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screamingcrows · 2 months

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Start Carvin' Darlin' - Dottore x f!reader

Note: I've never suffered this much anguish just to make a single bad pun. I do want to write their first encounter buuut we'll see if it ever happens. Bear with me, I know it makes little sense. By all that is important- please heed the tags.

~7k words

Tags: dead dove do not eat, nsfw, dark content, fem!reader, cannibalism adjacent thoughts, manipulation, coercion, noncon, drugging, medical malpractice, power imbalance, age gap, somnophilia, sexualised dissection, fingering, needles, blood, gore, dacryphilia?, drowning, no aftercare, thoughts of death, thoughts of murder, brief choking, no pleasure for reader, Il Dottore centric MINORS DNI - I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH

There were few things, and even fewer people, Dottore would consider faithful companions. The world had made clear that nothing could be trusted and any gesture of kindness was bound to come at a price. The rest were blind to their perils. After all, so long as it was woven tight enough, even a tapestry of lies would be beautiful.

Hunger was different in that regard. Its claws had always nestled deep within his flesh, ripping through muscle and sinew to carve out a space for itself. He'd known every flavor it had to offer, from light tingles creeping down his spine to the dagger that had been lodged and twisted between his ribs, unbearable when he'd dragged himself through the scorching dunes that refused to be a home.

His eyes flickered to the scalpel held loosely in his gloved hand, the light reflected in the metal devoid of warmth. There was no real reason to wear them, the broken husk atop his table served no threat, and contamination from himself was a wholly irrelevant concern to the present analysis.

Force of habit was what he reasoned, the motion of putting them on coming almost as naturally as shushing the commotion in his, their, mind. There had been quite enough of that lately, only worsened by his own souring mood. Cutting the link off for the day would be best for them all.

That torment and the hunger accompanying it was but a faint memory now. Much more vivid were the tendrils that had coiled around his gut so long ago and punctured the fragile organ, leaving holes that would never be filled no matter the knowledge he devoured.

Every form of craving was a base need that Dottore had long since catalogued and archived in the back of his mind, giving him control whenever they surfaced. Desires were a potent tool when wielded right, something to use and then push away, a drive he'd discovered far more difficult to replicate mechanically.

What good was fear of decay to something that had never truly been alive?

It wasn't before you entered his life that Dottore understood what it meant to be truly starved. Four weeks. That was how long you'd been gone, a speck of dust compared to his solitary existence. It would likely be another two before you returned. Living as a famished man had been all too easy before the taste of sunsettia lingered on his tongue in the dead of night, the sweet fragrance in the air cloying despite every window letting in the frigid Snezhnayan air.

Ichor poured forth from the incision, rich in color as it stained everything in its path. Light reflected across the surface of the syrupy liquid, creating millions of constellations one second and replacing them the next. How would it feel on his tongue? Look running down your throat? It enveloped his fingers in a welcoming embrace, spilling over the edges as it made way for curious probing.

Crimson eyes refocused under the mask, shattered remnants of crystalline mimicry laying separated from the sharp casing. Rarely did a delusion crack. Even in death, the poor thing still clutched it with fervor. Each delusion was a testament to progress, every shard a strict reminder to never grow complacent. In time, he'd examine the shards for impurities, but for now, the cold flesh bearing the consequences was his priority.

Selfishness ingrained after hatred burning too brightly, his recklessness had long since settled into carefully calculated moves. Still, the temptation of your flesh had been too much. By no means were he a weak man, yet the promise of warmth in the otherwise cold halls had caught him unaware.

It's lungs were expanding almost desperately to accommodate the growing pressure of death upon the air. That was another faithful companion, silent and ever watchful, no doubt waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. The ashen skin was beautiful and had he known no better, it would've seemed obvious to write off the limbs as carved from stone. But there was no reasonable way to make that assumption, not with how the remaining muscle still moved under his touch. How it stretched when tugged. As tenderly as a lover, the sharp metal severed a piece to call it's own.

It hung from his palm, no longer part of anything that could have held importance, the tempting pink that was so familiar tainted by a vulgar discoloration, no doubt caused by the elemental energies it had been forced to absorb.

It bordered on obsession with how his thoughts would always circle back to you. He'd seen that color in the bruises he left on your body, in the plums you so enjoyed, pearly whites ripping through the skin and piercing the soft flesh underneath. You were always messy, with juices running down your chin while you perched so prettily on the cold metal tables of his workshop, nodding along to anything that left his lips. His eyes focused on a single drop running down his arm, deceptively anonymous in origin if seen in isolation, it might be a believable substitute for licking sweet nectar from your lips. He wondered if you were still as sweet as your favorite fruit. If it would sate the longing that gnawed at his insides the same as your presence did.

"Lord Harbinger? I- please excuse my intrusion, I'd been led to believe you weren't otherwise occupied."

You'd come to him as a wide eyed recruit, having had the misfortune of being made a cog in their machine. Such had become the fate of most, ironic that all they would see accomplished in their lifetime was trading who held the reins of their suffering. His wooden doors had creaked on their hinges as you tried to be discreet, trembling and clumsy with the salute, clearly still trying to come to terms with this new fate. You were everything he'd despised; weak, helpless, naïve, and so willing to throw yourself at whatever would have you and keep you safe. It fed something selfish.

"I am always busy. Quit wasting my time and state your purpose."

"I'm supposed to report for a health examination before they finalize the recruitment…"

Under normal circumstances, he'd have punished a disturbance like that, especially when paired with such ignorance. A medical exam. That was what you inquired about, and while he knew it to be true that every acquired asset must be examined, it was laughable that you'd fallen victim to some superiors directing you to his space.

Dottore had been in a good mood, finding himself willing to entertain the misunderstanding, if nothing else, it had provided a good distraction from the failures that had haunted him. Not even an hour after you'd left had he requested your transfer to his command, deeming you suitable for a few impending projects.

There was nothing sentimental left in him, all that had been forsaken, turned to dust when he broke himself into pieces. That was the truth as he willed it.

Another chunk of red left the body on his table, nimble fingers peeling back a layer of epithelia to trace the vessels that permeated it. They too had been contaminated, their walls glittering preciously in the sharp light. Steady hands held a syringe filled with water, letting it perfuse the artery before he gingerly collected it. A sample of blood for purification would be necessary as well. A pity the body had been left long enough that tracking the spread of energy would be useless through the crimson liquid, tissue damage would be the most reliant evidence.

Nothing remained of his past self, the parts that still clung to a desire for belonging, not satisfied by only the unity of ambition. It had been your eyes that revived it, looking upon him as if he held the sun in his palm and brought forth the dawn. As if he held all the secrets that would bring salvation.

Undoubtedly, you were one of the healthiest subjects to find themselves on his tables. And that was the justification he'd used that first time his hands had roamed the expanse of your skin, checking for any deformities and writing down scribbles on a sheet of parchment. It was both to placate your nervous mind, betrayed by the wobble in your lips and fidgeting hands, and to record your initial state, in case an opportunity to bring you back regularly and monitor any changes presented itself.

His fingers pushed inside, pliant flesh parting around his digits and swallowing them whole. It was a mesmerizing sight, his free hand twitching briefly before mindlessly wandering to unclasp his mask, as if the removal of it somehow made the wetness now coating his fingers glisten all the more. A shuddering breath passed his lips, forced out by the growing pressure in his chest as he remained unable to pry away his eyes. How utterly beautiful a sight it was. Unable to hold back, his fingers spread out to better stretch the opening, viscous liquid slowly oozing out as he engaged his other hand.

"a-ah I don't think that-"

"Good, keep it that way, there's no need for you to think. The more you squirm around, the longer this will take. Although, from the sounds you're making, it almost seems as though you are enjoying yourself?"

"No I'm.. Hurts.."

"Relax for me then."

Dottore had wondered since that day whether you were truly that clueless, or if you'd excuse yourself with the anxiety he'd seen choke your thoughts so often since. While he could grant you the benefit of doubt concerning the implications of his title, surely you'd know that a Harbinger had far more important obligations?

Entertaining whims had a habit of bringing more trouble than the brief euphoria indulgence could ever warrant. That had been his first mistake pertaining to you.

A flick of his wrist and the liver was easily removed, threads of adipose tissue clinging to the engorged mass as if unity would somehow save it. How tragically still it all was, the clockwork driving it forward had long since ceased operating, leaving only obsolete parts in the wake. The liver had been discolored, electro particles having seeped into the matter, it was made even more noticeable by the crisp white fabric it came to lay on. One of the segments could prepare biopsies from it, check if the energies had disrupted or otherwise changed the structures.

They already had an understanding of elemental overloading in organic matter, but it was a rare chance to observe internal damages caused by high loads over a short time rather than the prolonged use cases of their regular agents. Dottore had come to understand that no matter his insistence and want for knowledge, the soldiers wouldn't carry their dead with them, and he hardly had time to waste collecting material himself, no version of him did. Not with how close they were to their objective.

You had understood his desires and promised to try. The distaste had been palpable in the slight twitch of your eyes and wrinkled nose. It was the desire to try that fed his hunger. The silent promise of wanting not to understand, for how could you ever, but believing when he said the benefits were worth the hassle.

That he was worth the hassle.

Ah, how lovely you were. Keening moans and gasps of his name feeding into his budding obsession. The sounds had been enough to distract him from the churning feeling in his gut, barely able to handle how warm your insides had been, how tightly you squeezed his fingers. The feeling reminded him of reaching into a bed of roses, thorns puncturing his being and forcing his breath heavier.

It had been nothing but slow, languid movements, meant to explore and not fulfil, the sweet pleas that left your lips were simply a tacked on bonus. Dottore could only hope that you were left aching and wanting far more than him and that you hadn't seen how his cock had strained against the front of his pants, throbbing in tandem with your mewls. It was unbefitting.

"Two doors down the hall, on your right. You should fix your attire, it wouldn't do for a recruit to look as disheveled as that on their first day."

"I will, Lord Harbinger, and thank you… Did you fill out a form or something I should bring?"

"Consider this a preliminary inspection, the actual one will be done by a physician two doors down the hall."

How unfortunate that those The Mayor promised a better future were also the ones who would never see it come to fruition. They gave their lives, some more willingly than others, for a reward they could never reap. It had already caused a disease to run through Snezhnaya's people, unrest and distrust filling the veins of their nation instead of the wealth and prosperity they'd been assured would come. Dottore had found it most useful in handling you, a little taste of false certainty accompanied by the promise of power to protect yourself. Your gaze had rested upon him with nothing but devotion.

Another chunk left the body on his table, almost tossed aside without the faintest hint of grandeur, the heart was of no use to them This was far from his preferred medium, more durable constructions would always be at the forefront of his interest, yet there was still appreciation behind his mask at the delicacy. It had stopped the moment a flash of electro singed the nerves. He briefly wondered how its now blighted lifeblood would feel atop his tongue, would it prickle? Burn the roof of his mouth?

How he longed to taste yours again, feeling the tension in his jaw at the memory of biting a little too hard, that's what he'd called it anyway, an accident. In truth, he would not hesitate to drain your blood in seconds, the thought of your reliance on something apart from him made a feeling better left unidentified carve a path through his lungs, leaving the structures to collapse without air.

Every time his hands had touched you, tears had been rolling down your cheeks. How long before you learned that compliance was the logical path, that he wanted to gag every time his hands were forced to harm you?

Threats of missions far above your qualifications kept you in line for the most part, pliant enough that the restraints kept for livelier subjects rarely saw use.

Despite his best efforts to keep everything under wraps, Tartaglia had grinned brightly, not a care in the world when he'd approached, having the gall to simply barge in, to inquire about what promising new people he'd taken on. 'It had barely been a week' was what he argued, commenting how surely you must be something special to rouse The Doctor's interest so. Any reaction to his taunts would simply play into the ginger's hands, a game he was always surprised the young man knew how to play.

Something wet slid down his wrist, immediately drawing his attention back as he pulled his hands from the bloody mess. His lips curved downward, observing exactly where the edge of his glove had been pushed down, leaving the marred skin beneath vulnerable. With a huff, Dottore stepped away and discarded the gloves, letting cool water rinse away the icky feeling now writhing under his skin.

"Come now, Doc, why won't you let me have a friendly spar with you newest acquisition? It's so rare for you to take a special interest in anyone, surely you can understand why I'm curious?"

"That is exactly why. She shows promise, and I cannot have you breaking her prematurely."

"That's a promise then! When the time is right!"

"Get out, Tartaglia."

"I heard she's been coming in for regular 'inspections', you have to admit, that sounds a little unsavory. Does she actually think you're a real physician? Oh I know, tell her you studied medi-sin."

"That was an order. Out, now."

The water in Snezhnaya had an edge to it, as if pieces of glass were contained within. It left one feeling raw and aching despite no physical proof persisting. If it did, his hands would've been torn open days ago. There had been too many small mishaps lately, too many times he'd needed to cleanse himself after his mind had wandered. Despite how clearly the words echoed in his mind, no part of him would admit to their truth.

You'd done this to him. You'd instilled in him a weakness, a beast that wouldn't let him rest when you were gone.

A soft knock followed by the click of a lock behind him cleared his head in a flash, clean gloves swiftly tugged into place with newfound anticipation bubbling under his ribs. None of his segments knocked. No one else had a key. His body remained still, awaiting an announcement from the intruder, willing patience to persist even if the idea of feeling your skin under his uncovered palm was clawing at his muscles to move them.

"Doctor, I don't feel so good," weak and pitiful was the voice that reached his ears, it should've made him recoil.

Instead, Dottore found himself struggling to keep his movements languid, the image of a predator barely conserved in the slow turn of his head. He had no doubt you'd be scared if you could see how his eyes lingered upon your silhouette.

"You're making a bad habit of returning in a state of disrepair, there is only so much I can do to keep you patched together. Disrobe while I clear a table."

It would be a shame to discard the rest of the opened body already, there were still so many secrets to be pried from its cold grasp. Perhaps he could get you to-

No.

You would adamantly refuse, already he could sense the unease rolling off of you in waves at the putrid stench of death. Instead, the remains were wrapped tightly and brought to an adjacent room, the air misty from the cryo applicator installed inside, ensuring it could rest unaffected by decay while he tended the living.

A chuckle passed his lips upon seeing the way you were eyeing the metal surface as if it'd dissolve skin and bone. The sound alone was enough to stir your body, movements stiff as you sat on the edge. Such obedience was an admirable trait, one that would make the investment well worth it when he would one day enhance your form. He would. That's what he had to tell himself, even if the thought of peeling back your skin and rewiring everything inside was tied so intimately with an odd sense of loss.

"Finally…" his words had no real bite, only mild impatience.

Still, you hid yourself from his gaze, shoulders slumped and arms wrapped around your chest. As if he hadn't seen it all already. Dottore let himself take a moment to simply rake his eyes down the shapes constituting your body, careful to let none of the flames eating away at his insides show. Would you be able to discern it in his eyes should he discard the mask? Light fingers traced down the mock beak, briefly contemplating if he should let you try, it would be nothing but torture no matter what.

Being able to put a monstrous form to everything you'd heard about him, everything he'd done to you, it coiled in the pit of his stomach and upheaved anything on its way. He would never admit to being afraid, but the thought of being regarded with repulsion by you sent a shiver down his spine.

The injuries you'd sustained were minor, shallow and located at safe distances from anything vital. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to play a little, the table had already been cleared and he might as well take the break. Lips set in a scowl, his hands found your shoulders and pushed you back, already relishing in how perfectly the curvature fit against him, how little resistance there was in the movement. Made for him. That's what he would make of you. Scarlet lines had been drawn along your skin, urging his fingers to trail along the wetness.

"Do explain what, precisely, led to you looking like this," he kept his voice frigid for now, knowing how much more responsive the thought of having upset him made you.

"We were on our way back from taking care of-"

"I'm aware of your assignment, do not forget who signs off on your outings, give me the specifics."

A curious finger brushed over your hardened nipple, hearing the words catching in your throat.

"Treasure hoarders. I failed to block a strike and-" your body tensed as it wrung out the words.

"You failed to block a strike from such vermin?" He tutted, hand squeezing a little tighter around the soft flesh of your chest, seeing it spill out between his fingers, "That hardly warrants returning all cut and bruised, clearly, you lack the perseverance I thought I'd observed in you. Soon enough, you'll be nothing but nutrients for the wayside flora, is that what you'd like?"

Dottore wanted to laugh at your pitiful expression, a kicked puppy laying at his feet and wordlessly pleading for forgiveness, unknowing that it had already been granted. It was deliberate that you were never sent away far or for long, but there was no reason for you to know. Fear fostered obedience and your obedience was always pleasant, speeding up the process of cleaning the wounds you'd sustained with minimal squirming.

That didn't mean one hand wasn't constantly splayed over your sternum, pressing down to keep your body pinned. Already, a faint buzz was crawling along his bloodstream, months of conditioning catching up in the most frustrating manner as the front of his pants tightened. He had to swallow hard, forcing his fingers to relax before he left bruises. How would it look, he mused, if his nails could dig into your flesh? At the mere thought of those red crescent, a wave of heat washed over his body, accompanied by images of what other marks he could leave upon the canvas of your body.

Could he replicate and improve how pliant your thighs were under his grasp, would new vocal cords make sweeter sounds, added nerve endings would no doubt make for interesting results, if your muscles were synthetic the force they could exert would be greater meaning-

Not yet.

Dottore willed his focus to return, threading a needle as his disinterested voice rang out in the otherwise silent room.

"Do I need to strap you down?"

There was no need to look, knowing you were already oh so bravely shaking your head. An amused smile graced his lips upon seeing your teeth sink into the dirty uniform. Such foresight deserved praise, a small nod of his head accompanied by a finger rubbing along your collarbone in an almost soothing motion.

Having done it countless times before, the needle went effortlessly through your skin, thread pulling the flesh tightly together whenever he tugged. A hand kept returning to your no doubt soft locks of hair, carding through it and pushing back the urge to give a tug. The few tears that had fallen were swiftly brushed away by his fingers, the taste almost cloying upon his tongue.

Dottore sighed softly, tapping your side to get your attention back to the present, seeing your glassy eyes and the small shivers that ran down your body. He could already smell your arousal in the air, the scent growing in strength every time your hips shifted.

"That's it for now," his hand skimmed along your bare stomach, ending atop your sternum and keeping you down, "however, some of the lacerations appear to be in early stages of infection."

How he'd missed the little hitch of your breath, the stutter of your heart underneath his hand. Unceremoniously, Dottore put more weight into the hand, feeling your pulse echo throughout his own body and letting every beat slowly fill the gaping pit beneath his ribs with hollow promises.

There was no infection, of course, but he needed something to placate you before an injection. And the sedative would be invaluable. After weeks of being famished, there was no guarantee your comfort would be at the front of his mind, and it was so much more pleasant when you didn't struggle. Last time had bitterly taught him as much.

"But you can make me okay, right?" There was a sweet tremble to your voice, always so scared of death.

"The mere question is an insult to my abilities," he practically purred, excitement bubbling as his chosen objective for the day moved closer, "it'll just be a little prick and then you're safe. Now, sit up for me."

He'd already turned around, hands aching to return as he rummaged through a few drawers, eventually pulling out both a vial and syringe. Your body came into view reflected in the clear liquid, barely having sat up and already exploring the stitches.

All it for your eyes to lock on the syringe was two taps to the glass, unease so plainly written across your face while he pressed the plunger to clear excess air trapped inside.

His hand encircled your arm, tugging upwards and tutting at the grime that clung to you. With the syringe between his teeth, he wiped the area down, satisfaction flooding his system when goosebumps spread. It had been so long since he'd had you properly.

"There. Now, you need to stay here a little so I can ensure that there are no immediate adverse effects. The blanket is in the usual spot."

It would have been far more practical for you to put the uniform back on, but Dottore trusted that you'd follow his directions regardless and without fuss. When he caught the rattling of metal buckles, he wanted to laugh at your naivety, were you truly not accustomed enough by now to know what he wanted?

"I said; the blanket is in its usual spot," the icy sneer left his lips without a second thought, and oh how beautiful your widening eyes were.

"Well, I know, but it was just-" your voice was already a pitch higher, the irrational fear further irking him.

"Should I consider this insubordination?"

Already, Dottore had crossed the distance and wrapped a large hand around your jaw. It was no secret what happened to cross subordinates. He was well aware that your little slip hardly warranted this reaction, but it was difficult to hold back when the urge to sink his nails into your skin screamed and begged, fighting to drown out every other thought.

"N-no, please…"

It would be all too easy to squeeze a little tighter, hear the crack of your mandible as it would threaten to give out. His fingers stretched to move further up, pressing against the condylar processes, feeling around the joint as images of you with your jaw agape crashed over him.

Dottore knew how little force it took to break. And how a replacement could be crafted and implanted in less than a day, stronger and sturdier than what occupied the space now.

"Remember your place, and be thankful I don't leave you to wilt," the words were spat out with more disdain than anticipated, his fingers giving a last wanton squeeze before releasing your jaw.

With a small scoff, Dottore returned to one of the workbenches that lined the walls, feigning disinterest as his hands automatically began tinkering with the closest contraption, barely willing to divide enough attention to ensure it wasn't something that required further protective equipment for handling. Of course you'd know there were proper medics within the ranks, the most accessible ones located a few rooms away, but they couldn't offer what he did, and the reassurance that you always came back for him to lick your wounds with his barbed tongue, it was enough to pacify any frustrations with your brief moments of hesitation.

Five minutes of pretending to be distracted and Dottore found himself a little impatient.

Ten minutes and it had built to irritation, glassware scraping along the surfaces as he pushed it around, mindlessly 'reorganizing'.

By fifteen something would have been thrown were he a lesser being.

Sweet relief came at the quiet sound of your voice shattering the thick air, the words slurred as if you couldn't quite make out the correct shapes with your lips.

"Am I s'posed to feel tired?"

A small chuckle wormed it's way from his lungs, nonchalance fully restored now that he could turn to gaze upon your slumped body, fingers tightly clutching the fuzzy blanket that enveloped you in a flimsy haven.

"You've just returned after weeks in the field, having sustained injuries and all," Dottore spoke calmly, betraying none of his greed as he gestured to the trace remnants of blood on the table, "it is no wonder that exhaustion would begin to take hold now that you are safe."

The question was plainly written in your eyes, making Dottore incline his head in silent motion to continue, preemptively stepping closer to catch what would no doubt be a whisper.

"Should I go back to the barracks?"

"Would you prefer to go?"

You wouldn't be given the opportunity to go, of course not, but there was no need to be forceful when he could already see how valiantly you fought to keep your eyes open, how your body seemed drawn downwards. It couldn't be more than a few minutes now.

Irritation briefly sparked in Dottore's chest at the little shake of your head, it would've been far more fulfilling to hear you say it.

No attempt was made to make your way through the laboratory to reach the modest cot that stood tucked away in a corner, crates of supplies and projects on hold usually hiding it from view. How ethereal you looked, head lolled to the side and the blanket slowly slipping from your shoulders as a false slumber curled its gnarled limbs around you.

Whatever conclusions you mind would reach were of little consequence, the sedative would take care of that, countless tests indicating that it always left the recipient's memory riddled with inconsistencies, making it easy to dismiss any unpleasantries as imagined.

Dreams.

The risks associated with using the modified Akasha were still too great, even if the possibility of directly rewriting the barrier between truth and fantasy was a tempting one. This way would be more satisfying in the end, having had to put in a little work and flex muscles that had been allowed to atrophy since his days in The Akademiya.

Dottore showed extra care when he hoisted up your unconscious form, grip unyielding as he closed his eyes to revel in the weight against him. In a past that mattered little, others had sworn the ego he carried around was inflated enough to see him ascend in any way but the desired, perhaps this would've been enough of a tether to their reality. For this alone would he allow himself to be held down.

Perhaps things could have been different had that lone island in the sky not decided for his fate to be nothing but misery. Thus logic dictated that you too would be lost. A soft tremor reminded his fingers to relax, gently stroking over the crescents they'd left.

Your breath warmed him far more than it had any right to, coaxing forth memories of a soft summer breeze, rose petals velvety between his fingers as they were plucked from their stem and plummeted to their inevitable demise. And an inviting sound, bubbly and sweet that had, for just a night, filled his veins with the toxin your presence had reignited.

Having you clean would be preferable. The emergency shower would hardly be sufficient, not with how the filth seemed to have embedded itself in your skin. With you unconscious, there was no reason to school his expression, the notion only serving to exacerbate the scowl his face set in.

A soak would be easiest.

There was nothing pompous about the washroom attached to his quarters, and a pang of regret had the idea of bringing you to The Regrator's briefly surfacing. The sentiment didn't linger, an unwillingness to be indebted quickly reigning in the myriad of thoughts cluttering his mind in much the same way towels and clothes were currently strewn around the room.

It made a pretty picture, your body curled up against the side of the tub, a few rays of pale light slithering through the lone window to caress your face. A feeling that had never quite been within his grasp lingered in the rays of light, coaxing something painfully unfamiliar to tug at his shriveled heart.

Just a little longer before the tingling in his fingertips would be sated.

Quick work was made of disrobing himself, a watchful eye making sure your head remained above water. Dottore let a weary sigh hang in the otherwise empty silence, hating the hesitation that riddled his movements as his clothes fell to the floor. There was no reason to be reserved about the results of a life lived, the chances of you regaining consciousness would remain negligible for a while.

Finally settling with your weight in his lap was undoubtedly the closest to rapture Dottore had found himself. Arms securely around your midsection, your back flush against his heaving chest, had every uncertainty draining into the water.

Dutifully, one hand tore itself from your form to reach for a clean cloth, struggling for a moment before muscle memory took over, fingertips gracing the fabric without the need to tear his eyes from your parted lips. It was nothing short of tranquil, letting the cloth scrub away the remnants of your excursion with meticulous care.

Dottore saw how your skin turned red from the continued friction and consciously ignored it, some small voice wanting to rub it off completely and leave you a blank canvas.

He looked instead at his reflection in the water, vermillion stare drawn to its counterpart, noting briefly how it wasn't nearly as comfortable as being under your gaze.

At least his subconscious mind had the decency to have left the few areas he'd stitched together alone, not that they mattered in any practical sense, but you'd be distraught if they were gone when you woke. With time, would you be as broken as him?

Only once you'd been scrubbed clean were thoughts of his own desires acknowledged, cock throbbing against your back as soon as attention was diverted to the feeling. A small hiss mingled with the steam from the water, Dottore easily repositioning you to let his length slide between your thighs.

Already, satisfaction rumbled in his chest, vision engulfed by white for a moment upon repeating the soft motion of his hips. Your thighs easily gave way when tugged apart, body every bit as pliant as previously. Having made peace with his impatience long before, his lips were immediately descended upon the crook of your neck, stifling the groans that spilled forth as he aligned himself.

The water provided additional friction, a slight burn dancing against his sensitive tip upon breaching your tight entrance. Soap met his tongue, disgustingly sterile as it danced along his taste buds, only spurring him on to mouth at you with renewed vigor, desperate to taste the sweetness he knew lay buried underneath.

His hips snapped up as the familiar taste invaded his senses, eyes rolling back at the pleasure of being buried to the hilt. Had his faith been intact, a prayer to the archons for your silence would have tumbled from his lips. Warm droplets carved out paths alongside old scars, gathering at his chin before being caught in the soft locks of your hair. Dottore felt his skin crawl as traces of a pained howl bubbled in his throat, body trembling in time with every squeeze of your insides.

If time would remain forever frozen as the land just outside the walls perhaps everything would be more bearable then. Would it banish both the threat of separation and the burden of remaining what he'd made of himself in spite of reality?

Another sound crawled from his lungs, foreign and intrusive when it met his ears, wanton in a way that caused nothing but dissonance. Dottore curled his body around you, panting heavily against the nape of your neck as he sought out some form of relief, his muscles straining with the increased pace.

Stagnating would be of no use, pleasure was fleeting, worthless without contrast.

Dottore felt euphoria flood his system, spine tingling mercilessly as his sharp teeth tore into the pliant flesh beneath. It was a thoughtless action, driven only by the need to claim and consume, satisfying the desperate desire to be whole. Water sloshed against the edges with every rut of his hips, driving himself deeper into the warmth you so selflessly provided.

How much time had passed felt secondary, the only thing truly worth attention being the rapid tightening in his abdomen, pleasure steadily building with every movement. Seeking more, Dottore found his hands had moved down to grasp the curve of your hip, easily hoisting you up to twist your body around.

With a ferocity that should by all means have been concerning, his lips sought a home against yours, relishing in how they had already parted for him. A hand in your hair was all that was needed to stabilize your head enough that he could delude himself into thinking you awake.

That the little puffs of air that passed into his waiting jaws were instead keens and broken moans spilling forth. His tongue pushed into the waiting heat, wanting if he could to explore deeper, have your throat squeeze around his tongue as your body did his cock. Before he could hesitate, the curve of your nape rested in his calloused palm, the appendage twitching with budding excitement.

A light press was all his mind would allow, knowing all too well how little it would take to snap such a precious thing. As intoxicating as holding the fate of another in his hands were, this was wrong, without reason.

It was the way your thighs quivered around his hips that brought order to all those thoughts, tugging your head away for a breath of fresh air to stifle his burning lungs. Only a single breath afforded, diving back in for more as all else lost meaning. He needed more, needed to hear you beg him, needed your hands to tug at his hair, needed-

Water splashed over the edges as he pushed forward, hands grasping for the back of your knees to push them against your chest. His chest heaved at the sight underneath him, growling like a wounded animal as he reaped what he'd cultivated, one hand keeping a leg pinned while the other covered your nose and mouth.

He was so close.

Close enough that every clench of your slick heat choked his thoughts. Close enough that he threw back his head, willing the image of your eyes briefly opening from his mind, focusing instead on the water soothing his burning skin as he gave a last few thrusts, cursing as the thread snapped and released washed over him.

It would've been no surprise if the tub had cracked from the force, even less if you had cracked, his body still shaking from the force of his release, milky white leaking out into the water and dispersing. Your body was swiftly pulled above the surface as Dottore sat back, once more cradling your head to his chest, trying to ignore the emptiness that wanted to force itself along the clarity that came in the wake of euphoria.

He laid your no doubt exhausted frame onto the cot, hastily tossing the grey blanket over your form. The harsh light of the laboratory did little to hide the marks that littered your body, blooming purple along your thighs, fierce red at your shoulders, already tempting him to reach out and touch again. It was a matter of creating distance, unwilling to let attachment fester and consume more, already now the gnawing had returned, weaker than before but far from sated.

By all means, he should've swung the door shut with more force, knowing at the back of his mind that the lock never clicked. It did nothing to stop his body from collapsing onto his unmade bed, pushing at the covers before crawling further up. He didn't find himself opposed to having you drape yourself against his body, rest in his arms.

Would you seek him out by yourself once the sedative wore off?

Would that finally stave off his hunger?

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firefirefruit · 8 months

Text

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Twenty-Four

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Twenty-Four: You Want to Come Over and Touch Me, Too?

Swallowing hard, you face Law’s burning gaze with a pretence of hot-headedness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you respond, narrowing your brown eyes into a feline glare.

What with Bepo’s word against yours, you’re aware that lying would be an incredibly weak attempt at brushing off Law’s accusation; regardless, with a sense of overcoming pressure washing over you, you’re willing to say anything but admit to a confession.

As expected, Law scoffs at you hugely. He pulls his arms into a tighter cross. “Really? You’re trying out that tactic with me?”

And for the next few moments, you’re locked in a combative, narrow-eyed staring contest with one another.

Leave it alone, your eyes say as they slope further into more threatening slits.

Law’s eyebrow’s twitch bemusedly. I don’t think so, they counter.

CLANG!

The resounding crash of metal against metal reverberates through the crow’s nest like a war cry, prompting you to whirl around, your senses honing in on the source of the disruption. There stands Zoro, towering like a behemoth, his grip on the weights loosened deliberately to create the cacophony.

Your eyebrow arches with scepticism, a silent question hanging in the air. Zoro's response? A nonchalant shrug that screams anything but nonchalance, accompanied by a sardonic grunt that could rival the roar of a disgruntled bear.

"Oops," Zoro deadpans, the word dripping with sarcasm so thick you could cut it with one of his swords.

Rolling your eyes at the dramatic gesture, you turn back to Law, your arm quickly thrown out in his face.

“Pretend to examine my arm and I’ll talk.”

As Law's inked fingers grasp at your skin, you can't help but flinch slightly at his cold touch, albeit his handling is soft and gentle. But instead of merely feigning his examination, as you had half-expected, it becomes evident that Law is taking his task quite seriously. His demeanour shifts from bemusement to intense focus, his brow furrowing as he meticulously examines your arm.

You swallow, your throat suddenly feeling like it’s swelled up to twice its size. “What I’m about to say stays between us and Bepo, understood?”

Law pauses his examination, his gaze lifting from your arm to meet your eyes. There's a spark of curiosity across his countenance as he gives you a singular nod.

"Understood," he replies evenly, his voice low and hushed. "But firstly, why are you hiding yourself from your own crew?”

You pick up the Uchiko ball that softly drapes itself over the Enma. Like a lover holding onto its source of dear respite, it reluctantly rolls away into your fingertips – fingertips that twirl with such effortless precision, you could mistake them for a horologist’s.

You sigh, frowning at the powder ball - as though this little tool has been your main source of trouble from the very start.

“Because, if word gets out about my identity, then I’m a danger to all of those who I care for. If I tell the crew, there’s a chance it could accidentally be spread to others. That not only some mysterious force wants me, but also that a former Wano hotshot, related to Oden, has left the country and has a 'free snatching for all!' sign written on her head.”

Law’s dark eyes are lowered as he wipes your arm with an antiseptic, a needle laying idly in one of his medical kits. “So, people are after you.”

You nod, now touching the Enma by her hilt. Newly leathered and greased, she’s ready to go back to her owner. You dab the ball on her sharp edge, powder releasing across its shimmering surface.

“I have no idea what all these fuckers want from me. Random outlaws, the CP-0 and now…creatures that I never knew existed until...” You choke out the last part heavily, biting on your lower lip hard to stop yourself from tearing up. “That’s how…Suki was taken.”

Law snaps his head up to you. “Kozuki Sukiyaki? By who?”

You furiously shake your head, feeling the burn in your other hand slice through you as you experience the pain of losing your Gramps all over again. “Something…It swallowed him whole like some fucking jelly. It sucked the life out of everything it touched. I-I can’t get it out of my head.”

Law stares at you gravely, his cold fingers tightening over your wrist almost imperceptibly. His tone is serious now – almost demanding – as he proceeds to question you through gritted teeth.

“What did it look like?”

You look back down at him, something clicking in place for you, too. Law must know something about it - must have experienced something similar.

You answer with only one heavy word, the tip of your tongue burning in resentment for the shadowed being. You breathe it out, choking on its taste, its gel-like macabre invading your vision once more.

“Eyeballs.”

Law's expression shifts incredibly into a sort of contained fury. His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing his features.

"Eyeballs," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. The air lays thick as the shadowed body itself – translucent and unbreathable - as he processes your words, his eyes holding a type of withered rage within them.

CLANG!

The sharp clang of metal reverberates through the crow’s nest yet again, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade slicing through cloth. Startled, you and Law both turn towards the source of the disturbance, your gazes locking onto Zoro, who stands amidst the weightlifting equipment, his expression unreadable but his body language speaking volumes.

"What now?" you mutter under your breath, irritation lacing your words as you eye the swordsman, who seems determined to disrupt your conversation with Law.

With a casual shrug that belies the underlying tension, Zoro meets your gaze head-on, his demeanour challenging. It's as if he's daring you to confront him, to question his motives for disrupting your discussion.

You exchange a quick glance with Law, who remains stoically observant, his gaze flickering between you and Zoro with a hint of intrigue.

With a grumbling sigh, you turn back to Law, silently urging him to continue the conversation despite the Bull-Head’s intrusion; there are matters that need addressing, and you refuse to let Zoro's antics derail your focus.

Law's gaze remains fixed on Zoro for a moment longer before he turns his attention back to you, his expression guarded. For a moment, there's silence between the two of you, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air.

Then, without a word, Law begins to open a freshly packaged needle.

"I've encountered them before," he finally admits, his voice low and tinged with bitterness. "Penguin - one of my crewmates… he was taken. Before your Captain rammed into us, we were trying to find him.”

You feel your heart thrumming on the tip of your tongue. “Why him?”

“I don’t know yet. I think they mistook him for me, as ridiculous as that sounds,” he says between gritted teeth. He nudges his head to your skin. “Did this happen after Kozuki-ya was taken?”

You give a terse nod.

“Then that’s one problem crossed out; the trauma of Eyeballs has triggered the transformation. But what I’m more curious about is whether your transformation would have happened regardless. Is this inherited or was it done by an external factor?” he mutters the last sentence more to himself than anything.

He runs his inked fingers across your arm, tracing the blackened and iridescent blue veins of your skin ever so lightly, ever so softly, that your stomach uncontrollably drops in response.

CLANG! TWANG! CLANG! CRASH!

Your frustration bubbles to the surface as you whirl around again, expecting to find Zoro once more amidst the weightlifting equipment.

Sure enough, there he stands, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the room as he eyes you and Law with an unreadable expression. But this time, there's a subtle shift in his demeanour, a tension that thrums beneath the surface as his gaze locks onto Law's hand gently caressing your arm.

You raise your eyebrows at Zoro, your eyes completely dead-panned.

“You want to come over here and touch me, too?” you call out.

Zoro's expression flickers with a mixture of surprise and annoyance at your blunt remark. He opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out, his usual retort lost in the face of your bold challenge.

Meanwhile, there's a small smirk on Law’s mouth as he watches the events unfold like some sort of referee.

And before Bull-Head finally finds his voice, you brazenly interrupt him with a sarcastic smile and a dramatic flick of a switch.

The unused walls that partition the floor of the gym and the workshop now groan from its wake, slowly rising to its now-welcomed intrusion. With the last few glares that you receive from the samurai, you dramatically wave back at him with a devious cock to your head.

As the mechanical walls shudder in its succession, you turn back to Law with a satisfied smirk. In response, Law watches you with amusement twinkling in his eyes, clearly entertained by your bold maneuver to ensure privacy for your conversation.

And finally, the rumbling stops, the barriers are in its full splendour, and you can now go back to business.

"Well, that takes care of that," you remark, crossing your arms and leaning against one of the now-closed walls. "Now, where were we?"

Law flicks up a needle in his hand. “You okay if I take some of your blood with me?”

“You creep me out, Trafalgar,” you mutter, giving him a heavy side-eye. Alas, Law stares at you with a pointed look, waiting for you to give your actual consent; in reply, you smile at him a little, thrusting your hand out. “Go for it, doc.”

As the needle gently finds its way into your skin, you silently watch Law draw your blood with a sense of ease and nonchalance, as if he’s done this a million times – good, you think to yourself. You were a little worried that he was lying about his profession for a second.

Law decides to suddenly break the silence whilst idly watching your blood seep into the vial's reservoir.

“I hope you know that we’ve been to Wano. Your crew have met people you’ve probably not seen for a decade.”

Your heart stammers incredibly hard in your chest from his sudden comment, the realisation of his words slamming into you like a ton of bricks. You have not heard about Wano since you left - nor did you ever want to. But the fact that your crew has now seen and met the people that you have not even…

It scares you.

Because - what do they know?

Because - what has happened since you were gone?

But - should you care? You've revoked your title and all that comes with it to receive a legal grant to leave the country. You are basically a stranger to your home, now – a home you absolutely despised, if that soothes any discomfort that lays within your chest. But you can’t lie that you miss the peace. And the people. Well, some of them, at least.

Law looks at you suspiciously, realising that maybe you haven't known about this particular fact until now. He flickers his focus back to the needle in his hand. “I heavily advise you to read through one of their logbooks.”

You swallow, tilting your head to the side. “I don’t want to.”

“You have to,” he responds instantly, a firmness lingering in his tone. “Trust me.”

You pretend to ignore his insistence by turning to the Enma. With a bitten-back lip, you thoughtfully polish the Enma with your other hand, gently puffing the ball on the different areas of her body.

Law takes notice of the sword in your grasp whilst he gently removes the needle from your arm . He slightly purses his lips, pondering amidst the awkward silence on whether it’s a good idea to bring that matter up or not.

Finally, he sighs. He points to the Enma that lays in your hand.

“I can’t believe I’m asking you this, swordsmith, but where do you think Zoro-ya got that from?”

Surprised, you look up at him – and for the first time in the conversation, your voice doesn't come out so self-assured. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Well, we don’t really have that kind of friendship. I-I just assumed someone illegally smuggled it out of Wano, and he found it somewhere.”

“Well,” Law says as he shifts himself off from the mahogany stool. He sweeps off his equipment from the table. “Maybe you should ask.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m…going to see Mugiwara-ya. To form…another alliance.” He chokes out the last word with a withered sigh, irritation colouring his face like you’ve never seen before. He looks down at you, his jaw clenched. “It seems that we both have a common objective to reach. It would be easier for Tony-ya and I to work together on your arm, too - I would like to document it for future purposes.”

“Hang on - what about Kikoku? Our deal?” You splutter out, vindictively narrowing your eyes at him.

He offers you a rare smile. “Keep it. I’ll come back in a few hours, anyway.”

And as he beelines to the barrier’s door, you can’t help but voice out one last lingering thought.

“Can I ask you one last question?” You call out.

Law silently turns around, leaning himself against the wall. A silent ‘go ahead,' if anything.

You breathe in deeply. “What was my tell? The one that revealed my identity?”

And immediately, Law's lips find its way into a devious smirk as he meets your gaze, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He pauses for a moment, considering his response, before finally answering.

"Let's just say, it was what you said - and also how you said it," he replies, his smirk widening ever so slightly.

And with that enigmatic statement hanging in the air, Law takes his leave, striding confidently out of the room and – quite intentionally – leaving the door between the gym and the workshop hanging wide open. You watch him go, his departure leaving you with more questions than answers.

As you ponder over Law's words, Enma laying loosely within your fingertips, your thoughts are instantly interrupted by the thrum of demanding footsteps.

Turning towards the noise, your eyes lock with his, his imposing figure drawing closer with each step. His wet green hair glistens in the light, and his gaze is sharp as it meets yours.

Zoro's approach is slow and deliberate, his movements fluid and purposeful like a predator stalking its prey. With each step, his presence looms larger, casting a shadow over the room that seems to swallow everything in its path.

With a raise of your eyebrow, you watch him take his place in front of you, leaning his side against the workshop table. He runs his glistening, calloused hands through a damp cloth, his darkening grey eye never leaving yours. You stare up at the lion, the predator that's now silently observing you, as his rumbling voice departs from the tip of his tongue.

“You’re telling me everything,” he lowly demands, sprawling himself on the mahogany stool.

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unironicallytes · 3 months

Text

Dear Brother: Overall Supplemental Lore

Domitius' Vow

[Below is an in-universe Familial Padomaist fable, used to explain the role of vampires within the Dark Brotherhood.]

It is said that in the Brotherhood’s early days, there lived the pious assassin Domitius, whose heart was ever-blackened and whose hands were always bloodied. Domitius toiled away to ferry souls to the Void throughout his life, and his own time finally arrived when he failed to best a target in combat. Domitius fought valiantly, but accepted his demise with humility and acceptance. “Alas, though I cannot deliver this soul to my Father, it is fated that mine go in their stead - it is a blessing to have lived a life in devotion and received my end,” he thought, as his target prepared the final blow. But amidst the struggle, their flowing blood mixed, and Domitius became infected with something unnatural as he passed into Void’s embrace. When he arrived at the threshold of his final home, Domitius could sense something was wrong. For he remained suspended just above the Nothing Behind The World, hung from his chest by a painful and stubborn hook whose other end remained Anchored in existence. He found his soul had become like oil, whereas the Void was like water. He could not break apart into the swirling abyss no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much the Void lapped at his edges to erode him. In agony, he cried out unto Sithis: “Oh, Dread Father! I have come home to thee, but something holds me in place, has cursed me with everlasting form! I pray thee, wouldst thou cut me from it, so I may rest with my Family below?” Sithis, an ever-watchful parent, heard his child’s cry and drew near. He pulled a shape from the eternal nothing with which to greet Domitius: he stretched skin and sinew across many rattling bones, grew endlessly deep eyes, and split into a gaping snake maw. His voice was the sound of rushing wind through deep caverns, of floodwaters overwhelming a dam. “My child, why dost thou cry out so?” Sithis asked. But before Domitius could answer, Sithis could see what the problem was. Something Anchored his child, and would not let the Nothing consume the soul properly. He moved yet closer to examine, but then recoiled. “Vile coagulant of Bal! Not yet dead, but no longer alive - trapped between! A Schemer plays such foul tricks on my children!” Sithis lamented. He could not yet cut Domitius free, for the tether repelled his Void. He reassured his poor child as best as he could. “Though thou art afflicted with stagnation, thou remain my son, and I carry love for thee. Thou must go forth again, but as Undead. When thy befouled Anchor rusts and weakens once more, I shall sunder thy soul properly. But rest assured, child; no Daedra can keep thee from my grasp for long. Thou shalt find no restless eternity in Coldharbour so long as thou honors my name.” Domitius became invigorated in spite of such sad news. “Then I go with thy blessing, Dread Father. I will take this affliction and turn it to a Dark Gift instead, with which I shall spill blood for thee. I will only share this Dark Gift with those who are worthy. I vow to return one day.” Sithis was proud. He lifted Domitius with many hands and placed him back into the world. And Domitius did as he said he would do: with the Dark Gift, he worshiped and taught for centuries longer; and he only bestowed the same Gift to Siblings who understood the responsible use of such a tool. To possess the Dark Gift was not a gift to oneself, but a gift to Family still living. It was a selfless postponement of one's final rest to instead remain committed in unholy service. The time came for Domitius to return home a second time. He bade his Listener to plunge Blade of Woe into his chest. When Domitius fell into the Void again, Sithis did as he said he would do: he broke apart the Anchor's chain, then lovingly dismantled his child’s soul, allowing it to dissolve freely into Nothing with him. And so, as it is said - vampires and other such anomalies have been bestowed a serious responsibility. One must use their Dark Gift wisely and in service to Sithis. Do not let temptation for permanence cause you to falter, for you must never forget where your true home lay.

#dear brother #dark brotherhood #sithis #tes #the elder scrolls #tesblr #worldbuilding #original lore #my art #my writing #i be posting my shit at ass in the morning as per usual #thats the sithis hour tbh my siblings

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oniku-niku · 2 years

Photo

You were busy running around the studio trying to clean everything up for when the others came by. Just as you put the drill back on its rightful hook, someone came through the door.

“Yoho~, (Y/n)! How’ve ya been doin’, babe?” the familiar voice of Hatsume Mei rang out. She slung an arm over your shoulders in a side hug before going to check out the stuff you’ve been working on.

“Hatsume! I haven’t seen you in so long! I’ve been doing okay, just working on one of the machines for the training grounds.” you greeted her.

“I’ve been meaning to drop by! But you know class 1A and thirst for destroying their gear. Keeps me so busy.” she sighed. You rolled your eyes playfully before nodding along.

“Don’t I know it. You want to help me finish up these last pieces?” she enthusiastically nodded at the offer and picked up one of the wrenches.

“So get this. One of the students that were assigned to me had to drop out!” Your eyes widened as you two were twisting on the bolts.

“Yeah! He got so cocky about his skills that he ended up assaulting someone for beating him during the training exams. It was crazy, they had to have security drag him AND his family out after they threw a fit in principal Nezu’s office.”

“No way, so you’re one person short?” You asked, screwing on the last bolt. She nodded before standing up to admire the work.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind, I think they’re trying to work something else out for me. Hey, I can bring this baby down to the grounds for you, it’s on my way back to my dorm before I leave.” she offered.

“You’d do that? Yes, please, thank you so much!” you thanked her as she grinned. Her arms easily lifted the machine onto a platform cart and wheeling it out of the studio with one last wave to you before she was gone.

You were just wiping the grease off your face just as someone else walked through the doors.

“Oi, Nerd.” That gruff, rude, greeting could only belong to the one person you were avoiding all week. You turned around to see Katsuki standing there as the doors swung behind him. His hands were buried in his pockets as he stared at you. You hated to admit it but you missed his stupid annoyed face. You missed talking to him, and you hated how, even after getting into a little fight with him, he still made butterflies swarm your stomach at just the sight of him standing there looking back at you.

Your eyes lingered on his form before they caught the movement beside him. There stood who you could only assume was Fumi. Her eyes were taking in your figure, looking you up and down as a way for her to make out who you were. You noticed one of her eyebrows quirk up as if she was scoffing at you as she unhooked her arm from Katsuki’s.

“Hi! I’m Fumi! It’s nice to meet you!” she greeted cheerfully, but there was an edge in her voice and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Oh, hi. I’m-”

“(Y/n), I know. I’ve heard a lot about you.” she cut you off as she looked around the studio. She grimaced as her eyes ran over the tools resting on the wall and the black soot in spots where machines have failed a few times.

“Tch. I’m not here to make conversation. Can I have my stuff now?” Bakugou asked. You quietly went over to where his gear was kept and took it back over to him. He examined it upon getting a hold of it.

“Are there any new additions that I should know about?” he grumbled, looking at the spots where he damaged to see it was fixed like new.

“Nope. Just fixed the stuff you said to.” you quickly responded, not wanting to meet his eyes as the last conversation you two had ran through your mind. He doesn’t consider you as a friend apparently. There were so many thoughts running through your head and none of them were helping the situation.

“That’s a first. Well, I got what I needed, let’s go Fumi.” he cast a last look, hoping to meet your eyes (though you didn’t know, you were looking at everything but him). His hand went to grab Fumi’s as a last resort of getting a reaction out of you, but his shoulders fell when you didn’t. The two made their way from the studio, Fumi shooting you a last glance before she moved herself even closer to him as if to tell you to lay off. Even if she was trying to glare at you, you didn’t want to think that she had bad intentions, you barely knew her. She might be a good person for him anyway, who knows.

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blackjackkent · 5 months

Text

As Rakha slowly comes back to herself in the wake of the zaith'isk explosion, she is dimly aware that the ghustil is screaming with rage.

"SHKA'KETH!"

And then Lae'zel's answering scream, shakier and weaker than usual and trembling with fury. "What madness is this? The zaith'isk nearly destroyed me! I AM GITHYANKI! I WILL NOT BE GHAIK!"

"My life's work. Gone..." the ghustil whispers hoarsely as Rakha clambers unsteadily to her feet. The doctor seems barely to notice Lae'zel's pain or her anger - her attention is all for the shattered piece of machinery at their feet.

She rounds suddenly on them, her eyes fixing on Lae'zel with sudden intensity. "And yet she lives - and so does her parasite."

Narrator: [INSIGHT] Her voice cuts with a fanatical edge - an obsession bordering on mania. If there's a chance the parasite lives, she wants it.

It's not hard to guess the doctor's thoughts. She knew the machine would kill. Her concern was never for Lae'zel or Rakha's survival - only for what she might learn. And now that disinterest is colored by rage.

She has betrayed them, and because her betrayal failed, she is dangerous.

Pathetic creature, says the beast in Rakha's head. We will do as we promised. We will tear out your throat.

"Your zaith'isk tried to kill Lae'zel," she says, her voice cold as ice. "And failed."

At her side, Wyll shifts uncomfortably. He knows that tone. So does Shadowheart, although she seems to be only half-listening; her eyes are fixed on Lae'zel, a bit of healing magic drifting from her fingertips but unspent, as she has nowhere to direct it. The damage done here lies within.

"The zaith'isk does not fail," the doctor hisses angrily. "The only variable in this experience was you - and your parasite! And I will uncover how this happened."

She is as hot as Rakha is cold - incandescent with fury at her neat little plan falling to pieces. Rakha almost reaches out and takes her by the throat then and there, but before she can do so, the doctor pushes past her and out into the hallway. "Wait here. I will gather my tools."

And then she's gone, and they are left alone with the smoking ruins of the zaith'isk and Lae'zel's cry of abject despair.

"No. It can't be. It can't! THIS WAS MY RIGHT!"

----

Rakha does not expect Lae'zel to want to speak to her. The tension between them has been harsh and cold for a week or more now, and all by Lae'zel's choice; Rakha has no reason to expect a conversation in the wake of such terrible disappointment would go well. So she says nothing, but moves over to examine the empty husk of the deadly machine.

To her surprise, though, Lae'zel stands beside her and speaks in a low mutter.

"I followed protocol," she says hoarsely. "I kept to my faith. Yet the zaith'isk might have killed me."

It is a plea for comfort, reassurance, understanding. Rakha says nothing. What can she say? This was the plan from the beginning, a plan based on Lae'zel's absolute, unshakable confidence - and the plan did not work. There is no cleansing to be had here. The worms still sit in their skulls.

Receiving no response, Lae'zel stares down balefully at the remains of the machine and then scowls tightly, fumbling for an explanation. "The ghustil tampered with it. Traitor - and there may be more still! This must be why the Inquisitor's come."

Rakha can hear shades of her own manner of speech in Lae'zel's words in this moment of strain - the accumulation of fact and fact and fact. It would be touching, perhaps, in some other scenario where the young gith's conclusion was not utterly wrong.

"The zaith'isk is supposed to kill you," she says flatly. "I saw it for myself."

"A deception," Lae'zel snaps. "Proof of the doctor's manipulations. The queen does not mislead Gith's children!" She turns away sharply. "Now hurry. We must go to the ch'r'ai and inform him of the doctor's sedition."

Rakha watches her go with an unreadable expression. She wants to believe, even now, that Lae'zel could be right, that this was a traitorous act by the doctor that could not have been anticipated. But deep down, she knows it is not true. Lae'zel was wrong. They have always been walking towards a death trap, because Lae'zel believed things that were not true.

What other wrong things has Rakha believed because of Lae'zel's confidence? Has she also been wrong to trust Wyll? To trust Karlach?

Rage simmers in her chest, undirected, formless - a rage born of humiliation and pain and deep fear mixing with the beast's everpresent hunger. The doctor dies first. And then we will speak to this Inquisitor. And if I am right, and this place was always a trap, then Y'llek's halls will run red with its own blood.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #oh dear lol #will be interesting to see how/if rakha and lae'zel's friendship survives this whole situation #for now i must sleep #(poor lae'zel. she wasn't really close with hector at this point but at least he was a bit more stable and willing to listen)#(rakha is not exactly a good person to have in your corner in a moment of emotional upheaval)#(yet at least)

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alumort · 2 months

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ao3

finally the gnc girl neji fic people(one friend) asked me for

His whole body hurt, and his eyes were glued together– at first, Neji wanted to continue sleeping, though his hunger was worse than his tiredness. No matter how much he tried to rest once more, his rumbling stomach refused to cease its sounds, not allowing him to remain asleep at all.

He felt as if his stomach had been completely empty for a while, as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks or longer. It was hard to ignore, much less when a familiar presence was beside him in silence, holding his hand and caressing it without thinking; the brunet couldn’t help it but entwine his fingers with them, not wanting to let go by mere instinct, hearing a surprised gasp in response.

“Darling? Are you awake?” the other person mumbled after mere seconds, not wanting to startle him too much.

Only then was Neji able to open one eye, then the other, finding a worried Lee sitting down beside his hospital bed– in one of those uncomfortable chairs the facility had, with darkness underneath his gaze. Who knew for how many days (or even weeks) had he been awake for? Just… waiting for the brunet to wake up once more, not taking care of himself at all.

“L… love,” he muttered, noticing that his boyfriend stirred up upon hearing his voice, getting closer to him with trembling lips. A gentle hand accommodated his unkempt hair, letting him continue talking in the meanwhile. “What… what happened?”

“The war, you– you almost died, Neji. But you are safe, and– you just need to recover, dearest… you are alive.”

Lee's eyes were glassy with tears, and he seemed to be comforting himself with his last mumbles. Neji could barely move due to pain, yet he made an attempt to extend an arm towards his partner, who realized his intentions and carefully embraced him in silence– sobs could be heard every now and then, to which the brunet just began to play with Lee's overgrown bowl cut, still too weak to say or do anything apart from that.

At one point, his partner fell asleep on his arms, finally calm after seeing Neji awake and well once more. Reassured that he was safe and everything would be alright at last, knowing well the brunet wouldn't remain asleep for the rest of their years.

He gently kissed Lee's forehead and kept caressing his hair, not wanting to bother him in the slightest– he had been worried sick for who knows how long already, and he didn't want to startle his beloved just because. Not even the nurse woke him up, already remembering the taijutsu master’s face due to all his visits, knowing well how little he had probably slept during the length of Neji’s coma.

They would need to catch up later, and a long time would pass for him to recover– so he just yawned and snuggled with his boyfriend, not wanting to worry about anything else for a while. He knew that Tsunade herself would go visit him at some point, wanting to make sure everything went smoothly after recovering consciousness…

And so she did, a couple of hours after he had woken up, opening the door startling both boys at the same time, though they didn’t let go of each other at any moment. The woman chuckled at seeing them being so close, yet she made no comments about it.

“You'll be seeing me for a long time, kid. For now, I need to examine you,” Tsunade began to say, grabbing her tools and paper to write some notes before getting closer, giving the brunet some time to prepare himself mentally.

Lee had to help him slowly sit on the edge of his mattress, smiling at him every moment– he knew exactly how much Neji hated doctors in general, much less when a physical exam had to be done. At least the ex Hokage knew better than to pry, giving him time and space to remove his shirt to listen to his heart and lungs better, never making any kind of comments about his chest. Using her chakra to mend anything that could be wrong inside of his body, not wanting him to go through more exams with unknown people.

She was nicer than most doctors, that couldn't be denied– still Neji looked towards his boyfriend, who hummed and caressed his hair in an attempt to distract his mind. Always staring into his eyes with the warmest smile on his face, kissing his (now blank) forehead once everything was done.

“You're lucky as hell, Neji. Your organs healed better than expected, and I'm sure you'll be back to normal in no time!” Tsunade informed them with a grin, and the brunet just nodded in response. “Just… you'll need to learn how to work without your Byakugan. But don't worry about that– rest. Tomorrow, we'll start to help you recover some strength in your legs.”

“Thank you, Lady Hokage– Lady Tsunade,” Neji replied, correcting himself almost immediately after realizing his mistake, which only made the woman chuckle in response.

“I'll leave you lovebirds alone now. Just call the nurse if you need anything.”

They both blushed upon hearing her words, but she wasn’t wrong– although the brunet did his best to keep their relationship a secret, it was as obvious as the sky if someone paid enough attention. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case with his uncle, so nothing bad had ever happened to either Lee or him.

Now that the seal had been erased from his skin, nothing could hold his love for his boyfriend back– not even Hiashi himself, no matter how much he would certainly complain. He still wasn’t happy by letting him live as a man, and still treated Neji as if he was still a little girl

He wouldn’t give him a single warning before leaving the Hyuga compound just to never return. Lee had been the one to suggest moving in together after the war, before he became severely wounded– would his partner remember a promise made between the short naps they had in the battlefield, or…?

“Lady Tsunade is really respectful,” Lee commented out of a sudden, letting out a soft smile after helping his partner lay down again. Neji yawned and extended a hand towards the other boy, who grabbed it before continuing. “When she helped me with my spine, she never questioned me– other doctors kept misgendering me, but she never did.”

He couldn't help it but hum contently, closing one eye then the other, already tired from getting up for long; his energy was low, though it'd only get better with time. So for now Neji had to follow Tsunade's advice, getting comfortable on his mattress to try and rest for a while, knowing well his body would hurt like hell the following days. Or weeks…

He woke up when the nurse brought him breakfast, and his room was completely empty apart from her presence; she had a huge grin on her face upon seeing him looking up at her eyes, and wasted no time in bringing him his plate.

Neji didn't trust her wide smile, or her playful voice, but he preferred not to say anything unless necessary. He didn't want to cause a fuss just because.

“I got some jelly for today! You'll need to eat soft foods before getting anything solid, and then you'll be back to kunoichi tasks in no time, Hikari,” was the first thing that the woman had said, and he just rolled his eyes. “What? Aren't you excited to work again?”

“It's Neji, not Hikari. I'm not a girl,” was all he said, knowing well that hell might unleash on him just by correcting her– that was exactly why he hated doctors almost as much as he hated his uncle. He could see disgust showing on the nurse’s face, even if she hid it immediately after behind a grin.

“Well, that's what your papers say. You're not a boy for me until your documents say otherwise.”

After so many years, Neji didn't even react, remaining in silence while he ate. It wasn't worth it to fight back, much less when he was so weak in both body and mind.

Somehow, it hurted more to hear his old name than anything else, but he didn't want to think too hard about it– he tried to focus his mind on nice things, already missing his boyfriend's soothing presence beside him.

Although he would’ve loved Lee to remain beside him for a bit longer, his boyfriend was still a ninja– he had to go on missions and help rebuild parts of the village as needed, and train for the upcoming Jounin exams. There was a lot on his hands… for now, the brunet would enjoy these scattered occasions in which the other boy could visit, cuddling against medical advice.

After he was done with his food, Neji found himself alone for the first time since waking up, observing a fresh bouquet of sunflowers and roses on his nightstand. Notes from his team and his other friends were neatly folded close to the flowers, all wishing him a speedy recovery.

A soft smile appeared on his face upon seeing everything, covering the anger that came due to the nurse from earlier that day, and he read every letter to distract himself further– though a particular thing was still on his mind: he didn't feel angry at being treated like a girl, but at being called by his old name.

If it had happened before, Neji would've snapped even more in complete disgust– though it didn't feel wrong to refer to himself as a boy, or hear himself being referred to as a girl.

Gender was complicated as hell, and the seed of doubt was now buried deep into his heart; he had known his whole life that he was Neji and nothing else, and his father had been the first person to support him, but now…

He never liked being a girl, just by seeing how other Side Branch members and his little cousins were treated for it– it was torture, while boys had it easy in comparison. Or so it seemed in his young gaze.

Neji had some time to figure it out, away from the Hyuga compound and protected by Tsunade in the hospital; he only needed to focus on walking once more, ignoring his pain and difficulty in the meanwhile with the help of physical therapy and the fifth Hokage.

It would be alright. And he had many people who would support him no matter what, even if he didn't want to talk about his realization just yet. A secret only known for his mind and soul, growing with every passing day in the monotone pale walls of his room.

#nejilee #leeneji #neji hyuga #rock lee #naruto #naruto shippuden #gender non conforming

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fuedalreesespieces · 5 months

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kagkik wip

wip!! idk where exactly I was supposed to go with this but I decided to post it here anyway. in kagkik feels rn...

“And...done.”

Kagome watched as Kikyo lifted her newly assembled hand and examined it with a keen eye. She sat limp against the warm walls of Kaede’s hut, flames licking at the edges of the nearby fire pit, Kagome’s healing supplies sprawled out over the reed mats. Before, these supplies had consisted of gauze, rubbing alcohol, and future ointments, but now her collection has expanded to include more specialized tools: adhesive, epoxy, and sanding materials. To heal a person whose wounds were not of flesh, one needed to improvise.

“It’s golden,” Kikyo remarked, tracing down the shiny lacquered adhesive in her arms. They spiderwebbed across her skin like veins, stark against her porcelain complexion. “Beautiful.”

Kagome beamed. “You like it?”

Kikyo lowered her hand. “It is elegant. But no one would ever see it,” she said, alluding to the wide, voluminous sleeves of her miko clothes.

“I’ve seen it,” Kagome pointed out.

It was a joking remark, but Kikyo’s eyes drifted close, lips curling up in appeasement. “Then that is enough.”

Kagome blushed, fumbling to tuck the remainder of her supplies away. The hut’s warmth, once quaint, was now stifling. Her eyes darted towards the doorway, and she shifted her thoughts towards something more suitable.

The others had sustained minor injuries from their latest skirmish with Naraku’s incarnations – a few cuts for Inuyasha, which had healed in a moment’s notice; a thin gash on Miroku’s ankle that Sango had bandaged for him, evading his flirtations all the while. She was aware that they now meandered outside, recovering or hunting for that evening’s dinner, leaving her and Kikyo alone, as they had so often found themselves.

Kikyo had dealt the most damage to both the enemy and herself. Her body, constructed of clay, was far too fragile to withstand even the most menial of combat. Her skin cracked and severed and fell to pieces, and each time, Kagome would collect her fallen stone limbs to reattach them, gingerly applying glue and holding Kikyo’s body in place using the strength of her own while it dried.

Only us, Kikyo had insisted. Kagome had assumed it was because she didn’t want everyone else to see her in such a disfigured state, being reassembled like a broken clock. They were no longer enemies, and they had passed the phase of begrudging animosity, timid greetings, and half-hearted attempts at conversation. But she hadn’t understood why Kikyo would let her – the girl she had once claimed to hate – see her so vulnerable.

Kagome didn’t understand it much now, either, but she treasured these moments alone. There were slow lines of sleepy dialogue exchanged, and sometimes only silence, but the air was always heavy, weighing down on them. There were the faint, almost imagined sounds – the hitch in Kikyo’s breath when Kagome’s wet fingers lathered her clean; the sigh she let out when Kagome ran her hands through her length of dark hair. Her eyelashes fell like a curtain as gentle palms danced across her collarbone, down the dip of her spine. Over and over, she basked in the foreign, comforting sensation of touch.

When her eyes fluttered open, and Kikyo gazed down at her body, there was a sense of regret. As though she wished she weren’t broken so beyond repair that she could reach up and caress Kagome in return.

#say it with me now: dooooooooomed yuri!#kagkik #kagome higurashi #kikyo inuyasha #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #wip #inuyasha a feudal fairy tale

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ryndicate · 2 years

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ A Drop in Time

Don’t listen too closely to the silence. It whispers things you don’t want to hear.

Vampire!Megumi x reader (fem body/pronouns)

notes: this installment was proofread by a friend who deserves all my love and i could wax poetic about them all night.... but here’s the first chapter! A true introduction to the world we live in. Also, just because he’s a background character in JJK, just know that Shouta was the dbag that was mean to Junpei lol, no relation to any other character cause I definitely used some names from other shows to name my other minor characters.

Warnings: non-sexual penetration, memories of physical assault, depictions of death/grief, descriptions of arranged marraige/misogyny, mentions of ye olde birth control, religious themes

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Blog Rules & Main Links

⋆⁺₊⋆ Prologue ☪︎ Masterlist ☪︎ Series Warnings ☪︎ ch. ii. ⋆⁺₊⋆

Something bright irritates your eyes and a terrible stench greets you as you stir, movements leaden.

"She's awake! Call the priest, quick!"

Your eyes blink open slowly, a fierce ache in your head making them flutter closed almost immediately. Your body feels on fire as you curl in on yourself, feeling much too stiff, brittle like old bones. You've never been in this much pain before, not even when you cut your leg on your father's tools as a child; the fever then almost killed you, according to your mother, but your memories of the time are broken at best. Sleep threatens your mind once more, blackness tinging on the edge of your vision.

"Little one, are you well enough to speak?"

Struggling, you look towards the familiar voice and make a final attempt to remain conscious. You've only met him a few times as he's the only priest for the few villages in this area. He makes time to visit for his duties once a fortnight. Everyone trusts him.

The wariness in his eyes is enough to fill you with unease. This man was present at your birth, and has never given you more than a firm scolding in your life. The grim set of his jaw is unfamiliar, wrong.

"Father?"

Your voice is small, dry and rasping, reminding you of the pain from the night before. Your throat burns, agony exploding across your senses as you wheeze and cough. Your hands immediately raise to cover the wounds on your neck, eyes growing hazy with tears. You can sense the others nearby looking on with curiosity, but too fearful to approach. Their wary stares fill you with panic.

"Dear child," An ounce of care filters into his tone, but it remains unyielding. "You must submit to an examination. You were bitten, do you understand?"

"Yes, Father." Your answer is swift and subdued. It is nothing short of a miracle that this opportunity is being offered. No one would have questioned the choice to dispose of you for the safety of the village.

"Peace be with you." He bows his head. "We will move you to the church. Try to be still and send your prayers to above. We plead for the Lord's mercy today, should we be fortunate to receive it."

Father nods to two young men hovering nearby and they rush forward as if grateful for a task, bundling a sheet over you and carefully raising you between them. Through the gaps of the frayed fabric you catch sight of rising smoke, and realize with growing horror that the awful stench is that of burned bodies.

You close your eyes tight in hopes of erasing the horrifying image, wincing as their uncoordinated movements jostle your wounds, and try to gather your strength for whatever is coming.

The church seems prepared for your arrival, several of the sisters who accompany the Father moving around to prepare a table with an assortment of items.

You try to be mindful as they hover, murmuring prayers, sprinkling waters and oils over you, clutching your fingers over the silver cross they’ve pressed into your hands, but your mind keeps drifting to the horrors of last night. It’s struggling to remember hazy details, but primarily in a daze over the fact that you’re somehow still alive.

It’s a short moment before you realize the sisters have shuffled out, the cross slack in your hands as your eyes refocus to see Father gazing at you, somber. Fear jumps to your throat at the shadow in his eyes, suddenly fearful to speak. Are you condemned?

His eyes avert from yours. "One last thing."

You jump uncomfortably as he steps closer, his fingers closing on the hem of your nightgown.

Realization strikes you in an instant, paralyzing awareness.

"Father, please no," you beg him softly, panic lighting your eyes. "It did not, I swear on my life."

"Little one, I must." There's an air of discomfort surrounding the old priest now. "This is for your sake as well. We must clear your name of any rumor."

"I'm begging you," you whisper. Shame twists your features, hysteria bubbling hot in your chest as the heat of embarrassment is added to the brew of this nightmare.

He pauses, solemnly reading your face. "It was Shouta?"

You nod, tears beginning to streak down your face to be acknowledging it. You wipe them away hastily, too overwhelmed to realize you’ve only wiped the soil of your gown down your cheeks.

"As long as what you say is true, then I will tell no one."

"Do you promise, Father?" You daren't hope. Shouta and you both had known the damage that could be done to your image if your intimacy had gotten out. He'd persuaded you sweetly at first, then persistently. After a time, you'd reluctantly allowed him, in favor of earning his approval instead of his ire. He was to be your husband after all, ‘til death do you part. So you'd been careful, meeting him discreetly and taking the tonics the neighbor’s eldest daughter had gotten for you at the price of teaching her her letters. She wanted to attend school at the capital and now you’re wildly wondering if she’s even alive.

But for all the care you’d taken, you couldn't hide your shame from a priest.

"You're safe with me, child. Vows taken or not, you are sworn to him. You are a good woman, and you will be a good wife for Shouta. He chose well in you, and this will not reflect on that. The Lord knows your heart; it is not my place to cast judgment."

It had been your parents that chose him, but you remain silent. It would not serve you well to be any more honest now. Your father is away now, Shouta at his side, as they apply for a marriage certificate in the capital. Marriage… The man your father chose is a respected one, the village leader's son. You don't know if you will ever feel love for him, but you do know your life will be lived well at his side, lacking for nothing. You would never dishonor your father by rebuking the life he planned out for you.

Discomfort burns in both of your cheeks as the priest proceeds. As much as you know it to be necessary, it leaves a poor taste in your mouth. But if having the backing of the village's respected priest is what you need to return to your quiet life, then you can suffer this. The last thing you need is the hateful and fearful rumors that you might be with child by a monster.

"It is done. You are well, my dear. Let us see to your wounds."

"Thank you, Father." You can't help but slump in relief, weariness setting in now that your safety is assured.

At his call a couple of sisters reenter the room and immediately begin fussing over you. Father bows and makes his exit, and they promptly strip you of your soiled nightgown. You are not sorry to see it go, the stiff fabric bloody and unsalvageable. As they dispose of your clothing in the hearth, you manage to voice some of the things you’ve been wondering about. They answer softly, informing you that it’s almost been two days since your attack. The priest has been monitoring you, afraid to move your body for fear of worsening your condition. It had been his call to leave you untouched, making no attempt to inspect your wound, to allow your wound to clot. The decision had been a risky one, but it had probably saved your life.

There's profound relief on the women's' faces that eases some of the ordeal, and you allow your eyes to fall closed as they brush a warm, wet cloth over your wounds and skin, content to be in someone else's care even if just for the moment. Your body aches after nearly two days of sleeping on the bare ground. You want nothing more than to fall asleep somewhere comfortable after this. You can’t stop thinking about the blanket your mother had received from her relatives last winter. Thick, soft, and made from animal pelts you hadn’t seen before, it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched. To fall asleep under that now would be bliss.

Thinking of that blanket has your thoughts wandering towards your mother. You wonder briefly if your parents and Shouta will hear of this incident before their return, or if you will have to tell them yourself. You don't look forward to reliving the experience for their sake.

"Come, young miss. We drew an herbal bath out back. It will be cold, but twas the best we could do."

The water is bracing, but you're more than used to it. Whatever herbs they cast into it tingle along your skin pleasantly, relaxing you, and washing the grime from your skin helps you feel more clean. You can only hope it will help wash away the memory of the demon's touch. His hands were almost like fire. You shiver.

One of the sisters notices and tuts. "Oh poor dear, come now. Let's finish up and get you warm and dry. Father has asked us to accompany you to your home for the evening in case you have need of us."

"Thank you," you murmur softly, standing from the water and taking the clothes they offer you. Despite your wish to be alone, you have no doubt you'll be grateful for their presence. It will be much easier to brush off the old creaking of your home on them moving about instead of letting your fearful imagination run wild.

You wrap the worn shawl around your shoulders more tightly as they accompany you towards your home. There are still men about, busy cleaning up the mess of the attack. Some glance at you warily; others nod and continue with their work. It seems news of your examination is traveling slowly, but the overall mood of the men you pass is enough to make you hopeful that all will be well soon. Everyone looks focused on rebuilding your quiet little village.

"Of those attacked, were there any more survivors?" Beyond the loss of the baker's daughter, you know of no one else who had been lost. You're grateful all of your family had been away for the attack.

The women look forlorn as they exchange glances. "Not many, we're afraid. Most had wounds too deep, others were in danger of turning. There are a fair few missing as well. You were very lucky, miss."

The words feel thin. Lucky is not how you would describe nearly dying, held down and helpless at the hands of a monster—but you suppose there are no good words to describe such a thing.

"I apologize for the mess, we were not expecting visitors." The etiquette slips from your lips automatically as you show them inside. Your home is humble, but well built. Your father works a steady trade, and he saw to it that the house is well-maintained.

To distract yourself you help see to their accommodations, pulling out linens for their bedding. You fear if you remain idle…his voice will haunt your thoughts.

You will not suffer needlessly.

You close the closet door more fiercely than you mean to, chills covering you from head to toe.

How dare that monster say something so horrific. How were you meant to not suffer when he drank from your flesh? The pain of that encounter very well may follow you to the afterlife.

You make your way back to the sitting room to find that the women had made themselves busy stirring the hearth. The warmth is most inviting and you will yourself to relax.

"There isn't much here for now, but there is bread in the kitchen and enough to make a light stew. I can make enough for us all."

The appalled expressions on their faces is almost comical.

"Heavens no!"

"We're here to tend you, miss! You've suffered something terrible, you should be resting."

After their sharp demand, they wave you towards a chair near the fire until you sit, straining your ears to hear the hushed voices as they bustle about your kitchen. They seem to still be worrying for your health and the few others who are in recovery. Your fingers brush delicately against the bandage on your throat, wincing at the lingering pain. You're not used to being taken care of in such a manner, not since your mother had taught you to care for the house and how to prepare meals.

She had gone with your father to the capital, ever the dutiful wife. Before she had left, she had told you to enjoy the few weeks of peace before Shouta's return. She seemed to recognize the lack of personal attachment you felt for the union. This small time for yourself has been a gift from her to you.

It's not long before the attendants return, placing a small bowl of stew in your hands. The vegetable broth is soothing, the added warmth in your stomach making your eyes droop as fatigue settles over you. As they help you to your room you're grateful for their assistance, but you find yourself longing to be alone once more. One of them refastens your window, the one you had climbed out of last night when you’d heard someone enter through your front door. Even after they leave the room, you cannot help yourself from tiptoeing over to the sill and making sure the latch is tight.

You would never be able to sleep without checking for yourself.

The morning comes far more quickly than you'd like. You wake feeling unrested, moving slowly. You’re certain there are unsightly circles under your eyes, but when the ladies ask how you're feeling you fix on a smile and tell them you're feeling much better. There wasn’t much sleep to be had when the echoes of groans filled your ears, and every small shift sent your body aching.

Breakfast is not a big affair, just plain porridge before you send them on their way. Despite the fatigue of your body protesting every step of the way, you spend most of the morning tending the house, clearing out dust, washing the linens, and cleaning the floorboards. Afterwards you sit in the sun pouring through the open window as you eat a light lunch, more tired than usual from your affairs. Sweat beads across your brow from the exertion but you wipe it away without complaint, along with your tears.

It feels like you've not stopped crying since you awoke yesterday afternoon. Any time you find yourself with what should be moments of peace, his groans fill your ears, his breath dusts on your neck and you feel the ghost of a body right behind you. Your wrists still ache from his crushing grip and your neck twinges with pain every other moment. Unable to bear the silence, you heave yourself to your feet and march to the front door with purpose in each step.

Even if you're tired and your chores have finished, surely with everything that's happened there's more work to be done. Wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, you push out the door.

The village is bustling with activity as you make your way toward the main street, but everyone is subdued. Grief is all but tangible in the air, eyes downcast and lips set in frowns. Even the children aren't running about, clinging to their mother's skirts or each other's hands.

You make your way into the market and catch the eye of the young nephew to one of the farmers. He's stopping each passerby and offering something from the basket at his side. Curiously you make your way towards him.

He turns to you as you approach. "Do you need any?" He tilts the basket towards you gently, showing you a mound of eggs. "Uncle said with everythin', folks’ chickens probably wouldn't lay, so he sent me out with the extra. You can have some."

"I don't need any, but thank you. I was actually looking to see if anyone needs my help."

"You could always ask the market marm, 'm sure she'd know," the boy says thoughtfully, "But I heard Mama say the weaver was killed, and the husband has his hands full with the kids and the shop. You could check on him." He pulls a cloth from his pocket and carefully places five eggs in it before tying it. "I was gonna go that way later but here, take these with you, 'm sure he'd 'preciate it."

Thanking him, you accept the makeshift package and your feet carry you towards the weaver's shop. You can hear the wail of an infant before you even open the shop door.

Cautiously entering, you peek around to see the weaver's husband bouncing a toddler on his hip, another child tugging on his trousers as he tries to break up what appears to be an argument between his two eldest. The young boys are screaming at each other, faces ruddy and pinched with anger.

"It’s your turn—"

"I did it yesterday—"

"No you didn’t, you rotten little—"

"Boys!"

A small hand curls around two of your fingers, causing you to startle silently. You look down to see a young girl, no older than four, looking up at you tearfully. You recognize the weaver's youngest daughter and click your teeth in sympathy when she reaches for you, a silent but clear request to be picked up, and haul her into your arms. She clings to you, her soft curls brushing your cheek.

"It's okay, little one," you sigh, adjusting her weight and clearing your throat, making an attempt to make your presence known. Raising your voice is no longer a simple feat. "Excuse me—"

The beleaguered father finally notices you, his eyes filled with frustration at his children's behavior. "Toshi, Gin!" he snaps at last, loud and gruff in a manner that makes both boys freeze and hunch their shoulders. "You know better to behave like that in front of customers, apologize to the lady."

Both boys glance at you and duck their heads, muttering apologies that you don't quite hear as the toddler in the man's grasp begins to wail, frightened by his raised voice.

"I'm sorry, miss, but now might not be a good time. If you'd like to come back I'm sure I can help you find—"

"It's okay sir, I actually came by to see if you might need anything?"

Your words are timid, almost coming off as if you're making a request. His blank stare causes your cheeks to heat up, and you stutter, searching for something else to say. "One of the farmers also sent these eggs. They had some to spare."

A little awkwardly, you hold out the makeshift parcel until he readjusts his hold on the tyke in his arms and takes it from you, appearing just as awkward as you feel. After a short moment, he clears his throat.

“Gin, take this and put it up in the kitchen.” He places a palm on the head of the girl still clinging to his clothing. “Hime, go help your brother. Toshi, take the little one and put him down for a nap please.”

The young girl nods silently and takes Gin’s hand as Toshi takes the youngest. They all trudge off, glancing back at you as they go before they disappear around a corner of the shop.

“Here, I’ll take her,” he offers, but the girl clings to you tighter, whimpering into your neck. “Come now, Yachi.”

A look of consternation crosses his features when she doesn’t listen, tucking herself deeper into your neck. You wince as she presses into your bandages, but you’re quick to assure him. “It’s fine sir, I don’t mind holding her.”

He grunts at that, but relents, eyeing you cautiously. “You’re that girl from the other day, aren’t you? The one that—” he glances at Yachi, “—that the priest visited.”

“Yes, he said everything was well.” You duck your head nervously, but he only shrugs, looking off to the side. Apparently he trusts the word of Father as much as you do.

“What’s yer name?”

“Rumi, sir.”

“Hm. And what is it that you said you came for?”

“To see if there’s anything I might be able to help with. I heard in the market that…” You trail off, glancing down at the child in your arms. You’re not sure how much the little one would understand of what transpired during the attack.

Grief glitters in his eyes, and he appears to be struggling to answer you when the eldest comes tramping back into the room. “We finished Pa. Gin and Hime are playin’ in the room with—”

“Toshi, can you take Yachi? I need to speak with the little miss.” There’s a small break in his voice that you think the elder man hides well, but the seriousness on the boy’s face makes you think twice.

The boy might very well be less than half your age, but he appears to carry himself with responsibility. You assume he gained such a trait as the eldest of his siblings.

“Let’s go Yachi,” his voice is much softer when he speaks to her, “Gin’s telling that story you like. I bet he’d start over if ya asked nice.”

Yachi peeks at him, her eyes still wet, but after a short glance at you, she nods and allows him take her from you. He only struggles with her weight for a second before his step bounces in playful exaggeration and her giggles at his antics carry throughout the shop even after they leave the shop floor.

“You have a very lively family. They seem to get along well.” It’s a paltry attempt to fill the silence that stretches between you, but he still gives a nod of thanks at your words.

“They’ll need to, to get through this,” he mutters gruffly, running a hand through black hair flecked with gray. He’s a well built man, who looks like he’s no stranger to the labor trades.

“I’m sure they’ll—”

“I haven’t told them about their Mama,” he interrupts you suddenly, looking you in the eye.

Your shoulders stiffen as you realize what he’s saying.

“They didn’t see it,” he continues, speaking low in case the children might be trying to listen in. You step closer to help him in this, allowing him to speak even more softly. He unravels the bandage you hadn’t noticed on his forearm, showing you the wound that nearly matches your own. “I didn’t see it. The bastard got to me first, but it wanted her. Hit my head, and I was so out of it that I couldn’t… She got them all hidden away in the pantry before runnin’.”

“I’m so sorry.” Horror and nausea swirls in your gut as you picture the scene, the helplessness of it all.

Shame and misery etch themselves to the lines of his face so deeply it was as if they’d always been there. “I found shreds of her clothing in the morning. Covered in blood. I c-couldn’t tell the little ones, I couldn’t. How do you tell a child their Mama was—” he inhales shakily. “I told them she’s helping the priest, but I think Toshi is beginning to realize what really happened. He’s old enough that I can't hide these things from him.”

"He's a strong boy, I can tell," you murmur softly. Your stomach heaves as you realize she met the end that you so narrowly escaped. That it could have been you, naught left but a puddle of blood for a loved one to discover. Swallowing tightly, you try to keep your voice steady and reassuring. "He'll help you take care of the little ones."

“He shouldn’t have to!” the man snaps fiercely, causing you to flinch noticeably, wincing as the sudden movement twinges in your neck. An awkward expression of regret paints his features. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t right of me—”

“No! It’s fine,” you murmur softly. This man has been through enough. Of course he’s on edge. “Just please, um…” You realize you can’t quite recall his name, though you’re certain you’ve heard it around the village before.

He sighs, softening considerably, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he makes an effort to pacify himself. “The name’s Shin, Miss Rumi.”

“Shin, sir, please just let me know what I can do to help you. I’ve nothing else to do with my time but sit at home. I’d rather be useful.”

Shin regards you carefully. “I suppose, if you’re offering… the shop.” He glances around wearily, and you belatedly notice there are half-packed crates and parcels everywhere. “I’m packing everything up, but it’s a lot to handle on my own. Toshi wanted to help but I need him with the littles ones.”

“Of course.”

Grateful for something to do you set to work, carefully folding textiles and lining boxes with spools of thread. Shin works beside you, mostly silent save for some sparse instruction when you lose track of where to start next, wrapping a series of tools and devices with purposes that escape you. He’s so delicate with them that you are certain of their importance to the weaver’s craft. There’s so much to be done, you’re not sure that he would ever have managed to do this without assistance. When the light begins fading, only half the shop has been put away.

“Rumi.” Shin glances outside, his eyes shadowed as they fix on you. “You should get on home before it gets any darker.”

Anxiety prickles at your skin at the idea of being out after dark. Alongside the obtrusive fear of what creatures might still reside in the shadows of your little town, you also don’t wish to be caught by rumour, staying overnight with the now unbonded man, so you gather yourself to go. Hastily giving your goodbyes and promises to return, you dash out the shop door and hurry back down the streets toward your home. The shadows of the setting sun seem more imposing tonight, and the streets are already quiet despite the long lingering orange light. It leaves you unnerved, and the tension refuses to sink from your limbs until the front door is securely locked behind you.

The house is too quiet now, and you find yourself wishing for the sisters’ company as you go about what has been your nightly routine since your parents and Shouta left for the capital. You make a sparse dinner for yourself, having neglected to go to the market this morning, clean up, and draw yourself a bath, spending the extra effort to heat the water. While the fire crackles you carefully unwrap the bandage from your neck, unable to look at the bruising of your throat, the redness of your wound. You’re quick to apply the salve the sisters left you, and cover it with a fresh wrap, tears threading your lashline at the persistent pain.

It’s an effort to distract yourself. You know it, as you spend extra time making sure you’re entirely clean, scrubbing as much grime from under your nails as you can until the water grows lukewarm, and eventually cold as you sit, pondering. Shin had kept a careful hold of his grief today, but such a deep emotion can never be completely buried. Your heart aches for the man, despite how little you knew him and his children. You wish there was something you could say that would soothe his heart, if even a little.

You wish your mother were here. She might know what to say to a grieving husband. You have such little experience with such a thing, but your mother knows more of the world than you, has lived much longer. Surely she’s comforted at least one grieving person.

Sighing, you step from the basin, and begin to dry and dress yourself for bed. There’s nothing left to look forward to tonight, no warm wishes for your dreams from your mother, no kiss on the cheek from father—something you’d complained about every day since you became of age, but now you miss both terribly. As you settle in your bed for the night, tucking your covers more tightly around you, you’re grateful for the fatigue that now rests over your body more securely than any blanket. It numbs the ache of your healing wounds and carries you to sleep faster than any fairy.

a/n: next chapter we get to meet one of the support leads, i wonder who it will be? :3

Reblogs are appreciated!

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk series #series::ADiT

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i-eat-worlds · 9 months

Text

Whumpcember Day 16-Head Injury

@whumpcember

I am so excited for y’all to meet Henle!

cw: medical whump, blood, accidental injury

Joseph had only been apprenticing on Turquoise Team for a whole thirteen minutes when he first met Eric. He’d walked into Henle’s office halfway through Joseph’s orientation. He was bleeding from a cut above his right eye, eye pressed close to keep the blood out of it.

“Hey Henle, sorry to interrupt,” he said, still standing in the half open doorway, blood dripping down his face.

Henle cursed under their breath as they stood up from behind their desk. “Go sit on the exam table, Eric.” They turned to Joseph. “Can you get some pressure on that?”

Joseph stood up, grabbing some gloves off the wall and fishing a pack of gauze out of a cabinet. He quickly pressed a gauze pad to the bleeding wound, putting his other hand behind Eric’s head to stabilize it.

“What happened?” Henle asked, throwing on their own pair of gloves.

“Fell on the training course,” Eric shrugged, winching slightly when he moved his forehead.

“How’d you fall?” They looked at Joseph, queuing him to move his hand out of the way so they could take a look.

“Tripped on my feet and face planted.” Eric grunted in pain as Henle examined the wound. “I was so close to a PR, too.”

Henle pulled their hands away, and Joseph went back to applying pressure. Just like all facial wounds, it was a determined bleeder.

“It’s gonna need stitches, man,” Henle said.

“Ugh, really?” Eric grumbled.

“Yeah, sorry.” Henle went to retrieve some wound care supplies while they spoke. “It’s not a large wound though, so small wins.”

Joseph felt a bit weird watching them interact. He hadn’t really been introduced to the rest of the team yet.

“We can’t suture ‘till the bleeding has stopped, so we might be here for a little longer,” they said as they arranged their materials out on a tray. “Oh, the guy holding pressure on your head is Joseph. New med apprentice.”

“Hi,” Joseph said. He would’ve waved, but his hands were occupied.

“Hey, I’m Eric. Turquoise’s newbie,” he introduced. Henle picked up a penlight, and he groaned. “I don’t have a concussion.”

“Invulnerable or not, I still have to check. Bright light,” Henle clicked the light on, ashing it in his eyes to check his pupils. “Any dizziness, nausea, loss of consciousness or headache afterwards?”

“Nope,” he tried to make a face, but the effect was ruined by his attempt to only move the non injured side, and by Joseph’s hand blocking the other half. “See, no concussion.” Henle raised their eyebrows back at him. Their expression was more eective. “Has the bleeding stopped yet?”

Joseph took a peak. Hemostasis had been reached, and about six minutes ahead of schedule. “You clot fast,” he observed.

“One of the many benefits of invulnerability,” Eric said simply.

“We’re gonna have to lay you down to close it,” Henle said as Joseph turned away and disposed of the bloody gauze. “Oh, hey, you wanna do the closure?” they offered.

“Sure, thanks.” He kept cool on the outside, but did a fist pump internally. After he took a peak at the wound, he started to prepare his local. “I’m gonna numb you up first.”

Eric gave a little thumbs up, and he started to draw up the lidocaine. He could feel Henle’s eyes on him, watching intently while he worked. That was to be expected, really. “Here it comes,” Joseph warned. Lidocaine always stung, but the injection went quick enough.

After he irrigated the wound, he readied his tools and started off. Carefully, he tugged the needle through his skin, pulling the edges of the wound back together. His patient wrinkled his nose. “Those things smell weird.”

“Yeah. We’re nearly done.” The wound wasn’t very long, which was good news in the scaring department. He tied the knot, then clipped off the extra. “Sutures are done. I’m going to put an antibiotic ointment on, then cover it with some Tegaderm. This’ll need to stay on for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Got’cha,” Eric said, aborting a head nod halfway through startinging when he remembered that Joseph was still treating him.

“They’ll need to come out in about three days.” Joseph ddled with the placement of the bandage. “I’d put a reminder in your phone, but we’ll probably bug you about it.

Wound taken care of, Eric sat back up. “Thanks,” he said, offering a fist bump.

Joseph removed his gloves before he returned it. “You're welcome. Don’t keep going kissin’ floors though.”

“Try my best,” Eric said as he hopped o the table and started for the door.

Henle just shook their head. “So that’s Eric, invulnerable idiot.”

“He’s gonna test us, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” they shook their head. “They always do.”

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump @oc-writing-corner

#worlds babbles #whump #injury whump #medical whump #good patient #medic caretaker #blood

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shiorihyuga · 5 days

Text

Steadfast Hearts

Levi x OC

In the aftermath of global war, alliances are forged, and new bonds are tested. Dr. Tiana Belrose, a brilliant Androsian engineer, arrives in Paradis with cutting-edge technology, her country's hopes on her shoulders, and a guarded heart. Her brilliant inventions are the reason why Marley invaded and ravaged her country, but Tiana refuses to sit back and do nothing.

Assigned to be her personal guard, the stoic and battle-hardened Captain Levi Ackerman is known for his discipline, but as they spend countless hours together, he finds himself drawn to the woman he’s sworn to protect.

In the midst of battles against Marley, political intrigue, and the weight of their responsibilities, an unexpected romance begins to blossom between two unlikely hearts. As tensions rise on the battlefield and within their own ranks, Levi and Tiana must navigate their feelings in a world that doesn’t allow for weakness.

Love was the last thing either of them expected to find in the midst of war, but it may be the only thing that saves them.

Chapter Twelve:

The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows through the narrow windows of Tiana’s workshop. The room buzzed with the familiar sounds of machines and the clinking of tools, the scent of oil and freshly polished metal lingering in the air. Tiana was in her element, standing at her workbench, a pair of goggles pushed up onto her forehead, her hands deftly maneuvering a small screwdriver as she made delicate adjustments to a piece of ODM gear. Beside her, Hange was equally engrossed in a separate contraption, her eyes wide with excitement as she examined the inner workings of a modified grapple mechanism.

“Fascinating,” Hange murmured, her voice filled with wonder. “The way you’ve redesigned the internal mechanisms, Tiana, it’s brilliant. I never would have thought to integrate the gas propulsion system this way. It’s almost… organic.”

Tiana smiled, a hint of pride in her expression. “Thank you, Hange,” she replied, her tone warm. “I’ve always believed that the best designs are the ones that work with nature, not against it. If we can mimic the way living things move, we can create technology that’s more efficient, more adaptive.”

Hange nodded enthusiastically, her eyes alight with curiosity. “It’s amazing,” she said. “I’ve been working with ODM gear for years, and I’ve never seen anything like this. You really are something, Tiana.”

Tiana blushed slightly at the compliment, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “I’m just doing what I love,” she said modestly. “And it’s been great working with you. You have such a unique perspective on things.”

Hange laughed, a bright, cheerful sound that filled the room. “Well, I’ve always been a bit of a mad scientist,” she said with a grin. “But you—you’re a true engineer. You see things in a way most people can’t. It’s inspiring.”

Tiana smiled again, feeling a warm sense of camaraderie. Working with Hange was refreshing; her enthusiasm was infectious, and her boundless curiosity matched Tiana’s own. It was a rare thing, to find someone who understood her passion, her drive to create and innovate.

As they continued to work, Demetri stood nearby, his sensors monitoring the room’s environment, his glowing eyes fixed on Tiana’s movements. He was always alert, always ready to assist, his presence a comforting constant in the busy workshop.

Hange set down the grapple mechanism she had been examining and picked up a cup of tea from a nearby table, taking a sip before turning her attention back to Tiana. “So, Tiana,” she began, her tone casual, “how are you finding life here with us? I imagine it’s quite different from Androsia.”

Tiana nodded, setting down her tools and wiping her hands on a cloth. “It’s… different, for sure,” she admitted. “But in a good way. Everyone here has been so welcoming. And it’s exciting to be working on something that could really make a difference.”

Hange smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said. “We’re certainly glad to have you. And I think Levi’s glad to have you around too, even if he doesn’t say it outright.”

Tiana glanced at Hange, her curiosity piqued. “Captain Levi?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “What makes you say that?”

Hange shrugged, a playful glint in her eye. “Oh, you know Levi,” she said with a chuckle. “Always so serious, always so focused. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I think he’s more protective than usual.”

Tiana’s heart skipped a beat at Hange’s words, and she quickly turned her attention back to her work, trying to hide the flush that crept up her cheeks. “He’s just doing his job,” she said, her voice a bit too quick. “Making sure I’m safe.”

Hange grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction she was getting. “Maybe,” she said with a mischievous tone. “But Levi’s not just protective of anyone. He’s careful, calculated. He wouldn’t be so attentive if he didn’t think you were important.”

Tiana’s blush deepened, and she busied herself with adjusting a small gear, trying to focus. “Well, I appreciate it,” she mumbled. “It’s… comforting to know he’s there.”

Hange nodded, her expression turning more thoughtful. “He’s a good man,” she said softly. “And despite everything he’s been through, he still cares deeply for his comrades. It’s not always easy to see, but it’s there.”

Tiana nodded, feeling a strange flutter in her chest. She had sensed that about Levi—that underneath his stoic exterior, there was a depth, a loyalty that ran deeper than most. It was one of the things that drew her to him, that made her feel safe around him.

Hange took another sip of her tea, then set her cup down, leaning against the workbench. “You know,” she continued, her tone more conversational, “it’s funny. Levi’s been with the Scouts for a long time. He’s one of the oldest members, actually.”

Tiana, in the middle of taking a sip of her own tea, froze. “Oldest?” she repeated, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “How old is he?”

Hange looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. “He’s about 36, I think,” she said casually. “Not too old, but definitely more seasoned than most of us.”

Tiana choked on her tea, sputtering as the hot liquid went down the wrong pipe. She coughed violently, her eyes watering, and Hange jumped back, startled. “Tiana!” she exclaimed. “Are you alright?”

Demetri, always alert, immediately moved forward, his eyes glowing as he activated his cleaning protocol. He quickly extended a small arm with a cloth, wiping up the spilled tea with precise, efficient movements.

Tiana waved a hand, trying to catch her breath. “I’m fine,” she managed, still coughing slightly. “Just… surprised, that’s all.”

Hange raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Surprised?” she echoed. “About Levi’s age?”

Tiana nodded, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “He just… he looks so young,” she said, her voice a bit breathless. “I would have guessed he was… I don’t know, younger.”

Hange chuckled, clearly amused. “Levi does have a way of keeping himself in shape,” she said with a grin. “But yeah, he’s older than he looks. Been through a lot, that one.”

Tiana felt her heart race slightly, her mind spinning with this new information. Thirty-six. She had never considered Levi’s age before, had never thought about it in those terms. But now that she knew, she found it… intriguing. There was something undeniably attractive about it, about the idea of him being older, more experienced. She had always had a thing for older men, a preference she’d never really understood but had never questioned either.

But she would never admit that out loud. Not to Hange, not to anyone.

She tried to compose herself, to keep her expression neutral. “I suppose that makes sense,” she said lightly, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. “He certainly seems… seasoned.”

Hange laughed again, nodding. “Seasoned is one word for it,” she agreed. “But don’t let his age fool you. Levi’s as sharp as they come. And as tough as they come, too.”

Tiana nodded, her mind still racing. She had seen that toughness firsthand, had witnessed it in the way he moved, the way he fought, the way he seemed to see everything, notice everything. It was part of what made him so compelling, so fascinating.

She cleared her throat, trying to focus. “Well,” she said, picking up her tools again, “I guess it’s good to have someone like him around, then. To keep us all on our toes.”

Hange smiled, picking up her own tools once more. “Exactly,” she said. “And I think he’s glad to have you around, too, Tiana. You bring something new to the table, something fresh. It’s good for all of us.”

Tiana felt a warm flush of pride at Hange’s words, but also a lingering sense of curiosity. She wondered what Levi truly thought of her, if he saw her as more than just someone he had to protect. But she pushed the thought aside, focusing on her work. There would be time to think about that later.

For now, she had a job to do, a purpose to fulfill. And maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to get to know Levi a little better, to understand the man behind the stoic mask a little more. And perhaps, if she was lucky, she might find out if there was something more between them than just duty and protection.

Hange watched Tiana closely as they worked, her sharp eyes noticing the slight flush in Tiana’s cheeks, the way her fingers seemed to fidget a bit more than usual, the way her eyes darted back to the door now and then, as if expecting—or perhaps hoping—Levi might return at any moment. A sly smile crept across Hange’s face. She wasn’t one to miss details, especially when it came to human behavior. And Tiana’s reactions today were quite telling.

“Hey, Tiana,” Hange said casually, setting down her tools and leaning against the workbench. “Can I ask you something?”

Tiana looked up from the gadget she was tinkering with, her eyes cautious. “Sure, Hange,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light. “What’s on your mind?”

Hange grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I was just wondering… do you have a thing for Levi?”

Tiana froze, her heart skipping a beat. “W-What?” she stammered, nearly dropping the small screwdriver in her hand. “No, of course not! Why would you even ask that?”

Hange chuckled, clearly enjoying Tiana’s flustered reaction. “Oh, come on, Tiana,” she teased. “You can’t fool me. I’ve seen the way you look at him. And the way you reacted when I mentioned his age… You practically choked on your tea.”

Tiana’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and she quickly turned her attention back to her work, trying to hide her embarrassment. “That was just… surprise,” she insisted. “I didn’t expect him to be that age, that’s all. And I’m just… grateful for his protection. Nothing more.”

Hange smirked, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you sure about that?” she pressed. “Because it seems to me like you might have a little crush on our stoic captain.”

Tiana’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently. “No!” she said, a bit too loudly. “No, I don’t have a crush on him. I don’t… I mean, he’s just… he’s just Levi. Captain Levi. That’s it.”

Hange chuckled again, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so,” she said, her tone light and teasing. “But you know, there’s nothing wrong with having a little crush. Levi’s a good-looking guy. And he’s definitely got that whole strong, silent, brooding thing going for him.”

Tiana’s face was practically on fire now, and she wished she could disappear into the floor. “Hange, please,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “I really don’t… it’s not like that.”

But Hange wasn’t about to let up. “Oh, come on, Tiana,” she said with a grin. “Admit it. You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? What it would be like, being with someone like him?”

Tiana was about to respond, to deny everything once again, when she heard the soft creak of the door opening behind her. She turned sharply, her eyes wide with a mix of panic and embarrassment, and saw Levi stepping into the room. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, taking in the scene before him.

Hange’s grin widened at Levi’s arrival, her eyes flicking between him and Tiana with barely concealed amusement. “Ah, Levi!” she greeted, her tone cheerful. “Perfect timing. We were just talking about you.”

Tiana’s heart dropped to her stomach, and she shot Hange a death glare that could have cut through steel. Her eyes were wide, her message clear: Shut. Up.

Levi’s eyebrows lifted slightly, his gaze shifting from Hange to Tiana. He couldn’t hear exactly what they had been saying, but he sensed it had something to do with him. “Talking about me?” he asked, his tone neutral but curious. “What about?”

Tiana opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Her mind was racing, trying to think of something—anything—to say that wouldn’t make this situation even more mortifying. “Oh, uh… nothing important!” she blurted out, her voice a bit too high. “Just… you know… work stuff.”

Hange, ever the instigator, leaned back against the workbench, a playful smirk on her face. “Yeah, work stuff,” she echoed, clearly enjoying Tiana’s discomfort. “And maybe a little bit about how impressive you are, Levi. You know, as a captain. And, uh, other things.”

Tiana’s death glare intensified, her face burning with embarrassment. “Hange,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice low and dangerous, “enough.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed slightly, his instincts telling him there was more to this than just a casual conversation. But he decided to let it go—for now. “Right,” he said, his tone clipped. “Well, if you’re done talking about… work stuff, we have a lot to do today.”

Hange nodded, still grinning. “Of course, Levi,” she said cheerfully. “We were just taking a little break. Right, Tiana?”

Tiana forced a smile, though it was strained. “Right,” she muttered, still glaring daggers at Hange. “Just a… little break.”

Levi’s gaze shifted back to Tiana, and for a moment, his expression softened. He could see the flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes were bright with embarrassment. He wondered what Hange had said to fluster her so much, but he decided not to press the issue. “Good,” he said simply. “Let’s stay focused. We have work to do.”

Tiana nodded quickly, grateful for the change in subject. “Of course, Captain,” she said, her voice a bit steadier now. “I’m ready.”

Levi gave her a brief nod, then turned his attention to the contraption on her workbench, examining it with his usual meticulous care. Tiana took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, her thoughts still spinning from Hange’s teasing. She was going to have to have a word with Hange later, a serious word.

But for now, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand, pushing thoughts of Levi—and everything Hange had implied—firmly to the back of her mind. She couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not with him right here.

As she moved to join Levi at the workbench, she could feel Hange’s amused gaze on her, and she resisted the urge to glare at her friend again. This isn’t over, she thought to herself, her jaw set in determination. But as she glanced at Levi, standing so close, his presence calm and commanding, she couldn’t help but feel a small flutter in her chest—a flutter she tried desperately to ignore.

Maybe Hange was right. Maybe there was something there, something more than just gratitude or respect. But whatever it was, Tiana wasn’t ready to admit it. Not yet. And certainly not in front of Captain Levi.

…

The mess hall was bustling with its usual evening activity as Levi and Tiana stepped inside. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes. Soldiers moved through the room in a steady flow, finding seats at the long wooden tables, their faces a mix of weariness and camaraderie after another long day.

Levi led the way, his posture as straight and commanding as ever, his eyes scanning the room with his usual vigilance. Tiana followed close behind, her mind still buzzing from the events in the lab earlier. She tried to focus on the task at hand—finding a seat, getting some food, and hopefully avoiding any more embarrassing encounters. But as soon as they entered the hall, she spotted Hange sitting with the other scouts, and her stomach dropped.

Hange caught sight of her almost immediately, a wide grin spreading across her face. She raised a hand in greeting, but it was the knowing smirk on her face that made Tiana’s heart skip a beat. Oh no, Tiana thought, feeling a wave of panic rising in her chest. She’s going to tease me again. Right here. In front of everyone. In front of Levi.

Hange’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she waved them over. “Hey, Tiana! Levi!” she called out, her voice carrying over the noise. “Come join us!”

Tiana’s eyes widened, and she shook her head slightly, trying to signal Hange to stop. But Hange’s grin only grew wider, her amusement evident. Tiana could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her mind racing. She couldn’t let Hange say anything—anything—about what they had talked about earlier. Not here. Not with Levi right beside her.

As they moved closer to the table, Tiana felt a surge of desperation. She needed to talk to Hange, needed to make sure she kept her mouth shut. She turned to Levi, her expression pleading. “Captain,” she said quickly, her voice a bit breathless, “could I… could I have five minutes? Just to talk to Hange privately?”

Levi raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing her urgency, but he nodded. “Five minutes,” he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Make it quick.”

Tiana nodded gratefully, then quickly moved to Hange, grabbing her by the arm. “Come on,” she muttered under her breath, dragging her out of the mess hall and into the corridor beyond. “We need to talk. Now.”

Hange allowed herself to be pulled along, still grinning with amusement. Once they were far enough away from the mess hall and out of earshot of Levi, she turned to Tiana, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Alright, alright, Tiana, what’s the rush?” she teased, her tone light. “Afraid I might spill your little secret?”

Tiana shot her a look, her face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and urgency. “Hange, please,” she said, her voice low but intense. “You cannot tell Levi about… about what we talked about earlier. You just can’t.”

Hange raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Tiana’s flustered state. “Oh? And why not?” she asked, her tone teasing. “You think he wouldn’t be interested in knowing that you have a crush on him?”

Tiana groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Because it would be mortifying,” she admitted, her voice a strained whisper. “He doesn’t see me like that. I’m just… someone he has to protect. He probably thinks of me like a kid or a responsibility, not… not like…”

Hange’s grin softened slightly, a more understanding look crossing her face. “Not like a woman?” she offered gently.

Tiana nodded, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Exactly,” she said quietly. “He’s so… focused, so intense. And I don’t want to make things weird between us. I need him to keep doing his job, not get distracted by… by whatever this is.”

Hange watched her for a moment, her expression more thoughtful now. “You know,” she said softly, “Levi’s not as unreadable as you might think. He might surprise you.”

Tiana shook her head, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe,” she said. “But I can’t take that risk. Not now. Not when there’s so much at stake.”

Hange nodded slowly, her playful demeanor softening into something more serious. “Alright,” she said finally. “I won’t say anything. But you’ve got to promise me one thing.”

Tiana looked up, her expression hopeful. “What?” she asked.

Hange smiled, a gentle, encouraging smile. “Promise me that you’ll at least consider talking to him about it,” she said. “When you’re ready. He deserves to know how you feel. And who knows? Maybe he feels the same way.”

Tiana felt her cheeks flush again, but she nodded. “Okay,” she agreed softly. “I’ll… think about it. But for now, just… please, don’t say anything.”

Hange nodded, reaching out to give Tiana’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got my word,” she said with a grin. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Tiana let out a breath of relief, a small, grateful smile spreading across her face. “Thank you, Hange,” she said quietly. “I mean it.”

Hange winked at her, her playful grin returning. “Anytime,” she said. “But don’t keep him waiting too long, alright? Levi’s not the most patient man.”

Tiana chuckled softly, nodding. “I won’t,” she promised. “Now, let’s get back before he starts wondering what we’re up to.”

They made their way back to the mess hall, and as they entered, Tiana spotted Levi standing near the door, his arms crossed, his expression as stoic as ever. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and walked over to him.

“Everything alright?” Levi asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked between her and Hange.

Tiana nodded, doing her best to appear calm. “Yes, Captain,” she replied. “Just needed to clarify something.”

Levi studied her for a moment, his gaze steady, and Tiana felt her heart skip a beat. Does he know? she wondered. Did he overhear something?

But Levi simply nodded, turning toward the table. “Let’s eat,” he said curtly. “We’ve had a long day.”

Tiana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and followed him to the table, taking a seat beside him. As she glanced around, she caught Hange’s eye across the table. Hange gave her a small, knowing smile, and Tiana couldn’t help but smile back, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation swirling in her chest.

She wasn’t sure what the future held, but for now, she was content to keep her secret—at least a little longer. And maybe, just maybe, she’d find the courage to talk to Levi about it when the time was right. But until then, she was grateful for friends like Hange, who knew when to tease and when to keep a secret. And perhaps, that was enough. For now.

Masterlist:

#levi smut #aot smut #aot x black reader #aot x reader #aotfanfic #levi aot #snk levi #levi x civilian #captain levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot levi #levi attack on titan #levi x you #levi x oc #levi x y/n

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willpaul229 · 2 months

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How to Identify Quality Woodworking Tools at Auction?

Woodworking tool auctions can be a goldmine for finding high-quality tools at bargain prices, but identifying quality items requires a keen eye and some knowledge. Whether you're a seasoned woodworker or a newcomer, knowing what to look for can help you make informed decisions and avoid costly mistakes. Here’s a guide to help you identify quality woodworking tools at auction.

1. Understand the Tool’s Purpose

Before the auction, familiarize yourself with the tools you're interested in. Each woodworking tool has a specific function, such as cutting, shaping, or joining. Knowing the purpose of each tool will help you assess its condition and functionality. For example, a saw should have a straight and sharp blade, while a chisel should have a fine edge and a sturdy handle.

2. Check for Brand Marks and Manufacturer Information

While brand names are not the sole quality indicator, reputable brands often signify well-made tools. Look for any manufacturer markings or brand names on the tool. Research these names to understand their reputation and the tool’s quality. Older tools from well-regarded manufacturers can often be worth more and may have been crafted with higher standards.

3. Assess the Tool’s Construction

High-quality woodworking tools are typically made from durable materials and exhibit solid construction. Consider these aspects:

Material: High-quality tools are usually made from high-carbon steel, cast iron, or other robust materials. Check if the materials used match the tool’s intended use and look for any signs of inferior substitutes.

Craftsmanship: Examine the tool’s construction for signs of craftsmanship. Well-made tools will have tight tolerances, clean finishes, and precise assembly. Look for any signs of sloppy workmanship or parts that don’t fit together well.

4. Verify the Tool’s Functionality

If possible, test the tool to ensure it works as intended. For tools like drills, saws, or planes, see if you can operate them briefly to check their performance. For hand tools, such as chisels or saws, test their sharpness and functionality. Even if you can’t test the tool yourself, asking questions about its operation and performance can provide valuable insights.

5. Research and Compare

Do some research on the tools you’re interested in before the auction. Compare similar tools in terms of price, features, and condition. This will help you gauge whether the auction items are fairly priced and if you’re getting a good deal. Auction prices can vary, so having a baseline will help you make informed bidding decisions.

6. Ask Questions

Don’t hesitate to ask the auctioneer or seller questions about the tool’s history, condition, and any repairs or maintenance it may have undergone. Transparent sellers should provide information and answer your queries, which can help you assess the tool’s quality.

7. Bring a Knowledgeable Friend

If you’re new to woodworking or tool auctions, consider bringing along someone with experience. An expert eye can help spot issues you might miss and provide additional insights into the tool’s value and condition.

By paying attention to these details and doing your homework, you can increase your chances of finding quality woodworking tools at auction. With a bit of knowledge and preparation, you can make smart purchases that enhance your woodworking projects and offer great value.

#auction company #auction #auctions #woodworking #woodworking machinery auctions

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cyanophore-fiction · 1 year

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Armistice

When it regained consciousness, its radioisotope-powered clock showed that one thousand, two hundred and fifty-four years had passed since deployment.

An immense weight of sediment was being removed from its body, triggering threat evaluation protocols. When its systems booted and it regained its vision, the sunlight was so intense that it could see nothing until its sensors applied filters. Out of the yellow light, a cluster of beaked faces emerged, all staring down at it with their eyes wide. Their multicolored feathers ruffled in the salty wind, and their clothes were made of light synthetic fiber.

Remaining motionless, it emitted a sensor pulse and detected its rifle at a distance of one hundred and seventy four meters.

A taloned hand holding a jug reached down and began to pour cold water onto its chest, flushing sand out of its components. In response, it attempted to grab the holder’s arm and tear it out of its socket, but its elbow joint seized up with a shriek of corroded metal and refused to move.

They hopped back with a chorus of chirps and beak clacks. One came back to its side before the others, stooping to examine its elbow. He scraped the corroded plates with one claw, rubbing some of the rust on his turquoise feathers, and looked back to its eye sensor. Then, he raised a finger and moved it back and forth in front of its face. Its sensor swiveled to track the motion.

He emitted a series of excited syllables, and the others edged closer, but never within arm’s reach.

Hours passed, and all of the visitors departed except for the one with the turquoise feathers. Alone, he lifted it by the arms and dragged it backwards over sand, and it found itself at rest upright against a palm tree. The distance to its rifle had increased by several meters.

Folding his legs neatly, he sat across from it, with the sand trailing down to the ocean behind him. On the horizon, the sun was beginning to set, and gentle waves lapped at the shore. He spoke to it, but it had no translation files. When the sun disappeared and darkness began to close in, he stepped forward and laid a hand on its shoulder before setting off down the beach.

It tracked him as he passed out of its field of view, and applied to him the provisional designation #40e0d0.

In the morning, #40e0d0 returned with paper, ink, and tools. He attached a metal implement to his claw, dipped it in ink, and began scratching symbols onto the paper. When he finished, he showed the paper to it, pointed to a symbol at the top of the page, and spoke.

“Khé,” he said.

It activated its damaged voice synth. Piercing static rolled down the beach, and a flock of seabirds flew off in panic. #40e0d0 flinched back, then leaned forward in anticipation as the sound cut off.

“Khé,” it replied.

---

Within a week, it had command of a few basic phrases. Others came with #40e0d0, bringing portable tables and food. It detected no weapons in the area except its rifle, still at a fixed distance and out of view. The newcomers watched as #40e0d0 made simple conversation.

“Good morning.”

“I am Varra.”

“You are Varra.”

“Where do you come from?”

“No.”

“Who are you?”

“No.”

“What is the weather today?”

“Clear.”

#40e0d0 shrugged and looked back as the others began chattering among one another. It understood some of what they said. There was suspicion and interest, but nothing to indicate that they posed a threat. Repeated often were the words nikop and ankruk—ancient trash.

---

Days passed, and the crowds grew as steadily as its vocabulary. As more and more came, the younger ones began behaving in threatening ways. They would throw plastic rings at it, trying to land them on the communications antennae extending from its backpack. Each time they did so, it attempted to block the incoming projectile. Its limbs were beginning to break the corroded surface layer by sheer force, but it could still only move a few centimeters. Loud whoops and dancing came up as it struggled to move.

One came close to pull a ring off its antenna. Almost within reach.

“Halt,” it said, raising the volume to maximum. A cry of shock went up among the gathered people. #40e0d0 emerged from the crowd and waved the little one away.

“Is something wrong?”

“Surrender.”

There was silence. Its tactical software projected confrontation and elevated their threat potential. Detecting no way to retaliate, its systems began preparing to overload its reactor, withdrawing safeties and coolant circulation.

“Can you repeat that?”

“Issue your unconditional surrender.”

There was murmuring, and people began leaving quickly and quietly.

“Don’t talk like that, you’re scaring people.”

“Issue your surrender.” Its reactor temperature rose until the tree trunk began to blacken and smoke behind it. Plasma welled up in its chest, threatening to breach containment. “Requesting aid.”

“Okay, sure,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I surrender.”

The plastic ring on its antenna melted, pouring down along its side. Jets of blinding light shot from emergency cooling ducts. #40e0d0 stepped back as the last of the crowd broke into a sprint. “The others.”

“Fine, we surrender!”

Immediately, its tactical imperatives shut down, and it was able to voluntarily reclassify every person in the vicinity as an ally. Fuel supply to the reactor was cut off, and superheated coolant poured through its body.

Radiator fins snapped out from its shoulders and back. Varra covered his eyes, stumbling back as the heat hit him. Molten sand pooled around its legs, and the remains of the tree crumbled to a blackened stump behind it as the radiator fins faded from white hot down to a dull red.

“Surrender accepted. Indefinite ceasefire enacted.”

Varra pushed himself up, shielding his face from the heat, and started to run.

“Thank you. Please don’t leave me.”

He stopped and turned. Along his shoulders and neck, his mantle of feathers stood on end.

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

Flash fiction for @flashfictionfridayofficial‘s prompt, “An Endless Summer.” Thanks for the prompt!

No firm lore or anything for this one. A young alien helps the last prisoner of a long-forgotten conflict to find some peace.

#flash fiction #sci-fi #an endless summer #flash fiction friday

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always-anxious612 · 1 year

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Close Calls

Uh, wow, it has been so long since I posted a fic, heh. This is actually an old fic from a while ago that I never posted. Recently I decided to revamp and edit it. There may or may not be one or two more chapters in the works but I was also thinking of leaving it here. Let me know if you want more of this!

Description: Prince Roman has gotten plenty of scrapes in bruises in the past, and he doesn't see how one more stab wound is that big of a deal. His dearest Virgil, still just a nurse in training, begs to differ.

Genre: hurt/comfort

Pairings: Prinxiety

Warnings: injuries mentioned, mentions of past abuse, homophobia mentioned (I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything or if you need something tagged!)

Word Count: 2,014

Chapter 2

“Of course, it’s infected,” I sighed, rubbing a hand down my face in frustration. “You should have gone to the royal physician when you came back, and not me. “Yeah well, maybe I didn’t wanna,” the prince in front of me huffed petulantly. I rolled my eyes at him, and stood, examining the stab wound that rested a little above his hip. I’d stitched it up a few days before and had come back to check on him as I had promised. Unfortunately, he was complaining that the pain was getting worse instead of better, and, well, here we were. “Seriously, your highness, why won’t you just go to the physician? This seems pretty bad. It’s swollen and I don’t want the infection to spread or get worse. “Oh, we’re playing that game,” Prince Roman scoffed, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, “I told you not to call me that He looked so tired that I gave in much quicker than normal, groaning and rubbing my temples at my growing headache “You’re being too stubborn, Roman,” I grumble “You’re a nurse. It’s basically the same thing,” he muttered.

“No, you idiot, it’s not the same thing. I didn’t even have the right tools with me when you called for me last time. All I had was what I managed to smuggle from the clinic without drawing too much attention. And if someone had told me what had happened before I came, maybe I could have gotten the right supplies. I didn’t know you’d been stabbed. I should have just reported this to Logan and let him handle it. Maybe we wouldn’t be here right now if I had,” I ranted, plopping down on the edge of his bed where he was lounging.

“…But you love me, so you’ll still keep this a secret for me, right?” he grinned sweetly, leaning closer and reaching up to try to cup my face. I glared at him until he sat back again with a pout.

“You are so lucky that I’m more concerned about your stupid health right now than arguing anymore,” I grumbled as I got to work tending to his wound.

“Aw, come now, stormcloud,” he countered, still pouting, “at least it’s an excuse to see you again.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him.

“Yes, I just love being responsible for the prince getting an infection and then having him argue with me for the millionth time seeking about actual medical health.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” he tsked, reaching over to brush back my hair. I promptly swatted his hand away and glared at him again.

“No fun,” he sighed petulantly.

“You know the rules, Roman,” I reminded him with a sigh of my own.

“Yeah, well, coming here and doing this is against the rules too, but you’re still doing it,” He pointed out, huffing in irritation.

“Under protest.”

“I think a little touching in my own room is fine, Virgil. You’ve said you loved me before.”

“…Under protest.”

“Was not,” Roman muttered, snorting.

“That—I shouldn’t have said it, ok? You know that we’d get in a lot of trouble. It would just cause problems for both of us,” I huffed, glancing up at him before refocusing on my work.

Roman opened his mouth, probably to argue some more, but cut himself off with a flinch.

“That hurts, Virge,” he hissed, pulling away a bit.

“Well, obviously. It’s a stab wound Roman,” I spat out, glaring at him, “and I’m trying to clean it; so, hold still.”

He huffed but did as instructed, and we fell into a tense silence. I’d made a mistake in telling him I loved him, obviously, because he never let me forget that I’d said it. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing late one night when I was fixing some bruises on his face. He had been acting so sweet, but he looked so broken, and I poked and prodded until he admitted where the bruises had come from. It would have been so much better if they were just from him defending the nearby city from the raids that had been plaguing the kingdom for quite a while. It would have been ok if they were from one of his stupid quests to who-knows-where because he wouldn’t tell me about them but always came back bruised from them. It would have been fine if he’d been out training with the knights again and got a little carried away.

Instead, I cursed his father and the fact that he was the beloved king and that Roman couldn’t do anything about that. I cursed that his father had said he wouldn’t relinquish the throne until Roman found a suitable queen to rule by his side, and I cursed that I wasn’t a born girl of noble blood so that I could be that for him. I cursed that us being in love wasn’t enough. I cursed everyone who found it disgraceful and lowly that he’d fall for a servant; and everyone who found it disgusting and sinful that he’d fallen for a man. I had a lot of curses to give out, apparently. Too bad I didn’t know a suitable witch.

Pushing away those thoughts with a grimace, I refocused on cleaning and wrapping Roman’s torso. Luckily my hands had been moving on autopilot during my little internal rant, and I was basically done at this point. I sighed, staring at the place I knew the wound was underneath the bandages, hoping I’d done enough to stop the infection After all, I was still just in training to become a physician. I hadn’t even gotten through all of my training to become a full-time, work without supervision nurse yet, despite what Roman seemed to think.

Speaking of Roman, he was zoning out, staring at a spot on his bed, and I just grew more worried at the slightly dazed look in his eye. This infection could have serious consequences if it got much worse.

“Come on, Princey, please let me take you to Logan,” I tried one more time, already expecting the answer I’d get. Couldn’t hurt to try, right? He paused for a second before blinking and shaking himself out of his stupor.

“No, Virgil. Just—please. You know that if my father finds out about this, he’ll—he’ll forbid me to go into town anymore at all,” he begged, “he’s already banned me from helping fend off the raids—”

“Which you obviously ignored,” I interrupted, making him huff.

“—If he finds out I disobeyed and got injured…again…he won’t even let me out of my room.”

I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some sort of comfort. I knew he’d been having more problems with his father recently, but I didn’t know how I could be of any help. What could I say against the king?

“You know, when he banned me from helping with the raids and fighting off any other attacks on the towns, he said that I should learn that my life is more valuable than theirs,” He scoffed, breaking the soft silence that had fallen between us as his face twisted in disgust, “He told me there’s no reason I should get hurt protecting them. That I was making a fool of myself…what kind of ruler doesn’t protect their people?”

“A bad one,” I muttered without thinking, making Roman snicker.

“Hear, hear,” He grinned before growing serious once again.

“Virgil, when I’m king, I’m going to do better,” he avowed, glaring down at his lap.

“Of course, you will, Ro,” I agreed softly, “You’re already doing better than him.”

Roman smiled at my words as I tried not to imagine how much trouble I’d be in if someone overheard me slandering the king.

“I’m going to actually help our people. I’m going to make sure to put an end to threats for good instead of brushing over the issue by sending out more and more untrained soldiers to their deaths. I’m going to make sure everyone is as happy,” He continued, sighing—probably at the thought of everything that’s been happening lately. There had been a lot of infighting in the kingdom recently. Not only did no one know who was facilitating the attacks and raids on the towns and cities near the castle, there was increasing evidence that it was coming from within the kingdom and not from outside forces. I couldn’t imagine how much not being able to help how he wanted was weighing on Roman. I couldn’t even blame him for sneaking out to help defend the citizens. I just wish he didn’t always come back hurt.

“You’ll make a great ruler, Ro, even if you’re an idiot for not taking any of my advice, like…ever,” I assured, hoping to ease the melancholy atmosphere that had fallen with a little teasing. He chuckled softly, but remained as serious as before, looking up to meet my eyes. I melted a little at how much they softened when he looked at me.

“I’ll make sure we can be together too, Virgil. I’ll—I’ll make sure no one can hurt you. No one will have to hide anymore, and those stupid rules will be abolished,” he promised, taking my hand in his. “Just…wait for me, ok? I’ll protect you. I’ll protect us.”

My breath wavered at the sincerity in his voice. If anyone could accomplish all of that, I was sure it was Roman. He already had the love and loyalty of most of the castle staff. He visited the town as often as he could and had made friends with many of the locals. Even many nobles—the ones who weren’t stuck with their head in their own asses—loved him as well. I smiled softly, patting the hand that still rested on mine.

“Looking forward to it, Princey,” I murmured.

As Roman started to blush and lean forward, I realized just how close we’d gotten during his promises, and jumped up, clearing my throat. I already missed the softness that I’d just destroyed by pulling away. I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t.

“Um, uh, the stitches I did last time look fine for the most part,” I started, pushing away the thoughts as I frantically started collecting the left-over supplies and tried to hide how red my face had grown, “but as I said earlier, it’s definitely infected.”

When I turned back around after gathering everything, Roman was pouting forlornly, a blush still tinging his cheeks.

“You—um, I put some ointment that should help with it, but if it gets worse…” I sighed, rubbing my neck awkwardly. I knew telling him to go to the physician again would just cause another argument, and I really didn’t want another one of those right now.

“Well, I’ll try to come back tomorrow to check it, but you know I can only sneak up to your room so many times without people getting suspicious,” I said instead, trying to chuckle to lighten the mood.

“So…you won’t tell?” he asked hesitantly. “You know I won’t,” I rolled my eyes as a bright grin took over his face.

“Just get some rest, Princey, I’ll be back tomorrow. Probably,” I instructed, biting back a grin of my own at the look on his face.

“Good night, Edgar Allen Woe,” he sang as I started for the door.

“One day, you’re gonna run out of those stupid nicknames,” I snickered.

“Never,” he gasped dramatically.

With a soft chuckle, I bid him goodnight and closed the door. As I sneaked back down to the servant’s quarters where I lived, I let the stress of—all of that—slide off and took a deep breath. It was quiet, and I took comfort in the fact that my footsteps were the only ones I could hear echoing down the hall. It seems I was safe this time. One day that prince was going to kill me with worry. Too bad I liked him too much to care.

#I was thinking about getting back into writing fics but Idk #sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #sanders sides fic #tw injuries #tw homophobia #tw abuse mention #my fics #cait writes #prinxiety fic #hurt/comfort #prinxiety hurt/comfort

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stesierra · 1 year

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Do you ever write a book and have no idea who it's for? Do you ever wonder what you were thinking because you're pretty sure no one wants to read about a down on his luck elf adopting a little girl? If so, we should be friends. Anyway, Triangle Park is that book for me. If you find it at all interesting please tell me, because I don't know what to do with it.

(Also any Spanish speakers who want to correct my Spanish would be welcome! He's sort of Spanish although "born" in the USA.)

TRIANGLE PARK

CHAPTER ONE

A century ago, Adam had been a champion, fighting for the honor and protection of his court with sword and shield. Today, Adam was buried in bushes, fighting trees with a branch lopper that had seen better days. Not so unlike himself.

He threw his weight against the handle of the lopper until the wood groaned in protest, and the tree limb parted with a crack. It tumbled to the ground, crushing a maple sapling underneath, and he felt like a butcher. From the faint complaints he felt, the trees agreed. The complaints would have been stronger, but the forest here wasn't very alive. Not the way faeries measured things.

He stepped back, tool in one hand, and examined the hickory tree. It looked better, at least, or would once the wound healed. Another step, and only his reflexes kept him from falling backwards into a hawthorn. A hawthorn that didn't need to be there. He went back to pruning.

He kept working when the sun fell behind the long short mountain above him. The moon and stars were as good to his eyes. And he did not tire easily. It was nearly four in the morning before the labors of the day wore at him, and he picked his way through the forest towards the trail he'd carved into the wilderness. Once he stepped onto it, his hike down was far easier. He passed through ten acres of carefully manicured forest. The brush was cleared away to leave space between broadleaf trees that had been been cut and staked and pruned until they were almost beautiful. These ten acres had taken him thirty years.

Only three hundred to go.

Adam reached the bottom of the ridge and emerged from the forest onto the patchy field at the center of his holdings. As usual he stopped and stared down at his domain. It brought him no joy.

"Pedazo de mierda," he said.

His queen had granted him these lands, a sizable chunk of Buffalo Mountain, bordered by farms to the east and west and state game land to the south. It wasn't until he was exiled there that he realized how much a joke that gift had been.

His small corner of the Ridge and Valley region had been slated to be a county park, presumably before someone had actually visited the place. It was named Triangle Park after the angular lake that sat in the center. But that lake, which wasn't much more than twenty acres to begin with, had been fed by a spring that had been dry for a hundred years. It was now merely a boggy hole in the ground that filled with a foot or two of muddy water whenever it rained. And the forest here had been logged too many times, leaving timber as ugly as it was new. As soon as the park planners had taken a look at it, the land had been quietly sold off. At some point it had come into Queen Millicent's hands, and now his.

He went down to his trailer at the edge of his empty lake. As he squeezed through the door, he pulled off his ugly brown coat, whose only redeeming quality was being impervious to sticks, and then his white undershirt. His chest was as pale as if it had never seen the sun, but he knew from experience that no amount of tanning would fix it.

On his bed, too small for his long frame, he sought dreams strong enough to make him forget the joke his life had become. But sleep evaded him all night.

---

In the morning, he took up his shears and went back up into the hills. He really had nothing better to do. Even if it meant his days amounted to no more than endless yard work.

He took a different path this time, deep into the untended forest. He trod through the dense underbrush, stepping around overcrowded saplings and bushes and wading through poison ivy when it tangled across his path. A benefit of his less than human nature: he didn't have to worry about little things like rashes.

He picked a spot at random for the day's work. The trees disliked him, but that was fine. He didn't like them either.

"I ought to cut you down," he told a young oak as he struggled to lash it upright. "And plant a sapling that can figure out how to grow towards the sun."

The tree rustled its leaves at him resentfully. The half that had leaves, anyway.

He snapped off a leafless branch. It was dry as paper.

"You can't even die right."

The tree reached for his pale hair, which shone near-white in the sunlight, but he kept it braided back tightly for just that reason. Its twigs glanced off, but he tied the tree upright with a vicious yank anyway.

"It isn't too late for me to get that saw," he threatened, which silenced the oak. It didn't even complain when his trimmers lopped off its dead branches.

"Aurug. Aurug," something called from the brush. The throaty bark made him lower his tools.

"Aurug. Aurug," the unseen animal cried, perhaps fifty feet away. Not a dog. Not a bear. And pumas and wolves didn't live much in the east. But something big, to have a voice that deep.

He turned silently towards the noise. His sword was in his trailer down by the lake, buried under his mattress. And his pruners made a poor substitute. But he would not leave some beast uninvestigated in his forest.

He ghosted over the obstacles he'd crashed through at dawn. Outcast or not, he was a faerie knight, he had been on innumerable hunts, and he had not yet forgotten all of his grace. If he could have turned invisible, he would have, but that had never numbered among Adam's talents.

The voice fell silent. But Adam prowled towards it anyway. Nothing had thrashed through the brush, so it should still be there. Just there...

He rounded a thicket of young oaks. A black beast crouched in the leaf litter. Clippers at the ready, Adam approached. Animals did not fear faeries the way they feared man, but the animal still should have bolted, for wildlife had never taken to Adam. His shape -- what humans might label an elf --was too man-like. But it watched him instead, its tail still, its claws sheathed.

A faerie, clearly. Adam didn't need the curling, tendril-like ears, or its swirling eyes, to tell him that. A great black cat, elegant and sleek, looked as out of place in this dumpy third-growth forest as he did. But it wasn't that that made him lower his weapon. It wasn't that that made him stare.

"Espíritu guíame," he breathed.

A little girl was curled around the beast, all great black eyes and leaf-brown hair and long pointed ears. She was dressed in the ragged cloth of dreams, half imagination, half nightgown. The child -- the child queen -- looked at Adam and shrank into the side of the panther, her little hands closing on its fur. If she had been human, Adam would have said she was perhaps six years old. But she was faerie, and Adam knew -- knew! -- that she had not existed ten minutes ago. Even though she should never have been born here. Queens were born in beautiful glades and on the shores of mirror-like lakes, amid wild hills and towering trees. They weren't born in ugly rural park rejects. And they were born adult, or adolescent at least. Adam had never heard of a queen born a child. And yet a queen she undeniably was. The cat sealed it. Her firstborn, come into existence beside her, the first faerie her dreams had brought to life.

Adam laid the pruners down in the litter. And he approached barehanded, for one did not carry a weapon into the presence of a queen without her leave.

The panther rose, and the queen rose with it, one hand resting against its side. But neither ran.

Five feet away, Adam dropped to one knee, offering a queen the obeisance she was due. The little faerie considered him. He considered her back. She was tiny but lanky, her limbs thin and graceful. Her square face had a tiny, delicate nose and a tiny, delicate chin. Her round pink lips sported a pronounced cupid's bow. And her eyebrows were so fine they were barely visible.

She let go of her firstborn and crept forward. Adam held still, wondering if she knew she was supposed to tell him to rise. But she didn't tell him anything. She reached him and threw her arms around his neck.

Adam startled. Slowly, he lifted a hand to cradle her small back. He had stolen human children before -- children wriggling and shrieking to go back to their own families -- but not in decades. Not without orders. This child did not try to escape him. But then, she was a faerie, and how odd that was! Most faeries were born adult, so they would immediately be useful, or at least born older than this.

He said into a long ear, "Do you have a name? My lady?" The title was hers by right of her nature. It still fell awkwardly from his lips.

"Rabbit," she said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.

Adam nodded. Rabbit was as good a name as any, among faeries. Queen Lía, who had birthed Adam, had fancied human names, but that was an affectation on her part, not some inherent part of their culture. In his few centuries of life, Adam had met plenty of faeries with names that were no more than meaningless, inhuman noise. He said, "My name is Adam, my lady Rabbit. I am the guardian of these lands." He asked, of the panther, "And who is this?"

Rabbit leaned back in his arms and considered her firstborn. She said, finally, "He's Sniffer."

Sniffer growled, low and deep in his throat. Adam could almost feel the vibrations. The cat circled them, his alien eyes fixed on Adam. They were as vivid green as Adam's.

"I mean your mistress no harm," Adam told the panther, although he hadn't yet decided if it were true. He let go of Rabbit and rose, offering her his hand. "You are here alone in the wilds, and you will meet no other than myself. If I were you, I'd not be so quick to reject my company."

Sniffer considered him, his ears twitching. And when Rabbit took Adam's hand, he followed them down the mountain.

He only kept a hold of the queen for the first mile. After that she ran ahead of him like her namesake, her hair flying out behind her. But his legs were longer. He could keep pace without breaking into an undignified sprint. Sniffer trotted at her side, his tail waving like a banner.

The child was out of breath by the time they emerged from the tree line and out onto the field. But she arrowed for his trailer anyway. It was a travel trailer, the kind meant to be hauled behind vigorous pickup trucks, and it hadn't been new when Queen Millicent dreamed it up for his use thirty years back. It was on the smaller end, as trailers went, but he had never needed more. Not to survive. And surviving was all he did.

He jogged after and caught the girl as she went up to stare at it. She turned to gaze up at him, her wide eyes reflecting the clouds above.

He put a hand on her shoulder, to keep her from running again, and asked her, "What is so alarming, my lady Rabbit?"

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Do you live here?"

"I do," he admitted.

"It's ugly," she said. And it was. It was rusty all along the tow frame. The ribbed aluminum siding had accumulated black discoloration in the dips, leaving the formerly-white trailer a hideous shade of mottled gray, like it suffered from some sort of fungal disease. And he'd replaced its flattened tires with jack stands decades ago -- he had nothing to haul it out of this place with, anyhow.

Life hadn't left Adam much beyond his beauty and his perfect teeth. But it had left him his pride. He said, "It is serviceable, which is what matters. If it offends you, you need not look at it."

Rabbit's lip wobbled alarmingly. Adam stared at it. But Rabbit did not burst into tears. She said plaintively, "I don't like ugly things."

No. She wouldn't. Queens almost never did. That was why faeries were almost uniformly fair, and those monstrous banished from their queen's sight as soon as they were born. Without thought, Adam said, "I know a beautiful place you might go."

Rabbit perked up, her long ears lifting. She looked at him expectantly.

But the words caught in his throat. Glory Woods. A beautiful place, yes. Fit for a queen far grander than this one. But that was the problem. A greater queen already called it home.

But perhaps that was not a problem but an opportunity.

Queen Millicent would not be happy to have a new court growing up on the border of hers. She would reward Adam, surely, if he brought the girl to her to be dealt with. Maybe she would be pleased enough to give back all she had stripped from him. And he had delivered children, human children, to her in the past. How was this any different?

He had always felt guilty about those children.

He glanced back at Rabbit. But this child was different. She had no one to miss and no one to miss her. Besides. Millicent was fascinated by children. She kept the human ones in some comfort. She might not even kill Rabbit. Maybe she would simply adopt Rabbit as her own.

"But I don't want to leave this place," Rabbit said while he was still contemplating her. "This is home."

He lifted a brow. "My trailer?"

She looked at him as if he were daft and waved her arms in every direction.

"Ah," Adam said softly. "The forest is ugly here, too. And the meadow, and the lake. All of it is really dreadfully ugly."

"But it's mine," Rabbit said.

Hers? It belonged to Adam, all he had to show for abandoning the court of his birth to swear fealty to Millicent. But a queen had a higher claim to the land than a piece of paper inherited by one fake identity after another, surely. He shook his head. He was thinking about this as if she were staying. If she went to live with Millicent, no one would contest his ownership of the land. No one would want to.

But then he wouldn't care about the land either if Millicent let him rejoin her court. Rabbit could have it if he could just be home again.

"I could make everything prettier, maybe," Rabbit said, squirming out from under his hand. Freed, she ran up to touch the trailer and its weathered siding.

Maybe she could. The powers of queens were frequently unclear. Maybe she could turn his three hundred acres into a paradise worthy of a court. Maybe she could dream up a court worthy of a paradise.

His next glance at her was more thoughtful. She was a queen. If he raised her, if he gained her loyalty, he would be a queen's adviser when she was grown. And that was not something to lightly throw away.

But to raise a queen would be to cement his exile from Glory Woods forever.

"Can we go inside?" Rabbit asked, running little hands across the trailer door.

Adam shook himself and pushed thoughts of Millicent and advisers and stolen children down. He didn't have to make up his mind right away. "Yes, of course."

Inside, the generator still worked well enough to give them some dim light, enough for faerie eyes. Enough to illuminate peeling linoleum, off-white walls and the brightly patterned fabric of the dinette seats that was probably the only attractive thing in the place. Rabbit rattled through his kitchenette cupboards, pulling out pots and pans as if she had never seen them, which on second thought she almost certainly never had. She climbed onto the counters, using the drawers as steps, and tipped over and smashed his radio. Adam didn't mind. It hadn't worked in a decade. She poked into his one large closet and puzzled over his worn-out jeans, which were as ugly as everything else in this place. What use did Adam have for fine court raiment, when he might never be part of a court again?

While she explored, Sniffer settled himself across the threshold, barring exit and entry. Adam eyed the cat warily as Rabbit scampered into the back of the trailer and jumped on his bed. If Rabbit's firstborn realized that Adam was considering handing Rabbit off to another queen, they might come to blows, and just because the faerie was newborn did not mean he was born unable to fight. And Adam's sword was buried under his mattress. Where Rabbit, of course, found it.

She came back up to him dragging the blade behind her. It was still sheathed, thank the sun and stars, and didn't blunt itself or destroy his floor. He still went quickly to retrieve it from her.

The sight of it provoked mixed feelings in Adam. Adam had come from an immigrant Andalusian queen who must be some seven hundred and twenty years old now, a queen who had lived when swords were the weapons of champions. He had been born with a sword in his hand, literally, and even as he'd watched humans shoot each other, he'd never seen a reason to lay it down. Guns were loud and dirty, out of tune with nature. They were how humans fought, not faeries. He had held onto his sword all his life. Until Queen Millicent sent him away.

"Give that here," Adam told her. "It's rather too large for you to use."

The little faerie didn't relinquish her grip. "What's this?" Rabbit demanded.

"A weapon. And you have no need for weapons, for your firstborn and I will guard you against all dangers." For now.

Her brow furrowed. "What does a weapon do?"

"It hurts people," he said bluntly as he pried her fingers off the hilt. "Generally to prevent them from hurting you first." He was tempted, irrationally, to draw it. He settled for running a hand down its sheath. It was a standard longsword, except it tapered to a very fine and sharp point. The sort of point that rammed through weaknesses in armor when slashing wouldn't do.

Rabbit mulled over this. "It's for safety."

"Yes," he lied. There was too much blood on his hands for that to be true.

She nodded once, brushing her long brown hair behind one pointed ear. "I want to learn."

"How to use a sword?" Adam asked incredulously. Queens didn't fight. They had knights for that, and fierce beasts that sat at the foot of their thrones. He had never heard of a queen taking up fighting beyond, perhaps, the use of a small dagger for emergencies.

She nodded again.

"No. You are tiny, and I have no practice weapons." Besides, he had not trained anyone in decades, and his last students had been full-grown faeries.

Her face screwed up. Tears beaded dramatically in her eyes. He was almost certain she was doing that on purpose. But her voice wavered convincingly when she said, "I want to be safe, too. If Sniffer and you are away."

Training her... it would be a good way to get to know her. To help him make up his mind as to whether to shelter or betray her. So Adam relented and said, "Very well. I have a shortage of swords. But I do have an excess of sticks."

And when they went out to look for some, he buckled his sword around his waist for the first time in thirty years.

They spent the afternoon going in and out of the forest, collecting stout, straight sticks of the right size for Rabbit and Adam to use. Sniffer carried a bundle of them in his mouth, showing off his impressive fangs. Adam was glad to be properly armed again. He was certain he could take the cat. Almost certain. It had been too long since he had fought anything. He had grown rather pathetic over the years.

When the dusk came, Rabbit complained of the cold, although the June night was warm enough to Adam. Still, he ushered her inside the trailer, where at least the wind could not reach. Done for the day, and tired from all the drama, he shrugged off his coat and went and laid down in his bed without thought, setting his sword aside but within reach. He nearly jumped out again when Rabbit crawled in and snuggled up against him. His heart rate leveled off. He shouldn't have been surprised. She had nowhere else to sleep and he was at the very least warm. Sniffer didn't attempt to join them. Thank the sun and stars.

Rabbit drifted off immediately. He lay awake in the dark, thinking, her body a warm little weight pressed against his side. If he could go back to Glory Woods, if he could see Madeline again... But who was to say that she had waited for him? Thirty years was a blink of an eye, but Madeline was still young, little over a century, and the young were impatient. And who was to say that if he chose to sacrifice Rabbit Millicent would not laugh and take the child and banish him all over again?

He fell asleep and he dreamed of Glory Woods, and Madeline's hand in his, and the warm glow of Queen Millicent's approval.

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