#and one is light feminine in visage but dark feminine in personality

[maximura]

[missmaywemeetagain]

Read Need Your Love Tonight ✈️💙🔥 NOW with early access HERE!

It's 1961 and we're headed to Hawaii for the U.S.S. Arizona Benefit Concert! ✈️ This one is an older woman and Elvis, so buckle up, babies! All the pics are from the day/night of the concert, just cuz I know a little visual stimulation never hurts...😏

SNEAK PEEK:

Finally, after what seems like forever, the main event begins. Your eardrums are blasted out by what must be at least two full minutes of young girls shrieking at the top of their lungs. Rightly so, you think as you watch the tall drink of water that is Elvis Presley strut onto the stage. You are blessing your lucky stars above for the divorce settlement because you are so close, you can see just how deliciously handsome the man is in person.

And, boy, is he.

Even having seen his perfect visage in movies on the big screen truly did not hold a candle to the broad-shouldered man in the glittering gold jacket standing on the stage before you. There is almost an innocence and perhaps even a nervousness in his deep-set dreamy blues. His dark hair is coiffed just perfectly and you watch his leg jiggle as he takes the microphone. A wave of heat rolls over you, flushing you from head to toe, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the temperature in the arena.

There is a boyish playfulness to him you do not expect of the seasoned 26-year-old entertainer. He is indelibly charming and likable, not afraid to laugh at himself or the insanity of the crowd around him, but it’s not in a disparaging way. It’s more like he still can’t quite believe it’s all for him.

The reason he’s always fascinated you becomes obvious now that he’s right in front of you. He is a walking contradiction—delicate feminine features in a sharp masculine package, a deep low drawl coupled with a light warbling tenor. Singing lyrics that make you think the dirtiest things and then he turns around and does a spiritual. You have whiplash in the very best way.

You’re so distracted by his essence and the hypnotizing way he’s working the crowd that you almost forget about your sign. When One Night croons out of him with the promise of his “sweet helping hand,” a fire lights under you and you fumble around at your feet and flip the sign up for him to see.

Come on, come on, come on, you think, tapping your foot. Look over here.

At this point you will accept anything from the singer—a wink would suffice. Anything to let you know that you’re not just a washed-up divorcee who’s too old or ugly to find happiness with anyone else. Even if that happiness is just for one night because of one small moment, it’ll be worth it.

He’s so consumed by the song, his eyes closing and the rhythm pumping through his whole body, that you’re not sure he’ll see you. Your fingers grip the sign anxiously. You’d rather not have to hold it up for the rest of the concert, and you are kicking yourself for not remembering earlier, but you’ll do what you’ll have to do.

The end of the song comes, to which he adds a toe-curling groan, and when he opens his eyes, they land on you. A bolt of lightning strikes inside you, filling your veins with a scorching desire at the way those pretty eyes fall on your sign. You wait with bated breath as he reads each word silently, “Am I too old for you?” He gives you a quick cursory glance and then starts to walk away.

“Thank you,” he says to the crowd as screams fill the arena. The opening chords of Are You Lonesome Tonight start to play.

Fitting song choice, you think a little bitterly. Well, at least he saw me.

You find yourself fighting back tears, the split-second moment feeling anticlimactic and dissatisfying. A bit of a punch to the gut, really. It’s the dismissal that really stings, though your logical brain tells you he’s concentrating on his work and your sign is likely no more than a short distraction.

Suddenly, Elvis stops. He turns back towards you and steps in your direction. Your breath catches in your throat when he points at you. It is as if his finger is connected to you by an invisible string, and you find yourself sitting up taller and leaning forward on the edge of your seat. Then, he tilts the microphone away for a moment, his infamous lip curling up into a delicious boyish smile.

“Never,” he says, looking you straight in the eyes.

...

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[phoenixeseverywhere]

The purple glow of a fire flickered inside a small room. It being the only light source, the shadows moved with it. 6 people stood around a table. One was covered in shadow, and the other 5 were giggling. An object on the table seemed to be the source of the fire-- A cake.

Somebody was talking now. "Mun Ollie, you should blow out the candles!" It was a deeper voice, so it must have been Yvaillan, as he had the deepest voice of all of them.

The obscured figure moved closer and the shadows appeared to follow them. Not once did the fire manage to catch hold of their visage. "I'll do it," they whispered. Bending down, the blog's admin blew softly on the purple flames. The soft breeze from their lips made the fires flicker. All the candles went out, plunging the room into darkness, and setting off more giggling. No one moved to turn on the lights, which didn't bother anybody. The darkness was warm and it was their home after all.

The silence was brown by a single word.

"Three." The voice was smooth and sounded like silk felt--Oleander.

"Two." Somebody continued, a more feminine, dainty sounding voice, this time--Probably our dear Obey Me! Phoenix.

"One." The last person sang their number. Definitely the idol from ES, pen name "Phoenix".

"Happy birthday to us~. Happy birthday to us~. Happy birthday to everybody here~. Happy birthday to us~." A chorus of the six voices sounded out as they sang to each other. April 10th would always be their favourite day. They get to be together again after all.

{ A/N: Our birthday was technically yesterday, but we can ignore that because I forgot to post this then. :"D }

[fluffywing-e-tarot]

Be an Esteemed Lady while out shopping for the day

Of course, Grain would be the one to draw the short straw on this Hermit challenge. He suspected it was Iskall who wrote it for Stress, However, Stress didn't want to swap challenges and thus Grian had to go to the shopping district in the only feminine outfit that he had being Arianna Grande. The worst part being that Grian was planning on restocking the Barge soon.

So Grian took to the sky in his Popstar outfit. Elytra on his back he flew across the sea to get to the shopping district. He spotted Stress waiting at the Barge. A misgevious smirk on her face.

"Well aren't you looking beautiful." she greeted. "I thought you would need some help in dressing up. Apparently, you can look Lady enough."

"Thanks," Grian said. "It was the only outfit I had."

"Oh, I didn't mean it as a compliment." Stress said her polite deminer missing from her." Your makeup is horrendous."

Grian really wanted to snap back at Stress, but then he remembered that Mumbo had bet Iskall twenty diamonds, That Grian could complete the Challenge. Who was he to denied Mumbo out of Diamonds? Grian took a deep breath, He was an esteemed lady. He was an esteemed Lady, and Esteemed Lady's do not snap at their Friends for insulting their makeup job.

"Beloved Stress, if I have indeed insulted my own visage then will you help me correct it," Grian said in a polite, gentle, manner.

Stress looked stunned. Her mischievous smirk faltering. "Uh yeah, just give me a moment. I have some things at my shop." she rocketed off to her store.

This gave Grian the time he needed to restock the chests in the Barge with everything his patrons needed from his shop. Grian heard the woosh of an Elytra glide and spotted Tango swooping into his shop. Grian sent out a text in chat say that the Barge was restocked

"Hay Grian." Tango greeted and went straight for the Sand. but stopped while opening the chest Tango closed the chest a moment later and turned around.

"Sorry, I thought you were Grain, Ma'am," Tango said. "My mistake."

He returned to buying Grains sand. He left with a Shulker box filled with sand. "That was weird," Grian thought Grian didn't want Stress to go chasing after him, as head a handful of Items to buy from the shopping disticet the main thing being the Dark prismarien that had been restocked. So he pulled out a Starcae to have the relative decence of looking dignified while waiting.

"Sorry 'bout that wait." Stress pulled out a shulker box and began to shift though it. She was pulling out brushes and a wide aray of color.

"We'll need to wash off your application before we begin." Stress led out a rag and potion bottle.

"Okay." Grian dabbed some of the potions onto the rag, at least that's what he assumed what Stress wanted, and started to remove the bright cherry pink and blush.

Ah there we go a clean face to work with." Stress said, " now close your eyes Grian we are going to make a Gina out of you."

" The outfit is actual Arianna Grande" Grian informed. " I used it to promote Sahara.

"Well, the wig is quite good quality." Stress said he felt some sort of cream be applied on his face. " I'm assuming you got it from the Hub world."

"The best place to shop for the costumes." Grian said

"Now tell me Arianna what brings you to the Shopping district?" stress asked.

"Dark Prismarin for mansion among other things," Grian said he felt different brushes on his face. and pencil on his eyes. Grian opened his eyes. as Stress applied the mascara Grian chatted about what could be improved upon in his builds

"Are we done?" Grian asked.

"Yes and you look much more beautiful," Stress said. "Go knock them dead Arianna" Stress's encouragement was worrying for grain's mental health. Grian was basically taking the actions of a Woman seriously.

"I have much to do Ms. Monster. Thank you for the assistance." Grian said.

"See you around " Stress called as she was putting away her makeup supplies.

Grian decides walking was the best option. Grian's preferred elytra positions and posture were not feminine. and he felt like everyone would be looking at his skirt.

"Grian!" Mumbo shouted gliding towards him. Grian looked at his close Redstoner friend. Mumbo looked ready to say something but a whimpering sound came from his thought. Mumbo was just staring at Grian for a solid minute.

"Yes Mumbo?" Grian asked

Mumbo cleared his thought. "Lady Grian may I have the honor of escorting you through the shopping center."

"No," Grian said, " I am perfectly content with my shopping experience."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later," Mumbo said and shot rockets off and flew away.

Grain was just about to arrive at the shop when a zip of rockets. when another familiar face greeted him.

~O~

Scar walked through his project thinking of the lady that he met in the shopping district a week back. She was silent for his entire tour of the shopping district. But he noticed that she purchased a couple of items from some of the shops. She must have been a rare invite of a family member that Xuma allows on the survey.

"Hi Scar!" Grian chirped dropping down in front of him.

"Oh! Goodness!" Scar exclaimed. Jumping off the ground.

"wow, you must be quite distracted. You haven't replied to any of my messages" Grian said, " You know about the lot in Aque town."

"What messages?" Scar asked pulling out his communicator. and saw the there were a lot of messages he Missed. A load of server chat and also whispers and Personal Messages. "Oh, those messages."

"Seeing as something was distracting the mayor from his mayoral duties. What were you thinking about?" Grian asked. Scar sighed.

"A girl." Scar said.

Scar noticed that Grian was Curious. Would probably hound him for more information. So he spoke before Grian could.

" I met her a few weeks ago, she was quiet and polite. She looked new to the surver. I had seen her in an add back in season six." Scar explained "She's not from the surver, at least I don't think she is."

Grian smiled " You sound like your in love."

Scar blushed "Nothing of the Sort!"

"What's her name?" Grain asked the shorter man was bouncing on his toes.

"I think her Name was Arianna Grande."

Grian stoped bouncing. "Sorry what?"

"Her name was Arrianna Grande."

Grian grabbed onto Scar's shoulders. Grian's face was very red. "You said you have been distracted by Arrianna Grande."

"Yes?" Scar answered

Grian's face turned even reder. "You're crushing on a persona I made for the Express purpose of promoting Mumbo. And Haven't realised that It was just me in a wig and skirt."

Scar listeded to what Grian was saying. However at the same time none of it made sense. Grian was gone by the time that the words clicked and Scar's face was red in Embaresment.

Scar both Wanted to express his Mistake but also burry it in his mind never to see the light of day again. He needed to express it. Scar decided that Bdubs was the best option.

Scar decide a drink of a stong beverage was in order. There was none on the surver (a rule for the safety of the Builders.) so they had to head to the main hub for this conversation. This was absolutely a metel misunderstanding. Scar hoped that Grian would forgive him.

[the-romantic-lady]

Thank you! I loved knowing more about Edmund, poor boy, he was too good for his time. I am definitely interested in the letters :)

I always had a theory that Richard looked like Edmund, that's why Edward loved him so much, but I guess I wasn't quite right, maybe it's because Richard looked like their father.

Do you know who the boys looked like? I can't define looking at the portraits. I just know that Edward didn't look like anyone and Richard looked like his father.

You are welcome :D. Anon, you have awaken the sleeping lion. The appearances of the Yorks is one of my ultimate passions. I have some facts and A LOT of theories. Buckle up because this is going to be a long ride. (To keep this a reasonable length, I will stick to only the brothers.

Edward IV

Edward is a controversial one. His looks were used to state that he was illegitimate and looked nothing like his family. Well, I propose otherwise. When things have an agenda, they can hardly be taken as fact. In my opinion, Edward resembled his mother and paternal grandmother. Ofc, I will share some pictures:

These are far from perfect in representation but we can see his features clearly. He had a very pretty small and straight nose. A small rosy mouth and squinty eyes (they are cute lol). His chin is straight and kind of big and some double chin is popping through (which is likely a result of his later weight gain). Now here is Cecily and Richard, Duke of York's mother, Anne Mortimer.

This image of Anne Mortimer is an illustration from a stained glass image from 1411. I have desperately tried to get my hands on the original but the British Library won't budge. The features of Henry V and John, Duke of Bedford line up with other representations so I take it as fairly accurate in what Anne looked like. She is almost Edward's twin. The same small nose, the large chin and the small mouth. Whilst we can't see Anne's eyes, it seems that his eyes have origins elsewhere since Cecily has brighter and more lifted eyes. Overall, I would say he has a feminine face and kind of looks like his sister Anne too.

George, Duke of Clarence

George is the hardest one. We hardly know what he looks like. According to Vergil?, Richard said that George looked more like other men at court rather than their father but that sounds like bullcrap which is pretty much all of Vergil's history.

This is the most accurate representation we have of George and its not very good. To me, he seems to have a large nose, large eyes and a full mouth. Also, a strong jaw and chin. These features seem to resemble Richard somewhat but more masculine imo. I personally don’t know who I think he resembles. I think his maternal grandfather, Ralph Neville is a good bet. Very wide set faces with a strong jaw like his great grandfather Edmund Duke of York whose skeleton was examined to show a very masculine and strong jaw. 

Richard III

This one is really interesting. He personally seemed to have claimed to resemble his father (someone he likely never saw enough to remember the face of). Although he states that they were the same of “visage”, the context of the statements seem to suggest he means to say that they are the same noble princes. He was emphasizing his descent as the true heir of his father so if he did say that it makes sense for the context. However, how much they looked alike in features is a hard one. Richard and Edward both had brown hair. George is uncertain but I would a light brown as seen in that Wavrin image. For Richard, we have contemporary images, later paintings and his reconstruction.

All three show a very soft face. He has medium eyes, a straight aquiline nose and a full mouth. In some ways, he seems like a mixture of Edward and George. I don’t think he resembles his father much except for the jaw and nose. 

Richard, Duke of York seems to have a very very soft face. His eyes seem small and somewhat squinty like Edward’s but his nose is almost identical to Richard. His mouth seems to be fuller like George. And he was very blonde. None of his sons seemed to be. He seems to resemble his own father, Richard Earl of Cambridge. 

Edmund

I left him for last because this is mostly just speculation. He is described as “fair” which could mean both handsome or light coloring. If we go by the second, then he likely had his father’s coloring. If not, then he too was dark in hair like his brothers. All the York sons, except for George seem to lean towards the feminine side on their appearance. That goes with your point that Richard resembled Edmund and thus Edward’s attachment to him (although it must be said that Edward seemed to have loved George a lot too). I don’t personally see that much difference in Richard and Edward’s appearance either. George seems more like the outlier in appearance to me. Which brings me to these videos. Ofc, they are not totally accurate but Edward is HOT and it shows kind of how the brothers did look very similar. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBpB9QXOO20&t=70s&ab_channel=PanagiotisConstantinou

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vh8f2-kdXb4&ab_channel=PanagiotisConstantinou

[shaeshine]

Purpose

CLANG. Breath. CLANG. Breath. CLANG. 

Each strike of the smith’s hammer saw Shaedoril breath out, more for the sake of practiced repetition than breathing heavily. It was what calmed him. The rhythmic crash of the hammer against the anvil as metals were shaped. Out in the world, that ego driven big personality of his always shone brightly. Perhaps genuinely, perhaps to numb him to the world. Keep all but his closest friends and family at arms length. In reality, it was some combination of the two.

Today though, he was alone in the forge of Sundown, no one to see as he relentlessly drove the hammer against the moonsteel on the anvil. Only days prior had he learned of a way to reach the Maw. A way to find a fragment of his mother’s soul. He’d been filled with rage in the moment, not for the need to rush off. Rather for the fact others kept making choices for him.

CLANG.

Breath.

CLANG.

Breath.

CLANG.

He’d had it out with Aydri, in a heated argument spurred on by the unending fog that plagued the harbor. Each strike of the hammer was a curse in his mind on the gods that caused it, the so called ‘Sisters’. His wife had suffered nothing but pain and anguish at the hands of a god like them and then here he was, finding out many people around him pledged to such things. ‘Benevolent’ gods, ‘gifting’ power but always at a price. He could feel his rage boiling again.

CLANG.

Breath.

CLANG.

Breath.

CLANG.

He didn’t need gods. No one needed gods, in his opinion. He made himself strong and so could everyone else. At the end of the day, he answered only to himself on a cosmic scale. Which was just fine by him. The fucking fog though, that shit had been old after the first day or two. He hadn’t seen the sun in nearly two weeks. Fuck gods and their games. Aydri, Eilithe, Reveria, whoever else. They could have them. Fuck the-

CLA-

The hammer struck at empty air suddenly, leaving Shaedoril to stumble forward a step or two. A step or two he shouldn’t have been able to take, with the forge in the way. Darting his golden eye around, he suddenly stood up straight. The place he now stood was not the forge. It was unlike the forge in any regard. An endless plane of still water, reaching off into the infinite which was a dark, star filled sky. Nebulae swirled in dark yet somehow vibrant colors, the flickering lights deep within them hinting at the immense shape of an upside down pyramid.

Just as he was about to find the downward peak, a blinding flash of light scorched the dark. In its wake, a figure hung in the air, brilliant white with a hooded visage and robes that hung in masterfully sewn strips about the figure. It seemed feminine, yet not. Arms extended outwards, hands held palm up. The distinct feeling of a gaze out of time and with ancient intent fell upon him, as the hooded figure looked to Shaedoril.

His hand tightened on the hammer, not that it would be of any use. He had no idea where he was and this thing was but a memory of years past, itching at his mind to recall the circumstances. The entity floated closer, hovering about ten feet over the surface of the watery plane. Perhaps another ten from Shaedoril. There was no breeze, yet the straps of its robe still seemed to blow in one.

“We have been watching you, elil’dura.”

The voice was feminine, yet there was the sound of other voices at the edges. LIke many spoke at once but one spoke louder. The itch of familiarity was like a rash on his brain, something he could feel but couldn’t do anything about.

“Oh yea? Why’s that? You gods taking an interest in ol’ Shaeshine after all this time?”

His arms spread, as if to show his sarcasm even more clearly. His lone eye stayed locked on the entity, which seemed to have little in the way of strong reactions.

“We do not require your belief, elil’dura. You have seen the signs yet choose not to believe. The fact you carry the coin still is enough. The many faces will align and you will find yourself in the depths of despair. Use those faces. Save what you seek and free those that cannot free themselves.”

Shaedoril stared blankly at the entity for a time, as if aghast that such a thing would just… Expect him to do something. One hand sat upon his hip, the other holding the hammer to gesture about. 

“Oh is that all? Anythin’ else I can do for ya while I’m at it? Pick up the groceries? Get the dry cleanin’?”

The stars twisted and turned over the waters, like a portion of the night sky coiled and warped the reality of the place. A serpent, made of the heavens coiled and lay still off to the side.

“Even after she is saved, your purpose is yet unfulfilled. Remember the faces.”

Throwing his arms wide, Shaedoril went on in a demanding tone.

“Purpose?! What purp-..”

CLANG.

Breath. 

Shaedoril blinked, warily peering around with his amber eye, as the smells and sounds of the forge once more made themselves known. Gone was the strange landscape. Gone was the entity that itched at the back of his mind. Gone was everythi-...

He drew the hammer aside and where the blade he had been working on should have been, was instead the coin. That many faced, ever changing coin. Untarnished even by the strike he had thrown a mere moment ago. The face that haunted him showed. The face he never understood. An upside down pyramid.  

[mythologyfolklore]

No rest for the wicked

There were no words to describe the agony of falling from grace.

It was impossible to paint the picture to a non-fallen being, impossible for a not metaphysical being to imagine, and be they ever so imaginative or wise.

How could one possibly describe the feeling of the sacred light of God, the blessedness and holiness being ripped from your body and soul? The feeling of your angelic purity burning away, as you slowly and torturously turned from a creature of God to something vile, unholy and evil? Having to watch, as your white wings were set ablaze and burned, only to reappear later, tainted and pitch black …

Lucifer woke up screaming.

He spent the next approximately thirty minutes hyperventilating and shaking like a leaf, before it finally dawned on him, that it had just been a dream. He was fine, the Fall had been 6000 years ago, he was in his own king-sized bed, in his bedroom, in his palace … in Hell.

He had just been sleeping.

Demons technically didn't need to sleep, but sometimes chose to.

However, every time Lucifer chose to sleep, he was haunted by the memory of his fall. The flashback dreams were so harrowing, it was impossible to get used to them. Of course he was. It wouldn't be much of a punishment, if he was able to forget, would it?

Eh, whatever.

He didn't care. Of course he didn't care!

He was the King of all Demons! Leader of the Fallen! Head of the Council of the Seven and the Prince of Pride!

“I'm fine”, he mumbled to himself.

He was not shaken.

He was not crying!

He was not curling up under his covers, trying to convince himself that a stupid nightmare had reduced him to such a state!

That was just preposterous!

“I'm fine”, he repeated to himself again and again, like a mantra.

Until he actually believed it.

.

Asmodeus awoke with a start.

It took zir a few seconds to realise, that ze wasn't sleeping anymore.

It became obvious, when ze saw that Lilith was sitting next to zir in their marriage bed, her owlish eyes full of concern.

“That dream again?”, she guessed.

“As always”, Asmodeus groaned frustratedly. “Six thousand years and the only improvement is that I don't wake up screaming!” Ze stopped short. “I didn't scream and thrash around in my sleep, did I? Are you hurt?”

Lilith shook her head. “No. You just groaned in your sleep and stirred a lot, but not violently. But as you know, I have sensitive ears. I was about to wake you up, but then you woke up by yourself.”

The Prince of Lust sighed and leaned zir human head onto zir wife's.

Her giant owl wings enveloped zir and she hooted quietly.

Asmodeus sighed once more. Ze was just so tired! “You know, Lilith … as stupid as this sounds, I think I need a vacation.”

“Damn right you do”, Lilith agreed, “You're so overworked, because you and Beelzebub are the only ones actually doing their work, that you actually fell asleep next to me! Even though demons don't need sleep! That's how exhausted you are! Tell you what …” She wound herself out of zir embrace and looked zir in the human eyes. “I bet your partner is just as much of a nervous wreck. How about you and Beelzebub take a vacation together? We both can have some alone time, you and I, and I can take the kids and your work, while you're gone.”

Asmodeus smiled. Ze loved one – one – human turned demon queen.

“Have I told you lately how much I adore you, my queen?”

Lilith laughed and told zir to turn around.

She spent the next hours preening Asmodeus' enormous six wings.

.

“Beelzebub … Beelzebub … Beelzebub, wake up!”

The Lord of the Flies screamed and thrashed around in the grip of the claws that were gripping zir arms.

“Easy! Easy! Calm down, my pretty! It's only me.”

My pretty?!

Only one person had the nerve to call Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of Gluttony pretty; not just, because ze was a Prince of Hell and member of the Unholy Trinity, but also because ze the very opposite of pretty.

On top of that, this smooth and sultry feminine voice could only belong to one person.

Beelzebub opened zir eyes and recognised zir own office. Ze was hunched over zir desk and at some point the candles must have burned down. In the darkness ze could make out a red-eyed, red-lipped and deathly pale face smiling with the gentleness only one Prince of Hell was able to muster (even though that person was far from actually being tender).

“Aeshma Daeva¹?”, ze choked.

Asmodeus nodded gently. “Of course it's me, Baal Zevuv². Settle down now, my pretty. It was a dream and it's over now. Everything is fine.”

“What are you doing here?”, Beelzebub asked.

“I was taking a walk. I passed by your office and heard you groan, like you were in distress. It had me worried.”

The Prince of Lust snapped zir fingers and the room was lit by floating hell flames.

Beelzebub was a bit embarrassed, because surely zir eyes were all puffy and zir face completely tear stained … not that it was that noticeable on zir pitch black skin. As if on cue, the flies crawled out of zir floating white hair and buzzed around Asmodeus.

“Hello there, little pretties”, the Prince of Lust cooed (again, being the only one to ever find Beelzebub's flies pretty).

The buzzing and Asmodeus' smile were soothing.

But then the latter saw Beelzebub's tear-stained visage and frowned. “Oh! Oh, my pretty …”

The Prince of Gluttony leaned into the clawed hand that was caressing zir face.

“Go ahead”, Asmodeus coaxed the other. “Let it out, Beelz. It's okay to hurt.”

Beelzebub leaned into the taller archdemon's shoulder and allowed zirself to cry.

“I dreamt of it again”, the Lord of the Flies whispered.

“I know”, the Spirit of Anger responded and rubbed the smaller one's back. “We all do. Whenever we choose to sleep. That's why I almost never do.” A bitter smile. “Good thing we demons don't really need sleep, hm?”

“Yes”, Beelzebub croaked. “But I'm just so exhausted …”

“No wonder”, Asmodeus grumbled. “We're both overworked, because we're the only ones with a work ethic.”

“To Heaven with it!”

“Indeed. Hey, how about this: I'll stay with you for a while. You know, give you a massage and all and just generally diverting you. And tomorrow, we both will waltz into the council, give the others Heaven and demand a vacation. It's what we deserve, don't you agree, my pretty?”

“What about your wife and children?”, Beelzebub objected. Trying to keep the jealousy from zir voice at the reminder, that Asmodeus was hitched and leading a successful marriage, despite zir notorious promiscuity – that a mere former human, a being of clay, had put a ring on the Prince of Lust and could say with pride, that they were husband/spouse and wife.

Beelzebub heard the smile in the other's voice, as ze answered: “Don't wreck your pretty head about it, Beelz. Lilith can handle the kids without me for a while. Most of them are big enough to care for themselves by now anyway. And Lilith will be happy to have some quality time to herself.”

The Lord of the Flies sighed and leaned further into Asmodeus' shoulder.

A vacation … that sounded wonderful.

.

As Astaroth awoke, she screamed, but her scream was silent.

Without her voice, which God had taken away, she couldn't scream like all the others could.

Her screams, her tears, her laughter, they all were silent.

So was her sigh of relief, when she realised that it had just been a dream.

With annoyance she realised, that she had fallen asleep completely, whereas to the simple dozing she normally did, when she chose to rest.

Dozing was a way of getting some rest without having to suffer those horrid flashback nightmares, but sometimes …

She pressed her face against the pillows, curled up and wept.

It wasn't fair!

She had done nothing to deserve this!

She had done nothing to deserve her fall from grace and the loss of her voice!

She hadn't sided with Lucifer back then, even though he had freed her from the house arrest/de-facto prison God had put her in before!

Her only crime had been … knowing too much.

As the angel of time, she had known past, presence and future (still did) and therefore also the Ineffable Plan. However, no one was allowed to know God's plans (aside from Satan, maybe, but even he didn't know everything – not to the extent Astaroth did).³

But still … she was innocent … she just wanted to …

Astaroth cried harder.

That went on for a while, until someone knocked on the door.

The Princess of Hell wiped her tears away and wiped her tears away.

She whistled, as a sign that whoever was out there was permitted to enter.

A minor demon came in.

“Your Royal Highness, Princess Astaroth – their Highnesses Beelzebub and Asmodeus are calling for a council meeting in two hours”, the demon announced.

Huh.

That was weird.

And rather short-term.

But Astaroth nodded and the demon bowed and saw themselves out.

Two hours … that was time enough to take a nice bath to relax from the nightmare and to freshen up a little.

And half an hour before the meeting she would kick Belphegor out of bed, just to lean back and enjoy him run down as hastily as a lazy boy like him could, thinking they were under time pressure.

.

Belphegor also awoke screaming.

When he realised, that he was awake, he groaned and ruffled his blue hair.

“Fuck this shit … I must've fallen asleep completely.”

Contrary to what people believed, he and Astaroth never truly slept – ironically, as they were the demons of sloth. Instead they dozed for a while, never really quite asleep. It was a loophole to avoid those traumatic dreams. Astaroth was a lucid dreamer to boot, but that didn't work on the retrospectral dreams.

Damn it, Dad! I wasn't even on their side!

He hadn't been.

But he hadn't been on Heaven's side either.

He had been too cowardly to choose a side and remained neutral and that had been his ruin.

Belphegor grumbled sullenly, before lying back down and resuming his nap.

Unfortunately it didn't last long, because soon someone ripped him from their dozing slumber.

Upon opening his eyes, he saw Princess Astaroth glowering down on him.

“Wake up, lazy boy!”, she signed (would have snapped at him, had God not stripped her voice away before the Fall). “Get your demonic ass to work!”

“Who're ya callin' lazy”, Belphegor slurred, but stood up.

Astaroth shared his position as Prince of Sloth, but as she was Lucifer's left hand, a former Seraph and member of the Unholy Trinity, she outranked him by far. It was too dangerous to resist her. And even though she lacked the capability of speech, she had a lot to say – and certainly didn't need speech to be intimidating!

“Beelzebub and Asmodeus are calling in a council meeting”, she signed. “So wash and get dressed. You have half an hour.”

“But that's too little time!”, Belphegor whined.

Astaroth snarled menacingly.

“Alright, alright! On my way, your Royal Highness!”, the Prince of Sloth grumbled and dragged himself away to do as told.

Fucking bitch!

.

Mammon hadn't actually been asleep.

They had just hit their head and passed out, but that had been enough to make them relive the horrid memory of the Fall.

The Prince of Greed came to themselves, cursing up a storm; swearing usually made them feel a little better.

“Okay, fuck this shit”, they muttered, “I'll just finish this paperwork, then go rob a bank or something-”

A knock on the door.

It was a mook demon, informing them that there was going to be a council meeting.

“Right, I'll be there”, Mammon replied.

Once they were alone again, they smirked: “Hmm … wonder if Asmodeus will join me afterwards – go shopping, gamble and rob some casinos … it's always more fun with zir!”

.

Leviathan and Satan were never haunted by that kind of dream, as neither were fallen angels.

Leviathan was a giant sea monster and Satan was an entity God had created before all others, specifically to oppose Him, yet in a way be His right hand.

But they knew of the others' nightmares, of course they knew.

It had once slipped out of Lucifer and Satan hadn't left the fallen Morning Star alone, until he had been told everything.

“They're collectively having nightmares, these six”, Satan reported to the sea serpent, when he was on the phone with her.

The Adversary knew that, because his presence was everywhere but Heaven, thus he always knew what was going on in the entirety of Hell (which belonged to him, by the way, no matter how much Lucifer acted like it was his).

Leviathan chuckled at the other end of the phone: “Well, that'ssss nothing new now, issss it?”

“It's funny”, Satan laughed, “How they still haven't got over it after such a long time! One would think that after having the same dream every time they sleep, they would have got used to it!”

“Well, look at it thissss way”, Leviathan hissed into the phone, “It's fun to sssee them suffer like thissss from time to time, issssn't it?”

Another laugh from the Adversary: “You're so delightfully cruel, my friend!”

A hissing laugh from the other end of the phone.

“By the way”, Satan continued, “There is about to be a council meeting. Will you attend or shall I find someone to step in for you?”

“No need. I'll turn humanoid and teleport mysssself to Hell and it'll be good.”

“Cool! We need to connect again! This is going to be interesting, I can tell!”

.

---

.

1) Aeshma Daeva (Avestan: "Spirit of Anger/Fury") is a demon from Zoroastrian tradition, which embodies wrath, murder and greed and is armed with a bloody mace. While Aeshma and Asmodeus are not the same being, it's thought that the latter's name is derived from/a reference to the former.

2) Ba'al Z(e)vûv/Baal Zebub (Hebrew: "Lord of the Flies"), a derogative pun used towards the Philistine god Ba'al Zebûl ("Exalted Lord/Lord of the dwelling") and towards that god's worshippers. The Septuagint later transcribed it into Baalzebub, which later morphed into the Beelzebub we all know.

3) Just to make this clear: this is a headcanon. The idea that Astaroth is a former seraph and guardian of time, rendered mute because he/she knew God's Plans, comes from the German Wikipedia article on Astaroth (once again proving that one should never trust Wikipedia about facts), but since no sources were stated for the things written there, I will treat it as a headcanon and not as actual canon. It's really annoying, because I can't even credit the person who actually came up with this, because the part stating it was quoting no sources, so I don't know who it was. Please don't kill me.

[herkawaiinovels]

[SS] Chapter 31

A plain carriage ran towards Viscount Royne’s residence. In it, Ralph was looking out, feeling a little lightheaded. He was a bit drunk, but he rather liked this level of awareness. He felt confident that he could do anything.

The visible light outside the dark window indicated they were getting closer to Viscount Royne’s residence. As the carriage drew nearer, he saw a person’s figure. Being drunk, Ralph thought he was just seeing things. But as it got closer, the figure of a woman became more pronounced.

The woman in plain clothing was holding a flowerpot while looking at the mansion. It might have been because of the dreary evening, but he thought the woman looked dejected.

Ralph looked at her through the window of the carriage as it entered the residence. He suddenly became curious about her face.

As it was hard to see her visage from inside the carriage, he opened the door of the carriage without hesitation. Because of the speed of the moving carriage, the wind blew hard, but he braced himself while holding the bar on top of the door opening

As the carriage door suddenly opened, he saw the woman look at him with startled eyes. Her hair was in a half-updo, making her appear feminine and neat. Even though she had little makeup on, he could tell that she was quite a beauty.

But because of the carriage’s speed, her figure gradually faded away. The woman who became surprised at seeing him quickly turned around and disappeared.

Ralph's carriage soon stopped, and he got off the carriage. His body faced the direction where the woman had stood.

“She must’ve been busy.”

She was absolutely, perfectly his type. He wanted to see her again. As she was wearing plain clothes, it didn’t seem like she was a noblewoman. Soon, a dangerous smile molded around his mouth.

“Baron Jeanette. The lord asks to see you.”

Reese imparted to Ralph, who had not moved from his spot for a long time.

“Alright.”

As he turned around, a wide smile could be seen on his face.

Reese inwardly clicked his tongue. For the man, ‘pleasant work’ meant something a little different, as the man was mainly in charge of Ben’s shady business. Nevertheless, he didn’t let his inner thoughts show as he led the man to where Ben was.

“You’ve arrived.”

The room Ben was situated in held simple food made from expensive ingredients as well as premium wine.

Ralph flung himself into the chair, ignoring etiquette. With one leg raised, he gulped down a glass of wine at once.

“Keuk. As expected, it’s great to be rich.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and groaned as if he had been drinking cheap beer. Despite Ralph’s conduct, Ben placidly drank his wine while displaying aristocratic manners.

“What’s the progress?”

“We only need one more.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don't worry, I've confirmed he works during the day.”

Ralph poured expensive wine back into the glass and drank. Ben gave a slight frown at the vulgarity.

The way he was chewing the food made from expensive ingredients felt no different from chomping down food for street beggars.

Ben laid down the food he was going to eat and instead wiped his hand with a napkin.

Ralph gave a tiny grin at the figure. From the beginning, behaving in an uncultured manner had been the best way to grate on his nerves.

“It will be ready by the time that you’re gone, right?”

“5 days.”

Ralph's mischievous eyes flashed sharply. The smile on the side of his mouth gave Ben confidence.

Ben had rarely failed using this method. He felt better. With this, he was able to tolerate Ralph’s crude behavior.

“And just like I’ve promised, this has been prepared.”

Ben put a key on the table and pushed it toward Ralph. The slid key rested in Ralph's gloved hand. He had always offered Ralph a second place. It was a place used in a completely different sense than just a place for accommodation.

“Don't forget that this is the capital.”

Ben gave his last words before standing up.

“Of course.”

His eyes bent placidly as he looked at the small key in his hand. Yet strangely, it looked gruesome from the eye of the beholder.

Their short conversation ended. Only one month was left before the imperial ball.

        Just as Fred knocked on the door and entered, Roman was already prepared to leave.

“Everything is all set, your grace.”

“Alright.”

Roman had to leave the Arceo empire in a hurry. This was in consideration of the lengthy investigation period for the stabbing case, as well as the condolences for the victims’ families.

“When it’s daytime, pass this on to the Marquis of Weiand residence.”

Before getting on the horse, Roman handed Fred a letter. The letter stated he would be out of the capital for a while. The letter was also an assurance for the troubled Prillance, who had met Cecia today.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Fred bowed and bid him goodbye. After the swift strides of his horse, the guards behind him soon followed.

        ***

        Waking up later than usual, Prillance placed a cold, damp towel over both her eyes. She was trying to get rid of the swollenness in her eyes which were swollen enough to indicate how much she had cried. Perhaps because of yesterday’s aftermath, her head was still ringing.

A little later, Mindy removed the towel from Prillance's eyes and gently stroked her head. Meanwhile, Prillance looked through the mirror and regarded the flowerpot lying by the window.

Originally, she had wanted to meet Cecia to deliver it in person and convey Ver's heart.

But when she recalled his voice declaring that that was no longer what he wanted, she ended up turning around. Still, she couldn't make sense of how far this twisted relationship came to be.

Prillance gave a deep sigh and closed her eyes.

    At the same time, heavy air permeated the office of the Marquis of Weiand. Setting down his cup, Jack lightly clasped his fingers together and looked at the person sitting in front of him.

“Did you decide to enter?”

“Yes.”

Ver replied, refusing to avoid the eyes that stared at him sharply.

“I’m quite curious as to why you have made that decision.”

He couldn’t have foreseen that ‘that Viscount Grant’ would really enter to be a knight for the house of Marquis Weiand.

“I promised Lady Weiand that I would enter the Marquis of Weiand’s Order of Knights if I ever decide to be a knight of someone’s house.”

Ah. Jack nodded.

After announcing that she had wanted to have Ver be a knight of their house, Prillance had eventually made it happen.

He wondered whether he should be proud of his daughter's resourcefulness or be uncomfortable with the fact that they were getting involved with the Grant family.

In the meantime, Ver was inwardly relieved that Jack had simply accepted the reason he gave.

If Jack had argued that his reason did not make sense and had asked for another reason, he would not have been able to answer.

Beyond mere promises, his impure intentions might have gotten caught.

“For now, you will have to live with the knights. Are you fine with me deciding on your position based on the results of your assessment?”

After much agonizing, this was Jack’s response.

Ver Grant's reputation wasn’t unknown, but he wanted to avoid any equity controversy. Besides, if his skills were genuine, then it should be no problem for him to be placed in the rightful position.

“That’s fine.”

Ver also gladly accepted. The majority of aristocrats were still reluctant to associate with the Grant family. Moreover, the man in front of him was publicly known to be at odds with his father when he had still been alive.

He was aware that Jack had come to a generous conclusion.

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[legendaryorangeloot]

This is "The Union Screaming House", a short story I wrote as an alternate-universe American M.R. James story (which is why it's not got fully modern language when describing people's race and ethnicity, and the language/spelling in general is idiosyncratic in the way that letters from the <1900s tend to be.) I wrote it in one huge burst on a road trip with my partner from Milwaukee to St. Louis, and never really edited it, but I think it's true to the style and form of the author I'm trying to pay homage to, so all the weaknesses I can see are present in the source works and serve to make it more accurate (sorry, Monty James. you know I love you.)

Dec 22, 18--

My dearest Daniel - I write to you about events which recently occurred in the small town of Union, Mo., feeling certain that they will prove of interest to you, for your personal collections of curious supernatural tales and revolutionary literature. I suppose, as I shall leave no descendants, you may publish my full confession after all parties involved are deceased - such is the advantage of having much-younger friends, I suppose!

We were traveling across the midwestern states at a leisurely pace, hoping to recuperate my equilibrium after the trial in which I had recently defended Mr. W-- S-- against numerous charges of murder, about which: the less said, the better. It had become our custom over a period of weeks to seek out remote roads and tracks and follow them to their sources, which almost invariably were villages and towns with unusual “claims to fame”, such as one that boasted an underground lake, another with what they claimed as the oldest living tree in the state. This proved a diverting experience, and I greatly enjoyed conversing with many of the “oldsters” I met outside general stores and hearing tales of the War, and of their luck or lack there-of in the agriculture business. The endeavor was beginning to allow me to leave behind the feeling of grave wrong-doing that had dogged me since the verdict of the S-- trial, but what replaced it in Union may yet prove to be worse.

It was on one of these rather aimless treks that we found ourselves in Union, home of some 700 people. It was a chill autumn night, and darkness fell early, no later than 5 o. clock. Bryan, who was acting as driver, refused to travel in such a rural area after dark (wise, owing to his appearance - as you may recall from our last visit, Bryan is light enough to pass for “black Irish” stock, and usually does so successfully, but in the more… concerned areas of the country, he has been sometimes “found out”, with all the concurrent discriminatory rigmarole… sneaking “my servant” into my lodging-house rooms has been quite the risky undertaking in some of these towns.) At any rate, we obtained the name of a local widower who would be willing to rent a room to me for the night, and allow Bryan and our four-horse team to stay in his guest house and lavish stables, respectively.

Mr. R--, a sprightly gentleman of maybe 55 years, proved a quite gracious host, and commenced to give me a tour of the property, which was called Blackwater Woods. We walked around the barn, various outbuildings, and past many pastures and livestock holding-pens, before approaching the enormous main house. It was built in a style quite unlike the modest but modern homes of Union proper, and appeared to be designed in the manner of a frontier cabin, but on a scale so large that it made it seem slightly ridiculous, as though perhaps it had been constructed to display at a Worlds Fair and not for humans to inhabit at all. Mr. R-- was oddly reluctant to show me around much of the house in detail, as he had the farm-buildings, but he invited me to dinner and after-dinner drinks and cigars politely enough after escorting me to my second-floor room, which had clearly been a woman’s “boudoir” prior to being pressed into service as a guest room. I changed clothes and washed up with alacrity, eager to get the dust and grime of the road off my person, and still had ample time left to explore my surroundings. The room was large, and sparsely-furnished, but feminine touches from the prior inhabitant (Mrs. R--, I assumed at the time) still remained in the form of a silver-backed hairbrush near the vanity mirror, a jewelry box which played a tune when opened (I shut it quickly, as the mechanism appeared to be functioning not very well, and the too-slow tune rendered me oddly soporific), and a gauzy canopy hanging from the four posts of the bed, which I imagined was intended to be exotic in the manner of a harem, but was instead exotic in the manner of tropical anti-mosquito netting. I was oddly moved by this nod to concepts of Romance and Beauty in such a rural locale, and smiled to myself in the mirror, only to quickly blanch and whip my head round to look when I saw the form of a woman - a dusky-skinned woman, with high cheekbones and full lips - materialize behind me, visible in the mirror! In retrospect, I believe it was not just my terror at being accompanied at a time I believed myself alone that caused me to react so immediately and physically, but that the woman so obviously required help. She could hardly have communicated it more clearly than her facial expression did, even if she had plainly said “Help me!”. When I turned to look where I had seen her standing, near the enormous limestone fireplace, there was no-one there, and looking back in the mirror, she also did not re-appear. But there lingered in the air a smell - you are the only one I could tell this to - a womanly smell, but one that was attractive to me, in a way, which, I know you know, I have not experienced before (or since).

For all those reasons, I was deeply shaken as I went down to the dining-room to eat with Mr. R--. I thought that perhaps I could ask questions about the room’s former inhabitant, but each time I tried to broach the topic, Mr. R-- cut me off with florid tales of inconsequential things, which would have been greatly entertaining, had they not distracted me from my goal. I learned many interesting tid-bits of the area’s history, but was unable to discern a reason for the visage of the woman to appear, or what help she might require. I did learn that the “guest house” where my beloved Bryan now stayed was, in fact, former slave quarters, and this did not sit well with me. I was also able, by making some off-hand comments about the food, to learn that indeed we were alone in the house entirely, the woman who had cooked the meal being employed only at the dinner-hour and returning to her home in Union after serving. I do not remember what we ate.

After the meal, we retired to Mr. R--’s study, and he poured us generous doses of a bourbon of exceptional quality. The study, unlike the rest of the house, was furnished in an extravagant style that would not have seemed much out of place in the wealthiest salons of London or Vienna. Presumably for this reason, it was kept locked at all times with a latch and bolt-lock on the door, and keyed locks on the single window, to which, Mr. R-- explained, he held the only keys. I sipped at my bourbon as he spoke at length about various topics, and realized soon that he was drinking his as though it were water. I saw my opportunity to perhaps gain more information about the mirror woman, so I surreptitiously poured out the rest of my liquor onto the Turkish carpet, and proposed a refill, then another, then another, which I disposed of in the same way. As Mr. R-- became first tipsy, then outright intoxicated, I steered the conversation to the topic of the room I now stayed in. “Was it your wife’s chambers?” He appeared startled by this question and was quick to say, in a brusque manner, “No. It was used for brief, er, overnight stays only, for no-one in particular.” He attempted to change the subject after this answer, but I could see him beetling his brows at me from time to time as we spoke on less consequential matters. The evening wound down soon after this, and I excused myself to my room.

Upon reaching my room, it was no more than ten minutes before I heard the tip-tap of tiny pebbles being flung at my window, the typical sign from Bryan that he was waiting unseen below and wished entry. Never had I more needed his strong and steady presence, his welcome simple physicality, the comfort of his arms - I hope that you do not mind, and rather believe that you will enjoy this part, as unsatisfying as it ended up in reality - and I began to ready myself even as I quietly opened the window, using the heel of my hand to press against my rapidly-stiffening member in preparation for our reunion. But it was not to be, for the Bryan that hoisted himself through my window after climbing up the ivy and planks on the side of the house was not amorous, but terrified. I immediately asked what the trouble was, and he said that we must go, and that he needed to show me something in the “guest house” - which I shall refer to as the slave quarters from now on, as this is more relevant to its position in the story - after which we must flee this house. He used this exact word, “flee”, and it was one of the ways I knew just how serious this revelation he had for me must be.

We both climbed down the side of the huge house as quickly as we could, and dashed across the moonless dark of the lawn, past the garden and woodpile, to the former slave quarters, a squat building greatly resembling Indian long-houses I have seen, but made of sturdy split logs and patched with something between mud and cement. A fire burned inside and smoke spiraled up from the small chimney, and when we reached it and went indoors, shutting the pine-plank door fast behind us, Bryan first kissed me fiercely and quickly, then went on to say “I found this account written on bark, stripped from the walls of this house, hidden in one of the straw mattresses. But it is more than half in slave pidgin and picto-grams, and what English is used is not very grammatical. Do you trust me to tell you the contents truly?” and by way of reply I kissed him tenderly, pressing my forehead to his, and squeezed his hand, saying “With my very life.” He replied that it hopefully would not come to that. He showed me a long strip of bark with writing on it, and what I could read conformed to his translation, which I will put here in more colloquial ways of speaking, for clarity: “Last winter Margaret was called to visit Mr. R-- after sunset and never did return, and he said that she ran away, but never bothered to tell the lawman, or offer a reward for the return of a servant, and I think sometimes that I see her in the upper window, but never except at night when fires are burning in all the rooms of the house. Now he has arranged for me to come to the big house secretly after dark and I fear that I, too, will never return. If you find this, look for me. Meliora.”

We stared at each other wide-eyed as I put together the pieces in my mind and I said to Bryan “I know what we must do, but if you do not like it - I also do not like it - I understand if you must simply go and ready the horses for our escape.” He said that he would accompany me even to the gates of Hell, and I said that it hopefully would not come to that. We went to the great woodpile beside the house and found an axe and hatchet, and used the latter to break the lock of the front door, and went directly to my room. As quietly as one can accomplish such a thing, we began dismantling the room - we moved the furniture to the center, and started using the tools as pry-bars to remove boards from the wall. It was not long before I heard a stifled cry behind me and saw Bryan kneeling near one wall, pulling forth what was unmistakably a winding-shroud, stained with old blood, containing naught but dark skin, bones, and black hair. As I came over to assist him, I stumbled and fell against the limestone mantel, and broke it away, and the falling rock opened the boards of the floor, where more gauzy shrouds were hidden beneath, and my heavy axe smashed the fire-warmed stone at the back of the fireplace, where a recent, beautiful corpse, matching my mirror apparition exactly, lay in surprisingly dignified repose. This kind of noise would wake anyone, even the bourbon-soaked Mr. R--, who entered the room just at that second, and it is hard to say now which sight shocked him the most greatly. But he had no opportunity to say anything about it, as Bryan fairly flew at him from across the room, holding his hand over Mr. R--’s mouth, and the hatchet’s handle across his throat in preparation to strangle the life from him. “No!” I hissed quickly. And Bryan’s expression in that moment caused me to die inside, seeing how fast he thought I would side with the despicable murderer Mr. R-- over the love of my life, due only to our shared skin color, but I put this aside to say my actual piece, which was “We have to make it look like an accident.”

We frog-marched Mr. R-- downstairs, and forced him to unlock the study, confiscating the keys afterwards. We tied him to the heaviest chair using his own silk smoking-jacket, and I touched a brand from the fire to the Turkish carpet I’d soaked with bourbon earlier in the evening, and we did not spare the struggling, squealing Mr. R-- another look as we walked from the room, hands clasped, to return the axes to the woodpile before driving away.

I trust that, after your actions in Lawrence, this story will please you, rather than shock you. I hope that I have done your revolutionary spirit proud in administering fair and equitable justice. After long discussion, I have decided to prove to Bryan that his assumption in the moment Mr. R-- entered the room was entirely wrong, and we depart for France, together, next week. The keys from Mr. R--’s house, we will throw into the Atlantic Ocean, and never mention the sorry incident again.

With love,

Your friend,

J. Schiffmann

[outlaws-of-anarchy]

Tainted Love (Chapter 5 - Finale)

Warning's: Mention of a broken heart, profanity, alcohol, drugs, happy ending for all

Words: 3,144

1 YEAR LATER  

Ringed fingers drummed idly along the table-top, an icy gaze directed to the prospect who was working bar. Music hummed in the background, nearly drowning out the multiple voices that echoed into the air. The clubhouse was busy, filled to the brim with patched members, old ladies, crow eaters, and of course sweet-butts. The celebration of Abel’s 1st year was upon them, and there was no better way to honor his life than by drinking and getting high. Who knew what shenanigans he would get into later, as of now, he was busy watching the prospect.  

He hadn’t sponsored this particular new blood, but he still needed to make sure that he was doing his job. “Ay prospect, give me another beer.” Tig order.

Despite having plenty of other people to serve, the prospect knew better than to ignore Tig’s orders. The kid grabbed a Budweiser before cranking off the cap and sliding the bottle down to the curly-headed member without hesitation. Tig grabbed ahold of the beer before gingerly bringing it to his lips and taking a greedy sip.  

As he was turning to head towards Happy, Jax, and Clay, something, or perhaps someone had caught his attention off in the distance. Everything around him seemed to slow down, the music and the voices fading out as the pace of his heart beat picked up and began thumping in his ears. His eyes swiveled in between the crowd of women and men, until his gaze gently landed on Y/N who was entering the clubhouse with Tara.  

At first glance, he barely recognized her, something was different and it wasn’t her appearance. She looked exactly the same, still stunningly beautiful. Ethereal, and so unaware of how she could light up a room with the simplest of smiles. Whatever it was, he could sense it, he could see it in the way she carried herself. Like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. There was a sparkle in her eyes, one he had never seen before, not with him at least.

There was a genuine smile etched into her lips as she whispered to Tara. It wasn’t forced and it wasn’t fake. It touched her eyes, even enunciating the little wrinkles besides her lower lids. It was at that point that he realized just what had changed, and it was her. She was happy, she wasn’t being brought down by his stupid bullshit. She didn’t have to worry about where he was when he wasn’t with her, all she had to worry about was herself. The factor that played so enormously into her happiness was the fact that they weren’t together anymore.  

To say it didn’t fuck him up, would be a lie.

When he was ready to settle down and just be with her, it was already too late. The childish bullshit he had been pullin’ was enough to push her away, and for good. His mind wandered back to their last conversation.

Tears slowly began welling up before pushing towards the corner of her eyes and dripping down her cheeks. “I’m sorry Tig, but let’s face it. We weren’t ever going to last, you’re wild and free and I enjoy that about you, but I’m not the one who’s gonna tame you. I’m not gonna be the one who makes you want to stop fucking everything with a pulse. I’m j-just sorry.”

He looked down at her face, concern briefly flashing across his visage as he watched her silently cry. She was clearly in pain, not physical, but emotional. She felt guilty for what she had done with Kozik, and it was noticeable. She wanted his forgiveness, even if she couldn’t have his whole heart. She could settle with that, to just be forgiven for her betrayal. Yet, he wanted to be forgiven too, he wanted to give her his whole heart.

All the emotions he had developed over the months, were terrifying. But only because they were real because they came from a place inside of him that he thought had died off a long time ago. She wasn’t perfect, but neither was he, and he continuously had hurt even if she had never verbally said so.

He could always see the disappoint in her eyes when she found hickeys on his body that didn’t belong to her. Or when he would openly flirt with numerous women in front of her, knowing damn well she wouldn’t leave. He had hurt over and over, and she had stayed. She didn’t give up on him, she didn’t call him names, she didn’t do anything, just accepted it because she knew who he was.

But he didn’t want to be like that anymore, he wanted her.

“I’m what’s best for you pussycat.” He said before crushing his lips into hers.

She had let that kiss happen, and even told him she would always love him, but she couldn’t do it anymore. He wasn’t the person she wanted to be with anymore, because she didn’t expect him to change, not now, not ever. He had been that person his entire life, and nothing would change that, not even her.

And just like that, she had left his life, not even with a hopeful glance backwards. Now here she was, a year later, acting as if nothing had ever happened between the two of them and it was pissing him off.

Grabbing ahold of his beer, he would disappear amongst the mass of people, looking to get some fresh air.  

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬  

He was seated at the picnic table, taking long drags of a cigarette when he heard the clubhouse door open and bang shut. He hadn’t bothered to look back and see who it was, he was too wrapped up in his own shit.  

“Tig.” A soft, sweet voice said from behind him, making his shoulders tense.

It had been a year since he had last seen her, last heard her voice, but he knew it was her. The energy in the air had changed the moment she came outside, and it made him anxious, nervous even, and that wasn’t something he was used to. He still remained with his back to her, focusing on stubbing out the cigarette in the ash tray that was placed on top of the table.

“Can we talk? Please.” She asked, her voice steady, unyielding.  

He snorted before finally rising to his feet and turning to face her, he thought he could do it, but the moment he did, the air left his lungs. Looking at her had brought up old feelings, something he thought he had stuffed down a long time ago, feelings he thought he had gotten rid of... Snapping back into reality, his walls came shooting upwards, guarding his vulnerable heart.  

“What do you want to talk about pussycat? You did all the talkin’ last time, remember?” He replied with a snarky tone, trying to keep her at a safe distance.  

Despite how hard he was coming across, she didn’t budge, she remained steady, facial expressions neutral. “I know you must hate me, and I don’t blame you. But I need you to hear this, because when I needed to hear it from Kozik, I never got it, and it ate me up and I don’t want you to end up like me. So, please, hear me out.”  

Tig softened up at her pleading, although he wanted nothing more than to be pissed off at her. He still had a soft spot for her, even though she broke his heart.

His voice came out bland, almost emotionless. “Say what you need to say and be on your way.”  

Y/N looked up at him with soft, feminine features, trying to coax him in. “When Kozik left me, it broke me. Completely. And then there you were, cleaning up a mess that wasn’t even yours. You took care of me, and I will forever be grateful to you for that. But you couldn’t offer me the one thing I needed to feel okay, and that was closure. Kozik never gave me the closure I needed to let him go, even though I desperately tried to. It felt like unresolved business and when he came back, it didn’t feel like he and I were through. So, I’m here, to offer you the closure you need so you can move on... What we had was beautiful, and I was very much in love with you, but you hurt me. You couldn’t just have me, you had to have everything and everyone else, and it made me feel like I would never be enough.”

Tig growled out with irritation. “But you were enough!”  

The sudden outburst from him made Y/N take a cautious step backwards. “I was enough for you once you didn’t have me anymore. I’m not here to place the blame just on you, I made mistakes, I hurt you in the process too, but you need to understand we weren’t good for each other. We weren’t made for each other, and it took a long time to realize that Alex. I just wanted you to hear that it’s okay that we didn’t work out, that we didn’t overcome the odds. I will always, and I mean always, love you, from the bottom of my heart, but we are two entirely different people. And that’s okay, it hurts now, but it won’t always hurt. I hope one day you can forgive me like I’ve forgiven you.”  

Tig could only stand there, absorbing everything she had to say. He was a stubborn man and he wasn’t ready to forgive her, not yet anyways.  

“Is that all?” He asked spitefully.  

He watched as she inched closer, nearly consuming his personal space with her own. She rose to the tips of her toes before her lips brushed slowly across his cheek. “Goodbye Alex.” She whispered before pulling back and disappearing into the clubhouse once more.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬  

The time Kozik had arrived at the clubhouse, it was already dark out. The drive from Tacoma had been a long one, but he wouldn’t have missed Abel’s 1st birthday for anything. He rolled his Dyna into park before switching off the headlight, side-stepping off the bike and rising to his full stature. The chain that hung from his jeans rattled audibly, a hand gliding along the metal machinery before grabbing ahold of the Dyna’s keys. Subconsciously he stuffed them into his front pocket, beginning to make his way to the clubhouse’s front door.

His movements stalled when the sound of the rusty chains of the swing set began creaking. Blue eyes maneuvered over to the small kiddy jungle gym, catching sight of Tig. He lifelessly teetered back and forth on one of the swings that was clearly too small for him. He looked defeated beneath the single street lamp, Kozik had wondered where Tig’s infamous spark had gone to.

The two men weren’t on speaking terms, and hadn’t been since the incidental shootout regarding Y/N. But the Sons were a brotherhood, and Tig, despite everything, was his brother and he would lie his life down for each and every single one of em.  

He wasn’t sure what made him move in the direction of the jungle gym, but he didn’t fight it. His boots crunched loudly over the pebbles that littered the lot, making Tig’s head pop upwards, glancing at the approaching man. His lips turned upwards into a sneer, and it could only make Kozik chuckle.

At least he wasn’t the only who wasn’t happy about facing the other.  

The dirty-blonde outlaw took a seat on the opposite swing, allowing the silence to fall over the two of them. His gaze moved towards the sky, noticing how many stars were out.  

“What the fuck do you want Koz?” Tig snapped, clearly riled up by something.

Situating his eyes onto his brother in arms, he would gently rock back and forth. “Wanted to come piss you off some more.” He replied, a smirk sprawled along his face.

“Beat it, ya dick.” Tig replied.

This was the most the two of them had spoken to each other in over 12 months. It wasn’t much, but it was progress, it was something.

“She’s here.” Tig said, feet planted firmly on the ground beneath him.

Kozik exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was keeping pent up before nudging at Tig. “That why you’re in such a shit mood?”

An icy stare was fixated on the blonde next to him. “Man, Kozik, you’re a genius.” He remarked with a sarcastic tone.  

Laughing faintly, he would shrug his shoulders before focusing forward. “Shit happens for a reason brother.”  

He could sense Tig’s temper was spiking, whether it ended in blood-shed or not, was up to the firecracker beside him.  

“You don’t get to say shit to me. You got her in the end.” Tig ruffed out.

A moment of confusion took over the Tacoma outlaw, before it finally dawned on him. Tig thought that Y/N had chosen him. Little did he know, he wasn’t picked either. They were both left in the dust while she moved on, finally not needing either one.

“What are you talkin’ about idiot? Me and Y/N aren’t together, the day she called it quits with, she called it quits with me. I haven’t seen her in a year.” Kozik replied.

Both of them stared at each other, unsure of what to say next. But the silence was quickly broken.

“Well if you didn’t pop back up, I wouldn’t be in this god damn situation.” Tig growled, his gaze growing icier by the second.

Kozik could only roll his eyes before rising to his feet thus making Tig rise up, the two squaring up. The Son from Tacoma shook his head in disbelief, taking a step back to clear up the space in between them.

“I loved her ya know.” He said.

It hadn’t dawned on either of the men on how much they both had cared for Y/N. She was something hard to come by in the life, and they both had fucked up their opportunities. There was no one to blame but themselves, and they knew that. But the loss was still surreal, and it stung like hell.  

“We both did, brother.” Tig ground out before looking towards the ground.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬  

“How did it go out there?” Tara asked Y/N, handing her a glass of whiskey.

Y/N looked towards the good doctor before offering a small smile. “As well as it would go when it comes to breaking a Son’s heart.”  

After that, Tara didn’t say anything else, and instead took a sip of her own drink. While Tara was talking to Gemma about Abel, Y/N had lost herself in memories of the two men she had given up.  

Deciding that both Kozik and Tig weren’t right for her, was harder than she could have ever imagined. But she knew that things had changed between all three of them. In some twisted way, Kozik’s return was what she needed. It lit a fire under her ass and made her see that the decisions that she had been making, were not right. She knew that there were always obstacles and hardships in relationships, and had sacrificed enough for both Kozik and Tig. Yet what did they ever really sacrifice for her? What did they give up for her? Nothing. They had remained the same, only expecting her to adapt and change to their life styles.  

Both men had put her through so much and asked so much of her, that she could hardly recognize herself anymore. Physically she was the same, but mentally, and emotionally she had transpired into someone she didn’t know. The love that she held for both men was real, it was genuine, but the love they held for her, she wasn’t sure if it truly existed.  

Love was not easy, but it wasn’t supposed to make you miserable either, and it had made her insane. It had made her forget her value, and that it was okay to be just another woman on a list of several others. She forgot how strong she was in the midst of all the chaos. Leaving them behind had not been easy, it had been dreadful. It had eaten away at her, making her question if she had made the right decision. She wondered constantly if she should have chosen Tig, or Kozik. But each time she thought about it, the answer was always the same.

That neither of them, deserved her. They expected to hurt her and use her, and when they got bored of themselves and their new toys, they could go crawling back to her and she would take them back. And for a while, she did let it happen. But the night she finally chose herself over them, she realized that their love was a toxic love.  

It was real to them, but they didn’t know how to love properly. They only knew what they were taught and brought up around. And she had learned to accept it, because she would always love the two of them. That would never change.

It was just time to love herself, and love her the way she deserved to be loved. Because at the end of the day, all you really had was yourself.  

The sudden sound of cheering from the front of the clubhouse caught her ear making her turn and try to figure out what the commotion was. Kozik and Tig had strode in, Tig’s arm thrown over Kozik’ who comfortably stood beneath the weight. They were smiling, seemingly all was well between the two finally.

They both spotted Y/N, a flash of sadness flooding their visages before they both nodded towards, silently letting her know that all was forgiven.

A silent ‘thank you’ was mouthed towards the two of them before she returned her attention back to Tara.

All three of them had overcome many obstacles, all three of them had loved someone so entirely that they forgot what it was like being on their own. And being on their own, wasn’t too bad.

They could move on now, and maybe, just maybe, find the people they were truly meant to be with.  

[eskalations]

Smoke and Gunpowder, Chapter 1

A/N: Wow, so I haven't written a fanfic since 2017? That's crazy! I watched FMA: Brotherhood a few weeks ago and couldn't get this ship out of my head. I know that my writing skills are a bit rusty, but hopefully after writing more frequently, I'll be back in the swing of things. This originally started out as a oneshot, but if people enjoy it, I am willing to make it into a series of oneshots based in this universe.

Let me know what you think!

Summary:

Even now, in the privacy of her room and away from the prying eyes of their government, he stiffened at her proximity. The careful lines drawn between the two of them seemed to blur at times like these when they were alone and out of uniform. In the dim light of her room, it was easy to imagine that they were just a quiet country boy and bold city girl again.

(ROYAI GENDERBEND AU)

AO3 | FFN

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Patience had always been her strong suit.

There were many things she wasn't – calm, collected, stoic (ironically these were all things that were usually recommended in a soldier) – but patient she was.

Except for tonight.

Raina Mustang's dark eyes had been glued to the clock for the past two hours, willing the hands to move faster. No matter what she had done to try and distract herself – shower, cook, read – nothing could keep her mind off the eternal ticking of that damn contraption. So now here she sat in her pajamas with a wet head, eyes still burning from the smoke produced by her attempt at dinner, and book wide open to page 3 – with nothing to show for it except raw anxiety.

She worried her lip between her teeth and shut the book with a huff - there was just no use pretending anymore. She glanced at the pile of papers in front of her and set the book resolutely on top of them. The paperwork she had brought home was surely not getting done in these conditions and she couldn't take her mind off the situation long enough to even bother with it.

He should have been here by now. They agreed on 2100 hours and now it was 2130 – and if there was one thing that Ray Hawkeye was not, it was late.

It looked like neither of them were living up to their usual standards tonight.

The mission was simple enough. Take one of Madame Christmas's girls out to dinner, get the information she had to offer, escort her back to the hotel she was staying in, linger for just long enough to make it seem like their good time had extended beyond their meal, and then get out of there. There was no reason it should be taking this long.

Unless….

Before that train of thought could go any further, there was a timid set of knocks on her door. By the third rapt of knuckles on wood, she had already swung the door open wide and was pulling her visitor inside.

"Colonel!" The man nearly exclaimed, a touch of disapproval in his tone. Ever the cautious soul, her bold actions set his mind reeling. What if someone had seen his dark-haired superior dragging him desperately into her apartment? What would people think?

However, that was the last thing on the Flame Alchemist's mind.

Her eyes narrowed as she gave him a once over. In his civilian clothes, he looked just like the unassuming young man she had met all those years ago – there was just one difference now. While his hair and clothes were typically in perfect order, they were in utter disarray today.

First Lieutenant Hawkeye's usually carefully combed blonde hair was now mussed in a way that implied much less professional activities had taken place prior to their meeting. If that wasn't proof enough that he had been up to no good, the white button up badly hidden by his long brown coat certainly was. With several buttons messily inserted into the wrong holes, it wasn't hard to guess what he had been doing before visiting her apartment.

Despite the incriminating evidence on his person, Raina released a sigh of relief. His appearance was as it always was after one of his "dates" – right down to the slight smudge of lipstick left on the right side of his mouth.

"So," She started casually, a smirk appearing on her lips as she gave him another once over before continuing, "It looks like you had a good time."

A pale hand reached out to pluck at one of the buttons of his shirt – however, her wrist was caught up in the strong grip of her adjutant. His hands were warm, familiar and calloused just as she'd expect a sniper's to be.

"Colonel," His voice was near pleading, face brooking no amusement. While his grip lessened, and allowed her hand to drop – the stern expression on his face did not change. She could see the line of his jaw tighten as he remarked quietly, "You know better than anyone that I have very little fun doing your dirty work."

"That's harsh, Lieutenant," The young woman's lips dropped into a pout, wounded by his words.

Despite the sad look on her visage, the man did not recant his statement.

"It's true." He spoke resolutely, joining his hands behind his back and straightening his spine a bit. She could see in his face though that he held no actual malice for his comrade – he was just tired after working overtime to get the information they needed. The Colonel was grateful to him – however, she could not pass up the opportunity to tease the serious man just a bit. Especially after such a cruel remark.

"You know what I think?" She countered while circling around to his back, hands reaching out to divest him of his coat. If there was a slight shake in her appendages due to the history that she had with this part of his body, he was certainly too polite to point it out. "I think you're just frustrated that your superior officer is a better wingman than your fellow male office mates."

Hawkeye didn't miss a beat.

"Considering the fact that I take orders from my younger, female superior every day without complaint – I highly doubt that's the reason for my distaste of these activities," With his coat off and hung by her door, he followed the young lady into her rent home's small living area. "But while we are on the subject of things I am not happy with, let's talk about the way you just let me in the do – wait, have you been practicing?"

"Huh? Practicing what?" Raina paused on her way to the couch, looking back at him curiously. The young man was glancing up at the ceiling as if the answer was going to materialize right in front of him.

Hawkeye's eyes narrowed, his face suddenly resembling the bird that was his namesake.

"It's smoky in here," He stated flatly, his hand drifting into the air and making a slight gesture as if to point it out.

. "I didn't even notice." The Colonel raised her dark brows innocently, choosing to play dumb in an attempt to keep her pride intact. He knew she was a terrible cook and any further evidence of such was sure to just add fuel to the fire.

The young man's expression, however, let her know that he most definitely did not believe her.

Ignoring his reaction, she sunk into the cushions of her couch and allowed an exaggerated sigh to slip from her lips as Hawkeye remained standing. The movement caused the straight, black bangs on her forehead to go airborne for a moment. "I was so busy with paperwork that I lost track of time – any reason you chose today to be late for the first time ever?"

Amber eyes glanced dubiously at the alchemy book laid out on top of the "paperwork" the Colonel had claimed to be doing so diligently before his arrival. If you looked closely enough, you could even see a few lines that still needed signatures that were left empty. The young man wished he could say he was surprised, but that would be a lie.

"The eagerness you displayed at the door says differently, sir."

The Colonel feigned ignorance. "I have no idea what you're implying, Lieutenant. I was simply trying to pull you into my home before anyone saw you standing on my doorstep looking like that."

The man looked down at his clothing stoically before glancing up again and meeting her gaze. While there was a slight flush in his cheeks, his expression remained the same – as though he wasn't standing in the middle of her living in a questionable state of undress.

"If you'll excuse me, sir – I am going to go and refresh myself before we continue this conversation," Hawkeye gave her a quick salute before turning in the direction of the bathroom. However, before he could make it around the corner, he looked back at her and their gazes met once again, a slight smile making its way on to his face. "Why don't you go clean up whatever you were attempting to cook in the kitchen? It seems like the rain isn't the only thing you're useless in."

Before she could even react, he was already down the hall and slamming the bathroom door shut. The audacity.

Raina sat shocked for a moment before rolling her eyes and rising from the couch. Same old Hawkeye – observant as ever. He knew her far too well at this point in their lives to fall for any of her tricks.

Entering the kitchen, she cleaned out the now burnt pasta stuck at the bottom of the pot she had left on the counter. The young Colonel had meant to get rid of such incriminating evidence before her subordinate got there, but it must have slipped her mind once she saw the time.

'Oh well…' She thought to herself as she tossed the remnants of her burnt dinner into the trash. No use in hiding her weaknesses from a man who had been her professional shadow for years. Ever since their initial transfer to East City from Ishval, they had been a package deal. She was grateful for it – since their time in the city certainly hadn't been spent idly.

With General Grumman being a very lenient leader, a majority of his work fell on to the shoulders of those who were under him. While this meant more work for them, Colonel Mustang didn't mind since the more accolades she received, the easier it was to rise in the ranks. Knowing this, Grumman usually reserved his most high profile of cases to the Mustang unit.

Being as feminine as she was – most people did not look at Raina Mustang as a huge threat to their position. Despite her title as a State Alchemist and the youngest Colonel currently serving in the Amestrian military, most top dogs in the brass barely gave her a second glance. Sure - some of them were suspicious of her rise in the ranks – however, many just assumed she had slept her way to the top.

The amount of investigations that had been done on said accusation were numerous, but so far no evidence had come forward to warrant an official court-martial. Let them think what they wanted as long as it didn't affect her goal of being able to repent for the crimes she had committed.

Taking note of her appearance in the reflection of the pot she held, she couldn't say she was surprised by the assumptions. With long black hair and exotically dark features (she thanked whatever higher powers there were daily that her mother was Xingese and contributed to her unique look), Raina could fit right in with Christmas's unassuming gaggle of girls. Her flirty nature and feigned laziness was a façade that played into this persona that she had carefully crafted whenever she had decided what path she wished to take to the top.

She didn't necessarily like being looked down upon for such behavior – however, she was a patient woman. Colonel Mustang knew what she wanted and knew exactly what it was going to take to get it. After the actions that she had taken in Ishval, it was paramount that she become Fuhrer eventually – the sooner the better.

The return of her Lieutenant broke her from her thoughts before they could take an even darker turn.

"So," She casually remarked, dropping the pot into the sink before turning to face the young man. "What's on the menu?"

This Hawkeye was one she was more familiar with. The young man's shirt was now buttoned correctly and his light hair was styled to perfection just as it normally was. If it wasn't for the slight coral smudge that was still visible at the corner of his mouth, she wouldn't have even been able to tell he had gone out earlier.

Glancing at the pot she had in the sink, his response was dry. "Since I'm assuming that pot is the only one in your possession, I suggest a simple stir-fry."

"Fine by me."

They were quiet as they worked to get a small dinner for two prepared – Ray at the stove and Raina on ingredients duty. The smell of burnt pasta was soon replaced by a new, delicious aroma.

Once dinner was finished, they sat across from each other at her small table.

"Which of my sisters entertained you tonight?" Raina asked casually as she took a sip of water, glancing at Ray over the rim of her glass. The young man was taking his first bite and nearly dropped his fork at her choice of words.

"Could you not refer to it in that way?" The Lieutenant finally collected himself long enough to answer, his expression already back to the stoic mask he donned daily. He knew she was just fishing for information – however, he knew her well enough to know that she was also trying to get a reaction out of him. "You know better than anyone that nothing of that sort has ever happened on any of these dates."

Raina shrugged non-committedly, taking a bite of her food and waiting for him to continue.

At her silence, Ray sighed before finally taking a moment to answer her question. "It was Vanessa – you should have been able to tell from the shade of lipstick she chose to leave on my cheek."

He took another bite as Raina chuckled, "I figured she was the one that had been sent. The Madame knows that Vanessa prefers Easy City clients. Did she tell you how long she would be in town?"

Ray gave her a dry look, "We were too busy discussing the information at hand to really talk about anything personal. I will be seeing her tomorrow though."

"I'm sure we'll cross paths at some point," The Colonel commented offhandedly, grinning at the slight panic that appeared on her subordinate's face. "Don't worry, I will make sure we aren't being watched."

Ray gave her a doubtful look before returning his attention to his meal. Raina couldn't let this go without comment.

"You took her out for dinner, right?" She asked, spooning another serving into her mouth before continuing. "Did she steal the food off your plate or did you get so distracted by her womanly wiles that you forgot to eat?"

Ray remained unaffected. "We actually went to a show instead, that's the reason I was late."

The young woman was surprised by this. Her Lieutenant usually stuck to dinner with his dates as it was a more casual experience. In the civvies he sported now, she imagined he had looked quite out of place at the East City Opera.

"Vanessa must have felt quite special then," Raina remarked carefully, taking another sip from her glass. "You don't usually treat the girls to a show."

"I was being followed."

"Oh?" This had the woman pausing mid-sip.

Ray finished chewing before setting down his fork. His dark eyes met her own, the concern evident in his expression.

"This is the first time I have caught someone tracking my movements," The man shared, folding his hands under his chin. "Vanessa felt it too. They were inexperienced from what I could tell in covert operations, so we lost them pretty quickly – however, I chose to remain cautious for the rest of the night and diverted from my usual routine."

Raina sighed in relief, her own dinner forgotten as she leaned back in her chair. "Trust the Hawk's Eye to catch something like that."

"The information Vanessa had was not of an incriminating nature," Ray remarked, speaking on the subject for the first time that night. Raina leaned forward to better hear the man's soft voice. "I have no idea who would have been following me tonight – so please be on your guard when you are out of the office."

"What was the information?" Raina asked, choosing to ignore the warning. Someone following them from afar wasn't going to discover anything noteworthy – her team was much too careful to fall victim to such a ploy.

Hawkeye stood, gesturing for her to follow him down the hall to the bedroom at the back of the house. Her bedroom.

Rolling her eyes at his worry, she followed her subordinate. He often was overly cautious when sharing with her whatever secrets he had discovered, checking for bugs and speaking quietly before relaying the information, but tonight he wasn't taking any chances. The bedroom at the back of her house was the one furthest from the door with curtains that would hide them from the eyes of anyone standing outside.

After shutting the door behind him and surveying the room, Hawkeye turned to address her.

"The information she had was in regards to General Hakuro." He finally revealed, his eyes following her as she took a seat at the end of her bed. "Like I said, it's nothing incriminating – but I know it's something that will interest you."

"I'm listening," Her eyes lit up at the mention of her rival. Despite the seriousness of the conversation though, she couldn't help but add on, "– and I'm sure the bugs that the enemy has hidden are all ears too."

Hawkeye was unamused by her comment. Ignoring his put-out expression, she gestured for him to continue - and, with a sigh, he followed her orders.

"Hakuro is planning on petitioning for Colonel Becker to be moved to Central when a spot is open," The Lieutenant revealed, watching as a familiar fire became evident in the Colonel's eyes. "He heard that you were planning on applying for transfer and has chosen to counter Grumman's recommendation of you."

"Tough luck," Mustang commented, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. "I have it on good authority that Colonel Becker has been having an extra marital affair with one of the Madame's girls out in New Optain."

"It's Mollie" Hawkeye confirmed, his eyes looking quickly over to the window before meeting her gaze again. It was in these moments that his position as a sniper was most evident – always watching. "The Madame has a plan to keep this transfer from happening but she wanted to run it by you before taking action herself. That's why I'm meeting Vanessa tomorrow – to let her know your answer."

"What's the plan my foster mother has come up with?"

"Blackmail," The young man commented dryly, as if it could have been anything else where the Madame was involved. Her greatest weapon was the information she had against pretty much any high-ranking officer in the military – of course the answer was blackmail. The Colonel gave him a small smile at this solution.

"Let me guess," She stood and walked over to where he was stationed in the corner of her room, her voice low and even. "His lover will threaten to go to the press if he chooses to leave her alone in New Optain?"

"Precisely."

"He has a wife and kids too, does he not? I think Hughes shared with me once that he did…" Hawkeye nodded in confirmation, prompting a deep sigh from his companion. "So such a story would affect not only him, but other parties as well?"

"Meaning he has much more than just his career at stake." The Lieutenant finished lowly.

Raina nodded, stopping in front of him. It was so strange to see him without his gun holsters positioned over his shoulders – but she knew better than to assume that he was not armed. He never went anywhere without at least two loaded pistols on him. She knew him so well, yet any outsider would think they were strangers from the way they danced around each other.

Even now, in the privacy of her room and away from the prying eyes of their government, he stiffened at her proximity. The careful lines drawn between the two of them seemed to blur at times like these when they were alone and out of uniform. In the dim light of her room, it was easy to imagine that they were just a quiet country boy and bold city girl again.

But too much had happened since those days for them to lose themselves completely.

Glancing up at Hawkeye, Mustang chose her next words carefully. "Do you think it's fair that one day we may have to answer to our sins - yet for Becker to answer to his, we would have to destroy the lives of others in the process?"

The young man remained still, meeting her gaze steadily. Always her moral compass, he was the one she usually came to with such sensitive questions. While his voice certainly held a degree of sympathy, there was a firmness in it that spoke of a steely resolve.

"The goal is to not have to reveal this information," He reminded her gently, his chin tilted downwards to better gauge her reaction to his words. "Vanessa said they will do as they always do and hang it over his head just long enough for our transfers to be processed. After that, Mollie will conveniently disappear from his life."

Raina nodded, aware of the usual protocol the girls followed. They knew just how to play their cards right to further her career while remaining unassuming. It wasn't their fault that the men in the military seemed to have both loose lips and loose morals.

"You can tell Vanessa that I'm fine with the plan," Raina conceded, though there was one thing about the situation that bugged her. "Do you really think he'll take the bait though?"

One of Hawkeye's blonde brows rose. "In a position where bad press can possibly get someone court-martialed? I think it's more than likely that he will."

She couldn't argue with that.

"Alright," She agreed, nodding slowly as she worked through the plan in her head again. She wouldn't be applying for transfer for another month, so Mollie should be able to hold Becker off long enough to get everything processed before anyone became too suspicious.

Hawkeye gave her a stiff nod as well, acknowledging that he heard her orders. With his mission now completed - the young man began to shift, his eyes drifting to the bedroom door, signaling that his thoughts were now focused on leaving.

"Should I muse you up a bit before you go?" Raina asked, knowing this would rattle his nerves. Her hand reached out to play with a button on his shirt, the warmth of her palm seeping through the fabric and causing him to stiffen. "Do you think that would get tongues wagging again in regards to my activities outside the office?"

"It was already risky enough for me to come here in the state that I was in," Hawkeye reminded her – a clear warning evident in his tone. This was her lieutenant, always playing by the rules. "Please do not do anything else that could possibly result in an investigation. The Madame's services already could get us into serious trouble if anyone found out."

The Colonel gave him an innocent look at his words. "I don't know what you mean, Lieutenant – I was simply offering you the same services that my sister provided you with."

He raised his brows again. "I highly doubt that, sir."

The young woman shrugged, turning away from her subordinate. Opening her bedroom door, she walked back down the hall to where their dirty dinner plates still sat on the table. When Hawkeye made a move to pick them up, she batted his hand away. He had cooked for her, the least she could do was clean up the dishes.

She brought him his coat and helped him put it on. While the look he gave her was one of thanks, there was a slight warning in his eyes as well. She smoothed her hands over his arms before taking a step back, giving him the space she knew he needed.

But before he could turn the knob on the door, she stopped him with a gentle hand.

"Lieutenant?"

The young man turned towards her, wondering what else she could have to say.

With a smirk on her face, the Colonel stepped forward. Suddenly, their breaths were mingling and her usually unshakeable Lieutenant was frozen. Staring deeply into his eyes for a moment – she waited, watching for a reaction.

Before anything could be said, she reached up to the side of his mouth and swiped at the coral colored patch of skin that he had left unattended earlier. Drawing her fingers back, she gave him a wry look.

"Coral's not my color, but we wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea – would we?"

[radley-writes]

Introducing CATARINA ‘Kitty’ WAKE from

HIS MAJESTY’S STARSHIP!

Seventeen, single, and ready to McFuckin’ MINGLE

Watch out all you eligible young Naval Captains

(and you pretty bluestocking girls)

“LOVE ME HATE ME SAY WHAT YA WANT ABOUT ME BUT ALL OF THE BOYS AND ALL OF THE GIRLS ARE BEGGING TO -”

“Kitty, such language is most inappropriate for a young lady.”

“My gravest apologies, Miss Bisset.”

Summarily useless

Bit of a tit

Extract from: Chapter 1 Length: 482 words

Only eight days till the first ball of the Season, and Kitty simply had to have a new dress.

"Can you not take the green silk?" Mére wished to know, once Kitty had explained the direness of her predicament. "Jane Dewey remarked ever so favourably on it, when she last came to dine.”

They took their breakfast in the parlour: tea (unsweetened) and one egg each. Morning light spilled between the drapes, thick as syrup, coating the left half of Mére’s face. 

That face, Kitty thought, was tolerably pretty, with its wide forehead and plump cheeks, its dark eyebrows with their inquisitive quirk, its red-lipped mouth that was only a smidgeon too wide and a soupçon too thin to be sensual. Kitty was glad of this, as she'd inherited it.

Really, the only noteworthy flaw in her mother’s visage was the woman attached.

Kitty skewered her egg on the prongs of her fork. Yolk spurted, puddling viscous on the patterned china plate.

"Please, Mére,” she snapped. “Jane Dewey is hardly the expert on all things modish. The green silk is cut á la francaise, and so high-necklined I might as well be a nun. Wearing such a fossil would place me solely in... in the previous century!"

"And here I thought you wore it to Louise Avery's soirée, only last week?"

"That was a soirée, Mére. This is a ball. In London! How do you expect me to socialise with the other debs when I am clad in robes better suited to my late great-grandmama?"

Mére frowned. Kitty was losing her. She leaned over the table, making the most of the ability whilst outside of her tightly laced stays, and did her best to look forlorn.

"It will be quite frightful, if I am the only girl to attend in such an outdated garment. I am a representative of the Haverport colony, am I not? We cannot let the Londoners think us bumpkins.”

Mére sighed through her nose. Kitty had learnt from a young age to watch her mother's nostrils. They were by far the most trustworthy indication of her mood. Mrs Wake could titter when she was furious or sob when she was elated – two vital feminine wiles that Kitty had yet to master – but her nostrils operated outside of her remit. Right now, they belied the rest of her facial muscles (arranged in a politely attentive rictus) by flaring at the edges, taking on the appearance of two inverted apostrophes.

I've annoyed her, Kitty thought. All this inane chatter about dresses and fashion, when she’d much rather discuss the loss of Whig provinces in the last election, or else the agenda for her next Abolitionist meeting.

Personally, she didn't see why her mother concerned herself with politics. It wasn't as if either of them could vote.

I hope you enjoyed getting to know the first of these idiots! Fair warning: Kitty starts off as a spoilt, self-centred, teeth-grindingly superficial seventeen year old, living in a very flawed world. She gets better. 

(Am I a slut for character growth? Why, yes. Yes, I am.)

Tag list (please ask to be added/removed): @mvcreates, @goose-books, @quilloftheclouds, @dahladahlabills

[oneandahalfwolf]

💕 can be thread or drabble, whichever you prefer

we got a drabble for now, maybe a thread later.

Send 💕to gently touch my muse’s scars. [x]

Ben groaned; the taste of blood strong on their lips as dark tendrils weaved across blurry vision. Everything was pain, and everything was on fire. Both figuratively and literally.

It had been an ambush. A crying woman used to lure them in before a group consisting of at least three of the city’s gangs had appeared. All out for blood. Their blood. The young vigilante heroes had done their best to fend off the attackers without killing. But it had gotten harder and harder as the fight wore on. Ben had zipped around the battlefield, teleporting in hot bursts of flame while swinging their bat, but even their powers had limits. They had started to wane, getting in the way of more and more hits rather than dodging or blocking them.

A bloody lip.

A black eye.

A blade to the thigh.

A broken arm.

Cracked ribs.

They tried. They tried so hard to keep fighting nobly. But when they saw Iley, faring slightly better with her shadows protecting her from most of the blows, getting overwhelmed… Something snapped. They could feel the heat bubbling up in their gut, smell the smoke wafting off their form. With a roar, sharp and bloody teeth merging with the half wolf mask that covered their identity to create a rather horrifying visage to those gang members left, the exploded. It was something they hadn’t done since that fateful day all those years ago. The day their family was ripped apart.

Flames burst from their body, heat rippling off their form in pulses. Assailants were sent hurtling down the alleyway; some being thrust into walls while other slammed into the ground. Clothes caught fire and skin burned as screams of pain filled the air. Just as quickly as it came, it all receded back into the teen’s body. Their breathing came out harsh and raspy, blood dripping from their mouth as they swayed on their feet. After a moment they keeled over and hit the blackened ground.

Iley peeked out from the shadows that had engulfed her and protected her from her friend’s blast. Brown eyes were wide as she took in the carnage before her. Her fear and awe were quickly overtaken by rage as she saw some of the still conscious gang members advance on the prone vigilante. With a shriek she sprang into action herself, tendrils of shadow whipping forth from the blackness around her and attacking anyone still standing.

As the dust and shadows finally settles Iley sagged, Dart and the remaining shadows keeping her upright. After taking a brief moment to catch her breath she shook her head and pushed away from the shadows towards Ben, though of course Dart still followed close behind. She stumbled as she reached them, knees hitting the concrete, gloved hands reaching out to hover over her thankfully still conscious friend.

“Are you okay?” Ben managed a dull snort and a weak half smile.

“Sure. Just the usual broken bones and stab wounds. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Iley couldn’t help but feel the ghost of a smile twitch at her lips at Ben’s attempts at light-hearted humour despite the obvious pain they were in. Worry quickly reared its head and squashed her amusement.

“Should… should we take you to a hospital.” Her friend shook their head quickly, her fellow vigilante grimacing as waves of sharp throbbing agony pulsed through their skull.

“No. No hospital,” they groaned through gritted teeth. “Too dangerous. Just… just get us back to the loft.”

She wanted to argue. Wanted to say they needed real help. But she knew it was pointless. Not to mention they were right. If anyone found out what they were, what they could do, they could be shipped off to some facility worse than the orphanage. So instead she simply grabbed fistfuls of Ben’s red hoodie and started to pull them up. She was as gentle and as careful as she could be, apologising every five seconds whenever the other teen made a groan or grunt. They responded each time with mumbled assurances that she was fine, but the girl still couldn’t help but feel small sparks of guilt at causing her friend any additional pain.

Eventually she got them up and stable, letting them catch their breath before there was even thought about moving. Dart flitted over to Ben’s discarded bat and picked it up in an inky black claw before bringing it back over to the pair, presenting it to Iley with a tilt of his shadow head. The girl smiled at her bonded wraith and took the bat from him with a grateful nod.  

“Benkai’l? Ileyra?” Both teens froze at the sound of their real names. “Or should I call you Demon Wolf and Shadow Girl?” The pair watched as a tall and slender figure stepped into the alleyway from the dark street, soon illuminated by one of the few unbroken overhead lights. They were pale and bald with a somewhat feminine figure, dressed all in black. Their hands were up as a sign of peace, but piercing violet eyes bored into the two teens even from thirty feet away. They were full of wisdom and old yet ageless all at the same time. Iley pulled Ben behind her a little, pulling shadows up slightly in front of them in a fruitless effort to hide while Dart took position at the rear. The stranger smirked lightly. “We need to talk.”

“And why should we talk to you,” Iley snarled as best she could while still propping Ben up, brown eyes glaring over the top of her black bandana. “We don’t even know who you are.”

“My apologies,” they responded, bowing their head slightly. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Agent Vris Kader. I work for a government outreach programme that aims to help super powered individuals do good in this world.” Ben could feel Iley’s grip on them tighten, fingers digging into bruises and making the battered teen squeak. They could feel the brunette trembling against them, hear the slight tremor in her voice as she tried to put on a strong exterior in front of this person.

“Why the hell should we trust you? The government has never done anything to help us.”

“I understand that it may be difficult, but I promise we want to help you. We can clean up this mess here. Provide you with medical attention. We can give you a home. Food and shelter. We can also give you something real to fight for. More than simple gang members on the streets. We can give you a proper life.”

Iley swallowed, the shadows around her shuddering as her resolve faltered. She didn’t want to trust this Agent. She didn’t want to fall back into the system, into the clutches of the government.

But Ben needed help. Needed help bad. Not to mention the prospect of a better home, better food… A better life. It was tempting.

Ben could sense her hesitation, her conflict. Deep down she didn’t want to do it. But she was contemplating taking the offer. They couldn’t let her do that.

“Thanks,” the teen wheezed, bloody spittle flying from their mouth as they tightened their grip on Iley, “But unless you can prove your… good intentions… we aren’t interested in your offer.”

With one last smirk, Ben pulled on all their remaining energy and teleported back to the loft. As soon as their feet hit the wooden floorboards they keeled over, hitting the ground with a thud and coughing up blood from behind their mask. Iley was frozen for a moment, shock at the change of environment and dizziness from the trip overwhelming her senses. When Dart made a concerned clicking noise, she snapped out of it. The bat fell from her grasp as she dropped down beside her friend, yanking her bandana down before hands grabbed at Ben’s clothes and pulled them onto their back.

“Why!?” she screamed angrily, pulling Ben’s mask off to reveal their bloody and battered face. “Why did you do that!? You need help! Why would you throw that away?” Her friend swallowed and gave a weak smile.

“Because,” they rattled, blood trickling down their chin, “you hesitated.” Iley blinked.

“Wait… What?” Ben grunted as they tried to sit up, the brunette quickly moving to help as best she could. Once upright they took a moment to catch their breath, free hand going to clutch their broken arm, before turning to face Iley.

“You hesitated. You didn’t want to go with them. And I wasn’t about to let you do something you weren’t comfortable with.”

“Of course I wasn’t comfortable,” Iley exclaimed, standing up so suddenly even Dart moved away from her in surprise and starting to pace. “I don’t want it to be like the orphanage again! I don’t… I don’t want to endure tests, or experiments, or be poked and prodded. I don’t want to go through any of that shit again. I dealt with it then, but I won’t deal with it again now. But… But you need help Ben. Not me fumbling with a needle and thread. Real, proper, medical help.”

“And that help isn’t worth it, if it makes you feel scared.”

“It is if it keeps you alive!” Iley yelled, turning to face Ben. Her breathing was harsh, panting heavily, before she finally sagged. “But… But I guess you’re right. Unless they prove themselves, we can’t go with them. We… I’ll always feel on edge. So… so I suppose I’ll just have to keep patching you up here as best I can.”

Ben gave Iley a soft smile of reassurance and a nod of agreement. The shorter teen managed to smile back before heading into their meagre bathroom – really a small offshoot room with curtains covering the holes in the connecting wall – and pulling the large first aid kit off the tilted shelf by the sink. She brought it back to the main living area and knelt back down beside Ben. She placed the kit on the ground and opened it, starting to root around inside and pull out the various things she might need. Dart hovered around the pair, making more worried chirping sounds. Iley tried to tune it out but she knew he was nervous. He was nervous because she was. She could feel her hands shaking. Ben noticed and reached out with their non-broken hand to take one of hers. The other teen froze, frowning as her friend squeezed her fingers gently.

“What’s wrong Princess? Are you okay?” Iley sighed.

“No. Not really.” She swallowed. “Just… old memories.” She licked her lips, thumb rubbing at her palm. “I hated that place. They wanted to know about my powers. How I got them.” She sighed, steeling herself to admit some hidden truths to her friend. “I wasn’t born with powers. I was given them.” She gingerly pulled her gloves off before peeling the bandages off her left hand. Once it was free, she angled her palm towards Ben. “This is the mark I was given.”

Ben shifted, non-broken arm going to clutch their torso as a pained expression flitted across their face. Once it passed, they cleared their throat before taking a proper look at the mark, frowning. Eventually they shrugged, trying to laugh though it just turned into coughing.

"Hey, you're not using them for evil and you’re alive. What does it matter how you got your powers? We… we've all got marks."

Gingerly they stood, slowly rising to their feet. Awkwardly they unzipped and removed their good arm from their hoodie before they grabbed the hem of their shirt and slowly pulled it up. Iley wanted to help but had an inkling this was something they had to do themself. Finally, they managed to drag the material up to their collar bone exposing their torso and a scar Iley had seen but never asked about. It was a burn. A nasty one. It started at their hip on the right, before travelling around their side and up their back, finally spidering and spreading up and over their right shoulder.

“I got this… the night my parents died.” Their voice dropped to a whisper. “When I killed them.” Their bottom lip trembled before they sniffed, smirk pulling at their lips. “Only time I’ve been burned by fire.”

Iley’s breath had caught in her throat as Ben spoke. Even Dart was as silent as a real shadow. Before she could stop herself, she reached out, fingers gently resting on raised skin. The taller teen flinched a little as they felt the warmth of her skin on the scar, holding their breath as she trailed them up to follow the path until she couldn’t reach any further from her position on the floor.

“I… I’m sorry Ben.”

“Don’t be,” they mumbled. “It wasn’t your fault.”

The brunette didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to fix this. To make it better. Brown eyes widened as Dart flitted over and solidified his form before gently placing a hand on Ben’s shoulder, squeezing gently in an attempt to show comfort. Ben started when they felt the shadow hand, surprised at it having weight for once, before their eyes widened at the ghostly black figure. After a moment they simply smiled, lips still bloody, and nodded a thank you. Their knees suddenly buckled, and they crumbled. Lucky the shadow man caught them and lowered them back to the ground.

“Maybe,” the black-haired teen said before swallowing. “Maybe we should take a few days off. Y’know just… watch telly and eat food.”

“I think that’s a very good idea,” Iley replied. “Now hold still while I patch you up okay.”

Ben simply nodded. They could do that. They didn’t think they could move. Everything hurt too much for that.

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, 29: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A Random Musical Instrument that sounds slightly different to everyone that hears it.

An aged stone tablet containing fragments of text of the Sargonne Prophecies. The fragments speaks of “…an armada of horrors swollen and grey and hungry so hungry so thirsty, they know, they KNOW, THEY KNOW…”

A life sized owl made of frosted glass that smells of fresh snowflakes.

A tube of bamboo has been carefully sealed at both ends with wax. Scratched into the side are the words “Miskin's Stash”. The tube contains a pair of clean, dry socks and underwear.

A one gallon cask of Dreamwine, an alcoholic beverage enjoyed by the High Elves. Known for being a smokey, aromatic wine, its taste is almost unbearably sweet, flowing down one's throat like liquid smoke. The bouquet is described as 'that of a wild forest where creatures of legend still roam free", conjuring images of fabulous gardens, sun-dappled glades, and the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine.

A box containing a small pair of gold hoop earrings. A paper inside says “Lidia's first”.

A jade mirror that exaggerates the features of those who looked into it in order to reveal their true nature through a sort of magical caricature. An honorable and virtuous person would appear stronger, taller, and more fair in visage. A selfish, greedy individual would appear smaller, with cruel, conniving features. Those with an injury or disability that they had allowed to cripple their spirit would appear withered and weak, while those who had overcome their disability would appear in perfect health.

A musical rattle made from a cloven hoof that smells faintly of brimstone.

A wicker basket containing several loafs of weighty bread wrapped in a thin blanket. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize it as Stonebread, a type of baked good made by dwarves. Usually made into round loaves, this foodstuff is so foul-tasting that only dwarfs can eat it. In fact, it is rumored that it is made using rock dust rather than flour. However, to the dwarfs, it is hearty fare that is very fortifying. In addition, it keeps extremely well.

A horrid war banner that seems to be little more than a leather rag on a totem pole, but closer inspection reveals foul stains that drip and splash as the bearer moves. The whole of the vile hide throbs and oozes a greenish tinted fluid.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A Random Musical Instrument that sounds slightly different to everyone that hears it.

An aged stone tablet containing fragments of text of the Sargonne Prophecies. The fragments speaks of “…an armada of horrors swollen and grey and hungry so hungry so thirsty, they know, they KNOW, THEY KNOW…”

A life sized owl made of frosted glass that smells of fresh snowflakes.

A tube of bamboo has been carefully sealed at both ends with wax. Scratched into the side are the words “Miskin's Stash”. The tube contains a pair of clean, dry socks and underwear.

A one gallon cask of Dreamwine, an alcoholic beverage enjoyed by the High Elves. Known for being a smokey, aromatic wine, its taste is almost unbearably sweet, flowing down one's throat like liquid smoke. The bouquet is described as 'that of a wild forest where creatures of legend still roam free", conjuring images of fabulous gardens, sun-dappled glades, and the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine.

A box containing a small pair of gold hoop earrings. A paper inside says “Lidia's first”.

A jade mirror that exaggerates the features of those who looked into it in order to reveal their true nature through a sort of magical caricature. An honorable and virtuous person would appear stronger, taller, and more fair in visage. A selfish, greedy individual would appear smaller, with cruel, conniving features. Those with an injury or disability that they had allowed to cripple their spirit would appear withered and weak, while those who had overcome their disability would appear in perfect health.

A musical rattle made from a cloven hoof that smells faintly of brimstone.

A wicker basket containing several loafs of weighty bread wrapped in a thin blanket. Knowledgeable PC’s will recognize it as Stonebread, a type of baked good made by dwarves. Usually made into round loaves, this foodstuff is so foul-tasting that only dwarfs can eat it. In fact, it is rumored that it is made using rock dust rather than flour. However, to the dwarfs, it is hearty fare that is very fortifying. In addition, it keeps extremely well.

A horrid war banner that seems to be little more than a leather rag on a totem pole, but closer inspection reveals foul stains that drip and splash as the bearer moves. The whole of the vile hide throbs and oozes a greenish tinted fluid.

A thick treant root with glowing green veins.

A pair of small steel balls that vibrate when touched together.

A delicate glass orb containing numerous exotic feathers arranged in a overlapping circular pattern.

A fortune-telling stone with a two closed, feminine eyes.

A writing quill ending in a grasping hand rather than a sharpened tip.

A two-faced silver coin with the image of a fox. When it is flipped, the face of the creature who flipped it appears in place of the fox for a minute before returning to normal.

A wooden mouse carving, that when coming into contact with cheese makes a ear-piercing squeak.

A sinister looking lute whose head ends in a wicked spike. The cords are thicker than average and made from thin, woven steel wires. The neck is much longer than normal, and mimics the appearance of a spine. The base is unlike the normal rounded body of a lute, and is pointed and made of a mildly glowing purple rock. The top half of the body is much larger and than bottom, and ends much more jaggedly. The instrument seems to hum with electric power when wielded and any songs played on this lute sound distorted and powerful.

A massive scarlet lobster claw, the length of a grown man's arm.

A hand mirror crafted with a pewter handle and backing with intricate engraving. The reflective surface seems to be a silvery metal that never burnishes or scratches and all reflections appear dimmed and shadowy.

A heavy, bronze mask that lets out a deep, sonorous ring when struck.

A dark iron flask bearing numerous engravings of arcane runes with silver inlay. It is filled with a sparkling crimson fluid that tastes of sweet, fresh berry juice.

A leather wallet containing a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a common soldier in military of the local kingdom. The section containing the soldier's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

A hollow bronze tube that emits a resounding chime when struck against a hard surface. The chime has an elaborate handle resembling an angel whose wings surround it.

A white porcelain mask with a large pair of eye-holes with black streaks running down to a mouth stretched into a too-wide black grin. The eye holes are filled in with an opaque black substance, yet the bearer is able to see without issue. When worn, glowing red pupils appear in the eyes, and move as if they belonged to the bearer.

A small ivory idol that depicts three tentacles wrapped around each other.

A pair of pink baby booties encased in a glass prism. The glass is stained with dried tears and dirtied by skin oils suggesting that is has been handled regularly.

A deer shaped badge, carved from the antler of the animal that it resembles.

A wooden and metal icosahedron (20 sided die) that measures about six inches in diameter. Each face of the crux is carved with a different rune, and when one looks upon the thing, the observer has the unsettling sensation that they can see too many or too few sides at once.

A small pouch containing the knucklebones of a deceased human monk who, in life, was renown for her wisdom and skill in combat.

A fist-sized kidney stone that was passed by a dragon.

A bundle of centaur skins tied together with reins and wrapped in a protective oilskin case.

An onyx gemstone that radiates unnatural energy.

A small tin full of wrapped caramels, one of which is wrapped delicately in silver leaf.

A large painting of a young boy petting a Cocker Spaniel. Both the boy's and dog's eyes are painted black, but somehow still seem to follow whoever walks past it.

A pair of fluffy earmuffs made from the pelt of a lynx.

A fist-sized brass orb of interlinking whirling cogs.

A small wheel of cheese that was aged in a cave. The cheese cloth is covered in bat guano, but the label insists that it is good for you and adds to the interesting texture.

A set of child's toy tools made of cork. The set consists of a hammer, pry bar, screwdrivers, and a strip of measuring cloth.

A small, decorative pocket knife with a blunt blade made of mother of pearl. Although not functional, it is absolutely gorgeous.

A small metal cube that, when placed on a flat surface, will emit a cool and humidifying water vapor.

A thumb sized spherical glass globe that accurately displays the planet. The land is painted gold and the water is painted silver.

A palm sized replica of the world etched on a flat maple disk. The land is painted gold and the water is painted silver.

A gnome sized pair of spectacles. The glass lenses are in the shape of gears and each are stained in a different Bright Colors.

A padded carry bag containing a hanging set of carved oval bells and a pair of light wooden hammers. Knowledgeable PC's will recognize the musical instrument as a tocken, which is most common in underground cultures, where the resonant tones can carry.

A set of reusable, long, fake nails that are made of turquoise.

A perfectly preserved rabbit skull, encased in a glass cube.

A thumb sized, winged pig figurine made of black marble.

A black velvet bag containing six beef bullion cubes. When a cube is put into a large pot of boiling water, it becomes a hearty and delicious stew.

A raven's feather that is hot to the touch.

A leather wallet containing a full set of certified identification papers and licenses denoting that the bearer is legally allowed to cast magic anywhere in the local kingdom. The papers do stipulate that the bearer is fully responsible for the  results of cast magic and that no spell can be woven that would violate an existing law. The section containing the bearer's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

A magically preserved orchid blossom that never withers, set atop a steel pin.

A wooden box containing a dozen thick candles made from a blend of rare wax from the giant bees of fabled Ind, mixed with the swear of scholars. When they burn, a musky odor rises from the flames.

A double-headed, skin, hand drum fitted with handles along its side.

An empty crystal phial that glows with a strange blue light.

A tall winged banner pole with hollowed-bone decorations that emit shrill, eerie shrieks when wind passes through them.

A slender silverwood wand covered with many lines of winding runes of ancient script.

A heavy granite flute of dwarven design.

A goat shaped idol, fashioned from the horn of the animal that it resembles.

A fist sized obsidian ball that offers a terrible glimpse into the Realm of Chaos, revealing fragments of the future in the swirling vortex of maddening energies.

A one gallon cask of Blood Wine brewed by the dark elves. Knowledgeable PC’s are aware the drink is called this because the vine the grapes come from is said to smell like congealed blood.

A white satin glove with no visible seams, that can be easily turned inside-out to wear on a left or right hand.

A candle flame that’s somehow been preserved and encased in a glass cube. The glass is always warm to the touch but never enough to burn. If the glass is shattered, the flame burns on it's own for a moment before extinguishing itself.

A strange ivory-graven rattle-drum shaped like an hourglass, whose discordant music is rumored to bring madness and death, when used during rites of dark magic.

A fanged humanoid skull covered with scrimshawed infernal writing.

A large and imposing hand fan, colored deep blue, and decorated with the image of waves.

A flute made of coarse unfinished bamboo, engraved around its circumference with unreadable sigils. A red silken cord is tied around it just below the mouthpiece. The instrument's songs are always soothing, resting the weary minds of those who listened to its melodious tones.

A pickled and dried human hand of a murderer, tightly clutching a tallow candle made from his fat, made with one of the murderer's hairs for a wick.

A deck of cards wrapped in a maroon velvet cloth and stored in a dark stained oak holding box, that features a simple yet elegant crest with the third eye motif of the divination school of magic.

A charred and withered hand of a long-dead witch wearing a manacle loosely clamped around the wrist connected to a second manacle, always swaying and sliding, however, it never falls through and cannot be pulled out.

A set of hunting knives that are in pristine condition except for the gnaw marks on the handles.

A twisted sacred icon of black metal, scorched and pitted as if by the heat of some great forge or furnace. Arcane symbols of power are etched into its surface, writhing around each other and intertwining as if alive. At the icon's apex is a single crystal eye, whose cold gaze constantly searches the area for enemies.

An attractive statuette depicting an androgynous figure standing with one arm covering the chest and the other covering the groin. Made from smooth jade, it is an exquisite piece of art, but an insightful PC can sense that there is more to this idol, something far more wicked than its appearance would suggest

A thick braid of dark mermaid hair entwined with kelp and sea shells that regularly drips salt water.

A white and blue porcelain doll that seems to be the smallest from a set of nesting dolls.

A glass doorknob taken from a haunted house, that occasionally lets out pained moaning noises.

A large glass jar filled with pumpkin seeds, one of which has sprouted.

A tall pole bearing a tattered banner consisting of crude stitching and daubed tribal markings. Knowledgeable PC’s can identify it as being orcish in origin and echoes of their bloodlust and aggression remain bound to its fabric.

A porcelain mortar and pestle decorated with a painted pattern of dancing faeries.

A small handwoven basket with a removable silk lining.

A perfectly preserved locust encased in a small glass cube. It's wings are fully spread and extended as if  it was flying. A creature holding the dead insect is filled with a deep, primal hunger that can never be satisfied so long as the locust is carried.

A gnarled and ancient mage’s staff holding a rough gem that pulses with Randomly Colored light.

A simple brass bell that when rung, mimics the sound of a goat bleating.

A foul collar sized for a human or a huge dog that is studded with spikes on the inside and out. Made from interlinked pieces of iron and brass, the spikes are covered in old blood and bits of skin and hair.

A leather wallet containing a full set of certified identification papers denoting that the bearer is a taxpaying citizen in good standing and a landowner and resident of the local kingdom. The section containing the citizen's physical description (Height, weight, sex, race, eye, skin and hair colour) is completely blank and could be filled in by anyone with half decent handwriting.

A tiny sailing ship made of fine crystal inside a bottle with no clear way it got in there. It shimmers in the sunlight and radiates mysterious magic.

A glass flask with a loose paper label marked, “Captain's 'Special' Rum Cocktail”. It smells and tastes like a mix of Rum, ginger and honey. Exactly what makes it special, is not clear.

A fierce looking tribal mask that appears to be an exotic depiction of a lion with oversized teeth.

A bag of milky white marbles with long swirls of pale pinks, reds, blues, greens, and purples decorating them. Though not made from real pearls, they reflect light in a vaguely enchanting manner.

A statuette carved from white wood and splintered at the base. It depicts an aged man leaning forward and cupping an ear, as if listening intently for threats.

A small bag filled with assorted types of many-sided dice. Most of them are weighted to bring up high rolls frequently.

A deck of cards that feature intricate and often sexually explicit drawings to indicate suit and number. They have women, men, orcs, dwarfs, elves, kobolds....

A medium ceramic mug with an odd, almost organic looking shape, ostensibly fragile and unstable. Upon closer examination, the mug seems seems nigh indestructible, and when filled with liquid, stays perfectly upright on any surface, although it will move around.

A silver-like paintbrush with bone-white bristles ends on the other side with a small filament connected to a needle that must be pierced into the vein of its wielder. The paintbrush draws the blood out of the potential artist and channels it into an inner receptacle then into the bristle allowing the artist to easily paint in their own fresh blood or that of another.

A buffalo shaped stamp, made from the horn of the animal that it resembles.

A perfectly preserved, iridescent emerald green, praying mantis, encased in a small glass prism. It's reared back on it's hind legs and it's claws are extended, eternally frozen mid strike.

A bundle of minotaur skins tied together with strips of leather and wrapped in a protective oilskin case.

A well-made paperweight cast from brass. It has a tiny illusion spell that suspends an image of a proud, three masted warship sailing above it.

Seastone Chalice: A two-handled drinking cup is wrought from some sort of pale blue-green material and inlaid with gold. The outside is rimmed with salt crystals which regenerate when brushed away, but these don't seem to affect the chalice itself. When water is placed into the cup, it is instantly rendered salty and undrinkable. In addition, the cup produces deafening sounds of surf until it is emptied. Non-water beverages, such as alcohol, milk, juice, etc. are unaffected.

A used and bloodstained crossbow bolt, encased in a glass rectangle. It’s probably a war trophy of some sort and realistically should be mounted on some sort of plaque denoting the bolt's significance.

[belzinone]

SEND ME A WORD! || LEARN ALL ABOUT MY MUSE'S PHYSICAL FEATURES!

// @wolfstillhasclaws // @hunting-songs //

// y’all really cleaned me out here, huh? jasdfnkajnfkan i love you both~<3 (this is also nice bc i can describe her better than i can draw her; aaaaaand i been chipping away at this forever oh dear. ah well. i finished an assignment. i deserve to post this now <3

[EYES]: not just the colour, but the shape, the length of their eyelashes, whether they're alert or usually half-closed, large or small, sunken into the face, ringed by bags, etc.

// sharply angled almonds surrounded by corner folds of age, stress, & restless nights. lashes thickly line their corners like fine fur, emphasized by the way her lids are drawn under the weight of contemplation. small & narrow in shape, but nonetheless quickly to light, soften, & warm at the sight of the things she loves. small pupils are bathed in a bright amber bath sprinkled with green in the candlelight, not much different from the sun’s rays through a forest canopy in the daylight. stern but forgiving, sharp but soft. more of a window to her soul than her mouth would probably ever communicate.

// her brows are drawn but expressive, usually level in furrows but quick to relax & raise. full & average thickness as they taper to the edges of her face, they have soft angles but a sharp beginning. a burn chars the follicles of the left side of her left brow later in life, leaving a break in its length.

[HAIR]: length, colour, texture, whether it grows quickly or slowly, how manageable it is, whether it requires lots of styling, do they leave stray hairs everywhere, is it present on their face, is it present on the rest of their body, etc.

// cut & grown as necessity & identity fluctuated throughout her life. a short crop as a small girl, grazing her ears & off her nape to best pass as a boy. as she matured, her mother insisted she grow out her long tawny waves & she obliged, subject to the pressures of not insisting she knew better. though relatively thin & not well kept (a luxury lacked by many underground residents), long, beautiful hair was key to landing a rich husband.

// as a civilian, she tied up her hair in a number of ways for many occasions, having more time to spend on her appearances than as a soldier. her go-to became a loose, sideswept braid she kept for the beginning of her military career. after sacrificing length for life, she donned herself the popular soldier’s undercut, though leaving some length on the shave & a generous head of curls that fall to the side. she never felt more like herself.

// she leaves strings of twisted burnt copper everywhere she rests, easily caught by dark fabrics & generous sunlight. lovers & comrades given permission to roam her body would find soft, thin hairs nearly invisible against the rich, ashy undertones of her skin. they concentrate in a combination of wolffian & müllerian patterns: under her arms, on her lower back, down the line of her stomach, as well as sparsely covering her genitals, arms, & legs.

// as soon as she gets her hands on body-scaping luxuries as a soldier, she makes a habit out of maintaining her body hairs on a regular basis. not for presentation, but function as skin-tight uniform pants & full body straps make staying au natural rather uncomfortable. regardless of her upkeep, the hair in areas most impacted by her uniform have steadily lost its volume to friction.

// as she started to lose herself after her injury, she grew out the hair on her head but couldn’t bring herself to stop maintaining her military undercut entirely. as personal hygiene became difficult, her body-scaping became lax & revealed patterns of war through her uniform & scars.

[MOUTH]: are their lips always drawn thin or are they plump and kissable, what's their "default expression"/resting face, do they have all their own teeth, do they use their teeth to smile, etc

// small, full, & pursed in stress until her sights are set upon a dear face. in situations of calm & camaraderie she wears the slightest grin as a neutral expression. a pronounced cupid’s bow with a crooked edge when she smiles. a natural smirk without the airs of arrogance.

// though her jaw is usually tense, she hides her teeth (unremarkable & average for someone of her stature) until rare instances of unrestrained joy overwhelm her consciousness.

// if she could choose a color, she’d enjoy a lively, perhaps even icy pink rather than rouge regardless if it “matches her skintone” or not

[FACE]: what is the shape of their face, do they have pronounced cheekbones or a strong jaw, what's the size and shape of their nose, what's the size and shape of their ears, do they stick out, are they pointed, etc.

// the only part of her that never seemed to mature. short & small in shape with round cheeks yet capable of feral expressions. perhaps a heart shape with a small yet pronounced chin. her nose is small as well with a pronounced button shape compared to the rest of her peers, much like armin. her age shows in the rest of her features, from the folds of her eyes to the wrinkles between her brows. identifying features include her pronounced widow’s peak & nearly invisible freckles, as well as a couple facial moles: a left monroe & another below her right brow.

// her ears stand out, but not in size or angle. they’re comparatively small, round, & easily hide in her hair, but her detached earlobes are undoubtedly foreign as the rest of the eldian population seems to sport attached earlobes. her mother taught her to hide this, but they’re regardlessly easily unnoticed.

// the way she wears her visage is kind, welcoming, & maternal, unhardened by the throes of battle but nonetheless changed throughout her life & adapt to circumstances. as a cadet she carried a lot of secrets & communicated a demand for distance through a resting bitch face, unraveled by the love & understandings of her late garrison squad. though not incapable of being stern & able to sway most others through a Look:tm:, she much prefers not to convey authority & would rather communicate airs of openness, a manifestation of democratic leadership expressed by levi & other philosophies of the scouting legion she admires.

[SKIN]: obviously colour, but also if they're inclined to run hot or cold, do they have any blemishes or unusual markings, are they inclined to blush, are they freckled, do they tan, what does their skin feel like, etc.

// her ancestors weren’t from the walls. she looks a bit out of place much like the others who hailed from across the continent, most notably comparable to ymir who hailed from a poor, remote land. fair to medium tone, olive & ashy in undertone.

// faint, full-body freckles despite being easy to tan, a trait rare to those who spend the beginnings of their life underground. her skin reflects the sun she catches after moving above ground, a soft & subtle sun-kissed glow that gently darkens throughout her career, especially as she catches direct sunlight ontop of & beyond the walls. (lowkey inspired by my very elementary coloring skills. i’m getting better & applying my growth to her development bc we’re in this together) as a result, she doesn’t need much sun protection & does very much enjoy sunbathing

// warm to the touch, but reluctant to blush. she has thick skin & an elastic heart. most parts of her are hardened, calloused, dried, & bruised save for the intimate parts of her including her inner joints & limbs. the softest parts of her are her inner thighs surrounding 3dmg wear, surprisingly luxurious for such a hardened soldier often subject to harsh medicinal chemicals.

// also on par is a freshly shaved pussy but i believe that’s pretty universal with the right skincare. also pretty average of her: she has rough, dry, & slightly darkened elbows.

// the texture of her neck is unsettling at the very least, a result of scar tissue buildup in an area with such thin skin. it’s very odd & generally off-putting, causing her to regard the area with a lot of defensiveness & self-consciousness. (marked bc probably one of her most characteristic physical traits)

[BUILD]: are they skinny and petite or do they resemble a body builder, are they tall or short or average height, are they lean and wiry, are they overweight, are all of their features proportionate, etc

// her body betrays who she feels she is, even as she works to manipulate (& privately enhance) its shape & volume. she doesn’t feel like it belongs to her, but it is.

// petite & heavyset, small but mighty with generous work-muscle, most notably in her back, thighs, & upper arms. she has a strong core, but her abdominals will never be as pronounced as a result of the significantly müllerian way her body retains fat. four pack for life. it pains her.

// pronounced hourglass figure, deceptively top-heavy. small, but strong & widened shoulders support large breasts that are bound in sarashi-like fashion under her scout uniform, a way meant to be safest for support as well as long-term wear, but nonetheless restricting & potentially dangerous if not done correctly.

// properly bound & suited, she could pass as male just as well as she could when she was a child. androgyny feels most natural to her, but genuine femininity is a high-hanging fruit she may never taste regardless of the sensuality of her body when enhanced with her favorite lingerie. in private, she indulges & finds comfort in playing up her femininity and exploring aesthetic sensuality (marked for key characterization of her sexuality/gender identity)

[HANDS]: are they large or small, do they have pianist's fingers or short stubby ones, do they tend to get sweaty or are they always dry, is the skin rough or delicate, are the nails painted or chewed or sharp, etc.

// hands small enough to meticulously craft detail, deceptively rough with work. short, but nonetheless artisan fingers. short & kept nails, though mechanical oils, debris, & blood sometimes persist without her noticing. more often when she’s distracted, but she’ll take care of it asap nonetheless.

// they’re always warm, ready to hold, ready to work, ready to comfort. but they are dry, especially the tops of her hands. they’re always in need of repair, moisture, & upkeep.

[LEGS]: are they solidly built, short and stubby, or long and graceful, do they have knobbly knees or rounded knees, what's their gait, etc.[feet]: do they have a habit of going up on their tiptoes, what's their usualy stance, do they tend to shift their weight to a preferred side, etc.

// they do nothing for her height, wide with secondary müllerian fat deposit & definitively shaped with the muscle of a workhorse. yet they can move her with skillful grace, artfully bending and swaying as led by her hips in the midst of her dancing.

// in this vein, she has an extraordinary sense of balance. whether or not she consciously keeps this in constant check is up for debate, but her legs ground and carry her well. she’s also very flexible & can do a myriad of splits.

// she often leans towards her left when standing, later shifting to her right and alternating to keep the blood flow alive. bel also has a tendency for wide, masculine stances to keep her on her toes in action as well as situations that call for her bluff.

// her most natural, comfortable position is on her knees. level with her patients in their environment of need, ready to tend. she very much prefers the ground and can kneel for very long periods of time without losing her sensations. she’s learned to strategically carry and shift her weight in order to accomplish long sessions.

[OTHER: CLOTHES STYLE]: any other obscure feature or tiny detail that the asker is interested in, materials, style, details, freshly new bought or old an worn down, full of dirt or always washed, preferred colour

// as a child they were little more than rags, but nonetheless carefully tailored & decorated with the love of a homemaker mother. it was more as a means of protection rather than inevitability, as flaunting wealth in the dangerous subterranean city was a death sentence.

// as soon as she reached adolescence, her mother instructed her to dress as a lady & slowly began to bestow upon her the racy garments she used to wear as a Wallflower. subdued skirts & bodices became more & more audacious as they grew closer to the surface. risa’s wears were optimized for wiles as much as work, with hidden inner drawstrings easily controlling length, bell sleeves skillfully tied back, corsets carefully constructed to allow stretch as much as shape.

// this stage of life for bel, however, was even more fraught with denied freedoms, fostering a growing complicated relationship between herself & her gender expression. even as she grew into a young adult, she still lacked the bodily function to menstruate, still found herself under the pressures of her mothers dreams to marry into the capitol & retire as a socialite.

// it wasn’t what she wanted, so bel soon began shedding her compromises. with her uniform she donned a laced undershirt over bustiers, not ideal for service but not so stifling either for the lax garrison regiment. her comrades gifted her her switchblade as well as a red ribbon, which she wove & tied into her usual braid.

// following the battle of trost, a bone from her bodice close to puncturing her lung prompted her to make a change. for the first time in years, she reached for the bandage & bound her chest, feeling more powerful than ever. when an Underground scuffle gave her a neck scar, she traded her lace for a sleeveless number with a cowl to cover it. it’s soft material closely resembling a sweater & is perhaps the first garment she bought for herself without tailoring.

// i put her in dark mauve for no reason other than it’s a color i like. maybe it hides bloodstains. maybe she indulged in a higher class color as homage to her mother’s lost dreams. the latter is the most likely option, even though i just thought of it at the moment of writing this. so it goes. she chooses rich colors because of her mother. not just because i like it. (it also compliments the olive in her skin, i think)

// while out on the town or in casual wear, bel lets herself indulge in her femininity, treating it as a special occasion. her style choices are still more audacious than the average woman on the street, more so when she wears her dance costumes under a cloak on the way to a sidejob. out of uniform, she’s likely to turn heads & instigate judgements. she nonetheless enjoys it, as being perceived as a feminine (as well as sexual) being eases her feelings of dysphoria as well as her trifles with asexuality. though she won’t demand it verbally, she’s very much a statement Attention Whore.

*BONUS, bc may as well top it off lol* [FEET]: do they have a habit of going up on their tiptoes, what's their usual stance, do they tend to shift their weight to a preferred side, etc.

// her weight is always on the balls of her feet, remnant of her training as a dancer before soldier. she can balance on her tiptoes like rose from titanic & is very good at it. there’s not much else about her feet worth noting at the time. headcanons may come later.

[theaetherhealerffxiv]

FFXIV Write - Week One - Prompt 2 Bargain

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast 

FFXIV Oneshot: OC Based Fanfiction

Pairings: None

Summary: Swath finds himself at the mercy of the Primal form of Sophia, and must overcome the unruly amounts of Aether to grant his goddess a chance to strike at her past.

Word Count: 755

Bargain with her. 

The thought hissed within my addled mind as I gazed at the glowing goddess before me. Aether pooled from my lips and oozed from the myriad of crystals that decorated my skin. I choked on the glowing liquid as I threw it up. A gentle laugh waifed from both my mind and the woman before me. “No,” I rasped. “Yeh ar’ not she I share mah mind with.” Struggling to stand I vowed to myself that I would succumb to the huge quantity of aether before me. Another laugh, and I winced, there was a slight sob echoing from deep within my person. It was she, the true goddess, struggling against the presence of the false one before me. 

“Oh my faithful,” The primal reached down to me, floating away from the head of the Daughter. As she approached I summoned every ounce of energy I had and raised my hand as she lifted her to caress my face. With as much force as I could muster I slapped it away. Her face one of contorted shock. “Oh, sweet son of mine. Why do you resist my embrace?” 

Shivering I shook my head once more. “Ye, ar’ not she who I share mah body with.” I hissed. “Yeh, ar’ not tha goddess of mah people. Yeh ar’ bastardization of tha people who killed her.” My strength waned and I felt a mixture of burning bile at the back of my throat along with a throw of Aether as it entered my form once more. Shaking violently I crumpled to my knees, my body convulsing as I felt the liquid slide from my lips with surprising force. My vision blurred as I tried to push back against the aether sickness. A hand was upon me, but I was too weak to shake it off. 

“I am the hopes and dreams of our people my son.” She whispered above me, as if trying to coax me to give into her once more.

Oh, she was a fool though. I could not be bought with such words; nor could I be tempered by her touch. I was already taken by my Sophia, the fallen vessel of Hydaelyn. Her aether had mixed with mine years ago upon that fateful day of my death. We had lived together for years, longer than we both thought possible. But I could not hear her at the moment; the dual presence of her primal was controting her very self. A vision of what she could have been if people had believed in her, instead of burning her. Of how they, in her death used her visage to create a god to worship too. In life Sophia had preached of balance of light and darkness just as Hydaelyn had instructed her. In death she writhed in pain that the masses thought to bring balance, and light, back to them they had to kill her. I took a shaky breath, “Nay, yah fool, yah ghost.” my voice was a broken husk of my usual vocals. I shivered once more, feeling strength well up from the pit of my belly. Yes, as I overcame the aether sickness and grew accustomed to the overwhelming amount that poured inside of me she, Sophia, would be able to use it.  “I’h will not join yeh. Yeh ar’ not anyone's hope’s ‘n dreams.” I stood, wiping the oozing aether from the crystals upon my skin. To gaze up at the Primal. “I’h will not bargain with yeh.” 

“Instead,” I inwardly smiled as my lips moved of their own accord, a gentle feminine voice drifting from my lips as I felt the golden warmth of my Sophia envelop me, the Primal floating back to the Daughter with disgust. “We shall make it so that you, oh ghost of my past, shall have to bargain with us.” 

Aether burst forth from my body, overtaking my mind and form. I succumbed to it allowing Sophia to mold her form around mine. Instead of the primal form that she usually took, I felt a smaller, defiant woman take shape around me. Then it was as if I was gazing at myself from far away: except it was not me. Holding onto my axe was a mall defiant hyur woman glaring at the Primal form of herself. Her golden hair and blazing blue eyes stared at it with anger. 

“For I will not show any mercy. Just as my people did to me eons ago. I shall burn you at the stake!”