#silas liked her rough edges

[starrstained]

so i'll probably add more about this in harlow's info, but her relationship with her pseudo father is really important to who she is— she has so much cognitive dissonance about their relationship to the point that he has a lot of control over her self-esteem. when they argue or she disappoints him, he tends to use that against her. deep down, she's stuck in this world where she's some ragged street kid who he took in as an act of pity. no matter how much she changes to match his idea of class, she struggles with feeling like it's enough. in the end, she has to come to terms with the reality that she was hurt by him. when she eventually realizes that she was kidnapped by her mom's murderer, that's. not great.

[sweatforged]

silas. • bodyclaim. • headcanons. • isms. • prompts.

pedro pascal, homosexual, male + he/him, fighter «—◦—→ well met, silas rivera! the godling born child of kratos. it’s been 45 years and now they have answered the song in their veins. can he change the course of history with their loyalty, protectiveness, + strong will? or will their stubbornness, callousness, short temper hinder them? only time will tell before this godling’s name is sung into myth and legend!

BASIC INFO

full name — Silas Rivera age — forty-five (december 7th) gender — cis male, (he/ him/ his pronouns) orientation — homosexual occupation — musician, us army, mma fighter + champion, musician hero ;) deity connection — kratos  class — fighter weapon — tba clothing style / armor — jeans + flannel & layers, so many layers / tba

PHYSICAL INFO

face claim — Pedro Pascal hair — brown / eyes — brown height — five foot & eleven inches build — kinda like a T, broad af shoulders, semi-muscled torso, slutty waist (it be thin ok), everything else is yum scars — a faint one across the bridge of his nose, cut underneath his left eye, many many small ones littered across his body tattoos — notes in the back of his neck (he was grounded forever for getting it) like so, wolf on the inside of his left arm like so, front right thigh like so piercings — ears special characteristics — generally quiet, comes off a little distracted sometimes, will snark without reason, some dare calling him grumpy sexual preference— sorry y'all, this boy's a bottom sub (he thinks he's a switch but he's really not(in bed anyway). don't tell him tho.)

PERSONALITY

alignment — chaotic good positive traits — protective, caring, strong-willed, loyal negative traits — short-tempered, stubborn, callous, grumpy hobbies — training, music, kendo/kenjutsu, cooking, enjoying the quiet

MEDICAL INFO

mental — ptsd physical — when he was younger, he got his shoulder dislocated and his older half-sister thought she could pop it back in. she didn’t and broke his shoulder. he couldn't work for months, nor could he use the bow for even longer, now he can’t lift his right arm as high as the left one still, but only few know phobias — claustrophobia, pisantrophia eyesight — 20/20 although avrae tends to disagree dominant hand — left hand drug use — nop alcohol use — no !! diet — healthy, balanced. always makes his own food so he knows what's in it.

BACKGROUND

birthplace — new haven, CT parents — Marin Rivera (mother), Sarah Rivera (step-mother) & Haruhito Shindo (step-father) & Kratos (biological parent). siblings — older sister, Luisa Rivera (she be mortal) pets — floof, stray cat coming by the gym, died in a car crash right outside education — high school drop-out notable skills — krav maga, can wear cowboy hats with anything, can sing, has a mean left hook

BIO

Marin Rivera had everything in life one could wish for. She was born the youngest daughter of a wealthy family, her father dealing with property and her mother a former goddess of ballet. Money - for her, would never be an issue, but money wasn't what Marin craved more than anything in the world. It also wasn't top class education or how many horses she could own, no. What she truly desired was love. Only she wasn't meant to ever find it.

She fell for a man she couldn't have, a man who knew of her desperation and the many digits on her bank account and he saw his chance. His marriage would be a secret for at least two years of their relationship, his wife hidden away downtown, sated and distracted with money he got from naive Marin who saw the world through rose-tinted glasses.

Up until the day she wound up pregnant with a child. Before she could explain, he packed his bags and ran. It wasn't his! But she found out about his wife the day before and believe it or not - heartbreak and alcohol was never a good combination. A beautiful - if rough around the edges stranger approached her and she gave herself to him willingly, if only to forget about the pain for a night.

Silverspoon or not, Marin had only recently turned nineteen, had barely seen the world or found her way in it - too busy chasing a man who clearly was poison for her. So when she came back home, bags packed and head hung low, she was ... well, not quite welcome and yet her parents were grateful she gave them the option to hide her away. If she wanted a chance at a proper husband, she couldn't bring a little boy or girl into this life. No way.

When Silas was born, Marin .. still hoped. She hoped to raise him as her own, given she had lost everything to protect the little boy she held in her arms, but it wasn't going to be her son for long. She was sent abroad to study only a few days later and Silas was raised the youngest Rivera offspring. A miracle, given the age of his "mother". With Marin's bad decisions running in his blood, Silas was watched quite closely. A strong, strict hand would surely do the trick, right?

It didn't.

At first it did, indeed. He grew up with everything onee could possibly want. He pointed at a horse, they got him a horse. He pointed at a man on TV playing the guitar... they got him lessons. It wasn't like Silas missed anything... nothing materialistic anyway. He was signed up for language courses before he could walk and for the longest time .. he did well. When it was still all games and fun. Children's brains are spectacular, aren't they? But the older he grew, the worse it got. Diagnosed with ADHD at the age of six, one would think his parents went easier on him. They did not. Don't let the child get bored, they said. And they didn't.

His father brought in even more for him to learn. Inspired by his own heritage, he felt it useful that Silas was taught in the art of archery, japanese sword fighting and the like. Due to an infinite lack of talent when it came to tea and calligraphy, he was spared in that regard at least. All that set aside, both parents had been raised with a very clear set of rules themselves. Anything less than perfect is a failed opportunity to prove your worth.

All that pressure did not bring forth the expected rewards, in fact - they witnessed the opposite, both in school and at home. He failed time and time again. Far from a social butterfly, Silas ... struggled in school and found himself more enemies than friends, in a way - without trying. Too rich, too spoiled, too slow, too stupid. Silas was a many things, clearly. And at home, he would be ridiculed and lectured on his shortcomings.

They were lucky Silas lasted as many years as he did before he snapped, because no child could thrive under that amount of pressure. When he did snap, he was in school. P.E. was his least favorite time of the day despite him being fitter than every single kid in school simply because there wasn't a single day he didn't break anything. He tried not to. It just .. happened. And then one of the other boys laughed... it wasn't even that he was embarrassed.. it just.. he was tired of it all. He was tired of not belonging, he was tired of scrutinizing eyes on him twenty-four-seven, he was tired of working as hard as he could and still failing.

That kid never laughed at Silas again. In fact, nobody did. Not after the boy spent a month at the hospital, mostly unconscious. The outrage at home... unbearable. But for the first time in his life... he felt content. It lasted a few mere minutes, but he remembered. Sure, music got him to almost that feeling, it did, but it wasn't exactly the same. He'd ... felt peace. And so he chased it. Plenty of kids at school to experiment with. Many of them eager to fight him. Rich kid schools, worse than public in that regard. Most kids were trapped in their family's shadow and knew they needed to perform or else..

And oh, he found that feeling again. And again. Every time his fist connected with a body, every time his knuckles found bone to crack, he felt alive. School was far from happy, but a generous donation had the majority of teachers look away. Or maybe they just didn't care.

Highschool went the exact same way, only Silas was slowly growing into himself. Taller, still incredibly thin, which was the reason he was underestimated regularly, only to then surprise everybody. Silas was convinced people were either born smart or strong; he was definitely the latter, so school was .. a necessity he barely managed, only he never meant to go much further than graduation.

At 19, Silas found out a twisted version of the truth. Marin .. was dead. To him, she was a sister he never met, the one his parents always spoke about, but a guest at the funeral mentioned something he couldn't forget and when he brought it up with his parents, they told him Marin didn't want a child and they never knew the father.

That explained so much. Not even his parents wanted him. His life ... a lie. All of it. That night, Silas grabbed his guitar, packed a bag and ran. Nobody would see him for a long time, but his issues never subsided. Even the US army struggled to contain him, because just like before .. he found plenty of potential victims among those who didn't know to keep their opinions to themselves when he was around. Though he got lucky and found a sponsor among the corporals, one who seemed to be ready to help. Come what may.

Anger management therapy in combination with meditation and straining daily workout sessions seemed to do the trick for a while. Order and guidance instead of pressure seemed .. to work and while beating up punching bags wasn't quite the same thrill, it .. was okay. He even found time for music again.

And then it wasn't okay and he .. had to leave. Again. But this time he wasn't alone. Corporal went with him (and brought his daughter). They built a life for themselves in New Haven, Silas was working as a cleaner at the local gym and Corporal got into the mayor's office, sure to work his way up the ranks quickly. A few months later, first relapse. It should've cost him his job, but .. it didn't. Instead it granted him a new opportunity. Even though it would ultimately cost him his family.

He was battle-trained, had spent the majority of his life training so becoming an MMA fighter sure.. sounded like a great opportunity even though he was too old to properly get into it, they said. Silas didn't care. One, because he knew he could and two, because he didn't care about prizes, the knowledge that he could thrive in doing the one thing he was truly good at.. that was all he needed.

When he won his first title only a few years later, nobody could believe it, really. And then he held it. Year after year. The Lion - as they called him, stood strong. Silas was growing older and he was getting closer and closer to that age, at which point he was considered too old to contest, even though he felt fine and stronger than ever, the constant training sure wearing down his body's reserves, but ... his will remained unbroken and his performance unbeaten. Rules and regulations were merciless. He held several titles until he retired and returned to the gym in teeny tiny little New Haven, which felt ...lacking after he'd seen the world, so he once again packed his bags, grabbed his guitar and moved to Los Angeles.

Part of him regretted the choice he made. Fame for family. But at the end of the day he knew it'd been for the best. They were better off without him, surely. Being single wasn't so bad either. Being somewhat famous ... surely helped potential hookups look past his lack of social ... affinity. It also helped pushing his career as a musician up to the point of semi-regular income with little gigs and a few released albums. Life was .. going.

That was until he found out the truth.

The actual truth.

Obvious choice, wasn't it? He had nothing to lose.

[e8luhs]

🤍 aka what is everyone's beige flags

🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc’s neutral/questionable traits?

mavis: sarcastic / noncommittal / irreverent. also just as a general character trait her taste in music is fail enough that i think it counts as a flag of SOME kind catriona: rule-oriented? by the books? shes a lawful neutral if that helps / focused on the collective vs the personal so that can cause a lot of oversights in her dynamics but its great for her position as a guardian / conducting silas: impressionable / hes kind of a try-hard but especially in the "needs to be liked by everyone in the whole entire world" way / impulsive. for both the hao siblings (cat and silas) they can both be like. a little superficial just because they both have to deal with the general public SO MUCH so they kind of have to be at times kirabo: uncommunicative / cautious / stuck in their own routines and habits. i would also say that kirabo is a weird blend of someone whos idealistic at heart but insanely pessimistic and melancholic due to circumstance lea: ambitious / competitive / capricious? shes all-or-nothing. either shes the best or shes the worst so her self-concept can change on a dime based on how she feels shes performing trinity: intense / stubborn / standoffish or just generally rough around the edges so sometimes theyre very. like. Difficult. theyre also like the most wound up person known to man to be honest vladimir: exacting / skeptical / driven? pushy? he is a person with like big grand ideas but insanely narrow tunnel vision. i dont know. i need to explode him with my mind regardless

[cain-e-brookman]

that tag game has me thinking about my characters and how i love bleeding perception of both themselves and each other to really bring to life who they are. meant to have a journal entry done tonight, but instead have some of the first impressions of my characters to date*

*Tavi and Silas' are from an early draft of book two that was scrapped on the realization that book one needed to be rewritten from scratch and although i specifically separated these from the scrap doc, they may not make the cut when i get to the second book proper ok? ok**

**also i haven't gotten to Bran in this rewrite yet and his initial description is majorly lacking so i guess y'all'll have to wait for that

Uthyr

Returning to this place always stung. Looking up to the top seat, he felt he should still see his father there, a pensive look etching lines into his face. He wondered if anyone would ever see their resemblance, then banished the thought from his head. His father had been taller, darker. A slimmer build, eyes as black as obsidian, and a lopsided smile that would cut through whatever seriousness he’d grown tired of at any given time. 

No, Uthyr favored his mother in too many ways. Had her dark umber skin. Was neither tall nor short, but stout, solid. Eyes like amber. Always a bit severe in the mouth. He’d gotten his hair from whatever had passed up his mother on that side of the family, though. Like his uncle, his black hair coiled into tight spirals. Growing up, his mother braided it to his head in neat lines. After she’d died, Uthyr took the time past the mourning period to fix it in the same manner as Uncle Callum: twisted into locs that had only now begun to meet the length of his chin. Someday he’d see them as long as his uncle’s. Carry on something that felt akin to a family lineage.

Crucius

Crucius leaned back in his seat, stretching his long slender legs in front of him, one ankle hooked over the other, one arm crossed under the one holding his cup of tea. Sharp-boned, elegant, and regal, Uthyr couldn’t help but be reminded of the oft quoted belief that Alilux begat no ugliness of her countrymen. As the home of the Light Mages, it was known for beauty and color. Crucius no longer lived within Lucian borders, but he hadn’t avoided the stereotype. Even in the most banal of clothes, he stunned. Dressed in nothing more than an off-white linen shirt, open against his pale skin, and a pair of loose black breeches cuffed around his calves, he didn’t stand out in the landscape for flashiness. 

Even his sparse jewelry drew no great notice. Against his breast rested a bronze key on an old black chain; Crucius never took it off and it appeared to be tarnished enough it couldn’t have seen any real use. In his left ear, he wore a single earring: a long, dangling chain that held a small golden spider at the end. Uthyr asked him once what his fascination with spiders was. There were two silhouettes of the creatures branded onto the backs of his hands in rough scar tissue. Crucius said there was no fascination. He was terrified of them.

Alma

Alma came back alive as they ate, losing the edge sleep had left on her. Spread-out compliments about the food slowly gave way to tiny comments on the weather and the surroundings. Finally, she worked her way into full chatter. She didn’t seem to ever need much from his side of the conversation. Uthyr didn’t much mind. He didn’t really have anything to say.

As she spoke, Uthyr sized her up. She was short, plump, and soft on all angles. Sporadic stubble peppered along her chin and cheeks, shorn tight much like the hair on her head. Her eyes were a glimmering blue; a summer sky and just as clear. A dart of a scar cut into the edge of her bottom lip. Another dipped along her jawline. Fifteen, Uthyr thought. An infant.  There was a strange and heavy air about her, though. A weightiness in one’s middle. Uthyr had felt the same thing in Uensine’s realm. Mortality. It hung about her like her heavy robes. Despite her youth, she was an acolyte of The End. Uthyr couldn’t imagine what drew her to such a life. It clashed with the bounce in her shoulders as she spoke of a boy in her village. 

“He’s asked for my hand. My Lord has no need of his order to stay unmarried, but I’ve told the lad he must finish his apprenticeship before thinking he has the right. I’m a Priestess. He’ll need to be just as settled before I even think of letting him build us a house.” 

Uthyr wasn’t sure when he’d missed the part about the house, or if he had.

Tavi

Tavi wore clothes that let everyone know he didn’t walk, he flowed. Greens and blues and purples. Trailing fabrics softer than waves on a Vizian coast. He scraped Crucius’ chair across the wooden floor and deposited himself into it with a flounce, crossing his legs and his arms, the heat of his question burning alongside Crucius’ fire. Despite the trimmings of a noble, everything of Tavi was wild. Were his hair a flavor it would be spiced rum. Red in color and spirit. A bloom of disagreeing curl patterns that created a halo around his head. It matched with the bronze of his skin, his hard thin arms more wire than flesh, dappled liberally with dark freckles. His green eyes were the wildest part of him. Always a bit too wide when he forgot himself. Too keen. Cutting, but in a way deeper than the type of perception one could imagine. In his better moods, he was disarming. As he sat now, an argument with a hurricane would have caused less unease. A lesser man might have cowered. Crucius was not a lesser man. Tavi’s fangs were real, but they’d never broken flesh.

Well, Crucius thought, fighting a wry smirk, not his flesh anyway.

Silas

Silas strode in after, his gait measured and steady. More than a head taller than Tavi, he cut his shadow over his lord like a wolf over his pack. Quicksilver eyes shone under his hood. As he stepped into Crucius’ house, he slipped off the hood, revealing snaking burn scars down his face and neck that twisted his mouth into a permanent grimace, bleeding more unease into the room. Crucius wasn’t intimidated. Of the two men now in his home, Silas was the least to worry about. The Mage knew he had no need to stand on ceremony when not in front of Crescaeyan nobility, so while Crucius returned Tavi’s glower, Silas strode around the room, sidled up next to Uthyr, and and dropped himself into an adjacent chair, pulling from his cloak what Crucius knew was a flask of bootleg Coryn whiskey.

“You drink?” he asked Uthyr, his Marsher’s drawl slow as the muddy waters he came from.

“Uh.”

Silas filled Uthyr’s tea cup. “Gonna want to today.”

[daughterofhighever-blog]

Flemeth's Hut - Korcari Wilds, 9:30 Dragon

[Long ago plotted starter for @deadlynightshcde - Silas Amell ]

The air was thick with an awful cold and damp moldiness. It filled her nose and mouth, making her cough and gag on the smell. Elissa dipped a rag into the bucket of lukewarm, blood stained water that sat on the ground by her feet. Even the dirt floor and mud walls of this wretched hovel were slick with a wet sheen of moisture and ick.

Her brindled mabari lay at her feet while she sat on the edge of the rough bed, doing her best to wipe the caked, drying darkspawn gore off Silas' face. Hakkon’s large eyes looked up at her dolefully, and he periodically huffed and whined. Another hound, a softly blue and greyed one, had followed them as she and a seriously wounded Alistair were doing their best to drag Silas' unconscious body with them - stumbling and falling the entire short distance they managed to flee from the field before exhaustion and injury overtook them.

Alistair had woken first and was now pacing a rut into the mud just outside the door with the strange hound. Elissa could hear his voice, snipping and bickering with their mysterious and unsettling savior. It all felt like a numb, waking dream. Every time her mind tried to grasp onto a feeling, or anchor itself onto something real, her focus dissipated like smoke and sand through her fingers. It may have been a small blessing amidst all the chaos; there’d be time to grieve and mourn later. For now, there was work that needed doing.

Ringing out the stained rag yet again, she leaned back over the Warden mage to tilt his face towards her, doing what little she could to wipe the mess from the hair just above his temple. She prayed he would wake soon. Time was running short.

[elysiumxii]

[ knife ] — my muse drags a knife across your muse’s body part (inner thigh) / silas @ giselle

kinky/rough smut prompts | ft silas & giselle [ knife ] — my muse drags a knife across your muse’s inner thigh INSPO

"Funny way to treat your wife- Giselle breaths softly with the last of her bravery, before crystal blue eyes flicker down to the sharp knife's edge as it slowly traces across the creamy pale skin of her inner thigh.

Was there ever going to be a night with this man that could even remotely be considered normal? As they had exchanged the sacraments of marriage before god, all be it in a cheap Vegas quickie chapel, Giselle was not able, as a god fearing Christian, to just walk away from him. No, something in her faith told her she had to make this work, but Silas was so... deranged. Half the time he seemed to delight in torturing her, whilst the other half he was so obsessively possessive of her she couldn't move an inch from him without his hands or mouth demanding her back close. Surely this couldn't be what god had in mind for her.

Sat on the bed in the small motel room they currently called home, Giselle's attempt at a peach cobbler cooling on the plastic dining table not far behind him, the blonde lightly sucks on a trembling lower lip, as that knife continues to trace slow patterns, up higher and higher under her pushed up sun dress along her inner thigh. It was pointless trying to appeal to his sense of decency or pride as a husband, because thinking of doing these things badly seems to excite him. Like now, as he watches his knife, before his dark gaze lifts to the rapid, panicked rise and fall of her chest. The plump curve visible through a lowered sweetheart neckline. Oh dear, she knows that look.

With a soft gasp past parted lips, her head turns, cowering back a little from the knife as it's lifted, before feeling that same cooling touch of metal across the curve of her cleavage. Slowly feeling its away across each soft globe as her shuddering breaths cause pleasing movements for his hungry gaze.

She isn't even brave enough to look up at him as the knife moves, slipping higher, up to her shoulder before a skilled flick of his wrist has the sharp edge cut through the strap of her dress and the front of it fall open and a rosy pink nipple prickle and harden as it is exposed. Now free for the swelling of her breath to lift her bared breast and please him even further. It isn't long before the knife moves to her left strap, cutting that too, the dress falling away to her middle and baring all for a demanding gaze.

It seems peach cobbler still wasn't homely enough to please her sadistic husband as his demands run purely one way...

[rjhpandapaws]

A Hand in the Matter

Chapter 12: Adopted by Strays

"So tell me about Garrett.” Silas said as he settled onto Richard’s couch. It was one of his rare days off and for once he wasn’t spending it at the theater, “What’s he like?” Richard rolled his eyes at the protective lilt to Silas’s voice, ‘Gavin.’ He corrected, ‘He Is Kind. Different From You And Connor. Rough Edges. Noisy.’ “You don’t normally like loud.” Silas remarked as Richard brought the drinks into the living room. ‘I Know.’ Richard agreed, ‘Something About His Noise Brings Comfort.’ “He brings liveliness with him.” Silas said, and then more absently, “Like Allen.” Richard paused. He hadn’t heard this name before, and he didn’t think he had been meant to now. Silas had let on that he made a new friend at work, but had never given a name. There was something in the way he said it. A reverence to it that he normally only reserved for Daniel. ‘Who A-L-L-E-N?” He asked. Silas froze for a moment, “Shit.” He scrambled to recover, “He’s just a friend from the theater, a new security guard. No one important.”

Richard stared at Silas over the rim of his mug. There was more to it than that. “No.” Silas responded, “Don’t you look at me like that. I’m here to talk about your newly acquired problem, not mine.” ‘Who Said He Was A Problem?’ Richard replied and Silas let out an annoyed huff. “Okay so I might be projecting a little.” He continued, “Anyway Gavin. Tell me about him. Starting why he was here for a whole fucking weekend.” Richard gestured to his now decorated apartment, ‘We Redecorated. He Is Friend From School. Very Kind. We Met At Cafe. He Has Cat.’ “There it is.” Silas said with a laugh, “He has a cat, that’s why you like him so much.” Richard rolled his eyes, ‘So Who A-L-L-E-N?’ “Fine.” Silas said with false annoyance to his voice, “I suppose it’s only fair that I tell you about my new friend since you told me about yours.” Richard nodded and waited for Silas to decide what things about Allen he wanted to share. There probably wouldn’t be much, but he clearly left an impression on Silas.

His brother was a private person. Both of them were really, but Silas did it oddly. Where Connor would avoid the topic or politely decline; Silas would give non-answers or selectively give information. Even though he didn’t typically say anything that helped to make it so someone understood the situation, they would feel like they did. He gave the illusion of transparency. It was the reason so many people thought they knew him well without actually knowing anything about him. There was a quiet sigh that marked Silas as being ready to talk, honestly, “He’s just a guy, there isn’t anything remarkable about him. Tall, brown hair, and eyes to match. You could lose him in a crowd without even trying.” He stopped and looked down at his tea, “But I always know he’s there. Even when I don’t see him. I’m hyperaware and I hate it. He’ s nice though, before you worry. Concerned for me not too unlike Daniel, but different at the same time.” ‘He Sounds Interesting.’ He didn’t really know how to respond. He wasn’t good with emotions, that was more of Connor’s thing. “He’s great.” Silas said it like a confession and Richard smiled.

‘I Happy For You.’ Richard said. Silas hummed, “Thanks.” They stayed like that for a while. Silas was back in his own thoughts and Richard let him be. He knew his brother had plans with Connor later so it was better if he got this out of his system now, otherwise Connor would go full big brother mode and that never ended well. “If you ever feel like it, you could introduce me to Gavin.” Silas said eventually, “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.” Richard smiled, this was a small gesture but it meant a lot since he’d never had a friend of his own, ‘After Finals.’ Silas nodded and placed his empty mug on the coffee table, “Sounds like a plan.” He looked at the time on his phone, “I’m gonna head home for a smoke and a shower. Connor wants to go out and do something now that we both have the time.” Richard could understand that. He needed time to decompress before going out as well, ‘Have Fun.’ “I’ll try.” Silas remarked as he stood, “I’m sure it will be fun once I’m ready.”

He walked Silas to the door and they hugged before Silas left. He did the dishes and put the mugs away so he wouldn’t have to do it later. Richard took out his phone to see if Gavin wanted to hang out. His most recent message was from Gavin letting him know he had plans with friends tonight. Gavin talked about them a lot. Chris and Tina, he seemed to like them and Richard wondered what they were like. They had borrowed Tina’s truck when they took his closet doors to be recycled but that was the closest he had come to meeting her. Richard was perfectly content with just Gavin, but he would like to meet the people he thought so highly of. The people who responsible for that stupid shit eating grin that always meant that he caused trouble and had gotten away with it. To thank them, he supposed, for making Gavin so happy. He put his phone away and went into the room that served as his office. He could draw for a while and then he’d probably go to sleep. He and Gavin had plans to study tomorrow and one of them had to be in a good state of mind. He figured Gavin would probably have a hangover from drinking more than he should have.

The sketch unsurprisingly turned into another drawing of Gavin. He looked up sports bar interiors so he could do the piece justice. Gavin was leaning on the table in his usual manner, with one forearm resting on it to prop it up the other elbow resting on it with his free hand gesturing in the air as he spoke. It took Richard a while to decide what the drink would be, but he eventually decided on beer. Gavin didn’t seem the type to do fancier drinks. When he checked the time again it was two in the morning. What was meant to be a sketch was now inked and flatly colored which wasn’t anything that he planned on doing. It was in his personal sketchbook so Gavin wouldn’t have to see it. He didn’t want to run the risk of creeping him out. He sat back and stretched with a sigh. It was time to call it a night if he wanted to be able to concentrate while they were studying. He picked up his sketchbook and put it in its place on the shelf. Away from his other sketchbooks so he didn’t run the risk of mixing them up. After that he got ready for bed.

He woke up his usual time. He rolled to turn of his phone alarm and found he had a few messages from his brother.

Connor: Hey. The cafe is going to be closed for a while. Connor: A pipe burst last night and there is a ton of water damage Connor: You’ll have to have your study dates somewhere else for a while. Me: Don’t worry. Just be safe. Me: They aren’t dates

Richard knew it would be a while before Gavin woke up. He had gotten a couple of drunk texts he still hadn’t been able to decipher. He finished getting ready for the day and deiced it was late enough in the morning to text Gavin and see if they could figure something out.

Me: The cafe is close for a few days because a pipe broke. Me: Is there another place we could meet?

About an hour passed before his phone chimed with a reply from Gavin.

Gavin Reed: There’s a place near me called Pawsome Coffee. It’s a cat cafe if that’s okay. Me: That works. Can you send me the address? Gavin Reed: Sure!

The cafe was a little out of his usual walking range, but it was nice out so he figured he could try. If he left now he could make it there by their meeting time. The walk was pleasant and he had caught his breath by the time Gavin made it. He was a little late, but that was normal. The cafe wasn’t too busy when they walked in, but it wasn’t long after they had opened. They ordered their drinks and settled at a table by the windows. He was barely able to get his things out before he was buried in cats. It started with a weight settling across his shoulders and he looked to find a short haired white cat lounging there like it was normal. Two more hopped onto the table. They grey one pawed at him and the rust colored one seemed content to just watch him. A black one settled in his lap and he was officially buried in cats. Gavin took sympathy and went to get their drinks once they were up. “Well aren’t you Mister Popular.” He joked as he set the drinks down and grabbed the rest of what they would need since he was significantly less trapped, “Normally it takes them a few visits for them to warm up to new people.” ‘I Not Do Anything Special.’ He said then pet the grey cat that was still persistently pawing at him. 

Gavin settled in at the table, “I think you just have that effect on cats and some people. Are you even going to be able to study like that?” ‘Yes.’ He replied as he stopped petting the now sleeping grey cat, ‘S-I-L-A-S worse.’ Gavin laughed, “There is that I suppose.” ‘Will You.’ He pressed. “Yeah.” Gavin said as he opened his textbook, “I used to study here all the time before I adopted Franklyn. She doesn’t like it too much when I come home smelling like other cats.” ‘Dirty Cheater.’ Richard signed in a deadpan. He wasn’t ready for Gavin to start coughing. Richard hadn’t seen him pick up his drink. That had been bad timing on his part. Gavin laughed as he caught his breath, “God damn it Richard, you can’t just say things like that when a guy is drinking his coffee. You could have killed me.” Richard rolled his eyes. He was being just as dramatic as ever which meant he was fine. They finally began studying, and Gavin had fewer questions than Richard thought he would. He was glad that Gavin had made so much progress. Especially since midterms started on Monday.

It only took him two hours to give in and pet the cats that were on and around him. Gavin had done well today and they both deserved a break. It was a stretch to justify his distraction, but it was the only way he could do this without feeling guilty. “Hey. So I have a question.” Richard looked up when Gavin spoke, he looked almost uncomfortable, “Chris and Tina were wondering if they could meet you. Apparently I talk about you a lot and they’re curious. Obviously if you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll let them know.” ‘Not Today.’ He didn’t have the spoons, ‘This Weekend Maybe? If You Not Busy?’ Gavin nodded, “How does Saturday sound? That’s Chris’s day off.” ‘Saturday Works.’ Richard said, ‘Can We Meet Here? Hand Brewed Hope Not Open.’ Gavin agreed an spent a little more time telling him about his friends. It was nice to know what he was in for. They sounded like fun and Richard was actually looking forward to it. They parted ways with plans to meet back at Pawsome Coffee on Saturday. He didn’t have the energy to walk back so he hailed a cab.

With meeting Gavin’s friends on the horizon Richard didn’t worry about his midterms at all. He was too busy worrying about making a bad first impression. He was a little odd according to most people and a lot of people didn’t take his being nonverbal very well. They always assumed that he was being rude. Gavin didn’t seem to mind it so he hoped his friends would be the same. When Saturday rolled around Richard wound up at the cafe before it opened. The walk had helped to clear his head but anxiety still bubbled beneath his skin. When the cafe opened he settled at the same table as last time. The same cats as before made themselves comfortable on him again. Chris was the first to show up. Richard noticed he had hearing aids and some his anxiety melted away. His being nonverbal wasn’t going to be a problem it seemed. He introduced himself and they went up to order their drinks. They signed to one another until Tina slid into the booth, then Chris began to interpret for him. It was nice. Gavin was the last one to show up, late again, but no one really cared.  He set his drink on the table and picked up the cat that was beside Richard so he could take its place, “I swear you keep treats or some shit in your pockets.”

‘I Thought You Said I Have Captivating Personality.’ Richard teased. “With people as well as cats apparently.” Gavin remarked as he rolled his eyes. “Captivating personality huh?” Chris laughed. “Oh shut up Chris.” Gavin said with no real anger to his words. Tina looked a little bit lost, “So am I the only one that doesn’t know Sign Language then?” “Yeah.” Gavin shrugged, “But I’m still learning so don’t worry.” ‘I Teach You If You Want.” He offered. Gavin spoke for him, “He said he would teach you if you would like. Or we could add him to the group chat.” “Why not both?” She replied, “But it really sounds like he has enough on his plate with tutoring you so Chris can teach me instead.” She gave Chris a gentle shove, “Lord knows we have enough time with all the hours we spend on patrol together or at our desks.” “Thanks for asking T.” He responded dryly, “But we aren’t here for that.” “True.” She agreed, “We’re here to have coffee and a good time.” The conversation picked up some after that. It was a lot of reminiscing, and despite not having been there for any of it, he still felt included. He learned a lot about Gavin and it was nice.

“We go out for drinks at a local bar on Fridays if you ever want to join us.” Tina offered as they got ready to leave. ‘Sounds Fun.’ Richard replied and Gavin let out a put upon groan. “We can cab together then I guess.” Gavin said with a slight smile. ‘Thank You.’ He was looking forward to it despite the fact that he didn’t drink. They went their separate ways outside of the cafe. Richard flagged a cab and felt his phone buzz.

Chris added Me to: Oh No! Its the Cops. Me: Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun. Tina: Of course! it was great to finally meet you. Chris: See you Friday! Gavin Reed: I’m in danger. Me: Only if you don’t take care of yourself. Tina: I like him Chris: Same

Richard smiled at his phone. For once he wasn’t nervous about having plans. He supposed he belonged to a group of friends now. It was funny how fact things could change. He still had his brothers, but now he had a group of friends of his own. There would be no more being passed between baristas and actors. Better yet, this time he wasn’t afraid. Even if he was, he had people he could turn to now.

[mcalhenwrites]

Stargazers’ Hill (SGH) and Before our Ghosts (BoG) take place in the country of Ronove, primarily centering around the cities of Dunsany and Annen/New Annen; Rascal takes place in the country of Humult, centering around the city of Maeder.

The Annen region suffered a series of costly environmental hazards. Most of it involved leaked pollution from factories, but in part, people were already over-farming the land. The old remains of the town soon became wastelands, but these wastelands were still inhabited by poor people. The richer people went on to build New Annen, which was nearby and hoarded the remaining water resources that were still mostly safe for human consumption. The water supply in the Annen wastes is worsened by another incident, which happens during SGH's timeline. This event happened before Stargazers' Hill, and Avery Suba grew up in such a wasteland. (I should mention that Avery is in all three of these stories. He's like Shadow Hearts Roger Bacon at this point in that he's the one constant!) Maeder is the home of airships. They exist in SGH, but as a newer technology that is still rough around the edges, and they don’t usually travel for long periods of time. Seeing them in their early years inspires William Raston during a segment of his childhood when he is forced into the custody of his grandfather. Escaping in a dirigible appeals to the imaginative little boy. That carries on into his passion for transportation technology well into adulthood. This feels relevant, but the annoying gender roles of this world are different (and are dependent upon country). Boys are expected as much as girls in both Humult and Ronove to learn basic skills like cooking and sewing, and if they aren’t, it’s about a class difference. People with money can hire cooks and tailors. In Humult, light, pastel colors are associated with girls, whereas a lot of darker colors are associated with boys. This becomes less relevant in adulthood, but some men feel emasculated if they don’t continue to wear darker colors. Hazel defies this convention frequently. His suits are often light earthtone colors. In Ronove, earthtones and “eye color matches” are favored. They are somewhat envious of other countries, like Humult, where eye colors have a greater range, and they show off their own limitations with flattering colors. That is why they often wear blue with blue eyes, green with green eyes, reds with brown eyes, etc. Hazel hates his orange eyes, which are somewhat rare in his country. (Yes, I know, he doesn’t have HAZEL EYES. Haha.) His father’s eyes are more of a brown-orange blend, whereas his mother’s eyes are blue-green. Purple and orange irises are fairly common in Berkard, a large country neighboring Humult, but the latter has plenty of citizens with purple eyes. The educational system is a wreck in Ronove. The country has flimsy child labor laws that are rarely enforced, and family businesses are given exception to work their children without sending them to school or hiring tudors. Needless to say, social class plays a huge role in whether or not someone continues school into their late teens and what kind of schooling they recieve. Malakai never enters a school and is taught mathematics and reading at the home table by both of his aunts. By the time he was a few years old, he was helping his aunt with her laundry, and in his pre-teens, he started working under the table, doing various odd jobs. In Ronove, it's not uncommon for employers to strike young workers, and Malakai had his fair share of cuffs for not being fast or efficient enough. Silas has never been to any kind of school, but he was given strict instruction under several tutors hired by his uncle. (Yes, this includes some unconventional lessons that would later become part of his skillset as a spy.) Thaddeus went to a public school for short periods at a time, but he learned the most either directly from his mother or from his neighbors. Ambrose actually spent less time in boarding school than his siblings, staying from ages seven to thirteen for about six months every year. His parents put most of their expectations on Eugene, who attended both boarding and trade schools right up until he was twenty. Ambrose would’ve been expected to do the same, if not for his lack of interest in the mortuary and his increasing bond with Thaddeus. (Humphrey may have been an asshole, but he wasn't about to separate the boys, and Thaddeus was too valuable to the mortuary after a while.) Bertrand did not attend any schools until after his parents were murdered. Before that, he was taught exclusively at home by his mother. After he moved in with family members, he attended boarding school. Christine and Isadora were sent away to live with more influential family members and attend boarding school. This stopped when Christine was sixteen. For Isadora, she never went home at all and stayed with family members, because her parents were disinterested in a daughter. (This sounds bad, but it actually turned out best for her. Bertrand’s life was miserable with their parents, meanwhile she got to be raised alongside her cousins, many of whom were girls, and had a mostly decent childhood.) There are some changes over time. By Rascal's time period, Ronove has started better enforcing their child labor laws and society is moving away from the acceptance for adult employers to lash out at children. This doesn't necessarily protect children from parents who work them, however, as that is seen as discipline. In Humult, schooling is far more structured. Most people attend some kind of school from ages five to seventeen. Not everyone goes on to university, but it’s fairly typical even for some people within lower income brackets to attend even a few semesters. Ferdinand attended a local public school with many of the children from farms in his community. Farm chores meant they had shorter years and days to clear students for helping their families. Later, his grandmother’s inheritance allowed payment for him to attend university, and he had hoped working on the side would bring in more income. Later, he was forced to drop out for financial reasons. Meanwhile, Hazel and Sinclair both attended boarding schools and went on to university. (Yes, they’ve been together that long, and yes, that means they’ve been causing trouble all this time.) Some of my characters don’t want to send their children to boarding or public schools, because in any country in this world, corporal punishment is still practiced. It should be mentioned that there is no permission slip, they simply use it on any attending students. Opal has more trouble than Eugene in finding a way to education her children. Whereas Eugene, Christine, Ambrose, and Thaddeus’ families all work with other parents who want to see changes to the schools to gather tutors together, Opal has less of a network of like-minded parents to work with her. As a result, she will be using her money and donations to make big changes in Maeder’s school system, even though she can’t influence the entirety of Humult. (Go Opal!) Food differs from town to town, even if some foods are staples across the country. Fishermen in Kester and Dunsany supply a great deal of seafood (Kester) and freshwater fish (Dunsany, off the lake or the Gorst River) to those cities, whereas pork is more common in New Annen/Annen regions. Farms around Dunsany rely on a variety of river fish, chicken, beef, mutton, horse meat, and pork - whatever they can get their hands on and share with their fellow farmers. Due to greenhouses and importing, they usually have a variety of fresh fruits and vegetables. Ronove imports oranges into their country, given that they’re not a particularly warm or sunny country, and orange juice is a hit with the population. They eat a lot of squash and cabbage. Berkard is next to Humult, and both countries are obsessed with spicy foods and mixing them with vegetables. (This is the reason for the obsession with curries and spinach dishes that are common irl in India.) Humult has a warmer, sunnier climate than Ronove, and that’s especially true for Berkard. Vegetarian dishes are more common in these two countries than in Ronove, and in Berkard, vegetarianism is well-received. In Humult, there’s a growing interest in foreign foods, and there are often mixed feelings about a full vegetarian diet. This is why Hazel and Ferdinand manage eat out comfortably but sometimes endure criticism from friends and family for their dietary choices. In towns like Kester, pescetarianism is common, but it’s more about the local options and less about personal choice. It's a small seaside town. In the countryside, which is a mountainous region, they also eat mutton sometimes, although they mostly depend on livestock that provides wool (sheep, alpaca, rabbits). I hope that gives a little bit of insight into the world these stories take place in. I typed up a lot of this information weeks ago but hadn't had the chance to share it yet.

[trustsalvatorewriting]

crush culture || kendall knight - chapter one

Summary: In which Kendall Knight has a crush on a girl who plays the drums at a local cafe

Word Count: 2,356

______________

❝ you make me feel like a teenager in love, you make me feel like i'll be forever young❞

KENDALL GROANED AS HE HEARD A CRASH FROM OUTSIDE HIS BEDROOM, throwing a throw pillow over his head to block out the noises and lights. He'd had to go into the studio yesterday for nearly twelve hours trying to fulfill one of Gustavo's checklists, and about halfway through, he'd started developing a migraine. He'd shrugged it off the night before and tried to sleep it off, but it had somehow gotten worse overnight.

    Thankfully, he would have the day off, as he'd managed to get a few harmonies done the day before. He reached toward his navy blue curtains and pulled them over the sunlight leaking in through his window, laying still as he waited for the noise in the apartment to die down.

    It was moments like this that he longed for his life in Minnesota. While he was thankful that he'd been given such a privileged life in California, he knew that if he hadn't gone to the auditions with James six months ago, he would've been at the ice rink at the moment, practicing for a hockey scholarship. He wouldn't have learned the meaning of 'stress migraine,' and he definitely wouldn't have had to leave his apartment to get a decent cup of coffee.

    When he finally forced himself out of bed, he was met with an empty coffee machine and an empty bag of ground coffee. Kendall all but slammed his head into the kitchen pantry, throwing the bag into the garbage disposal and reaching for his phone. In truth, he wasn't even completely sure where the nearest cafe was, but he remembered his mom mentioning that there was a small one at the hippie grocery store on Rosé.

    'God, that's such a Hollywood name,' Kendall thought to himself as he ordered his taxi. Once it confirmed, he quickly changed into a hoodie and jeans, sliding his keys into his back pocket. He headed for the taxi the moment he saw it drive into the parking lot, only giving slight nods to his friends as he rushed to get his coffee.

    Thankfully, the driver hadn't tried to start any conversations, allowing him to sit in the backseat in silence. He leaned his head against the window, shutting his eyes as he tried to block out the sunlight. It felt as though direct sunlight would set fire to the back of his eyes.

    As the driver pulled into the front of the grocery store, Kendall winced at the slight jerking movement of the vehicle as it came to a halt. He handed a fifty dollar bill to the driver and stepped out, pulling his hoodie over his head as he stared at the oddly hippie grocery store, complete with plants hanging outside the building and a green-painted sign with the name 'Williams' painted in white letters.

    Kendall lightly rolled his eyes at the California culture, making his way into the store and heading for the cafe area towards the back. It was a completely different atmosphere from the coffee places and grocery stores they'd had in Minnesota, and while he likely would've figured that out sooner, he'd spent the majority of his time in California stuffed in a recording studio.

    As he approached the cafe, he noticed a few bookshelves towards the wall, filled with journals and cooking books, and whatever else California people liked to read. He walked toward the counter and noticed a short girl sitting behind the register, a dazed look on her face as she rhythmically tapped her fingers.

    "Uh, hey, could I get a cup of coffee?" Kendall asked, pulling his hoodie off his head. He'd made a slight effort to brush out his hair, but had given up after a while and shoved it ebenath a gray beanie.

    The girl snapped out of her thoughts and turned to face him, allowing him to get a view of her name tag: Emory. She smiled happily, soft brown eyes lighting up when she noticed him. "Hi! Welcome to William's Coffee House. What can I get you?"

    An involuntary smile came to his face when he heard her voice, but it quickly faded away when his eyes drifted to the menu. He fumbled with his words as he scanned the list of coffees, complete with lattes and espressos -- and what the hell was a macchiato? Kendall rubbed the back of his neck, confusion painted across his ivory features. "Uh... the coffee... kind?"

    Emory bit back a laugh and went through the buttons on the register. "I'll just get you a small black coffee, and you can add cream and sugar if you want."

    "Thank you," He sighed. He reached to grab a twenty dollar bill from his pocket, but she pushed his hand away quickly. Kendall looked u, dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

    "Don't even worry about it. It's on the house," She explained lightly, standing to go prepare his coffee. "You look like you've had a rough day."

    "Is it that obvious?" Kendall questioned, tugging at the edges of his beanie so they covered his temples. They felt like they were going to explode.

    She hesitated, reaching out to hand his coffee cup to him. She pursed her lips together, as if she were searching for the best words to tell him that he looked like he just crawled out from the garbage disposal. Emory winced at her own words as she said, "You're still cute."

    Kendall might've blushed if it weren't for the tightening feeling on the right side of his head.

    As he reached up to press his palms against his eyes, Emory questioned, "Do you have a migraine? I have Excedrin in my bag, if you want some. They're not crazy drugs or whatever."

    "Excedrin?" He pulled his hands away from his eyes to find her holding out a small bottle of acetaminophen. She smiled lightly and placed it next to her coffee. "Thanks."

    "No problem. I carry them around 'cause my brother and I get migraines a lot. One or two should be good depending on how bad it is," Emory advised. Kendall ignored her and shook three pills out of the bottle. "I mean, or you could do that."

    The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile as he went to take the three excedrins and swallow them down with the hot coffee. He winced at the taste, setting it down.

    "Didn't you say you wanted cream and sugar?" Emory questioned, pointing at the cup.

    Kendall deadpanned at the sight of the cream and sugar, throwing his hand onto the desk. Emory giggled and took the cup from him, shaking in a little bit of each ingredient. Her laugh was high-pitched, similar to a cartoon character's. He lifted his head slightly. "Cute laugh."

    Emory dropped the sugar packet into the cup. Her eyes widened and she quickly began preparing another cup. "I'm Emory."

    "Kendall," He responded. "That's a... unique name."

    "Thanks," She chuckled. "My Pops chose it. It's supposed to mean 'brave' or 'powerful' or something. I'm neither of those, which is why I'm working in a nearly empty café at eleven in the morning on a Friday."

    "Three-day weekend," Kendall shrugged and took the cup from her. He smiled, his migraine already beginning to fade away.

    She nodded and sat down in a stool behind the counter. Emory didn't have the nerve to tell him that her dads had named her other siblings 'Silas' and 'Andromeda.' She also didn't have the energy to explain that her dads had given her one mental health day per quarter, and she'd used it today so she could skip out on volleyball. She was only 5'2" which made serving the ball practically impossible.

    For some reason, she'd wanted to impress him. She wasn't quite sure how to do that while she was sitting in a coffee apron, at the back of a grocery store, though. He was genuinely attractive -- the kind that you found on the cover of magazines and billboards. Complete with dirty blonde bangs, deep green eyes, and dimples. As dramatic as it sounded, Emory swore he would be the death of her.

    Kendall stole glances at her as she cleaned up the suddenly messy counter, and pretended not to notice when she glanced back. He hadn't been able to meet a lot of people in Hollywood -- at least, no one outside of the Palm Woods. Gustavo and Kelly had kept him under lock and key in the studio. It had been somewhat justified, of course, considering they were working on an album; but there were times where he missed working at the grocery store in Minnesota. Times where he would've preferred to be playing hockey with his friends, as opposed to learning the same dance moves over and over again.

    God, he felt privileged.

    "So, skipping out on school, pretty boy?" Emory had said it without even glancing up, but he could hear the smile in her words.

    "No, I, uh, have an off-day today," Kendall responded awkwardly. He wasn't sure how to explain that he'd completely forgotten about the essay he had to turn on by three o'clock today. "What about you?"

    "My dads let me take the day off," Emory explained. She caught her words immediately and winced, waiting for the backlash or questions she would inevitably receive. Even in California, the LGBT capital of the world, there were somehow always questions.

    "Dads, huh? What are their names?"

    "Johan and Gerard," She said hesitantly. He would ask about her siblings now, or whether her mom had died, or where she was adopted from. She held her breath.

    "That's cool."

    'What the fuck?'

    "Yeah, they're pretty great," Emory agreed, slightly confused but overall relieved by his reaction. He only gave her a calm look, implying that he was generally unbothered by the topic. She nodded in approval. "So, tell me about yourself, pretty boy."

    "What do you wanna know?" Kendall asked, leaning back in his chair. "I'm from Minnesota; I really love hockey and music; and me and my sister Katie were raised by a single mom."

    "What do you mean by 'you love music?'" Emory squinted her eyes lightly and sat down in the seat across from him, leaning forward. "Do you, like, play any instruments or are you one of those guys that listens to music and says they love it so they look really cool and pretentious?"

    "I'm in a band with my best friends. I think I'm pretty into music," Kendall chuckled. "I play, like, the smallest amount of guitar; but I mostly sing."

    "It's not a band of none of you play the instruments," Emory was quick to point out. "I'm in a small band with my foster sister, Evie. I play drums."

    "You play drums?" Kendall snickered. "And that's not fair. We're mostly singers."

    "Then you're a group, not a band," She shot back. "Yeah, I play drums. Is that hard to believe?"

    "You're just so tiny," Kendall laughed. "I couldn't imagine that."

    "Ever hears the phrase 'you're lucky you're cute?'" Emory questioned, to sing a sugar packet in his general direction. It hit the side of his flannel jacket, and she sighed internally. He was kind of making her eyes hurt at this point. She mentally went over all the reasons that it would be completely unethical for her to ask for his number, then all of the reasons that she would regret not asking for his number.

    Unfortunately, she wasn't given the time to come to a balanced conclusion. Kendall's phone rang and he took it out of his pocket, sending Emory an apologetic look as he did so. The moment he answered it, his mood seemed to falter, and by the end of the call he'd practically slammed his head against the wooden counter.

    "Uh, are you okay?" Emory questioned, lightly poking his shoulder as he hung up his phone.

    "Nope. My producer is calling me into work today, after he promised me the day off yesterday!" He raised his voice and yelled at his phone, despite the fact that the caller had hung up already. He peeked at Emory from between his fingers. "I probably look really weird right now."

    Emory nodded, her nose crinkling as she smiled down at him. "You do."

    Kendall sighed and lifted his head, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He looked at Emory. "I should probably..."

    "Yeah. I wouldn't want you to get fired or anything. A face like that deserves to have screaming girls chasing after it," Emory said. She regretted her words immediately, questioning whether she'd spoken proper English just then.

    If Kendall noticed, he chose not to say anything about it. Instead, he went to stand and took a few paces away from the café. "I'll uh... I'll see you around?"

    'Ask for his number. Ask for his number. Ask for his number.'

    "Uh, yeah! You should visit again. I'll give you a discount on your coffee next time," Emory responded with a smile.

    "Yeah, I will. Uh... thanks, Emmy," Kendall nodded at her, before his phone went off in his pocket again. He groaned and pulled it out, practically yelling into the phone. "I'm coming!"

    Once he was out of sight, Emory groaned and laid her head down on the counter, covering her blushing face. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Gerard, who was covered in flour and baking ingredients.

    She sighed. "How much of that did you see?"

    Gerard rubbed his daughter's back comfortingly. "You'll get better eventually, Emmy."

    Emory deadpanned, letting out a sigh. The next time she would see him was on the cover of a magazine, being proclaimed the new teen heartthrob.

    If she knew she would get Silas' flirting skills by spending so much time around him, she might've tried to get him kicked out of the house sooner.

[starrstained]

CHARACTER SHEET .

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 . full name.   starr harlow blake-corran nicknames / aliases.  harlow. she does use starr, though only on stage. height.   5′4" age.   26. zodiac.   leo. spoken languages.   english, as well as some french and spanish.

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 . hair colour.   beige blonde, dyed to appear more of a strawberry color. eye colour.   cognac brown. skin tone.   warm ivory with neutral undertones— she tans very easily when she spends a lot of time in the sun. body type.  mesomorph, definitely more curvy but toned. she needs to keep up a lot of body strength for her work. dominant hand.   she is ambidextrous, prefers her right hand. scars.  small burn scar on the outer side of her left forearm from cooking when she was young; faint, thin self-harm scars on her inner thighs. tattoos.   three white ink star tattoos on her collarbone and more to come! birthmarks.   a freckle in her right eye. most noticeable features.   eyes and lips. she uses a lot of glitter to draw attention.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 . place of birth.   cocoa, florida, raised in new york (verse dependent). siblings.  joey, younger half - brother by 7 years— whereabouts unknown. she hasn't had contact with him since she was 8 years old, after they were both presumably "adopted." parents.   jasmin blake and unknown father. illegally adopted by silas sterling.

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 . occupation.  burlesque performer, exotic dancer, occasional bartender. in some verses, she also owns her own club. current residence(s).   a high-end apartment in new york. close friends.   quinn sterling, her more-or-less brother and mikael mann, his unofficial mercenary. while she has a lot of acquaintances, she struggles with keeping close friends. relationship status.   single. she occasionally hooks up with an ex or two. driver’s license.   yes— she's a chaotic driver, but a good one. she drives manual and likes to go drifting. criminal record.  harlow has no official record, but she was arrested multiple times in her youth for assault, theft, menacing, and criminal mischief. silas used his influence in the police department to make it all go away on the condition that she cut it out. vices.   wrath & greed.

𝐒𝐄𝐗 & 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 . sexual orientation.   pansexual. preferred sexual role.   she is a switch and it depends a lot on who she's sleeping with. she feels safest with control and will often take on a soft dom role. libido.   average, but it significantly spikes when she's in love with someone. turn-ons.   worship, greed, respectful dominance, emotional intelligence, vulnerability. she loves it when people are out of their minds over her. she loves people who shows her their rough edges. turn-offs.   arrogance, misogyny, any kind of bigotry, poor hygiene, weaponized incompetence. slut-shaming is the worst and 100% a trigger for her. love language.   words of affirmation & quality time. relationship tendencies.   relationships are few and far between. she spends a lot of time 'talking' before actually committing to a relationship, partially out of fear that her partner wants to use her. when she does commit, she can get obsessive and hold pretty high expectations for her partner. she becomes more clingy and sensitive. while two of her three months-long relationships ended amicably, she had a pretty volatile breakup with her most recent ex.

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 . hobbies to pass time.   yoga, aerial dance, clubbing, going to the gym, and racing when she has the time. mental illnesses.   bipolar II, also has undiagnosed bpd tendencies and a lot of unresolved trauma. self-confidence level. harlow knows she's really sexy and embodies physical confidence like nobody's business. she has a much harder time with who she is underneath. on some level, she feels like an enjoyable person but she struggles with feeling empty and unlovable. when her mental health gets bad, she feels like she's the same worthless, trashy kid that was picked up off the street as a pity case .

| | | TAGGED BY : @crimeclean my angel ty ❣ | | | TAGGING : @lovespower, @metalsiren, @juliankayed, @thet0wnship (for any muse!) & anyone who sees it !

[kruk-art]

🦷 👁 🖐 for andrei, isaac or leila, please - OR all of them 💖💖

✋ Are your OC’s hands smooth, rough, or average? Why? How do they keep their nails? Do they bite them, paint them, neatly trim them, et cetera?

Andrei (VTM): He has rather smooth hands. When he was still a human he was working as a fortune teller in the circus. He was a skinny kid and usually wasn't given any hard work. When Silas turned him into vampire, he began to enjoy the knife fight and fight in general, but he can't physically change after embrace, so smooth hands ^^ Sometimes he paints his nails, though.

Isaac (MindBlind): He has slim, fairly average hands. Apart from the necessary treatments, he does not pay much attention to them. As long as they are clean and neat he is happy.

Leila (TWC): Rather average hands, but with neatly trim and paint nails. Leila prefers dark colors or simple french manicure. She has a small scar on her right hand from an accident at a shooting range, back when she was learning how to shoot.

🦷 Does your OC brush their teeth regularly? Do they tend to eat foods that get stuck in your teeth?

Andrei (VTM): He brush his teeth from time to time, but more out of habit than necessarily. Considering he only drinks blood, he has no problem with food that can get stuck in his teeth ^^

Isaac (MindBlind): Oh Nick makes sure his lil brother brush his teeth regularry. I mean, the amount of sweets Isaack can consume in 24h is unhealthy. Nick does not help with this addiction at all :D

Leila (TWC): She brush her teeth obsessively. She is very proud of her smile and prefers to keep her teeth in excellent condition. Especially since she drinks a lot of coffee.

👁 What is your OC’s eye color? Do they have any eye-related habits, like winking or rubbing their eyes? Do other people tend to notice their eyes?

Andrei (VTM): He has bright, glowing red eyes. Like, really glowing. Not even sunglasses helps. Everyone notice it. He is lucky he can disappear, cause stealth missions is not exactly his strong side ^^

Isaac (MindBlind): Stormy grey eyes with a bit of green on the edge.

Leila (TWC): She has light gray eyes and often wears smokey eyes makeup to make them look even brighter.

Thanks for the ask!

[chelsfic]

Nothing Can Kill Me Like You Do - Destroyer!Chris x Reader Smut

Sebastian Stan Masterlist

A/N: Thanks to my Anon of Music--who recommended “Poison” by Rita Ora which inspired this fic’s title. 

Summary: The reader is assigned to her first undercover case working with Chris to infiltrate Silas’s operation. She’s green and nervous as hell and, to complicate matters, irresistibly attracted to her new partner.

Warnings: Smut, forced exhibitionism, dub con, angst, drug use

---

The first time you kiss Chris you know you’re in trouble. 

“Kiss me.”

His tone is matter of fact, like it’s nothing at all and yet you sit across from him with your heart in your throat and a humiliating warmth creeping over your cheeks.

“What? Why?” you choke out--trying and failing to look away from his penetrating blue eyes. 

“So I know,” he says coolly. “I don’t wanna look surprised the first time it happens in public.”

You laugh nervously under your breath and shrug your shoulders like it’s no big deal for you either. After all, he’s right. This is part of the job. If you can’t handle it you’ll be a liability. His life is on the line just as much as yours. Once you’re undercover there can’t be any mistakes. You’ll be relying entirely on one another and for that to work there needs to be complete trust.

You lean forward with more confidence than you feel and cup the back of his neck in your hand, pressing your lips to his. You mean for it to be a short, chaste kiss but Chris immediately leans into it, parting his lips and pushing his tongue into your mouth. He takes your breath away and the nervous spark that ignites in your belly is anything but professional. You return the kiss, stroking his tongue with yours and carding your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck. His beard drags against your chin and a quiet, barely there moan forms on your lips. 

You finally pull away, blushing furiously and trying to catch your breath. Chris leans back in his seat regarding you with a calculating look. 

When you can’t take his quiet anymore you finally speak, sounding far too unsure of yourself.

“You think you can fake liking that?” you ask. Your voice is still breathless. Fuck.

He looks thoughtful for a second and nods slowly, “Probably, yeah. You’re going to have to work on your reaction though…”

His words only worsen your nerves. You take a gulp of your beer and turn your eyes away from him.

---

You have time to meet once more before the assignment begins. Chris suggests someplace more private than a bar and you invite him to your house. When you answer the door you do a double take. He’s transformed. His brown hair is cropped short in a buzz cut and he’s trimmed his beard into a goatee. He’s wearing a jean jacket with cutoff sleeves and a wool collar and his t-shirt and jeans are old, lived-in and skin tight.

But none of that is what causes you to startle in shock at his appearance. No. It’s his eyes. They’re the same clear blue, but now they’re cold and hard. The look he gives you is the look of a man who’s committed violence and isn’t afraid to do it again. You take an involuntary step back.

And then he’s smiling at you and the ice melts from his gaze.

“You like the look?” he asks, doing a twirl on your doorstep for full effect.

“It’s...different,” you reply, “It’s good. You look the part.”

“Good,” he says. His eyes lock with yours and your stomach swoops downward. “Now we’ve just got to get you acting the part.”

---

“Sit on my lap.”

Chris is lounging on your sofa with his legs spread before him. He pats his thigh invitingly and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from drooling at how much he turns you on like this. Your logical brain tells you this is a good thing. Use these feelings to solidify your cover. But your actual, soft, tender self balks at feeling genuine attraction for a man who is just playing a part.

When you don’t make any move to follow his request, Chris says your name in his low, drawling voice and continues, “These people party. There’s going to be drug use, violence, sex… You know all this. Silas treats his employees like his belongings. If you don’t want to end up in his bed then I suggest you get comfortable showing affection for me…I’ll make sure he knows you’re off limits, but I need something to work with.”

It’s not as if you don’t know the risks. You’ve convinced yourself that you can handle it. But Chris has all the experience here and you’re the rookie who’s feeling suddenly, awfully overwhelmed. You suck in a breath and step in between his legs, perching awkwardly on his thigh like a kid on Santa’s lap.

“Good,” he says on an exhale. His hands come up to your hips and he takes hold, shifting you until you’re straddling his lap. His rough palms graze your bare thighs where your shorts ride up. “Now, tell me your operative legend.”

His fingers dance over your skin, skimming underneath the hem of your shorts as he watches you expectantly. 

You start. Your name. Your birthplace. Places you’ve lived. Places you’ve worked. Family history. School. How you met Chris. All of it spoken in a thready voice as your partner’s hands explore your body. 

“Good,” he says and the praise warms your insides just as his touch is gradually heating everything else. His hands slide underneath your shirt, skirting up your ribs and tracing the underside of your bra. You gasp and he smirks, “Now. Kiss me.”

This time you don’t hesitate. You lean forward and your kiss is yearning and needy. You brush your tongue across his full lower lip and he opens his mouth, licking and biting into your lips as you squirm on his lap. You can feel the hard poke of his growing erection on the crotch of your shorts and--is that where this is headed? It really shouldn’t happen but you’re already surrendering to the possibility when he breaks the kiss, leaning back and once more looking at you with that appraising gaze. He rubs his lips as he considers you.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I can work with this.”

---

Chris walks ahead of you, holding your hand and guiding you into Silas’s house. You school your features into bland curiosity but the vice grip you’re maintaining on Chris’s hand gives you away. He looks over his shoulder at you. His face is impassive, revealing nothing--damn, he’s good at this. But as he meets your eyes his fingers squeeze around yours and that gesture is enough to calm your nerves.

You sit in a leather love seat across from Silas and a tall, dark-haired man who’s introduced as Arturo. You plaster yourself to Chris’s side, draping an arm over his shoulders. You’re marooned, surrounded by dangerous enemies and stripped of your identity as a cop. Chris is like a lifeline in a roiling sea. His touch settles you and you pray to God that you’re not throwing him off his game.

He takes your hand and entwines your fingers together in his lap as he looks over at Silas.

“She’s very...needy,” he explains with a salacious grin, turning his head to you and raking greedy eyes over your body.

You pick up on the direction he’s headed and lean your head against his shoulder, pressing a long, wet kiss into his skin. 

Silas watches with an amused smile on his face but his voice is cold, “How fun for you. But...I’m looking for crew who can work independently if needed.”

“She’ll do what I tell her to,” Chris assures him, turning to you with a meaningful look. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

You look up at him through your lashes and put on a suggestive smile as you answer, “Yes, daddy.”

He smiles and pats your thigh, “Good girl.”

You sit up straighter and turn to meet Silas’s eyes, squaring your shoulders and clearing your mind of any lingering anxiety. Chris is here with you. You can do this.

“What did you have in mind, Silas?” you ask in a voice that doesn’t shake once.

---

“The ‘daddy’ thing...that was good,” Chris whispers later that night from beside you in bed. He’s shirtless, propped against the headboard and looking down at you curled up next to him.

“Yeah?” you say. “I wasn’t sure about it--”

“No, it was perfect. I don’t think Silas will mess with you now and he definitely doesn’t suspect anything…,” he laughs as he trails off.

You nod your head in silence, looking up into his eyes for a long moment before you slowly reach out to take his hand. 

“I was so scared,” you admit in a hushed whisper. You want to be strong and confident like he is, but…

“Me too,” Chris sighs, scrubbing his free hand over his face and knocking his head back against the headboard. “But...I think it went good. I think we’re in.”

Chris doesn’t mention it when you tuck yourself next to his body that night, falling asleep with your arm wrapped around his middle.

---

“You two are so fuckin’ hot,” Silas says with a laugh as he watches Chris casually sucking a hickey into the crook of your neck while Arturo and Petra lay out lines of coke on the coffee table in front of you. You’ve been with the crew for a few weeks at this point, slowly but surely gathering the evidence you’ll need to make an arrest.

“I wanna watch you,” Silas says and his tone is all command. 

You laugh like he’s just made a hilarious joke. It’s gotten easier for your to lose yourself in your character.

“I’m serious,” Silas says. His expression is open and he’s holding his palms out like he’s just made a friendly business proposal rather than asked to peep on you having sex.

“C’mon, Silas, fuck off,” Chris tries to laugh it off and he pulls you into his lap with a possessive scowl. “You know I don’t like to share.”

Silas stands and you tense for an instant in Chris’s arms before forcing yourself to relax against his chest. The gang leader stalks toward you with a smile like a knife’s edge and, before either of you can react, he pulls a handgun out of the back of his pants and thrusts it into Chris’s face.

“I just wanna watch, Chris,” he says in a mocking, wounded tone. “And I wasn’t asking.”

Chris’s hands rest on your hips, he clenches his fingers a fraction--a coded message of comfort. I’m here with you. I’ve got you.

“Alright, alright! Jesus Christ, man! Lemme take a leak first…”

Chris is wearing the wire tonight. Fuck. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you watch him saunter to the bathroom, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You hug your arms together and glance up at Silas, still looming over you with the gun held loosely at his side.

“Chris may be your daddy,” he sneers, “but I’m your fuckin’ boss.”

Petra and her possessive jealousy save you the trouble of answering. She slinks up behind Silas and wraps her arms around him, whining for attention. 

When Chris comes out of the bathroom he gives you a single nod. He must’ve stashed the wire somewhere inside. It gives you hives thinking about the possibility of someone finding it, but you can’t really worry about that right now because Chris is grabbing your hand with a sly smile and pulling you up off the couch. 

“C’mon, baby,” he says, loud enough for Silas to hear. “Let’s give him a good show.”

He leads you back to the bedroom where you’ve been crashing off and on since joining up with the gang. Silas follows behind you, prowling like a lioness stalking her dinner. A shiver runs down your spine imagining the man’s eyes tracking over your body, but you keep your gaze pointed forward at the back of Chris’s head.

As soon as you enter the room Chris has you pressed up against the wall, his hard, muscled body melding to yours as he mouths at your neck with a feral snarl. He shoves his hand between you and undoes the button of your pants, reaching inside to cup his palm between your legs.

You’re really doing this. God, this is not how you wanted this…

Your breath is coming out in ragged gusts and you can see Silas sitting in the chair in the corner, lazily palming himself through his pants. Fuck. Chris’s breath is hot on your skin as he kisses down your neck and his hand is slipping into your underwear. You shut your eyes with a trembling gasp as he touches you there for the first time.

“Hey,” his voice is in your ear, “Baby, stay with me. It’s me. It’s just you and me.”

You open your eyes and there he is. His clear blue irises fill your vision as he moves his hand against you, gentle but persistent. The breath rushes from your lungs and you arch against him, bringing your hands up to slide beneath the hem of his tank top and greedily running them over the lines of his muscular belly. He growls, pulling back to rip the shirt off over his head before working at his belt and pants. For a second you’re frozen against the wall, and then you follow suit. You try to block out the fact that Silas is sitting there watching as you hurriedly undress.

Chris pulls you over to the bed, pushing you onto your back before crawling after you. You can’t resist the urge to run your eyes over his naked body. This man who’s kissed you and held you and protected you. This man you’d die for and who would die for you. Your brain is a twisted web of lies and truths, a confluence of warring identities, but you know one thing for sure: you’ve fallen in love with him. And to have this intimacy be twisted for Silas’s satisfaction...you burn with the indignity of it.

“Shhh, baby. You’re gonna be a good girl for me, aren’t you?” Chris asks. The word choice is for Silas but the message remains. Remember what we’re here to do.

Chris settles between your legs and you can feel the head of his cock bumping against your thigh. 

“Yes, daddy,” you answer in a cloying tone, writhing beneath him as if you’re impatient for him to fuck you. Chris reaches over to the nightstand and opens a drawer, pulling out a condom. You can tell from his jerky motions that he’s eager to get this over with. Is it because Silas is here or is there really...is there really nothing on his side of this after all?

He fists his dick and gives it a few rapid pumps before rolling on the condom and settling back between your thighs. He licks his hand and reaches down between you, grinding the heel of his palm into your clit as he strokes his fingers through your folds and inside of you. He’s good at this. Even with your fear and anxiety he has you wet in a matter of minutes and before you know it he’s removing his fingers and pressing his cock into your entrance. 

Again those startling blue eyes. He looks down at you as he thrusts inside. His gaze is unreadable and then it’s twisted in lust as his mouth falls open with a moan and he begins to shove against you in frenzied thrusts, chasing an orgasm as quickly as possible. In minutes he’s arching, straining, rigid against you as his dick pulses and twitches with his release. He collapses down on top of you, shielding our body from Silas’s eyes as the man gets up with a little sarcastic round of applause. 

“Fuck you very much, Silas,” Chris says with a growl as the man walks out, sealing the door behind him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Are you alright?”

Chris slips out of you and tears the condom off, throwing it into the corner with a disgusting splat. He hovers over you, unsure if he should touch you to offer comfort or back off. 

You pull the sheet over your body and sit up, waving away his concern. 

“I’m fine...it’s...I’m okay,” you insist. And then you’re sobbing.

Chris drops down beside you on the bed and gathers you in his arms. You collapse into him with a muffled wail. You try to be quiet, not wanting to alert the others out in the living room, but your tears flow freely onto Chris’s chest. It’s not just this...awful violation. It’s everything. The fear, the lies, the anxiety, the drugs, the violence, the stress...it’s all so much.

“Shhh,” Chris coos in your ear, rocking you a little and dropping kisses into your hair. “It’s alright. You’re doing amazing, babe. You really are. And we’re so close. We’re so close and then you’ll never have to do anything like this again…”

You sit up with a sniffle, looking into his eyes as you reach up to hold his stubbled jaw in your hands. He goes still, his eyes serious as he waits for you to speak.

“I need to know, Chris,” you breathe, your voice impossibly soft. “I need to know if this is real...this--!”

And you lean forward and press your lips to his. It’s soft and sweet and nothing like the show you just performed for Silas. When you pull away you watch him, wide-eyed and breathless for his answer.

“Is this...real?”

He leaves you waiting for a single beat of tense silence and then he’s grabbing your face and kissing the breath out of your lungs. His soft, full lips close over yours and his tongue probes. It’s sensuous and demanding and comforting all at once. Outside in the living room the others are getting high and wasted on their own personal poisons. Well, if you have to pick a poison...if you have to choose something to kill you...then you choose him. You’ll follow him into hell if he’ll just keep kissing you like this. You’ll live this deceitful half-life forever if it means you get to stay by his side. 

His fingers are tangled in your hair and you’re crying and panting and moaning against his lips. When he finally breaks the kiss his face is as open as you’ve ever seen it. His lips are pink and swollen from your kiss and his eyes gleam with unshed tears.

“This is real, baby,” he insists, his voice breaking with intensity. “This is the only real thing.”

---

A month later your fingers tremble as you set the pregnancy test down on the rim of the sink in the drugstore’s bathroom. Your phone vibrates with a call from Chris. And you finally, finally have the hard evidence you need to take Silas down for good.

You look at yourself in the mirror. Dyed hair, too much make up, clothes that don’t belong to the real you. The two pink lines on the test stare up at you. Your hands come to rest on your belly and your lips curve up in a smile. 

---

Tags:

@watsonwise​

I’m taking the liberty of tagging the folks who liked my post about starting this fic--sorry if I’m bothering you!

@rckthcsbhs​ @ticosas​ @nothingbutaprettyface​ @itsmesilly94 @fangirlfree​ @shanaynay218

[sarcasmpersonified181]

@siiinfully asked #3 pregnancy edition [ karanlik and maddox ]

Maddox was rather enjoying the process of having a child with one of his fellow Sith. After the last Sith breeding week a number of the ladies were knocked up, much to the delight of The Emperor. Through the usual process that Silas went through Maddox learned that he was the father of Karanlik’s child. It’s to be a girl and will seemingly be quite the rambunctious sort. Maddox wished to be there to help Karanlik through the various stages of pregnancy, he didn’t object to her sleeping with others as it wasn’t like he’d suddenly commit himself. It was worth stating that they’d co-parent, they weren’t suddenly in love.

“That feel alright, Kara? Not too… fuck… rough?” He asked as he plunged himself from behind, one palm gently resting on her breast. Normally he was quite the vigorous lover, but he’d become more cautious as she edged ever closer to her due date. “I can slow down if you wish?”

[fericita-s]

The Bloom Is On The Rye

And then he was in front of her, lifting her hair out from under the quilt where it pressed against her bare skin, only one hand holding his blanket in place.  Emma could see his collarbone and the drops of rainwater still clinging to him there so she reached forward and wiped them away with the edge of the quilt.

Emmry Forced Marriage Mercy Street/Oregon Trail crossover! Chapter 5 below, most definitely rated M, also on AO3

a continuation of In having new eyes by @jomiddlemarch​ and beta-ed into being better by @the-spaztic-fantastic​.  Thank you both for your contributions to this story!

Silas was dead by morning. 

They buried him deep in the earth, a kindness he wasn’t really owed, but Dr. Foster said it would prevent contamination.  The miasma of bodily fluids was so heavy the others were eager to see him underground.  

Mr. Diggs urged them forward, out of the bad humors in the air, so they pressed on.  Dr. Foster was more tense than usual and Mary more solicitous to his irritable moods than normal as he looked for signs of disease among the others, stalking among them on the trail. 

They stopped their frenzied push when Chimney Rock was in sight, and then wasn’t, as a fierce rainstorm blew in across the prairie. The wind blew the rain sideways and lightning illuminated the towering rock as Henry rolled down the cotton canvas cover as far as it would go along the cantilevered ends of the wagon. Emma gathered the butter churn from the chassis, while Henry calmed the oxen as best he could, before they both climbed into the wagon completely soaked. 

Emma’s dress and hair were clinging to her, heavy and freezing cold, her fingers shaking as she undid her buttons and the ties of her skirts.  She fumbled with fastenings and shook her hands to warm them up and then Henry was there, holding her hands and blowing on them, rubbing them briskly and then taking off her clothes so quickly that she knew he must think her in danger from the chill.  After he lifted the chemise over her head he left her for a moment to get a quilt and then wrapped her in it tightly.  He stripped in the same perfunctory way he had undressed her, no blushes of embarrassment or awkward hesitation, and Emma was strangely moved, turning warm from a place near her middle and unable to look away. His pants were caked in mud up to his knees, and the sleeves of his coat were worse, so he too ended up in only a blanket.

And then he was in front of her, lifting her hair out from under the quilt where it pressed against her bare skin, only one hand holding his blanket in place.  Emma could see his collarbone and the drops of rainwater still clinging to him there so she reached forward and wiped them away with the edge of the quilt. 

“I should finish the new dress I’m sewing.  Mary helped me piece it together, I’m almost finished. With that one wet, I’ve nothing to wear.”  In the cool air Emma could see her breath as she spoke, hanging between them like the words she wanted to say. Warm me.  Cover me.  Pull me to yourself and let me get lost in your touch.  She made no move to gather her trunk of sewing notions and he didn’t either.

The pounding of the rain against the canvas cover was so deafening and so constant it made Emma feel like the inside of her head was buzzing. It was a frantic drumbeat that her heart raced to match, and she felt wild with the need to crush her body against his, to find safety and pleasure in the feel of his hands on her skin. She reached both hands towards his face and placed them behind his head, covering his mouth with her own as her quilt fell away and she stood naked before him.

“Emma! It’s too cold!” he said, readjusting his blanket so it now covered them both.  Her breasts pressed against his chest and her thighs were against his and she felt him shiver as she moved even closer.

“Then warm me,” she said, and he had her on the wagon floor, the quilt underneath her and Henry above, smoothing her hair away from her face and kissing her lips, her neck, her collarbone. He stretched out his blanket over them both, cocooning them in the warmth of their own bodies as they learned where to touch and grasp and kiss. Their rhythm matched that of the pelting rain and Emma felt she might be consumed or burst like a flash of lightning.  Thunder rumbled so close that the very ground shook, but it was the way Henry was moving above her that made her throw her head back and gasp.

***

“After this, the trail gets rougher. We won’t be in prairie land any more.  The rest of the way is mountainous, steep.” He curled a long strand of her hair around his finger and then kissed her ear, running his hands up and down her arms.

“We’ve seen so many wonders. The same God who carved Chimney Rock causes these terrifying wind and rains.”  She didn’t say and the river currents that killed my family, but she could tell he understood in the way he stroked her hair and held her tight, her back against his front and her hands on his knees. She could feel the rough skin on his palms that had beat out a fire; evidence of Henry’s care and evidence of God’s neglect.  Or at least His indifference.  “Sometimes I’m not sure who God is. And sometimes I am sure who He is and it’s too much to bear.”

“Our unbelief or belief don’t make Him less real.  And I think He can see your pain and knows why you feel that way.  God is strong enough to handle our anger and our fear.  Our disbelief too.”

“How can you believe so steadily?”

His hands paused in their exploration of her body.  “Sometimes I don’t.  But it’s been very easy to believe in the goodness of God since you became my wife.”

Emma turned to kiss him and then they spoke in other ways, telling each other of their desires and needs with touches that words could not express, with sounds that were a primal language they both understood, but had never used before.

***

When she finally opened the trunk of sewing notions she searched for the lace trim that she hoped to add to make a collar.  Instead, she found baby booties.  

She held them in reverent hands, thinking about how her mother must have placed them there and wondering if she did so in the hopes of a grandchild or in the desire to remember her own babies, now grown and often disappointments, but forever sweet in her remembrance of them as round-faced infants chewing on their feet and blowing bubbles out of their mouths.  Emma placed them back in the roll of trim, like a pleasurable secret.  She thought of the verse Henry quoted: Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires and decided not to speak of her own hopes, now that they had a chance of coming true. Time would tell. And God willing, she and Henry would have plenty of time.

The storm was growing weaker, but rain still fell when Emma put the finishing touches on the dress and tried it on in front of Henry.

“It’s beautiful.  Though I would rather we stayed in just the blankets for a bit longer.”

Emma shucked it off and laid it carefully over a trunk, stepping back into his warm embrace, enjoying the feel of his hands running up and down her back. 

“I’m in awe of you.  Every day you keep learning something new.  You bring a brightness to others, a joy even though you are still in a cloud of grief yourself.” 

“It lessens each day,” she said. “Your love is filling the cracks.”

He pressed his forehead to hers and then neither had words for a while.

Author’s Note:

The miasma theory claimed that bad air caused illnesses including cholera.  It was somewhat helpful in controlling the spread as it placed an emphasis on cleaning pollutants and bad smells and diarrhea was the main issue with spreading cholera.  Germ theory didn’t take hold until the 1880s.

Middlemarch sent me this post and suggested they might be baby booties in Emma’s possession for this story which I thought was a fantastic idea and was happy to include here.

[alexius-fr]

Chapter 4 - Decay

Click the link for the AO3 version or read below the cut ^^ 

“How dare he.”

She was furious, raging like a fire. A beautiful, spirited fire, her eyes ablaze.

“He talked down to you like you are not his equal, no- his superior. You are younger, more able, more open minded. More fit to lead.” she spoke with a voice like a crackle of lightning, rough, sharp.

Khadiyah. She stood proud as she faced him, unwilling to back down. Proud, strong. The very embodiment of what a dragon should be. Her muted red hide carried the markings of a warrior, scars, but also her natural markings that made her look ruptured, light red and very dark red mixing in an aggressively striped pattern on her body and wings. Silas had been instantly smitten with her when they met for the first time, only a few months ago. She'd joined the clan and had initially not attracted much attention to herself, but she'd made silent friendships with a lot of the dragons over those few months, asserting herself as a reliable companion, if sometimes harsh. Firm but fair, she was a fearsome fighter, strong willed and stubborn.

“You saw what happened.” Silas said. “I was foolish to think they would betray him. I should have prepared better, but in the heat of the moment I thought I could pull it off.”

“The old bastard's been their leader for a long time, it won't be easy to convince them. We need to talk to them, one on one. Be subtle about it. Bring up the argument, apologize. Win their sympathy. Speak to their imagination. So many of them want to return home, I saw it in their eyes.”

“I know. I saw it too. And I don't want our daughter to grow up here, in this throwaway lair, this land plagued by cutting winds. What if she gets it into her head that she wants to make kites?” Silas shuddered. “No, she deserves to grow up in a territory suited to her needs. If we cannot convince them, I promise you we will leave together, my love.”

“So we shall. But we must try. There is strenght in numbers, and we need those numbers if we are to establish a presence in the Scarred Wasteland.” Khadiyah stated.

“Do you think Seth could make the trip?” Silas wondered. Their firstborn was sleeping on her nest behind them. She was only a month old, but young dragons grew quickly, and she stood to about half of their size already.

“If she cannot, she was never meant to make it.” Khadiyah said. “Such is the way of the Plaguebringer. We must not coddle her.”

“Of course.” Silas agreed. “I would never.” He, in fact, would. But best to not bring that up right now.

“Besides, she shows signs of your blood already. If it persists, she will easily make it.” Khadiyah said, not worried in the slightest, Silas smirking at the compliment.

“But she has your pride and determination.” Silas said, in an attempt to flatter his mate, who smiled coquettishly.

“Of course she does.” Khadiyah stated, matter-of-factly. “She's a combination of the best of us both.”

“You are the best part of me.” Silas said, still as smitten as the day they met. For the smallest moment, Khadiyah's face softened, and she rubbed her head against Silas' neck lovingly. He loved her always, but even more in these very rare moments where she allowed herself to be vulnerable. Silas returned the gesture, but froze when he saw noticed they were being watched.

“Gross!”

Seth had woken up and was obviously displeased with her parents' show of affection towards eachother, her nose wrinkled as she stuck out her tongue. Silas smiled at Khadiyah, who rolled her eyes, the last of her smile disappearing. She headed over to the nest to berate Seth for listening in on them, Silas watching them with a feeling of strange melancholy. Once, all that had mattered to him was his brother. He'd looked up to him, did everything for him, forgetting himself in the process. Khadiyah had reminded him of his worth. Supported him as he learned to re-assert himself. She gave him a goal. A family. They were his priority now. And if Sanguine wouldn't accept that.. a part of him hoped he would. But he knew better. No, his course was already set, despite a part of his old self wanting to return to the way things were before. But he had a responsibility now, and he had to rise to it.

It was time to put their plan into motion.

-

Sanguine did not feel good about leaving the lair unattended for a longer time, especially after that argument. But something pulled him northwards, called him towards the border of his old homeland. Something primal, something mystical that tugged at his very core. He wouldn't call it his heart, but it was something ancient, something that he had always known and yet didn't.

The bamboo forests and cliffs gradually turned more orange and yellow, the domain of the Plaguebringer slowly but surely advancing over the borders. Dead, dried out bamboo lined the very edge where the ground turned to dry, ashy brown sinew. It was on this edge that his calling lay. From the skies, he searched, circling the area. For hours, he skirted the border, drifting on the sickly warm winds that blew into the Wastelands.

He didn't know if it was exhaustion, but it seemed like the very land beneath him was starting to move. He looked closer, seeing that oval puddle he'd seen a few times now shift and boil. The very thin green liquid was hardly as toxic as what you'd find near the wyrmwound, this looked more like water with a flim layer of algae on top.

And then it blinked.

Sanguine nearly fell out of the sky when he saw it, doing a double take to be sure. But yes, it actually had blinked. And it did it again, it's dry fleshy edges pulling shut in an almost cringing motion before opening again, this time releasing it's contents as it did so. He'd never seen a puddle blink before, so he had to quell his curiousity, flying down to investigate. He had forgotten how alive the land itself could feel, the ground groaning as he approached the large puddle. It was boiling hot with pestilence, even this close to the border. Like a miniature wyrmwound, almost.

“You have come at last.”

A bombastic voice shook the ground and Sanguine froze, eyes quickly scanning the environment. There was nobody around, he was certain of it.

“The answers are not always in plain view, Sanguine.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Sanguine said, looking around, ready to defend himself.

“You are known to this land, and the land whispers to me. It's been a very long time, child of the Blood.”

“Reveal yourself. I have no time for games.” Sanguine snapped, impatient. For a long moment, nothing happened, green puffs of poisonous air releasing from a gheyser far away. Sanguine was not concerned, a child of Plague could withstand the lands' natural defenses. He was more concerned about where this voice was coming from, staying alert to signs of danger.

Then, with a great heave, the pool opened, parting to reveal the entrance to an underground lair. The liquid bubbled and spattered, sloshing into an invisible barrier. Powerful magic filled the air, the taste of metal on Sanguine's tongue.

“Enter, friend.”

Sanguine warily looked at the putrid liquid as he passed through the entrance that had just appeared, ready to jump up and fly off if it turned out to be a trap, but nothing happened. He entered a narrow tunnel where the floor squished under his feet as he walked along. The smell of the lair might have put off anyone not of the Blood, but Sanguine found himself nostalgic. It smelled of decay, of damp rotted leaves, and the sickly sweet smell of the pools of acid. The smell of home.

Inside, the lair's walls were covered in sinew, that seemed to breathe and move as he passed. He felt like a hundred eyes were upon him, but he saw none of them when he turned his head to check behind him. Still, he cast a warning frown at whatever was watching him.

“Be welcome, Sanguine.” the voice was closer now, Sanguine focusing his attention on it, ready to strike if need be.

“So you have answered the call at last.” Sanguine looked around to see the source of the voice, stepping onto something warm and soft, which grabbed his attention. He inched back and saw two pale white eyes blink up at him, like they had just woken up. With a groan that shook the lair, a large serpentine body started to unravel from the very floor itself, sinew breaking apart to reveal an imperial dragon, face scarred over, their blood red mane long and unmaintained, their wings and body tattooed with mystical drawings of eyes and bones.

“Were you..merged with the cave?” Sanguine wondered, seeing bits of sinew still stuck in the imperial's wild mane.

“I was. I have been for so long it feels strange to be confined into this body again. But I suppose it would be rude not to face the first guest I have had in years.” the imperials voice was deep, bombastic, but with a rawness to it. This might have been the first time in all those years it had to use it's vocal chords.

“Years?” Sanguine frowned. “Wait, how does that work?”

“I spent years alone, communing with the land. Eventually I became so adept at it I simply.. merged with it. Now I can do it at will, but it takes a lot of concentration. But that's not what is important. You're here.” the imperial spread out their wings, the crudely inscribed magical markings blinking as they watched. The 'eyes' didn't even really look like eyes, more like crudely carved spiked circles with a dot in the middle, but they did send a shiver up Sanguine's spine as they focused on him. The imperials face was not quite directed at him, and Sanguine realized only now that the dragon was blind.

“Yes. I see.” the imperial spoke.”You have suffered great pain.” “Doesn't take a genius to conclude that.” Sanguine frowned. “Was that supposed to impress me?” “You are impressed, Blooded One.” the imperial spoke without a doubt. “You were wary as you entered my lair. Every muscle in your body is tense, ready to fight. Rest assured, I would not be much of a match for the firstborn son of Wretch.” Sanguine froze at her name. There was no way the imperial could have known that without-

“I see not who you have pretended to be all these years. Rather, I see who you are. I see your blood.” the imperial said. “But I suppose it is rude to read your blood without first introducing myself. I am Rowan, seer of the land of the Plaguebringer. Pleased to meet you.”

“Who..what are you?” Sanguine adjusted his question. Rowans blind eyes darted for a moment.

“I am ancient. A wanderer. A seer. A soothsayer. A witch. I am all these things, and more. Only The Plaguebringer knows what I truly am. I no longer remember which of the previous is true.” Rowan said, his wings closing themselves. “You have come because you heard my call. Because the land called you.” “Well, something called me, yes.” Sanguine reluctantly admitted.

“You can not deny the call of your blood, child of Wretch.” “Don't call me that.” Sanguine snapped.

“Why do you deny it? All these years you spent looking for power that was greater than hers, when you already had it inside you in the first place.”

“You see much.” Sanguine said, quietly. He no longer hid the fact that he was impressed, but even if he had, there was probably no point. Whatever this imperial was, he was wise far beyond Sanguine's comprehension. It had been a long time since someone's presence had humbled him, but surprisingly he found the experience refreshing rather than annoying. Rowan was a wild spirit, a hermit, but he felt a strange kind of kinship with him. Rowan intrigued him, the runes engraved in his dull red hide radiated power, even under the mess of his long mane. Sanguine was no longer tense, instead finding a strange comfort in the fact that Rowan would see through any front he put up. A slow smile crept onto larger dragons' face.

“Excellent. You have decided to trust me. Very good.” Rowan rubbed his claws together, Sanguine seeing long, unkempt nails scrape past eachother. “Then let's prepare everything for a proper reading. Please, sit.”

[anathemafiction]

Of All You Offer

Commission made by the lovely @gothgaycowboy

You recover from an injury in the Pirate's ship.

Heat.

It's everywhere. Beneath you, pressing from your sides, pushing from above. Stirring within you. It's so warm, scolding, you feel flames licking at your skin, burning your flesh. Feel them wrap around your throat, press down on your chest so that when your parched lips crack open, nothing comes out but the snuffed-out breath of a drowning man. 

But not in water. You drown in hell instead. 

There's a pulsing, heavy, painful. Spreading from your side, melting with the beats of your heart. You feel it throbbing against your eardrums, feel it hammering in your veins. But all thoughts are lost to you, because your mind spins and falls. You soar and fly. 

There's heat everywhere. It's suffocating. Debilitating. Far away, as you slip in and out of consciousness, you feel the sweat that coats your skin, feel the drenched hairs that cling to your forehead. Feel a grip in one of your feeble hands, a weight that envelops your fingers. 

You can barely breathe, but you cling to it. To that grip. Like a light in the middle of a pitch-black storm, or a waterskin buried in the desert. You cling to it, and now your lips move around a sound you can't quite name. A name you can't remember. And your grip is weak, but you find the strength to squeeze back four and a half-fingers. Riddled with rings and scars. Calluses and a familiar shape. 

And even as the flames burn higher, and your soul melts along with them. Even as darkness pools on the edges of your being and silence closes in like a bubble that shrinks. Even as pain slowly disappears, leaving behind an emptiness. An echo that is suddenly so cold. 

Even as delirious tears fall from your heated eyes, your ears catch a sound at the edge of your conscience. "... Reiker," and you can't place the voice but your lips tug into a weak smile all the same. 

"Hakuho, hang..."

You try to speak, try to squeeze back the hand that has yours in a death-grip. Painful, if you could feel anymore. But you can't. Because darkness closes in. 

- - - 

The ground is swaying along with your mind. 

Or maybe, it's your mind that makes the ground move. Either way, you're drifting back and forth in a gentle cradle that would be welcoming were you not aching from every cursed inch of your body. Your eyes are closed, but you feel the sunshine just behind your eyelids, bathing your skin. 

Your damp, clammy skin. 

The blanket that covers you is soft and silky, smooth and airy. But you wish it would be gone. You're still too warm. Your ribs ache and just below them...

A sword flashes towards you. You didn't' see it coming. Didn't notice her approaching from the back. The sharpened tip pierced through flesh like a knife through butter and your knees gave out. You looked down, at your hands, clutching your side. There was so much blood-

Water trickles down your forehead, tiny rivers falling past your nose and wetting the sensitive skin of your lips. The shock pulls you to the present, and you would have jolted if your body could move more than an inch. So you open your mouth instead and try to drink what little water droplets you can. 

There are fingers on your chin, and the wet towel keeps gently patting along your forehead. It feels like paradise. "Is my treasure asking for a drink," a rough, low voice speaks by your side, and you know it now. "Or mimicking a landed fish?"

(…)

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The Comission

Thank you so much for making the request, Silas ♡♡♡