#me getting put in time out for fighting with lichen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

icyowl · 2 years ago

Text

Fields of Dolos

Pairing: Leander x reader

Synopsis: Leander sees your curse in action for the first time. You tend to his wounds while he tends to your heart.

Request: none

A/N: Help this man has made me feral. How can you expect me to wait 2 and a half years to find out his secret?!

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

You'd love to say you were surprised, that you'd never expect yourself to be facedown in the mud, choking on street water, with a man's knee pressing down between your shoulder blades and forcing the remaining air from your lungs. . . but you'd be wrong. Why were you blessed with such a gravitation towards trouble?

The burly man's arms pinned yours to the ground, making it impossible to do anything other than thrash helplessly. He was huge — tall yet thick, his neck bordering on a triple chin. “We saw you with that horned demon. Conspiring to bring the soulless in here and massacre us all? Huh, worthless little wench?”

“That's not. . .” You wheezed. Lack of air was robbing you of your sight. After facing off against monsters from beyond your most twisted nightmares, it would be a slobbering, balding, pig of a man that would end you. How cruel. How ironic.

One comment by him shocked one final, desperate wave of adrenaline into you: “What're these bandages for?”

Suddenly your fight grew more desperate. “Don't! I'll hurt you!”

He seemed to take it as a challenge. “You? Don't think you're in any position to be making threats.”

Words were nearly futile, he was still bracing most of his weight on your back. Still, you had to try, especially when his fingers began to dig under the bandages. “'S not—” your demands turned to pleas when he began to reveal your darkened skin, “please!”

“Whoa, looks like we got ourselves a bonnefide freak here, boys,” he said to the chuckling grunts behind him, “your mom sleep with a monster or something? Bet getting someone to love an unsightly thing like you has been a real chore.” He ended with a laugh, tinging your fear with humiliation. Your mind threw up a brief image of Leander, the only person you'd been able to touch, the only one who put so much effort into showing you kindness. Would he care when he found your corpse?

“Hold her arm still, gents, I wanna take home a souvenir.” You could just catch the gleam of a knife—from what you could see with your head buried sideways in the ground—and struggled with everything you had left.

“No!”

The three of them together took your arm in their hands, the one on top of you bringing the knife to rest on your skin, causing blood to well from under the serrated edge. He had just begun to cut, eliciting a scream from you at the terrible plain, before the madness took hold of them, and brought the whole struggle to a screeching halt. The earth stilled, so too did your heart, until time began to pick up at twice the pace.

By some stroke of luck, as the insanity began to plague their minds, the men turned on each other rather than you, lunging and ripping at one another in a brutal frenzy. You could finally run. And run you did.

Their hideous cackles sounded behind you as you hastily scrambled for purchase in the mud and took off down the streets. Anywhere was safer than here. Were they following you? You didn't stop to look. The only thing you could process as you tore down the alleys was the overwhelming desire to run, to escape. Water obstructed your already impeded vision, burning hot with emotions you couldn't hold back: sorrow, hatred, regret. You'd just condemned more souls to insanity. It didn't matter that they probably deserved it, it didn't matter what they called you or wanted to do to you, it only mattered that you'd brought more trouble than you were worth and you despired your existence for it. Why couldn't you—

—you narrowly avoided colliding right into the man rounding the corner towards you, careful to clutch your arms close to your body until you took in the shocked lichen-colored eyes of the man you trusted most.

“L-Leander?”

He placed gentle hands on your shoulders. “I've been looking everywhere for you—what's wrong?” He added, clearly seeing your terror. You didn’t have the time to answer. If they chased you down, if they caught up… you dreaded to see the aftermath. People affected by your curse not only grew mentally fractured but physically unencumbered by basic human limits. They turned beastly, inhuman, unrecognizable, and the last person you wanted to witness that was Leander.

“They’re coming, we have to go,” you begged.

“Whoa, slow down…”

Icy dread enveloped your burning lungs at the sound of maniacal laughter and rushing footsteps. The three men had indeed tailed you, and now appeared from behind the corner, sporting horrible grins and distorted cackles. They moved at you in a trance; your attempted escape probably provided the instinct to chase you down through the sprawling streets. Frankly you had entirely forgotten Leander was there at all until he pulled you behind his large silhouette, causing the men to slow and become wary at his gaze alone.

They slobbered through enormous smiles until it fell from their chins in fat globs, giggling and mumbling all the while. It was a painful sight to watch but one you were far too familiar with. Just as scared as you were for your own life, you too worried about Leander. Three against one? Three against two—if you could be any help—still didn’t seem like a favorable outcome. There was no way—and yet, Leander looked like he certainly would try.

His hands lit up with the same bright swirls you first saw in the Wet Wick, but the feel of the energy was a far cry from what you’d seen before. Now he felt dangerous.

You voice trembled. “I’m sorry, I never—“

“Stay behind me.” Leander growled lowly. Had he always sounded so commanding? Guilt enveloped you to the point of resigned silence. It was one thing to deal with problems of your own doing, but now you were bringing in others too.

There was a momentary standoff while Leander kept them at bay with his aura alone, enough time for you to be engulfed by guilt to the point of pain. It was one thing to deal with problems of your own making, but now you were dragging in good, innocent people. People that would lead simpler lives without your presence.

Before you could think anymore the three men jumped on Leander. Or, tried to. Your companion transformed into a skilled, tactical fighter, keeping three grown men at bay with his fists, dagger, and waves of magic. It seemed to be going in his favor until the numbers game and their natural ferocity began to play out: as good as he was, Leander wasn’t winning against six tearing hands and burly adults with no regard for personal safety. They went at him like animals.

In the fray, Leander tossed one unwittingly close to your feet. You prayed you wouldn't be spotted, you really did, shrinking back against the alley's decrepit walls. The man's eyes were far too familiar.

Despite the broken jaw, courtesy of Leander, swaying to and fro, the man held you still with a gross and wicked grin. You could tell he had a broken leg, too. It didn't matter. He only stood, forcing the bone protruding from his shin farther out into the open air when he put his weight on it.

Fear? Absolutely.

Guilt? For sure.

Resignation, maybe even relief, that you were about to be put out of your misery? That was there, too.

It seemed like you were meant to suffer, so why not get it over with?

You stared while the man got down on all fours and lunged like the animal you'd turned him into. He flew at you, mouth agape and serrated teeth gleaming with saliva. It would have been the last thing you ever saw if it weren't for Leander, who, in one move, yanked you against his chest and turned so his back took the brunt of the attack. You both shifted as the enormous weight crash into him — he had to brace himself against the wall with his free hand to stay on his feet — yet he held tight, and you remained upright, protected, and unharmed.

A grunt gave away Leander's pain, yet he refused to loosen his grip on you. His voice was tight when he spoke. “You okay?”

You looked at his calm and gentle eyes, mouth wide with shock, and then to the man still biting into his back. Leander didn't wait for your answer. It was probably a good thing — words had escaped you entirely.

By now the savage man had wrenched his teeth free from Leander's shoulder, eliciting a spray of blood, and moved back to assess his options or plan for another onslaught. Leander adjusted the dagger in his grip. Sure, he looked like he could look after himself, the other two already dispatched and laying in the dirt off to the side, but all you could look at was the burgundy blood ebbing from the back of his shoulder and staining his cloak. Your chest shrunk two sizes.

Frankly you should have been used to violence by now — you certainly had seen your fair share — but still you closed you eyes when the man charged at Leander, somehow convinced your skilled friend would meet his end and unable to watch it happen. When you opened them, he was holding the man back with nothing but his hands on the man's arms, pushing him off balance and using the dagger to swiftly and precisely cut across his jugular. The man stumbled, gurgled, and smiled until he dropped dead in a limp heap.

The air began to settle. Dust floated back to the ground and the alleyway had gone silent except for the mildly labored breathing of Leander. He didn't even sound like he'd broken a sweat.

Finally your body felt safe to worry about breathing again. When before you'd been silent with fear, now you took in loud, gasping breaths like there wasn't enough air in the city to fill your tight lungs. Leander was on you in a second, hands trying to ease every jump of your shoulders.

“Easy, easy.” He said.

“I'm so—you shouldn't have had to—I—they—”

You should have been used to instances like this, you were used to instances like this, but what you weren't used to was the sacrifice he had made to keep you safe. Never before had anyone done something like that, and now he was bleeding because of it.

Your eyes found the tears in his cloak where he'd been bitten. It was one thing to know about your curse, to hear about it's side effects, but now he'd seen, with his own eyes, what it could do; he'd bared the brunt of it, too. He had accepted the fissured skin and skittish tendencies, but fighting off deranged men with horrible grins and getting bit in the process as if he were fighting off animals. . . you tucked your chin to your chest, full of dejection. You didn't want to confirm what you knew would be there: anger, disgust, fear, and rejection. A gentle grip on your hands drew your attention. Leander ducked to meet your eyes and you saw nothing but concern for you. It made you feel even worse.

“I,” you began.

“Your panic is consuming you. I need to get you to calm down before your heart bursts.” Leander didn't mean it seriously, but still you did as told. The last thing he needed was to look after you like a child. It took time, and the occasional word of encouragement from Leander, but eventually you were stable enough to stop taking in strangled gulps through your mouth and breathe through the nose like a normal person.

“Focus on your breathing,” he continued, pausing to use his gloved hand to tenderly wipe the mud from your eyes and cheeks, “here, let's get you cleaned up.”

When he was satisfied, he disappeared to get water, and when he was done with that, he walked you back to your room at the Wick, briefly telling a bloodhound to 'tend to what's behind Merda street' while you hide you exposed arm under your cloak. You didn't have the energy to tell Leander that he didn't actually have to help you up the stairs. Before you could get your key in the door's brass lock, Leander's hand was hovering over your arm.

“You're hurt.” He said. For the first time, you looked at the cut you'd received from the man's knife. One clean, crisp line of red bubbled up from your skin where your wrappings had been unwound. In truth you'd forgotten about it entirely.

“It's nothing.” You replied, rushing to open the door and get some space between you and the warm, inviting, chivalrous man crowding your body and mind. The room was small—just a bed, two chairs and a table, and a nightstand—but clean. Better than you'd ever remember having, anyway.

Leander entered the room and shut the door quietly behind him. “It's natural to be scared. They could have killed you.”

“It's not that,” you said hastily. Where had these tears come from? They were invading your eyes and welling up in your throat against all wishes. When Leander grazed your shoulder, sensing something was wrong, you jumped. He saw the look in your eyes. You looked at him like you had the first day you'd met: like you could hurt him.

“Or,” you continued, hand on your forehead to perhaps keep you from falling apart, “or it's just that. I don't know. It's just. . . you saw. You saw what I do to people. Out of everyone, I somehow kept this curse from affecting you, and now it has. Now you have proof how inhuman I am.”

Your other arm inherently covered your body. Anything to be smaller, to disappear. When you spoke again, it was watery with emotion, and you gestured to the wound taunting you from atop his shoulder. “And now I've hurt you—”

Just as you broke down, Leander was there to piece you back together. He pulled you right against his front, close enough that your feet knocked into his, and thumbed away your tears with gentle touches, knowing how sensitive skin could get under his rough gloves. Leander even guided your head back to look at him when you attempted to back out of his hold. Somehow he had laughter in his tone even when you were wracked with guilt and shame.

“You think you could ever hurt me? That I'd blame you? Ais does worse than this on the monthly! And I know you have eyes, I know you've seen that I've been through much worse.”

His gaze was intense with many emotions while he gave you time to look at the scar on his face. The one you'd touched and revered just as he was doing with you now. Leander was right: the scar on his face was proof that he'd endured much more than a bite wound. He still hid much of his past from you; he never talked about himself, always putting you as the center of his attention, and whenever you tried to get him to open up, he deflected smoothly.

No close friends. No long-term relationships (Kuras had told you that much). No real connections apart from you. At least, you thought it was a real connection.

“I'd still like to help tend to it, if that's okay.”

His eyes widened as it dawned on him what that would entail. “Are you sure? I can go to Kuras—”

“Please?”

Leander appraised you for a long moment, looking for what, you didn't know, but eventually he nodded and moved to sit on your single bed. The bed creaked loudly under his weight and he fixed you with an expectant gaze. It dawned on you at that moment that this was the first time you'd see him shirtless.

“Uhh,” you struggled, “I'll g-go get some medical supplies.”

Your trip down to the bar for a small bucket of water and other necessary items was just as much to give you time to work through your thoughts as it was to actually get some water. Would he already be shirtless when you got back? Why did it matter? What if you didn't do it right and he had to leave to find someone else? How did this become such a big deal? Was it a big deal or were you just making it out to be one? No way Leander worried about this as much as you, the guy probably did this with another woman this week. Would you be mad if he had?

The bartender had to say your name twice to get you out of your thoughts.

You returned -- pale, towels, and bandages in hand -- up the creaking stairs to your little room just at the top of the landing. The narrow wooden door, worn with gouges from years gone by and darkened in the grain, stared you down and pinned you still. It felt unyielding.

The brass handle elicited a shiver when you took it in hand.

If you had to guess, you'd expect Leander to have taken his shirt off, and yet, there he sat where you'd left him when you finally opened the door. Clothed, relaxed, smiling.

“I was starting to get worried.” He said.

“Yeah, I. . .” You trailed off awkwardly. Sensing you needed some help, Leander jumped in again.

“I might need some help getting this coat off. If you're still—”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You rushed to put the bucket down by his feet at the bottom of the bed. When you straightened, his eyes were a vibrant jade, comparable only to the precious stones you'd seen the occasional diplomat wear on your travels, and you stepped back, suddenly aware of the close proximity. Leander touched your arm gently to try and prevent you from back away, and showed no reaction when you instinctively flinched. You were still wary of any touch to your arms — you'd been through too much to overcome it so easily — but Leander had been endlessly patient with you. He'd been that way from day one. It was a gesture you were endlessly grateful for, even if your nerves prevented you from voicing it.

There had been one of two people that had been similarly kind, only to reveal their true intentions: kill my enemy, let me experiment on you, help me threaten my family. No one had shown you the genuine kindness that expected nothing in return. No one.

Leander stood, letting you walk around his side to the wide berth of his back and shoulders while he pulled his gloves one finger at a time and tossed them on the bed. "I wish I could help, but," he caught your eye with a mischievous glint in his own, "I think you'll have to undress me yourself this time."

"This time? This is the first time."

"There can always be more."

You decided to ignore his quips in favor of gripping the collar of his coat in your hands. The shudder that overcame him at the feel of your fingers brushing the back of his neck went unnoticed by you.

Leander groaned when you tried to relieve him of his cloak; he couldn't lie, the tugging made the bite mark flare dangerously with discomfort. The guy really got him good.

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't be, just -- be gentle, baby. I'm a sensitive guy." He added with a laugh.

Leander did his best to suppress a grating hiss when you pulled one sleeve down past his elbow. Sure, the wound was on the other shoulder, but the radiant pain was no joke. Twisting his shoulders in any way sent more blood from the wound like it was excited to leave his body. Just ridding himself of the coat was a slow, laborious process. First one side, then the other, then back again, every tug on his skin pushing more blood out into the air. He was thankful for your patience while he carefully bent this way to shimmy free. After one last pained moan, you were finally able to rid him of the cumbersome jacket and toss it on the bed.

You'd never seen Leander without it before. Even with all the clothes still remaining, you couldn't help the nerves catching fire under your skin, and Leander couldn't help but watch you take him in with a barely-concealed reverence.

Your eyes, after finding Leander's gaze too powerful to maintain, drifted back to the wound and gaped at the clear damage he had to endure. No way would a regular set of teeth do this much damage. "Did this guy really have serrated teeth?" You asked incredulously.

"Some gangs of Lowtown will do it as initiation. They believe it emulates the Soulless and makes them more intimidating."

Well, it proved far worse than simply intimidating. To penetrate his jacket, the leather gorget underneath, and his shirt? Another wave of guilt consumed you. You were no better than the Soulless or those you cursed if you let people around you get hurt. Should you leave town? A painful twist deep in your gut told you how much it would hurt to leave those who were perhaps the first -- the only -- people who cared about you. If it kept them safe, though. . .

"Hey," Leander pulled you quietly from your reverie with soft words and a gentle thumbing of your chin with his good arm, "I could never blame you for something like this, understand? You looked so scared. . ."

You nodded, at a loss for what else to do, having yet to meet his eyes. Leander wasn't convinced, leaning down until there were scarcely a few inches between his face and yours. No way he didn't feel your heart galloping behind your ribs, and yet, the color of his eyes alone and the emotions flickering within -- you dared to think you might have seen adoration -- were almost strong enough to distract you from your own overwhelming reaction to him.

Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it. You'd just begun to taste his exhale on your tongue before he pulled back, allowing you to breathe and clear your head in the cool air that took his place. Had your mouth always been this dry?

You were trying to regain your bearings when another one of Leander's agonized grunts tore you back to the present. What didn't he understand about I'd like to help? In a rush you were on him, reaching up to loosen the straps of his gorget. The buckles were pliable after so much use and were easy enough to undo. Subtle clinking from the metal was the only thing breaking up the otherwise quiet atmosphere. One by one they gave way until all that remained was the one at the back of his neck, holding the collared portion flush against his neck.

Now it was your turn to close the gap. Your heartbeat accelerated with a vengeance, and your fingers trembled as they so often did around him, but still, your persevered. Leander was kind enough to lean forward to make it easier to reach the back of his neck. Kind enough to put your heart into overdrive, more like.

Hurry up. Don't mess up. Hurry up. Don't mess up. Hurry up. Don't mess up.

He only continued to stare down at you, smiling all the while, as you fought to remain calm and keep from fiddling too much with the buckle. At this rate, you were practically embracing him -- something you'd done with others -- so why couldn't you stop worrying?

From here you could watch the unruly strands of his hair tickle his long lashes. A set of criminally stubborn eyebags taunted you from beneath his otherwise vibrant eyes. How had they never gone away? His smile was so easy, so casual, even with the dark circles and the deep scar embedded under his eye and down his neck. Only now did you notice the intense color on his cheeks; how had you gotten so brave?

You stepped away as soon as you were done, embarrassed, only for Leander to catch your arms in a soft grip of his own and meet your eye -- giving you plenty of time to protest -- before deftly beginning to reveal the rest of your cursed hands to the open air. Even the room's stagnant air felt cool against the skin you diligently kept covered under layers of bandages.

"When are you going to worry about yourself?" He asked, carefully inspecting the slash on your forearm.

You resisted the urge to pull back. It was a strange dichotomy: you were so accustomed to keeping to yourself, drawing as little attention as possible, and putting up walls between you and people who would no doubt betray you if it meant bettering their own circumstances; you also felt an intense desire to bear yourself to the man in front of you and be encouraged to do so honestly. If you had the wherewithal, you'd be concerned.

"Uhh," you said faintly. He saw you eyeing the gorget and finally acquiesced to your silent request. The leather came off easily under your grasp. Now in just his shirt, what little of his physique normally kept hidden by his coat now left little to the imagination. Leander was broad, solid, and physically imposing. The remaining leather straps across his chest and stomach only made your mind wander farther faster. When those were gone, you then only had his black shirt to remove.

Then, after some struggle, that was gone, too.

The torrent of emotions sloshing in your stomach churned and roiled. Leander was so clearly damaged, and yet so, so beautiful. You hated staring and yet couldn't bare to look away. What had once been a sizable scar on his cheek and arm now revealed itself to be one massive, monstrous scar across his entire left side. It ran deep (how could he even survive something like this?) a covered his arm, shoulder, pectoral, and neck in a criss-crossing web. There were plenty of other nicks and scrapes and smaller scars, too. The man -- always so sweet and compassionate -- had clearly endured intense pain.

Yet even with all of that he remained devilishly handsome. Toned, muscular. . . he obviously spent a lot of time honing his physique and had great genetics to boot. Unfair, really.

Your admiration meant you'd been openly gawking for some time. Leander laughed a little to try and ease the tension. "I heard chicks dig scars."

That got you out of your funk very quickly. He shushed your rushed apology (you had done that too much today) and waited patiently while you procured rags and soaked them in the bucket of water. His wide back took up most of your sight when you moved to sit behind him on the bed.

"It's gonna sting." You said. His substantial shoulders hunched and flinched when you began to clean the bite wound on his back and shoulder. Now that you'd seen all he'd been through, the bite seemed meager in comparison, despite how it looked like it came from a rapid dog rather than a person.

You worked in silence for some time. Who knew there'd be this many tooth marks? Leander hissed quietly when you pressed on one, causing blood to ooze freely down his back.

Guilt took your heart in its claws and squeezed. Why did you feel so bad? He'd clearly been through worse before. You began to spiral. The emotions from the alleyway -- perhaps now that you finally felt safe -- raced up from your gut and into your throat and mouth. In no time at all water pooled at the bottom of your eyes and you were having a hard time staying silent. No one needed to deal with your silly emotions.

"Hey."

It was Leander. His good arm reached over his opposite shoulder to grasp your hand in a warm grip. Such a gentle caress put your heart on life support. A steady roar of blood erupted in your ears, turning into a cacophony when he let go of your hand only to carefully wipe away a tear that had escaped.

"Breathe." He urged.

How could you?

Regardless, you tried. It became easier when you focused on the jade light softly emanating from his eyes. He continued to thumb at your jaw, cheek, and chin, almost undoing all your progress with the simplest of actions.

"I'm so sorry," you said again, "for what happened, for me, for-"

"You," he interrupted, leaning in and kissing your forehead, his lips a little dry but nonetheless reverent, "never need to apologize for something you have no control over, okay? No one blames you, and if they do, tell them to talk to me."

He smirked. Against your will, the corners of your mouth lifted ever so slightly.

"Okay."

The rest of the cleaning went off without a hitch. It did, however, slow down considerably when you had to bandage the wound. Because of it's odd placement, you would need to anchor the bandages by wrapping around his arm, chest, and shoulder. Did you even have enough to fit around his bulky frame?

Your arms wrapped closely around him every time you wanted to pass the bandages around his front. Thankfully, Leander spared you from any of his usual teasing. You'd probably burst if he hadn't.

Heat continuously ebbed off of him and into your hands. It felt criminal for someone to look like this. . . and more criminal to hide it. How did Leander not have women hanging off his arms at all times?

Then again, the barkeep hinted that he did. Where were they? How was this man not married yet?

You tried to focus on your work instead of wondering about his private life. It wasn't hard, really. After all, Leander's physique was about all you could see. Large trapezius muscles held together toned shoulders, his arms were built, and his forearms veiny. His body fat must have been in a single digits, and his back muscles, prominent yet smooth under lightly freckled skin. . .

Again, criminal.

You swear you were doing final adjustments to the wrappings. You weren't intentionally stroking the large scar on his opposite shoulder. It just happened that you touched it accidentally.

Leander shuddered and worked through a shaky inhale. You retreated, afraid you did something wrong, only for him to quickly ease your worries.

"You're okay. It's just. . ." he exhaled, "sensitive."

Against better judgement, you moved to touch it again. How had Leander become the one person you were brave enough to get close to? He could have anyone, anytime, and yet, here he sat, patient and prone while you satisfied your curiosity and the overwhelmingly natural need for human connection. Your hands spanned the extend of the scar. First, his arm, which he lifted a little to give you better access. Your fingerpads danced up his tricep, almost fascinated when it turned and flexed. Then, you moved up to his shoulder, gently brushing the lines of scar tissue and ghosting along the changes from light to dark skin. The juncture of his neck and shoulder seemed to get the worst of it; so dense was the hatchings of scar tissue you could scarcely see any unharmed skin at all. What could have made such marks? Could it have been something physical, or magical?

Leander couldn't take it anymore when your fingers wandered to where the scar wrapped around his throat. If he let you continue, he didn't think he'd be able to keep himself in check.

Quickly he took you hand in his, dismissing your worries by rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. "Careful, sweetheart. We're supposed to be taking it easy. You can't rile me up like that."

Shame made you retreat. Getting off the bed, you moved to gather the unused materials and set them across the room. Your back was to Leander, and yet, though he made no sounds, you could sense him closing the distance behind you. It made the back of your neck break out in tingles and shivers. You could feel the heat from his bare chest at your back when you stood.

For a moment you didn't dare move, acutely aware of the imposing figure behind you. It made your skin zing.

Leander all but whispered your name into your ear. When you turned, somehow expecting danger, all he did was take your arm in his hands and move to inspect the cut you'd sustained.

"Can you tell me what happened?" He asked.

You swallowed in an attempt to ease the dryness at the back of your throat. "I - the guy, from before, he. . ."

For a moment you thought about lying. To ease his worries, to get this over with, to satiate some irrational fear that getting him angry would have dire consequences, who knew, but in the end you decided the truth would be best.

"They saw me with Ais. Wanted to teach me a lesson, I guess? They saw the bandages - I told them not to, I did - but they unwound them. When they saw my curse, they tried to - to cut off my arm, as a trophy."

You couldn't meet his eyes. It surprised even you how nonchalant you sounded. After all, this wasn't the first time someone had something like that; it wasn't even the worst you'd heard.

Suddenly Leander took you in his arms and pulled you into his chest, arms deftly securing you against him. You were shocked, to say the least, and rigid. Only when he rubbed your back and you'd gotten a chance to inhale his scent did you manage to relax.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner. I can't imagine what that must have been like. If I could, I'd never let out of my sight."

That would be impossible. You knew that, and yet, the sentiment alone was enough to force you into a moment of vulnerability.

Nestling into his skin should have been embarrassing, but he merely held you tighter when you did it.

"I think you can imagine." You said, muffled into his skin. He pulled away, fixing you with a look of confusion, head tilted in question, until he saw your eyes glancing at his scar.

"Oh, this?" He tried to brush off with a laugh. "Its really not that bad. I just-"

Leander stopped. When you looked at him, you saw that he'd begun staring off into space, unmoving except for the rapidly increasing rate of his breathing. His eyes didn't move even when you called his name. Then, they began to glow. At first you weren't sure, but now, without a doubt, you watched them brighten until they were as intense as candlelight. With one touch of your skin to his, he erupted into an explosions of movement.

His hand flew up to cover his nose and mouth and he turned away, creating space however he could. You tried to bring him back to face you, to help however you could, only for him to snatch his hand away.

"Don't touch me!"

Pain tore at your heart. "Leander? I don't understand? Did I do something-"

"No!" He interrupted, his face obscured by his hand and the hair falling over his eyes. "You didn't - just - you need. . ."

"Need to do what? Should I get someone?"

"No, no. I'll be fine. You need to leave, now."

Kicking you out of your own room? You'd never seen him act anywhere near as bad as this. It was such a turn that you didn't even think this was a way to somehow be rid of you. If it was, there'd be no way his pain and anguish would be this believable. His shoulder line rose and fell swiftly, like he was laboring every breath. He'd begun to shake violently, too. Despite his words, you didn't make ay attempt to leave. He'd done so much for you. How could you leave him in a clear state of distress?

Just as quickly as he regressed, Leander now settled into a calm stillness. The breathing and shaking disappeared entirely. Too calm. This was too calm. The hairs all over your body rose defensively. You backed away when he stood back up to his full height. Even if you wanted to leave, he was now between you and the door. No place to go, no way to bring back the caring soul that had left you behind.

Shakily, you ventured one word into the open air, realizing you were giving yourself up to the creature across from you. "Leander?"

#leander touchstarved #touchstarved leander #touchstarved x reader #leander x reader #io has ideas

297 notes · View notes

robinette-green · 1 year ago

Text

Robin's Spooky AU DCA Romance Fics

These are fics that have creepy critters, spooky settings, monsters and sometimes blood

Spooky Stories from the Daycare: Night of the Fox!: (tag)

Halloween tale full of scares and fluff! Creepy crawlies and candy! Our story is set in Japan in the 80’s! Sun and Moon had decided to have a little adventure out to a cabin for Halloween but they get lost in the woods. Y/N, a kitsune who resides in this forest, is displeased at having trespassers wonder into there territory and will do everything in their power to scare away the two animatronics.

Hellfire to Warm the Heart:

There I was, standing in the rain, my ears still ringing from the door slamming behind me. Everything had gone downhill so fast. First, my job fired me without warning or reason then, unable to find a new job, I was evicted from my apartment due to being unable to pay rent. With my suitcase at my feet, I stared blankety down the street. What was I going to do? I had nowhere to go. My family had cut ties with me years ago, and I didn't have a friend to speak of. Was there a shelter I should go to, or would I be sleeping on the street tonight? "Oh, dear! Are you okay?" I flinched, not expecting anyone to speak to me. Looking around, I saw an expensive black car parked at the curb, and a back window rolled down. As I watched, the back door opened, and a man, preceded by a large black umbrella, exited the car. As he straightened, I took a step back, gazing up at a towering individual standing before me. Dressed in a pale blue suit, this guy had to be almost 7 feet tall, towering over me. His hair was shimmery gold, making him look like a sun. Golden eyes glittered as, with a soft smile, the man asked, "You look to be in a bit of a bind. Would you like some help?"

Stars in the Darkness:

You find yourself living in a cabin in the middle of the woods. After cleaning up the mess from the previous occupant, you find a broken statue that seems to have been living in the forest, covered in moss and lichen. Deciding that it would be wise to put the statue back where it belongs, you fix it up and lug it out through the trees to place it back in its home. This pleases something living in the darkness of the trees, and little gifts start appearing on the porch of the cabin. The creatures in the dark seem to like you. You should be careful not to do anything that would anger them now that you have their attention.

Little Assistant:

MC is the assistant to the CEO of Fazbear Entertainment. As Vanessa kidnaps and kills children while attempting to bring Springtrap back to life, MC is forced to clean up the mess and cover up the disappearances. MC is also tasked with keeping an eye on the Daycare attendants, keeping them in line as they are forced to help kidnapping children. “Did you do it? How do we know if it worked?” “We’ll have to test out some command code on him. Everything uploaded without issue, but they do have minds of their own. He may put up a fight.” I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, wanting as little to do with this as I could get away with. They had already forced me to help with so much, cleaning up all that mess, all that red, covering up the disappearance. Shuddering, I looked through the glass into the daycare beyond. Deep in the dark, I could see two red eyes glaring out at us, furious. I couldn’t blame him. The virus they had activated in the night mode daycare attendant was going to be used for something horrific.

Two Hunters and a Bloodsucker: (tag)

My life is good for what it is. Except that I’m dead. Well, undead. I’ve been undead for about 15 years now, and I haven’t aged a day. Being a vampire hiding among humans can be difficult at times, mainly dealing with sunlight and avoiding mirrors, but I manage. I’ve been living and working in this little town as the town blacksmith for about 7 years now, and I’ve become a full-fledged member of the little community here. I thought I had been doing a good job hiding my presence among the humans, but one day two of the most well-known vampire hunters came into town. If they find out what I am, they will kill me, but both of them have become intent on becoming my friends and maybe more. How can I keep myself from being discovered when two hunters are trying to romance me?

Stars and Webs (LateNight DayDreams):

Running form those hunting you, you fall into the web of a beast that should be more terrifying than the humans who want to end your life. But the creatures that finds you seems to want to keep you alive rather than eating you for dinner.

Murder's Doll (LateNight DayDreams):

a small child forced to live on the streets is abducted by Eclipse and raised to be sold off as a pawn. the first year of MC's life they live with Eclipse's charges, Sun and Moon and are tutored mercilessly until they are finally sent off to boarding school. after finishing school, MC is married off to an abusive husband but is eventually saved by Sun and Moon.

Colorful Lights (LateNight DayDreams):

You used to be an acrobat, working at a carnival that was a home to you. After a fire and a nasty fall, your home was left to rot. Coming back years later you’re captured by the people who’ve taken over the place. Saved by some old friends, you learn some unsettling truths about them.

Our Feathered Friend (LateNight DayDreams):

Children kept held captive for experimentation Y/N being turned into a harpy Being reunited with lost loves

Living (LateNight DayDreams):

MC is a living doll created by the Mad Scientist Eclipse.

Some of these won't be finished and some are OLD writing of mine. you have been warned. Please don't let that stop you from reading these and enjoying them <3

#glitter rock #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #dca fandom #sun and moon x reader #fnaf sun and moon #dca fanfic #glitter rock writing #dca ss #spooky stories from the daycare #two hunters and a bloodsucker #hellfire to warm the heart

99 notes · View notes

rollercoasterwords · 11 months ago

Note

one and seven for the ask game!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

hi lia <3 <3

Have you pulled inspiration from media sources other than the property your fic is related to (a plot point from a TV show that has nothing to do with the characters/setting of the fic, a line from a book, etc.)? If so, for which story? Why did you find that media source compelling?

absolutely yes! i mean fic in particular is extremely derivative but honestly all writing is derivative...i am always pulling inspiration from other stories i've loved which have stuck w me <3 gonna focus on wfrau in particular just to avoid this answer getting too long + bc that's what i've been writing most recently but. i've pulled inspiration from the animorphs series bc there are lots of fun ethical dilemmas brought up throughout that stuck w me after reading it; a particular scene from the anime 'banana fish' influenced james's story, though i can't say much more abt that without risking spoilers for the anime...if you've seen it you'll probably know which scene it influence tho lol. the crypt ch was influenced by book 4 of the fablehaven series which i read growing up as a kid--i loved book 4 bc it involved the main characters going on a mission into this underground treasure vault and having to fight past different traps to deeper down...so fun <3 the idea to write a werewolf fighting ring au in the first place came from me remembering a book i'd read as a kid called 'the abused werewolf rescue group,' though i couldn't actually tell you anything abt the plot anymore...and i'm sure there are a thousand other bits & pieces of media that have been floating around in my brain as i've written but those r the main ones coming to mind rn!

7. Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

ugh see i really should save my writing better...generally w the way i write i'm not usually cutting entire scenes but it has happened once or twice & i've just. deleted it...

i can share a snippet of a pandalily time war au that i wrote about 2 pages of like 2 years ago but don't think i'll ever return to/complete so it will likely never see the light of day...here u go:

The low chatter—that is something that does not change. Gather enough people into a room, call it a party, close your eyes and it could be 1992 in Los Angeles or 761 in Koumbi Saleh or 1674 in Beijing. Humans will buzz like insects no matter what time you put them in, forever and ever and ever. Sometimes Lily wishes that they still existed; she scrubs the thought from her hard drive before her programming reads it as a virus. Humans do exist, forever. One only has to choose the right time.

This time, she is drinking wine. She is wandering through bodies, smiling and feeling the way it shapes her face. She steps past the marble columns, onto the terrace, under the moonlight that kisses her eyelids so gently when she closes them. She can feel the light, you know. That’s something she can do.

“Red suits you.”

The person beside her is a woman, today, or something like it. She wears the same clothing, white sweep of cloth, though she’s never quite able to get the same softness. It drapes willowy, slow-moving, with fingers that gnarl like roots.

“I’m too tired to kill you tonight,” Lily says, biting through the Latin with her canines like rich meat. “Go somewhere else.”

The woman smiles, slow and creeping, a lichen on the bark of a tree.

“Another place?”

“Another time.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I like the wine.”

She isn’t drinking any. She watches the cup in Lily’s hands. When Lily takes a sip, the woman’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, pink and human.

“They have wine later,” Lily tells her, “And before.”

“Not like here,” the woman says, “Not like tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

“And what makes it different tonight?”

The woman smiles. She is standing so very close. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

fic writer ask game

#ask #wfrau #rip pandalily time war au we could've had a real good life together...

10 notes · View notes

tarnishedinquirer · 1 year ago

Text

Case: The Stormfoot Catacombs

From the Church of Elleh I spotted a strange figure on a nearby hill

When I got closer, I realized it was just a freaky statue. But when I touched it, it started projecting a light in a straight line.

Pulling out my trusty telescope, courtesy of Kalé, I was able to spot a small door in the nearby cliff.

When I got closer, I found a bunch of nobles digging around near what I at first identified as gravestones. Closer examination made me doubt that. I noticed the weird way they stacked on top of each other. Made me think of crystals, how they make regular shapes but the shapes just pile up. Couldn't read the runes, but I did notice that only the "carved" rocks have this golden lichen on them. I can't imagine anyone actually carving these shapes, so I'm just gonna chalk this up to "one of those things."

At any rate, I found the door and went into the catacombs, only to be greeted by a ghost in a chair.

He told me that true death means returning to the roots of the Erdtree, and I shouldn't be so hasty. Now, ghosts this thin aren't typically good conversationalists. They generally have one thing only to say, so anyone who walked into this catacomb might get the same lecture.

On closer examination though, I noticed the ghost was one of the long-necks. It's hard to make out on its hazy form, but it appeared to have a large block of some kind hanging from its neck. Guess that explains the depressed shoulders and extended neck. Like a garden vegetable growing under a fence post.

The catacomb itself was crawling with these fucking godsdamn gargoyle imps. They were fast, they were tough, and they hit like a truck. I'm not too proud to say, I died several times and had to retreat several more. They love to attack from weird angles, clinging to walls or lurking around blind corners. I'm more situationally aware than most, and for every ambush I anticipated, I'd miss two and end up in a fight for my life.

In the first room I found a dead noble with some root resin on him, which the voice helpfully informed me came from the roots of the Greattree, which once connected to the Erdtree. So if I interpret that right, whatever roots are down here no longer connect to that big shiny tree outside.

Bit further in, behind a flame trap, I found another noble with a strange toy whistle that sounds like a deep voice saying "hello."

"one of those things"

Speaking of flame, something occurred to me. I hadn't really thought much about it in the tomb I started in, but coming in here with a torch and seeing the flame from the trap made me realize something's strange about the flame here. Can't say I've ever seen white flame before, and bringing my hand near just made it colder. I couldn't find a way to douse it, otherwise I would've sampled the dark sludge fueling the flame.

Found yet another dead noble, this one clutching a burning butterfly. Not the first time I've found one of them, but the way he clutched it, like it was somehow precious to him. As for me, I was finally able to put Kalé's crafting kit to work and created a fire pot with that strange regenerating jar.

At the top of the catacomb, I found one last dead noble. At least, that's what I thought. Slumped against a large stone sarcophagus, he held in his hands a box of ashes. Ashes of other nobles. I'm really starting to notice a theme here.

Finally, I opened the way into the main chamber of the catacomb. There I found a creature that the voice called a "Burial Watchdog" but looked more like a cross between a cat and a monkey.

Seemed to be of the same construction as the stone imps, and just as much of a bastard. When it died, I found another spirit ash, this one holding the soul of a noble sorcerer who failed to achieve much at a place called Raya Lucaria academy.

Interesting name. An old name, that tickles the back of my brain. I've heard it before somewhere. Not here, but back in my old life, whatever that was. I'll see if I can jog my memory.

With the guardian dispatched, I got a good look at what it was guarding for the first time

Gods. I don't know what I was expecting when the spirit said "Erdtree burial" but it certainly wasn't this. Not to be culturally insensitive but how the hell can anyone think this is okay? Add a little fire and this is what I always thought Hell would look like. Maybe it wouldn't look so bad if the roots weren't cut off from the main tree, but as it stands, I had to turn away and retch.

Conclusion: The wandering nobles were searching for a place to die. They found it alright, but not how they hoped. The guardians made easy work of them, and they were ultimately denied even the grotesque burial they were hoping for. Only one of them made it through to the main chamber, where he gained the honor of being burned to ash by the Watchdog. A miserable end no matter how you slice it.

Some lingering questions:

Are all the nobles searching for death?

What's with the pale, cold flame?

What is the Greattree?

#elden ring #elden ring lore #in character #in character blog #in character post #elden ring tarnished #journal #let's play #walkthrough #Greattree #erdtree #deathflame #catacomb imps #wandering nobles #spirit ashes

12 notes · View notes

hollowedvesselau · 1 year ago

Note

speaking of, we're gonna have to be real precise about this, since making portals, especially in the way were gonna use them, takes quite a bit of energy, otherwise I'd personally be using them willy nilly during fights, but I still bet we can do it a bit less than a dozen times in rapid succession if we miss our mark the first few times. so we got that part down... now we just gotta figure out if we can get him a vessel without, ya know, trapping the possessed guy to, since you said that if we JUST trapped Lichen as a "force" or a spirit or something, he could still escape? or was I thinking of something else? from a few moments ago?

"Right, but if we just put himself in, his powers will slowly drain away. That's why my prophetic vision is... not as great as it used to be. I still don't have all of my powers back, you see."

"Is that why you didn't want to fight me in that void?"

"I still would've kicked your ass, though."

[Muffet and Cyan both laugh for a while upon that remark.]

#[[hollowed vessel]]#jsab #jsab au #jsab ask blog #[[colour-pink]]

6 notes · View notes

stardustinmyhands · 6 months ago

Text

12/10/24

So my doctor gave me difulican and my girly itching has stopped. So do I have lichen sclerosus? I haven’t gotten results back from my doctor. So I honestly don’t know. Either way I’m glad the itching has stopped and the bleeding from tearing. I still have the steroid ointment though.

I also got put on metformin and I’m trying to eat less sugar stuff. But I just can’t give up the bread. I will be honest.

Today I have a spasm in my left ribs. It’s not fun.

Late last week me and my girlfriend had a massive fight (we are ok now). I broke my favorite Lady Gaga necklace. I had two walk outs (I’m a self checkout out cashier).

I was also denied disability for the fourth time in a row.

That’s been my past six days.

Saturday to get me out of the house and get my mind of things my boyfriend took me to zoo lights. Then we went to IHOP for food.

I had been up 22 hrs that day. I got up at 2:30. Went to work from 6am to 2pm. Came home did some dishes and laundry. Took a shower then went out with my boyfriend.

After IHOP we went right back to his place and feel asleep. I spent all day Sunday at his place.

Yesterday I went to see my immunologist. I show up early cause I took an insurance taxi and they tell me they didn’t receive my referral. If they don’t get it before the appointment I will have to cancel. This is for my ivig. So I frantically called my dr, they gave me a 15 min grace period. They got it like 2 minutes before the 15 mins wad over. So I had my appointment. He also ordered me medicine for my svn machine cause I needed it a few months ago after I was exposed to smoke. And they ordered me a nasal spray for my sneezing.

My nausea is still around, but not so bad on my reglan. I have plenty of 8 mg zofran, for now.

The dragon at the top is from zoo lights.

#chronic illness #chronic life #autoimmine disease #spoonie #filing for disability #immunoglobulin infusions #ivig #chronic nausea #ivig infusion

0 notes

rabbit-holes-hourly · 3 months ago

Text

Prev reblog tags for context:

Just did some quick research about succession in this post. 6 phases seems to be the pattern in a lot of models. Shouldn't be too hard to scrunch that down to 5 and assign them Magic flavors.

Starting thoughts

Bare rock lines up pretty straightforwardly with Mountain

Intermediate succession probably Plains

Maturing would probably be Forest

And I'm gonna take a liberty and add Old Growth Forest, which has some unique behaviors. Mechanically links up with Swamp

Interesting, we got 6 down to 4!

Now to deal with water

Rather than try to shoehorn aquatic elements into a specific stage of succession, I think I want to give it a facilitating property

Like an item you can equip for future increased productivity

When present, water will bring in soil and nutrients from other ecosystems, speeding up the succession process

Also increases randomness in the system: lots more colonizers competing, members of all stages

(Note this for LBS succession timeline acceleration)

Yep this makes sense to me!, and it's even more compelling than the Seasons interpretation. Let's try to put together a narrative of a game of Magic in light of this.

Narrativizing MTG as ecological succession

Every stage of succession has its own behaviors

Mountain summarizes the bare rock, lichen, and early plant stages. Since there's not enough conflict going on in the extremely slow soil-making phase, we gloss over that and go right to fast-living annuals. This is reflected in the quick-acting Red magic.

Then, annuals are supplanted by grass and perennials, who gather lots of sunlight. They sit in a medial position, outcompeting pioneers by topping up on energy and bouncing back to life. I'd say this fits the White style to a T!

Eventually, trees start establishing themselves. It takes a while to get going, but once they're big enough, they're sticking around and doing really cool growth things. Perfect Green.

As the forest ages and spreads, the middle pool takes on the powers and properties of Old Growth Forest. Fungi make civilizations of fallen logs, and nurse stumps give rise to new trees. River eddies settle into quiet ponds. The dust and smells of life and death intermingle sweetly, creating happy harmonies of later life. The golden age is here. Energy draws from death; if you really look, you see there is more death than life here. It is death willing, tired from old age and content to go. Fire has long since burned out. The dynasty is established; new surprises have no room. it is a story of stagnation, perhaps. Of rest. Of non-movement, which is, by definition, Death. This is the essence of Swamp.

And through it all, shaping the time an space of succession, is water. Streams brought soil and deepened into rivers, carving boundaries through the forests, taking materials from one place to another. Water has no quarrel and no side, but it has shaped the battlefield from the moment it showed up. Water was here before life, and it may be the end of this cycle and the mother of a new. Whatever the disturbance, the water will run long after life has left this place, shaping, enabling, mitigating. Its many powers reflect in the versatility of Island magic.

Of course, most MTG players don't work with all 5 colors in a deck. They specialize in 1-3, aiming for higher ground in their combination. In the context of the Succession Interpretation, I think your deck color combination is essentially your best guess at what phase of succession the forest is in, and how much of a given type is present. Whoever wins had the better eye for the state of growth (and, thus, which version of the community would be most successful at this point in time).

To what end do we make this guess? I think it's,, survival. That iterative fight to keep being that drives everything that lives.

Conclusion

I like this interpretation a lot! Little bugged that I couldn't get the literal island of Island to tie in, really. Maybe something with you or the personified essence of water standing on the island, conducting. Something about bits of land breaking up the water, microcosms of the ecosystem tying it to the forest. Sand as solid behaving as liquid, somewhere between stone and soil....

Fire is a bit of a stretch, too, simply because irl life doesn't directly use fire or magma for its biological processes. To this, I have 2 answers to pick from.

Fire is metaphorical, the "fire of life" being established, which all future life will pull from and grow, fueled by sunlight.

These early organisms actually CAN make use of geothermal energy, and speed up the Pioneer phase because of it!

This one is far more literal, magic-as-tech, whereas the first interpretation gets at that philosophical wonder side of fantasy. Both are viable, and I think the one you pick depends on what kind of vibe you're going for in your game.

I dunno what I'm going to do with this analysis yet. I really like the idea of playing other games with Magic cards, and I'm really craving something that simulates succession in some way. I'll let this stew in diffuse mode and see what emerges in time :)

Some Magic magic thoughts

Every so often I start thinking about why the land types in Magic: The Gathering are that and not something else. My thoughts today link the colors to important processes with regard to life. Here's what I've come up with (eternally tentative). It's all about energy and life..:

Plains -- Sun -- Sunlight fuels the vast majority of life on the planet. Most easily collected in fairly flat, open spaces with forb-ish plants. Other biomes where you can collect white magic fairly efficiently: Desert, Chaparral, Savanna. Also solar panels and blacktop.

Mountain -- Fire -- Geothermal. The little energy not ultimately derived from sunlight comes from the heat under Earth's crust. Most easily collected in life-scarce areas close to the mantle. Other biomes to collect red magic: Tundra, Taiga. Also at geysers, thermal vents, and volcanic-adjacent regions.

Forest -- Green matter -- Living processes. Lots of energy derives from eating organic material. Most abundant in areas rich in biomass and biodiversity, such as tropical rainforests. Other biomes to collect green magic: Temperate deciduous/evergreen forest, man-made Agrarian. Also whale falls, algal blooms, regions undergoing secondary succession, and high-concentration city centers. Swamps (and other wetlands), to some degree.

Swamp -- Rot matter -- Decomposing processes. Carbon, hidden from the frantic piñata scramble of life, can store plethora patient energy. It builds no-longer-life slowly, in a shadowed mirror of plants' build-growth from will-be-life energy. In the short term, it becomes a precursor for life fuel. In the long-term, it balances energy, sinking it from the realm of magic altogether -- only to be used with knowledge and magic-immiscible metal. Biomes collecting: Swamps, other Wetlands, Caves, and Soil. Also Urban garbage dumps and anywhere there is plenty of dead matter ready to be processed. Autumn.

Island -- Water -- Fluid convection (and water as solvent). Water holds matter and energy between its polar bonds, and its great lung carries life up and over, unliving but making possible life. Water moves. Water facilitates. Places to collect water: Aquatic ecosystems, polar ice, clouds, any water where life is present in rather small quantities proportional to the solvent.

Some notes:

Note: Water is an outlier in this conception (which differs from my associations! Usually I think of Swamp as the odd one out) in that it isn't a direct provider of energy to life. It carries and buoys, but no one uses water currents as food. I think this is neat!

Brings up a possible future rabbit hole of life figuring out how to evolve itself steam power...

LATER

(To be fair, Swamp is also an outlier in another way: None of the Platonic Terrestrial Ecosystems [I split it at trop forest, sub, deciduous, boreal, taiga, tundra, desert, chaparral, grassland, and savanna] are devoted to the type. Wetlands, caves, autumn, and dead things exist in every biome, and you can't really have a thing dedicated to only rot for very long. So Swamp is less its own thing and more of the awkward necessary shadow to everyone else. Is this how Hades felt?)

(Kinda cool it gets to be the transition between magic and metal, life and technology, though!)

(However, by that liminality logic, water outlies as well. Wherever there's cells, there's water. Only two things are certain in life...)

This creates an emergent dynamic of 2 element supergroups: Landholders and Liminals. White, Red, and Green primarily associate with particular areas, where Blue and Black collect in the spaces between. Swamp and Island are simply the terrestrial areas where you can get a decent distillation of the respective type.

Another kind of grouping also arises: Originators and Derivatives. White, Red, and Blue are all their own thing, helping drive life. Green and Black are the life (and death) that give all that stuff reason, direction. They're parents and children.

Relevant earth processes: Radiation, water cycle, carbon cycle, rock cycle, organic nutrient cycles & one-direction energy flow. I was thinking about these as I worked through the post.

Missing but worth considering: Phosphorus and Nitrogen cycles

You may want to associate Swamp with entropy, but that is a different thing. Entropy isn't accounted for in Magic. It would be interesting to come up with worldbuilding, and possibly mechanics, that would do such a thing.

Though this analysis does well accounting for these types and associated ecosystems, it doesn't engage at all with how the magic flavors behave mechanically. I'll be thinking on why those five behavioral classes are what they are.

That autumn bit gave me another idea: Magic types tied to seasons. Gonna reblog with preliminary thoughts on that.

4 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 5 years ago

Text

Dirty Henry

Summary: A picnic in the rural forest turns into a steamy game of profanities as Henry decides to demonstrate how he would persuade you to be his.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (2nd person POV)

Word count: 2K

Warning: 18+, smutty smut, oral sex - female receiving, lewd, descriptive profanities that will make your ears burn,praising, outdoor sex, gentle rough sex, creampie.

A/N: This was requested ages ago: messing around with Henry duri picnic. The dirty talk was inspired by a chat with Wendy. Beta’d by the one and only queen @agniavateira. The Mythology quotes of Apollo and Dapne are based on Wikipedia. *No permission is given of reposting, copying my work or ideas and parts from it and claiming it as your own*

Feedback is welcome, comment and reblog if you enjoyed.

Title: Dirty Henry

Honey-coloured leaves floated in the air, flapping tenderly like frail butterflies that danced frivolously in the wind. Lying on your back over a blanket, you watched them as you listened to the rustle of leaves and the water flowing down the small stream nearby.

Henry’s head rested on your thigh; his smooth baritone stroked your ears in the most satisfying melody you’ve ever heard as he read to from his book.

“...Offended by Apollo’s remarks, Eros has decided to take vengeance on the god. He shot him with a golden arrow, causing him to fall intensely in love with Daphne, the fair river nymph, which he then shot with a lead arrow, imbuing her with pure hatred toward Apollo.”

A small grin peeked at the corners of your lips, your hand reaching to find the dark bundle of curls on his head and began coaxing them around your slender fingers.

The forest smelled of evergreen mist, mushy lichen, and tranquil tree stumps that had new lifeforms growing on them. On the tip of your nose, you caught Henry’s distinguished scent. His earthy musk called you by your name.

Henry wiggled slightly on your thigh and cleared his throat before he continued reading.

“Apollo chased the virginal nymph through the thicket, all the while declaring his undying love. When all seemed lost, Daphne cried out and begged her father, Peneus, to save her from Apollo’s unwanted courtship.”

“When a guy is so annoying that you have to turn into a tree in order to get rid of him for good,” you teased while inhaling the alluring scent of the forest.

Henry chuckled lightly, his head bobbing on your leg. He turned on his side and looked at you, his cut cheeks rose to a playful smile. “Well, perhaps all Apollo needed was a chance to show her his true affection to persuade her.”

“Oh, is that so?” you tilted your head to gaze at Henry with amusement, noticing the spark of mischief that shone in his cobalt eyes. He placed the book down on its belly and flipped onto his haunches, planting a kiss on your exposed ankle.

“Perhaps…” he uttered, the soft pads of his fingers running up the path of your leg like tongues of silk. Your leg jolted at his touch, breaking down to the ground feebly. Henry leaned down, nudging your other leg aside, his mouth was hot and wet around your inner thigh. “...all she needed was for him to show her.”

You nibbled your lip, watching Henry’s dark curls shine between your knees in the scattered daylight. His broad back flexed, taut muscles moved in synergy as he worked through the path to your hidden garden.

“Sometimes, you just need to eat her pussy properly, and she’s yours.” he said huskily. You flushed at his profanities, your cheeks tingling as blood rushed to your head. He had a way with words; they didn’t just sound dirty; they were sin itself, and his rich British accent made even the most sacrilegious statement deeply romantic.

Henry was well aware of your embarrassment, teasing you for your false chastity. He used his mouth in many talented ways, whispering lust against your enticing flesh to make your ears burn.

You stared coyly, hugging your breasts like a shy lover, watching him explore you as if you were uncharted territory.

His tongue embarked through the vale of your body, leaving a wet trail that chilled your skin in the October breeze. You threw your head back and hissed to the canopy of leaves that hid the two of you from the sky. Every touch of his fingers against your flesh set feverish ripples through your skin. Possessive hands grasped at soft the hills of your breasts and squeezed tightly while his lips marked their way below your navel.

He enjoyed this, making you feel so powerless. His deep blue eyes pierced sharply as your head went from side to side like a scared virgin, biting your knuckle as excitement blazed between your sweaty inner thighs. His greedy fingers gripped at the meat of your hips, folding your legs up and splitting them while his head dived in-between.

The soft curls of his hair tickled the naked skin of your apex. Lush and tender kisses dotted the line that led to your core.

“Henry, please,” you begged, out of breath. His fingers stroked the shape of your womanhood, rimming the gates of your garden with the soft pads of his finger. He laid a kiss on the silk shawl of your clit and an amorous hum spilt from him, appeased at the lusciousness of your skin.

“I love your cunt, so much.” his words slurred with sultry haze, emphasising the one word that made your muscles sear with embarrassment. You threaded your fingers through your hair and tugged at it as frustration and tension grew across your nerves.

It was astonishing how vocal he was whilst roping simple words with sinful actions.

He kissed your cherry, tongue lapping around it slowly before his lips suckled longingly. A deep moan vibrated through the pit of his mouth, making you mewl with blissful little jolts of pleasure.

“Fuck,” Henry murmured as he broke from your clit and moved his lips against the sweet petals of your cunt, his hot breath caressing your succulent fruit. “I’m going to lick every inch of this marvellous pussy, and then fuck you with my tongue.”

The air vaporised in your lungs; moans didn’t even meet their end, becoming hoarse wheezes, shuddering through the threads of your sinew. Violent tremors made your legs jitter in his grip, had he not held you forcefully they would have fallen aside.

A low chuckle escaped him as he hooked one of your knees over his shoulder and moved a hand to manipulate your folds. His fingers unwrapped you, pulling your valley open to allow his tongue taste the nectar of your arousal.

Your entire body arched as if possessed, your spine levitating over the surface, desperate howls sent to the sky above. His tongue lingered through your seams, collecting every drop attentively.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll shove my cock inside you.”

Speech was another one of his powers, enchanting you entirely. You whimpered as his hips bucked against yours in a desperate demand. He would never just fuck you, no, Henry loved to take his time. Foreplay would go for hours if he felt like it, playing with your body until your throat went dry and ached and your bones melted away.

“You like it, don’t you?” he asked as he ran the snake in his mouth all the way through your swollen crease. “Me going deep inside your sweet little cunny, splitting you open, shooting my load inside you.”

He expected no answer as you couldn’t form any, but you cried out and ripped turfs of grass in your hands instead. His large tongue sank inside your cunt, invading as deep as possible between the velvet walls. He curled it skillfully, savouring on the taste with a delightful moan.

Pleasing you gave him just as much bliss. You were made to believe you were ambrosia which he feasted on.

His mouth mapped your insides, knowing every spot, lavishing it on repeat while your moans increased, turning into hopeless cries. This man has read the language of your body. He knew when you were close and he knew how to prolong his torture- to make it last, to make you scream.

And scream you did, with tears rolling down your temples, eyes squeezed shut as the stimulation became too much. He sucked on your cunt and plunged his tongue, getting you close and then far again.

The pleasure bundled at the edge of your core, knotting your muscles from your orgasm. In despair, you squirmed, frustration making you seek for any means to breach through heaven which was just a kiss away. Waving from side to side, you pleaded, but Henry’s large hand slid onto your lower torso, pressing you down to be grounded with nothing but slight force. He limited your movement as he ate you out profoundly, his tongue singing hymns in your depth.

“Henry!” you wailed, unable to withstand his torture. His chin chafed you, his tongue squirmed between your lush lips and just when you thought you were to blackout, he thrust the tip of his into the spot that made you see stars. Your dam broke, your head lifted from the ground as ecstasy spasmed through every nerve, lighting it with an electric charge.

Untethered gasps fell from your mouth, chest heaving up and down as euphoria lingered by. Henry was impatient, his wide waist was already pushed between your spread-open thighs to fulfil his promise. The metallic clanging of his belt was sharp enough to pull you back down, followed by the giant hovering over your small frame and driving into your still-convulsing cavern, sliding in veins and ridges.

And you felt it all.

A duet of moans played into the forest as your bodies collided. Henry ran deep, bottoming inside and clutching your jaw to the side, praising your neck and cheeks with earnest kisses and grunts that reverberated in your ears.

“Fuck,” he groaned as he rocked above you back and forth, his thick shaft pulsated blazing-hot amidst the fight your walls put against his invasion. They never stood a chance, he was iron in velvet expanding them with every shove.

“Such a tight little pussy,” he breathed as he slipped in and out in a steady rhythm, “I’m going to come inside you, paint you with my seed.”

His hands seized your face again, his bulging biceps caging your head while he uttered words of praise entangled with obscenities. The threats of what he planned to do with your body, of how good it felt inside you made you wail in an embarrassing pleasure.

“Yes, take it. Take my cock,” he snarled breathlessly. He was heavy above and inside your body, every slam forcing your legs to jerk helplessly in the air and your behind to ache as it mashed beneath the weight of his body. You cried in ecstasy, feeling his entire length pumping in and out. Long, rasping plunges spiralled inside with tingling little tremors that danced in your essence and continued to spread further the tighter he got you.

Feeling the tightness grow around his shaft he snapped his arms beneath your knees, spreading you wider so he could fuck you vigorously into oblivion. You screamed his name in despair, his grip making you no more than a fucktoy to which he jostled his cock into, back and forth, wet and quick.

And you loved it, you loved feeling like you’re nothing but a slit for him; your entire essence shattered, destroyed by his body, consumed by your love for him. The new position made his sac thud lewdly beneath your slit, and your clit repeatedly ground into his pubic bone.

The merciless ordeal was too much, seeing Henry above you and herding his moans was too much.

“Henry!!! Fuck! I...” You were broken in, sobs of pure bliss cracked through your throat as you came undone, bursting with love. Your head rolled back on the ground, and your body locked him in with zeal. Henry groaned, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he felt the suction in you, pulling him deeper like a siren drowning a lost sailor. Your convulsing walls begged for the rich milk of his loins as he fought to delay his pleasure, but lost to the turbulence that overwhelmed him.

Shouting your name, he released himself, gasping hot against the corner of your mouth. You were stuffed full of his cum as he pulled out; he held your legs up and slid your panties back on.

“I want it to stay,” he explained, “I want you to carry me in your panties all day long.”

He crawled to lie by your side and reached his hand to the book. His finger went into his mouth to dampen it as he turned the page over as if nothing happened.

“Next chapter, Hades and Persephone.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #rpf #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill fanfiction

6K notes · View notes

tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Do you love daddy?

Summary:

“Do you love daddy?” Luke repeated. His eyes were wide, he was probably reading into her soul.

Hange didn’t want to give him too easy of a time mind reading. “Of course I do,” she said.

“How come you never tell him you love him?”

Luke asks Hange a question and Hange reflects on it.

Written for Levihan Week 2021, Day 2: Confessions

Link: AO3

Notes:

Levihan Week Day 2 Prompt: Confessions, organized by @levihanweek.

I edited this half asleep to meet my own internal deadline for day 2. I hope it still suffices. Feedback is very much appreciated!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

There was a small forest near their house. In fact, Hange had decided on their permanent home mainly for its proximity from the park.

In the middle of the park was a small, small forest. But to Hange, it was ginormous. Or at least, what you would consider ginormous in an urban setting. It held adventure. It held mystery. It held some breathtaking liberation, something withheld from her during her years as a commander.

That particular weekend was a lazy weekend. It was just her and her son. For some parent-child bonding, Hange was ready to get lost in the forest. Before she could even dive deeper though, reality rammed into her in such an abrupt, yet such gentle and adorable manner. “Do you love daddy?” Luke asked.

With those words alone, Hange could almost hear the curiosity burning inside him. She kept her eyes trained ahead, focusing on the forest. The woods were small, the forest was only large enough for a few small kids to play some hybrid between tag and hide-and-seek. The trees were of a safe size, some convenient shape that framed their surroundings.

It was a beautiful view, something she didn’t see often, especially when cooped up in the office forty hours a week. She decided to enjoy it and let whatever answer to that question come organically.

Do I love Levi?

The forest held more than adventure. It held something silent and invisible. Along the way, she had suddenly become aware of the breathing of her son, the rustle of the leaves. He was only inches away from her. In surprise, she turned back to her son while attempting to conceal the discomfort. She willed herself to keep her chin up, her eyes a reasonable size and her breathing very much even.

“Do you love daddy?” The kid repeated, his eyes wide. He could probably read into her soul and she didn’t want to give him too easy of a time mind reading.

“Of course I do,” Hange said.

“How come you never tell him you love him?”

“I do.”

“Corbin says his parents tell each other they love each other everyday,” Luke said.

Corbin… Was that a friend at school? It was nothing more than a passing thought. If it demanded to be something else, Hange didn’t notice, her thoughts had embedded themselves into something a little more pressing. “Luke, you don’t think I love daddy?” she challenged.

The young boy cocked his head to one side and shrugged. “You don’t tell daddy you love him…”

Hange could have sworn she did. She found herself racking her memories for some hint to an answer, some hint to reassurance that would suffice for her son.

When Hange indulged that nostalgia, the trees blurred for a second, the greens extended beyond the frames of her view. The sky that wiggled themselves through the canopy as streams of light disappeared for just a second.

Why don’t we just live here together? They echoed inside her and with it, they sent a rush of confidence through her. “I love him.” She had enough confidence to introduce it as if it were a well thought out proposition. She turned to his son.

Luke narrowed his eyes. Through the years, he was starting to look more and more like his father. If Luke expressed emotions anything like his father, Hange could be certain, it was doubt written all over his face.

Luke didn’t believe her? Hange was in no mood though for a lecture. She was in no mood for a moment of introspection, especially when there were still lichens and moss around her she wanted to identify. “Let’s talk about that when we get home.”

The conversation was over. Hange walked ahead then into the forest and tabled that problem for later.

***

Children never forget.

Hange scolded herself for underestimating the boy and to add insult to injury, overestimating herself. She wasn’t at all ready for the talk, especially not in front of Levi. She had just indulged that bad habit of hers, that tendency to assume that a five year old would forget what the hell they had just said.

“Do you love each other?” Luke had asked. It came too out of nowhere, over half finished plates of homemade pasta and untouched bowls of soup.

Levi coughed violently then dropped his spoon. One hand flew to his mouth. “What the fuck.” It came out like a mumble, a second later, concealed by one smooth deep breath.

Hange was frozen, too frozen to even tell what had been her first reaction.

Levi composed himself quickly. “Why are you asking that?”

Hange had known him long enough to know though that he was raring to insert some curse into that query. “Of course we do” Her response was automatic. Still she found herself, flashing Levi a look.

He returned it with something unreadable, seemingly uninterested but with a sliver of surprise.

“How come you never tell each other ‘I love you?’” Luke asked.

“We do,” Levi said.

For a second, Hange was relieved. At least they were still in the same wavelength.

“When?” Luke asked.

“Sometimes… when you’re asleep,” Hange said. Once again, those words had been automatic, impulsive. They were a product of Hange's inability to process such complex emotions, especially with a five year old of all things.

It was a mistake, an utterly stupid mistake. How the hell Hange hadn’t seen through it, it was a mystery. Really though, five year olds were very unpredictable creatures.

Luke wasn’t sleeping that night and he was doing a shitty job pretending he was asleep. Their apartment wasn’t too small but the walls were thin enough that everything just went bump, sometimes the doors went creak.

Overcompensating maybe for her stupid move, Hange decided to just perk her ears up. listen closely and attempt to make sense of the sounds. A few reiterations later, Hange figured it out. Luke was walking back and forth from the bed to the door and he wasn’t doing such a good job. He bumped, he creaked, sometimes he whispered.

Eventually, Hange would have to come in and put him to bed herself.

Still, that could wait. “Levi. You wanna go back to bed?” Hange said, just loud enough for the sound to travel to the open kitchen. Levi was once again reorganizing the cupboard.

Levi looked back at her, his eyes sleepy and his expression just a little dumb. It was late at night and she couldn’t really blame him for his utter obliviousness and his apathy over the whole fiasco. He shifted his eyes towards the partially open bedroom door for a second, then he met Hange’s gaze. He made his way the few feet to the sofa. “Do you plan on doing anything about… that?” He settled himself on the sofa next to Hange and looked at her expectantly.

“He’s gonna fall asleep eventually.”

“I know the kid. If you don’t talk to him about this, he’s not gonna sleep,” Levi said.

“Talk to him about…” Hange was feigning obliviousness.

It didn’t seem to work with Levi though. “That love thing, whatever that is. I don’t know what even happened between the two of you.” Levi leaned back on the sofa. “But I want my son to get a good night’s sleep.

Hange sighed. “While we were playing in the park, he asked if I loved ‘daddy.’”

Levi turned to her, a deadpan expression on his face. “Do you love me then?”

Comically Deadpan. Hange couldn’t even make sense of it herself, the question, the reaction had come so abruptly, so unexpectedly that Hange had to look away for some space and peace, enough at least for her to come up with some sorry excuse of a response.

“Why? What’s so funny?” Levi pressed.

The more he asked, the harder it would be to answer. And Hange didn’t want to make a big deal of it too late at night. The wry grin on her face was all she could muster. “Sorry, it just came out of nowhere--- What the hell, why are you asking it like this, all of a sudden.”

“Because Luke was asking?” Levi answered matter-of-factly. Hange was starting to wonder, was she making a big deal out of those three simple words?

“There must have been a reason right? A reason we never really said those words...”

“Why don’t you?” Levi asked.

“It feels….” I love you. She echoed it then she moved her lips slightly, just enough to feel for herself how it should have felt to say it out loud. “Excessive?”

“Does it?”

“Well… People say it all the time but then they cheat on each other, they abandon each other, they fight and it just seems like… something people say to be dramatic.”

“Unless you mean it right?” Levi suggested.

“What if--- I just wanna prove it. I wanna earn and support the family. I wanna spend time with you and Luke and I wanna just commit to making the relationship work. I don’t wanna add any unnecessary verbosities to it.”

“Would it hurt to say it?” Levi asked.

“It feels tacky,” Hange admitted.

“Even for your son?”

Hange sensed the slyness, the amusement in Levi’s voice. The war freak in her wanted some retribution. Her mouth went faster. “Do you love me?”

Levi turned a beet red, a rare scene particularly since they had started living together. And before Hange could even confirm that it hadn’t been some trick of the light, he looked away.

Hange craned her neck, ready to take one peek.

Levi couldn’t look away forever. “Do I really have to answer that?”

“Why? What are you so scared of?” Hange didn’t bother to stifle the smile. She snuck it into her words instead as a soft chuckle. “You okay?”

Levi spun around, his head bent down. “You’re right. It sounds tacky.” He put his hand out, balled it into a fist and pressed it to her chest. “Other words just sound better.”

The hand was warm, familiar and with one gesture, Hange felt secure. “Dedicate your heart? So you said that because you love me?”

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I thought I was going to lose you too,” Hange admitted. “That’s why I invited you to live in the forest with me.”

“Back then, did you…” Levi raised his brows expectantly.

Love me? Hange took the risk. “Of course.”

“Then why did you stop yourself from saying it?” Levi averted his gaze. He hung his head back and stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s excessive, melodramatic,” Hange admitted. “Why put ourselves to that drama in the middle of the war?”

“But you still invited me to live with you in the forest.”

“Other words just sound better,” Hange said. She mirrored Levi’s tone of a while ago. She hovered her hand over his, and propped it.

Levi looked up once again. Their eyes met and once again, they connected. Like every other time before and Hange was looking back at those other words again.

“Other words just sounded better then.” Right, circumstances were different then. There were words that had just been off limits, too melodramatic, especially in the middle of the war.

The war was over. They were in their own house. They were basking in the peace of post war Paradis.

It could have been a force of habit that the words kept themselves in, even when Hange had opened her mouth to speak. “I love you,” she whispered. The words were heavy, they were looming and somehow when she let them free, some other tension she dind’t even know existed had broken free from inside her. She let out a laugh, too loud for too late at night. “I love you,” she said again, much louder that time.

“Me too,” Levi said. “I love you too.” His response was smooth, natural and not at all hesitant and Hange wondered how long he had kept it in or if he had ever even rehearsed it.

She grinned, gripped his hand harder and let out a long exhale. They were silent for a few seconds and in the silence, the thumps, the thuds were deafeningly loud. Hange studied Levi’s expression, the subtle smile that climbed up his lips.

There was another thud, a few more bumps and suddenly it was silent. On the way to their bedroom, Hange snuck a glance at the partially open door, looking at the lump under the bed, the movements even, the breathing peaceful.

Luke had fallen asleep. For Levi or Luke, or even for herself, Hange made one last gesture. “I love you.” She bent forward, planting a kiss on Levi’s forehead. “Sorry if it’s five years late.”

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #lhw2021 #levihanweek2021

115 notes · View notes

melanielocke · 4 years ago

Text

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 6

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Taglist @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings

It took less than ten minutes to discover the identity of the boy from the lake. As soon as they had arrived home, Lucie had started up her laptop and searched for missing children in the area. There was a boy called Steve Johnson, twelve years old. Lived in the village, just like the boy had told her. Had gone missing only a week ago. Lucie skimmed through the newspaper article. She’d thought the boy might have been dead for some time already, but he had been only dead for a week. She suspected he’d drowned the day of his disappearance. The article mentioned that the boy was a competitive swimmer, which explained why he hadn’t considered the danger in going swimming alone, but still, how likely was it that a competitive swimmer drowned in a lake that was perfectly safe for swimming? There were no dangerous currents, no weeds one could get trapped in. Drowning was always a risk, but in this lake, Lucie would only expect that to happen to people who couldn’t swim very well. Definitely not the case with this child. Exhaustion, then? But there was an island in the middle of the lake, and it wasn’t big. Anywhere he could have been, he should have been able to swim at least someplace he could stand in the water.

The boy had said something about how every time he tried to swim close to the shore, he’d appeared someplace else. Lucie wasn’t sure if she should believe that, ghosts tended to be confused about their deaths. Many didn’t remember dying at all until they realized what they were, and even then Lucie had heard some odd stories that couldn’t possibly be true. It was usually more believable that dying played tricks on the memory. But if that were true, if something had trapped the boy in the lake, then it would make sense why a competitive swimmer had drowned.

‘If he drowned and no one found out what happened, then his body must still be in the lake, right?’ Cordelia asked.

‘I think so. Someone should go looking for him. If the police know he’s in the lake, they should be able to find him. The problem is, how do we let them know where to look? I can’t exactly go to the police station and tell them I spoke to his ghost.’

‘We can send an anonymous tip,’ Cordelia said. ‘Maybe claim we saw him go into the lake around the time he disappeared.’

Lucie frowned. ‘Would they believe someone only called now a week later?’

Cordelia shrugged her shoulders. ‘Could be that we didn’t recognize him at first, we don’t know the child. But after looking at the missing posters, we realized this was the child we saw go into the lake to swim on the same day he disappeared.’

Lucie started rubbing her wrist, something she usually did when she was nervous. Then something occurred to her. ‘If he went swimming and never returned, then he must have left his belongings somewhere, right? A bag, some clothes, at the very least a towel. There was nothing at the beach.’

‘Lots of places where he could have entered the water,’ Cordelia said. ‘Most would be hidden from sight, so a bag or towel would not attract attention there. You mean to say someone might have taken his belongings to cover it up?’

‘Maybe. Or maybe he put the bag somewhere hidden from sight and no one has stumbled upon it yet. I’ll call with an anonymous tip, and claim I just saw a missing poster and realized I saw that boy go into the lake, that he might have drowned.’

Lucie was sick with nerves, staring at the phone. Princess Lucinda, a fictional and much braver version of Lucie, might never have heard of a phone, but she would not be scared to make a simple call if she knew how. But Lucie was terrified of making phone calls. She knew it was a stupid fear, but it was so unpredictable what might happen after someone picked up. What they’d say, what she was supposed to say, how loud someone else was going to sound through the phone. If she could even understand what they were saying, no matter how loud someone was, Lucie often struggled understanding speech through a phone.

‘Do you want me to make the call?’ Cordelia asked.

‘I can do this,’ Lucie said, more to herself than Cordelia, and she picked up the phone and called the police station.

She hung up as soon as she was done, she wanted to avoid questions she couldn’t answer. Police received anonymous tips all the time, right? Would they be looking already? Would they find him?

‘Can we take a walk?’ Lucie asked. ‘For distraction.’

‘That’s alright,’ Cordelia said. ‘Do you think Thomas and Alastair are still out there? Alastair used to take walks of several hours, he can probably spend an entire day there and not get tired of it.’

‘Funny. Thomas did the same thing. His attempt to get away from overprotective family members,’ Lucie said. ‘I’m sure they’re having fun.’

Lucie knew Thomas’ family worried for him because he used to be so sick, and his parents and sisters had never really left the pattern of Thomas being the small sick boy who needed to be cared for. Thomas greatly valued time alone because of that.

Lucie quickly went into her bedroom and changed into something more practical for a walk. When she returned downstairs she noticed a note her parents had left, she’d been so preoccupied with finding out who that boy was she hadn’t seen it at all. Her parents had gone grocery shopping and would be away for some time since the village didn’t offer much vegan food. A couple of months ago, Thomas had decided to go vegetarian because he liked animals and cared about the environment and Lucie had decided to surpass him by trying a vegan diet instead. Thomas couldn’t stay behind and had joined her, leaving two sets of exasperated parents desperately trying to figure out what they could still feed their kids. Both Lucie and Thomas were ridiculously stubborn, so any attempt to change their minds had been in vain. Fortunately, the UK was one of the easiest countries to find vegan food. Lucie was especially proud of Thomas, she knew he struggled with making choices for himself that inconvenienced others and this was something he’d chosen for himself.

Lucie and Cordelia walked into the woods, and Lucie made sure to take in the atmosphere. If this were a scene in her novel, how would she describe the trees? They were tall, for sure, thick, allowing little light to pass through. There was lichen growing over rocks and trees. There was a fog that was worst in the morning but never quite lifted. If this were a scene in her novel, Lucie definitely would mention the fog. It was both beautiful and eerie, the backdrop for a dark or scary scene. There were some birds in the trees, Lucie couldn’t see them, but she could hear them. If the scene became creepy enough, they would fall silent.

‘Is there always a fog here?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Usually,’ Lucie said. ‘I’m not sure why, weather science is not my expertise. It’s worst in the morning. Makes for a nice atmosphere though. Mysterious, eerie.’

‘Creepy,’ Cordelia added.

‘That too,’ Lucie said. ‘If I ever write a gothic or horror novel, this forest shall certainly serve as inspiration.’

‘Now I’m getting nervous,’ Cordelia admitted. ‘What kind of creatures do you think hide here?’

‘Oh, probably nothing,’ Lucie said.

‘Well, if something attacks us I’ll have cortana to fight it with,’ Cordelia said.

‘You brought your sword?’

Cordelia put her hand around her golden necklace. Lucie realized she always wore that necklace, but it had never occurred to her that it was cortana.

‘It changes shape?’

‘Exactly. I can’t exactly walk around carrying a sword, so it changes into a necklace I can wear daily,’ Cordelia said. ‘I’ve never really used it to fight something, but if we are attacked, I can defend us.’

‘Has it always changed into that necklace? Now I’m picturing your father or uncle Jem wearing it,’ Lucie said.

Uncle Jem could look well with it, she guessed, but she couldn’t picture Cordelia’s father wearing a necklace.

‘It changes into something different for each of us. For my father, it was a fancy golden watch. For uncle Jem, it was a jade pendant.’

‘Has Alastair ever carried cortana?’ Lucie asked, curious what it would change into for him.

‘No,’ Cordelia said. ‘He did want it when he was maybe fourteen, but the sword chose me over him. I think he later realized it wasn’t for him anyway. He has his daggers in case something really bad happens, but apart from that he’d rather stay away from the dangerous parts of the supernatural.’

Lucie wasn’t sure what she wanted, if given a choice. Sometimes ghosts could be unsettling, especially when she discovered they had passed recently or asked her if she could solve their murders. She wanted to be a writer, not a hero, but at the same time, she liked being able to see people when no one else could and she liked solving mysteries. She liked being able to help, to give the ghosts some power. Unfortunately, many ghosts needed things she could not give them and reading them parts from her stories didn’t typically help them move on. Some did give useful feedback though.

‘Are his daggers magic too?’ Lucie asked. ‘Like cortana?’

‘I don’t think they can kill anything like cortana does. We don’t know, some are old and have a rich history and for all we know they were magic. Neither of us have been willing to test that though, and Alastair keeps them because he likes collecting them, he doesn’t intend to fight with them if he doesn’t have to.’

Lucie didn’t know the particulars of killing supernatural creatures, and according to her father much of it was trial and error. Cortana was special in that regard, since it guaranteed to kill anything, but for others they would just have to hope whatever weapon they have does something.

‘Do you think they have started looking already?’ Lucie asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Cordelia said. ‘Missing children usually have a high priority, so I guess they would have started already. Searching a lake for a body might take some time, even a small lake like this one.’

‘What are you doing here?’

Lucie and Cordelia turned around to see Alastair and Thomas. Alastair really looked tiny next to Thomas despite being average height, she thought. They both looked like they’d been here for a while, a bit sweaty, Thomas’ face flushed. Alastair’s usually meticulously styled dark hair was a bit messy.

‘We went for a walk.’

‘I thought you wanted to go swimming,’ Alastair said.

‘We did go swimming, but after that we came here,’ Lucie said. ‘For distraction.’

She decided the boys had better know the truth too, and summarized her encounter with Steve’s ghost in the lake and the story he’d told about being unable to get out of the lake.

Thomas looked unusually nervous, was he alright? Alastair looked concerned at most, but as far as Lucie remembered he rarely showed emotion. She wondered if Thomas and Alastair had had any fun during their walk.

‘Trapped in the lake?’ Alastair frowned. ‘There are stories of people getting trapped in certain places by powerful beings. Of course, no one knows if those are true since people who become victims of such things usually don’t live to tell about it.’

‘Perhaps we better return to grandma’s house,’ Lucie suggested. ‘Then we can explain everything, figure out if anything needs to be done.’

On their way back, Lucie did most of the talking. She asked Thomas and Alastair if they had any fun, but neither of them spilled much. Thomas mentioned something about them seeing a hedgehog and that Alastair liked them, and at some point Lucie fell into telling them all about her latest story idea. Only when they were home it occurred to her that Alastair might not care for her stories at all. Lucie could never tell, and when people politely told her something along the lines of ‘that’s interesting’, she tended to take that as an invitation to talk about her projects for the next hours. British people tended to be very polite, so they never said what they meant and left Lucie to figure out what they were trying to say. It was very annoying.

Not long before grandma’s house came back in sight, something caught Lucie’s eye. She stopped, Alastair nearly bumping into her, but she ignored him. Instead, she stared in the direction where she thought she might have seen something. There was a boy there. Not the one from the lake, but another boy of around twelve. Dark hair, light eyes, Lucie realized she recognized him.

‘Lu, are you alright?’ Thomas asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a- never mind.’

You look like you’ve seen a ghost, except with Lucie that was often the case and it rarely startled her this much.

She’d known about her ability already when Jesse died, had known about for as long as she could remember really. She’d searched for him, in the forest where he’d died, at school. She’d even gone by his mother’s house, who had refused to let her in. She’d never seen him, never even caught a glimpse. He must have moved on already, she’d thought and although she’d wished she’d had a chance to say goodbye, Lucie was fine with the idea of him moving on. It was better than remaining as a ghost.

But here he was, and he hadn’t changed a bit since he’d died over four years ago. Still a twelve year old boy, and it hit Lucie just how young he’d died.

‘Jesse!’ she called out.

Jesse looked up. He had a haunted look in his eyes ghosts sometimes had. He didn’t say anything, nor did he move any closer.

‘Jesse!’ she tried again. ‘It’s me, Lucie! I can see you!’

Jesse opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then disappeared as if he’d never been there. There was no poof, no cloud of shadows or ray of light in which he disappeared. He was just gone, no evidence that he’d been there at all. But Lucie was sure of what she’d seen. Jesse Blackthorn had just appeared in front of her. But why here, so far from where he’d lived and what he knew? Why now, four years after his death?

‘What is he saying?’ Cordelia asked.

Lucie shook her head as she tried to get her breathing under control. ‘Nothing,’ she whimpered. ‘He’s gone. He disappeared. But he was right there, it was him.’

#Lucie Herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #thomas lightwood #Alastair carstairs #Lucelia #Thomastair #fic #fanfiction #tlh #the last hours

23 notes · View notes

seventhstrife · 4 years ago

Text

SubScorp Week 2021 Day 4: Lust 1/3

I AM SO MAD ABOUT THIS PROMPT!!! IT GOT RIDICULOUSLY LONG!!! LIKE, AN UNREASONABLE LENGTH OF FIC WAS ACHIEVED THROUGH THIS PROMPT THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE EASIEST ONE!!! WHY IS MY BRAIN LIKE THIS!!!

Special shoutout to all of the wonderful, lovely, ridiculously patient people on discord who weathered me complaining about my stupid hellbrain lolol

Only part 1 tonight since I literally spent all day writing nearly 10k words, and there’s no way I can edit it and also sleep before my shift LOL

Read it on AO3.

Part 2

It would have been kinder, perhaps, to simply announce his arrival, but Hanzo had grown so fond of being amused in recent years and he could not resist the urge to indulge.

Gathering a handful of small stones, Hanzo climbed the nearest building and darted across the sun-baked clay of the rooftops, careful to remain unseen as he trailed his target.

A smile curled his lips beneath his mask. He waited until he was sure he was completely concealed, then let loose one of the pebbles in his grasp—a direct hit to the back of Kuai Liang's head.

The sight of Kuai Liang's flinch, as well as the sharp snap of attention and his dark expression of annoyance and suspicion through the crowded, dusty streets of the road, stretched Hanzo's smile into a grin. He bled into the shadows, knowing he would have to be swift if he wanted to stay ahead of Kuai Liang's attention.

He only managed one more stone's throw before Kuai Liang wisened up and scaled the nearest building. He was no fool, and tracing the stone's trajectory was a simple thing. Hanzo was forced to duck behind any cover he could find to avoid the Lin Kuei Grandmaster's thorough, careful scrutiny of his surroundings.

His next throw would be his last, he knew. He would have to make it count if he did not wish to be caught.

Hanzo crouched low and waited for his moment. The instant Kuai Liang turned, still scanning his surroundings for any movement, he sent his last stone flying.

He saw the beginning motion of Kuai Liang's whip-fast reaction, hand darting up in a flash to catch the stone, but Hanzo was already gone, swallowed in hellfire, and before Kuai Liang's fist fully closed around the rock, Hanzo appeared directly behind him.

Hanzo didn't hesitate. He tackled Kuai Liang to the roof, perched atop his chest before he could react.

Blinking in the harsh sunlight, Kuai Liang's scowl of deadly promise melted away into shock.

"Hanzo?"

Hanzo smirked. "Is this the standard of Lin Kuei assassins?" Hanzo shook his head. "Perhaps I should reconsider allying myself with a clan that is so soft."

Kuai Liang's eyes narrowed in a glare, but it was lessened by the reluctant smile that tugged on his lips, as if against his better judgment.

"I think I am the one who should be reconsidering my allies, if they are so eager to attack me on the streets," Kuai Liang pointed out, and Hanzo chuckled, finally stood and offered his arm.

Kuai Liang took the offered hand and absently brushed himself as he stood. His dark eyes, pleased and curious in equal measure, peered at Hanzo with confusion.

"What brings you to Outworld, Hanzo? And to me, specifically?"

Hanzo crossed his arms, gazing across the sand-dusted streets and modest abodes of the city, half of it hollowed out from the bright red clay of a mountain.

"I had received word that you accepted a mission from the Thunder God." Hanzo's face darkened with a grimace. "I would be neglecting the conditions of our alliance if I did not aide you."

"My mission is one of reconnaissance, Hanzo," Kuai Liang said, brow furrowed. "My life is hardly in danger."

"No mission from Raiden is as simple as he makes it seem," Hanzo said darkly. The loss of his clan—again—still burned. "If my presence is an insult, I beg your forgiveness," Hanzo continued, and he bowed. When he rose, he met Kuai Liang's eyes dead-on, determined and stubborn. "Allow me to accompany you, if only to set my mind at ease."

Kuai Liang had appeared taken aback at first, but understanding quickly bled onto his expression, and no little guilt. His own memories of the Kamidogu, and the manipulation he'd suffered, did not appear to have been forgotten either.

"...I accept your offer, Hanzo. Thank you." Kuai Liang said, and he returned the bow. "Shall we?"

The Thunder God's power had sent Kuai Liang to an Outworld city, but Kuai Liang's true destination laid deeper in the forest. An ancient temple, Kuai Liang informed him, long abandoned, had been rumored to have worshippers once more. Raiden merely wanted confirmation of such a thing, to decide his next move. The worship once practiced there had been forbidden, one steeped in ritual sacrifice and practices so brutal and cruel that even Outlanders shunned it, and if some sort of revival was in the making, Raiden suspected it would only be a matter of time before the cult spilled into Earthrealm and claimed the inhabitants there for their depraved rituals.

A simple mission, but one that did nothing to abate the uneasy feeling that had overcome Hanzo from the moment he'd learned of Kuai Liang's undertaking. He had not lied to Kuai Liang for his reasons for being here, but he had neglected the full truth: that, more than anything, he worried for his friend and what might happen to him when caught up in another machination of a God.

Once Kuai Liang had debriefed him, they fell into silence, traveling the forest with their ears peeled for the slightest sound that stuck out: voices, a footstep, anything that would confirm Raiden's suspicions. But caution and vigilance would only help them so much if Raiden had sent them into some sort of trap.

Hanzo pushed the worry from his mind. Nothing will happen to him. I will ensure it, he vowed.

The temple emerged from the trees when they were nearly on top of it. If it had been recently re-occupied, it did not show on the outside. The forest had been allowed to encroach upon it, nearly to the doors, and lichen and vines covered the side of the crumbling stone building as nature reclaimed it.

Hanzo and Kuai Liang knelt side by side as they observed the building, but it truly seemed abandoned.

"Shall we take a closer look?" Kuai Liang asked once it was plain they were quite alone outside.

Hanzo repressed a grimace; telling Kuai Liang he had a 'bad feeling' was out of the question, unless he wanted to make Kuai Liang think he indulged silly superstition and thus, lose his respect forever.

Hanzo nodded. They took a closer look.

Their steps were slow and cautious as they climbed the sun-bleached steps. Cracks and fissures stretched across nearly every surface, and while the stains were very faint, Hanzo still recognized the dried blood dotted across the stone.

It only took a few minutes to carefully sweep the temple for signs of life, and they met in the dusty temple's center once they were done.

"It appears abandoned," Kuai Liang observed, dark eyes lingering in a dark corner for one last check before he finally looked at Hanzo.

"I agree," Hanzo said, crossing his arms. "I hope the Thunder God has promised you something worthwhile for this waste of time."

A small smile tugged on Kuai Liang's lips; Hanzo pretended he did not find the sight incredibly gratifying.

"The terms of a contract are confidential, Hanzo."

"So, nothing," Hanzo surmised with a nod. "Unsurprising."

Kuai Liang's smile grew, amused. "Your time was wasted as well," he pointed out. "Will you demand compensation from Raiden?"

"Do not tempt me," Hanzo warned. He could do so without shame or remorse. After what the Thunder God had put them both through, it was the least he deserved.

Kuai Liang opened his mouth, eyes dancing with mirth—

But then his eyes shifted, just slightly, and he tensed, all over.

Hanzo barely had time to react before Kuai Liang was shoving him with a rough shout of, "Get down!"

His balance was upset but Hanzo recovered, quickly rolled to his feet in a crouch, one arm braced on the floor, the other already unsheathing his dagger.

"Jussst asss my hunger growsss, what ssshould I find but fresssh blood in the unlikeliessst of placesss?"

Skarlet ascended the last steps of the temple, an expression of satisfaction and interest on her features. She held a single hand aloft where an orb of thick, viscous blood twirled idly.

She came to a stop some distance away and widened her stance. Her fingers curled into claws and she stretched the blood like a scarf between her palms. Her eyes flashed between the two of them.

"My lucky day," she rasped slowly.

Hanzo frowned heavily, though it was almost a relief to finally face the inevitable complication he had been expecting this entire time. He darted a quick glance at Kuai Liang.

Kuai Liang was much in the same position and appeared unscathed as he leveled Skarlet with a heavy frown. A smear of blood shards streaked across the space they once stood.

"What are you doing here, Skarlet?" Pure, icy contempt dripped from his tone.

"I am the one who ssshould be asssking the questions, Sub-Zero." Skarlet arched a single thin eyebrow. "Asss the Outworlder, I am not the one who doesss not belong here..."

Hanzo rose and Skarlet's gaze cut to him, wary and deadly. He unsheathed his second dagger and gave them a spin.

"You are outmatched, Skarlet." He pointed at her with a blade. "You would be wise to leave."

Her mouth was hidden behind a crimson mask, but her smile was only too obvious in her tone.

"I am trembling with fear," Skarlet said mockingly, and barely before she'd finished drawing breath, she moved her hands in a quick sweeping motion that sent a wide arch of blood, suddenly crystallized, straight for them.

Kuai Liang had his ice to defend himself with, so Hanzo did not waste a moment summoning a ring of fire, nose wrinkling as the blood met his flames and burst on impact. A power based on draining the life from another—it was barbaric.

Hanzo's words had not been an idle boast—together, he and Kuai Liang were formidable, and years of fighting at one another's side had only fostered a deadly alliance, one of devastating power and precise, efficient strategy.

Barely minutes into the fight, Skarlet was showing signs of unease. She was smart to keep her back to a wall at all times, to better prevent them from flanking her, but the ceaseless assault of ice and fire was clearly wearing on her.

When Kuai Liang froze her leg, just long enough so that she caught a fireball to the chest, she staggered, fell to one knee as her harsh breaths echoed through the ancient temple.

Tales of her cunning and deadliness had not escaped them, however, and neither man allowed their guard down, approaching slowly, fists raised.

"Thisss," Skarlet panted, glaring at the two of them, "Isss hardly fair, isss it?"

"You chose this fight, Skarlet," Kuai Liang said pitilessly.

The way her eyes narrowed at Kuai Liang—that earlier feeling of unease rose within Hanzo once more.

"I did," she agreed. "And it isss time I evened the oddsss..."

Skarlet thrust the hand—that before had been clutching her side—at Kuai Liang, and a small disk of blood, no doubt razor-sharp, shot towards him at an incredible speed.

Too fast to deflect it properly, Kuai Liang raised his arm, and Hanzo only caught a glimpse of how it burst moments before impact, hovered in the air in dozens of pinpricks of needle-thin blades, before crashing again. As Kuai Liang dropped to a knee and ducked, shielding his face from the worst of it, Hanzo was already backing away as Skarlet flew at him in a sudden burst of deadly fury.

"I can already tassste your blood," Skarlet said with relish. The blade of her blood dagger locked with Hanzo's and their faces hovered close. Her eyes shined with wicked triumph. "I will enjoy gorging myssself in the daysss to come."

Hanzo only glared back, disgusted. Between them, a sudden light grew and Skarlet glanced down with wide eyes to see her dagger glowing-white hot to match where it met Hanzo's as his arms caught fire.

An instant later, the blade, warped, shifted, and burst. Skarlet cried out, backing away as the blood singed her and the hands she shook out were bright red from the blistering heat.

"You will only taste defeat," Hanzo swore, summoning his kunai.

The low thump of a body hitting the ground drew his attention away, however, and it was with dread that Hanzo clapped eyes on Kuai Liang—teeth gritted in a grimace of pain, hands clawed against the stone as if he might crumble the stone at their feet.

He raised glassy, straining eyes to meet his.

"H-Hanzo," Kuai Liang managed, and then he shuddered, hunched over, and a low grunt of pain escaped him.

The sight and sound of him chilled Hanzo to his very core. Kuai Liang had been trained, practically since infancy, to withstand incredible amounts of pain. Anything that made him cry out like that—

Hanzo looked to Skarlet and he had no problem recognizing the sheer relish and satisfaction of her expression.

The hellfire, always kept carefully maintained, overflowed into instant, black fury.

Faster than she could ever predict, Hanzo flew across the room, seized Skarlet by her neck and did not stop until he slammed her against the opposite wall. Her strangled choke—brutally cut off by his hands, pressing deep—only incensed him further because this one cry of pain was not enough.

"What have you done to him?"

Skarlet strained against his grip, but she could not touch him, not when he burned so hot. She quickly realized she could not escape, but she only laughed, a reedy, raspy thing that made Hanzo see red.

"It—It isss a new concoction," she hissed, throat working harshly beneath his fingers. He barely loosened his grip so that she could speak, despising every moment he was not killing her. "One I-I have been..." She swallowed. Her heels scraped against the stone wall for purchase. "Very eager to try out."

Hanzo tightened his grip once more and Skarlet's eyes grew larger, panicked and desperate.

"WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE."

With each word, flames licked Hanzo's tongue, eager to escape. The temptation to release the flames on Skarlet's wretched head, to burn away her smirk until only bone remained, was nearly overwhelming.

But Kuai Liang's life hung in the balance. He could not give in to anger.

He allowed Skarlet breath, and she finally spoke, "That blood wasss poisoned," Skarlet hissed and Hanzo tensed.

"Where is the antidote," he demanded, and Skarlet laughed again.

"It isss not that sort of poissson," she said. "Thisss one was made for...ssspecial occasssionsss..."

Hanzo narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

Skarlet looked into his eyes and victory shined in her dark, mad eyes.

"It isss a powerful aphrodisssiac," she purred, and Hanzo tensed. "If he is not sssatiated, his blood will boil."

Alarmed, Hanzo glanced at Kaui Liang. It looked as if he was already feeling the effects, if the way he clutched his abdomen meant anything. He ground his forehead against the filthy stone floor and even a short distance away, Hanzo could see the red welts rising from his skin, as if he were burning from the inside out.

"It would be bessst," Skarlet continued, able to speak more in Hanzo's moment of distraction, "If you left usss here." Her eyes darkened with desire and twisted eagerness. "I am more than up to the tasssk of helping him, and I am sssure he will find me very sssastisfying."

Kuai Liang would rather die, Hanzo knew.

Slowly, every line of his body a taut line of repressed violence, Hanzo allowed Skarlet to slide back down the wall so that her feet touched the floor.

Her eyes brightened with victory—and then Hanzo yanked her close, so that they instead widened with surprise and a quick flash of fear—for he had not released her yet.

"No," he simply said, and then he shoved Skarlet back.

Her skull cracked against the stone and she went limp.

Hanzo let her drop carelessly, turned his back on her, and quickly made his way to Kuai Liang's side. She would not die, he was sure of it, and though he dearly wanted to make her pay for poisoning Kuai Liang, there was still a chance she would be needed in the future, should her words prove false and some sort of antidote could only be procured through her repulsive blood magic.

Hanzo fell to his knees at Kuai Liang's head, hands hovering or unsure.

"Kuai Liang..."

Shakily, Kuai Liang raised his head. Hanzo didn't hesitate to clasp his hand when it was raised and his eyes widened to feel the heat of him, hot enough to rival his own skin.

"Hanzo..." Through his fierce grimace, Hanzo saw the flicker of uncertainty, the worry and anxiety brought on by this sudden vulnerability.

"I have you," Hanzo assured him and he squeezed his hand tightly. "We will fix this, I promise you."

Kuai Liang stared into his eyes for a moment, panting, face beginning to bead with sweat.

He sagged with a nod, weary and pained.

Hanzo swallowed them both in hellfire, and only the scorched stone and Skarlet's crumpled form marked their ever being in Outworld.

#@subscorp-week #@maagspies #@summertrapped #subscorpweek #subscorpweek2021 #subscorp #mk #mortal kombat #my stuff #my fics

22 notes · View notes

bibliocratic · 5 years ago

Note

If you’re in the mood for a prompt I’ve been thinking about Jon getting hurt during the apocalypse and trying to hide it from Martin in a manner very similar to what he warned Martin not to do to him. I enjoy your writing very much! Have a good day!

I am always in the mood for some good old apocalypse hurt/comfort! Thanks for the prompt <3

jonmartin, series 5 adjacent but no spoilers, hurt/comfort

It's been a long two days.

Jon's breathing is hard-won, gravel-scraping up a dry and scream-torn throat. If he is sleeping, and Martin can't tell, even now if that's what to call it when the Archive's Eyes are closed, his head is mercifully free of dreams.

Martin's hands are sweat-lathered, muscles taut with a wired and overworked exhaustion. The scabs on his arms are itching from where Jon's blunted, gnawed nails dug and scored in a senseless panic, as the rest of his body convulsed, set upon some feverish pyre.

Martin doesn't even think Jon knew who he was. Doesn't know how long it will take for Jon to claw himself back.

It's been a long two days, but then days don't exist any more, so maybe he's getting the times wrong again. Martin shakes his shaggy head free from the dizziness building up, dust and grime clogging the smooth-running of him, adjusts his tremulous hold on the cricket bat, already soiled and discoloured dark along its edge. The sky hasn't taken on a night-pall since the world crashed sideways; it's the perpetual grey of an un-tuned station, studded with the great flexing, conjoining, bifurcating pupils that are now all staring at their beleaguered Archivist as he sweats and burns and cries out and whatever Martin can do for him, it is clearly not enough.

They'd thought it was the Hunt when it had attacked. Slaughter at a push. Jon had cast his face in a dissatisfied, pained expression, bemoaning his own slowness as Martin disinfected the snag-toothed wound of the now decimated beast, cleaning off the blood as thoroughly as possible, bandaging the area as Jon shook jittery with adrenaline and pain they'd no remedy for.

It was clearly sore to walk on. Jon had grunted as he stood, waved off Martin's fussing, trying to grind down any insurrection of his body even as they went mud-trudge slow across the vacant domain.

He'd grown ashen as his steps lost their stride and turned to shuffling. Martin had been the one to set his jaw and put his foot down, setting up camp in that nether-grey of something that would never be night again, shoring his spine with his own brand of stubbornness. Jon had agreed, but clearly not happy about their lack of progress, and they compromised on resting for a few hours, see if Jon's body would heal the injury on its own.

When Martin had asked Jon later if he was feeling better, Jon had said yes. Had said it was all healed up even as he shouldered his backpack, that they should really get moving. Martin had made a quip about Jon's super healing abilities and Jon had, he'd smiled like he was in on the joke, hadn't he?

Jon had said he was fine, and Martin believed him because he trusted him to tell him the truth.

They'd walked and walked through mire and moor and Jon had ploughed on, hadn't winced and stumbled. He'd been quiet, but then there were days like that for the both of them, that wasn't – should Martin have said something? Had the lines around his eyes been tighter, had he turned away from Martin as they walked, had there been anything he'd failed to see? As they walked, when they set up camp and Martin had helped Jon with the zip that was always getting stuck on their sleeping bag, when Jon had encircled his arms bodily around Martin and grunted a weary goodnight.

Martin had tussled free from the greedy, fog-banked maw of his nightmares to Jon panting and spasming next to him. Eyes all open, pocked across his body like boils, rolling sightless, his pupils shot wide in the damp frame of his skin, frothing spit at the corners of his mouth. His skin shiny, fish-scaling with sweat, his outward front of humanity losing ground as his flesh becomes more eyes than skin, his voice crackling like corrupted tape, his words, when they slicked garbled and gibberish from his lips, all stolen from other people's tragedies.

He throws his body around storm-wrecked and insensate, and he burns when Martin puts a hand to his forehead, and he won't wake, not for Martin's calls and shakes, not for anything.

When Martin goes to check, the wound on his leg has rooted from ankle to thigh, festering rot-black branches of something sludgy and swollen and varicose tracing the same lines as his veins.

The Corruption wars with Beholding upon the battleground of its Archive, and there is nothing Martin can do.

Their camp transitions to medical bay, but Martin is not a doctor. He tries to use the limited water they have to quench the fire-brand heat across Jon's skin; Jon flinching and fighting every pathetic gesture to comfort. Martin's mouth runs itself down shushing and failing to soothe his scalding delirium, Jon who sheds tears and pleads forgiveness and begs mercy for those he has lost. The dark lichen that is ensnaring the veins of his hip, his stomach grants him the cruelty of being able to see his burden of ghosts made material before him.

He cries at whatever Tim says to him. He tries to follow a phantom Sasha from the tent, struggles against Martin as he tries to keep him from walking out, from hurting himself more, Jon's slurring words barely understandable but for his moaning desperation that slips into anger for Martin to let go, it's Sasha, Martin, let me go, Martin!

He scratches and bites and Martin makes himself immovable, insurmountable. Jon's struggles always boil down to a grief-drowned sobbing eventually, and Martin can carry him limbless and half-collapsed back to bed.

Martin treats the yellow-weeping wound with what little antibiotic ointments they packed, cleans the swollen, reddened skin, and Jon wavers between the ghosts and shadows of his lying brain. Martin prefers the tearful, mourning Jon in some ways, because at least, there, in some ways, he at least remembers who Martin is, even if he might as well be as wraith-like as his hauntings.

It is better than Jon's terror.

When Martin looms large and unknown over him, Jon's legs scatter to push away. His eyes recognising nothing, staring up at him with suspicion. Jon's body has not been kindly used, these past years, and Jon won't let him touch his wound, kicks and pushes him away, tries to run even as his legs give under him. When every question is laced with the command of the Archive, and the compulsion tears answers Martin didn't want to give from his throat, the static in his head too much like Elias' violation and still Jon is panicking, asking his questions and not understanding the answers, and Martin dutifully retches up every horror Jon wants to be privy to, even if he's not sure it's only Jon asking, it's only Jon who wants to know any more.

Martin's body heaves up every unwanted honesty, peppering them with hysterical apologies of his own as he holds his hands over Jon's mouth to gag him, muffling the sound painfully as he presses his hands to clench Jon's jaw to immobile, even as Jon fights him, even as every eye stares and finds him wanting.

Martin is exhausted being a prison, of being so held as hated in the eyes of someone he knows loves him. But one of them has to be stronger now. Martin has never wanted to think of Jon as dangerous, but he watches the eyes grow rounded and alert as they feed on his dredged up horrors, the static ringing howling and hungry in his head. He's not entirely sure Jon will be able to stop himself from going too far.

When Jon calms, slips back into fever-dreams, there are bruises in the shape of fingertips around his mouth, and Martin can hardly bear to look at them.

The roots have receded their front lines, the puncture wounds puckered smaller when Martin checks again, and he can't look at that either.

It has been a long two days.

Jon's shivering has settled now. He rocks and frowns and breathes shallowly, but he doesn't bawl and sob names at the air. He doesn't try and ask any more questions. His fever broken, Martin thinks he's dream-walking again, for the roots continue their retreat steadily, the Archive feeding somehow.

Some pawing, creeping things have chanced their luck at an embattled, weakened Archive, and Martin's responsibility teeters between nurse and soldier. He's not a good fighter, but he's desperate for them both to survive this and that serves him well enough. There's blood scoring a bandoleer down and over his shoulder, a crest of viscera coating his shirt from some misbegotten creature of worm and want. He can't put weight on his right foot properly. He is so so tired, but still he sits, half folded, his grisly cricket bat over his knee, directly in front of the open mouth of their tent and the dreaming Jon, whose eyes scatter misted and blind under his eyelids.

Jon returns as Jon maybe a day later. Disorientated, groaning as he sits up, only two eyes in his head again. He calls out Martin's name, dry-throated, in his own voice again. He sounds sluggish and cautious. Not accusatory or betrayed or scared.

Martin kneels down by the sleeping bag, checking the untroubled skin of his calf is free from wound or infection. Jon's eyes are staring at him, nervy, over-bright, but he ignores them for the moment. Exhaustion has sanded down all his edges; he doesn't have the energy he wants for his anger, not yet, not when the worry has yet to pass from his system.

“How long was I, um, out of it?” Jon asks slowly. He looks uncomfortable. The tent is permeated with the unflattering smell of sickness and blood, both of which he has noticed if the slight wince in his expression is anything to go by.

“Three days, I guess,” Martin throws out, packing up the medical supplies now he's sure they won't be needed any more. “Not that time works any more, but you know. Estimate.”

“My leg...?”

Jon has the good grace to look guilty, and Martin feels a petty, digging stab of satisfaction. Good. Good that he knows he fucked up there.

“It got infected,” he replies shortly, shoving the supplies down to the bottom of his rucksack, kicking some clothes in a bundle near the mouth of the tent. He'll fold them separately in a minute; they're going to need to be cleaned at the next place they find water. “The thing that bit you, I think it must have already been aligned to Corruption, or whatever.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Yeah.”

“...Martin?” Jon's voice is low and tentative. He looks as weak as Martin feels. Martin closes his eyes, because he can feel what is coming, and he can't do this, not now, not with his thread-bare temper, the panic that's not unknotted from his bones. “Martin, why won't you look at me?”

Martin straightens from his hunch. Breathes out long and hard through his nose. Turns.

“Better?” he asks. He knows it comes out as a snap.

Jon's eyes go wide as they properly take him in, a blood-tainted furious wash-out of a man.

“You're hurt,” he breathes out, looking at the marks left by things Martin didn't kill fast enough, the little smarting wounds Jon dug in himself in his terror.

Martin wants to snarl at Jon to stop looking at him.

He doesn't.

“Yes,” Martin replies instead.

Jon's hands are taking on gestures of panic.

“Martin, will you – God, s-sit down, I-I-I'll get the medical supplies, take a look at them, make sure they're nothing – ”

“No,” Martin says. He's struggling to remain impartial, to remember how to be gentle to those he wants to treat gently. He breathes out another jagged exhale. “No. I'll sort them myself.”

Jon's pushing himself up to standing, staring critically at the disastrous image Martin makes, motioning to the rucksack.

“If you just let me – ”

“No,” Martin snaps. “No, I don't want you to help me, alright? What I want, ok, is to make sure you're all healed, and then I want as close to a bath as I can get in this bloody hellscape, and then I want to get some fucking sleep for a bit. That at the moment, that is the limit of what I am capable to wanting.”

There's a tense pause.

“You're angry at me,” Jon says in a small voice.

“Ten points there, Jon, really perceptive,” Martin snarks back. He can't look at Jon because he knows that would have stung, and he knows he wanted it to, wanted Jon to know a fraction of how much these last few days have hurt.

“Because I didn't tell you about my leg?”

“Oh, I'm not sure. Do you think that's possibly something I might be a bit upset about?”

“Martin...”

“If you're going to – to give me excuses, I don't want to hear them. Of course I'm upset! I'm furious actually. Because you told me it was fine. You told me it was healed, and I trusted you to tell me the truth, because unlike you, Jon, I can't read people's bloody minds, s-so trusting you is all I have to go on. Apparently that was asking too much from you.”

Jon flinches at that. Martin bites his tongue so hard it hurts, and tells himself that Jon deserves his honesty, not, never his cruelty. That this is not the man he wants to be.

“I am angry,” he repeats, deliberately quieter. “And we will talk about it later. But I – I cannot deal with it right now. Not without saying something I'll regret. So I want you to drop it, and just – leave me alone for a bit.”

Jon nods jerkily, looking cowed and miserable.

“Alright,” he says. “Alright, I'll – er, go, have a scout around for any water?”

It's as open an offer for space as Martin's going to get.

Martin must have collapsed onto the sleeping bag first before anything else because he wakes up with his shirt still starchy with blood what must be hours later. He blinks, turns over, groaning at his protesting muscles. Jon's eyes immediately swivel to him from the other side of the tent.

“You fell asleep,” he says quietly. He's clearly been sitting nearby, waiting for Martin to open his eyes. “I didn't want to – There's a stream, not too far, and I, um got water, if you want to wash... I've used some, so it's er, it's safe, and I've, er boiled it in case of, er bacteria and things. I'll – I'll get it and then give you some privacy....”

He's stumbling up. Martin reaches out a scratch-marked hand, and murmurs 'Jon'.

He doesn't know what he wants. He feels gross and sluggish and wrung-out empty, and the ashes of his anger are still embers he could stoke into expression.

Jon lingers. Looks from Martin's eyes to Martin's outstretched hand. He still has bruises the shape of fingertips near the side of his mouth, and he strikes an ill, frail figure in this light.

Martin's had enough of Jon looking scared of him these past few days.

Martin repeats his name.

Jon comes over. Kneels down where Martin has sat up so they're almost the same height.

Martin's hand settles on Jon's wrist, and he exhales shakily.

“Why didn't you tell me something was wrong?” Martin asks. This is not the question he wants to ask. The question sat poisonous behind his teeth is why didn't you trust me enough to tell me the truth? Neither of them can stomach that sort of question right now.

“I thought it would go away on its own,” Jon replies, shame coating his words. “I thought I could handle it. I didn't want you worrying.”

I worry anyway, Martin does not say. Does not need to.

“You were so sick,” Martin whispers instead. “You were so sick and you weren't getting better for such a long time, a-and there was nothing I could do but watch.”

“I'm sorry,” Jon says. “God, Martin, I – I'm sorry.”

“I know you are,” Martin replies quietly. “I know.”

Martin might offer up forgiveness if he wasn't so tired. His head so thick with all the things he is powerless against in this world.

“Let me,” Jon says, at Martin's side. His fingers hover over Martin's shoulder. “Let me, please.”

Martin nods.

Jon helps him strip out of the disgusting, blood-ruined armour he's been stewing in. His movements are faltering but methodical, light-fingered and exploratory. He soaks a cloth in water that's cooling down from boiling, dabs at every small mark scattered like anvil sparks across Martin's chest, his arms, the deeper wound at his shoulder that's begun to blossom with bruising. His eyes keep flicking to Martin's face, like he's double-checking something.

Martin, for his part, turns dozy and biddable, straining to keep conscious while Jon apparently tries to put plasters over every single mark on his body.

“What did this?” Jon finally asks as he presses gauze to the slash over his shoulder.

Martin blinks slowly, rouses.

“The usual,” he says. “Bunch'a monster things, wantin' to take a bite out of you.”

Jon hums.

“I saw what was left of the cricket bat,” he says. “Very gallant of you.”

Martin huffs a laugh. Jon continues wiping the grime and dirt down from Martin's arms, stopping every once in a while to soak and wring out his cloth.

“What did this?” he asks again, peering at the imprints where fingers wrapped around the meat of Martin's arm and tightened, the crescent curve dig of nails.

Martin thinks about lying, but he doesn't have the strength. He can't shoulder it, and neither of them should have to. Secrets have never served either of them very well.

“You,” he replies, lowly. “You were, you were feverish, you didn't know what was happening.”

“I didn't...?” Jon starts, but then he reaches up, touches his own bruise-marked jaw with a dawning realisation.

“I hurt you,” he says, slow and horrified.

Martin remembers every horror and honesty the Eye dragged from his unwilling throat to bolster the crumbling body of its Avatar, and murmurs: “You didn't mean to.”

He doesn't say that he thinks it helped. He doesn't say that if anything like this happens again, it'll be an option. He doesn't think Jon wants to hear that right now.

Jon pulls away as his mouth shapes another sorry, but Martin cuts him off, enfolds his arms around his scarecrow limbs and buries his face in Jon's throat. After a moment, Jon's trembling arms complete the circuit.

“You can't do this again,” Martin says, throat thick. “I can't – I can't do this on my own. I can't do this if you don't trust me.”

“I do,” Jon breathes in, damp and hitching. “I do trust you, I'm – I'm sorry. Martin, I'm sorry. You're not on your own. It won't happen again, I-I promise, it won't.”

They spend a long time holding each other up in that small, cramped tent, murmuring promises this life might not let them keep.

Martin crushes down the cynicism this world has tried to teach him, and chooses to believe in every single one.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #hurt/comfort #fic #cw depictions of fever #cw nonconsensual compulsion #martin blackwood #jonathan sims

433 notes · View notes

reversemoon255 · 4 years ago

Photo

(From September 2020 to February 2021, I worked on a Pokémon themed Dungeons and Dragons campaign for a few friends. We didn’t get very far, but I put a significant amount of work into the world, story, and several Pokémon that would appear throughout, including an original set of starters. I want to to leave some record of my work, so I thought I’d write a few summary posts. And while I designed these Pokémon, their fantastic art was done by @extyrannomon on Twitter. I highly recommend you check them out.)

Dungeons 'n' Dragonites - Phase 1: Hello Stelopy City

Our story starts in Stelopy City, located in the Wellou Region. We get a brief introduction from DJ Tomomitsu, a radio host, before each player got their own brief story segments. Our first player was Ethan, as aspiring chef, who lived on campus at his high school. Ethan was approached by one of his dorm mates with a favor (to get him out of the building), as well as having an attractive girl meandering around the kitchen (if he wished to try flaunting his culinary skills). He would then get to choose to either finish up his side-quest or go to the local fisher's market, with him transitioning between those locations taking him to the area where he would meet his starter Pokémon:

"As you enter the alleyway, the walls are covered floor-to-ceiling in moss that seem to appear as soon as the shadows overtake the sunlight. The farther you walk, the more weeds you see popping through the cracks. Once you reach the half-way point, you come to a small open space. With the sunlight now flickering down through the plants brave enough to venture off the verdant walls, the entire area shines a bright, emerald green. In the center of this area is a decently sized fountain. It's no longer flowing, but there's a decent amount of rain water filling it up close to the brim. As you approach it, even through the murky iridescent waters, you can see a thick, fuzzy amount of lichen growing all throughout the inside of the basin. As you pass by the fountain, you hear an audible sploosh. Do you turn around? (Y/N)"

There he would meet the first of our new Starter, the Grass-Type Flymph. I kept it secret that I was doing original Starters. Part of my personal excitement in planning everything was the eventual reveal of these designs I had created. Kept me going when things started feeling like a grind.

Our second player, Johnny, started off at home, woken by his father asking him to run an errand. After being able to talk to his family a bit, he proceeded to a somewhat beaten-up house on the edge of the Pokémon-overrun abandoned district where he would receive some boat parts before leaving and the sidewalk underneath him collapses. Stumbling around the abandoned subway tunnels for a bit, he would run into our second Starter, the Fire-Type Calfyre.

Johnny's player wanted to become an entertainer, which didn't give me a lot to work session one, so a lot of his opener was focused on expanding the world and giving everyone an idea of areas they would be exploring later.

Third was Orion who had a quiet morning at home before being provoked via text messages from his siblings to chase down a mysterious "Wailord in a Top Hat." This pursuit would also lead him to the fisher's market and the nearby docks, where, after just catching sight of his quarry, he would encounter the Water-Starter Squisque.

Orion's player wanted a lot of his story to be based on his relationship with his father, so most of his opening was based on reinforcing his family dynamic. Not home, everyone’s busy, focus on work. This particular Saturday was strange in that Orion didn’t have anything going on.

Our last player was Arthur, who also lived on campus. While our other three players started their segments in bed, Arthur was playing lacrosse. After having an opportunity to show off (or fail), he would be told by a friend that he had upset his girlfriend that morning (kitchen girl from Ethan's story), and needed Arthur to pick up her favorite dessert while he attempted to woo her for the rest of the day. After doing so (while being given a chance to explore some of the local stores) he encountered a hungry Houndoom who proceeds to chase him up a fire escape. Once up there he encountered our final Starter, the Fairy-Type Utaw.

After each player met their Starters, they would have a brief tutorial battle against three Pokémon they were advantageous against before running into each other, and were subsequently arrested for "stealing" Pokémon, which would cap session one.

=====

Let's talk design. Stelopy City is loosely based on Chicago, is a portmanteau of "Steel Canopy," and Wellou is a joke on Illinois. The vast majority of the campaign was to take place in this location. Most of my players had very busy schedules (so busy it took us three sessions to get through the above opener), so DJ Tomomitsu was a way for me to easily start each session with a list of things to do (side-quests), and they as a group could decide which they were the most interested in based on time. Tomomitsu himself was based on DJ Sagara from Kamen Rider Gaim, with Tomomitsu being the name of the actor who played him.

As for the starters, I tried to stick to the reoccurring themes we’ve seen over the past 8 Generations. Flymph's name is a portmanteau of Dragonfly, Errol Flynn, and Nymph (the larval form of a Dragonfly). He's meant to be a special attacker, but, like an early DND Wizard, doesn't have access to a lot of them so he brandishes his sword-like arms to intimidate his foes instead. His diet consists entirely of lichens, algae, and similar flora, storing them in his transparent stomach pouches, and can be seen sunbathing in the water, belly up, feeding the plant matter the sunlight they need to grow. He also does not like Bug-Types, and isn’t Bug himself because of Grass/Bug’s myriad of weaknesses (for balancing), plus he changes Types after his first evolution. The theme of Grass Starters is extinction, which won’t become clear until his final evolution, but you may be able to guess how he relates.

Fire Starters are themed after the Chinese Zodiac, and of the remaining four yet to be used (including Snake, Ram, and Horse), I went with Ox. Calfyre's name is a play on Calf and Fire, and is meant to play like a Barbarian. When it comes to personality he's very timid and unsure of himself like a first-time DND player might be acting in a group. Unlike most Fire-Types, Calfyre lacks a Flame Sac. Instead, his spiral horns are filled with a freon-like liquid that, when swirled, rapidly absorbs energy from the air, which he uses for attacks. This chills the air around him, and makes him one of the few Fire-Types that are cold to the touch. Which sucks, because he’s a snugly sleeper.

Water Starters are usually themed after a weapon or character class. This usually shows in the later evolutions, but it's pretty obvious Squisque (a portmanteau of Squirt, Squire, and Bisque) is themed off a lance and shield. He's a paladin in both role and personality, charging in at the slightest sign of trouble, even if there isn't any real danger. It's the typical non-nuanced idea of what people think when they hear "Paladin." He was to a degree supposed to play a catalyst role, charging into situations the players may not want to in order to force them into helping people or combat if need be. He was also the first design I settled on, being based on an old Kaijin idea I had of a lobster-knight using its asymmetrical claws as different medieval weapons.

Utaw is unique, not just in that he was a fourth or Fairy Starter, but in conception. I was only supposed to have three players, but ended up with four. As such, his design is responsive to the others. Why a dinosaur? Because I had a mammal, crustacean, and bug, was unsure if I wanted a bird or reptile, and decided to meet half-way. Why is he Fairy? Because it has very little interaction with Fire, Water, and Grass, while still having defined weaknesses and resistances to certain types. (Also, this player wanted a Dragon-Type.) He’s based on a Utahraptor, hence the name, and is misspelled to include “Claw” or “Caw.” He’s meant to play team Bard, and uses sound moves. As for personality, he's a bit of a birdbrain who enjoys fighting. Not maliciously; it’s just fun, again acting like a new DND player who’s more interested in combat than role playing.

The idea with the personalities was that each Pokémon was supposed to start out like a rookie DND player on their first campaign. Not knowing how to play their class, being uncomfortable acting in front of a group, leaning too hard into your role without bending, or just fighting everything you see without diplomacy. It felt like a fun extra layer to each of these Pokémon that tied them just as much into the DND side of things as the Pokémon.

=====

Back to our story, after being briefly detained (mostly as an excuse to give the players time to introduce themselves to each other, something my DMs have struggled with), they meet Professor(-in-training) Bianca. The four Pokémon had been found by Silph Co., and had decided to donate them to the Unovan Pokémon Research Lab. However, after seeing the Pokémon interacting with these people, Bianca decides to give them up instead. "Pokémon should be with people," after all.

I had three side quests set up following this (after they all go to the DMV to get their Trainer's licenses). The first was a general "there's wild Pokémon here" quest where they could train and catch things. There was a sale at the mall where they could get some cheap held items and have their first trainer battle, and an event at the fisher's market where they could win some free items and would lead into their first dungeon.

The dungeon was what I was hoping they would pick, and would have them chase a group of Poipole through a warehouse, with them having different battles if they chose to enter from the front or the back. After defeating them, the Poipole would be sucked through a spontaneously generating Ultra Wormhole, with a high enough perception check revealing a strange laugh, or on a 20 have them catch a glimpse of a grey Charizard O_O

From there it was a matter of coming up with (or possibly recycling unused) side-quests until we reached the point where the Starters were about to evolve. I had a few things planned; introductions to a few reoccurring NPCs, a field trip to the local museum where they would be able to catch a Yamask (and possibly learn something about the origins of their Starters), and a raid battle against a group of Onix who would recur through the campaign.

The end of Phase 1 would come about with another dungeon. In the middle of the night, Ethan and Arthur would be awoken by their Pokémon to a group of Durant having busted through the floor of the dorm and raiding their kitchen. Easily driving them off, their Pokémon would encourage them to pursue. Later, full party in toe, the four of them would explore the Duranthill. There would be a number of possible encounters, but only one mandatory fight before reaching the depths. In said encounter, while being surrounded by a group of Durant, they would receive unexpected help from this Pokémon:

With some interpretation, they would discover that this Princess Durant was afraid for the sake of her colony. A new queen had taken up residence there, and was commanding the Durant to attack the surface and steal food for her. With additional party member in toe, they would descend further with better direction, eventually discovering the lair of the Queen Durant...

#Pokemon #Dungeons and Dragons #DND #DND Homebrew #durant

10 notes · View notes

jessikahathaway · 5 years ago

Text

Into Eternity - Part XIV

Holy shit I’m back. Here’s the next chapter, hope you enjoy :)

Pairing: Jimin X Reader

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Royalty!AU

Words: 5,439

Warnings: Major Character Death

You woke up that morning, warmth covering your back. Jimin’s arm wound tightly around your body.

Groaning slightly, you shifted in discomfort. Your husband truly did a number on you last night.

“Darling...?” Jimin said, moving from behind you at your pained noise.

“I’m fine Jimin, go back to bed,” you said, coughing suddenly hitting your chest hard.

“Y/N?” He said, laying you on your back against the pillows.

Shame crossed his face as he saw the state you were in. Your body bruised from his hands, no doubt between your legs hurt even worse. But what killed him was the smile on your face. It was big and bright, like it always was when you saw him.

“I’m fine, Jimin, truly-” more coughing came from your lips.

“I’ll get you something,” he said, covering you up with the blankets and hurrying to grab his clothes that had sat on the floor all night.

“Jimin come back to bed,” you whined. Your pleading tone made his fluffy head pop up from the other side of the mattress.

“But you’re sick-” he began.

“Sick and tired of waiting for you to get back in this bed!”

“Now aren’t you a little monster, demanding things so early,” he muttered.

“I’m so sore,” You huffed, leaning back into the pillows.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve been more gentle,” Jimin lamented.

“You can always make it up to me,” you teased, rubbing a thumb along his pouty lips.

Jimin’s eyes grew wide at your suggestion, taking your thumb in his mouth obediently. Just as you were about to suggest your less than appropriate plan to your husband, a knock came to the door.

“Highness? Lady Y/N? The morning has broken, we have a witch to kill,” Jungkook’s voice echoed through the room.

The playful air diminished as you looked at Jimin with fear in your eyes.

“Very good, Jungkook. We will be out momentarily,” Jimin answered.

The sound of the head guard walking away made your body tense. Jimin’s palm found your back as you shuddered from the cold. Bringing your body close to his he sighed.

“If only we could stay in this bed all day, my love,” Jimin teased, “I wish I never had to see you put on another gown in my life.”

“Yet you’re the one always buying them for me,” you countered.

Jimin laughed and fell back onto the bed with you in his arms. “We’ll be free after this day, Y/N... Free to live how we want... To rule how we want. The Kingdom is ours once we get back to the Royal Palace... What is the first thing you’d like to do as Queen?” he asked.

“First thing I’d like to do as Queen,” you thought... Your eyes became starry as you pondered all the possibilities. Jimin loved this look in your eyes. So sparkly and bright. He’ll never tire of it as you grow old together. Because this is the look of a woman who has a future. Not the dead eyed look of a woman who was not living her days, but existing within them. Your doe eyes made him chuckle, snapping you out of your stupor.

“What’s so humourous to you?” you asked, raising a brow in his direction.

Jimin simply shook his head, placing a kiss on your hairline.

“Nothing, my love. Nothing at all.”

---

The first time you laid eyes on Morgana was horrifically calm. She wasn’t angry, nor was she stupendously hideous. She merely look like a feeble, old woman. One who should be walking around with a cane and a small smile etched into her aged skin. But, you knew the truth about her. She was a wicked, despicable woman. One who prayed on the weak of will and faint of heart. She had a sliver of ice that had consumed her heart and soul.

Now, as you looked at her in chains, your heart still raced.

Your palms still sweat.

Because you knew she could kill you. And she would given the chance.

Jimin’s hand was interlocked with your own. The pair of you were walking behind the procession. Jungkook was at the front, leading with his hand on his saber the entire time. Father Jin and Hoseok were next, holding Morgana with the magically charmed restraints. Lord Taehyung and Yoongi were behind them, keeping a good distance between you and her.

You looked nervously at Jimin, knowing something was off in the air. You could feel it in your gut, something was wrong.

“Jimin,” you whispered, leaning into his side. He accepted you there, holding you around the waist as the pair of you walked.

“Yes my love?” he asked, kissing your head gently.

“Something is wrong, something doesn’t feel right,” you warned.

“I understand your nerves, we are about to kill the witch that has made our lives hell. You are nervous, as am I... But I know we must do this. This is the right thing,” Jimin stated.

“J-Jimin that’s not it,” you whimpered.

“Y/N? What is it?” he asked.

“I-”

“Up ahead!” Hoseok shouted, pointing to the monument growing in the distance.

“Finally, soon we’ll be free,” Jimin breathed.

Before you in the sky rose four large stone gates that appeared to be facing in the cardinal directions. In the very center was a pedestal, covered in green moss and lichens. You shivered in the chill of the winter air. But how was there life growing upon the rock in this kind of weather?

“Wow, do you feel that?” Jimin asked as the two of you got closer.

“Yes, it feels... Strong,” you whispered back.

“It’s the magical energy of the monument. It was here before my forefathers were born. They performed all of their rituals here during the dark ages. They prayed to their Gods to provide good harvest, to have the women birth healthy young, for the Kingdom to be prosperous. But they gave that up when the frosts started to become more brutal, women started dying as well as the children. There’s a reason the capitol isn’t here anymore,” Jimin explained.

“Morgana, to the pedestal,” Jungkook practically growled.

You stood besides Jimin, gripping his hand as you watched the witch get led forward. Father Jin latched his side into a stone hitch that lay towards the back of the cold slab of rock. Hoseok did the same on his side.

“Morgana, you are here for committing attempted murder on the King and Queen of this Kingdom,” Jungkook began.

“Which one? There’s been many before these little gutter snipes,” she sneered. You cringed as you saw her teeth, cracked and green before you. Jimin held you close, smoothing his hands down your back.

“Silence you putrid hag!” Jungkook yelled.

“I will read you your rights under God,” Jin said, approaching her with a tenderness she didn’t deserve.

“I don’t believe in your God, take pity on yourself and save the breath, you will need it for when your blood curdling screams take off across the snow later,” she smiled.

“What?” Taehyung said.

Her broken cackle echoed across the area, filling your stomach to the brim with dread. You knew something wasn’t right. You knew it, and yet you still followed. You let Jimin come here, and now-

SNAP.

The chains that held Morgana’s hands to the rocks broke, as if made of string. Jimin threw you behind him, keeping you out of her sight.

Jungkook moved to attack, when Morgana moved her hand, sending Jungkook flying into the stone column behind him.

“Jungkook!” Hoseok yelled.

“Now now, Hoseok... Let’s not pretend anymore shall we?” she teased.

Your blood ran cold.

“No,” you breathed, the fog of the word catching in the air in front of your face. But you still found yourself reeling.

“Hoseok you traitor! I’ll never forgive you for this!” Jimin snarled.

“I’ll never forgive you for taking me away from my pregnant wife! From my child whom I never got to hold in my arms. No, I had to follow my Prince’s orders and miss my wife’s delivery... But no matter, they will be back soon enough,” Hoseok huffed.

“Hoseok, they’re gone. But that isn’t Jimin’s fault! It’s her! It’s Morgana’s fault! She’s the one who attacked the village where they were! Jimin had nothing to do with that!” you tried to rationalize.

“He knew she could go into labor any day, and yet he still sent me. Not Jungkook, not my brother Namjoon. Me,” Hoseok stated.

“Hoseok, you were the only man who could do what I asked. You know that!”

“I can’t forgive you Highness... I just... I can’t,” Hoseok whispered.

“Hoseok dear, I believe it’s time for you to fulfill your end of the bargain,” Morgana chuckled.

“Yes, I believe it is,” Hoseok said. He took out both of his daggers, wielding them in the air before running.

Straight for you.

You closed your eyes tight and waited for a blow that never came. But a sharp metallic ringing is what echoed through the air, not your screams. You peaked your eye open and saw Jimin, sword drawn and being pushed against by Hoseok’s daggers.

“I won’t let you touch her,” Jimin growled, shoving Hoseok back hard against the rock.

“You won’t get a chance to say otherwise,” Hoseok rebuked.

The two began to fight. Jimin on the defense while Hoseok came at him again and again. You watched in horror as the two parried and lunged at each other. It was as if they were dancing, each trying to outsmart the other in the way they moved their bodies.

Hoseok was much more aggressive than Jimin. Hoseok had power behind each move, but Jimin had agility. He swooped and ducked, even falling to the ground to avoid his attacker.

But Hoseok was getting frustrated fast. He wanted this to end, and quickly.

“Hoseok, we’re like brothers, why are you fighting me?” Jimin asked, practically pleading in his tone.

“My family was all I had, and you took that away from me... So I’ll take your family away too,” Hoseok stated, lunging past Jimin’s cheek, leaving a cut across the tender flesh there.

“Jimin!” you yelped, moving to rush forward when you were caught around the waist. Taehyung whispered in your ear, pulling you further away from the action.

“Don’t, let them go, they need to do this,” he explained.

“They’re going to hurt each other, I can’t let that happen,” you whimpered.

“Neither of them truly want to hurt the other, but we need to fool Morgana” Taehyung whispered.

“But his cheek,” you gaped.

“It’s all a show, Morgana thinks that Hoseok is on her side...”

“On her side?”

“Hoseok confessed last night. He told us about his plans and what Morgana was forcing him to do. And that it was all based on the promise of his family being returned to him. But Father Jin discovered that Morgana has never possessed the power to reanimate beings, she was lying to get to him. The weakness of his recent loss made him susceptible,” Taehyung said, slowly pulling you away from their fighting.

Suddenly, you felt a force rip Taehyung from your side, throwing you to the ground with the strength of it. There was ice in your mouth as you coughed, your lungs desperate for oxygen. “Enough!”

Morgana’s sharp voice echoed through the cold stone.

“Y/N!”

You looked up from the snow and towards her. Jimin and Hoseok were breathing heavily, looking at each other with fierce eyes. For people who didn’t really want to kill each other, they were certainly playing the role well.

“Hoseok. That little wench over there is still breathing. Why is that?” Hoseok froze.

“He’s not giving me any room to attack,” Hoseok explained, sweat dripping from his brow..

“I have a reason not to lose,” Jimin stated, “I won’t let her watch me fail.”

Hoseok lunged forward, appearing to attempt a surprise attack, but Jimin simply moves to the side with practiced ease. Hoseok’s face flushed with frustration.

“My prince, you are stubborn. I will give you that, but I won’t lose. I can’t.”

Hoseok moved forward again, and this time Jimin moves a second too late. You heard him hiss in pain as Hoseok’s dagger shredded through his jacket and shirt, cutting his upper bicep.

You screamed and Morgana’s eyes focused on you. A shudder ran down your spine, the equivalent to ice water running through your veins at the look in her eyes. It was as if you were the very bane of her existence. As if she hated nothing more in the world...

Jimin gripped his arm, blood beginning to seep from the wound. “You caught me off guard, Hoseok. Revel in that attack, because it will be the last one you land on me,” Jimin teased, hitting Hoseok’s dagger from his hand and kicking him square in the chest. Hoseok’s breath flew from him as he landed harshly against the ground, Jimin’s shoe digging into his tender flesh.

“Hoseok, it appears I have the upper hand. And what do you say to that?” Jimin gloated.

“I say, NOW NAMJOON!” Hoseok cried.

“Namjoon?!” you yelled.

Then, Morgana lurched forward unnaturally, legs bowing forward as her chest puffed out. Behind her, Namjoon stood bravely. His saber skewered her, through and through.

Tears sprung to your eyes. He wasn’t dead. He survived the Forsaken, and now he was here to fulfill his promise to you and Jimin both.

Hoseok smiled as Morgana cried out, black blood pouring from her ripped skin. Gurgling sounds echoed throughout the clearing, making your stomach churn. Namjoon pressed his foot into her back and shoved her off his sword, watching as she fell into a heap on the ground.

“Hoseok... Y-you traitor... N-Now your family will... be in purga-tory for the... rest of time,” she groaned from the bloodied Earth.

“My family will rest in peace with their murderer dead,” he growled.

Morgana lay there, unmoving. Tentatively, you stood, holding your side.

“Ji-Jimin?” you asked, looking at him with teary eyes.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

You ran over, past Morgana’s body and wrapped your arms around your husband. Jimin smiled as he picked you up and spun you around. Pure elation ran through your veins, burning bright from within you.

“We’re free,” he whispered, kissing your face. You smiled as he set you down, hands locked behind his neck.

“We need to clean your cheek,” you whispered, fingers tracing his wound in a delicate manner.

“We’ll worry about that later, I think someone wants to say hello to you,” Jimin stated.

You turned around and saw Namjoon looking at you, a big grin on his dirty face. “Lady Y/N,” Namjoon greeted, bowing slightly. You matched his smile and ran over, giving him a big hug too.

“I thought we’d lost you,” you whispered, holding him tight.

“I have a duty to uphold my lady. A duty that I will forever follow,” Namjoon declared.

“I’m so glad we wound up not needing this,” Father Jin said, pulling out a small knife.

“What is it?” you asked, taking the blade between your fingers.

“Careful, there is an extremely potent poison placed on the blade,” he warned.

“Why didn’t we just use this instead of Namjoon’s saber, this is more discreet,” you pondered.

“Well it was kind of our last resort. It’s dangerous to wield it as well, because just a nick with this blade could spell death for the injured, I didn’t want to risk anyone’s life if it wasn’t necessary,” Father Jin explained.

“Y/N, you should put it down,” Jimin said, moving forward.

“I’ll be fine,” you said. Looking up at your husband, pure fear trickled down your spine. Morgana’s corpse had moved, standing behind him in a menacing posture.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Jungkook started to run from his place behind the pedestal. Father Jin was thrown backwards, as well as Namjoon and Hoseok. Taehyung remained back where the two of you had been thrown earlier, but his eyes widened in shock. Yoongi took aim from the back.

Before you had time to think, you moved forward shoving Jimin to the ground. Morgana’s blade barely missed his neck... However, it stabbed into your stomach square on. Pain erupted from your abdomen.

Jimin looked up in horror.

His wife...

His beloved wife stood above him, taking a dagger meant for him.

“Y/N! No!”

“I knew you’d protect him. Finally,” she sneered as she twisted the blade in your stomach. You whimpered in pain, feeling your strength begin to sap from your limbs.

“I-I’ll always... protect him,” you heaved.

“Foolish girl, this is what love gets you. Pain and suffering,” Morgana declared.

“No, love has brou-ught me so m-much more than you’ll e-ever know.”

Jimin was frozen to the spot, his heart hammering against his chest. How could he let this happen? He was a failure. He couldn’t even protect his wife from the one thing he knew would harm her.

He failed you.

“Die and know that your husband will fall in love with me, forgetting all about you. All he will know, is me,” she gritted, pulling the knife from your abdominal area.

You collapsed to the ground, blood pouring from your wound. Jimin scrambled to hold you, gripping your face. “Y/N, Y/N look at me,” he panicked, keeping your face level with his.

Morgana grabbed him by the back of his shirt, lifting him into the air with ease. She smiled a black tooth grin at him, making Jimin want to gag. Sniffing around his hair and neck, Morgana licked his injured cheek. She shuddered, seeming to enjoy the sensation of his agony.

“Your despair is so delicious my sweet, and your blood is addictive... God, I can’t wait for you to be mine,” she beamed.

“I-I’ll never be yours,” he fought, kicking his legs and attempting to fall from her ironclad grasp.

As she toyed with Jimin like a cat with a mouse, you saw your opportunity. Reaching forward, you took the knife in your hand and stabbed it directly into her foot.

Morgana shrieked, dropping Jimin onto the ground as she glared at you.

“You little bitch!” she cried, kicking you in the jaw. You groaned in pain, head knocking back aggressively.

“Y/N!” he whimpered.

However, just as Jin said, the poison began to take effect. Morgana’s body seized up unnaturally, twitching and shuddering in pain. “W-What is this?”

“Nightshade poison, mixed with brimstone you unholy demon!” Father Jin cried.

“N-No!” Morgana howled, body crumpling to the ground, continuing to twinge until a few moments later when she finally laid still.

Namjoon rushed over and pushed her over with his foot and took the dagger, ramming in through her skull. Crimson blood and brain matter covered the ground, making your head spin.

The air was eerily quiet.

A soft breeze came over the party.

Jimin scrambled onto his feet, rushing over to your mangled body on the ground. “Y/N? Y/N can you hear me?” he asked, pulling you into his lap.

Your eyes were drooping as you looked at your husband. Your vision was doubling, seeing your husband multiply and then come back to one person made your mind whirl in confusion. “Jimin,” you whispered.

“I’m here my love, I’m right here,” he said, holding your hand to his cheek.

“I-I’m dying,” you stated, weak voice cracking from the strain of speaking.

“No, no Y/N you’re going to be just fine, you’ll be okay,” Jimin said in a pained voice.

He held you close, leaning into your palm that cupped his cheek. Namjoon stood behind him, face grim. Father Jin had come up, kneeling down besides the two of you. Taehyung and Jungkook stood back, looking on with sorrow in their eyes. Hoseok couldn’t bear to watch.

“Keep pressure on it,” Father Jin ordered, pressing his robes to your wounds in an act of desperation.

“Will she live? Father please tell me you can help her,” Jimin pleaded.

Father Jin kept applying pressure to your wound, but you couldn’t feel it anymore... You had gone blissfully numb. You brushed his wounded cheek once more, frowning at the injury with distaste.

“We nee-d, to clean your c-cheek,” you coughed, blood seeping into Father Jin’s robes at an alarming rate.

Jimin felt his stomach drop into the Earth. “Just keep your eyes open, focus on me,” Jimin begged, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. You tried your best, you really did. But your head was swimming from blood loss and pain that it was impossible to complete the task.

“Jimin, we’re... free,” you breathed.

“We are my love, we are free, so now you have to live... You have to live so we can have a family, rule the kingdom together, love each other... forever,” he sobbed.

“I love you... so much, J-Jimin,” you stuttered, vision finally blotting out.

“I love you too, I will love you for the rest of my days,” Jimin cried.

You went limp in his arms, blood starting to stop it’s flow from your wound. Father Jin removed his hands, leaning back and looking down at the ground with tears falling from his eyelashes.

“Father, we must keep pressure on the wound,” he shouted, pressing his hands to your stomach with anguish.

“No we don’t Highness, no we don’t,” Father Jin cried softly.

Jungkook turned his back and was shaking, trying to keep himself together.

“Highness, I failed you, I’m so sorry,” Jungkook weeped.

Taehyung wrapped his arms around the younger male, bringing him to his chest. Taehyung coddled him like a small babe fretting. However, honestly the older man just didn’t want his subordinate to see him cry.

Yoongi covered his mouth, shocked by the proceedings.

Hoseok collapsed to his knees. “I-I... After everything we did, I gave up everything... And she still beat us,” he whispered.

Namjoon moved over to Jimin, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Highness, we must go, the Forsaken still exist, and they will be savage at the loss of their Queen.”

Jimin shook his head, burying his face into your cold neck. “I can’t leave her, I refuse,” he whimpered.

“Highness,” Namjoon urged.

“No! I won’t leave her here, I promised I would never leave her,” Jimin howled. Anguish covered the younger man’s features. Tears ran down his cheeks, making pathways to the earth on his face.

“Jimin!” Namjoon screamed.

The world was rocked into utter silence.

“We all loved her, we all are going to miss her. But now we have to let her go... We have to go, the last thing Lady Y/N would’ve wanted is for you to die with her as well. She died so you could go on living, please Jimin... Please let her go,” Namjoon said.

“Perhaps he can’t,” a distant voice uttered.

Namjoon pulled out his sword, directing it towards the noise.

“Who’s there?” Namjoon called, looking into the distance.

Jimin cradled your body closer to him, hand smoothing down your hair as he cried.

A sliver of blue mist appeared, circling above you and Jimin both. Namjoon pulled out his saber and pointed it into the air.

“Back demons, we’ve already lost so much today, please have mercy,” Namjoon stated, closing his eyes.

“My sweet Y/N,” Jimin sobbed, kissing the tomb of your head. The poor man was broken. The one thing he loved most in this world, taken from him in an instant. He thought the two of you were going to be together forever... But why did forever have to be so short?

“We... are not... demons,” a sweet tone answered.

“This is where we lost each other, and found each other again,” another voice answered.

“Who are you?” Taehyung shouted.

“I am Park Lee Suk, High King of Arcane Kingdom,” one sliver of blue mist answered, transforming into a full apariton. One that looked exactly like the deceased High King.

“And I am Park Lu Na, High Queen of Arcane Kingdom... Or, at least I was supposed to be,” she smiled, sheepish as her body came into view.

“Ghosts?” Jungkook whispered, trying to be brave.

“If you’d like to think of us that way, perhaps it will make it easier,” Luna said, smiling softly at the young male.

“Why are you here?” Father Jin asked, looking at them with interest. He’d never seen spirits before, the Holy words spoke of the dearly departed who can’t move on, whether it be an untimely end or unfinished business that keeps them...

“My poor child,” Lee Suk said, kneeling behind Jimin.

Jimin tightened his grip around you, cradling you close to his chest. “Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me, boy? You look an awful lot like me,” Lee Suk smiled.

“Y-You’re... You’re the ancestor who fell in love with Morgana!” Jimin exclaimed.

“It was not love that Morgana and I shared. She forced me into loving her, placed me under a spell of infatuation. The only thing powerful enough to break that spell, was true love. And Luna here, she set me free. Much like how Y/N set you free as well,” Lee Suk said, giving the boy a reminiscent look.

“Why are you here?” Jungkook asked, coming forward and placing his hand on his sword.

“Oh there’s no need for that.

“Oh, Y/N,” Luna said, coming closing and sitting besides you.

“Y/N,” Jimin whispered, brushing the hair from your face, keeping you within his grasp.

“Tell me, Jimin,” Lee Suk began, placing a phantom hand on Jimin’s shoulder, “Do you believe you could love after Y/N?”

“How could you ask me that? I can’t ever love someone the way I love her... Y/N is everything to me... And now she's gone...”

All beating hearts in the area ached with his broken tone. Jimin looked so utterly torn apart by your passing.

“I want to know you mean it, Jimin,” Luna said, looking him dead in the eyes.

“I can’t ever love someone the way I love Y/N, she’s the love of my life. The only love of my life, and today I failed her... I let her down. When she needed me the most, I couldn’t protect her. It’s all my fault,” Jimin whimpered, hiding his face in your stiff neck.

Luna and Lee Suk looked to one another and nodded before coming towards your body. Jimin tightened his grip around you and tried to keep you away from them.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking at them with uncertainty.

“Just trust us my child,” Lee Suk said, interlocking his hands with Luna.

“Lay her down,” Luna said, motioning with her head.

“I-”

“Sire,” Namjoon interrupts, “Do as they say.” Jimin gave him a frightened look, as if letting you go would mean losing you forever.

“Okay,” Jimin whispered, slowly lowering you from his iron grip to the soft and white blanket of the snow below.

Your hair fanned out against the beautiful ice crystals made Jimin want to cry harder. But soon, his ancestor and yours went to work.

They started at your head, laying their hands about a foot above you. A piercing blue light emanating from their palms. Jimin could barely keep his eyes open, but he watched on with morbid curiosity. Carefully they pressed on, moving over your neck and chest. As they proceeded Jimin realized they were whispering to each other.

Whether it was sweet nothings or a spell, Jimin couldn’t be sure. But soon, you were starting to rise from the snow, levitating into the air with the same blue aura encompassing you now.

“What’s going on?” Yoongi asked, looking up at you.

“I think,” Father Jin began, “I think I know this spell.”

“Father, what are they doing to her?” Taehyung asked, coming up to hold onto Jimin, who looked ready to collapse.

“They are giving the last of themselves. Their very essence, to bring her back,” Father Jin said,

“Oh God please let this work,” Hoseok said, rubbing his face.

“It has to, what other option do we have?” Jungkook whispered.

You were now at least twenty feet in the air, your body surrounded by this blue light. Lee Suk and Luna were with you also.

“Y/N,” Jimin croaked, reaching out for you like a child.

“Be strong Jimin,” Taehyung said wrapping his hand around his friend’s wrist. Trying desperately to stop his own tears.

“Taehyung what if they can’t bring her back? What am I to do?” Jimin whispered.

“Don’t think like that, this will work,” Namjoon said, coming forward to hold onto his friend’s shoulders.

The rest of the men came forward. Showing their support in the only way they could. By being there, next to their King, whom they adored more than anything. Father Jin came forward and took Jimin’s hands.

“Father?” he asked, looking down in confusion.

“You must say these words with me,” he said, wrapping his hands around Jimin’s slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“I know this spell, and it is difficult and rarely used. They’re giving their life force, their souls to bring her back. And they need our help. We must complete the circle for them. They are trying to do it with two people and it’s not enough. We must help them if we are to bring Lady Y/N back,” Father Jin urged, reaching out for the Taehyung as well. “All of you, interlock hands and repeat after me.”

The men did as they were told, all coming together and joining hands.

“From the blessed light above.”

“To the hellish darkness that consumes all.”

“We ask you take this offering of two souls.”

“We ask you to take this offering of two souls.”

The light above them began to pulsate and writhe as if it were wrapping itself around you in a way that was binding.

“Focus on the words men! Only the words!”

“But Father Y/N-”

“Will remain as she is if we don’t continue!”

“Keep going!” Jungkook yelled.

“Please accept our humble offering.”

“Arenatha hotep, inelex totum.”

“Urelian, mosef Y/N, et illiad terinuman.”

“Urelian, mosef Y/N, et iliad terinuman.”

“So let it be done. On this Earth, there may remain only one!”

The light above turned crimson red. Lee Suk peered down at his descendant. A bright smile crossed his face. “I hope you two are happy, like we never could be. Please, never take her for granted. Always cherish her, and remember us.”

Jimin looked at him, a single tear falling down his cheek and he nodded.

With that, the light burst as bright as an explosion lighting up the sky with its fury. Father Jin turned and looked up at your body still hovering in the air.

“She’s gonna fall! Hurry, get ready to catch her!”

Everyone gathered around, locking arms and creating a sort of net to ensure you wouldn’t hit the ground. Soon your body hit the ‘net’, causing everyone to fall down with you. Luckily the snow was deep and took a majority of the impact. Your skin was still paler than Father Jin had hoped. And your dress was still coated in your blood.

“Get her up on the stone, I need to examine her,” Father Jin said, urging everyone up.

“Father did it work?” Jimin asked, coming closer.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, helping to lift you into the air and onto the slab of stone next to you.

“Father,” Jungkook started. “There are Forsaken in this area, we need to move.”

“Jungkook is right, we can’t stay here,” Namjoon responded, coming forward.

“Is there any way for us to move her?” Yoongi asked, looking along the forest line his bow drawn.

“We can move her,” Father Jin answered.

“Then let’s get her to the carriage and back to the castle. I’ll send for guards to come as soon as it is possible,” Jungkook said, moving towards the stone slab.

“Taehyung get Jimin to the carriage as fast as you can, we’ll get Lady Y/N,” Namjoon said.

“Yes, Jimin come on, we’ve got to go,” Taehyung said, pulling his friend by the wrist.

“Y/N,” he whimpered, softly.

“She’ll be alright, come along,” Taehyung cooed.

Jimin slowly tore his eyes away from you and followed Taehyung to the carriage.

#Jimin #Park Jimin #into eternity #Jimin X Reader #Jimin X Reader Smut #Smut #BTS #Bangtan #Jessika Hathaway #Ficswithluv

51 notes · View notes

anxiouslyfred · 4 years ago

Text

Moss Graffiti

Summary: Virgil was convinced his soulmate worked in nuclear power from the poem he got describing them. He’s about to learn how wrong that is, and how weirdly some corporations view graffiti.

/\/\

Virgil's soulmate had to do something in nuclear power. He was certain of it. Why else would his poem include the line 'Green pollution close to hand'?

Really he'd taken decades to reach that conclusion, trying to decide what it could mean. Pollution usually wasn't anything green at all, but from those Simpsons opening credits, to the glow shows always used for nuclear radiation, that had to be what was intended. Unless there was something else being done that corporations would try to claim as pollution, but that just opened too many trails for his thoughts to follow.

“Uneven floors present a trip hazard and either need indicating or fixing. That's the most important issue, I've found, shall we continue through the rest?” Virgil shook the momentary thoughts of his soulmate from his head, focusing back on the Health & Safety inspection he was doing.

The offices were just waiting for an accident to happen in a lot of places, and if he had to yell to actually get the manager to come over instead of the receptionist, he would be. There's no point booking him to conduct the inspection if they just wanted to ignore the issues raised in his report.

“Mr Furniss has requested you confirm if the pollution on the outer walls will need a specialist to remove.” The receptionist, Miss Mauby, asked, noting down his comments.

“I haven't noticed any pollution. Do you mind showing me the section he's referring to?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. There had been some graffiti on one of the walls near the entrance, but it hadn't looked like anything he'd need to take note of.

The wall he was led to pretty much guaranteed he would be storming back into the manager's office to give his report. Wasting his time demanding answers that a fool could tell was simply moss was absurd, despite the design and words showing it was all deliberately placed. Virgil already agreed that the company had a lot of issues it needed to be addressing, especially regarding the waste products being incorrectly disposed of at the factory site.

Turning to Miss Mauby he nodded, “I believe it would be best for me to give my initial review to Mr Furniss directly, and I'll send the report over in a matter of days.” He didn't wait for a reply, already returning to the building and the office that was indicated to belong to the site manager.

By the time Virgil was leaving the site, he'd begun to calm down and find it amusing. The manager of the place really did think that graffiti was pollution and not just unauthorised artwork. Perhaps they needed some language lessons to clear up the definition and impact of using the wrong terms. Science classes could help more though.

When he glanced back towards the moss words, he had to call over, “Better get away from there. I think Mr Furniss mentioned getting cameras set up to monitor their walls.”

“I'll find some other wall to protest on then. He can't monitor them all and ignores any emails or government mandates to follow the laws for disposal of contaminated waste.” The person called back, voice shrill and uncaring.

Virgil wandered closer, a little curious to know more. “How did you even manage it anyway? I didn't think you could control where or how moss grows.”

“I made moss paint and spray with water each afternoon. For this lot at least. I've got twenty other sites I do this too and commissions to take for peoples gardens occasionally.” Virgil began to worry he'd asked the wrong thing with the lack of energy compared to the person's original response before they jumped to face him, “I'm making nature fight back for itself when it can't speak. The moss, lichens and plants shall rise to destroy humanity with my aid!”

“Okay, cool, erm good luck with that. I'll leave you to it then.” Virgil backed away at the yell, startled and very concerned that if someone in the office came out to see him talking with the moss graffiti guy he could lose payment for his services.

It was only once he got home that Virgil thought whoever it was looking after that moss seemed to fill 3 of the 4 lines in his soul poem, especially with that companies boss claiming graffiti was pollution.

He checked while swapping his jacket for a hoodie and the idea only grew at the familiar lines:

Uncontrolled by any rule,

Dangerous Attitude, surface cool.

Green pollution close to hand.

Trust fleeting as the sand.

Virgil had gotten the poem as a tattoo as soon as he was old enough to. He didn't want anybody finding out what his poem was and the easiest way to ensure that was to keep the only record of it literally on him.

Perhaps they'd encounter each other again in the city. Virgil did have other gigs coming up for offices of corporations known to be major polluters.

/Over to the Graffiti Artist\

Remus had been curious about the guy who'd come over asking about his graffiti, but he got people running away from him. It happened often enough pretty much anytime he tried to make friends.

He pushed the curiosity out of his mind though, focusing on that morning's project. He was still cultivating the moss on the edge of an animal testing lab for a soaps company and needed to make sure he was using the right mosses so the creature yelling at the company was recognisable.

“Get Away from there! I'll call the police on you for doing-” The angry yelling cut off when the woman got close enough.

Remus smirked, not turning around, but well aware it looked like he was just painting water onto the wall with how diluted he'd made the moss-paint today. He'd expected someone to try and stop him and wasn't going to give away what he was doing, including the fact these were rare mosses that if it got out the company had removed would enrage some environmentalist charities.

“Well isn't this fun. Do you often greet contractors by yelling at someone painting the walls with water, or am I just special?” The curious guy from yesterday was back, and apparently ignoring Remus in favour of greeting the woman. It was an interesting way to try and stick up for him though.

None of the apologies she was now stuttering out got directed to him either, and Remus finally realised this was one of the managers of the building and the guy had to be some sort of contractor. Not that it mattered to him of course, guy got scared off by a tiny bit of excitement.

He was humming while working on an established moss garden that evening when the guy walked passed again, and seriously Remus was beginning to think some cosmic force wanted them to talk.

“How'd you get the different colours?” The guy actually stopped to ask, glancing over the patterns. Dull, boring spirals. Remus had a far more interesting moss garden on the outer walls of his apartment.

“Different mosses.” He replied, turning to get more water for his spray bottle. It wasn't necessary, but he didn't feel like watching someone try to escape him currently.

The guy stayed waiting there, long enough Remus couldn't avoid returning to his work. “I'm Virgil by the way. He/Him. Sorry about that bitch this morning. She really needs to focus more on adequate safety railings and less on how the building looks. Aesthetic is not worth health hazards!” He sort of ranted, definitely trying to make conversation.

“I'm Remus and you're already scared of me, so I don't think you want to hear my actual views. Bugger off to screw in a H&S approved fallout bunker or something.” Remus interrupted before he could say anything else.

“No need to be a jerk, and sorry I'm not interested in losing a paycheck because the boss of a building is an asshole. Yelling and getting attention when I've just finished a place that specifically tried to call your work a biohazard could easily have the company finding some way out of paying for aiding a vandal or whatever.” Virgil snapped back, glaring. “I just wanted to know more because your work looks awesome, but fine, I'll leave asking more for some other day.”

Remus scoffed, throwing his spray bottle to one side and turning, “Yeah, when you decide I'm invisible again because I'm near one of those building's that's contracting you to yell at them. Fantastic chance to ask questions when you won't even glance my way.”

His words must have trigger some confusing thought process for Virgil as his right hand jumped to covering his left forearm, almost brushing over it in an odd pattern. He watched for a moment before turning back to checking the outlines were still clear.

“I can't put my chances of making the rent at stake, but fine, next time I see you I'll find time to stop and at least say hi. I'm going to get to know you, Remus. You can trust me on that, whether you believe it or not.” The words were threatening, and Remus wanted to come up with some actual threats Virgil could have used, but still didn't want to watch him run away.

“Only the naïve trust people instantly. Or the people wanting to use you and twist you into a different shape. I'm neither of those and the only time someone else controls how I twist is when they're bending me over.” He dismissed the promise and started humming again, pretending to focus on his work.

If they spoke for much longer of course he'd say something to have this brittle connection thoroughly sever.

That night Remus was still wondering about Virgil. How concerned he sounded over losing pay, and some vague terrible happening that could follow it.

There was definitely something of his soulmate poem in how the man was speaking and acting, but it just felt like another thing for Remus to hope for and end up destroying.

He had to listen to that old song again, if only to confirm it couldn't be Virgil at all:

Lashing out just to be heard

Worry infusing every word.

Cautious but convinceable,

Dreams their friends invincible.

/Days passing by\

The warning Virgil had given on the first time they encountered each other had been proven right. That company had put up cameras over the footpaths on the buildings, with only a few sections left clear of surveillance.

Remus had refreshed his free-running skills enough to get up onto one of the ledges. He wasn't expecting to get yelled at to get down and that it wasn't safe while checking if there was another layer of moss-paint needed or not.

“Virgil, you're really going to attract attention if you don't quiet down.” Remus sing-songed, leaning to look down from the ledge he was stood on, and grinning at the glare he was being given.

He wasn't expecting Virgil to walk a few steps back before launching himself up the wall. “And you're going to do yourself a freaking injury. Is constantly climbing up here really necessary for you to get the message across?”

“Yes, they're going to keep having the message painted until the listen and actually sort out the waste disposal of the factory.” Remus nodded. Virgil had been speaking to him, and actually seeking out the places Remus would turn up ever since threatening to get to know him. “Besides, a suicide on the property with this message growing afterwards would definitely make the news, get public interest sparked over everything they're doing wrong. Sounds like the perfect storm for them to face.”

“Except the part where you die. Not allowed. You act like you're invincible and I wish to whoever's listening you were.” Virgil snapped, and snatched the brush from Remus's hands for some reason. “Come on, tell me where I'm painting this one, and I'll help. Sooner you get this done, the sooner I can get you safely down from here!”

Remus blinked at the change, wondering whether this was what 'cautious but convinceable' meant before shaking it off. “That's for the darker bits. Currently just look like some discolouring. I'll do the pale bits since the difference for those can't be made out yet. Why would you want me to be invincible anyways? Most people would be glad to see something break me, even if they wouldn't wish me dead. A sever injury, maybe causing paralysis, and they'd all sigh knowing where I am and thinking they could control how much trouble I cause.”

“Sounds like you know a ton of jerks then. You're my Friend Remus. Not many people can say that and I'm not going to let you jeopardise my friend's life all to make a point against horrible business practices.” Virgil lectured, already following the lines, although his shoulders were so tense Remus wondered how his movements with the brush could be so fluid.

In more interesting news that literally sounded like the 2 lines Remus had mentally been insisting couldn't relate to Virgil had fallen into place and suddenly fitted him perfectly. He was singing the soul poem without thinking it, performing a short dance when he realised Virgil was staring.

“So are you writing poems about me now or is that, you know?” Virgil muttered a few moments after he finished singing.

“My soul Poem!” Remus squealed and the only thing that stopped him bouncing was Virgil's eyes quickly falling to his feet. The edge was close behind him and he wasn't going to fall after deciding that Virgil was his soulmate. “Seems to be perfect for you, right?!”

Virgil just nodded, shoving up the sleeve of his jacket and holding the arm out to Remus. “Get away from the edge, read this and have a laugh at what the manager of this place called your art.”

The tattoo was brilliant, with letters that looked like they were bleeding, and thorns twisting together to frame it. Realising the poem actually did describe him only made it better.

“So we are simply meant to be.” Remus grinned.

At least he knew this health and safety inspector wasn't completely against breaking the rules occasionally, at least if it meant they could keep each other safe instead.

#dukexiety #soulmate au #virgil sanders #remus sanders #moss graffiti #graffiti artist remus #H&S inspector virgil

8 notes · View notes