it’s up there by that root. This isn’t as steep as the backside of the Spire, you know. Piece of cake.”

“North face is a better climb.”

“I agree, just had to take a bet. That one place where it overhangs is tricky, you have to make a little leap and—”

The edge is there and she makes a grab for it, but the rotten rock crumbles in her hand. She is too experienced to panic and turn loose with the other but still he slams his own palm into the small of her back, pinning her there against the cliff-face so she will not peel back and plunge down over the top of his head into the gorge. He does not ease up until she finds a better handhold, and uses it to drag herself over the edge. She is laying on her back, one knee drawn up, arms flung out, heaving a little, when he slithers the last ascent and rolls up and sits beside her for a while until his own heart slows back down to a lope.

She says, still somewhat out of breath, “I need to stop talking.”

“Mm.”

“It’s what I do when I’m nervous, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, you just need to—”

“Pay attention, I know, you’re right.”

“We’re going to be okay.”

“I know.”

Two weeks now they have come north, often driven off-course by the goblins which are thick and bold as flies. Somewhere behind them without even the covering of a shoddy cairn lies the body of Orophin of the Wood, doughty warden of the March, who had hated him brazenly, and at the last stood fast at his shoulder and held the narrow trail, and borne a dozen black darts in his body, and flogged him after the lady when flight alone remained to him, or else to stay and die with his companion, and leave Arwen Undomiel here in the Wild alone.

Her hand lays in the dust, skinned across the knuckles, the nails chipped and broken off and embedded with black dirt. He lifts it. Has he touched her so, without a real need? He cannot remember, their help to one another has become an unselfconscious thing. He steadies her on the trail; she leans upon his shoulder to pour sand out of her shoes; they touch hands delivering the canteen back and forth between themselves; they take turns sitting the watch with their legs brushing together in the dark beneath the covering of their only cloak.

He had held her while she wept, that first morning, and tended to her hurts, but that then needful too.

Now he takes her hand for no good reason but because she frightened him, and because it sits there, scuffed and filthy and nevertheless as lovely as a niphredil, and because he would string his forefather’s ring upon it right here on the shoulder of the High Pass, and to hell with all the wretched consequences.

His eyes fly to her. She is looking at him as if he had spoken the thought aloud. It came upon him like a meteor, blazing and abrupt; he has never in his life allowed himself to think it quite so clearly. She does not take her hand away. Her hair strewn all around her on the stone. She says softly, her eyes very still and very clear, as if she is standing on some precipice gazing out at the air she will soon cast herself into, “Why don’t you, then.”

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darckcarnival · 2 years

Note

I know you aren't a fanfic writter

or maybe you are but

Can you do a drabble of Darck with the prompt 'Oh Death', like the song oh death?

Ask an ye shall receive.

I've not written fanfic in years, as life is hard, and roleplay is wild. But I can happily do this for you.

Yes, people may reblog this should they wish.

WARNING: Depressing topics, blood, gore, many mentions of death, violence, heart break, not beta read we die like heathens. Also incredibly long and just random glimpses into random events. I apologize for this mess, I just word vomited.

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

MMMMmmmmmMMMmmm... mmmmMMMMMmmmmm...

Eternity and death, hand in hand, so cold and always there. No one escapes one nor the other. Not even creatures destined to wander the world unaging- even they can feel the looming dread of the swinging sword of Damocles, like a ticking clock, waiting to take even the most ancient heads. Or the most powerful, or rich, the poor...

Oh Death...

It comes for all. And the brunette was no exception. Hard to kill? Yes, sure. Durable, fast, powerful, and oh so very clever. But over the years had become more self destructive, taking risks in order to keep others out of danger. It what had placed the half vampire in this position she found herself in now. Having gotten wind of a facility somewhere situated in the middle of nowhere Arizona. Tore through the security personnel, their ranks decimated. Bringing death in the never ending cycle, for some sort of greater good of this world. Bringing wrath upon those that create horrifying impersonations of real things, or to unleash the worst of the worst upon the world.

Oh Death...

At the base, the power was disabled. Self destruct initiated... But Darck had been weakened, sickened. Movements sluggish and time less than expected... The explosion had been absolute. Firey, destructive, stone and concrete collapsing. The woman herself barely dragging her broken body across the cold stone once above ground, fingers digging into dirty and sand as she left behind a trail of crimson, staining the earth that lay charred and burning behind her. In this moment, moments flashed before the woman's eyes. Glimpses of her life till now, comparing. Just how lonely and cold this existence was, body thumping onto the earth.

Ooohh Death. Won't you spare me over another year-

How many years had gone by since that fateful day? So very long ago. A small night, no one would expect. A singular child too far from home, wild in spirit and uncontrolled. But so full of frustration from the situation at home. Too much noise, too much cigarette smoke, too many drunks. Always with the sports get together. Even if mother truly did love and care, the one remaining brother protective- nothing mattered when too many fools were in one confined space.

It's what started this cycle of endless death. Too foolish of a kid to be wise. Reckless, wild, free. Just a 13 year old armed with a simple machete to cut away bushes and grass. Raised on the wild, to respect the hunt and how to survive out in the world with only her two hands. But nothing could prepare someone so young, so steeped in respecting of life, of what could come from the dead.

The cold grew, the panic began. Seeing the corpses in the woods, stood and walking. In perfectly formation of patrol. And looking for the lone living human, who cut her way through the wilderness. Heart beat pounding wildly within her tiny rib cage. Voice having long since run away, trying to keep quiet between every panting breath. But it was futile. One lone child could do nothing against the puppets of death, with their master tugging the strings so close. Finding this a fun game of cat and mouse. No matter how many skulls were cracked, or how many knees removed, Darck couldn't escape. This was where she would die. Alone. And to be cornered in this clearing, surrounded by rotten corpses like a fence of dead flesh, with the man who controlled them stood dead center. Laughing. Taunting. Fangs bared, monstrous mocking. Vampire he'd claimed, or something like it. Nothing like the movies or story books. So much worse.

Well what is this that I can't see?!

Grabbed, lifted, offered and toyed with. Fighting back. It was nothing more than a rag doll or little cub, fighting back against the impossible beast. Even as she screamed out at the top of her lungs, no one came. Alone. Alone. Alone. What could anyone do? She realized too late, nothing. Anyone she loved or knew, would just become like those here. It was a walking grave in waiting.

With ice cold hands taking hold of me...

Just 13, did she fight back. Doing anything she could. Crying, terrified, but refusing to give in. Swinging her weapon with suddenly found strength to damage the monsters face that held her up. And it was the final nail within the proverbial coffin to sweep her life away. Tiny body thrown with rage. Hitting a pine tree enough to jostle her head, knock the wind from her lungs, dazed, stunned. The memory and agony that followed was still crystal clear. Monster ripped the weapon free, used it on her, and cleaved right into the hip and gut with one singular swing of strength. Embedded within her form and the trunk behind, pinned in place as the blade ripped into her spinal chord. Pain taking the voice away and panic setting in. She couldn't feel anything, everything was falling apart. Blood stained the earth, moonlight shined above, and so very far away, lights flickered of the tiny town and the houses she'd left the safety of... Home so far away, never to be returned again.

It was then the one that turned her came. Enraged at such acts blatantly that endanger their society as a people. An older vampire, ancient blood. Tore through that fiend like he was nothing, and reduced the corpses into ash and clothes. Nothing left but the blood on rocks and grass. Darck felt her eye's beginning to blur, darkness closing in. The body going cold. Death waiting at the proverbial gates...

When the offer was made. This ancient being knelt before the little figure, hand out, and made the offer, a chance, to be reborn again. Not die here so young and without meaning. To become a predator of the night, and ensure such filth like what had taken her chance of life away, wouldn't be able to do it again.

Oh death, please consider my age Please don't take me at this stage...

She'd accepted. The start of eternity and a repeating cycle. A soul in pain, heart on her sleeve, but will power and urge to protect never burning out. Bitten, and turned, into something that walks both life and death on the razor thin edge. Halfling, meant to be in both world. But also meant to be a fighter, to be under a thumb, under control... A control she regularly couldn't be grabbed by. Refusing to be a tool, and refusing to be alone again...

The years ticked on slowly, growing, learning, advancing. Gaining power and skill. Perhaps, it had been the urge to impress, be accepted, find some sort of affection that had the young vampiress seeking to please the sire back then. Get better. And ignore her trauma, no matter how much she missed her family, what was left of it. A mother left grieving for the lost daughter, only remaining older brother weeping for a lost sister. No closure, only grief. They can never know for their own safety.

A world of monsters, haunts, undead, supernatural, just waiting under the veil of this world, hanging by a thread. Those lines however, would blur more and more over the years...

MMMMmmmmmmMMMMmmmmm...

However, she still ran honorable work for her sire and his contacts. To keep things in check, under wraps. Like a well trained assassin or soldier, even so young. And over these years, she had still made a few friends here and there! People to remember, to laugh with, spend time with now and then. Never for too long, as her Master wished to keep such an asset close. Yet still she had found comfort and contact with these she had met. Much like found family... Never to replace what had been lost, but filled the void left behind all the same.

When god is gone, and the devil takes hold- Who will have mercy on your soul...?

And that's what had led her to push too hard, for her power, the control, over anything she could. Further than any half breed ever should go. To impress her Sire, and use the strength for new friends... It trapped the woman within the shadows. 1998, beginning of July. The summer heat suddenly gone, the light drowned away. And Darck incapable of reaching out or connecting with anything, anyone. Alone. Banging upon the edges of the darkness, that realm within every shadow just underneath reality, watching the world go by unawares. Like a prison of death of the mind and spirit.

Oooohh Death...

Forced the young woman's hand, just 19, nearly 20. Learn the shadows best as possible. Interact via the darkest corners. She could move items, in and out. Small ones. Try and leave things behind. Even try and block a door or stairs, perhaps lock something, unlock another. The darkness always encroaching...

Ooh OH Death

She watched, horrified, at what monsters were made behind closed doors. The dead walking, but no puppeting, no master. Just hunger, just rot. And other monsters came in their wake. A nightmare made real once again, like reliving the same night over and over again. Every spiraled so far out of control. And Darck was left powerless, could do nothing. But watch. Pray. And help those select few survivors she had found, however she could.

Oh, oh~ Death~

For several months did she remain trapped. Slowly feeling her mind unraveling. Getting desperate. Perhaps able to escape briefly for short stints of time, only to be dragged right back in. Like she was dying over and over again. Watching the survivors go through hell more than once, and entire city falling into the nightmare hellscape right out of a movie. And the fear within Darck began to numb. Forcefully traumatized beyond her limits, until she no longer feared the dead. Instead popping between shadows, darkness, where she could. To try and help. Leave behind items to be found, block things off, anything. Only barely capable of using typewriters to communicate.

Anyone would think they had gone mad. And it mattered not... Darck did everything she could. The city gone, time passed, December came. Island blown up, the cold unfelt later. The nightmares continued. It was blurring together.

Oh Death.

Six months of personal death and emptiness in that timeless dark. Until her sire had pulled the young one free, now 20. Weakened, but alive. Yet forever changed. Slowly nursed back to health once more. Now mastered the shadows, the steps between places. Stronger, faster, but mind wild. Still doing her best. For a year did the woman fight to improve. Until...

Abandoned. Left behind in nowhere America. Her Sire had taken her there to learn survival, and left her. Never came back. Alone. Alone. How it always repeated over and over. The halfling waited days, and days became a week. Until she finally broke down. Her mind and emotions so damaged and frayed that it couldn't be taken any longer, and the hunger for something familiar sank in. Driving her to scramble and rush in tears towards that old lonely town from lost child hood. Leaving behind drained animal carcasses in her wake. Death.

It had been the first person to come across her, Alvin, that calmed the half vampire. An old friend of the child's life once lost, now grown. A best friend and closest confidant- it's what had drawn Darck to pour her heart and soul out. Every word a truth for this poor human in over his head while holding the weeping vampire who had lost herself so long ago.

No wealth, no ruin, so silver, no gold Nothing satisfies me but your soul...

That drove Alvin to abandon his life. Pack his truck and bags, leave a note, and ran. Vanishing, proverbially killing his public life, to travel with Darck. Keeping her from bringing danger too anyone else, and to help keep her safe. So they traveled together, hand in hand. Always keeping one another safe as she taught him how to survive and fight the supernatural. While he brought her more comfort and calm, to be a person again. It was good... For a time...

Had even become a loving pair, dating. And Alvin had proposed so long ago. Engaged in their odd life and making plans for a better future. Figuring things out. Joyful with the brief glimpse... However nothing lasts. Death comes for all. None more so than humans, but even those of eternity feel the cold fingers upon their shoulder. Greeting like an old friend.

Oh Death...

It had led the two beaten, bloodied, bruised, by an enemy simply called 'Yorik'. Darck couldn't kill him, too young, too inexperienced, and it left her teetering on the edge of control. And Alvin had run out of ammo long ago, limping, and at his limit. Yet this monster did not kill them. He had a worse fate in store. Having driven the young vampire into the limits of her control, survival instinct was kicking in. And wanted to see who lives or who dies...

Alvin wouldn't let her die, nor hurt anyone else. The man dragging her away to a safe house, an old bunker. Sealing the two in, even as Darck started to loose control to the beast inside, begging Alvin leave. Lock her in. Save himself. But should he do that, it would have spelled potential death for the woman instead. And he would never do that. So instead, he sat his injured self across the room, weapons tossed. Told her to live, he was dead either way.

Even as the woman lost control, and tore into him, the human continued to repeat 'I forgive you' over and over again. Until he died. Even as she drained him. Never did she get his soul, him having died before she could lay claim, but it made her live... With the guilt and weight snapping what was left of her frayed sanity. Alone. Burned the remains and left nothing for her to return too...

Well I am death, none can excel! I open the door to heaven or hell...

So alone Darck had been. So long. Now solo act, somewhat unhinged, and never would hesitate to pull the trigger. Creatures and people left in her wake of wrath that deserved such fates, others saved from horrible ends. Keeping them from suffering her history, best as she could. Contacts made, alliances forged, without even realizing it. Always gathering information, spying on others. Even checking in on those she had once seen so very many years ago. Death having been an old dance partner now... She saw so many loved ones die, but then live again, rinse, repeat...

Oh Death.

2002 and onward her heart had throbbed, ached, died and born again. Watching more and more events unfold between the lines of her side of this world, and how the other twisted into madness. She saw it all from the shadows now held in perfect control. Across the glove, events cropped up, trying to rinse, repeat, become worse, of the history that came from the past... Still did death come and go. Darck's hands working diligently to give any help she could while out of sight. Give items, give help, give notes. And sometimes needing to step in when the supernatural became too much, taking her gun in hand, to save others, or slay.

Ever Swaying upon the dangerous edge of life in this dance, careful to pull others back upon the safety's side, while lingering just so close upon that abyss. Staring within it, and it staring back, ever ready for one or the other. Like a fractured hourglass waiting for every grain of sand in it's moment to tumble free into eternity once more.

Bodies left behind in the wake of wrath. A monster, she knew now, was always in her bones. Just like what she hunted, just like what had killed her. But what she could do with it is what could change fates design. Feeding, devouring, gaining power. Pushing limits and abilities. A halfling without a master, without a chain, allowed to grow unchecked, with a heart that refused to quit beating. Human and Vampire in one body, ever at odds with it's self, and yet remaining in balance. A control gripped tight by force.

Never again would she loose ti and hurt loved ones.

My name is death... And the end is heeere...

But that didn't stop her from still getting so close to death. Slayers come and go, monsters in and out, leaving lasting scars on a body still learning, still evolving. But Darck took it, and forced herself up again, and again. Bloodied and broken, but alive. That is what she was good for. A weapon, a shield, to keep going. To use her knowledge and capability. Take whatever anyone else can not.

For what good is she otherwise? Darck was pretty sure she was worthless if she can't be of service. To use this strength and power for others survival. Alone. Keep going, have to keep going. The bodies in her wake wouldn't drag her down with them. Not yet... Not yet... Determination burned bright as every year moved by. Leaving her madness numb, forcefully pulling herself back together, mending the fractures of the damaged psyche in will power alone. But the emotional scars run deep. A soul that refused to quit.

Oh Death...

Even if those once friends could find her horrifying should they learn the truth. Darck has been shot by friends before, so many times, and never would blame them for it. Would accept it, and move on, take the loss, the ache. Because at least Death didn't take them. But the enemies left in her wake spoke otherwise... The blood keeping her alive. Those bodies piled in the path of history.

It's thanks to those bodies that she could always drag herself back out one way or another. So many times had her frame been destroyed, regeneration the only reason she was alive. Dragged out herself from hell, from ruins, from war zones, or hails of bullets... Death could always be waiting at the door, held open like a polite friend, awaiting that final step across the line. Cold hand held in proverbial offering for the tired soul. The one that always refused to take it. Turned away, whispering. 'Not yet, not yet. Just one more time. Just another day. I can take it.'

When god is gone and the devil takes hold Who will have mercy on your soul?

So many times no one came back for her. Even after Darck had her organization built and secret back in 2011, 2012, hidden away and doing their work. Even as the world continued to turn and advance, they would always find ways around it. And yet still she was alone, even in a room surrounded. Could feel that knot tighten on her throat like a noose, or the creeping fingers waiting at her shoulder.

Oh Death.

More often than not had found her in similar situations of being left on her own. Barely conscious and dragging herself free of a job, or personal work, anything... Was this her vice, really? Maybe a punishment for so much failure of the past, or a reminder of where she came from, what she is. Darck wasn't even sure, but it was something she had to do. It kept others, innocent people, from going down.

And nobody ever came. No one came. Alone. Except for memories and tears.

Oh Death. Oh Death, won't you spare me over another year?

Eyes blinked opened, once more here in the Arizona desert, stars above, smoke high in the sky. Silent except for the heavy breaths she took through burnt lungs, and the cracking flames roaring behind her. Ribs mending together slowly, agonizing. Darck needed to feed soon, fresh blood would let her heal faster, even a god damn blood bag... But she ran out long ago, and that place took everything viable with it.

Slowly, on shaking legs, did the woman force herself to stand. Stumbling. No one would come. She was alone, with only death waiting at her side like an old friend. The half vampire realized, she was, and has always been, alone. As she would always be alone. She could have sworn a whisper of cold breath at her ear disagreed. Maybe she was that close to passing out, to imagine the voice of death as a comfort. Reassuring. To tell there was chances yet left.

Not yet, not yet...

Darck's legs finally gave out after having walked just a couple minutes. Just to get some space. And slumped down against cold rocks in the desert night. Her vision blurring as the darkness began to close in at all sides. The cold hands wrapping around her throat. And her world went black.

O, death Wont you spare me over til another year...

#Faceless Shades :: Anonymous #Work Invoice :: Asks #Drabble And Glimpses :: Random drabbles and maybe plot #Requested Paperworks :: Writing Prompts #(( THIS GOT LONG I AM SO SORRY. ))#(( I am absolute worst with just organizing shit. ))#(( You didn't give me much context except oh death and well.... ))#(( I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS WORD VOMIT. ))

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fatewalker-phoenix · 1 year

Note

14, 24, 26 for kiss meme

Gonna be less prose and more stream of consciousness this time because writing is Hard or maybe I will apparently write things because I have SO MANY FEELINGS and work is quiet, also obligatory tag for @tiredassmage and spoilers for 5.4/5

14. A kiss to the stomach

Astor's hands smoothing over Eden's sides as he places soft kisses to her rounded belly, before pressing his ear to her skin, listening and feeling for the unborn child they will soon be welcoming into the world. Their eyes are sparkling in wonder, fingers interlocking in silent assurance that Aspen will grow up in the world they fought so hard to make just a little safer for her.

24. A sleepy kiss

It's a rare morning when Airi awakes before him. Almost a decade of living on the road on a mercenary's trade has made deep restful sleep a difficult endeavor for him.

His arm is still loosely draped over her, a remnant from how he had held her the night before as she trembled in the afterglow of their passion, fingers idly tracing over her neck and shoulder as he casually dragged from a cigarette in his free hand. It's a far cry from when he used to leave her alone in the sheets, reluctant to admit to any vulnerability behind the hardened exterior he had built for himself. Even now, there's a furrow to his brow that never quite leaves his face, though it has managed to soften ever so slightly in his slumber.

Airi slowly scoots herself up, careful not to jostle him too much, unable to will her gaze away from his face. In sleep, she can almost glimpse the man that might have been had the world been a fraction kinder to him. His black hair is tousled almost boyishly across his forehead, lending to the image.

Impulsively, she leans down and presses her lips gently to his forehead. He stirs, and her heartrate picks up as she frets that she may have woken him. The arm over her curls, pulling her closer to him so he can press a deeper kiss to her lips. His breath is warm as he works his way across her cheek to her neck, pausing only enough to murmur "Morning" huskily into her ear.

26. A kiss while one or both parties is crying

Kiana is with Arenvald when the chirugeon breaks the news. Her fingers grip tightly to his, her tail twitching anxiously, as the man reluctantly explains that the damage to Arenvald's leg is so severe that the Scion may never be able to walk unassisted ever again. Arenvald is quiet for a long, heavy moment before thanking the chirugeon for the news with a smile, though his fingers in turn grip Kiana's so tightly her fingers tips begin to numb. The chirugeon leaves them alone to process the news privately.

Kiana's jaw works as she tries to find the right words to say. Arenvald has always been so hard on himself, pushing himself to be good enough, strong enough to be worth the sacrifices it took to bring him to today. It's a path they've both had to walk for far too long, at far too young.

"I'm sorry." Arenvald's voice is broken, thickening with the threat of tears. His hand is trembling in hers. "I-I can only blame myself, if I had just been more careful I-"

"No." The response leaves her before she can stop herself. She shifts to face him properly, her other hand coming to hold his so she can face him properly. "You can't think like that," she admonishes him quietly, "You did what you could, and you still managed to escape. That counts for something, at least."

"It's not that." Arenvald shakes his head, pursing his lips. "What I wanted...all I wanted was for us to be able to fight side by side, to...I wanted to be strong enough to protect you, and I-" The tears fall freely now, sliding down his cheeks. "I couldn't save anyone that night in the Waking Sands. I couldn't save Krile from being captured. We could barely save those delegates in Ala Mhigo. Barely! If Fordola hadn't stepped in when she did-" his other hand clenched into a fist. "I was never good enough," he muttered, "So maybe this is how it should be."

Tears well in her eyes. "Look at me," she says softly. When Arenvald's gaze remains cast down, she repeats herself a little more firmly, reaching up to cup her hand around his cheek, directing him to face her. He finally does so, and her thumb gently swipes away another tear as it falls.

"You have always, always, been enough for me," she says slowly, hoping that he will hear every bit of love and pain carried through her voice. "I love you, okay?Not for what you can do, but for you are. You are kind, selfless, and yes, you are strong. Arenvald, I love you."

He leans into the contact on his cheek, crumpling into a sob as she holds him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before he leans down into her lap, clinging to her like a lifeline as her fingers trace through his hair.

#zeal writes #burgiethewriter #eden azalea #airi nakamura #kiana kveykva #shay delacroix #astor caulfield #astoren #shairi #kiana x arenvald #very peak ace of me to include the actual kiss prompt as almost an afterthought for every one of these whoops #zeal answers #arenvald lentinus

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blackberrywars · 2 years

Text

Swim - Aiden/Lambert

SFW prompt fill for day 5 of the @witchersummercamp event!!! Once again, thank you @hellinglasses for the beta-reading and endless support

Rating: T

Words: 1962

Pairing: Aiden/Lambert

Tags: Almost-Drowning, Near-Death Experience, Sirens, Aiden Being A Dumb Wlw Bitch, Selkie!Lambert, Lambert Is Tired, Lambert Swears, Light Angst, Non-Graphic Vomiting, Non-Sexual Nudity, Love At First Near-Death Experience

Summary: Aiden is young, dumb, and full of the proverbial, which almost gets her very dead when she happily swims out to meet all the pretty mermaids waving to her from the rocks. She wakes up, surprisingly. Even better than living, though, is her savior, the most gorgeous person she’s ever seen.

Read on AO3

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A silent scream leaves Aiden’s throat, and she can hear Guxart in her head, telling her what a fucking idiot she’s been. Her chest burns with pain, almost as much as her muscles are, straining under the sirens’ clawed hands as they dig into the soft insides of her arms and legs, dragging her further below into the depths. Her lungs clench, but all she inhales is icy, bitter water —the beginning of a fantastically awful death. A preventable one, too. But that would be if the Guxart in her head was wrong, and she hadn’t been so much of a fucking idiot as to follow the pretty mermaids’ beckoning hands. Thrashing against the sirens’ hold only makes them pull her down harder, so fast she can’t even enjoy watching the sun shrink slowly above her.

To her left, she can see the long, flowing dark hair of the first siren —not a mermaid, unfortunately— who’d called to her from the rocks.

Draped across her perch, she’d been otherworldly in her beauty. Aiden remembers. Her tail had almost blended in with the algae-covered rocks, reflecting sunlight with striking, dark green-blue scales in a way that entranced Aiden. The jewelry draped around her body —gold with gems and pearls in every color— had looked so perfect against her bronze skin that she swam out, and the rest had come out to play. The pretty blonde with a shark’s fins and skin paler than the moon, decorated with just as many lovely spots. A very dark-skinned siren, whose red-purple hair looked like an anemone, perfect with her clownfish tail. And then another appeared in the waves. And one more grabbed her arm, giggling. And then she couldn’t tell how many hands had seized her, pulling her under the surface.

Looking to her other side, Aiden thinks she can see the silvery tail of the siren who’d first caught her shoulder, but this far down, she can’t tell for sure. It had looked red in the sunlight, but this far down, everything looks blue. Blue, blue, blue, and then black.

—

———

—

Consciousness finds her in much the same way as a club finds a kneecap, lower spine, or skull —with brutality, efficiency, and unerring commitment to keep her immobile. The inside of her mouth tastes like vomit and feels like licking a drowner’s face, ragged and slimy. Her brain throbs like a hundred-pound drum. She aches like she fell off a tightrope a thousand feet down and directly onto a rock. But she is alive. Awake, even. Gritty wind blows over her face, and she can hear seabirds squawking and waves crashing on the beach not too far away. Before she can properly enjoy it, an awful slush rises in her throat, and she barely manages to turn her head before throwing it all up, bile and salt burning her mouth on the way out. Sand sticks it against her cheek, which just… makes it worse, somehow.

She coughs and vomits again, but less than the first time, panting with the effort. Still, long years of training kick in, and she manages to take stock of herself the way she would after any bad hunt or ill-advised dalliance with an alderman’s daughter. She has all four limbs, ten fingers and ten toes, based on the time-honored technique of wiggling them as much as she can bear. Her hair still reaches her shoulders. It’s damp and crusty against her skin, which means it’ll be months before she gets it back into shape again, but at least she still has her length. More sandy air blows across her chest, scraping her nipples, so her shirt is gone, apparently, but her pants are still there, sticking painfully against her thighs. A strange, swishing sound comes from just beside her head, and she just barely opens her eyes to investigate before immediately closing them again, retinas burning from the white-hot sun.

“Yeah, wouldn’t recommend doing that for another while. You were under for a long while before I pulled your ass up and out of that mess. Don’t follow sirens next time, ya fuckin’ idiot.”

A shadow falls over her, turning her eyelids from golden to gray, and she deems it safe enough to try opening them again. And… well. Now she can say that she’s woken up in worse condition. The woman —her rescuer, apparently— standing over her is beautiful. More than beautiful. All the way down on the floor, Aiden can barely see her face, but she’s as certain as anything that she's beautiful there too. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

“You’re beautiful.”

Tall and pale as the sand, with brown freckles dotting every inch of her body that Aiden can see, and she can see nearly all of her, barely covered with a slip of strange fabric as she is, looking nothing like clothes and everything like something Aiden wants to touch. It might just be the angle, but her hips are the kind Aiden would happily die between. All around her faraway face is a halo of fiery orange, lit up by the sun behind her. For half a second, she thinks her waterlogged mind might just be trying to comfort her with a pretty picture before she dies, but somehow Aiden doubts it. Her mind isn’t this good of an artist. Finally, her eyes refocus, and she can watch her plush pink lips open.

“And you have vomit all over your face. How’s the breathing?”

Aiden coughs, pointedly. Not that she means to make a point out of it, nor out of any of the dozen more that come after it. When she finally stops, the beautiful lady is squatted down beside her and reaches out to put a hand on Aiden’s bare diaphragm and a lovely curved ear against her breast. Which is wonderful, until she presses down hard enough to throw Aiden into another fit of wretched coughing.

“Well. I can’t hear any water in your lungs, so that’s good. I’m not well-versed in treating half-drowned humans, much less fuckin’ witchers. I’ve never met one before, but you seem to be pretty shit at it.”

“I resent that,” Aiden wheezes, trying to ignore the (non-human? maybe?) woman’s warm hand still resting against her chest. “I’m the best of my class.”

Not like any of the rest of them are alive to disagree with her, all dead from the Grasses or the sacking or the Path. It proves her point anyway. She’d be dead if she wasn’t the best. The woman seems to disagree, by the sound of her snort and the tilt of her eyebrow.

“You left your swords, belts, and boots on the beach to go swimming after sirens.”

“They’d have all weighed me down and my swords would’ve rusted.”

“Fuckin’ eight sirens.”

“The last three were hidden!”

“They didn’t even have to sing to you first. You just dove right after them.”

“Sirensong wouldn’t have worked anyway. Witcher thing. And I thought they were mermaids.”

“Mermaids don’t exist, you jackass. Any decent witcher ought to know that at least.”

“In my defense.…… they were really pretty. You’re even prettier though.”

The woman’s glare could wither a cactus. It really brings out the storm of (nonhuman, definitely nonhuman) disdain in her blue eyes, and how dark they look shaded from the sun. Aiden would bet anything they’d look like a glacier in good light. Gods is she lovely. She happily turns her eyes away from that intense stare to watch the edge of the woman’s strange wrapping slip slightly down over a pale breast, revealing the curve where it meets her arm. That’s lovely too, because of course it is. Not that Aiden doesn’t enjoy being alive, but she can’t help but regret that they met like this. In another place —maybe a barroom or a town square or wherever such a pretty being comes from— she’d have been trying to charm her immediately. The vomit crusted on her face feels even more prominent. Especially when the woman speaks again.

“Fuck off. And yeah, of course they fuckin’ are. It’s how they drown stupid land-dwellers like you, but most of them need at least a little bit of seducing first, you two-oren whore. You’re lucky I saw you.”

“Don’t be mean to whores. I like whores. They’re my friends.”

“You really are a dumb motherfucker.”

She says it, all while taking a handful of dry sand to Aiden’s cheek, scraping off the dry sick until her face just feels tacky instead of completely disgusting. Fuck, but Aiden likes her. Mean women had always been a particular weakness for her, and she’d had enough casual sex with Dragonfly (and the aforementioned whores) to figure that out. And this one, for all her barbs, was apparently sweet enough to rescue her, to check her lungs, scold her for her idiocy, and clean her face. So she tells the truth.

“Yeah, I probably am.” Aiden shrugs, wincing at the pain of her probably-dislocated shoulder and throwing her best smile at her rescuer, “And you are beautiful.”

“Are you always this fuckin’ fixated?”

“On gorgeous women? Yes. And I will keep doing that until I die, hopefully.”

“You really ought to thank me for the opportunity. Or maybe don’t, because I’m demanding payment for that life debt as soon as you can stand up and hold your sword.”

With a strangled gasp, Aiden manages to get an arm under herself to, if not sit up, then at least recline at an angle. Now at least somewhat upright, she can see her swords, pack, and boots behind the woman’s feet —thank fuck she won’t have to replace them— and that her odd wrapping is a fur, a kind of steel-gray faded to white, with dark spots all over it. The individual hairs are tightly packed and damp enough to nearly slick back into one mass. At the very bottom edge, wrapped around one calf, is a flipper. A selkie. Guxart screams it in her head, and she’s glad to have him back despite the way he makes her head pound ever harder. Fuck, the woman had asked her something. Something important, because she mentioned a sword.

“What?”

“You’re going to pay me back for saving your stupid ass, or else die trying. And you’re gonna do it by actually killing the sirens this time around.”

Aiden coughs again, grinning, “Not that I’m opposed to doing anything you ask, but why?”

“They’re a pain in my ass. And they steal all the good fishing spots.”

“Consider it done, sealmaiden. Can I know your name before I go charging off into the sea again?”

“Not a maiden, and you won’t go back until you’re recovered and properly equipped with some fucking earplugs —I’d rather not have to chase down another witcher.”

“But your name, selkie?”

Guxart sighs again in her mind, in apparent solidarity with the selkie, who sighs, standing up and roughly shoving her curls back on her head. A few ringlets stick to her face and neck regardless, and Aiden wants to twirl them between her fingers.

“The villagers call me Lambert. Now get up. I have a little house not too far from here so I don’t have to talk to people.”

Lambert —and how good of her, to give Aiden a name— bends down again and hooks a deceptively strong arm under Aiden’s shoulders, hauling her to her feet. She reaches down to grab Aiden’s things, which Aiden tiredly slings over her shoulder, ignoring the ache in her chest to smile broadly at Lambert as they stumble up the beach. It’s foolish. Maybe as foolish as swimming after sirens. But Lambert is beautiful (and mean and kind and competent). Aiden’s never been good at resisting that.

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[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

#witchersummercamp #witcher summer camp #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #lambert #fem!lambert #selkie!lambert #aiden #witcher aiden #fem!aiden #laiden #drowning #sirens #vomit mention #love at first sight #berry's fics

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gods-bound · 2 years

Text

Half-Light, Half-Life - Chapter 6

The work doesn't cease after that. Every second that Elreith is not at work, she's at her desk, head bent and books piled high beside her, the candle burning low until the young hours of the morning. She works each night until she can barely hold her quill, the looping script of the transcendental tongue twisting and growing slippery and evasive, Elreith barely able to keep her eyes open, only to drag herself to bed to steal a few hours before she's called to wake at dawn.

The hours in between pass in a haze, each day passing quicker than the last, Elreith snatching every spare moment she can with her books, barely pausing to eat or sleep in between.

The rest of the maids start ending her looks for it, concerned and curious, Fayenna even going so far as to ask her if she's even been sleeping at all. "You look- Well, you look ghastly." Fayenna says, shooting her a worried look. "You do have to sleep, you know, Elreith. Elreith? Elreith, are you even listening?"

"I am," Elreith replies, one hand rising to hide a jaw breaking yawn. "I am getting enough sleep, I promise."

Fayenna shoots her an incredulous look, saying what she thinks of that, but there's no time for further comment after that, Saelsma already calling from across the hall, summoning the maids so that they may be given their duties and postings for the day. Fayenna shoots her one last look as they go, but still reaches out and takes Elreith's plate alongside her own as she hurries to drop them off, motioning for her to go ahead.

A week passes, two, each day feeling like it passes in the blink of an eye, sand slipping so fast through the hourglass now that it leaves Elreith feeling slightly breathless. There's duties, cleaning and walking and carrying buckets, dusting cloths in hand and vanishes for polishing, the low hum of the bells calling days end, a dinner eaten in quick bites and then books, quill scratching and pages turning and page after page after page of parchment filling up, all tight black script, candle flickering and the moons rise, rise, rising through the sky until they finally fall. A stolen moment of sleep in between, and then waking, scrambling out of bed and getting dressed, the day beginning all over again and -

Fourteen days left. Thirteen days left. Twelve days left and -

A knock on the door, muffled, and Elreith looks up from her books, quill pausing in her hand, only then realizing it's been the better part of two hours since the last bell of work, and she's completely forgotten to go to dinner.

"Elreith, you in?" Fayenna asks, voice muffled through the thick wood. "You weren't at dinner, so I brought you some food."

"Come in," Elreith calls, setting down her quill and flexing her hand. Her fingers are stiff, and her hand twinges a little when she stretches her fingers out, cramped after writing so intensely. The door creaks open, Fayenna shouldering it open, a tray held in her hands. She doesn't look surprised to see Elreith at her desk, books and papers spread around her, just sends her a fond look.

"I couldn't get much," Fayenna says as she steps in, carefully kicking the door shut behind her with one foot. Elreith quickly hurries to make some space on the desk as Fayenna bring the tray forward. "Just what was leftover from the end of dinner. But I got some rolls, and some cheese, and even a little bit of the ham as well."

"Thanks," Elreith says, gathering up an arm full of parchment and hastily balancing them on the stack of books, shooting a careful look at her ink bottle to make sure it's not at risk of being knocked over. "I'd meant to go get some, but I lost track of the time."

Fayenna just makes a noise at that, amused and not at all surprised, setting the tray down. "Well, you can't study on an empty stomach. Here."

It's only now, with the food sitting in front of her, that Elreith realizes just how hungry she is. It's easy, when caught up in the flow of work to let all other things fade away, the bite of hunger numbing to a distant thing, barely noticeable. Now she feels it, the cramp of it in her stomach, hollow and aching, the sensation of it seeming to come back to her all at once, and she gives Fayenna another grateful look, warmed by her care. "Really, thank you."

Fayenna just gives a little shrug, stepping back to take a seat on the end of Elreith's bed, and Elreith turns towards the rolls, picking one up and tearing a piece off, making quick work of it. Her candle is burned halfway through its wick, the room cast in a soft glow, the moons only just beginning to rise through her window.

"You know," Fayenna says after a moment, her eyes lingering on Elreith's stack of books. "I still can't believe you're actually doing it. I mean, people talk about sitting for one of the provings, getting chosen by one of the great houses, but you're actually doing it."

Elreith looks up at that, her fingers pausing in the process of tearing another piece off one of the rolls. She shifts in her chair slightly, drawing one leg up against her chest, the white of her petticoat flashing briefly beneath the black laced hem of her dress. "I still can't even believe I'm doing it myself, to tell the truth," Elreith says.

For so long now this has been her dream, since Elreith was barely more than a girl, and now for it to actually be happening- It barely feels real.

"I can't even imagine it, being something that's not a maid," Fayenna says as she leans back, drawing her clawed hands into her lap. "I don't know how you do it, Elreith. I really don't. The thought of even having to do such tests, all that study. You work yourself to the bone, Elreith - I couldn't do it."

Elreith looks down at that, at her own hands, where her fingers play with the edge of the brass tray, trying to give name to the nebulous feeling growing inside her. Finally she seems to gather herself. "My mother... She used to tell me stories sometimes, about the Dusklands, about what our life used to be like, before we left. I don't remember much of it myself but... She used to be a scholar there, before we had to leave. She used to tell me about it, all the books she used to read - she knew them all by heart, all the songs and the stories and everything."

It's the one tragedy of Elreith's youth, the one injustice that had lodged itself beneath her skin. Elreith can remember so little of their life before they moved to Vaelthran, but she can remember her mother, how hard she had to work, how she'd break her back dawn till dusk working whatever job she could get just to keep her and Elreith fed and a roof over their heads. Listening to her mother sing, every verse of poetry she remembered, perfect and lyrical, it had always made Elreith want to rail. Her mother knew so much, remembered so much, sharp as anything, entire libraries of songs in her head, and such a love for it even years later, and yet she'd never managed to find work for it in Vaelthran.

Why can't you be a scholar again? Elreith used to ask, so young and naive then, such a fool, and her mother used to just smile softly and shake her head.

This a new kingdom, a new life - it's just as well that I try doing new things as well, her mother used to say, and then sweep Elreith up in her arms, humming loudly and spinning her as she sang, just to make Elreith laugh. It was only years later, when Elreith started working as a maid herself that she realized the truth of it - that her mother couldn't have been a scholar even if she'd wanted to, not like she had been in the Dusklands. No no name Nightdaughter would ever be accepted into the high academies as one of their scholars, not without going through the academy themselves, and who would offer admittance and pay the tuition of a penniless unknown immigrant, one from such a disdained race as the Nightfolk as well?

Her mother gave up everything to take them from the Dusklands, to give them a better life, one where they could be safe and free from the Duskland's wars and its brutal caste system. She'd died without ever being able to make a return to doing what she loved, and that's some of the reason why, Elreith thinks, the need for it burns inside her so fiercely.

To become a scholar of Vaelthran, where her mother couldn't, and in doing so honor her. When Elreith finally continues, her voice is soft. "I suppose I just... I want to do something that would make her proud.

Elreith rises from her chair then, padding over to the bed, and lies back on it, Fayenna flopping down a moment late at her side, letting out a sigh.

"I'm going to miss you when you're gone, you know." Fayenna says. "Up there in the spires, it'll be like a whole nother life. You're going to forget all about us."

"I won't," Elreith promises, and turns to look at her, nudging Fayenna's shoulder with her own. It earns an amused noise from Fayenna, turning onto her side. She reaches one hand into the pocket of her dress, holding it out.

"Here," Fayenna says, something glinting soft between her black claws. "I know it isn't much, but... I made it myself. I thought you might like something, a souvenir to remember us all by."

Elreith sits up, and Fayenna drops it into her hand. It's a ribbon, Elreith realizes, long and soft, made of the same brilliant dark blue fabric that Elreith had gone with Fayenna to buy in the market. Its length has been embroidered, dancing circular patterns of silver stitched neatly down its length, beautiful and elegant, and Elreith recognizes it vaguely as one of the Averia scripts.

"Euphemia helped me get the silver thread," Fayenna says, watching as Elreith studies, turning it over gently in her hands. "It's- I put prayers for good fortune on it, to give you good luck on your tests. I know you probably won't need it but-"

"No," Elreith says quickly, looking up. "Fayenna, thank you. Really, it's beautiful."

Fayenna ducks her head a little then, and Elreith draws up, leaning over to sweep her up into a hug, embracing her tightly. "I am going to miss you, you know," Elreith says tightly, into Fayenna's shoulder, the soft whisper of Fayenna's feather brushing her ear. "I don't know what I'm going to do with myself, without you there."

Fayenna shakes her head, letting out a small laugh, only then starting to pull back. "You'll be fine," she says, though even her voice sounds a little choked up. "You're going to be the best of them up there, I know you are. None of them will even work half so hard, or be half as smart."

Elreith wipes at her eyes, looking down at the ribbon in her hands, soft lengths of glimmering silver spilling over her finger and pooling in her lap. Her fingers tighten around it.

"I'll wear it in my hair the day of the exam," Elreith says, turning it over in her fingers, only glancing up then. "It's- Really, Fayenna, thank you."

"You're going to blow them all away," Fayenna says. "Just- Wherever you end up, promise you'll write won't you? I know you'll be disappearing up into one of the spires, but that doesn't mean you can't still come visit."

Elreith laughs, sitting up, her arms coming to gather around her legs, a smile soft on her lips. "Of course. You couldn't stop me. I'll be writing you letters every other day, so many that you'll be sick of me by the end."

Fayenna laughs at that, shaking her head. "It's a promise then. I'll be sending you just as much, just you wait." Faynna smiles at her, her black eyes bright, and when Fayenna leaves again, Elreith settling back at her desk before her books, it's with a new warmth in her chest, something gentle and soft.

No matter where she ends up, she won't make a friend half as dear and beloved as Fayenna.

The days pass even quicker after that, the blink of an eye seeming to carry past days at a time. Maids keep coming up to Elreith, catching her and calling her to the side as they wish her good luck. Elreith's never hidden her ambitions, the way she spends her free hours well known, every maid in the Towercast having seen Elreith wander by with her arms stacked high with books more than once, and the news that she's actually been given a recommendation into the provings seems to have spread amongst the maids, all of them taking their chance to tell her they're certain she'll do well.

"You'll do us proud, Elreith, I know you will," Cordelia tells her, Oletta hanging over her shoulder, her face stern, but something proud in her eyes. "We'll be lighting some candles for you, the night of, ask the spirits to favor your fortunes."

"Thank you," Elreith tells them, feeling almost a little breathless. She'd never known Cordelia or Oletta as well as some of the others, the two of them the better part of a decade older than her, but all the maids in the Towercast are sisters of a kind, and they look after each other where they can. Cordelia and Oletta had been the ones to take Elreith's hand and guide her, back when she'd first become a maid, barely twelve years old and so young and inexperienced, showing her how to take her first steps.

It's nostalgic now, the thought of leaving them, the thought of leaving all the familiar faces of the Towercast, Elreith's friends and family for so long now, the thought filling her with a swell of equal sorrow and joy.

Eight days, seven days, six days, time running like ink across paper, every day passing in a dizzying spiral, until Elreith breathes in and realizes that there are only two days left. She lies awake, barely able to sleep for the thought of it, the tick of each second seeming to loom over her with an impossible weight. Her breath is caught in her chest, and she lies there, the weight of the future seeming to press down on her shoulders - and it's hope, and it's fear, ambition and joy and weighing, shimmering dread, anticipation growing so sharp in her that it threatens to make her muscles seize.

One more day, just one more now, the date of naming looming so close that she can taste it on her stone, lending steel to her spine. It makes her sit up straighter, a steely sort of determination settling in her blood. One more day, the span on a single night, and then it's time. It's almost time.

Elreith won't fail. She won't.

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#gods bound #half-light #Elreith #original fiction #dark fantasy #mixed historical setting #necroman

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