#Pale faces in dark windows (mun)

[cryptic-ashes]

(Happy munday!

I'm finally back from my vacation at my parents place and working at gamescom, so I'm still pretty tired but will slowly get back into writing!

Have a Simon selfie I took at the con)

[louloulemons-posts]

Oil At The Coffee Shop V

Eddie X Fem!Reader

Summary : Someone new comes to work at the shop and you see Eddie again.

Word Count : 2.7k

Warnings : Not proofread, no use of Y/N, petnames, sad eddie, wayne comforts him, cuteness, fluff, more eddie x reader in this part.

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Oh uh Hi,” you spoke awkwardly, trying not to stare. “Hi,” he grunted, taking a one step back, then fully retreating to his room. “I uh, I think that’s my cue to leave,” you said to Wayne.

“I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right Honey. Thank you for stopping by and for the treats.”

“Thank you for the tea, it was nice seeing you again Mr Mun-,” he gave you a raised brow, “Wayne.”

“You too Honey, I’ll be sure to stop by the shop soon.” You hummed, bidding the man goodnight and went back to your car, only then noticing Eddies van around the back of the trailer.

Well you had tried to make things better, but could only feel like you’d just made them a whole lot worse.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

His body was screaming, his head was too. He ripped the towel off his body, running to his draws to find clothes. Throwing on a pair of sweatpants he paused in front of the mirror.

They were everywhere. Thick pale marks coated his skin, from his neck to his legs. Completely covered, they hadn’t faded in the last year. He let out a sob.

Falling to the floor he felt arms wrap around him, “It’s okay, Wayne’s got you. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you again, I got you son, I got you,” the man spoke into his curls.

He didn’t know why he was crying. Maybe because she’d seen his ugliness and her face hadn’t changed. There was no malice. No disgust. Just surprise at him being there.

He’d been so cruel. So horrible. Shouted at her. Hurt her feelings. She just wanted to be kind and he pushed her away. Did that make him a monster too?

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Sunday rolled around, the last sunlight of Summer dancing through the windows. Robin had been right, Steve called her this morning inviting her to a barbecue on Tuesday night. Which she happily accepted.

Opening another box, she emptied out more take away coffee cups and lids, taking the back stock to the storage room. The bell on the door rang, “Sorry we’re closed,” you said, walking to the main shop floor.

You smiled at who you came across, “Max! What are you doing here, it’s your day off!” you playfully scolded. “I have someone I want you to meet, this is El. She’s a friend of mine and is looking for a job.”

“Nice to meet you Honey,” you introduced yourself to the curly haired girl with dark ways. “Wait El? Your Hopper and Joyce’s daughter?” She nodded, a small smile on her face. “It’s nice to finally meet you, so do you have any experience?”

“Uh not really, but I’m a quick learner.”

“She’s a good baker, maybe she could help more with the pastries and cakes. Her and Joyce make the best banana bread,” Max told you.

You noticed how the redhead had decided to wear her glasses today - she wasn’t lying when she said her body needed to rest.

“Well if you’re not busy tomorrow, you’re more than welcome to have a trial morning. Me and Max can show you the ropes.”

“I would really like that.”

“Great I’ll see you both at 8am, now go and enjoy the rest of your day,” you ushered them out of the store, hushing Max when she said she’d stay and help with unloading and restocking.

You had to bake a lot today, things that needed to cool over night and be finished tomorrow. Along with changing up the Weekly Special menu, adding your aunts famous Pecan Pie with Maple Ice-cream.

Tying your hair up, you put on your apron and washed your hands. Preparing to bake cakes, and cookies along with many different fruity turnovers (mainly cherry).

Along with that you made some sandwich fillings, like pesto and put some meets into cook. It was a busy, warm and productive day. You knew Callie would be proud, you knew Scotty and the rest of your family would be too.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

When your alarm went off at 6:30 you whined, not wanting to leave the soft comfort of your bed. Pulling yourself up you headed straight to the bathroom, washing your face, and brushing your teeth.

Sliding on a tighter pair of dark slacks, you tucked in your long sleeved white top, rolling the sleeves to your elbows. Tying your hair up and putting on your work shoes.

Taking a punnet of cherries out of the fridge, you headed down to the shop. Switching on the lights, you headed to the kitchen. The ovens were on straight away and you began finishing off what you began the day before.

Shortly after a knock came at the front door, heading it you were greeted by Max and El. “Morning ladies.”

“Morning,” El spoke in a sing song tone.

“Hm,” Max grunted, you’d learnt she didn’t enjoy an early rise.

You also noticed how she wore her glasses again. “Okay, so Max if you could make a start on getting the chairs down and starting up the coffee machine. I’m going to explain to El and show her the basics.”

The red head nodded, yawning into her hand and walked over to the chairs and tables. “Follow me,” you smiled at El. “So here is the kitchen, Max said you’re good at baking so you may become familiar with it very soon.

“People tend to have fruit and warm drinks in the mornings, so savoury you don’t have to worry about until the afternoon. Where I really need you is the counter - helping Max with taking orders and drinks.”

You picked up a finished tray of cookies, and heading back to the front. “You’ll be shadowing Max for today, mainly writing orders and helping her out with coffees and other hot drinks. I’ll show you how to do the cash too.”

After giving the girl a quick run down of what she had to do she smiled. “I think I can do that,” she spoke, her tone very gentle.

“Good, it’ll be great to have you. If you have any questions feel free to ask. I’m just going to finish up in the back, so you can help Max carry on setting up.”

She nodded and walked to her friend, who was labelling cakes. The pair fell into easy conversation, it was nice to see, the only ‘girlfriend’ you’d had was Diane, but she was an in-law, so you didn’t know if it counted.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Monday and Tuesday went around quickly, El did amazing on her training and started full time later on in the week. She wasn’t lying when she said she was a quick learner.

Her and Max worked great together too, you were a bit scared that they’d stand and chat all day, but they were hard workers. You were now headed to Steve’s for his barbecue.

He had said you’d meet his friends again along with some others. Max and El would be there, along with Lucas. You were looking forward to it, but could only assume that Eddie would be there - your stomach turned at the thought.

You understood why he panicked you really did, his scars weren’t anything to be ashamed off. You knew that, they’re healed wounds, but maybe Eddie was still healing from what caused them.

Pulling up to Steve’s you saw Jonathan’s car, along with Steve’s and Vickies. Eddies van nowhere to be seen. Heading to the door you knocked a few times.

“You made it!” Steve said, as he opened the door and gave you a huge hug. “You knew I was coming!” you laughed, allowing him to lead you inside. “Everyone’s out back, I’ll introduce you.”

The garden was full of new faces and familiar ones. Jonathan waved at you, coming over to greet you. “Hey,” he smiled, giving you a hug. “How’s it going?”

“Good how are you settling in?”

“I’ve jumped right into it so it’s great.”

A voice shouted your name, “Hey Robin.”

She came to you, her fingers linked with Vickies. “I wanted to formally introduce you to my wonderful girlfriend, Vickie.”

“Yeah introduce her before you get over the limit of tipsy,” Steve teased.

“Shut up Dingus,” she said, pinching the boys side. “It’s nice to meet you properly,” you said.

“You too, sorry we couldn’t last time. Bambi legs and all,” she motioned to Robin, which made you chuckled. “Hey Steve who’s this?” a curly haired teen asked.

Steve introduced you, “This is Dustin.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said.

“You’re the one everyone’s been talking about!” he exclaimed.

“Dude don’t make her uncomfortable,” Steve nudged him.

“Sorry,” he said, before turning to his friends and shouting, “Guys come here and meet her!” You face flushed slightly, but you calmed when you saw the familiar faces of Max, El and Lucas.

“Hi guys,” you waved to them. They all greeted you back. There were two more boys with them, one slightly familiar and another you were unsure of. “This is Mike,” El said.

Ah Nancy’s brother. “It’s nice to meet you Mike.”

“And you.”

“And this is my Will,” Jonathan spoke from beside you. “Oh my gosh, no way!” you exclaimed. “You’ve gotten so big!”

“It’s been a while,” he laughed shyly.

“Now all the introductions are done, would you like a beer?” he asked.

“Just the one,” you smiled. “I’m just going to say hi to Nancy and Argyle,I’ll come see you guys in a bit,” you said to the younger teens.

“How’s it going guys.” You say down next to Argyle, smiling at the pair. “Babe! It’s so good to see you again,” the boy gave you a smile, his eyes slightly red. “You too,” you smiled and the thoroughly relaxed boy.

“It’s nice to see you,” Nancy spoke.

“You too, oh my gosh I read your article yesterday. It was so interesting!” You had discovered that Nancy was a journalist for the local newspaper.

Jonathan often took the photos that would appear above her pieces, on the side of his own job. Steve plonked himself besides you, handing you a beer and resting his head on your shoulder.

“How’s Scott?” he asked.

“Good.”

“The kids?”

“Good.”

“Missing them?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you sighed. Letting your head rest on his own.

“They’ll have to come and visit soon, they could all stay here. I have enough room,” he motioned to the large house. “I’ll tell him next time we talk.”

Steve went to continue talking when you heard more greetings being exchanged. “Munson! My man you made it!” Steve smiled, greeting the boy, you’d been so nervous to see.

Dressed in an old band tee, some jeans, a leather jacket. Your stomach flipped but in a very different way that you didn’t understand. You jumped when someone whispered in your ear, “Did you manage to make up?” Max.

“Well I spoke to Wayne. I need to talk to Eddie,” you told her quietly. She nodded and walked away from you, wrapping her arms around the taller boy. “Hey Red,” he smiled, like actually smiled.

He had deep smile lines near his mouth, dimples that sat perfectly on his cheeks, and slight crinkles by his eyes that you knew would result in crows feet as he got older.

It was beautiful.

Sharing greetings with everyone else, he spoke to you, “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m doing good, you?”

“Good.” You nodded and he hummed. It was awkwardly silent.

“Well let’s start grilling,” Steve broke the tension. “I’ll come help,” you said, walking to the house with the boy. “What the hell was that?” he asked, raising his brow.

“What was what?”

“You and Eddie in the garden. What the hell?”

“It was nothing.” You began putting peppers, onions and tomatoes on skewers to make kebabs.

“Oh my god you like him!” You dropped a piece of pepper. “N-no I don’t!”

“Okay you think he’s cute at least and don’t even deny it I saw how goo-goo eyed you went when he was with Max.”

“Oh my god shush.”

“It’s true then.”

“This conversations done, go start the fire you shit head.”

“Okay okay, but we’re talking about this again.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever you say.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You were all sat around together, some people on the ground and others on loungers, all happily munching away on delicious food.

“So you’re running the cafe?” Dustin spoke to you. “Yeah, along with Max and now El.”

Everyone smiled at that, proud of the pair of them. “How come you moved here?” he asked, taking a bite out of his food.

“Oh uh,” you began to speak.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Steve said, giving Dustin a stern look. “No it’s okay, I inherited the shop when my Aunt Callie passed, but I could only move recently.”

“Steve said you used to be a decorator.”

“I did. I decorated the whole store with his help.”

“In one week?”

“Mhm.”

“And now two of our friends work with you?”

“They do.”

“Do we get friend discounts?”

“If I say yes will you stop making me feel like I’m being interrogated by Hop?”

“Sure.”

“Then yes, you can have a friend discount.”

“Wicked.” You chuckled at the boy, he had nerve you’d give him that.

Everyone laughed at the interaction between the pair of you and the evening went on. Helping Steve clear up plates and wrap up leftovers you hear and squeal and a splash followed by, “LUCAS!”

“You coming in?” Steve asked, motioning to the water. “Probably not, might just roll up my jeans and dip my feet.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, taking a swig of his beer.

You did just that, sliding off your shoes and socks. Rolling up your jeans a few times, you laughed at the younger kids, currently playing chicken in the water. Max on Lucas’ shoulders and Will on Mikes.

Robin and Vickie were lounging away, smiling at one another. Argyle taking a drag of a cigarette that clearly wasn’t just a cigarette. Dustin and Steve stood in the water chatting. El held onto the side, talking to her big brother and his girlfriend.

Everyone seemed so content.

“Hi,” A voice came from behind you. Turning you head you spoke, “Hi.” It was Eddie, he began to get down next to you. “I um … I was just wondering if we could talk?”

“Yeah of course.”

Meeting the ground next to you, he sat with his knees up to his chest. “Before you say anything, I just want to say I’m sorry,” you said quickly, before he got a word out.

“Y-you’re sorry? What on earth for?”

“Well I didn’t mean to offended you, and then I was rude and then I was just at your home.”

“Sweetheart I was a dick to you. I snapped at you just because I felt insecure. You’ve been nothing, but kind and I’ve taken advantage of that. I can only apologise.”

“You have nothing to apologi-“

“Yes I do, and the trailer. I’m sorry I ran away. I just wasn’t expecting you to get there and um … my scars aren’t the nicest thing to see.”

“There’s nothing wrong with them. They’re pretty fucking cool actually. I noticed your tattoos too. How many do you have?” He seemed taken aback by your reply, “Oh uh, I’ve lost count now, when I remember I’ll let you know.”

“I’m thinking of getting one, right here,” you motioned to a space on your upper forearm. “Oh yeah, what would you get?”

“I’m looking for inspiration.”

“It’s where my first one is,” he said.

“Really?” He nodded, pulling his arm out of his jacket. His shirt was long sleeved so he rolled it up slightly so you could see. It was a demonic looking puppet with a hand controlling it.

“Wow that’s so cool,” you said, gently tracing the line work. You could feel the bumps and dips of scaring as you did so. His breath hitched and you met his gaze. Deep chocolate eyes. “Sorry,” you whispered.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. Just thought it was really fucking metal.” You huffed a laugh at that, “It is, fucking metal.”

“Hey Sweetheart?” He said, rolling down his sleeve and tugging his jacket back on.

“Hm?”

“Do you think we could start over?” he asks. You smiled, introducing yourself to him. “I’m Eddie,” he grinned.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N: 👀👀👀

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

taglist : @corrodedseraphine @flawiette @witchwolflea @emxxblog @plk-18 @vintagehellfire

let me know if you want to be added 🤍

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Hi there! I read your drabble with Sukuna and Kinie and I loved it! Can you write another one like when one of Sukuna's enemies dared to harm her. And he would be a raging angry boss.

((Hi there dear, hope your doing well this evening. Also, I'm happy you liked it! But I can write another one for you so just give me a moment please.))

((Also again Kinie ger belongs to my wonderful friend @demon-blood-youths ))

Silver butterfly mun/Peahen mom

The guards were nervous unsure of how to tell Sukuna this when he was just done with a meeting. How mad do they think he will get when hearing this? Or how badly they would have to beg him not to kill them for this. With a gulp, they knock to wait for him to answer.

"Come in.." hearing his calm voice, they open the door seeing Sukuna with his followers after a meeting. He seems so happy right now but he looks seeing his guards.

"Oh, it's you two. Is their something you need to report to me?" he said but he seems happy though the guards were scared knowing that would change.

"Y...Yes sir. We ummm..have some news regarding one enemy.." he said but Sukuna blinks to wait as the guards stood there.

"Yes?"

"..W..Well..." that goes to them explaining what happened. The others were silent hearing this but Sukuna's eyes widen hearing the report and his followers were silent. In a moment, the guards looks to Sukuna but they felt their faces pale seeing the calm boss now having a dark radiant anger of energy from his body.

"S...sir?"

"........." Not saying a word, he goes to Kinie's room to check on her. The guards along with his followers follow him but they knew the enemy fucked up.

In a moment, the guards saw Sukuna already in the room but he was sitting by a tired but bandaged up Kinie. He was gently caressing her cheek worried as she was knocked out. He was told she got attacked by his enemies trying to take her to be sold but thanks to Uruame he got her away from the fuckers.

"Lord Sukuna, she hasn't suffered anything serious..but they did try to kidnap her sir.." He said but Sukuna said nothing to see her but he didn't like seeing her this hurt. He hated it! How dare those assholes harm his princess!

Growling deeply in anger, he stood up but looks at the window. "......You two.." the guards tense hearing the fury in his voice. "Which one harmed my princess?" he said.

"...W...we......we are unsure. We didn't know know or see how but-"

"..You fucking idiots don't know!?" he said but Uruame clears his throat.

"I know who. It was the yakuza gang in the north my lord. They were trying to re drug her again to take her away......" he said but Sukuna looks more angry that he only flexed his hand ready to slatter them. In a moment, he looks to turn but the guards move out his way seeing the murder look in his red eyes.

"......I'll be back. Uruame. Stay here and keep watch of her. I'll be back.." he growls to leave but the guards were scared almost wetting themselves. Uruame knew he was angry right now but he didn't blame him. Not when finding out one of his enemies harmed what he cared about. For now, he goes to keep watch on Kinie for him.

"You two go and get some warm food and tea for Kinie.."he said as the two leave.

~~~~~~Later that night~~~~~~~

The enemy of Sukuna were angry they lost the target but they would try again knowing where she was. The leader was furious wanting to have Kinie to himself but they had to get pass the king of curses or the boss of the world.

"I can't believe you idiots failed in getting her here! i need to get her away from him then I can make her my toy. She seems perfect with the drugs we could inject her with." he looks to the new drugs with some of his own followers wondering who.

"I'm sure next time we will sir." One said as the boss knew that. They can get her again. It was just a matter of time of course. However, as they were planning, a explosion was heard making the leader tense. What the hell was that!? He got his answer hearing screams of terror but hearing some being killed from the blood that hits the walls and glass.

"!?" Some of his followers stood wondering what the hell was going on but that's when the door got smashed down by another guard who lost his head! It was ripped off it seems leaving the body there. The leader tenses seeing the blood gushing out from the stub of the neck before hearing footsteps.

They looked through the door to see bodies hanging everywhere or some being torn apart. Burned and unrecognizable for anyone. Heck, he even had some with their heads hanging on metal spikes.

"......You assholes have a lot of fucking nerve to harm my girl?" said a cold voice seeing the others now afraid. A blood covered Sukuna ryomen was holding a dead body that was scorched but he was killing everyone that dared harm his Kinie.

"W..what the fuck!?" he shouted seeing his followers about to aim and shoot but he waves his hand to have their heads cut clean off. The leader shook seeing blood spilling everywhere to the bodies falling to the ground. That's when Sukuna walks inside but he looks angry to the leader who backs up.

When Sukuna got close, he grabs the leader by the throat to start strangling him that the other chocked kicking his feet. "You should have stayed away from my princess you dog...no one..and I mean No one harms my princess..I don't give a shit who you are..I won't let you live after what your goons did to her." he said glaring that the other was scared.

"W..wait spare me please! We can make a deal! I can pay you! Just let me go!" he said but all Sukuna did was laugh strangling him even worse that his eyes were wide foaming at the mouth.

"Oh now you ask for that..well too bad. I can't spare you because you dare harm her...you end up dead.." he growls before the leader screams in pure fear before he was killed. Seeing the leader now dead, Sukuna would have this place burned down along with the bodies too then turns to head back.

Later that night, Kinie was awake after being treated but she was hugging a blanket around her body worried about Sukuna but during that time, she tenses hearing the door open to show Sukuna. He was cleaned of blood but he came to her.

"S..Sukuna?"

"My princess..you are awake. How are you feeling?" he asked walking in but goes to sit down by her that Kinie looks down at the floor.

"Sore but..I'm alright....where were you? Are you-"

"I'm fine princess but I'm more worried of making sure your alright." he touches her cheek but Kinie relaxed from his touch. She felt calm and safe still to close her eyes.

"I'm alright....but...." She remembers what happened today but Sukuna knew to sigh.

"Don't think about it too much princess. They are taken care of so they won't harm you ever again. I won't let another dare try it again." he said. "Though, I'll be sure one of my more trusted followers is with you if you wish to head out to the city. Seems I can't trust my guards just yet."

"...I'm sorry..I got curious but.....I'm sorry-"

"Shhhhh you are fine but you'll have someone to keep you safe. I have too many enemies but most don't dare try anything unlike those idiots. So instead, I'll be sure your by my side so I can keep protecting you. I don't want you to be hurt like that again...my princess." he said but as he said this, Kinie looks to him when he gently picks her up to sit her on his lap to hug her close. His cheek nuzzling the top of her black hair. He even slips a gentle kiss to her forehead saying he wished he was there to kill them before they harmed or lays a hand on her.

"I'm sorry my princess. I'll find a way to owe you back for this...but you just rest for me..I'm here now." he said still holding her in his arms gently.

She blinks to look down but she relaxed against his chest as he held her. Sukuna was happy to have her back and is safe. He knew she can fight but she was still recovering. For now, he would insure she stays safe even if it means he would be by her side no matter what.

[mpxinvidia]

This Quiet Place is Louder Than Most ft. Lio

{{ For those who might be reading this installment and wondering where it falls in the timeline, this scene takes place after the Halloween events in the thread ‘Demons’, during the island’s first gentle snow. Lio has ‘died’ and been brought back and for a month there is a stagnant silence between the two of them. This transpires before the white-out event. Again, Perse mun, I thank you for your patience. Let’s proceed! }}

A continuation for @lioxmp

Part 1 Here

♮      In truth, he didn’t know what made him rush inside. They hadn’t talked for over a month and the last time they had it was just after nearly killing each other in a cemetery  skirmish. If actions speak louder than words then their mutual actions toward each other as of late had spoken in unyielding shrieks. Invidia is half certain that even a cry to heaven could be drowned out by the way they had acted, the debris of what they once were thicker than the blanket of snow outside.

                 Why did he come here?     

Was it because it was familiar? More times than he could ever count the sinner had run to this exact home with tidbits of joy, facts he had learned and couldn’t be bothered to wait and share, and even- although rarer- when he found that his troubles were too much to handle alone. Or was it because he simply was so eager to show the other something pure after all that had happened between them? Did he want to fix whatever it was that had broken between them?                                                    

                                                            He didn’t know.     

    He watches as Lio rises from his bed, taking in the way his body seemed weaker, tired but still determined to keep going. What had happened? To be sure, Invidia had heard a rumor or two, made up a worry or four in his own mind but seeing this frail state the other was in made his eyes stay fixed in concern as Lio peers out the window before turning to him again. Did he want to watch it together? Was it that simple to go forward again? Invidia says nothing. He does nothing but stand quietly in the same spot of the darkened room. Was it that simple to just …stop? A million and one thoughts race through his mind as the other man walks closer. Closer and closer still until he’s standing right before him now, the smells of his cologne faint and mingled with the scents of soap, bedding, and sickness buzzing into the sinner’s senses. So, Lio had been ill in some way. There, in the mix of smells, is an unmistakable one— Death.

     A touch is at his hair and it’s only when he can see his own dark curls against the pale of Lio’s hand that he realizes he’s trembling. That touch. Now that was familiar. How many times had that small touch been his unraveling? How often had it been the catalyst to them soothing over his greatest worries? Amber eyes watch that face he’s known well as snow is swept away to melt to nothing before it even meets the floor beneath their feet and not for the first time he’s wondered; Was I bad? Have I ruined everything again?     It’s not the right answer, but it’s the right thing to say then. Invidia’s mittened hands reach up and take hold of the one that sweeps snow away from his hair, the move to halt Lio and garner his attention fully.

            “Why did you go where I couldn’t find you?”

[lady-o-ren]

The Dig 

Part Two (Because I was bullied into this . . .)

//Which can be read (HERE) for easier reading// And Part One (HERE)

In a little rented room above auld Geordie’s pub, Claire Beauchamp stood in nothing but her silk undergarments as she flipped open her weathered suitcase (once belonging to her dear uncle Lamb) she had heaved atop her bed. She rummaged through the contents, blowing at her curls clouding around her face, before pulling out a single dress of pale blue.

It wasn't something she usually packed whenever she went off on a dig but the dress had caught her eye in a department store window in London just before coming to Suffolk. She reasoned one never knew when the occasion might call for her to dress in something other than dirt stained trousers.

And never had she been more relieved by an impulse buy.

Or thankful for a rainy day that halted her excavation.

It was a chance to be with the Scot who thought her more precious than the iron rivets they discovered a few days ago, proof that the burial site they were knee deep in was a ship to honor a fallen king. She would've kissed him on the spot if it weren't for Foster and Pound.

The kiss however did come later.

After her and the lads celebrated with too many pints, she and Fraser went back to Sutton Hoo, slightly swaying with every step beneath the twilight, until their arms found their way around one another. Soon they were laying side by side in the grass and dirt, the air cool on their whiskey flushed cheeks, and she wrapped in his coat. Big and warm and enveloping like himself.

"We may very well be unearthing a legend here ," said Beauchamp, leaning back on her elbows, eyes closed facing the moon.

Fraser grinned.

" Beowulf ?"

She laughed and turned her gaze to him. "Arthur, King of the Britons !"

He laughed along with her, a deep and hearty sound, then joking all aside said  -

"Anglo Saxon, ye think?"

She nodded and rolled to her side, nearly pressing herself against Fraser's chest, heaving from a sharp intake of breath.

"I told you before that something grand and marvelous was buried here . . ."

"Ye did."

Then shyly Fraser said -

"Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . . Remember that bit from my notebook?"

Her eyes softened and her features took on a pretty shade of pink remembering a great deal more of what that book contained.

How each page held a piece of his heart.

And laid a hand over his chest, against that fervent beat.

"Of course I do," she answered back, but frowned a little when Fraser bashfully kept his gaze to the small gap between them where a dandelion bloomed.

"Weel, I wrote it that night after we first met, from a dream I had. Sounds a great deal better in the gaelic though. . ."

Beauchamp raised her hand to cup his cheek, thumbing the fine cut bones beneath his skin, before pressing her soft warm mouth against his lips.

"Tell me," she insisted, when they managed to part and nudged her nose against his.

And so he did, voice low and more than a little breathless.

I dreamt about the mourning.

The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us.

They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave.

But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

He shrugged sheepishly then.

Just before she kissed him again. Knowing she'd never want anyone more than she did right then and there amongst the swaying trees and spirits of auld.

This man whose soul spoke to her own.

Too bad a crack of lightning had to ruin the night.

But at least the rain blessed them with a day to themselves in apology.

Taking one last glance in the vanity mirror (that was about as big as her compact) and another quick check that her nails were clean of dirt, Beauchamp left her room and walked down the hallway to Fraser's, knocking softly against his door. When no one answered she pressed her ear curiously to the door hearing voices and knocked again, just a bit more louder, tapping the toe of her slingback  heels against the beaten wooden floor. With still no response (and patience never being a virtue she ever possessed) she flat out turned the knob finding it unlocked.

She poked her head in and found a room even smaller than her own and the source of the voices coming from a small red radio playing an adaption of a film from the windowsill.

- I might have known you were here. I had a feeling just as I hit the floor.

- That was your hat.

- Oh, Susan! Just look at it! Look!

Fraser himself was fast asleep and spread out atop the bed sheets dressed for a date to the cinema with his long arms crossed above his head and his big feet dangling off the edge of his too small bed.

Beauchamp stood watching him for a moment, filled with a sudden tenderness at his sleeping innocence . . . and a bone deep wickedness that gave her an idea. She closed the door quietly behind herself and flipped the lock, grinning as she did so. She then slipped out of her slingback heels and crossed the room in two short strides (the floorboards creaking with the pitch of a mouse beneath her), to carefully lay down beside him.

Fraser turned to her in sleep, a throaty murmur on his lips, and laid a heavy arm around her slim waist, gathering her heart to heart. She sighed happily and reached to caress a curl hanging low at his brow, admiring the color that reminded her of the scorching sunsets in Giza she basked in with her uncle so many years ago. Her fingers then threaded through his thick mane down to where they began to curl at his neck and was rewarded with an unexpected smile. Pure and sweet.

"You're too perfect for words, lad," she whispered against his wide mouth, but before she could seal their lips together his long blonde lashes fluttered open.

Fraser gazed at her sleepily, his smile only growing wider as the word Sorcha was adoringly breathed against her cheeks.

She wanted to ask him what that one meant. It might be her favorite bit of gaelic so far.

But then . . .

"Claire!" Fraser exclaimed, and nearly toppled them both out of the bed if not for Beauchamp clinging to his shoulders, steadying him above her.

"How di' ye - Why are ye -"

Beauchamp giggled loudly at his befuddled face and at his hair sticking up in all directions like a sunflower crown. She coasted her hands up the wide breadth of his shoulders to cup both his scarlet cheeks.

"You're door was unlocked, and you know how cold I easily get . . ." she playfully pouted, and tugged his face closer, enjoying how his skin felt like a glowing hot coal between her hands.

But Fraser pulled away.

"Claire. . ."

She sighed yet kept her amused grin.

"You're not a lad of sixteen, you know. You can have a girl in your room."

"I ken that," he answered back, with a defensive spike in his voice.

Beauchamp ignored his tone letting her hands wander to his chest, the muscles taut beneath his crisp white shirt straining to contain his racing heartbeat.

"We even spent a night under the stars together."

"That was altogether different."

Her eyes flashed with mischief as she toyed with the buttons of his shirt. "How so?"

"For one," Fraser breathed hoarsely, placing a hand over hers lest she get too carried away. "It wasn't all night, the thunder made sure of that, and we mostly were talking anyway."

"Mostly?"

"And two," he said firmly, ears pink. "There wasn't a bed either of us could fall out of."

"No, there wasn't," she agreed, deciding he'd had enough of her teasing (and only because she had never taken anyone seriously enough to go slow). "But you can still keep me warm, Fraser. Virtue intact. I promise."

He arched a ruddy brow, doubtful of the lass with cheeky hands and a red cheshire grin that could lure a man to break every sin. Yet he eased himself beside her anyway and in the only way that worked.

With their legs twined together, nearly flushed against one another.

And his big hand braced along her back, the fabric soft against his callused palm as he smoothed it up and down, feeling the gentle rise of her ribs as she breathed in absolute contentment.

“Better than sitting in the cinema don't you think?” said Beauchamp, as she nuzzled her face to the crook of his neck, warmed by his skin that smelled freshly clean. Yet she found herself missing the scent of a hard day's labor on him.

“Aye, much - wait!” Fraser shifted to his elbow. “We missed the film didn't we?"

Beauchamp, a little annoyed at being jostled, shook her head and tugged at his collar to settle her lad back down.

"No, there's still some time left. Cary Grant just lost his intercostal clavicle bone to a dog named George. . . Or was it a leopard named Baby?"

Fraser stared at her like she'd gone completely daft until he noticed the radio playing in the background and heard the inimitable voices of Grant alongside Katherine Hepburn.

- Now it isn't that I don't like you, Susan, because, after all, in moments of quiet, I'm strangely drawn toward you, but - well, there haven't been any quiet moments.

"Oh,” he chuckled lightly, dropping his head to the side. “I must've fallen asleep listening to Lux Theatre . What I meant was the actual cinema though.”

“I think Judy Garland is merrily singing down that yellow brick road as we speak. But don't be sorry," she said, with a kiss to the hard line of his jaw, before the words could fall from his mouth. "It would've been far too crowded anyway."

“But you got yourself all dressed up," he protested, as his eyes traveled down to where her dress had been rucked up tight over her breasts and waist (and where his hand involuntarily flexed over the winged flare of her hip) before hastily clearing his throat.

"Ye look lovely by the way, mo chridhe. More than lovely actually. . ."

That shy and tender smile of his was her undoing and made her feel light-headed and reckless.

"Either that clever mouth of yours keeps on with the compliments, Fraser, or . . ."

Her voice carried off as her knee glided up between his thighs and her arms clasped around his shoulders so that any thoughts Fraser had of being a gentleman were forgotten in a wanton blaze of heat.

Some time later, with Fraser's cheek pillowed against her breasts, breath hot and seeping through the thin blue fabric thoroughly wrinkled now, he groaned.

"I wish we weren't in a room above a pub that reeks of cigarettes and wee."

She hummed softly, her fingertips stroking the back of his head, twirling around his curls. Admiring their beauty.

"Where should we be then?"

Fraser lifted his gaze to hers, blue eyes glimmering with that undeniable emotion that should've scared her yet it only made her want to claim him forever.

"A woman like you. . ." He smiled. " In a tent somewhere outside the ruins of a temple or in a cave in the Himalayas."

Her chest bounced with sparkling laughter.

"How about when this is all over and our names are the talk of the town, you take me anywhere you please. Preferably with a bed we can both fit in."

It was a tantalizing thought yet Fraser couldn't help but think of Scotland. Of his home Lallybroch. With her hand in his passing through the centuries old stone archway as his lady of Broch Turach.

Someday, maybe. God willing.

"I can think of a place," he murmured, and tightened his hold around her lush frame and pressed a daring kiss of hope above her heart. Felt her shiver beneath his mouth.

- I've just discovered that was the best day I've ever had in my whole life!

- But I was there!

- That's what made it so good!

And together they drifted off listening to the rain and the silly, sappy music.

I can't give you anything but love, baby.

That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby.

Dream awhile, scheme awhile

We're sure to find happiness . . .

//

A/N: There’s a lot of notes so I’ll keep them to ao3. And there’s probably mistakes galore but I needed to post this before cringe settled in and I deleted it, Thank you for reading!

[kalle-and-lita]

My half of the art trade with @tagedeszorns featuring their OC Doriel. I can't even begin to tell you how much of a joy it was to work with the mun and their muse!

~~

Lita cast a furtive glance down the long halls of the palace. It was so quiet she could hear the beat of her heart thunder in her ears. Perhaps it was because she was leaving work so close to curfew. Only the foolish would dare to walk the empty streets lest they incur the wrath of the Night Haunter.

Maybe it was the fear of her mistress, whose rage was easily incited these days. Several members of the staff had already gone missing. Lita wasn't fool enough to believe they had just left.

Or perhaps, her nervousness was due to the large platter of food she clutched to. Taking food, even uneaten, was akin to stealing from the barons. If she was caught she'd be killed without a second thought.

But she was on a mission, and she would not be deterred. So Lita steeled her nerves and made her escape as quiet as she could. Every step was carefully planned, every corner scrutinized until she was sure she was safe and alone. She didn't breathe easy until she passed through the servants entrance and out onto the streets.

There was the faintest drizzle pouring from the sky. A cacophony of lights twinkled in the perpetual dark, reflecting off dirty glass windows and pools of stagnant water in the broken streets. Above the familiar hum of the city Lita noted the blessed silence. No screaming, no gunfire. Orderly silence since the whispers had begun.

Whispers of a silent stalker in the night. A savior to the weak who suffered beneath the heel of the barons and their crime lords. Night Haunter they called him, and his was a name revered with fear and awe. Rumors persisted of his speed, his ferocity. While she had not seen his handiwork for herself, Lita knew the tales of the flayed criminals he left out as warning. To take caution because if you caught his gaze there would be no one to save you from him.

Lita's reverie was broken by the sound of shoes scuffing cobblestone. Just like the nights before they came out of the shadows like pale little spirits. Four in total with the youngest looking no older than five or six. The oldest approached first, crossing the street once he was sure they were all alone. He was strange for a Nostromon; his hair was the color of a fire blazing away in the adamantium furnaces. Though he still possessed the pallid complexion and the hardened, steel black gaze of his kin.

"Hello," Lita smiled, "I'm glad you boys are safe. I brought the good stuff from the kitchen."

The redhead eyed her sharply, a frown etched into his features. The smaller shadows of his gang pressed at his back threateningly,

"Ah," Lita warned, waving a scolding finger at them, "Unless you want to go back to eating garbage and refuse I suggest you play nice."

"Fuck off." The redhead snapped over his shoulder. His mates backed off, though they still possessed a hungry look in their eyes. Sure that they weren't going to cause trouble, the young boy turned back to her, "What you want for it?"

"We have this conversation every time." She sighed, she popped the lid off one of the bowls of food. A hearty, and savoury aroma filled the air. If the boys looked hungry before they were absolutely ravenous now. "I don't want anything more than the satisfaction of you boys being well fed."

The redhead shot her a venomous glare, "I still say it's bullshit. Ain't nobody that nice."

"So you don't want the food then?" She teased, the younger kids hissed at their leader,

"Shut up, Doriel, before you ruin it!" One hissed. The young boy, Doriel, scowled right back,

"I ain't ruining shit! Look, bitch, just hand over the food and we'll get out of your hair."

Lita chuckled but pointedly ignored Doriel's rather colorful language. The large bowl of stew was all but yanked from her hands and she happily watched as the children ate. More than once the young redheaded boy thumped one of his mates on the shoulder, a silent admonishment for taking more than a fair share.

And they scampered off just as quick as they came with Doriel offering a cursory glance back at her. She nodded a farewell and tossed the now empty bowl, all too eager to navigate the eerie streets of the upper districts. Her feet pounded against hard stone as she ran, a desperate bid to get to the shops before curfew descended upon her. 

Luck was not completely on her side tonight, however. Lita cringed as the shop door slammed shut behind her and locked tight. Lights flickered off, leaving her alone on the dark sidewalk. Her gaze flickered to the shadowy corners around her, their long tendrils closing in on her.

She didn't make it a habit to be out past curfew. A nervous tension settled in her belly as she set off for home. Her footsteps echoed loudly, bouncing off the high buildings ominously. Each passing minute was like agony, the eerie silence fraying at her nerves until there was a burning itch between her shoulder blades.

Lita tensed at the feeling.

She was no stranger to this sensation of being watched. Years of service to the barons, and even her years on the streets, had refined her sense of awareness. All the better to know when to run or hide.

But this was not the first night she felt the piercing gaze of the unknown stalker's eyes. For weeks she walked home with the proverbial dagger aimed at her back, ever nervous for an attack that had yet to come.

Lita turned a sharp corner in an effort to evade her stalker. A stupid idea to turn into the pitch black of the alleyway, but she knew it to be a shortcut home and she was desperate. Her heart thundered away in her ears even as her footsteps echoed on the walls. Save for the drizzling of the rain there was nary a sound above the hum of quiet.

Then, just behind her, she heard something hit the ground. If she hadn't been listening so keenly she wouldn't have heard it. Lita froze with a gasp, a chill ran down her spine and the burn in her shoulder blades grew hot. There was a presence at her back, she could feel its hot breath on her neck.

Against her better judgement she turned to look, oh so slowly spinning on her heels. She came face to face with a monstrously large Nostromon man, the pitch black of his eyes drawing her in. His thin strands of black hair stuck to his face, and fell over his shoulders as he sat nearly hunched over her. Lita blinked dumbly, mouth agape in terror.

All at once her sense of self preservation kicked in as a smile crossed his face. A set of wicked sharp teeth gleamed at her and the fear in her gut rose well past the point of control.

So Lita did what any normal person would do and panicked. And in her panic she did the very first thing that sprang to mind, and she threw her grocery bags at him. She didn't bother to stick around to see his reaction. She was far too interested in running as fast her poor legs could carry her.

And she didn't stop running until she was safely back in her apartment. The keys clattered to the floor and her back hit the door. Her lungs burned and her legs gave out, and Lita hit the ground with a hard thud while her mind tried to wrap around what just happened.

He'd been so quiet. That thought scared her more than she cared to admit. How was it possible that someone so large could be so silent?! And she was fairly certain that the only reason she'd known he was there was because he let her see him.

Just who was he? Why was he following her?

Cold realization hit her hard as she came down from her adrenal high. The whispered tales of the few who'd seen the Night Haunter and lived. Of the man draped in shadow and blood, larger than life who took no qualms in spilling the blood of the guilty.

"Oh gods," Lita's hands flew to her mouth, "Oh gods!"

And she had just hit him.

In the face.

With her grocery bags!

She sprang to her feet and ran to check her windows, futile as it seemed. If the Night Haunter wanted to get to her windows were not going to stop him. For the better part of an hour she paced the confines of her apartment, awaiting retribution despite her own perceived innocence. Fixated on the fact that she had thrown her food at the Night Haunter in blind panic.

Lita resented the fact that if she was going to die, she was going to do so hungry.

The burn eventually came back. Fear turned to trepidation as she paused at her living room window. The balcony was empty, wet with the rain. She took a few deep breaths before she opened the sliding glass door. Before she could second guess herself she leaned onto the railing and took another deep breath.

"I'm sorry!" She shouted into the night. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. "I swear I didn't know it was you. I wouldn't have hit you if I had. I'm so sorry!"

A long moment of silence passed until she picked up the sound of something dragging on the roof behind her. She turned her gaze up to find the Night Haunter casually perched on the roof edge, black eyes boring right into her skull. She averted her gaze in embarrassment.

"I am so, so sorry." She repeated, "I wasn't expecting to be followed, and you appearing out of nowhere startled me, and I panicked..."

She was bumbling like an idiot, trapped between him and the railing. But his silence was making her nervous. Lita felt the hot flush warm her face.

Then, something hit the ground. Lita jumped then stooped over to find her grocery bag, albeit missing some of its contents but still intact. She looked up, still under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Uhhm," she stuttered, awkwardly collecting her bag and shuffling towards the door, "Thank you."

He blinked at her, expression neutral even as he watched her slip inside and close the door.

The itch in her shoulder blades didn't cease as she put away her groceries and started dinner. She tried to ignore it for the most part, though she couldn't help but wonder why he was sticking around. Surely there were more interesting things to do than watch her?

She found her way back to the balcony door eventually, after setting her stew to a simmer. The Night Haunter now perched on the railing so he could peer in. She slid open the door to poke her head out.

"Hi." Lita muttered, he blinked again and let the awkward silence stretch out, "Uh, I made food. Did you want some?"

No answer save for his endless staring. Lita swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped back,

"I'll, uh, leave the door open for you then."

She retreated back to the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand. The minutes passed as she slowly stirred the stew, lost in the rhythmic motions. That was until she felt a presence hunched over her shoulder. Lita dared not look up, instead she simply muttered under her breath,

"I think I need to get you a bell."

[thewhumperinwhite]

FBI AU: Intravenous

Art Knows Things, And People Need Money.

Previous: Rescue / Interrogation / Awkward / Painkillers / Father / Flashback / Visitation

TW for: hospital, needles; blood; self-harm (kind of); references to suicide and destructive behavior; dislocated joints; drugs, including IV drugs; references to self-medicating; negative self-talk; abuse of power; attempted murder; referenced minor character death.

@whumpitywhumpwhump

----

Simon has been cleared to leave the hospital for roughly twelve hours now, and he has spent eleven of those hours asleep. Then he took a shower, drank three cups of coffee, and came straight the hell back to Art’s hospital room.

He was gone for half a day; in that time Rona has let Karim Mun into Art’s room as an experiment, and Art himself has refused medication for hours and then almost died again, and Simon wants a drink so badly he can’t think straight.

“Explain it to me again,” he says to the RN, fighting very hard to keep his voice level. “How is it fucking possible that he could be hooked up to that many machines and you still not know he’d taken no painkillers in fucking six hours?���

The woman’s eyes dart toward the door, and Simon makes himself step back to give her space; even if the fuckup is hers she’s doing her best at a hard job, he doesn’t want to corner her, he’s not a monster. “S-sir— Agent Blake. Our policy is that pain-management is patient led where possible to... to reduce the risk of over-medicating—”

“Over-medicating?” Simon says, and reels himself back in, makes himself lower his voice back to reasonable inside levels. “Nurse, the kid had his leg torn out of its socket, you didn’t think it was suspicious that he hadn’t taken anything all—”

“Ma’am!” Simon recognizes the nurse calling from the hallway from the reception desk; she’s young and pretty and looks nervous as a cat, very conspicuously not looking at Simon. “There’s a call for you at the front desk,” she says, and the RN sags with relief and scurries with a perfunctory apology to Simon. Simon steps aside to let her go; if it was just a fuckup there’s nothing he can do about it.

The nurse from the reception doesn’t leave. She looks at Simon nervously, and then away, like she wants to say something. When she doesn’t, Simon sighs and moves to brush past where she’s standing in the doorway.

“I think someone paid them off,” she says very quietly when Simon passes her. Simon freezes.

“You what?” he hisses, and she looks up and down the hall, sees no one, and grabs him by the sleeve to tug him back into the empty room. “Who? How do you—”

She looks at the floor, chewing her lip. “I don’t— I don’t know for sure. But I heard one of the doctors on the phone, and— I don’t think they were supposed to hurt him, but I think someone told them to— to leave him alone, not watch him. When the other boy started yelling for help they all came running, I don’t think they meant to— to—”

Simon— can hardly see, he’s so angry. “I’m sure,” he hears himself say. “I’m sure they all thought someone wanted to sneak in to leave the key witness some flowers—”

“I don’t,” the nurse says in a small, miserable voice. “I don’t think it was— that man.”

Simon blinks, trying to clear the red fog in his head enough to see her. “What are you saying,” he says, his mouth running on autopilot.

“I— I knew the voice,” she says very quietly. “I heard the man talking on the phone. I don’t think it was the man on the news, the, the cult leader.” She finally looks up and meets Simon’s eyes. “I think it was Senator Lange.”

Simon stares at her, his ears ringing. Then he says stiffly, “Thank you,” and turns to walk out of the room.

He’s read Michael Lange’s file at least a dozen times now. He has the address memorized.

——

There was a solid year after Michael died when Art was high more than he wasn’t— when he did a lot of things with the few assets available to him, in pursuit of getting high and staying that way, that he will never, ever tell Karim, not because Karim would judge him— Karim has made it inescapably clear by now that he has terrible judgement— but because it would be too fucking humiliating.

Anyway. If you had tried, at that point, to explain to him the difference between being high because you wanted to be, and being high because you couldn’t be trusted to know your own pain threshold, he would half told you that it didn’t matter, and to pass the fucking pills.

The difference is, back then the point was not to think, and now he wants to think so bad it’s killing him, and his brain will not work because they have taken away the little hand-pump he wasn’t using and switched to injecting shit straight into his IV tube.

Which is still in his arm, by the way. He fucking hates needles.

Also he’s almost certain Karim was here, and now he isn’t, and if Karim was here when he— when his body did whatever horrible thing it seems to have done, then Karim will be upset, and at the very least Art would like to know that Karim is not being allowed to lay there stewing in guilt and self-recriminations and oh-this-is-all-my-fault-for-getting-kidnapped-and-brainwashed.

The nurse who comes to dose him this time is new, with a shaved head and a tattoo on the side of his neck that prickles something in the back of Art’s stupid drug-addled brain. Which, whatever, the previous one didn’t listen to him at all but he figures it’s worth a try.

“I don’t need anymore,” he says; he wants it to be a snap but his stupid stitch-and-bandage lips are too clumsy. “They fucking— just gave me one. Hey—” He tries to flail at the man with his non-elevated arm but the wires and tubes are too complicated to reach. “I don’t want it.”

The man looks at him, and Art stares at his eyes, the pupils blown wide and dark circles underneath. “Nobody ever does,” the man says in a blown out croaking voice, and pushes the needle into the receiver on the tube and presses the plunger all the way home.

Art looks at him, and then he raises his arm to his mouth and pulls the IV needle out with his teeth.

The sudden tear sprays a small amount of blood into his mouth and across his cheek; seeing the look of absolute shock on the face of the man who is not a nurse, Art thinks, no one’s gonna fucking believe I wasn’t trying to kill myself this time.

The man blinks, looking kind of disturbed. “Jesus,” he says. Then he pulls up the hem of his scrubs and reveals a small knife poking out of the waistband of his pants. He shakes his head. “That was fucking stupid,” he says, perhaps reasonably.

Blood and IV fluid are going everywhere, and Art can hear several different machines giving distress signals. The man who isn’t a nurse looks helplessly around at it.

“Lost... lost your window, fuckhead,” Art says thickly. "Now you're... wasting your getaway time."

The man looks at him. Presumably they are both hearing swiftly approaching footsteps.

“Fuck you, you fucking freak,” the not-nurse says, and he stabs Art in the stomach.

——

Rona is in the hall, trying to get the cute nurse to describe to her in exactly what tone Blake told her “thank you” before storming off to probably commit a felony, and then suddenly the hall is filled with women screaming. 

Rona turns, and sees a man with a shaved head barreling out of Art Lange’s hospital room, past several panicking nurses, knocking one straight to the ground. She has time to see blood on his hands and scrubs and the big tattoo on the side of his neck, and time to see the small knife in his hand, also bloody.

He’s looking over his shoulder while running. It’s very, very easy to trip him. She doesn’t even need training for that. It is useful for swinging a leg over him and pinning his arms behind his back, though. 

“Hey, does anybody fucking work here?” She snaps. There are several people hovering in doorways up and down the hall; one of them is a 6’5” guy in a labcoat that’s obviously hiding huge biceps. “You,” Rona says, pinning him with a glare. “How much can you deadlift?”

“Uh,” Dr. Muscles says, startled into compliance, “400?”

“That’s enough,” Rona says, she squeezes the tattoo-man's wrist brutally until he drops the knife onto his own back. “Come grab this guy. Hold him exactly like I show you and don’t move until I tell you.”

“What?” Dr. Muscles splutters. “Ma’am, I— I’m not—”

Rona looks up at him, watches him see her eyes and teeth. “Did it sound like I was asking?”

Dr. Muscles is heavier than Rona, so he won’t need any particular skill to hold Tattoos down, just weight; Rona installs him and then runs back and— 

They are moving Art onto a gurney; a pale-faced nurse has her hand pressed over his stomach and there is blood pumping out through her fingers. A big wad of gauze has been taped over his wrist where his IV tube should be. His eyes are squeezed shut but he is obviously very much awake.

Rona jogs next to the gurney. There will be time for— there will be time later. “Kid! Did he say anything useful?” Some of the nurses stare at her; she ignores them.

Art cracks one eye open. “No,” he croaks. Then his face breaks into a wide, shaky grin, and Rona stops; he looks like a little kid. “I think Micah is scared of me,” he says, and then she watches them wheel him down the hall.

Rona thinks Micah isn’t the only one.

[turkleader]

𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦 𝗔𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗖

BOLD what applies to your muse ITALICIZE what sometimes applies

Repost, Don’t Reblog!

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 cloudless sky / ocean waves / winter dusk / deserted rest stops / dust filled book jackets / sea salt in your lungs / open space lofts / mountainside meditation / empty ski lodges / calm before storms / electric charged air / lighthouses / road trips with no destination / desert skies / summer breeze through a cottage window / cool air against water soaked skin / seaside towns during off season / wind-chimes / big bed with lots of blankets / coming home after a long time away / a wolf howling in the distance / fingers dancing along spine / a hug from an old friend / afternoon tea / wild flowers off abandoned highways

𝐑𝐄𝐃 wine soaked lips / internalised rage / blood on knuckles / four poster beds / barefoot on marble floor / velvet drapes / lipstick marks / murder mysteries / old barns with hay lofts / mouth full of weapons / possessive love / dark chocolate / apple orchard visits / handwritten letters / fresh strawberry fields / cherry flavored chapstick / soft candlelight / vintage pumps / tingles over your body / strong but gentle hand around your throat / scarf tied over your eyes / fog on a rainy night / intimate bar settings / complete destruction / kiss swollen lips / scratches against flesh / sitting by a fireplace / blood orange sunsets

𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 community gardens / sunflower seeds / open fields / blowing dandelion fluffs / bubbles in spring / warm champagne / drafty cottages opened after winter / soft buzzing near your ear / loose braids / flaxen sundresses / handmade straw hats / warm butter on fresh toast / daisy chains / drum circles / sun on your face / maypoles / outdoor festivals / street food / car shows / pop art drawings / fruity flavors / mist on produce / running through sprinklers / cucumber water / wrap around porches / worn pages of a book / honey in tea / yard sales / freckled skin / tarnished gold lockets / angel food cake / windmills / flashlight beams

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 marshy swamps / Cajun recipes / haunted graveyards / old road signs / the house people tell stories about / lights flickering / jazz music / twig snapping / campfires / ghost stories / urban exploration / vines creeping up brick / wooden flutes / quiet forests / laboured breaths / hiking trails / rain on leaves / bonfires / fresh smoothies / water logged grotto / painful whispers from jealous lovers / successful business ventures / leaky cellars / park theatre productions / mint scented lotions / ambitious promises / pine needle covered floors / oil lanterns / aloe on warmed skin / crushing floral foam / forgotten towns

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 crinkle of leather jacket / midnight walks / bulbs burning out / black lacquered nails / the sound of bats screeching / distant marching band music / noises when you’re home alone / blood soaked knife / dark lipstick on pale skin / scent of sulfur / soot on boots / slasher movies / glint of cat eyes in the dark / oil slicks on dark asphalt / basement bedrooms / investigating a noise / grainy camera footage / black and white photos / dust filled attics / empty theatres / whistling in the middle of the night / scratches at your window / wrought iron gates / lace neck ruffles / long floor sweeping skirts / broken music boxes / needle scratching on vinyl / lost memories / disembodied voices / forgotten faces

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 crisp scents / laundry on a line / fleece blankets / brightly lit hospital rooms / empty train stations / genuine laughter / feathers against skin / new life / cotton dresses / log cabins in winter / swan gliding through water / harp music floating through the air / plane rides for fun / mountain tops / ice sculptures / first snowflake of winter / linen freshly pressed / the scent of a running dryer / vanilla and cinnamon milk / a smile from a stranger / letters in the mail / a longing finally satiated / kiss of moonlight on skin / fresh canvas / snow glittering like diamonds / paint strokes / pretty lie told from a kind mouth / sparklers / coffee foam art

[ooc] Once upon a time you knew the ocean. Once upon a time, you were root and stone. I’m afraid all you have now, Tseng, is silence and storm. Maybe, someday, things will be different.

Tagged By: @animus-inspire - This was a difficult one, but very interesting to delve into. Thank you, Reeve-mun. I love that you keep tagging me in these explorations~ Tagging: @gospelia, @kychchc / @hartbeating (Hope your new blog has been doing well, friend~), @lostwhitequeen (Yes, Reeve already tagged you, but I’m dragging you into this as well. *Chuckles*), anyone else that wishes to partake.

[qwertythepopstarian08]

Face the Music - JSAB AU fanfic

Another birthday gift for @all-art-and-mun-crazyness!

This fic is based in our Apocalypse AU, a spinoff of Glitch Realms in which Blixer never becomes a robot, and some time after he and Tio find and adopt two Hikarlux cubs, Geophages and Doomere begin to invade Paradise, turning shapes into zombies...

Warning for minor implied gore/violence/horror. Warning for implied child neglect and animal death. 

The apocalypse wasn’t all explosions and betrayal, as Honey thought it’d be. He was much too young to watch the really scary movies that his parents binged on Halloween, but he’d stolen more than a few peeks of some of the watered down television versions that his older sister loved to laugh at to know what the apocalypse was supposed to be like. All the gore and brains certainly made his scales crawl in discomfort, and he vaguely wondered why most wild members of his species were said to dine on similar meals, when he himself was sickened by the sight of blood and content to eat salad and cookies.

He didn’t dwell on the thought at the time, but in hindsight, he should’ve swallowed his fears and eaten that corpse.

It had appeared on their lawn one day, a shape’s prone body, dead in the middle of likely running for help. It smelled of sickness, though nothing lethal or even infectious to his kind, for his internal fire would burn away all traces of disease. He’d poked at the body with a stick until it had turned to shards, upon which point he’d flown, sobbing, to his parents, crying out of the fear that he’d killed someone. They’d patted him on the head and went to clean up the mess, calling the local law enforcement to ensure that there was no foul play at hand, and that had been that.

Oh, how Honey wished he’d given into his predatory nature.

By the time the shards were disposed of, the dust had settled into the earth, festering and incubating a deadly plague, a virus which would soon overtake Paradise, starting from this little garden. No one had questioned why the shards were so grey, so brittle.

Even an ill shape would crumble cleanly, and the shards would fade to dust and glassy core bits within days, decomposing as the magic inside eroded at the physical body. It was never so instant, unless the core was destroyed entirely, and all at once.

No one had questioned it, too distracted by Honey’s tears, distracted by his trauma. His papa was a doctor, and a brilliant one, raised and trained by one of the best, and yet even he’d been swayed from his senses by the sight of his child in an anguished state.

The soil festered, rot and disease taking hold. The garden withered.

Patient Zero had died on the Fresh household’s front yard, among freshly ripened vegetables. Dust sprinkled not only the surface, but the roots and innards of the juicy, deceptively savory plants, just itching to be injested or inhaled by a vulnerable shape.

It’d been a mere flu, a small sniffle that left both of Honey’s parents bedridden for days. At the time, Honey had been convinced that they’d wake up perfectly fine, that he’d get up one morning to see them back to their normal routine, Tio making a hearty breakfast and Blixer sitting on the couch, watching Saturday morning cartoons with Belle. No such day came, and as the time passed, Honey worried for his family.

A week since the body appeared, the first outbreak of the Geophage illness was reported on the news. First only one network covered the story, reporting the mysterious deaths of about a dozen shapes in a small hospital near Honey’s school.

A month later, the death count skyrocketed to the hundreds.

His parents tried their best to keep him and his siblings safe. He was instructed to avoid leaving the house until the virus passed, to keep clean and avoid eating anything past its due date, even by a day or so. The family resorted to eating from their own garden, in addition to whatever animals Blixer could catch that grazed near the Beneath, far from the outbreak. Meals were few and far in between, for his parents were still recovering from the flu, but they were hearty and healthy when they could provide. Honey appreciated the effort.

For a while, things were peaceful. Honey forgot about the virus, for the television was kept on the cartoon channels at all times during the day now, if only to spare his young psyche from the horrors of the disease. There were no more late night movie marathons; every moment of his parents’ time was spent either gathering food or resting in bed. Honey didn’t worry, for he’d started to believe this was normal. The walls muffled the screams outside, and when a shape’s bloodied handprint marked the windows, it was gone within the hour, either by his parents cleaning the stain or a hungry outside cat licking it up. Honey stopped seeing cats around the neighborhood, even when he stared out the window for hours. His window was soon boarded up, only allowing a sliver of sunlight in. Honey liked it better this way.

A year into the apocalypse, things went downhill.

It started with a cough, a persistent, deep cough that struck Blixer and Tio at the same time. They’d been getting better, Honey realized sadly. His siblings assured him that it was a momentary relapse, for their parents hadn’t been able to get any medicine to treat their flu.

But the flu wasn’t supposed to last this long, Honey recalled from his science class. His parents brushed off his worries, and he went along with their facade with a smile.

That night, he thought he saw his papa’s hue fading a bit, in striped patterns down his arm. Honey didn’t question it, nor did he ask where the expired ham that had been in the back of the fridge since Thanksgiving had gone off to. It wasn’t in the trash, but he caught a whiff of it every time Tio spoke, as if it were laced in his breath.

Meals grew scarcer with each passing day. Where Tio had gone pale and thin, Blixer’s fur had darkened to a maroon hue, and his eye was now a piercing scarlet. He stopped catching animals, leaving their salads to be nothing but thin salads and the occasional tomato.

The garden was withering, and Honey knew, in the back of his mind, that the plants would be gone soon, too.

Someone was eating the expired food. Lava, who once clung to his parents like a lifeline, stayed far from them at all times. He awoke Honey at midnight one night, whispering of the rotten smell now permeating around their parents… Honey noticed it, too, but he refused to say anything. After all, what could he assume about a shape, when he wasn’t even one, himself?

A week went by before the break in occurred. The window in Belle’s room was smashed, a dark, static, and furry creature darting in. It snatched the weakened child before Honey could react, and upon sight of its piercing eye, he didn’t think he could move, let alone spit flames. He tried to ignore the fact that its eye had been inside of its mouth, tried to ignore the way its face split open in fours, like some twisted horror movie beast. Lava stayed in his room for the rest of the day, crying. Honey joined him, unwilling to be comforted by his parents, who smelled of rot and whose hugs had become painfully tight.

Tio was looking thinner by the day, hand his arms now possessed strange markings, oddly straight lines that raced from his palms all the way up his arms, as if splitting them in half. His once vibrant cyan hue dulled to grey, save for the dark blue bands of color that had manifested on his arms. He stumbled when he walked, and he stuttered when he spoke, his eyes foggy and distant. Some days, he forgot to cook for everyone, retiring to his bedroom and slamming the door shut for the rest of the night, or perhaps for several nights in a row.

Blixer’s fur had thickened and darkened until it covered him in an impossibly dark coat of fluff, which seemed to be constantly charged with static, stinging and sparking Honey each time he approached. Blixer’s once tall stature had become slouched, and he seemed to dart around the house, keeping to the shadows instead of speaking to anyone. Honey felt lonely, though he didn’t complain, glad that his parents were still alive and well.

No cough nor sneeze came from either of them, so Honey assumed that they’d fought off whatever was ailing them. He was proud of them for trying their best, after all. He’d long since forgotten what it was like to get three meals a day, or even once a week…

Lava had dared to question their parents, which earned him a “time-out” in the furnace in place of dinner for a week. He was “just a fire demon” and “didn’t really need to eat”, after all. Honey repeated those words like a mantra, assuring himself that, despite how weak he felt, he could just spend his time in the fireplace with Lava, feeding off ashes and cinders.

Honey assumed that his parents were just trying to save food, since they’d been skipping meals, themselves. He tried to ignore how empty the fridge looked, tried to ignore the scent of fresh steak that drifted from the kitchen whenever he was sent to the furnace. Perhaps it was a hallucination, or a mirage of sorts. His eyes filled with tears when he thought of the word, “illusion”, for some reason, so he avoided it, trying to ignore the eyes watching him from the shadows…

Two years in, he remained cheerful. After years of having nothing to do but draw, his artistic skills had grown considerably. He doodled his family, or at least what they’d looked like before the apocalypse. A short, fluffy cyan square instead of a tall, spindly grey one. A tall red circle who always smiled, instead of a shadow who watched from afar and hunched over all the time. Two healthy Hikarlux cubs… and, well, he couldn’t remember the last one clearly, so he just drew a purple blob, hoping to get the message across. He couldn’t find any magnets, so he attempted to weld it to the fridge, like he’d seen his parents welding metal to fix his purple sibling’s bike, long ago. He only succeeded in burning his beloved picture to ashes, beginning to cry for the first time in years. For making a mess and causing a scene, he was sent to the furnace for a full week. He soon forgot purple-sibling had existed, at all…

Honey was a good little cub, he was sure of it. He didn’t speak much anymore, for his voice had grown weaker and more like hissing with each day. He didn’t need to talk, for no one ever listened anymore. He still drew, but his family photos now consisted of two cubs and two monsters, his old life forgotten. He wondered who the shapes in the old photo on the living room wall were. He looked very young in the photo, nothing more than a sparkling, so he figured that he’d just forgotten. Anyone who he’d known before the apocalypse was unimportant, for they were most likely either dead or far, far away from Paradise. Paradise, that was the name of his home, right? He couldn’t remember all that well…

Honey was a good cub, he told himself. He was loved by his family, despite the fact that they didn’t talk to him much. He tried to remember if he was supposed to eat, or if his papa was supposed to be black and white, with eight spindly limbs and wicked claws. He tried to recall if his dad always had dark, static fur and traveled on all fours, eating every last ration they had. A nagging feeling in the back of his head told him otherwise, but he ignored it, happy that his family was okay, after all this time. He’d sneaked into the living room while the news was on, once. According to the funny robot, most shapes in Paradise were dead, if not turned into… Geophages and Doomtryxx. Honey thought the monsters on screen looked slightly familiar, so he told his brother about it. Lava just started crying, before retreating to the fireplace for the rest of the night.

Christmas at the house was more festive that year, for his parents were feeling well enough to decorate for the first time in months. At least, Honey thought they were decorating for the holidays; he couldn’t recall what a proper light display looked like, but he figured that his parents knew, for they were older and wiser. His papa had been a doctor before the apocalypse, so he was very smart. Honey found it thoughtful that his parents had tried to recreate the scenery of winter to replace all the snow days he missed out on, both because of the outbreak and his aversion to water. The entire house was covered in thick webbing, which, after being layered so much, looked less like cobwebs and more like frost. Glowing bulbs full of multicolored liquid were placed on the ceilings and walls, allowing the house to be bright, long after the electricity stopped working. The news had gone away, as did the cartoons, and the television was soon replaced with the largest bulb of all. The bulbs smelled strongly of acid and rot, so Honey stayed far from them. Lava refused to come out of his room anymore. Perhaps he was just tired of the holidays. Honey couldn’t blame him.

Honey must have done something to upset them… he couldn’t remember the last time his parents spoke to or even looked at him. They didn’t get him anything for Christmas or his birthday, and they’d stopped making meals for anyone. He wondered when life would go back to normal, longing for at least one meal a week…

Three years in, the second break in occurred. It was pitch black outside, to the point where even the still-present decorations did little to illuminate the house. The windows had been shattered. He heard screaming, but he was unable to rush to his parents’ aid, as Lava dragged him to the safety of their fire. A massive Geophage had gotten in. It was powerful… and hungry. It had a Doomtryxx with it, a horrific static beast with spindly, batlike wings. They’d trashed the house, searching for food. Honey stayed quiet, sobbing silently. He supposed the beasts had gotten their fill of the last of the food, for they left before morning.

Honey crept out of the fireplace. He began to cry when he didn’t see his parents. Lava stayed quiet, for he knew the truth; the family they knew was long dead. 

A few months later, they found the television. It flickered back on one day, the news having returned to air. The robot was still there, still reporting.

“After years of trying to reach them, the Paradise district of Chorus labs has finally responded to our calls. However, it appears that all of the researchers have perished, and among the casualties, the last to perish were Tio and Blixer Fresh. Due to the lack of survivors, Paradise is scheduled to be quarantined indefinitely to prevent the spread of the virus. None shall enter, none shall leave… ever again.”

Vaguely, Honey wondered if the outside world was real to begin with.

He was nothing more than an extinguished pile of ashes by the time the cure arrived, and Paradise saw the light of day again...

[abalathia]

never-ending survey: esja

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs!

tagged by @yascaret! thank you! <3 tagging @nekun-uul, @nascentflash, @s-udarshana, @lavender-hemlock, @blood-of-the-dragons, @hingan-fox, @fairwindsandblueskies, @warpstargazer, @red-hare, @wood-warder, and anyone else! feel free to use me as your tag if you brave this! ;)

BASICS.

FULL  NAME :  Esja Fiala

NICKNAME : The Violet Warder

AGE :  Appears late 20s, actual age unknown.

BIRTHDAY :   16th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

ETHNIC  GROUP : Viera (Veena)

NATIONALITY :  Ivalician (?)

LANGUAGE / S : Common

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION : Bisexual.

ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION : Heteromantic.

RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :  Single.

HOME  TOWN / AREA :  Skatay Mountain range.

CURRENT  HOME :  An isolated hunter’s cabin buried deep in the Shroud.

PROFESSION : Survivalist, hunter, and mercenary.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : Naturally platinum, dyed to a beige blonde.

EYES :  A pale violet blue.

FACE : Stoic, serious, and determined yet still radiant with an underlying beauty.

LIPS : Of average size and often left natural or stained to match her traditional tribal paint.

COMPLEXION : Ivory.

BLEMISHES : None.

SCARS : Several, each a reminder of the war she fought, the Wood she protected, and the comrades lost.

TATTOOS :  A golden sunburst that spans from her ribs to her thigh.

HEIGHT :  6′3″.

WEIGHT :  Average.

BUILD :  Slim and athletic.

FEATURES :   Slightly upturned nose, full eyelashes, faint dimples, mid-length ears left thick with fur, and fingers stained a muddy brown.

ALLERGIES :  None.

USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :  Typically left natural, thicks waves parted down the middle hang to her waist. When working, she pulls it back into a messy ponytail with plaits and strands of leather. It is common to see it adorned with beads and feathers.

USUAL  FACE  LOOK :  A thick painted band across her eyes with two finger swipes beneath on either cheek. These are either in tones of sienna or sepia, and it is not common to see her without them.

USUAL  CLOTHING :   Leathers, furs, and brass jewelry. She has not taken to the more casual style commonly seen throughout Eorzea and instead sticks with her traditional attire.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S : Failure, insignificance, being forgotten.

ASPIRATION / S :  To achieve greatness and be worthy of remembrance outside the confines of her tribe.

POSITIVE  TRAITS : Determined, resourceful, confident, resilient.

NEGATIVE  TRAITS : Reckless, impatient, competitive.

MBTI : ISTJ-A (Architect)

ZODIAC :  Nymeia (Libra)

TEMPERAMENT :  Phlegmatic.

SOUL  TYPE / S :   Warrior.

ANIMALS :  Wolf.

VICE HABIT / S :   Drinking, smoking, fighting, isolation.

FAITH : Religious, no. Spiritual, absolutely. Though she tries not to insult or anger any deities.

GHOSTS ? : Yes.

AFTERLIFE ? : Eh.

REINCARNATION ? :  Eh.

ALIENS ? :  Eh...?

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : She cares not for politics, and does not burden herself with the workings of a land she will eventually leave, too.

EDUCATION  LEVEL :  Common education, but relies more heavily on experience rather than the teachings of those long dead.

FAMILY.

FATHER : Estranged.

MOTHERS :  Estranged.

SIBLINGS :  Potentially many, but she knows of none of them.

EXTENDED  FAMILY : Many. Some she was close to, some she’s never met. All estranged.

NAME MEANING / S : Fiala, the small and secluded mountain tribe she hails from that I totally made up and also means violet in czech :P.

HISTORICAL  CONNECTION ? : No.

FAVORITES.

BOOK :  Old and dusty tomes detailing the victories of the heroes of old. 

DEITY : None.

HOLIDAY :  All Saints Wake.

MONTH : October.

SEASON :  Autumn.

PLACE : Deep within the woods where only the trees may speak.

WEATHER : Hazy, rainy days.

SOUND / S:  Crackling fires and distant thunder.

SCENT / S :  Tobacco, lingering rain, damp wood.

TASTE / S :  Whiskey, spiced apples, fresh herbs.

FEEL / S :  Fur, wet grass, tree bark, rough skin.

ANIMAL / S :  Wolves, ravens, stags. (Plus the fox kit and road sparrow she calls family.)

NUMBER : 6

COLORS : Sienna, white, olive, beige, black, copper.

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Surviving, hunting, drinking grown men under the table, shit-talking, incessant flirting, and kicking your dad’s ass.

BAD  AT :  Losing, singing, dancing, cooking anything that isn’t over a campfire.

TURN  ONS : Men - rough hands, facial hair, scars, muscles, abrasive personalities, good hair. Women - soft lips, sweet voices, humorous, strong-willed, independence.

TURN  OFFS : Carelessness, stupidity, attention-seeking, ignorance. 

HOBBIES : Hunting, leatherworking, making jewelry, sketching, drinking all day long.

TROPES : Badass Teacher, Crazy Prepared, Action Girl, The Leader, To Be Lawful or Good, One of the Boys, Nature Lover, Lady of War, Guys Smash Girls Shoot, etc.

QUOTES : “Got a light?”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :   If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called,  what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  Beyond the Wood - a southern gothic film riddled with a feeling of discomfort, lurking cryptids, old gods, and one badass bun.

Q2 :   What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 :  Dark folk with eerie instrumentals and scratchy voices that make you feel both at home and like something is watching you from the woods outside your window.

Q3 :   Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 :   Esja has had many faces. She started as a warrior bun, went off the rails as a botanist, and ultimately transformed into the woman she is now. I’ve always loved southern gothic and norse themes, and I decided to cram them both together. I didn’t think it would work so well, but she’s easily my favorite thing ever.

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 :  Everything. I’ve wanted a viera since I was a little kid, and I was so sad to have to wait so long to play one in FFXIV. I’d resigned myself to using mods for eternity, but bless SE for finally giving me the option. Also, who doesn’t love a strong lady bun?

Q5 :   Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 :  Her desire for infamy and immortality overshadows any craving for love, and it makes me feel for her. She’s so wrapped up in her dreams and hides behind the walls she’s built that she’ll probably never find it. It’s easy to find company for the night, but we all know that isn’t satisfying forever. I keep my fingers crossed for her, though. 

Q6 :   What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :   I, too, am a lone wolf who does no evil but takes no shit. But honestly, I have been pulling a lot of inspiration from Esja to apply to real life. I’ve started hiking, I want to learn how to shoot a bow and arrow, and I’ve stood up for myself a lot more since creating her. She’s my muse in every sense of the word!

Q7 :   How does  your muse feel about  you?          

A7 :   I would for sure be one of the green adventurers she mentors. Though I imagine she’d kick my ass off a cliff for whining too much. 

Q8 :   What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?        

A8 :   I’ve only had a handful of roleplays with Esja, but she will easily have a good time with anyone willing to arm wrestle and get drunk under a full moon. If that’s your jam, hit a girl up!

Q9 :   What gives  you inspiration  to write  your muse ?        

A9 :  Vikings, norse mythology, southern gothic aesthetic, the supernatural, dense forests, folk music, and folk horror.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?          

A10 : Started at 11am and worked on it off and on throughout the day. 

[coteriesrp]

– KAT HAS BEEN ACCEPTED WITH ANGEL! CONGRATULATIONS!

I am absolutely in love with how in depth you went on the character connections especially, you really nailed them so well. The rest of your app is gorgeous too, I love your vision for Angel and I’m excited to see how he plays out, but your vision of the connections were what made me the most unreasonably hype to see how he’d interact with everyone. Not only did you demonstrate a beautiful understanding of your own character, but everyone else’s too, and I can’t wait to see how that expands into some really fun dynamics.

         — KIT

Damn, well. You took this skeleton by the throat and really went, "this is mine now," huh? When I keep repeating that I love player creativity and interpretation, I mean that. I read your app and I see the potential of dynamics and situations and interpersonal shittery that can and will ensue, the dynamicism of interaction that make RPs exciting and come to life. I love your Angel. I love who you saw in him and the potential you embued in him.

        — GHOST

You’ll be sent a link to our Discord shortly and have 24 hours to accept the invite or your role will be reopened.

out of character info.

ALIAS › kat

PRONOUNS › she/her

AGE › 20+

TIMEZONE › GMT-4

in character info.

CHARACTER › angel maldonado

GENDER & PRONOUNS › cis man, he/him

APPARENT AGE › mid 30’s

DISCIPLINE › thaumaturgy, auspex, dominate

DEMEANOUR ›

A devil exists in the bones of a not-quite man, a not-quite specter, a near monster. His smile only appears as if ghostly, a turn of lips only caught in quick glances, double-takes, the perceiver unsure whether it were ever truly there at all. He’s built of feet caught slipping in blood, created of dark magic and the taste of humanity on starving lips. He’s a tempter, built of something unholy, something powerful flickering under a darkened gaze, hints of life – of unlife. He’s nothing, he’s everything. It’s so easy for him to play roles, to play parts, a stoic disposition, quiet and thoughtful. He always seems to know what’s lingering under the surface, either analyzing and understanding, breaking into minds and thoughts or just straight bullshitting, lying through the black mystique of his pupils, the permanent circles of his iris’. He’s as sharp as the blade that cuts a clean line between earth and space, heaven and hell, a patron saint of switchblade fights, so very dangerous, so very powerful and gluttonous because of it.

He’s so carefully collected, so permanently unbothered, unreachable, untouchable. He makes himself something invincible on the surface, drags it deep enough into his very being that you cannot break the glamour of it but beneath such structures lay chaos. He laid the bricks of his being with long, painful drags of stone and masonry, worked and worked and worked until you could not see the newborn behind such towers of brick. His humanity bubbled and steamed underneath it, made his fingernails look like claws, his teeth look like daggers, made his image monstrous, even to himself. This was not going to read on his face, not going to come out in his words or actions, but only perceived in the sometimes blankness of his stare, the occasional pauses in his movements. It comes out in small portions, a far away look in his eyes that shows the gore and bloodshed he’s created, that of which he himself birthed.

Do not look too closely, for you may fear what you find.

JOINING THE COTERIE ›

He sees a hierarchy, sees a chair fit for sitting, sees a staircase and glass ceilings capable of being shattered. He feigns loyalty, pretends to be a sorcerer with nothing but the Camarilla in mind but there’s something so very beautiful about a thing of history, a coterie built over so much time, so well known, well structured at least in the intentions of it. There’s something even more beautiful about reaching for the very top, about stealing something that is not rightfully yours but yours nonetheless. He doesn’t think he needs to be a piece of a larger conglomerate, doesn’t need others to ‘scratch his back’ so to speak but he knows what glory he can claim, what life he can revive in the pieces of Camarilla. He sees it the same way he sees all things, all beings, all existences – a chess piece on his board, and, oh, the things he will do to achieve greater power.

(UN)LIFE’S PHILOSOPHY ›

Victory, success. He was chosen for a reason, the Tremere’s not known for careless Embrace, the vitae flowing through him given as a gift, as a curse, to hold the power seen in him by a kindred, by his sire. From the beginning he had taken the idea of unlife in stride, had accepted his new powers and channeled everything in his being into becoming skilled, into becoming the best. He was a glutton for power, greedy for perfection and he sought it in every slice of his blade, every fiber of being. He was born first to be talented, to grow and stain the face of humanity as much as a vermin could, as much as something so delicate, designed of blood and veins, could manage. He was then reborn to overpower them, all of them, to play God in all the ways he was allowed. This was his battlefield, his warzone, his empire in the making. He thinks highly of himself because he was designed to be so, things come easy to him, skills, knowledge, people – he never has to look far, and when he does, when existing simply isn’t enough, he reaches his hungry grasp into battered rib cages and forces out what he must with palms of mess and gore.

THOUGHTS ON HUMANITY ›

Humanity was both the best and worst thing to ever happen to him. It haunted him, his own slipping mortality pooling between his fingers in bloody rivlets, pouring out of his ears at night, disappearing in his shadows when he passed by lampposts. He was blessed by the perspective it gave him, by the mind it cultivated and cursed by the weakness of it, the fleshiness that came with feelings like remorse and guilt and sympathy. These things only worked in the form manipulation, past that they ate him alive, made homes in his empty organs, his bloodless heart. There was nothing to be sought after in such emotions, in such helplessness, and yet he finds himself concerned about what will happen if he loses it, if it disappears from his frozen veins and leaves him with nothing more than hunger. Is ambition a human trait? Is winning a human sport? The very things he bases his unlife on are things he may lose with the slipping grasp of his most human parts, and that is a fate worse than death.

LIFE EVENTS ›

Angel had always had potential, had always been a smear on the existence of the world, talented in the most nefarious regards. He worked nights, worked in clubs and underground rings of torture and suffering, had never been free of sin, had never been a holy man despite how very often he had found himself in churches. The ringing of those bells woke him up each morning despite the hours of no sleep, the idea of a God knocking outside the windows of his home had sounded so much like sacrilege bleeding out from under his bed. He was designed to be killed, born to be dead, and the number of years he had survived as a human were only there to make him stronger. He hadn’t known it at the time but the meeting that ended his life made it very clear in the taste of inhuman blood; he was designed for this state of being, the power granted to him upon rebirth undeniable. It hurt like a bitch, but all good things do, all things worth time, worth effort come from open wounds and he had bled and bled until his veins ran dry.

Now his stomach remained full, now his hands cast spells and curses, made the world shift and crack to his will.

His life before all this was nothing. The family he was born into, the world he grew up in paled so easily in comparison; the people who abandoned him, the stench of human skin, of having to work twice as hard as everyone else. These things rang hollow, these things were so easily forgotten in the newness of his grip, in the permanence of his grandiose. Angel is no thing of heaven, no winged savior or child of God. He was stolen so easily by the darkness, the heavy and loud drip of wax pouring down his back from the lit wick of the burning sun – none of it could stop him. He sought greatness, sought a solar flare in the other frozen beings around, sought their sources, their energies, what made them tick, what made them burn under the skin as easily as over it. Their epidermis could not be touched by light, but he was a blazing creature.

The first life he had stolen was before the added touch of bloodlust, before precious liquids fed his abilities, and even then it was to protect himself. He had taken the soul from the body of a man who had seen too much, wrong place, wrong time in the matter of Angel’s business. It was quicker than it was now, it was the pull of a trigger in a basement in Seattle, Washington in the year 1993. He remembered it so well because the sky wouldn’t stop screaming, wouldn’t stop crying. It was as if the world was mourning the first flash of the Beast that survived within him, that lay dormant for just a year more.

Still, the church bells sound, still they ring even through the torrential downpour, the blood flooding down into the open drain of concrete.

Yes, an angel indeed.

EXPANDING CONNECTIONS › (Note: these are all written entirely from the characters perspective so comments on “being more powerful” or “more intelligent” than other canons is strictly in his POV and not a reflection on what I as a mun think because characters are generally created equal ect. ect.)

ZAKI › He can’t be read easily and that’s the first thing Angel notices about him, the first thing he sees in him. Zaki is unhinged, that much is prevalent, he contains a level of insanity, of impunity in his existence. He’s looking out for himself first and foremost, he’s a monster built of self-reliance but then again, aren’t they all? He bleeds aggression – his presence, his aura, colored so brightly despite his dark demeanor, similar to the way that poisonous beings spread rainbows in the wild to warn other creatures away. He was just that – a creature. He could rip the throats out of flies, could disembowel Gods and monsters with the nails of his fingers. He was desirable for this, was always in the corner of Angel’s eye, somewhere in his thoughts, someone he considers in every plan he makes, every move of his chess pieces on the board. In his eyes there are only two ways he sees Zaki’s future – either on his side or not at all.

DIZZY › They dance around each other like twin shadows, arms outstretched, spines bent ever-so-slightly in a constant readiness for battle, hands composed to reach towards demise, prepared to draw. They are built very different from one another, not alike in their understanding as much as their intelligence, their strategy. One wants the other to drown, the other waits for their opponent to sink. Angel wants dominance, he wants power, to invade into her pretty mind, her delicate craft of a bubbly disposition. He doesn’t buy it for a fucking minute, doesn’t indulge in the pattering of her ways, doesn’t believe the face she wears so openly – she’s a farce, she’s a liar, but so is he. He thinks manipulation is her greatest power but beyond that she’s weak. One sees into the other, built of wavering hands, unpulled triggers – they play nice because they have to, because it’s smart. Ask him how he feels about the girl and his expression remains unimpressed, almost baffled, because why the fuck would he care about her? What makes her special? The unspoken words like poison on his tongue, do not make it past sharpened teeth but if they could, if they had, they would be spit with venom and distaste, perhaps excitement if only in the demise of another, the superiority of his build he would says, “I’m capable of devouring her whole.”

GUERRA › He sees too much of himself in the other, sees too many similarities in their beings to count but one thing is stark between them – the line of selfishness, the matter of their end goals. Guerra is so very interested in his own entertainment, not nearly as ambitious as he is bored. Angel sees potential in him, sees something useful but can’t stand his presence long enough to seek it out. He hates something about him, something about his mannerisms, about his being. Perhaps it’s the challenge in him, the competition of their spirits, of their greatest talents as far as charm and manipulation, but Angel would just claim it’s because he’s fucking annoying.

HAREL › He’s going to break and destroy the city from the inside out, he’s going to let his ghosts catch him and then he’s going to unleash them like hellfire from the bases of his being, the very center of his chest. He’s not nearly as stable as he is powerful and that’s what’s going to consume him, his humanity too potent, his demons too strong for leashes or chains made of steel and gold. Angel is cautious of him, is interested in him, and wants so very badly to manipulate him to his will, to befriend him, to own him. He wants to be the wick that sets light to the molotov of his very being, wants the Beast hidden under those delicate emotions of his to be on his side, to be a part of his plans. To control the assassin, he first must understand him.

DIVYA › She thinks they’re friends, he considers it more of a partnership, more of a game as most things are. She’s entertaining, she’s promising – she’s not as strong as he is. There’s something almost endearing about her, about her youth, about her fire. She wants so badly to be taken seriously, he sees it in the straightness of her spine, the clenching of her jaw. She’s not ready for all the things she wants, she’s not seasoned enough to know how to get them, but he is. She’s not as powerful as she can be yet, but she will be. All these things can so easily fit together and become a bigger picture, a stronger bond, and so he helps with what he can, mirth hidden in advice and made examples of.

PEACH › Chaos in its purest form, uncontrollable and wild. He has no use for her, knows he couldn’t manipulate her, but still he finds her to be one of the more interesting creatures he’s laid eyes on in recent memory. He’s fascinated by her if nothing else, drawn to her for reasons he can’t quite explain considering she tended to embody all the things he should hate, all the things he can’t corrupt, can’t touch. It looks good on her, looks intoxicating, and while he isn’t one for mortal desires she brings out something unique in him, something worth pondering.

JAZIRI › There’s no denying how valuable the seer can be, how useful their abilities can become but even beyond that Angel finds something of interest in them. Jaziri is one of the few he delves further than the skin, deeper than the chess piece. He finds her calming, finds her interesting, ironically, behind the eyes. She’s much more than what’s on the surface, her thin-blood perhaps stirring something more intoxicating in her being. He wants to know more about her, wants to indulge her beyond the collected mask. He feels as if she knows something, as if she’s hiding, and he wants to know what it is. To gain trust you must give it, to learn secrets you must spill some of your own.

miscellaneous info.

EXTRAS ›

I made a sideblog here!

https://angelofcamarilla.tumblr.com/

[cryptic-ashes]

Tag dump

[juminsmysticmc]

Saeyoung’s After Life  Chapter 3

Go to Chapter: 1 here/ 2 here

Here we are guys! Did you wait for a long time...? I hope not, hehe! I waned to post a picture for this chapter too but unfortunately there was none.... T.T still enjoy!

,,WHAT?!’’ someone yelled that even the people outside the room shivered. The loud, dark screams belonged to none other than a white haired man who had the position of Prime Minister. His elections were in danger, that’s what he thought when he heard some shocking news.  The two boys he wished would never excist appeared once again.  Two red haired devils who disappeared once, many years ago appeared again.  And now? One of them even made him grandfather.  ,,Two girls and a pregnant wife…’’ he mumbled and looked at the picture of his real little family.  ,,Pfff….’’ he laughed. As if he would feel love for them. As if he would want to see them, meet them.  Never.  The children he had with the red haired woman long time ago were a big mistake, a wrong doing he wished would have never happened and now they even got a family.  The Prime Minister knew that he had to do something to shut them up forever.  He couldn’t leave them.  ,,You know what to do! Do it tomorrow.’’ he snapped and looked out of the window.  ,,Yes Sir.’’ the Assistent said firmly and closed the door behind his back.  He didn’t really want to do the task he was trusted with. He hated it. But he promised loyalty to him. The man looked at the picture in his wallet, the twins smiled on the picture. And the man knew that the two brothers couldn’t smile for a long long time.  He also knew that the both of them would’t be able to smile from now on either. 

,,Stop it!’’ you snapped at your husband Saeyoung.  He was just teaching his older daughter how to use a computer and you hated it ,,She’s just seven!’’  ,,You’re never too young.’’ Saeyoung laughed and talked to his daughter once again.  Yung Mi wasn’t just the older one but also the one who understood the quickest.  ,,Now I will tell you a secret. On mom’s phone on the top there’s always a red symbol. In there there’s written….’’ Saeyoung took out a pencil and draw three letters ,,SOS. It’s for emergencies. Don’t forget it, if something happens you just need to click on it and I-your hero-will know right away that there’s something wrong. I will come to save you right away since the GPS will tell me your location.’’ ,,WOW! Daddy is amazing!’’ the little Yung Mi laughed and looked up at her dad.  You sighted and took Mun Hee’s hand and talked to her since she looked a bit upset ,,Hey baby, should we bake a rainbow cake?’’  You loved to cuddle with your children, they were still so little and stayed by your side. Yung Mi didn’t really like to cuddle but Mun Hee could stay in your arms for ages. 

Perhaps the other reason was that Mun Hee had a few problems to walk. She still needed a little bit of support by her parents but still she was a strong girl.  ,,Young Mi! Stop it now please! Instead come with me! Mommy will go grocery shopping and afterwards we will bake a cake, okay?’’  Well, against food everyone was forgotten.  Young Mi quickly ran away from her beloved hero and run into her mother’s arms, everything for sweets.  ,,I will come with you but only because I need to look after the both of you!’’ 

You and Saeyoung began to laugh.  Luckily nothing happened in the last years. None from the agency came to track down Saeyoung, and his father didn’t do anything either. It was truly paradise.  After you showed your children how to tie their shoes, you told Saeyoung that you were going out.  ,,Take care!’’ he called and looked at you from the window.  He stayed like that until he couldn’t see you anymore, in trace, looking after his little family who was laughing happily at an once again beautiful day.

,,I want to carry the grocery!’’ Young Mi told you and smiled proudly.  ,,Nooooo! I wanna do it!’’ Mun Hee whined and looked at you.  ,,We will buy a lot so that the both of you will carry the bags, yeah?’’ you asked them.  You were satisfied when you saw their smiling faces.  The three of you entered the shop and put all the grocery you needed into the basket.  When you were at the cash desk Mun Hee caught you stroking your swollen belly with eyes filled with love.  ,,Mommy? How did the baby end into your belly?“  Everyone heard the question and so they all stopped to do their work, instead they looked at you with curious eyes.  You felt a bit troubled.  What could you give a seven years old girl as answer?  But before you could even respond, Yung Mi exclaimed that she knew the answer since her father once told her.  You were shocked and so you let go of the butter you were currently holding into your hand. What in the world did Saeyoung just say to her?!  ,,Soooo...Daddy said that if Mommy eats a fortune egg and she has a lot of luck a baby will hatch, like chicken do! And then she will have a baby.“ ,,Yeah, Young Mi, Mun Hee understands...so for the both of us to grow mommy had to eat two eggs, right?“ Her older sister nodded and added ,,She had a lot fortune that the both of us could grow, Mun Hee-Ah! This weren’t normal eggs but golden eggs!“ 

The people around you heard the whole conversation and had to laugh at the sweetness of the both of them.  They were so cute!  And you were proud. You didn’t know of who you were the most proudest, your children or Saeyoung who became a lovely father by now.  ,,Here, for the children.“ the cashier said and gave you three sweets as a present.  ,,Thank you auntie!“ the twins giggled and ran out. You bowed once more to the people around you and tried to catch your children who were already outside.  Didn’t they want to carry the groceries?  ,,Girls, wait for mommy.“ you told them and both if them stopped and waited for you.  You looked at the vitrine, baby stuff was displayed.  You really didn’t look at your daughters for only a few seconds.  You never thought that in that time something could happen.  Mun Hee saw Honey Budda Chips on the other side of the street and approached them.  Of course Yung Mi was watching her clumsy sister and immediately screamed for you. 

You turned around immediately as you heard your daughters screams and noticed that your younger daughter was walking towards the street.  You began to panic and let go of the groceries.  ,,Darling! Come back please!“ you called and followed her.  You almost caught her arm when you heard a loud noise.  You turned around just to see a pitch black car approaching the two of you.  You had no time to think what to do next, you just began to scream and tried to push away your younger daughter.  Unfortunately you failed.  The only thing you could do as her mother was to pray, pray that she would stay save as you tried to shield her from the strong compact.  ,,Mommy! MOMMY!“ Young Mi cried as she saw her mom on the floor, blood around her and her beloved little sister.  Young Mi quickly looked to the car which was speeding away.  She slowly approached her family.  Her tears didn’t stop.  But the little girl quickly reacted and took her mother’s phone and pressed the button her father showed her before, hoping for salvation. 

,,How is she?“ Zen asked Saeran as he entered the hospital.  ,,I don’t know. Saeyoung didn’t tell me yet.“ he responded as he led the RFA to the place Saeyoung was waiting.  His friends saw him, a crying mess, his hair were messy and his hands were trembling.  ,,Saeyoung!“ Yoosung began to sob.  The red haired father looked up, his teary red eyes made the other shiver.  Would you survive? What would happen with the twins?  ,,Young Mi and Mun Hee are currently sleeping. Young Mi was pretty shocked, Mun Hee isn’t hurt badly luckily. But they still want to leave her here to control her.“ Saeran answered for Saeyoung since he couldn’t stop sobbing.  ,,Mc is still in surgery. It‘s still unsure how it will end....“ he added in a much quieter voice.  The RFA looked at Saeyoung. They could feel the regret and sadness.  Saeyoung felt bad, why didn’t he go with her? Why did he leave her alone? Who did this to his wife and children?  Saeyoung thought pretty hard about it. And he only had two answers.  ,,Either the agency or....the prime minister.“ he mumbled and felt the RFA‘s eyes on him. 

,,Mr Choi?“ the doctor called. Saeyoung looked up, his eyes once filled with despair were now filled with hope. ,,I really think that your wife had an angel at her side. The baby is unharmed and so is your wife. She has a laceration and a few scratches. According to the injuries the police and I believe that the driver tried to kill either the child or your wife however showed a bit humanity and didn’t hit them.“ the doctor informed him.  Saeyoung didn’t stop to cry.  His knees got weak and let him fall on the cold hospital floor.  ,,Thank you....Thank you...“ he cried while his arms supported him.  ,,Your wife and children were transferred into the VIP room. Please don’t awake your wife, she needs rest. I would also like to talk to you later since the crash could have fatal risks. But now go to meet your family.“ he ended and left the group who was relieved by the good news.  And so Saeyoung waited patiently for you to awake.  He couldn’t bear to look at his daughter.  Even if the doctor said that she was okay his little Mun Hee was pale like a sheet. 

,,Daddy...?“ Young Mi whispered.  ,,Yes Darling?“ Saeyoung immediately responded and approached his older daughter, stroking her hair away from her face to look at her.  ,,You did well, you know?“ he asked her and praised her.  ,,Daddy I‘m sorry...I wasn‘t looking....“ she mumbled as tears dropped on her father’s hand.  The RFA behind the red haired man stayed mute and sniffed.  It was a heartbreaking moment.  ,,It’s not your fault....you did a good job.“ he tried to convince his daughter who felt bad.  ,,Mun Hee walked on the street and I called mommy and then the car came daddy....but the car didn’t even stop! So quickly!“ she sobbed even louder.  Saeyoung knew that this was a big scar for a seven years old child.  Helplessly he looked at the RFA. ,,Young Mi, let‘s go and take a look if we can find something to eat...“ Yoosung mumbled and wanted to take the girls hand.  Yoosung was one of the people in the RFA she loved the most, of course besides her daddy and uncle Saeran.  But still the girl hid behind her daddy and kept on crying.  And so they decided to stay there. Saeyoung took his normally strong girl and stroked her until she fell asleep once again. He hated to see his daughters crying. He wanted to support them from any violence and trauma and right now he failed at both. 

,,On the CCTV I‘ve found a few things, it’s the only video that didn’t get deleted. They finally made a mistake.“ Saeran said proudly.  ,,Let me guess, you can’t see anything beside Mc and the children right?“  After he got Saeran‘s nod he went on and looked at the RFA.  ,,Do you guys really think that they could delete all CCTV from the streets but couldn’t or forgot a mere shop? The agency would never do such a stupid mistake. No, they must have an immense power. This means that this is a message. A message to stay alert. A message from the prime minister, our father.“ Saeyoung told them and looked at his wife again.   

Go here for Chapter 4

How did you like it? 

Tagging: « @khaizusan @sailormoonrocks666 @foreversunshine-love @giulia2372 @widya345 @r-f-a-journalists @loveto-hateyou @sleeplesspieces (hope I didn’t forget anyone!!) »

[iris-ymir]

Never-ending survey: Lareine

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs! 

Tagged by @blood-of-the-dragons & @under-the-blood-moonlight 🖤

Tagging: @umbralich @vylette-elakha @lavender-hemlock @archon-ffxiv @illia-ast @torr-sceadu @istolin @rael-eryut @alun-ura & @cyrillien

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Lareine Kira, Iris Ymir (formerly).

NICKNAME: Young miss (by Arsene), Patient (by Varg).

AGE:  31

BIRTHDAY:   13th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Viera (Veena)

NATIONALITY: Othard, Skatay Range

LANGUAGE/S: Common, hingan & Ishgardian

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Lesbian

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Lesbian (Iris), uncertain (Lareine).

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:  Its complicated...

HOME TOWN / AREA:  Ymir, Skatay Range

CURRENT HOME:  Pillars, Ishgard

PROFESSION: Assistant to Varg Blacksoul, thief (formerly).

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Short, raven-black hair with purple highlights.

EYES: Light purple, but appears almost black in dim lighting.

FACE: Inverted triangle-shaped face, and a rather sharp nose.

LIPS: Bow-shaped lips, usually painted purple.

COMPLEXION: Morbidly pale, with a hint of purple.

BLEMISHES: Dark circles under her eyes.

SCARS:  Five scars from stab-wounds on her torso (Three on abdomen, two on the left from her heart). Several smaller scars run all over her arms and right shoulder (Most of them hard to notice because of her pale skin-tone).

TATTOOS: Purple markings tattooed around her eyes. Rose-thorns and purple iris-flowers on her left thigh.

HEIGHT:  178cm

WEIGHT: Slightly underweight.

BUILD:  Slender & feminine. Somewhat toned arms, legs and abdomen.

FEATURES:  A beauty-mark below the left corner of her lips, long and sharp stiletto nails, usually painted black.

ALLERGIES:  None.

USUAL HAIR STYLE:  Seems to stay as a spiky mess, no matter what she does with it. A single braid on the left, sometimes decorated with couple of purple pearls.

USUAL FACE LOOK :  Impish smile, wide-eyes or slight pout (Lareine), pissed-off, tired or cynical (Iris)

USUAL CLOTHING:  Black or purple blouse with a corset, either long skirt or hotpants, long coat or a leather jacket & high-heeled boots.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Being tied down / restricted, locked doors, losing control.

ASPIRATION/S:  To one day be able to pay back to one man who took her life away, and to another who gave it back.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Extremely loyal towards those she holds dear, adaptable, witty.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Clingy, childish & whiny (Lareine persona), trust issues,  violent & unpredictable (Iris persona)

TEMPERAMENT:  Sanguine (Lareine), Choleric (Iris).

SOUL TYPE/S:   Artisan

ANIMALS:  Black cat.

VICE HABIT/S: Rather heavy drinker and a stress-smoker.

FAITH: Not much in the religions.

GHOSTS?: Absolutely. Living and the dead ones.

AFTERLIFE?: As long as its not some boring, white space with nothing interesting to do.

REINCARNATION?:  Might be interesting.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Does not understand rat’s shit about politics.

EDUCATION LEVEL:  Street-smart.

FAMILY.

FATHER : Unknown father.

MOTHER :  Irene Ymir (Deceased).

SIBLINGS : Possibly half-siblings from father’s side.

EXTENDED FAMILY: Varg Blacksoul (Doctor / caretaker), Arsene Dreadeois (Butler), Silke Doomflare (Best friend, possible love interest).

NAME MEANING/S: Queen in “ishgardian” (Lareine), name of a flower (Iris).

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: N/A

FAVORITES.

BOOK:  Old fairytales.

DEITY: N/A

HOLIDAY:  All Saints’ Wake.

MONTH: The months of midsummer & fall.

SEASON: Fall.

PLACE: A victorian style mansion, a room docorated with old dolls.

WEATHER: The gust of wind and the first drops of rain, before a thunderstorm.

SOUND / S: Crackling of a fireplace, grand piano, rain drumming on the roof and windows.

SCENT / S: Incence, fruity / flowery perfumes & rain.

TASTE / S:  Whiskey, sweets & rolanberry pie.

FEEL / S:  Soft fur, skin-to-skin contact, hot bath.

ANIMAL / S:  Anything furry, especially foxes & cats. She is a huge animal-lover overall.

NUMBER: Does not care for numbers.

COLORS: Black, all the shades of purple, violet, silver & red.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Adaptability in different situations, lockpicking, speed & agility, self-learned with daggers & trained with ringblades, drawing.

BAD AT : Teamwork, manners, staying focused on one task, reading, controlling her feelings.

TURN ONS: Wanderlust, confidence, sense of humor, tattoos.

TURN OFFS: Untidyness, celf-centeredness, rasism.

HOBBIES: Bathing, drawing, people-watching.

TROPES: Guess she is a weird mix of femme fatale, dark lady & hopeless romantic..

QUOTES :  “My Varg-Varg, my knight in shining armor.”

                   “How dare you?! How friggin’ dare you, you creep?!” 

                   “Yesss...”

                   “The anal what?”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 :  If you could write your character your way in their own movie,  what would it be called,  what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?          

A1 :  The name of the movie would be “My name is Iris”. It would be a movie about her time in hospital. Pretty much the recent backstory, turned into a film, where the reality and events going inside her head would mix into a twisted nightmare. Something along the lines of Rob Zombie’s film “Lords of Salem”!

Q2 :  What would their soundtrack/score sound like?          

A2 :  Something eerie, with bells and such. A music that would fit into haunted house, full of creepy dolls. Bloodborne & Alice, Madness Returns soundtracks are quite spot on!

Q3 :  Why did you start writing this character?          

A3 :   I think the very first reason was that I somewhat lost touch with my old character. A bounty hunter named Fenris. I liked her, but somehow she did not feel like my own. So I started from scratch! I guess Lareine is one of those children who are not planned, but still end up being much loved. She ended up being my dearest character of all time, and the one I can relate most.

Q4 :   What first attracted you to this character?          

A4 :   I guess Im kind of a sucker for dragic types with an attitude and a hint of sillyness to balance it all.

Q5 :  Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 :  She tends to be a huge extrovert, while Im more of an introvert. So writing her can get bit “draining” time to time.

Q6 :  What do you have in common with your muse?          

A6 :   Fashion sense! We also have similar sense of humor, and as I have mentioned before, some of her problems mirror certain events in my life.

Q7 :   How does  your muse feel about  you?          

A7 :   We would most likely get along! If we lived under a same foor, one of us would end up dead though...

Q8 :  What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?        

A8 :  While Lareine can get along with almost anyone, for Iris, I think the most interesting characters to interact with are the ones that can match her temperament! It might also be interesting to match her up with some nobility, because of her lack of manners. Pretty much anything that will lead into juicy disasters, in one way or another!

Q9 :  What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?        

A9 : I mostly get my inspiration from music, soulsborne- and American McGee’s Alice-games, I mentioned earlier. Sometimes also from movies, if they happen to have some beautiful scenery. Rare these days, but the Nun was some serious eye-candy!

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?          

A10 : I dont know, as I made this on side with other stuff... Too long?

[ancientplumblossom]

{A long drabble inspired by the thoughts of a human au where Wu is one of many older nations in a nursing home, though this comes from muns sad boi hours} 

The nursing home was a lovely place really, a solid building with beige colored walls and large halls to let the occupants ramble and roam with room. There was a large communal living room with couches, chairs, a big tv. The kitchen was large and always smelled of steamed broccoli and tapioca pudding, little tables dotting the attached dining room, most of them by the window to gaze out at the garden one story below.

But that garden was not the only place full of life in the nursing home. In fact, contrary to popular belief, there was plenty of life in the home. The nurses themselves were most of it, each of them bringing smiled and light into the people who lived within the walls of the building. Their attitudes were infectious, laughter bouncing off the walls, smiles illuminating wrinkled faces.

Each of them were different, each of them unique. They reminded Wu of the plants that decorated his bedroom in the home. The flowers blooming every morning as the day shift clocked in, leaves unfurling to drink in the love of the people that filtered in through the front door. He took to naming each new plant after someone there with him.

The sun shone in through the window, filtering past the thin slats of the window blinds to cascades down onto the bright rainbow plants. A small field of green with pops of orange and yellow, pink and blue, purples every shade you could imagine. Wrinkled fingers traced over the plants, feeling waxy leaves beneath the skin, poking at the dirt to feel for dryness, the aged hands of a gardener.

Wu glanced up at the window, reaching with shaking hands to pull open the blinds, illuminating every plant inside as he took a moment to sit there, closing his eyes to soak in the sun as the plants around him did. A smile crept across his lips as he moved to grab the wheels of his wheelchair, turning them slowly to begin pushing himself out toward the hall.

The open hall was empty still this early, none of the other elderly occupants yet awake. He grunted softly, pushing the wheels to propel him toward the kitchen. As he rounded a corner, his eyes caught a nurse at the front desk. He waved, continuing on his mission though.

“Good morning.” He croaked, wheeling past the desk toward the kitchen.

“Good morning Wu, you’re up early.” She said, giving him a smile. She had long platinum blonde hair with big blue eyes and pale skin. She was one of his favorite nurses. He would make sure the water her flower first.

“The plants are thirsty.” He told her. “Gotta get them a drink.”

Wu didn’t give her any more time to talk as he rolled on by, the soft carpet turning to a hardwood floor as he entered the kitchen. He slowed down now, going to the table and reach up to the pitcher there. His hand clasped around the handle, pulling it into his lap as he moved to the sink, carefully setting it in to fill it halfway. Pulling it back into his lap, he turned himself around and rolled back to his room.

He moved to a smaller plant, the stems long and thin, buds opening to light purple flowers with a heady scent that filled the room. He stuck his finger into the dirt, feeling just how damp the soil was before he began to tip the pitcher, watching the water dribble down into the little pot of earth. “Good morning Natallia.” He muttered to the lavender with a smile, giving a gentle stroke to the little flowers before turning.

Next was his best friend, a woman almost as old as him, her room a few doors down. Her flower was open already, a bright and blazing yellow orange with little dots of red tracing around the petals. “Good morning Maia.” He grinned, moving to run his fingers over the leaves of the roman orchid before he checked the soil. “Still nice and healthy I see.” He hummed, moving on to the next plant.

Stout and spiny, he narrowed his eyes at this one. “Good morning Gabriel…” He huffed, reaching to lightly caress the deep magenta bloom atop the small barrel cactus, his fingers deftly avoiding the long spines around the green. His nail dipped into the soil, feeling it. “Hmm, just a touch..” He tipped the pitcher close, letting a small amount drip out before his attention moved on.

He slowly moved through his garden, touching up all the flowers he could. Roderich the purple lady slipper, Jacques the red begonia, Jan the pincushion flower, Viola the bluebell, Rainer the butterfly weed, clary sage Kaeja, comfrey Annika, crown imperial Michael, foxglove Lin Hui, globe thistle Katerijne, lavender cotton Ivan, nasturtium Margaret, every single one of them friends to care and love.

Eventually, he worked his way through all of them, smiling as he glanced at the sun again. It had climbed higher, moving up toward the roof. Wu hummed, moving to slowly roll out of his room and into the bustle of the hall. Everyone was on the move now, their bodies young and spry as if they themselves were many years younger.

Maia winked at Wu as he moved in the kitchen, placing the pitcher back. Her long curled hair pulled back into a low ponytail, the salt and pepper strands slipping down around her face as she mixed something in amongst a batch of brownie batter. Mischievous woman.

He moved to start going to the dining room, pausing as he looked out amongst the crowd. So many faces, all of them turned to each other, smiles wide and only some of them filled with teeth. He stared a moment, his eyes glimpsing the tall trees in the window beyond, settling on the deep crimson of the japanese maple.

The haze that settled on his eyes broke as a bowl tumbled to the floor, the clatter making his small body jolt in his chair as he looked to the ground. A hand reached down to grab the silver spoon, the man smiling and laughing sweetly as he spoke gently to the one who dropped it. The long brown hair, the tanned skin and green eyes, all of it was familiar, yet he couldn’t put a name to the face. Something about the man stirred an instinct in him though, one that made him want to smile with him, but also scold him and lightly smack him. He loved his man, but he was a pain, much like his cactus Gabriel.

The television clicked on in the other room, voices carrying through the air and taking his attention. He turned, starting to move toward that, his eyes going to the screen as images flashed over it. People were moving, running, dancing, jumping, and Wu watched their every action. He moved his body slightly as well, leaning side to side as the camera shifted. He smiled softly, his eyes dropping then to his own body.

He gazed down at himself, still wearing light pajamas in the wheelchair. Had he forgotten to change his clothes? He tried to push himself up out of the chair, his brow furrowing as his legs didn’t follow the directions he gave. He slowly lowered himself again, staring at the thin sticks of legs beneath his pants. Why weren’t they moving? What had happened? He blinked slowly, and something darted in the corner of his eyes.

Wu sat up straight, turning his head toward the object but found nothing there. A blank wall stared back at him, the beige a sea of bland as he blinked again, trying to figure out what exactly he had seen there.

He spotted it again, moving there in the corner of his eye. He gripped the wheels of his chair, spinning quickly, the bright light of the front door beyond the desk shining in at him. Outside. Fresh air, a cooling breeze, the sound of leaves rustling, he started to push himself toward it.

The desk passed him by, the hall quickly appearing behind him as he moved toward the door. He reached for the push bar, a loud clack and a jolt stopping his fingers short of it.

“Wu! What are you doing?” A woman asked, coming up behind him.

He glanced back, looking at the blonde woman who grabbed the handles of his chair. She looked right at him, waiting for an answer as he just gazed back, brows knitting on his forehead. “Going outside…”

She said something, but he didn’t seem to hear as he looked back at the rooms before him. Everything was dark, the light fading behind him as he was pushed away from the door. He squinted, hands trying to grip the wheels as he looked at where she was taking him.

Small and wrinkled bodies hunched in front of a tv, eyes glassy and unmoving, their bodies husks just turned toward the bright and flashing colors. Another clatter from beside him, his gaze snapping to the doorway of the dining room. Figures crowded tight around tiny tables, heads down and drooping over the tables, their bodies melting down from the heat that poured from the raging oven in the kitchen.

Fingers gripping at the wheels tighter now, the movement faltered as he tried to make it slow, tried to make it stop. The force behind him pushed a bit more, and his grip slipped, the wheels taking him beyond his control now. He shook his head, gripping the arm rest now. With a deep breath that made his head swim, he pushed himself from the chair, reaching out to the light from the window on the far wall.

Everything cascaded down then, the light a smear of bright as darkness swallowed him up and his body fell down to thump against the beige colored carpet. Noises all around him, none of them making any sense as he felt hands gripping his arms. A groan escaped his lips as he was hauled up from the ground.

It was the ground, right? Beige was beneath him, and when he looked beside him, beige again, looking up, beige, everywhere was beige, the color only broken by blonde and brown and blue, all of it just a smattering of things he didn’t know. Everything got blurrier the more he felt the hands on him, the more the noises ground against his ears, the same syllable repeated over and over again.

Wu.

Wu.

Wu.

Wu.

What did it mean?!?!

Tears slid down his cheeks as he was moved, the sea of sandy color rushing by until suddenly everything was green. He paused, his eyes focusing as he looked at it all. Greens of every shade, jade, forest, sage, olive, lime, pine, tea, emerald, fern, all of it bright and familiar. Within the curling leaves where twisting petals of every color he could imagine. Pops of purple, bursts of blue, cracks of crimson, outbreaks of orange, all of it he knew.

A hand reached out toward the plants, shaking and wrinkled, his eyes moving to it. Whose hand was that? He stared at it a moment, looking at the thin brown line of soil beneath the crescent of the nail. A gardeners hand, an old gardeners hand. The old fingers touched a leaf, his body suddenly beside the plants, his gaze looking at all of them.

He was surrounded. As he moved over each one, the names of them came to mind, tumbling from cracked lips and false teeth. Margaret, Ivan, Katerijne, Lin Hui, Michael, Annika, Kaeja, Rainer, Jan, Viola, Jacques, Roderich, Gabriel, Maia, Natallia. He was surrounded, the sun warm on his skin as he turned his face with the blossoms, all of them facing the sun disappearing in the window.

He was surrounded by friends when the sun slipped away and shadow fell around the corners of his eyes. He blinked, slowly watching as everything faded away. The last thing he could remember was green and the names of the people he loved.

[ask-omegaverse-rochu]

Yao closes the door behind him and stores his shoes in the cupboard. He had a long shift, and it’s dark already. He flicks on the light in the empty living room. “Ivan?”

No response. And yet, his coat and shoes are still there. 

Yao goes to the kitchen for a snack and finds one of the drawers open. One of the sharp knives is missing. How odd. He grabs a carrot and some soy sauce and sits at the dinner table, munching on his snack. Ivan will appear soon. The pregnancy is affecting him too, making him nervous whenever Yao isn’t around and basically waiting at the door like a puppy. Maybe he’s fallen asleep. Or showering.

Yao tidies up the plate with soy sauce and—

There’s a thump upstairs. 

“Ivan?”

Silence.

Yao climbs up the dark stairs. He notices a faint light coming from the hallway to his left. It’s not bright, but a pale green lining the very bottom of the walls. Yao follows it to the door of the nursery, which also has this strange light on it. He pushes the door open.

The light in the nursery is turned on, but there is no one there. A chill breeze comes in through the open window. Yao hesitates for a moment. A burglar...? But those wouldn’t turn on the light, would they? He steps into the room and freezes when he catches sight of a box, with next to it distinctive red stains. He looks closer. Yes, it really is blood...

Yao tries to take deep breaths to calm himself. Next to the box is the knife, the blood on it still fresh. Yao picks it up with shaking hands.

There’s a scream from another room. Ivan’s scream. Yao shoots up, breathing heavily, not sure what to do. He peeks into the hall. The scream came from the direction of their bedroom... Yao approaches it silently, listening for any sounds aside from his pounding heartbeat. He listens at their bedroom door. Nothing. He takes a deep breath and opens it. The light is turned on here as well, and there is blood on the light switch. 

Yao wants to call out but decides against it. He keeps looking around him, and over his shoulder, sweat drops forming on his face. 

There’s another scream, coming from the adjoined bathroom. Yao doesn’t waste a second and charges in, pulling the door open, knife held high.

Ivan lets out an almost girly scream and falls into the bathtub. Yao looks around for the intruder... but there is none. “Who attacked you?!”

“Attacked me?!”

“I heard you screaming!”

Ivan’s quiet for a few moments, puzzling it together. “There’s no burglar...”

“There’s blood everywhere!”

“...Oops.”

“...‘Oops’?” He lowers the knife. “Ivan Braginsky, you explain yourself right now!”

Ivan holds up his hand, blood dripping from the palm.

“What did you do?!”

“I couldn’t get the box open... So I thought I’d use a knife...”

“Oh, you silly... Sit down.”

Ivan climbs out of the tub and sits back on the edge. “I’ve already disinfected it. That’s... the screaming you heard...”

Yao grabs a bandage. “What have you been doing in that nursery?”

“I’ve experimented with glow-in-the-dark painting. I thought it would be safe to put on the bottom of the walls, so no one trips when walking to and from the nursery at night. If you don’t like it, I can paint over it.”

“No, it’s... It’s a pretty smart idea.” He briefly kisses Ivan’s cheek before he starts wrapping up his hand in the bandage. “What was in the box?”

“The new curtain rail. I thought I could get it up before you came home so we could start shopping for curtains.”

“Silly bear. You gave me the worst fright in years.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulls Yao in for a kiss. “But when an actual burglar appears... Please call the emergency number.”

“Aiyaa, I completely forgot about that!”

Ivan smiles and kisses him again.

“Did you hurt yourself when you fell just now?”

“That depends, will I get kisses?”

Yao rolls his eyes and tugs at Ivan’s arms. “Come on, we’ve had enough excitement for today.”

Ivan gets up and they both walk into the bedroom, where Yao turns around and pulls Ivan into a hug. He’s still shaking a bit.

“Panda?”

“I thought you were hurt...”

“I’m not.” He rubs Yao’s back. “We’re all safe.”

“I’m so happy to find you in one piece... What if—”

“Don’t think about it. Let’s put on a movie and raid the ice cream stock.” 

Yao nods. What an excellent idea.

((Fun fact: Where mun lives, Halloween isn’t actually a thing. Guess who completely forgot about it, had to do a quick Google search on when Halloween actually is, and then had to come up with a quick something, hoping it’s how you do the Halloween thing™... Apologies to anyone who was hoping for an event of some sort!))