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[sophiashealthyliving]

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[phantomskeep]

The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 2

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 2 -  A Bird, a Babe, and a Butler All Walk Into a Cave

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter One | Chapter Three

When Danny had first ventured into the darkened alleyways of this dirty city, he didn’t expect to run into some weirdo in a skin-tight black and blue suit. Fellow dumpster divers? Yeah, sure. He figured that fighting off a family of possums was normal when scrounging around for any scrap of something to fill his stomach.

He didn’t even know where he ended up honestly. Danny got a headache anytime he thought too hard about the details of where he was or how he got there or even who he was. He knew his name was Danny. He knew he was small (he had looked in a mirror, thank you, but it felt wrong somehow, like a funhouse mirror upside down) and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be small. But thinking about stuff like that hurt a lot–kind of like a metal fist bashing into his skull.

Danny wasn’t really sure how he knows what that feels like, yet he was sure that was the best comparison.

What he certainly wasn’t expecting at tonight's garbage dump feast was being kidnapped by a vigilante. Was it really kidnapping though if he kind of went along willingly out of pure curiosity? 

Although, man, was he glad (not that he'd ever admit it out loud) that this random vigilante decided to kidnap him tonight. After Nightwing had bundled Danny up onto his motorcycle once their meet-up with Batman was done and peeled out of the inner city of Gotham, the bird-themed hero brought him to a hidden entrance in the hills that led to a literal cave. He had watched when they pulled up as a reinforced steel panel lifted into the rocks above their head, leaving a gaping maw that Nightwing just zoomed into. Lights activated with motion sensors as they sped into a huge room that was full to the brim with gadgets and computers that lit up at their arrival. Danny could only stare in awe of how awesome and improbable it all seemed.

Seriously, how crazy were these Fruit Loops?

The man had started explaining some boring stuff about the cave when they arrived, but the massive freaking T-rex had immediately caught Danny’s eye and he stopped paying attention to Nightwing. It was like a switch was flipped, his cautious suspicion he’d been holding onto was thrown out the window, and now all that he could think about was flying himself up to the giant dinosaur and touching it. Danny was sure if you looked at his face at that moment, there was no other thought behind his eyes beyond must touch right freaking now.

Nightwing must have sensed the gremlin energy pouring off of him because next thing Danny knew, the collar of his jacket was being grabbed before he could move from his spot at the entrance. He pouted up at the man, demanding with his eyes that Nightwing let go so he could play on the dinosaur like he was a kid. But wait, maybe he should say because he’s a kid? He is a kid right, being all small? But he still wasn’t sure if that was correct. He mentally shrugged and thought: Eh, who cares? All Danny could see was shiny scales glinting in the fluorescent lights lining the cave.

And Danny? Danny was but a simple man (boy…maybe a crow?). He sees a shiny thing and must have the shiny thing.

“Danny, don't even think about it,” Nightwing intoned. He gripped Danny's jacket a little tighter and pulled him closer to the man's side. He totally did not pout at being squished into the vigilante. One hundred percent, no siree. No pouting here.

“Think about what? What are you thinking that I'm thinking?” Danny shrugged, acting casual while his eyes flitted back and forth between the vigilante and dinosaur. “There's no thoughts going on up here, I can promise you that.” He knocked on the side of his head to prove his point, but Nightwing looked unimpressed.

“Master Nightwing, I presume you brought this child back to the cave for medical attention?” Danny's nose bunched in confusion as he heard another, older and British, voice enter the chat. He turned his head around, looking for the source and spotted an older guy in a butler outfit paired with a mask, much like Nightwing’s, appear around the corner.

“Agent A! Good timing!” Nightwing jovially responded, yanking Danny around like he weighed nothing (shut up, he was a BIG MAN!) and presented him like a scrungly, dumpster-infested gift to Agent A. Danny crossed his arms and attempted to sit criss-cross while hovering in the air in response. He hoped it showed both men how displeased he was being carried around like a kitten.

Agent A only raised a single eyebrow, humming as he set down the tray he had been holding on a nearby table. Danny felt a little awkward at the look, like the man was able to be disappointed in him for nearly trying to be a brat and was waiting for Danny himself to realize it. 

“Hmm, well Master Nightwing, would you be so kind as to introduce the young Mister to me?” Agent A's attention (thankfully) shifted to Nightwing and Danny huffed a near silent breath in relief. 

Danny shifted uneasily, eyeing the new person. “How do I know you’re not some sort of government spy trying to steal my spleen?”

Nightwing let out a tired sigh, patting Danny’s greasy hair with his free hand. “This is Danny, he’s in need of some medical attention like you said. Starting with an attitude adjustment, I think.”

The young boy spluttered, smacking away Nightwing’s gloved hands. His feet dropped to the ground as he glared up at the vigilante who had finally decided to let him go. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much! You’re the one who kidnapped me, so what kind of attitude should I have in the first place?”

“You came with me willingly!” Nightwing cried out, throwing his arms over his head in exasperation.

“You bribed me with sandwiches! I see no sandwiches here!” Danny rebutted, tilting his chin up and moving around like he was towering over Nightwing (he decided it was best to ignore his current height).

“Danny, you’ll get your sandwiches after Agent A and I check you over--”

“You’re a dirty liar and I hope you know that I will haunt you in your nightmares.” He squinted his eyes at Nightwing and Danny made a mental promise to himself to follow through with the threat…whether he knew how to do it or not. He would figure it out though if he didn't get the food he was supposed to be shoving in his mouth right about now.

Nightwing just sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Okay, kiddo. Whatever you say, I'm too tired to argue.” Danny pumped a little fist in the air at his win.

A small cough caught the quarreling black-haired duo’s attention. They both shifted their gazes back to where Agent A was watching them bicker. Danny resolutely ignored how they acted in sync and shifted a few inches away.

“If it may please you, Mister Danny, while Nightwing gets you set up in the medical bay I can make you a few simple sandwiches.” The older man turned a pointed look towards the youngest present. “Are there any allergies or preferences that I should be aware of?” When Danny shook his head negatively, Agent A turned to leave for…wherever he had spawned from before.

“Thank you, A.” The vigilante called to his retreating back before starting to herd Danny over to a well-lit corner of the literal freaking cave with actual bats. He still couldn’t get over it.

Danny glared up at Nightwing, eyebrows scrunched in a face of pure childish pout. “I would like to state that I am doing this under heavy protest.”

“Duly noted.”

The medical bay was stocked full of random bits and bobs of probably important looking equipment. From IV lines to a full x-ray machine, Danny had to take a moment and question just how loaded these guys must be to have this stuff at the ready. None of this looked second-hand or even well-used to his untrained eyes, though he couldn't remember if he really had much of a reference for this stuff. As he was ushered onto a cot, Danny couldn’t help the shiver of fear involuntarily creeping up his spine as he sat down.

Watching Nightwing move around brought a thin feeling of panic racing through his veins. The sterile smell, brightly unadorned walls, and the constant hum of devices plugged into every outlet. There was a mayo cart near the end of the cot he sat on, not much on it but Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the larger-than-they-should be tweezers and the forceps peeking out from under the sheet covering it. 

“Alright, Danno, we’re just gonna check you over real quick,” Nightwing told him, bustling around the small space comfortably. Danny felt like he couldn't breathe at the nickname for some reason he couldn’t recall. But that wasn't right? Because he was pretty sure he didn't have to breathe, which is wrong because a human should be breathing, right? He raised a shaky hand to his chest and yep, it was definitely not moving. Danny had stopped breathing at some point without realizing and it wasn’t affecting him, which was weird. But he still hadn't stopped watching the gleaming silver taunting him as though the instruments would start moving on their own towards him. So, he couldn’t bring himself to care about his own unnaturalness. “Now, I'm not the one with a history of medical care and knowledge. I know more than most. but I’ve only got enough in this old noggin for some basic first aid. Agent A will be the one actually looking you over in a bit.”

Nightwing continued to chatter on, but Danny couldn't bring himself to focus on his words until the man stepped in front of the instruments, blocking them from Danny’s line of sight. He sucked in a sharp breath for the first time in minutes, but Nightwing didn’t act like he heard him as he reached over to remove Danny's jacket. 

“Now, real quick I'm just going to do a surface check,” Nightwing rubbed Danny’s hands between his own rapidly. “Jeez kid, you're like an ice cube! We'll get you some warm clothes after we make sure you don't have any injuries. I'm gonna look for any bruises or cuts or anything broken so I can bring it to A's attention. Okay?”

Danny didn't respond. His eyes had started scanning the room and landed on a tiny centrifuge on the counter a few feet away. It looked off, it wasn't spinning at least, but the sight of it caused questions to blur in his mind. Were they going to take his blood? Why would they do that? Lots of reasons he knew, but couldn't name a single one. Why couldn’t he think of them? Would anything happen if they did take his blood? Why was he worried? Was there something that Danny should know, should remember, that he just couldn't? It was important, it had to be important! They were important, they were terrifying, they were his everything, they were his end–!

He felt his mind screech to a sudden halt, narrowing in on the blinking red light of the power button. The centrifuge just taunted him innocently as his mind panicked. Danny felt his chest going up and down, but his lungs still felt empty while his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat. He could hear his own heart beating. 

What if he was some kind of monster behind his memories? What if Nightwing and Batman arrested him, handed him over to someone? No, no, no! He couldn't let them! He couldn't go back, not to that place or to them--they hurt him, there was no way he'd go back! Danny refused to be sent back to the—!

Suddenly his thoughts stopped. Danny felt light-headed, all of his questions still swimming in his mind, but not as loud. He felt…calmer, but not at the same time? Who was he thinking of? What was he about to remember?

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there? It's not normal for you to be so quiet.” A voice spoke next to him, low and anxious but Danny's mind didn't really register it was Nightwing. He just sat there, his limbs heavy and eyelids sinking in exhaustion. He's not sure why he's suddenly so tired, but he felt his mind drift to the thought of flying through the skies with a blue shape holding onto him tightly–laughter chasing them in the wind.

********************************

To say Dick was panicking would be an understatement…He was absolutely losing his shit. One minute, Danny was perfectly fine (if a little bit nervous) but the next he was dissociating and hyperventilating! But without the very important part where he breathes! His little chest was moving up and down rapidly, but there didn't seem to be any air coming in or out of the boy.

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there?” Dick smiled, hoping it was a bit comforting. “It's not like you to be so quiet.” He spoke in hushed tones, but hoped that his goading brought the boy back to his former spunk for even a moment and snap him out of his altered mental state. When he got no response out of it though, which worried Dick even more. 

When Danny’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he passed out, just as Dick was reaching out for him? He felt his heart stop. But when Dick barely managed to catch the small boy before he fell off the cot? That was the final straw. He quickly cradled Danny in his arms and faced the main portion of the cave.

“Agent A! I need your help, come quick!” 

A hurrying of footsteps alerted him to Alfred arriving, but after calling out for assistance, Dick's eyes never left Danny’s face. There was a clatter as Alfred hastily dropped the sandwich tray he had been carrying onto the counter, the older man stopping next to Dick with a distraught expression. “What has happened here?”

“I don’t know, one second he seemed fine and then he just stopped talking!” Dick reached a hand up to gently cradle Danny’s small face, turning his head up to look at his pseudo-grandfather. “I tried asking him a question and he just passed out all of a sudden.”

With a quick nod, Alfred took Danny from his arms and laid him down on his side. Dick couldn’t help but notice just how small the boy looked laying on the adult sized cot. His breathing was short and shallow–nothing like how it was supposed to be when someone was sleeping restfully.

“Get the oximeter set up on him, lad. We’ll need to take his temperature and get a baseline.” With a determined nod, the young man set off to do just that. As he clipped the small, child-sized plastic equipment Bruce kept in the med bay for whatever reason, Dick couldn’t help but run through what had happened prior to him absconding with Danny to the top of Wayne Tower. Did he notice anything wrong with the kid besides the obvious? Did Danny act like he was protecting a wound of any kind while they spoke? He had no idea, but he sure was some detective for not noticing. Dick scoffed at his own thoughts and rushed back to Alfred.

“Was there anything that might have happened to cause any kind of head injury to the young lad?” Alfred questioned as he slipped a thermometer under the unconscious boy’s tongue. He held it there, never looking away from his patient as he questioned Dick. “Any symptoms of a fever or cough that may indicate he is sick or suffering from an underlying issue?”

Dick shook his head, impatiently waiting for the oximeter to give him something. When it continued to show nothing, he felt his heart sink. “Not anything I was there for. The kid was dumpster diving when I found him…looking for food.” He closed his eyes, trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier that night. “He kept swaying around when I got close to him though, like he was exhausted or something but trying not to show it.”

Alfred hummed, pulling the thermometer from Danny’s mouth as it beeped a cheery tune. “His temperature is not where it should be, but not out of the question with the weather and how thinly he is dressed.” The butler gave a sharp nod, depositing the used thermometer off to the side and moving towards the blood draw station. “We’ll need to perform a blood panel on Mister Danny, it’s a very high possibility that his blood sugar is low, as well.”

Dick felt his shoulders deflate, glancing helplessly between the kid he knew he was getting attached way too fast to and his grandfather. “And what if his blood sugar isn't the problem we're having here? What if something else is going on?”

Alfred's eyes softened a little around the edges, his steps a little less hurried, though still confident nonetheless. “Then that is simply one diagnosis we will be able to remove from the realm of possibility. Now, please help me get Mister Danny cleaned up a bit. I daresay, we cannot have the child catching an infection from the street grime finding its way into an injection site.”

“Got it–okay.” Dick pushed his shaking hands to still as he hurried over to one of the cabinets alongside the walls. He opened the drawer housing the many rags they use in these types of situations, a box of alcohol wipes, and a small bucket he filled with water at the sink to take over to Danny’s bedside. Setting them all on the nearby mayo cart, he started gently scrubbing away the thick layer of filth coating the young boy’s arm until the skin turned near pink. Doing his best to not think about just what was happening, the vigilante cleaned up the young boy with Bat-trained efficiency.

“He’s ready,” Dick announced as he swiped an alcohol wipe repeatedly over the now-cleaned flesh. Alfred hummed as the older man wrapped a latex band around Danny’s upper arm, watching as the young boy’s veins slowly thickened with blood swelling. With a gentle precision, Alfred prodded around before reaching a hand out to press lightly above the tourniquet. Instinctively, Dick passed over a needle and syringe to him, keeping the empty tiger tubes in his palm until Alfred asked for them.

Just as the cool metal of the needle began to poke into Danny’s veins, the boy’s fist snapped out, almost knocking the empty tubes out of Dick’s hands. They were shocked enough by the response–both men startled more than they expected–that Dick found himself taking a half step back and Alfred was pulling the needle away from Danny's arm to ensure he didn't poke the boy in the wrong spot by accident. 

“Danny?” Dick called out, his surprise hurriedly making way for relief. “Oh my, Danny! You scared me–” Snarling greeted his approach and instantly stopped Dick in his tracks. His arms were held up in an aborted hug as he watched Danny inch upwards and lean forward so his weight was supported by his wrists. It couldn't have been comfortable, but Dick wasn't sure if Danny even realized as his eyes remained tightly shut–lines appearing around them that made him seem so much older than his young age was.

Danny’s noises intensified when Alfred began to move again, the needle still held tightly within his right hand. Although they didn't open during all of this, Danny's eyes were trained on the gleaming silver as though it personally offended him. Dick’s gaze flitted between the two others for a moment before he had an idea.

Lowering himself a little so he wasn't too tall in this moment, settling into a crouched position that put him eye level with Danny, Dick took a deep breath. “Alfie, I need you to take a step back for me.”

The old butler raised a brow and did not move, keeping his eyes on Danny with continuous aborted attempts to reach the child. “Master Dick, I do not know what you are planning–”

“Sorry Alf, I just need you to trust me,” he held a hand out, interrupting the butler and accepting his consequences for later. “I've got an idea, but I need you to step back a little first.”

Alfred tsked in disapproval, but did as Dick asked and the young man watched as a little bit of tension left Danny's face. “Okay okay, now I need you to slowly lower the hand that’s holding the needle.”

“Now, really Master Dick.” Alfred didn't complain, but he made his displeasure known. “This young man is now my patient, so I must treat him. Would you please allow me?”

Dick resisted the urge to sigh. He felt like right now was not the best time to be arguing, it could only lead to Danny running from them, from him. Dick didn't know how he knew that probability, but he felt it in his very bones. Every second they wasted, he knew that it would lead to Danny running as fast as his small legs would take him.

“Alfred, please, I'm asking you to trust me right now,” he begged. Waving a hand at Danny’s current state as though to prove his point. “There's something happening, and I think that we need to follow Danny's lead here. If I know grunts and growls from B, then this is an angry or scared one. We have to step back, ok?”

Alfred glanced away from Danny long enough to stare into Dick's eyes and sigh under his breath (Dick didn't actually hear the noise, but he knew it happened). But without argument, he moved his arm down slowly, never letting go of the needle–but rather just removing it from Danny's direct line of sight. The snarls didn't completely disappear, but they lowered enough in volume that he could almost say the kid sounded like an old fridge humming to life for the first time in years.

Turning to the (obviously freaked out) child in front of him, Dick put on his best showman's smile for him. “Danno, it's okay, no one will hurt you.” There was no response, not that Dick thought there would be. “No one will ever touch you again without your okay on it, is that alright?” 

A blank stare was the only reply Dick received, making his worry increase. He did his best to not show it, his smile steady and sure as he kept gently talking to the scared boy in front of him. “What’s got you all worked up? Must not like needles, huh, bud?” With the utmost caution, Dick slowly reached out a hand. When Danny’s snarling continued as before without raising in volume, the vigilante kept creeping closer and closer. “Needles are pretty scary. I used to hate getting shots, y’know? Batman would have to bribe me with ice cream to get me to do it.” Dick dropped his voice to a stage whisper as he gently touched Danny’s shaking arm. “He still has to bribe me, even if I’m not scared anymore. It gets me free ice cream, how could I say no to that?”

Alfred chuckled despite himself at Dick's words, no doubt remembering all the times he had to quell Dick's tantrums when he had to get all of his vaccinations after moving in. “It is true, Mister Danny. Master Nightwing was quite the rambunctious child and the main aggressor in Batman's multitude of gray hairs coming in early.”

Dick frowned at Alfred. He wasn't that bad growing up! But before he could protest his angelic childhood nature, he heard a quiet snort. Whipping his head back around from where he was about to defend himself to Alfred, Dick watched as the lines on Danny's face receded a bit and there was a tiny quirk to his lips.

Deciding sometimes it's better to join them than try and beat them, Dick moved forward. “Oh yeah, for sure, I was a total monster! There was this one time where Batman told me I couldn't go on patrol with him after I kept playing with Poison Ivy's plants,” Dick started in a hushed whisper, as though he were telling a secret. Danny leaned forward, his eyes still closed but not as tightly and he thought he could almost make out a sliver of color from them. “Well, I couldn't stand for that, of course! I was all of eight-years-old and totally knew better than Batman himself, so I went out anyway but in the opposite direction of his patrol. I figured if he didn't see me, he wouldn't know.” Dick shrugged casually, leaning back a bit with a faux-cocky smirk.

“How, pray tell, did that end up working out for you, Master Nightwing?” Alfred was smirking. That was never a good sign for any of them. 

Dick looked away from the old butler, keeping Danny in his peripheral as he muttered. “I slipped on some ice that Mr Freeze had left on the ground and slid into the middle of traffic. Batman got a call from Gordon about ‘an extra traffic light the city didn't authorize’ and told him to come get me.” Dick pouted remembering how Bab's’ Dad kept chuckling at him the whole time Bruce gave him a silent lecture on the police station roof. “I was grounded from everything, not just patrol, for a month. A whole month!”

A small huff of laughter caught Dick’s attention, and he could see Danny’s shoulders lower from their tense position. Dick gave a quick glance over him, checking for anything wrong, and just seeing that the little boy was much more relaxed. Within seconds his little head was lolling around like it weighed more than he could handle. Dick jumped up and grabbed hold of Danny's shoulders before he could slump over and fall off the cot. With the same amount of caution one would use to approach a rabid dog, Dick slowly laid the once again unconscious child back down. He stayed still for a few tense moments, waiting for Danny to react negatively at the change in position. When there was no aggressive movement, he breathed a sigh of relief. Turning his head to face Alfred, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we don’t draw the kid’s blood just yet.”

“Master Nightwing, we need to find out what’s wrong with the young lad.” The old butler set the needle down on a nearby table, locking covered eyes with Dick’s own. “It could be something that needs immediate treatment.”

“Is there any way we could get that information without drawing a panicked child’s blood?” Dick hissed.

Eyes narrowing in displeasure, Alfred spoke with a sharp tone. “Master Nightwing, it would do you well to remember the manners Batman and I taught you.”

Dick sheepishly looked at the ground, mumbling out an apology. “But, A, c’mon. He clearly doesn’t like needles for some reason. Why don’t we just wake him up, or do some tests that don’t involve drawing his blood?”

Alfred twisted his lips in a way only the man himself could, eyes trained on Dick who was anxiously rubbing his hands together, waiting for an answer. When Bruce wasn't here, Alfred was in charge. (Aw, who was he kidding? Alfred was always in charge, but when Bruce isn't here the arguments are a lot easier). 

“As you wish, I will view Mister Danny's current status without the transfer of biological tissue of any kind,” Alfred agreed easily, moving past Dick to properly dispose of the needle he had opened. “But I tell you this now sir, if there is an underlying health issue then I won't be able to do anything if his condition worsens in this situation. So I suggest coming up with an idea for when the young sir awakens.”

Dick nodded while feeling like groaning in misery. He barely knew the kid–how was he supposed to act as a health surrogate for this tiny child right now? The vigilante put his hands on his hips as he watched Alfred work, removing Danny's dirty outer clothing. Alfred’s facade broke for a second as he made a face at the two filthy, thin jackets covering the boy’s still covered arm and the ripped flannel around his waist. The old butler methodically cleaned every part of Danny's arms and face that were covered in dirt, and Dick watched in awe as the most adorable freckles appeared on his round baby cheeks. He needed to squish them and coo at the little boy right that second, having to use every ounce of Bat-trained restraint to not coddle the tiny human.

“Nightwing,” Dick took in a sharp breath, instinctually standing up straight. He hadn’t been expecting Bruce to be back to the Cave so soon, normally the man would stay out as late as possible on patrol. “Report, now.” Bruce's voice garnered no argument, a tone demanding answers. Dick knew that he probably had some kind of traumatic response reasoning or whatever for needing to know literally everything for a sense of control. But Dick had a traumatic response to fight at every turn when being spoken down to.

“Not now B, if you can’t tell there’s something going right now we’re a bit busy with,” Dick grit his teeth as he responded, unable to tear his eyes away from the laceration on the back of Danny’s left arm that Alfred had just uncovered. What could have made that? A kitchen knife perhaps? Dick wanted to get a closer look, but he knew he’d just be in Alfred’s way right now. “So if you could kindly fuck off until later, that would be great.”

“Language, young sir,” Alfred admonished him absently. 

Dick felt his cheeks heat up, but didn’t move from his position in the doorway where he was watching everything that happened. He didn’t want Bruce coming close to Danny. “Sorry A, my bad.”

“Nightwing,” Bruce–no, Batman–intoned. Dick wanted to ignore the man. God, did he want to just flat out pretend he wasn’t there and focus on this tiny bundle of cuteness that filled him with a strong urge to protect said bundle from any and all harm. 

But Batman was someone that couldn’t be easily ignored.

“What part of ‘not now’ do you not understand?” The younger vigilante quipped, trying to play the part of happy-go-lucky-Dick-Grayson everyone always seemed to expect from him. It was exhausting most of the time these days, but somehow easier to just fall into his assigned role than live with the anger brewing in his chest bit by bit.

“I don't have time for your remarks, Nightwing,” Batman scolded. At this point in his life, Dick can tell Bruce's frowns apart as well as he could the grunts. This was an ‘you are lucky you're my kid, otherwise I'd sock you in the jaw’ kind of frown. He didn't earn those too often, surprisingly. “You let an underaged civilian into the Cave without consulting me first. Explain your actions, now.”

Dick’s lips curled, snarling at Batman. “What I did was bring a scared, hurt little boy to a place that I knew would give him half-decent medical attention. It’s better than dropping him off at, I don’t know, Ma Gunn’s?” With an ugly type of satisfaction, he watched as the blow hit its mark. He could read Batman’s body language well enough by now to see the half-hidden wince, the slightest uptick of his shoulders. Hopefully it was enough to make Batman be Bruce for half a minute so they could have an actual conversation, rather than a screaming match.

“You're out of line, Nightwing,” Batman frowned, the creases in his mask deepening as he stalked towards Dick. A dark feeling wormed its way through Dick's chest. It was an awful thing that made him feel like a shit son for being cruel to the man who raised him, but also felt glad he could inflict just a little suffering back at Bruce for his emotionally constipated actions over the years. Dick felt sick at the words that just came out of him. “I suggest you stop now, and let me move past you.”

Dick jutted out his chin, shifting on his feet to broaden his stance and better block off the entry to the medical bay. “Absolutely not.”

The two stared each other down for a moment. Dick didn't move from his post, crossing his arms defiantly as Bruce tried to stand up to his annoyingly taller height in an act of intimidation. Too bad for him, it stopped working after the last time he betrayed Dick's trust, right before he abandoned the mantle of Robin that he had built.

“Nightwing, that was not a request but an order. Move now.” Bruce made to shoulder his way around Dick, but the younger’s lithe form moved to block him.

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you take a kid–who just fainted–out of this cave! He needs medical attention and Alfred’s the best of the best.” Dick argued defiantly. Maybe a little childishly too, if he had to admit it. Dick knew that Danny would do well to be treated properly in a hospital, but after what he witnessed in that room with hardly the basics in medical care? He wasn't letting that kid anywhere near a hospital without his consent right now.

“Alfred, while skilled, is not comparable to a trained doctor who can treat this child and get them the help he needs.” Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder and he roughly shoved it off, feeling the skin burn despite layers of kevlar and spandex separating them. “You are acting irrationally right now–”

“I don’t care, Bruce!” Dick shouted, shaking with a barely-contained rage. He felt his chest burning with it, unable to hold the words in and since there were no younger siblings or small children around (and awake), so he didn't stop them. “I don’t care that Alfred’s not a trained doctor. I don’t care that you’re so against this! What I care about is the fact that this little kid trusted me enough to bring him here, to get him help, when he very clearly does not trust anybody!” Dick moved, getting up in Bruce’s face as he went on his tangent. He was so fired up, he couldn't even notice Bruce's dominos widening in shock. “You should know better than anyone what it’s like to have a kid dropped right in front of you and know that you need to help! Hell, how many orphans have come through here, again?”

Dick huffed loudly, his breaths causing a slight mist in the damp cave as he watched Bruce process his words for a moment. The man barely moved the whole time Dick was ranting and he was honestly shocked he got out what he did without Bruce shutting him up. Or Alfred complaining about how they were disturbing his patient. 

“Exactly, Dick,” Bruce agreed. But his voice was low and dangerous, the tone he saved for when he was incredibly angry. Dick only ever heard it when the man was facing Joker or The Riddler after their antics affected large groups of people and led to deaths. “I have seen multiple orphans walk through this manor and through this cave. I have watched as you were consumed by rage and tried to avenge your family with your small hands, still growing as you filled these halls with so much sorrow it couldn't fit in a tiny body.” Bruce's fists clenched at his sides. “I watched as you followed in my footsteps, becoming Robin and channeling your anger before just leaving everything behind. I couldn't stop you.”

Bruce jutted his chin out, the vein in his neck popping as he remembered Dick's younger years. “I watched as…as Jason, so filled with hatred and rage entered the manor. He hid his food and tried to protect himself even when no one was coming after him, and then he took over Robin. He was the happiest I had seen him in those days,” Bruce's voice quieted some, but the steel in his tone grew sharper. “Then I watched as he died. He died because he was Robin, because I took him in.”

Bruce pointed at Dick suddenly, and the accusatory finger felt so strong he took a step back in surprise. “Tim was not one I expected, and I tried to push him away for his own good. He'd have been better off not being Robin for his own sake. Even a life lived like his could have become better than the one he has now, risking his life on the streets when he could be at home developing film or skateboarding with friends. A normal life, without the mission,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dick, I know what it's like to see an orphan child and want to help them, of course I do. But sometimes, even with good intentions, there are people who want to help but in hindsight probably shouldn't. They could end up making the child's life even worse, completely without trying.”

The guilt that Dick had been feeling washed out in a seething tsunami of fury. All throughout Bruce’s speech, the acrobat felt regretful over what he said to Bruce. Maybe the man actually understood how fucked up his relationships with his kids were? He was mentally debating how to apologize to him for what was said and move forward, maybe turn this into an actual conversation for once. Yet, Bruce's words at the end gave him pause. He made some points Dick could find himself agreeing to in other circumstances, but to say that he shouldn’t be around Danny? Because he would make the kid’s life worse? That's just catastrophizing and projecting his own guilt onto Dick!

“I want you to think about how old you were when you took me in, Bruce.” Dick said, slowly and clearly as he stalked closer to his father-figure. “You were only twenty-two. Fresh out of traveling the world, leaving behind all your responsibilities to start out on your own quest to avenge your parents. To lead a one-man crusade against all the bad things this screwed up city has to offer.” The younger man glared up at Bruce, hoping that he was communicating just how royally pissed off he was. “I’m two years older than you were. I have a full-time job as well as having a normal life outside of the suit. I have decent relationships with my co-workers and I have not only successfully led teams, but I have been fighting towards The Mission for most of my life. I have friends inside and out of being a vigilante who would be more than happy to help me if I asked them to. And, unlike someone I know, I would actually ask.”

Dick shook his head bitterly. He felt the insane urge to laugh right now, but none of this was funny. He knew that.

“I know I can take Danny under my wing and raise him well. I have a great example of what not to do, after all. But, what happened to the one kid you ever bothered to actually adopt, Bruce? Where is he now? Would you say that being under your care made his life even worse?” They both knew he was talking about himself, but Dick wanted Bruce to say the words he was always afraid to admit out loud about their relationship.

Dick felt a sick sort of satisfaction still though at seeing Bruce's shoulders shake minutely. There was not a lot that could rattle the man, but bringing up the mistakes he made raising his kids would always do it--you just had to know what signs to look for. If Jason had been here for this, or even Tim, they probably would have tried to stop their fight before it got to this point. His brothers never enjoyed being around him and Bruce at times like these, but it still made him feel awful in a way to speak to Bruce like this. But he was so upset at the situation he couldn't bring himself to care.

He barely managed to dodge the swing Bruce tossed his way, ducking down to his haunches as the man pushed his weight forwards. Sliding around his legs, Dick hooked himself around Bruce's ankle to bring the bigger vigilante down, but Bruce only stumbled a bit. Dick tumbled a few feet away and popped back up, lowering himself into a half-crouched stance in case Bruce came towards him again. But he didn't, Bruce just stood in the entry of the doorway, huffing like an angry bull as he whipped his cowl off and turned burning blue eyes onto Dick.

He peeked around the man's wide shoulders at Alfred, who stood in the background like a sentinel over Danny's quiet form resting on the bed. Somehow the kid was still asleep through all of the noise. If he weren't facing Bruce, Dick would laugh at the sight of the kid’s slack jaw and an ever growing puddle of drool under his chin.

“You have no right to talk about situations you don't understand, Dick,” Bruce ground out, his voice gravelly with the emotions he never let out. “The choices I made were–”

“Really shitty?” Dick quipped as he rose from his crouch. “Because, yes. They were, I agree.”

“They were the best choices I could make at the time,” Bruce corrected, lines deepening on his face and aging the man even more. “I was young and I had a child dropped into my lap–”

“More like yoinked from the cops, but go on.” Dick shrugged at the man, body language loose but his nerves were shot now that he was further from Danny. “Keep digging that hole B, maybe soon it'll be big enough to fit you.”

“Nightwing, stop this now–” Bruce started to lecture. But the step backwards he made caused Dick to snap. He was too close to Danny and Dick was too far. He had to protect!

“No! This isn't Batman and Nightwing time B,” Dick began marching forward, fists trembling in front of him with each step. “This is Dick and Bruce, man and ward time. You and I are talking, it is not you giving me orders!”

Stopping in front of his father-figure, Dick looked him dead in the eyes. Blue met blue. Frown met frown. He stood up to Batman who was keeping him from the child his heart had already claimed.

“So how about we talk, old man?”

[moodymisty]

HI IF REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN WHEN IM SENDING THIS:

Did you know that multiple species of bats have been known to orally stimulate their partners before having sex? It apparently increases fertilization chances and overall quality of sex. Which I mean yeah it's foreplay, that's what it's meant to do, but it's interesting to note a nonhuman species doing it.

Anyway the point of this was to request if you could combine that fun bat habit with the ask about Konrad edging his partner?

Also feel free to store that Fun Bat Fact™️ for use in other Night Lord fics, if you want to. I'm always a sucker for astartes/Primarchs having behaviors/tendencies from some of the nonhuman DNA that was used to create them.

Author's note: yum yum Konrad time

Relationships: Konrad/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Konrad in general, Oral (female receiving), Kind of breeding kink

“Konrad, Konrad please…”

Your hand weakly tries to pull at the one holding you down, his palm pressing you hard into the bed. But he's so far beyond stronger than you, that it's a fruitless gesture.

You don’t know how long it’s been. It could only have been ten minutes for all you know, but it feels like it’s been hours. Your body cries out in an overstimulated, aching mess- legs quivering as they lay over his shoulders.

Your thighs ache in pain from the bites lining them, some just dents and others bleeding. You know you’ll need something for them, and you can only hope the medicae with let you get away with being vague and turning the other way about giving you things has they were last time. They'll watch you hobble away knowing that Konrad even at his most gentle is nearly breaking you, but they won't say anymore than the medicines you need to heal those wounds.

“Konrad!”

His tongue brushes over your abused, sore clit for the millionth time and the ensuing rush of sensation as your body writhing, only what isn’t held down by him. Your cunt throbs and aches with an emptiness he has no intention on filling right now as you suffer and cry underneath him.

You want him to stop; You're sweating, tired and aching, but there's no chance you can free yourself from him. You can only writhe underneath his hold as his mouth presses against your cunt, tongue lapping against your folds and teeth catching your skin. He's rough- and you've lost count of the times he's brought you just to the very edge of cumming against his face, only to slow and pull you back away from it. It's infuriating; It's made you angry, it's making tears roll down your face as you beg for him to stop it or just let you finally finish.

But this always happens roughly once a month. You have a feeling as to why, but you don’t know how it makes you feel.

In the heat of the moment you’d love nothing more than to give him a child, but then the oftentimes nightmare of your reality with him sets in. That his moments of quiet and softness are only a single star in a void of black nothingness.

But you know at this point he isn’t going to stop until it takes, and you don’t have much option than to go along for the ride. Konrad has his nails and teeth dug too deeply into you to allow escape at this point, and even if you did manage to free yourself, you don't know if you even could gather the will to leave him. You love him too much to do that, you know it.

The nails of his other hand dig into the skin of your thigh as he continues to lap at your folds roughly, feeling the way your body tenses underneath him. You can't really see him in the dark room, only the outline of his massive body. But you can feel him, the brushing of his hair against your skin and the way his tongue prods against your entrance before he pulls his mouth away.

"Konrad please, what do you want? Just let me-"

He watches you with those dark, black eyes of his, you just know he is, as he takes away that hint of relief you were so close to. Your heels hit his shoulders and he dares to laugh at you, as if your tears and your sweat and begging are nothing more than amusing to him.

You know they are; He enjoys watching you suffer when your body needs it the most, until your thighs are as slick as the tears on your cheeks. He doesn't want to physically break you, at least not yet, so he's found a safer, gentler way to torment you.

Konrad pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s wearing no shirt, and the rough linen of his trousers are easy for him to pull down past the v of his hips and reveal his cock that has been hard and aching for hours.

Once he does, he grabs your hips and roughly tugs you closer to him, and he smiles at the squeal you make as you feel him press against your thigh.

“Come here my little dove, let’s see if it takes this time.”

[kit-williams]

Yandere Konrad

tw: baby trapping, Konrad Curze/Night Haunter having unhealthy interpersonal relationships, obsession, yandere

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

I took Liberties with the word night haunter in nostroman using the latin of the word haunted: Uada and adding the prefix from this "asha" which is theorized to be first person so its more so "I haunted"

He coos at you his little scribe... he remembers first meeting you... your eyes sparkled so brightly. You weren't from Nostromo so he tried to not judge so harshly... your being... your presence... your aura... tasted sweeter and clean when you were in his presence doing what you were told. Being good till he remembers hesitating one time trying to remember what Father had called him and you opened your mouth for a moment before closing it. It wasn't your job to speak it was your job to listen and write.

"What is it little scribe." He spoke.

He could hear the way you swallowed your saliva the nervousness in your heartbeat, "Do you have another title you go by?"

You were the first Scribe to ask that, "Solruthis Uadasha. The Night Haunter in gothic." He replied as he watched you pull out a smaller journal and scribble it down quickly. His eyes watched the way your mouth tried to mimic the same words and sounds. He moved closer and closer gently correcting your pronunciation of his name.

"Do you prefer to be called this?"

"Yes."

You just nod as he sees you read over something and smile. "Few smile like that when learning my name little scribe." He speaks calmly.

"It is probably because I am not Nostroman that I find it appealing. Also the fact your name starts with Sol." He did not stop you so you continued oblivious to the darkness in his eyes, "Sol is the name for the star in the Terra system. And if you shorten your name to Sol well I find it very fitting to be in the presence of a sun." You said dooming yourself with a smile.

Sol and Uada is how you shortened his name; when he let you. His skin crawled pleasantly when you called him Sol with such tender affection as you were so easily distracted away from noticing the madness filling his gaze. You hardly noticed how fewer and fewer scribes would be working for important events... oh it was far too late when you noticed how close to the gates of hell you were.

Sex upon Nostromo was always a transaction... that was not the case for you. You had no ulterior wants when you let the Primarch ruin your body. "Sol... Sol...Sol..." You would chant and slur out as his body would rock against yours or as you bounced down on him. He was no better than any of the scum on his home planet as he took so much more from you during sex. Boundaries you tried to keep up crumbled under his wills and want and besides... few could say they took a primarch raw.

You didn't know yet. It was clear to the Primarch as you sat with the other scribes... you didn't know what half of the transaction he had given you. He tried to warn you that sex always was a transaction upon Nostromo... you simply wanted the emotional connection and to express your affection for the Primarch in such a human way... what he wanted? To give you his baby. To keep you by his side.

He found you sitting in the bathroom in your room retching up your breakfast as his eyes look over the recent medica report just sitting on your desk with the blood work telling them that you were pregnant. You look up at him with a soft whimper, "Sol, Please don't be mad." He allowed himself to be caught holding your recent medica report.

His face not betraying his giddiness he felt , his voice not betraying the way his hearts rushed with excitement. You wouldn't leave now. "My little Sorsollia... why would I be mad?" He moves far more like a creature with the way he cocks his head to the side as he slowly moves closer and closer as she lets him enter the space... crouching with ease as he grins as he nuzzles the top of her head, "I figured I was unable to create in this way." He tilts her head up slightly, "I should be asking... are you mad at me?"

Your sparkling eyes look away for a moment but unlike his brother Fulgrim he knows his prey so well... your eyes return to meet his own, "No... I'm not mad. It's just an accident." Your mouth hangs open as sadness fills your scent, "I've... I've ruined my career." You cover your face with your hands. "I... I... I... I'll be utterly blacklisted." You say as your fear and despair tastes so delightful as he pulls you closer to him. "I don't know what to do." You say as you start to cry just confused... so far away from what you know...

"Shhh shh Sorsollia... " He has you look up at him again, "Have you forgotten whom the father is?" He trills as his accent thickens just leaning in and kissing her neck... trailing up to kiss those tears away as he moves with ease out of the confined space. "I will take care of this... this should be seen as something to be celebrated. " He croons as he carries you off trying not to wickedly grin at how he's insured that you cannot and will not want to leave his side.

[sculptorofcrimson]

Smokefields

Synopsis: Valdor bathes his lord

Relationships: Valdor x female Emperor Shard

Warnings: Bathroom sex, minorly dubious consent, vaginal fingering, nsfw

Wordcount: 3057 Possible continuation of Snowfields! Had another free 20 minutes to write, enjoy!

It wasn’t a calculated move.

Valdor had carried her into the baths, she still clinging onto him, bleary and half-conscious and half-asleep from the drugs the medicae had given her. Curiously, she seemed to have taken no damage from the lightning at all. Most of the damage inflicted had been sustained while recovering her. She had no doubt Valdor had already laid waste to all that upon that mission, if there were any other than himself, but she no longer found it in herself to despair.

It was simply a rite of Valdor. The price for ruling the world, if it may even be called that. 

He had settled her into the warm water with the carefulness of a man caretaking a particularly fragile piece of china, gently lowering her inch by inch, and prying off her hands. She hadn’t even realized when he had stripped her, or if he had ever done so. Valdor seemed to have no concept of shame, humiliation or dishonor, none that he could fathom in any clearly defined way anyways. He was simply here to clean the blood from her frame, there was nothing else in that broken, ironclad mind of his. 

She had startled when he had approached her, even while she was lying limply in that bath, head cocked to one side. The Custodian knelt down, soapy sponge in hand, gently reaching out to grasp one of her arms. His grip had tightened when she tried to yank it away. Rhythmically, he had begun to scrub at the skin, firm but gentle. She had watched him continue for a few moments, until he moved lower, until he was working at her stomach, and then her abdomen, and then her thighs. And that was when she had moved.

Valdor had lifted one of her thighs - gently of course - and began to scrub over the skin. The water was warm, his movements swift, and the scent of soap soft and light. He passed over her limbs without even a hint of recognizing this as anything more than a habitual practice, a way of cleaning the filth off a precious piece of jewelry perhaps. She had caught his hand when he tried to move away, and pressed it against her. Something had come undone, something vicious and broken and keening. Something that howled so pitifully out into the encroaching dark, begging for someone, anyone, to listen to her, even if they were her jailer, and his love just as cold as his wrath. 

“Constantin.” she had rasped. Her voice was shaky. She didn’t remember what words he had spoken then. Perhaps one more of his habitual declarations of loyalty as he had tilted his head, and waited for her command. 

“Yes, my lord?” 

Her command was as curt as it was direct. “Bed me.” Something had broken inside of her, alright. Something that had once cared, and was now charred to ashes. Ashes, what an ugly word. It was almost as ugly as “immortal”.

Valdor's reply didn't even change his usual cadence. "Absolutely not, my lord. Your current state-”

She no longer cared enough to fear the consequences of interrupting him. “Surely you know alternatives. Your fingers.” she nodded at him. “I command you to, Constantin.”

He could not resist a direct command. For a moment, Valdor was silent, the sponge held in one loose grip. Then he gave a nod, and set it down, turning to face her entirely.

“Do you remember the first time you had me, my lord?” his question was stated more like a declaration than an actual question. His gaze was eerie. For one, he didn’t seem to be in need of blinking. For another, she felt as if this was an interrogation, even if he had smiled - surprisingly genuine - when he had asked it. It was not a gloating smile, but there was triumph in it anyways, a bitter, victorious smile of a madman that had finally been vindicated in his delusions. 

She didn’t know what came over her then. What spiteful, ancient entity had latched onto her limbs and forced open her mouth. 

“Constantin.” she spoke. Her voice resonated dully, and instinctively she felt herself raising her chin, straightening her spine, looking him dead in the eye even if her stomach coiled itself into knots at the mere thought of looking into that dreaded, insane gaze. 

Valdor was staring back at her with the same fervour of a man that had grovelled in the icefields for centuries, who had finally seen the flame, and was now willing to burn for it.  “Yes, my lord?”

She didn’t know what possessed her then, what cruel, vengeful part had snapped out to command him. “Be quiet.” she hissed. 

Valdor stalled. He looked at her, as if gauging the seriousness of her command. She spoke nothing, simply calmly held his gaze with one of her own, and impatiently bucked her hips. She had no intentions of hearing him. She would enjoy herself, even if this was the only way she would accept it. 

“Be quiet.” she repeated. Then, she grasped his hand, and pressed it against her, and impatiently waved at him to continue. 

Valdor simply gave a short nod to show he understood and slipped a finger into her, slow and gentle and without rush. 

She inhaled sharply, arching her back as his fingers found her bud and flicked at it. Valdor’s strokes slowed, as if calculating how to approach a particularly complex problem, his grip tightening and pressing down upon her hip until she grumbled in frustration and leaned back down. 

He only waited until her movements slowed, then leaned forwards with that maddening grace, as delicate as a dancer performing a pirouette. Valdor lapped gentle kisses against her neck, whispering half-audible words of loyalty she no longer cared for as he freely and gently teased against the wetness of her folds.

“More.” she whispered, gasping. Her shoulders - so thin compared to his bulk - shook in the warm water. Desperately wanting to feel full, desperately wanting to feel loved, to forget the weight of the storm and the snow. Valdor obeys with only a cold smile, something close to satisfaction igniting in his gaze as he traces her entrance with a light touch, brushing against her folds. 

A finger, calloused from weaponry and thicker than any mortal man’s digit, gently probes against her one last time, slipping inside with a gentle pressure, curling just to hit the spot that made her mewl and hiss. He strokes her with a slow, wave-like rhythm, holding her against him with a gentle, almost lazy touch. She clenches, feeling Valdor shift with her movements, and rocks her hips back against him. 

She was mewling, hissing, clawing at him now. Water splashed around her, droplets sinking into the finery of his robe as she dragged at him, never seeming to make a single difference against his silk. Here he would be, perfect, elegant, without flaw, without even a droplet of water upon his immaculate features. She dragged at him, pulling him closer until she could tilt her head up and kiss him. 

The angle was wrong. He was too tall, too large, and he was holding her too tightly to allow for any proper manuveering. Stubbornly, she persists, mouthing against his jawline and dragging at him until he returns it. There was no passion from him, no corresponding joy as he reciprocates. It was as if she had been kissing a corpse. No. Worse. Even corpses can be loved. It was as if she was kissing a statue, one without a heart and without a mind to care.

There was no passion in this. No love. Simply the movements of a primal dance He had beaten out of Valdor long ago, the emotions behind it lost forever, but the movements still remain. He was as utterly obedient as a machine would be, without complaint, and without even resistance. It was, in some horrible, twisted way, submission. 

His free hand was no longer wandering through her hair. It had instead braced itself against her hip to steady her. She exalted softly as he slipped another finger inside of her, the movement so damnably gentle. Valdor was a large man, and yet he always took such care in bed. Growling, she reached for him again, seeking to kiss him again. Again, his lips on hers. Cold, mechanical, without passion. He simply opened his lips and let her explore as she wished, he let her taste the taste of incense and parchment and gold and blood upon his tongue, he let her trace his insides without protest. He simply hummed around her tongue, hunching over so that he could reach her, letting her explore the sharp tips of his canines carefully. He pulled away first, right at the edge when she was about to run out of air. He was still there, resolute, his chest barely even moving as she gasped and writhed as his fingers curled up to hit just the right spot. When he felt her relax around him again, he resumed his moments. 

She cried out as his fingers found her clit, pumping slowly, gently, yet with that dreaded assurance. The pleasure was almost too much to handle. He wasn’t smiling, not quite, but there was that careful, attentive zeal in those eyes again, dark and calculating as he wrung cry after moan from her, his fingers moving with the same efficiency and grace he had displayed in combat. One moment rubbing against her inner walls, another moving against her clit in a hypnotic pattern.

His hands. Carefully manicured nails, surprisingly slender and graceful fingers, calloused from years of weaponary but still gentle. Those hands. He had killed a man with those hands. Slit his throat and watched him die. She couldn’t divorce the image from her mind, even as she keened and squirmed and danced beneath his grip. His fingers kept their quick rhythm in and out of her cunt, making no other sound except for the skin against skin as he honed in with brutal efficiency upon that spot that made her tremble. She keened at a particularly sharp thrust of his hand, sharper than his normal movements, but not enough to hurt her. His fingers were much thicker than a mortal’s man’s, but so infinitely gentle, even as he relentlessly targeted the spot that made her scream. 

She bucked against his grip, sobbing out moans of lust and overwhelming emotion combined, knowing she was in his grasp, knowing he had his free hand holding her down. Smelling that incense, feeling his terrible, murderous presence, and knowing she couldn’t escape as her weeping cunt was fucked with that slow, gentle, yet ruthless pace. 

He could have her moaning in minutes. His fingertip, teasingly this time, curls against that sensitive spot. Desperately, she clamps down, rolling her hips as she chases the high. Water splashes from around her as she grasps onto his shoulders, clawing at his robes, trying to find something - anything - to grab onto.

His finger curls against that spot again. She growled a groan of pure lust as he resumes pumping, rubbing against her walls, and her breath was stolen away in a sharp pitched whine. He had been so perfectly trained, so calm and collected even as his grip shifts to rub against her clit. He had been so utterly built to satisfy any purpose, it was inconceivable how he could fail. Hungrily, she clenched around his hand, accepting the only touch he would offer her. Still obedient from her earlier command, Valdor purrs, and moves close. Uncaring of the water now soaking into his robes, he gently spreads her thighs so his hands could have greater room to work. His strokes were faster now, tracing against her walls, leaving her a squirming, writhing mess, the pleasure rising and ebbing like a wave. That sight of him, his hands fisted around a dying man’s neck, was all but forgotten now, beneath that ache, the lust building and rearing until it was nearly unbearable. She squirms, her hips pumping and buckling against him, even as he lets her move as she desires, never letting go nor forcing her still, simply silent and obedient and somehow mechanical. It’s cold, it’s freezing and passionless and heartless, but it’s perfect , as if he had been trained to every cell of her body, programmed to please every inch of her.

“Con…Constantin!” she gasps. The sound was nearly lost over the sloshing of water, and the rhythm of his fingers through her cunt. 

He was not yet commanded to speak. Instead, Valdor only tilts his head, like a curious dog listening in. He knows. Of course. He could smell weakness like blood on the water. The movements of his fingers are faster now, her walls clenching and unclenching around him, working her with a simple, brutal efficiency.

Her hands had tangled against his back, tracking small handprints of water. In the places where the water touched, fabric hung dark over his tall frame, draping over lean muscle and perfectly gene-carved tissue. Valdor still holds himself with that perfect, immaculate, dancer's grace, even half-hunched over, his face without even a trace of expression as he works at her, without pause and without hesitation, his eyes occasionally roaming over her flesh as if to verify she was still there, and not a creation of bone or metal. She shudders, and closes her eyes, and loses herself in the mechanical sensation of his fingers. She could feel herself nearing, her walls clenching around his fingers, so close to the edge, hips pumping up and down against him as his movements never pause, guiding her over it with the same, insistent gentleness he had always shown.

She cries out when she comes, the waves both intense and shattering. It crashes over her, raw and brutal like a wave of frost, shockwaves reverberating through her core and her abdomen. For a moment the world dissolves, the scent of incense fading, as her mind fades to nothing but sobs and screams. Valdor works her throughout, strokes slowing down so as not to overstimulate her. 

She returns slowly, through blurry eyes, hips still dully rocking as she rides his fingers, waiting for the aftershocks of her orgasm to fade. Valdor’s hand had slowed, free hand now petting her thigh, as if waiting for her to appraise his performance.

Just another dance for him, just another dance. She comes back to herself in pieces, surfacing from the afterglow with a sensation almost like dread as the world refocuses itself with jarring clarity. She could feel the weight of the laurel on her head, the scent of incense from his robes, and the mechanical way he was waiting at rest. She was still clinging to him, her hands having tracked trails of droplets over his robes.

She shudders, and turns away from him. She retreats back into the water, the hot waves lapping gently at her shoulders as she sinks down, facing away from him. He was holding the sponge again, carefully reaching over to bathe her hair, continuing on as if nothing had changed.

Mutely, Valdor tilts his head. He did not have many expressions, and there was nothing except the usual neutral expression he wore while caring for her, as if this was no more important than a routine inspection of a machine for him. He was questioning her, she gathered. Waiting desperately for her approval, or her dissatisfaction.

She closes her eyes, and sinks into the warmth of the bath. Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed at all, utterly nothing at all. She was still under his grasp, except she felt so tired, as if the weight of the world had crushed her down and shattered what remained of her. 

Valdor’s fingers were brushing past her face now. He held her gently, yet with insistence, waiting for her to open her eyes. When she did, he was staring back at her, sponge held in one perfectly maintained hand. 

“Was that satisfactory, my lord?” He brushes her hair with an air of careful reverence, before stepping back and waiting for her response. Streaks of wetness were already drying on his robe, leaving not even the semblance of a blemish nor scar against him. He was immortal, wasn’t he? Immortal, and utterly without change.

She resisted the urge to snort a laugh. Instead, she smiled, tired and exhausted and having all the fight broken out of her.

“Yes, Constantin.” 

Valdor smiles coldly, as if those were the words he had scripted beforehand, as if this was a performance, and he had taken a bow after a particularly trying dance. There was nothing behind that smile, nothing but a mind that did not know how to love. 

“Thank you, my lord.”

When Valdor returned to his ministrations as if nothing had changed, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to gaze upon him, or to feel his cold, appraising gaze upon hers. And she was tired.

So tired. So utterly tired. The water was warm around her naked form, Valdor’s movements slow and soothing as he continued the bath, but she was cold. So utterly cold, and so utterly tired, as if the heart beating inside of her had burst and revealed nothing but gold inside. For a moment she understood what the Thunder Warrior Primarch must have felt, feeling the lifeforce bleed from him but not even bothering to stem the blood dripping from his slit throat, no longer having the strength to fight but still helm turned up, still snarling at an empty sky, mouth twisted into a fading growl. He hadn’t died then, not yet, but the years he spent in purgatory after the betrayal must have been no better. Waiting, seething, decaying in his own misery and loss, nothing but shadow now, nothing but decaying, waiting, and watching, simply waiting to die. A prisoner just hoping his gallows could be constructed even a day earlier. A corpse. That’s what they both were. They were the dead, taking part in the future only as handfuls of ash and splinters of bone. 

She was already dead, even the ship knew it, even the world itself knew it, even she herself knew it, it was only Valdor who refused to confess to that. 

Pinglist: @nonus-secundus @badbobdooley @bleedingichorhearts @starfrost740 @katie-faye1 @sigtamds @troylovesdoomguy @the-pure-angel @metronix36-blog @krynnmeridia @distantmoonbeam @futuristicchaospoetry @liar-anubiass-blog @subtle-like-a-brick-to-the-face @squishyowl @slaanesh @absent-still @sharenadraculea @idonotknowhowtochoosenames @kit-williams

[eustassslut]

🌈~

Hi c': I saw that your requests were open! I was wondering if it's possible to request a Luffy, Law, Kid, and Zoro(separately)(if you can't add Zoro, that's fine!) with a s/o that's basically deemed a Nobody? They have no devil fruit, no special Haki skills or some super power hidden gift. The most they can do is doodle every now and then and that's it.

The main prompt is basically their "Nobody" s/o doodles their boyfriend(s) in their spare time, and gifts them the drawings c': They know that it may not do much, but their love language is showering them in drawn sketches of them(almost like a little kid aha)

Luffy is the biggest hype-man and supporter of any hobby you might have.

He regularly asks the other Strawhats for advice on what art supplies to buy you with his left over money.

He also keeps every sketch you've ever given him in a special box that he asked Usopp to make him so they're kept dafe. Will ask you to paint on the box so its extra special.

If you ever showed him any new sketches or doodles you've done, he'll beg you to let him keep them as well.

Whenever you draw him, he gets really happy and becomes even more hyper than normal. He'll be desperate shows everyone on the crew the doodles you've made of him.

Wants you to draw him doing literally everything, from going to the toilet and holding a bug to him as a bug and eating meat.

Repeatedly makes you promise you'll draw him reaching Laughtale and becoming King of the Pirates.

Luffy also boasts to everyone who will listen about you and randomly starts up conversations with strangers or his allies about you and your art supplies.

Frames everything...or he tries to before Nami tells him they have no space to store it all.

Carries some of drawings and doodles you've done of him everywhere so he can show off if he has a chance, he'll be fighting an old enemy and will pause to ask if they want to see something cool.

You have a fan in Crocodile now though who is quite invested in your art journey; but you're not sure if that's because of the rumours he's your boyfriend's parent or if it’s because the older man just enjoys art.

But if anyone was to interrupt or insult you by calling you a nobody or implying he deserves better, he'd go completely feral and has to be pulled away by you so he doesn't try to fight them.

Strong believer in earning the right to have dreams and earn a reputation for your skills so he doesn't really care if you're seen as a nobody (he still hates hearing it said to you or him though) because he used to be one as well when he started his journey.

Luffy is nothing but your biggest fan and he hopes everyone will one day see the same value and talent he sees in you.

Law acts like nothing you do effects him and that you don't get under his skin, but it's always obvious upon looking closely at him just how flustered he gets each time you hand him one of your drawings.

Will just say "thank you, it's lovely" or "thank you, you're so talented my love" and give you a kiss before putting it in his desk draw, showing he appreciates it but not on the same scale as Luffy or Kid.

However, you will later find your drawings pinned to his fridge or tucked away in medical textbooks as Law uses them for motivation to work hard so he can impress you in return.

Law struggles a little bit to show love for you, having lost so many loves ones so young but he tries his best to show through his actions that he thinks you're talented and that he really appreciates being given anything you do.

Gets drunk on one occasion and cries to you about how he's scared he'll forget what his family looked like overtime, then cries harder when you ask him to describe them so you can draw them for him.

Keeps the sketches of his family and Corazon on his desk, next to a drawing of you and him since he wants everyone he loves to be together in one place.

Very much a man who uses his actions to prove he loves you and sees your talent. He'll clear out some of his medical books for any books on art he can find and always makes sure he cares a sketchbook and materials for you in case you want to draw.

At the end of the day Law loves you for you, he doesn't care if you have no devil fruit or if you're perceived as a 'nobody'. He probably even prefers that you prefer quietly sitting nearby or on the Polar Tang because it means he always knows you're safe.

He's not like Luffy though and he will not try to fight anyone if they called you one to his face but he would threaten them and reassure you in private that you're not a nobody, instead you're the most important person in his life to him.

The king of insanely loud cringe worthy support and also gift giving back to support your hobby.

When you first show you like to draw, Kid would clear out some space in his workshop so you can have your own studio to quietly draw if need.

He sees quality time together as very important so he wants to quietly sit and do your respective hobbies together; pausing to show each other what you're both doing and exchange compliments.

Will try to copy any doodles you do and make metalwork versions out of them. Definitely makes you a necklace with a metal copy of a doodle you drew of you and him kissing.

Encourages you to paint on his bedroom walls if you want to and also to draw on tables.

Insists you sign all of your sketches and doodles so they're official.

Claims he needs to make sure he has the biggest art collection so that when you become famous he will be extra rich and he can add art collector to his long list of achievements (aka his crimes).

Definitely calls you the worst nicknames you've ever heard in your life, like his gorgeous talented artistic boopsie bear and the ball wrangler of all art. Genuinely means them as compliments to uplift you as well.

Loves giving you excuses to draw so he gives you awful prompts out of the blue and a time limit.

Kid will ask you to draw his crew so he can always have proof they sailed together and keeps those drawings in his bedroom.

Will try to frame everything he can like Luffy would, but he does have limits and eventually just invests in a big set of drawers designed for storing art.

Refuses to steal art supplies because he believes in supporting artists so he makes sure to take you art supply shopping and then leaves tips.

Casually has a very good reputation now in the art world and they all really admire you for winning him over with your art.

But thoughts and prayers for anyone who ever calls you a nobody, they're about to get beaten up almost to the brink of death. It's a bold decision to say anything about you in front of him.

Kid doesn't care if you're seen as weak or powerless and art is seen as the only thing you have going for you. He likes being able to keep you safe and protect you but recognising you're not strong (especially compared to him since he's literally a beast) is very different to seeing you as a nobody.

Zoro is probably such a mess when it comes to supporting your hobby but he's trying his best for you and at the end of the day you know he sees you as the most important person in his life.

I feel like the first time you draw something and give it to him, its a doodle of Chopper and him on a napkin at dinner and when you sheepishly give it to him as a way of showing your affection he'd accidentally use it.

Just so oblivious that he does not realise why everyone at the table is staring at him in horror and you look like you might laugh or cry. Eventually looks down and apologises so much when he notices, claiming the stains on it make it even more special because it adds to value??

Does not understand art at all.

Zoro can tell that you're talented though and recognises your passion so he tries his best to support you with verbal praises and his actions.

However, he's so emotionally constipated its insane; literally does not how to express his affection for you without either being a sassy little bitch or just coming across insane.

Like you could mention you like roses and he'll come back the next time you dock with a full rose bush he's torn out of someone's garden by its roots, but then say you can throw it away if you want. He's just a weird feral man.

He'd probably learn how to make paper so you could have drawing materials (he also has no money so he has to adapt to the obstacles ahead).

Commissions you to draw several new horrific wanted poster versions of Sanji to torment the blonde with. Sanji can't get mad at you though because he thinks you're talented and likes that you get to practise.

Is very similar to Kid and likes when you sit in the lookout nest and quietly draw whilst he trains beside you. He does pose a little because he knows sometimes you like to draw him and he wants you to get his best angles.

Tries to call you talented every time he talks about you or talks to you. Zoro is very verbal about how incredible you are.

Will not tolerate anyone calling you a nobody (he will beat them up if you want him too) and it hurts him the most if you call yourself one because he knows what its like to feel inferior to those stronger.

You don't need to fight anyways since you have him but if you want to learn he'll teach you in exchange for more horrific Sanji doodles.

Your talent is more then enough to eventually earn a reputation anyways so who cares if you can't fight or you're weaker.

King of pep talks and reminds you constantly you don't have to be strong to be important, you just need to believe in yourself.

No matter what he's always in your corner and supports you in his own silly weird ways.

buy me a coffee | ao3 | tiktok

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Uncommon Fruits & Vegetables

to include in your next poem/story

Black sapote - a Mexican persimmon (Diospyros ebenaster) with an almost seedless dark-fleshed fruit.

Buddha's hand - a citron (Citrus medica var. sarcodactylis) that is cultivated in eastern Asia as an ornamental and for its very fragrant fruit which is split into several usually pulpless sections.

Cherimoya - a round, oblong, or heart-shaped fruit with a pitted pale green rind that is borne by a widely cultivated tropical American tree (Annona cherimola) of the custard-apple family.

Loquat - the small yellow edible fruit of an Asian evergreen tree (Eriobotrya japonica) of the rose family.

Medlar - the crab apple-like fruit of a small deciduous Eurasian tree (Mespilus germanica) of the rose family.

Oca - the cultivated tuber of either of two South American wood sorrels (Oxalis crenata and O. tuberosa).

Pawpaw - the edible green-skinned fruit of a purple-flowered North American tree (Asimina triloba) of the custard-apple family.

Salsify - the long fusiform edible root of a European biennial composite herb (Tragopogon porrifolius).

Skirret - the sweet edible tuberous root of an Asian herb (Sium sisarum).

Sunchoke - or Jerusalem artichoke; a perennial sunflower (Helianthus tuberosus) of the U.S. and Canada widely cultivated for its tubers that are used as a vegetable and as a livestock feed.

If any of these words make it into your next poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[novoaa1writes]

queen’s orders

photo credit

pairing(s): queen ramonda x f!reader, shuri & nakia

summary:

“Am—” you try to speak, only for the sound of it to resemble rocks in a garbage disposal. You clear your throat, wincing, and try again. “A-Am I dead?”

Ramonda chuckles, but her eyes are sad. “No,” she assures you, patting your hand. “This is real.”

You let out a gravelly hum, eyelids fluttering shut, a dopey grin pulling at your lips. Your ears ache and everything hurts, but not this. Not this. “We’re holding hands right now,” you say, like an idiot. “Wish I could feel it.”

contains: angst, pre-relationship fluff, confession of feelings

word count: ~1,500

rating: teen

warnings: swearing, injury, angst, medical-ish setting (shuri’s lab, except you’re injured), SPOILERS FOR black panther: wakanda forever

notes: i am not a doctor. but, ljike.... suspension of disbelief, okay? i’m just here. based on a request! thank you much for giving me an excuse to spam you all with more queen ramonda x reader. i would die for her

— —

You awaken like a gunshot. Sudden. Deafening. 

You see white. Black. White again. And you feel… pain. Gods, so much pain. Flames envelop your bones. 

Someone screams. You think it might be you. 

Gods, it hurts so fucking much. 

Consciousness comes gradually, like sap that trickles from a tree. Your head pounds. 

Another scream. You again? Impossible to say. 

Figures dance in your blurred vision. 

What—?

A face looms before you. Young, regal. Flawless, obsidian skin; brows creased with worry. 

Shuri?

“—Can you hear me?” Her lips move, and you think she says your name. It’s impossible to be sure. Your head pounds. “Please, just blink if you can hear me, okay?”

You blink—once. 

Her eyes are wide, frantic; but something like relief sparks when you manage a response. “You were in an accident,” she tells you, her accented voice ragged and breathy. “It’s—It’s bad. But I am going to do everything I can to help, okay? Blink if you understand.”

You blink again. 

“Okay, that’s perfect, thank you,” she nods, more to herself than to you. 

Figures. You haven’t a fucking clue what’s happening. 

She’s mumbling unintelligibly under her breath now as she rises to her full height. All the while, she surveys you with dark, worried eyes. “Wiggle your fingers for me?”

You do. 

Shuri’s jaw clenches. Her gaze darts to yours. “Did you understand what I just asked you to do?” she questions. “Blink if you understood.”

You blink. 

If possible, Shuri’s jaw seems to clench itself even harder. “What about your toes, honey, can you wiggle those?” 

You do. Or… you think you do. 

Shuri’s face is stony, her posture ramrod stiff. She doesn’t need to say a word for you to understand. 

Panic grips you. 

You can’t feel your fingers. Why can’t you feel your fingers? And your toes… Oh, gods. Your toes. You can’t fucking feel them. 

And they aren’t moving. Fuck, they aren’t fucking moving, that’s so bad, what if—?

“Hey—Woah, c’mon, breathe.” Shuri’s voice sounds tinny, as though it’s coming from somewhere far away. 

Your lungs burn. Your ribs ache. Blackness creeps in from the edges of your vision. 

“Breathe,” she tells you again. She sounds panicked. 

You’d scream at her if you could. You’re panicked. You can’t fucking breathe. Doesn’t she know that? 

A mask falls over your mouth and nose. From where? You couldn’t say. 

Cool, porous vapor fills your lungs. Oxygen, you hope, along with… something else. You don’t care. You heave it in without a second’s thought. Your head pounds. Dizziness bludgeons your skull from the inside out. Your chest burns. 

That was oxygen, right? Beads of sweat slide down your temples as you struggle to heave in another breath, wheezing audibly all the while. 

And then, all at once—Blackness creeps in. You’re falling. Down, down, down…

You manage one last thought before it all fades to darkness:

Is Ramonda okay?

— —

Shuri very well might be among the brightest minds of her generation (of any generation, period), but she figures there’s probably a reason that medical careers are about as specialized as they come. On that, at least, America and Wakanda can agree. The mechanics aren’t always so complicated, to be clear; it’s the ‘people’ part that makes her head spin. 

“Your bedside manner is horrendous,” T’Challa had told her once. Wheezed it, really. This, after spattering her pristine floors with mouthfuls of his own blood!

She retorted with something witty, she’s sure. She doesn’t much like to think about it. 

It turned out to be one of the last things he’d ever say to her. 

Cheeky. 

Suffice it all to say, the art of patient care—beyond the strictly biological variety, that is—eludes her. 

Bast’s sake, she’s not even a doctor. But here, now, she has to be. 

If not for her, then for Mother. 

“Can you fix her?” It’s phrased as a question, but the tonality is something decidedly flat. 

Shuri clenches her jaw. Her thoughts race, her fingers fly as she works to reconstruct a physiological rendering of the last hour, give or take. Typically, Griot would be on backend, making the whole process that much quicker, but she’s left him charged with your immediate care. 

It’s foolish, perhaps, but after T’Challa, she won’t take any chances. Mother—and she—have lost enough. 

“How can that be?” Mother’s voice trembles just so, and Shuri’s chest aches at the sound. She can’t bear to look at her. 

Without turning from the screen on which she works, she swipes the thoracic scans out onto the floor with a flick of the wrist. “I’ve never seen this before,” she admits, opening a line to Nakia with shaky fingers. And if her voice shakes, too, well. That’s her business. “The bullet was vibranium.”

A pause. “What?”

The line picks up with a click, and Nakia’s voice filters through shortly thereafter. “Shuri.”

“Nakia.”

“How is she?”

Shuri allows herself a shuddering breath. “Not dead, for now.” Shuri shakes her head as if to clear it. “What do you know about vibranium weaponry?”

Nakia—bless her—takes the fast-clip pace in stride. “Not ours?”

“Definitely not.”

“Projectile?”

“Bullet,” Shuri confirms. “Frangible.”

Nakia lets out a muttered curse in a language Shuri doesn’t know. “No samples, then?”

“Inconclusive. The bullet disintegrated in the flesh. All that’s left is… contaminated.”

Silence for a moment. “Let me make some calls. I think… yes. I have seen something like this.”

Shuri’s heart sinks. “Mortality rate?”

The line disconnects with a click!, and she’s gone. 

Shuri lets out a long breath. Frustration and grief war in her chest until her ribs creak with the strain. 

“Princess.” Griot’s intonation is cool and calm in her ear. Mother’s gaze darts to her, burning hot through her skin. “She’s awake.”

— —

You awaken gradually. Your head pounds. Your body aches. Everything hurts. 

When your eyelids flutter open, it’s to blinding light. Christ, the light. And—Ramonda. 

Oh, gods, Ramonda. She is lovelier than ever, and the way she’s peering down at you… like you’re something precious. Like you’re hers.  

Her hand squeezes yours, and fuck it all, but you can scarcely feel it. Your vision swims. 

“Am—” you try to speak, only for the sound of it to resemble rocks in a garbage disposal. You clear your throat, wincing, and try again. “A-Am I dead?”

Ramonda chuckles, but her eyes are sad. “No,” she assures you, patting your hand. “This is real.”

You let out a gravelly hum, eyelids fluttering shut, a dopey grin pulling at your lips. Your ears ache and everything hurts, but not this. Not this. “We’re holding hands right now,” you say, like an idiot. “Wish I could feel it.”

Amusement flares in Ramonda’s eyes even as a glimmer of moisture catches the light. “You will, baby. You will.” You don’t know who she’s trying to convince—herself, or you. But her hand doesn’t leave yours, and for that, you are grateful. 

You swallow the coppery saliva that gathers on your tongue. Discomfort throbs at the base of your spine. “You’re worried ‘bout me, huh?”

Ramonda is quiet for a moment. Then, finally, “Yes.” So quiet, so defeated; not a trace of the measured steel that underlies her typically implacable composure. 

“I could die?”

A tear slides down her cheek as you watch, and you are angry beyond words that you cannot reach out to catch it. “Yes.”

You give a shallow nod. “I want to tell you something,” you choke out. “Can I—Can I tell you something?”

Ramonda swallows thickly, another tear tracing her regal cheek. Her painted lips tremble. “S’thandwa, I—”

“I always thought about asking you out… y’know, like, on a date.” You try to waggle your brows, inject some levity, but you can’t manage it. Gods, but it sounds so silly now. The truth of it burns the space between you, like you tore your own heart out and set it aflame. Your chest aches. “Eat food, drink wine. I’d save up so I could pay the bill. Walk you back to your door. Say ‘good night.’”

Silence. Blood rushes in your ears. “Um, yeah.” You clear your throat, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. “That’s it.” 

“Can I tell you something?” Ramonda ventures quietly, so quietly you have to strain to hear her. Fuck if your heart doesn’t break for the devastation laid bare upon her proud features, the tears that wet her cheeks.  

You nod. “Always.” 

“My heart has been yours since the day we first met.”

Oh.

Oh.

“You mean—All this time…”

“Yes, s’thandwa.”

Your body feels strange—all floaty and light, even as pinpricks of pain dance along your spine. “Holy shit,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her. “I really can’t die now, huh?”

“That’s right.” Ramonda laughs, watery and ragged. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. “In fact, I expressly forbid you to.”

Emotion grips your chest, tight and warm and true. “Yes, my Queen.”

— —

end notes: I AM NOT IMMUNE TO “character A: *love confession* character B: oh. oh.” PROPAGANDA

i also refuse to apologize for self-indulgently including shuri and nakia

AND FURTHERMORE— everything ends happily and they go on their date once reader recovers because i wrote this and i said so 

sources: 

griot | the artificial intelligence created by shuri. appears in black panther and black panther: wakanda forever. 

frangible bullet | wikipedia page detailing what it says on the tin. the only other sources were in majority NRA and right-wing blogs LOL.. typically frangible bullets are actually better for minimizing damage, but with my made-up idea that this is a possibly poisoned vibranium bullet, the fragmenting effect would (theoretically) provide for more internal damage in this instance, and more stress for all involved. writing is so fun!

link to masterlist

[fieldofdaisiies]

Ars Amatoria | ch. XIV

-all rights reserved-

Elucien AU word count: 2,9k words warnings: none

masterlist

A week has passed. A week where Elain has not once left Lucien’s side for longer than twenty minutes. She always watched the medica closely when she tended to Lucien’s wounds, fed him when food was brought to their chamber helped him dress and also helped him wash. 

“And I still remember how Mamma always used to say that I am the troublemaker and then it was Eris who puked right in front of Cardinal Mosca's feet.” 

Elain is bending over, laughing, tears forming in her eyes. “I think, even in Rome, you could smell the alcohol in his breath. Papa was disappointed, but Mamma was scandalised, and so ashamed, she made him clean the whole family home and that for the a whole month.”

Elain cackles loudly, nearly choking on the grape she has just swallowed, always handing one to Lucien as well while eating. At first he has taken them for her fingers with fingers. At some point, this has changed, not taking them with his fingers anymore but with his lips. And with each grape he softly nips on her finger tips, only brushing them, but it does things to Elain’s body. Goose bumps rise on her skin when his tongue pokes out a little, softly flicking against the tip of her index finger, and Lucien swallows the grape. She feels her toes curl on the mattress and something low in her belly tighten — an unknown feeling she is not used to. 

“You look beautiful today, Elain.” Lucien grins. “Well, you always look beautiful, but today, with your hair down and not so tightly pulled back… you truly could be Venus.” 

A delicate flush of color paints Elain's cheeks, covering her complexion with a gentle, rosy glow. And God, does Lucien loves this. And her. His eyes widen a little as awareness fills his entire being and good God, it is true. He is so very much falling for his wife. This wonderful, lovely woman, who has somehow managed to sweep him of his feet with just her…kindness and respect and loyalty. And with just her being her. She is beautiful on the outside, but a masterpiece on the inside. His gaze lingers on her, as every fiber of his body starts to scream for Elain, his heart pounding erratically in his chest, doing one happy flip after the other. 

“Why don’t you go outside a little? You have been in this room with me for a week. You love the garden and nature, please, I am fine. Go outside, if only for ten minutes and enjoy the time outside.” He looks at her almost like he is begging her to follow his suggestions. “Eris will anyway be here in a few minutes to join me on the way to the medicus. I will also quickly check in with Jurian afterwards. You could come there as well?” Lucien suggest and Elain doubts this is a good idea. 

The wound has not fully healed, but Lucien acts like it does not exist anymore. Men…she thinks, but tells him that this is a good idea and they should do this. 

While he goes to the see the healer she will spend a little time in the family garden and then go to Jurian. 

She dons a thin tunic over her sleeveless dress and leaves simultaneously with Eris and Lucien. The latter brushes his hand over her head and smiles before he whispers a goodbye which Elain happily returns. 

Still grinning, she takes the staircase that leads to the library. She has gotten used to the huge house. At least a little bit and she is really starting to like it. A lot actually. Before going to the gardens she wants to pick up a book — a book that might be necessary sooner or later and one she really wants to have a look into. She easily finds it, clasps it tightly in her hands and returns it to their shared bed chamber before finally heading outside. 

Elain wanders through the garden for a while, collecting flowers to make a bouquet. A bouquet she can then place in their shared bedroom. Or the living room. Or the dining room. 

Oh! Maybe she will just make more. 

In silent admiration, Elain regards the pruned trees, with the lush green leaves while she walks down the stone path that leads to the archway. She wants to sit down on the stone bench and make her bouquet there. A light breeze rustles through the grass as Elain leans down and watches how a ladybug crawls from one leave to another. She remembers how her hand touched Lucien’s when she let the ladybug climb onto his hand, and has to smile to herself. That was a lovely moment. 

She continues on, her steps light and joyful, until she lets herself fall onto the bench and releases a long and happy sigh. 

Love is a wonderful feeling! 

Elain is about to pick up another another tulip from where she sits on a stone bench when someone clears their throat. Elain whips her head around, wondering if she imagined the noise. The answer comes soon in form of a tall, slender woman with light blond hair and piercing blue eyes sauntering through the archway that leads to the bench Elain is sitting on. Her icy presence immediately fills the whole garden and in the same moment a dark cloud moves over the sun, dimming it and cooling the air around Elain. 

“You are Elain, am I right?” The woman raises a brow, almost like she is looking down at Elain, her voice tinged with something close to annoyance. 

Elain has not once seen Ianthe until now, but she knows that this is her and that they are finally meeting now. Even though her gut feeling is awful, she still decides to give the woman a chance. At least for introductions. 

“I am Elain, yes. You are Ianthe, right?” Elain answers politely and reaches her hand forward. But Ianthe ignores it, just intently watches her without deigning her the shake of her hand. 

“It is quite cute, I have to admit that, Elain.”

Elain furrows her brows, her lips pouted as she shrinks a little into herself. She lowers her gaze to her bouquet and lifts it up a little, pulling on one flower to keep herself busy. 

“What is…cute?” The word tastes like bile on her tongue, and Elain’s brows furrow even further as a sardonic grin spreads over Ianthe’s face. 

“You naivety, Elain. You really think he likes you, don’t you?”

Elain peeks up from behind the bouquet of flowers. Ianthe strolls towards her, her long beige dress waving around her legs. Elain does not answer, not sure what Ianthe’s mission is.

“Don’t get your hopes up too high, girl.” Uninvited, the woman sits down next to Elain on the stone bench and picks up a flower that has fallen out of her bouquet. She twists the rose between her fingers, ignoring the thorns. “He wants to bed you, that is obvious.”

“He is my husband,” Elain answers, not sure what else to say. She has changed her mind, actually she does not want to give her a chance. 

“Yes, he is. On paper. And now he wants to bed you. For his benefit. That is all he can get from this marriage, you know?”

Elain lowers her hands, placing it and her hands in her lap. “It is not.”

Ianthe grins again, gleefully. “It is not?” She pauses and silently regards Elain. “It is what all men want, don’t they? The most primal needs.” 

Elain shakes her head, knowing Lucien is not like that. He would have taken advantage of it in their wedding night if this is truly his intention and the only thing he wants.

“Lucien is not like that.” 

“Is he not?” Ianthe drawls and cocks her head. She purses her lips a little, her voice tinged with fake-kindness. “Lucien is just like that. Just like his brother who desperately wanted to fuck me in our wedding night.” 

Elain cringes at the vulgar wording, her brows laying in furrows. “Now that he can longer have my body, as I won’t allow it, he is going to seek his pleasure, or maybe just release, somewhere else.” Elain does not want to talk to her anymore. She knows this is not the reason why Eris has a lover. Lucien has told her the reasons, but she can’t tell Ianthe that. She can’t reveal this secret. If Eris does not tell her, it is definitely not Elain’s place to do so.

“And Lucien is no different. He even tried to bed me one day. If I hadn’t stopped him, he would have fucked me like his brother.”

Elain’s heart drops into her lower belly, her blood running cold and the bouquet nearly slips out of her damp hands. “That is a lie!” she exclaims, nearly shouting.

“It is not.” Ianthe grins. She is a snake, Elain thinks and really wants to slap her with her bouquet. But instead she gets up and shakes her head. “You are…you are…” “I am what?” Ianthe cocks a brow in challenge, her lips curving in a gleeful way.

“A canker-blossom!” Elain turns on her heels, fury blazing through her veins as she takes the bouquet and tosses it away, right in front of Ianthe’s feet.

"Oh, and, dear Elain," Ianthe calls after her, "just because he is not fucking you yet, does not mean he does not seek his pleasure elsewhere. He has just as many whores as his brother."

Elain is running, escaping, burning tears threatening to roll out of her eyes. She does not believe a single word the woman said to her. She knows Ianthe hurt her husband, she knows Eris’ reasons for having a lover and she…she is so glad she knows all these things because if not, she would have believed Ianthe. And that thought startles her. How much one person can influence someone with just their words. But Elain won’t let these words sink in, she keeps them locked away behind iron gates in her mind. There they should stay forever and rot. 

Golden rays of the late afternoon sun fall onto the rooftops as Elain steps out into the bustling streets of Florence. And as much as she does not want to think about what Ianthe said, there is still this tiny kernel of unease blooming inside of her — did Lucien truly want to sleep with Ianthe? And was that why she later was so rude to him? 

Of course not! Elain thinks. 

Lucien is not like that. He would not do something like that. He is a good man. 

A symphony of sounds fills Elain’s ears, the clattering of horse hooves on cobblestones, chatter and laughter of merchants and people who buy things at the market. She once again relishes the smell of the freshly baked goods and the wood fire. As she walks through the narrow alleyways leading to Jurian’s art studio the scents blend with those of aromatic herbs as well as she freshly cut flowers. Elain inhales deeply and then slowly exhales, her eyes closing for a moment. 

She can trust Lucien, and she can also trust herself with falling in love with him. She does not have to stop herself. She does not have to hold back. And then another thought comes to her — she hasn’t thought about Graysen in nearly two weeks. And this is good. In hindsight, she has to admit that he wasn't a really good man. Not in the way Lucien Vanserra is a good man. 

Elain gazes at the huge buildings, adorned with sculptures and graceful arches before she takes her last turn to head to Jurian’s studio. Walking here, in the now even narrower alleyways, Elain feels like she is on a quest for a hidden treasure, tucked away in those small streets. It is a little cooler here, and a special kind of stillness and calm lies in the air. The chatter she can hear sounds far away. Many artists are situated here. And not only artists but also a weaver she passes before she stops in front of Jurian’s door. 

Elain knocks without a second of hesitation, wondering if Lucien is already here. She hopes so. She really wants to see him now. Really wants to hear his voice and see his beautiful smile. It all will help her forget Ianthe's awful words.

She knocks again when she gets no answer and soon the soft tenor of Jurian’s voice reaches her ear. “Come in!”

And so she does. Hands curling around the handle, she opens the door. But she stops dead in her tracks at the scene that is revealed to her. 

Lucien is sitting on a chair, Vassa on one of his thighs, her hands on his naked chest, one finger lifting the bandage a little bit, gazing at his wound. Jurian is nowhere in sight.

Elain’s heart races like a wild stallion galloping through an open field. Her breathing stops, but she can’t tear her eyes away. Not even when her lower lips starts quavering. Time seems to stretch, Lucien and Vassa not even having noticed her arrival yet. They only do so when Jurian calls her name. 

“Ah, Elain!” he hollers. “Come on in, come on in. Good to see you!” Lucien whips his to the side, towards her, but he does not look shocked. He does not look like he has just been caught with another female leaning over him and him being half naked. He looks…he looks happy to see her.

“My beautiful wife is finally here,” he says in a voice tinged with admiration. His lips curl, his eyes glow, but Elain is rooted to the ground, her mouth parting a little when the tidal wave of everything Ianthe had said to her washes over her and nearly drowns her. Just because he is not fucking you yet, does not mean he does not seek his pleasure elsewhere. He has just as many whores as his brother.

Elain swallows a burning sob that threatens to build up. She reminds herself that Lucien is good. He would not have a lover. But Vassa is so beautiful. So outgoing, so not like her…And she is sitting on his thigh.

Elain steps from one foot to the other and Lucien immediately knows that something is on her mind, that there are thoughts in her mind that plague her. They have only known each other for a short time, but he can read her so well. Lucien, nudges Vassa, signalling to her that she should stand up and she understands. He knows that this could have created a wrong picture and they definitely have to talk about it. He knows exactly that this is the reason for Elain's unease, and he can't even blame her. One could easily draw wrong conclusion from seeing a random female sit on their husband's lap. 

“How are you, Elain?” Vassa asks in her joyful voice as she steps away from the chair. 

Elain forces a small smile onto her lips. “Good,” she says in a silent voice, and finally closes the door behind her. “I hope I am not disturbing you.” 

“You?!” Finally Jurian appears, half his face covered in paint just like his hands. “How would my Venus ever disturb someone.” He grins from one ear to the other and earns himself a reproachful look from Vassa. Now Elain understands nothing anymore. But she also gets no time to do some more thinking or asking any questions. 

Lucien walks up to her, tips his chin and says, “I think it is a good idea to go home now. I know you just arrived here, but you know, it is better to get back home before the sun sets.” Elain also grasps the words that were not spoke. That he has seen her unease and wants to talk to her. “You already want to leave? I thought we start drinking now.” Vassa pouts and dramatically lets herself fall into chair, Lucien had claimed earlier. 

“Another time, Vassa.” Lucien turns to her, smiles and then salutes to both her and the painter leaning against a large shelf. 

Lucien places his hand on Elain’s lower back, carefully pushing her towards the door. “Sorry, for having you come here and then leaving already, but this is more important.” “What is more important?”

The street is still as empty as before, the sun now nearly having set behind the huge buildings. Lucien stops, he turns Elain to him and takes both her hands into his. He leans in, his lips softly brushing her forehead. 

“You are more important, Elain. And for you to understand that what you have just seen is nothing you should be upset about. Vassa is a friend, and nothing more than a friend to me. But she is a lover to Jurian. I don’t want you to read anything into the situation that hasn’t happened. Because for me, there is only you.” 

He smiles when he leans back, but Elain is quicker. She bounces on her toes. Her lips press against his in the next moment, her nose clashing against his cheek, her eyes closing.  

~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes  @tuzna-pesma-snova general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional  @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

[traincarsandstars]

About Bailu (the solar term)

Bailu (White Dew) is the the 15th solar term on the Chinese solar calendar.

Bailu begins when the sun reaches the celestial longitude of 165° and ends when it hits 180°.

Bailu has three pentads—days within the the solar term that are named after biological and botanical phenomena that occur within that solar term. They are—

The wild geese come (鴻雁來)—referring to geese migration to the south. The dark birds return (玄鳥歸)— The dark birds return, dark birds being swallows. And Birds stock their hoards (群鳥養羞)— basically birds preparing for winter.

Bailu is celebrated in the lead up to Mid-Autumn Festival.

Back in the old days, gathering dew from plants was a prevalent tradition among Chinese people. According to The Compendium of Materia Medica (also know as Bencao Gangmu), a Chinese herbology volume written by Li Shizhen over 400 years ago, white dew can be used as a beverage, which has a cooling effect on the body. Li wrote that it can also heal minor illnesses. (link)

As summer heat recedes, tea trees enjoy more favorable environment around Bailu. Therefore, tea leaves picked during this period of time generate a uniquely rich and fragrant flavor that is preferred by many tea lovers. (link)

On Bailu people longans. It is believed that the fruit brings good luck to people's descendants, as well as calm the nerves and cure insomnia.

There's also water caltrops at this time. Water caltrops signify the hopes for good luck and a bumper harvest.

They also eat Silkies, a chicken who's skin and meat are black. The chicken has to be cooked together with 10 herbs named after bai (white), such as bai mu jin (white Rose mallow) and bai mao xia ku cao (white ajuga). (link)

Families make mijiu— rice wine— during Bailu.

Yu the Great (c. 2123-2025 BC) was a legendary ruler in ancient China who was famed for his introduction of flood control, his establishment of the Xia dynasty which inaugurated dynastic rule in China, as well as his moral character. Every year when it comes to White Dew, fishermen in Jiangsu and Zhejiang provinces will hold a week-long ceremony to worship Yu the Great, hoping he can bring luck and wealth to them. (link)

The animals that are associate and represent Bailu are swallows.

[forgottnseccnd]

@tertiusdecimusfilius continued from here.

The only one...

" Not anymore. " Aurelius hissed his words out like a cobra with venom, sitting himself down next to Guilliman and narrowing his eyes. He undid the bolts on his neck, twisting them painfully and letting skin pull apart-- but his genetic enhancements as a Primarch and son of the Emperor left the blood clotting quickly. He let the bolts drop, removing his helmet and letting it be gently lowered to the floor. Aurelius stared at him.

" I did not return to the Imperium just to stand aside, Guilliman, I came here to help you. To help our Father. I have been standing aside for too long, and it's only gotten obvious with you now in the damn medicae bay. "

He took a moment to turn his head away, hands resting on his lap as his upper lip curled in disgust-- yet it seemed to be more-so with himself than anything.

" I thought someone was helping you. I thought, possibly, one of our brothers had come back. That maybe someone was at least giving a helping hand... but you have been doing it all by yourself to the point you had forgotten that even the mightiest rulers need help. You should know that, with how much you had focused on logistics and tactics. But I will not stand aside anymore. "

Aurelius straightened his posture, only to lean down... and slowly reach his hand out to hold Guilliman's hand.

" I am here for you. We are brothers, Guilliman. But I became too complacent in my role as 'little brother'. That needs to change. And I have changed it. "

[moodymisty]

Lorgar and his pregnant wife, please?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Was already making this, so I just expedited the process. Enjoy some Lorgar goodness.

Relationships: Lorgar/Fem!Reader

Warnings: One quick NSFW flashback, Tokophobia, Pregnancy, Lorgar being overwhelming and suffocating

Lorgar’s personal quarters are massive- as much of it is filled with his own personal librarium.

Perhaps another time it would’ve interested you enough to take a peek, but right now you sit swallowed by the massive bed, wrapped in thin, cool sheets. Anything that could be on those shelves is of little interest in comparison to what is currently running through your mind.

You still remember the medicae's word. He’d let you go with little fanfare after- apart from the formality he gave speaking to the Lady of the Word Bearers- and you’d returned to your quarters with little more than a few words to tell you that you were indeed, pregnant.

It’s been a little over two months more since you first were told that news, but you’re still just so, surprised. Given Lorgar's unnatural creation, his size and abilities, the thought of such a thing being possible hadn't even come to the table.

Though neither of you were thinking of it either, in the height of other things.

'My little goddess,'

You felt so full, cum leaked from you and onto the silken sheets. But he was far from finished with you, and continued until the stars in the sky gave way to the sun.

You remember that last time the both of you were together. Lorgar knew he was leaving in the morning and had spent almost the entire night with you, preparing for the future time apart.

As such when he leaves, you’ve been unable to contact Lorgar for more than a few minutes at a time. This was something you wanted to tell him in person as well, and so you’d held your tongue until the Fidelitas Lex finally came to port.

Your clothes still fit, though most now show a slightly visible bump; Noticeable to anyone who's seen you enough to catch the difference. Thankfully, that isn't too many.

At least the nausea had faded mostly. You remember when it had forced you to see that medicae, and enlightened you to this whole thing.

"Are you well, Lady Aurellian?"

You laughed him off, and cleared your throat. Your mouth tasted terrible, and the noise did little to change it.

"Just a little under the weather." He took your response at face value, but didn’t seem entirely convinced. You were eager to get this all finished with, and answer any more questions curtly in the way you thought was most applicable.

Once it was all finished you walked quickly from the massive room, and just barely managed to make it to the balcony before your breakfast made its unwelcome return. You stood hunched over the railing, skin feeling hot. You wiped your mouth and took a few deep breaths.

"Lady Aurellian!"

You suddenly turned to see two Word Bearers looking at you shocked. One was from the room you'd just been in; You assumed he followed you to escort you back to your quarters. They both expressed their gentle demands for you to see the medicae, and not eager to fight about it, you went along with little fuss.

But Lorgar is due to return of Colchis any minute now. You’ve already been told his flagship has moored in the planet’s orbit, and you’ll see him soon. Very soon; Enough so that your stomach feels like it's buzzing.

Many of the primarchs are returning to their home planets in preparation to visit Terra. Many if not all of the Primarchs will be there apparently, at least according to Lorgar.

He's always yabbed a bit too much about things you feel like you shouldn't be hearing, but he seems to enjoy whispering you secrets. Many times simply because he’s venting out his anger at the galaxy, or the people within it.

You hear the heavy wooden doors slowly open, and you see Lorgar in his casual garb in the doorway. He must've already removed his armor before returning to his quarters.

He seems somewhat disgruntled, until his face lights up at the sight of you sitting on the edge of his gigantic bed. He smiles wide and instantly comes to you, kneeling in front of you and cupping your face in his hands to kiss you. They feel warm and soft, and you can't help but forget everything you've been getting ready to say for just a moment.

“I’ve missed you even worse than when I last left you. I didn't know I even could.”

You lay your hand over his own for a moment before he pulls them away, laying one over his own chest for a moment as he speaks.

"But- I have so many wonderful things to show you, my love. And to give you! The places we've been, they had so many beautiful things; Not as wonderful as you of course-"

It went well, you assume. Lorgar always becomes talkative if it does. If things go poorly, he's often in an unmanageable mood for days, until something, or now you, manage to soothe him.

You swallow the knot in your throat and interrupt him.

"Lorgar?"

He freezes, and the smile on his face fades within a moment. He notices your troubled expression and his hands rest on your lap. "Is something wrong, my love?"

You nervously wring your hands.

"I have to confess that I, have been keeping something from you." His brow furrows, but you speak before he can. "Can I explain before you rake me across the coals?"

Lorgar is already looking a bit worried and upset, so you elect to speak quickly in the hopes that the hourglass that holds his emotions doesn't completely flip before you have the chance to quell him.

"I went to the medicae not long after you left," He visibly jerks and you quickly forget all of the other words you were going to say and spit out:

"I'm pregnant, Lorgar."

He freezes for a moment, as if trying to process what you’ve said and understand it. His lips shift before he finally finds words.

“You are? I-“

He uncharacteristically stutters for a moment, before finally his mind catches up with his feeling and his hands cup your jawline. You watch his face keenly before you see his face melt into joy and you can breath a sigh of relief.

“I thought I couldn’t be happier to finally be here with you again, but this? There isn’t a word in any language to describe how I feel.”

Lorgar has a way with words, you never cease to be wooed by it. He can make you go from furious to in love with him, and you don't even think he does it intentionally. You play with the loose fabric of his robes for a moment to keep your hands busy.

“I’m sorry for keeping it from you, I just wanted to tell you in person. It didn't seem like the type of news to tell you over a vox while you're in the middle of commanding your men.”

His hands drift downward, and hesitantly move to brush across the growing roundness of your belly.

“I could never be upset at you; Not after this. Not after what you’ve given me.” He smiles in the same way he does after writing something he's proud of, or talking of his religion.

"The child of a Primarch; I never even considered it would be possible..."

He also seems lost in thought for a moment, before he finally comes back to reality and plants his feet firmly on the ground again. He moves to hold your face in his hands once again and give you a kiss, his larger palms swallowing your jawline. His lips feel so soft and warm against your own, you almost forget about everything until he pulls away with a soft pop, and your lips are puffy and well kissed.

"This means we should leave for Terra as soon as possible; Before it be to much danger for you," He says, and your eyes widen.

"I'm coming with you to Terra? Aren't all of the primarchs going to be there?"

You've never been to Terra, never seen a primarch besides Lorgar. Judging by the way he speaks of them, Lorgar is more than enough for you. But he nods, sparking a bit of turmoil in your gut.

"Of course! I refuse to leave you for a second, and I wish to show all of the Imperium the news." Lorgar must see the nervousness on your face, and he kisses the tip of your nose.

"Don't worry, we'll have our time to ourselves as well. I won't parade you around the entire time." That's relieving, as you know that you can't say no to him about this without fearing the repercussions.

Suddenly the primarch begins to stand, peeling his hands away from you.

"I should tell my men to ready the Fidelitas Lex, that we need to depart as soon as possible." You quickly reach for his hand. "Can you wait a moment to do that? You just returned, I want a moment with you before you're off again."

Lorgar halts, looking down at you. His shoulders loosen, and he smiles. It's that same smile that lights up his tanned skin that you love. He kneels back down, his eyes holding that barely contained wonder that has you feeling so loved and suffocated.

"Of course."

[sapphireblackfox]

@anoseforrottenapples

Ruby stood in the now empty gallery, guarding the doorway for the time being as other museum staff was elsewhere; stretched thin due to the incident.

They were scrambling to accommodate the visitors held to be questioned, and possibly reimbursed for the trouble. Along with trying to help authorities best they could, the space staff was already few and far between. Ruby, although not management, had taken charge in the chaos best she could. She knew enough to keep anyone from leaving the building, and also made sure everyone in the room when the body dropped especially didn't leave. Although others didn't like it, aside from emergency services, no one else was to come in, even if it was in a different section.

They had moved the witnesses into the next room over, away from the body but still enclosed from leaving. So now it was Ruby and the room she had worked so hard to organize for the best presentation. Ruby and the ability to skin the room, uninterrupted until others arrived, as some officers and medicas had been going in and out once they arrived not long ago.

[weatheredpileoftomes]

by daylight's glare

For FFXIVWrite Day 8, “shed”. Majha, early Shadowbringers, spoilers through level 79 msq, ~700 words. Canon-typical violence. (The phrase never made it in, but I was thinking about “shedding light”.)

The aether of the First is bizarre.

If it isn’t one damn empire, it’s another.

Majha hates going into battle without Ta tribe. She hasn’t had to in years, and just like last time, it’s only political necessity keeping the man whose fault it is in one piece.

Still, at least she isn’t alone. She has Alphinaud and Alisaie, and she has Captain Lyna for as long as Lyna never finds out what happened in Holminster Switch. She and Krile Baldesion must never, ever meet, because Warrior of Light or no Majha would probably not survive that meeting.

Chaanqa, though. Majha wishes all of Ta tribe were here—except that she doesn’t because there’s no safe way for them to be here—but she especially wishes for a defender with the training to take some hits, especially if G’raha “never heard of him and I truly think you’re stupid enough not to recognize me, a normal if very short Hyur” bloody Tia is going to have to stay back to run the city this time.

It’s not like she actually let him die in Holminster, anyway. She’s known paladins before; he could have stopped her.

With a snarl of frustration, Majha turns on the hapless Crystarium guard next to her, then takes a deep breath when he recoils. “Sorry,” she says, with what she hopes looks like a smile.

“We’re almost ready, miss.” His smile back looks just as uncertain as hers.

“Let us go,” Lyna says.

She doesn’t like Majha, and that’s fine. Majha doesn’t resent that, she merely regrets it. Lyna is loyal and competent; Majha understands that, and will do her best to keep Lyna from harm and return her safe to her Exarch.

It’s normal when she raises her cane and weaves a Regen through Lyna. It’s normal when she adds a Medica II to that, rainbows bouncing under the cloudy sky as the regenerative magicks take root in Majha herself as well.

Lyna nods, once, in acknowledgement, and then darts ahead. Her glaives cut into a Eulmoran soldier as easily as they cut through the air itself.

Majha calls the wind, and watches holy light stream forth instead.

It staggers her.

She actually stops dead in the middle of combat, staring from the blue-white sparkles rippling over the soldier’s skin to her own cane, which she’s been using for months. It felt like wind. It erodes like wind, she thinks, but—it isn’t wind. This is no form of Aero she recognizes.

“Excuse me,” Lyna shouts back at her, and Majha jolts and grabs at an aetheric lily, crushing it for energy and sending that energy to Lyna in a burst of healing.

That’s normal, and almost the same color as the holy light—which, for that matter, looks much like Holy, the spell. Regen, again; that’s normal too.

She works her way closer to Lyna and the fighting and tries a Holy. That, too, looks right, a brilliant burst that stuns everyone around them for a moment. Again, and again, with her familiar aether-grown lilies to sustain them, until there are only two guards left standing.

When she calls to the earth, it’s a solid burst of light that smacks into the soldier. Not even a glowing rock, just light made solid.

Or, no—Light made solid.

It hits like Stone, and it feels like she’s calling it from the ground beneath them. It’s not right, but nothing about this cursed place is right. Elemental Light saturates the entire world. It’s not surprising, probably, that with more time spent here it’s creeping into her magicks that call upon the world.

She’ll ask one of the conjurers back at the Crystarium, or Urianger if G’raha can be persuaded to disclose her location—Majha can be very persuasive, she thinks, spinning from the Eulmoran soldier’s crumpling form to hit Lyna with another lily—but it’s fine, probably.

It feels all right, anyway. It should be fine. If something were wrong, she’d feel cut off somehow, and as it is she can feel the pulse of the world just beyond her skin, the same she’s always been meant to.

“Majha!” someone shouts, and she looks up to see the twins running toward her.

Good. Time to get this done.

[thegreatlibraryfangirl]

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

(i am going to vibrate a lot)

I have several!!

For my Translated!Jess whump fic, I am scrapping the half a chapter I've already written, which was from Wolfe's PoV, and instead writing it from Khalila's in order to do some obvious worldbuiding in this "Sword and Pen Didn't Happen" verse. Such as, Khalila being Archivist Murasaki's assistant, and a mess of Obscurist Magni and some politics therein (more on that later). And maybe fast-forward some of the mystery of wtf is happening so that I can get to the recovery whump that the fic was created for.

So have a snippet from the old version, as a thank you for the ask!:

--

A moment later, Wolfe frowned. Was he imagining things? He had to be. He'd thought of the two, and so he could hear them. Mildly worrying.

"believe you did-"

"And I told you-"

No, here they were, barrelling down the corridor in the midst of a blazing row. Wolfe slipped his Codex back into his pocket and turned towards the door. His skin prickled with the urge to tell them both to shut up and stop shouting around Jess, but that was ridiculous. He wasn't asleep. The Medicas had been quite clear on that.

Then Morgan shoulder-barged her way through the door and stood there, panting and staring at Jess, and Wolfe's stomach dropped like a stone.

She looked terrible. Ashen and sheened with perspiration, with dark circles under her eyes and a visible twitch in her left eyelid. What had happened? He'd seen her just this morning.

Barely had he opened his mouth to express concern when his stomach dropped again, hard enough to make him want to vomit.

He knew what had happened. Nic had alluded to it, briefly. Suggested that his father had had it under control. This was under control?

He'd seen this before, in Philadelphia when Morgan had -

When I pushed her too far, he corrected himself. When she had been polluted by too much direct quintessence usage, thanks to his instructions. She'd turned to Jess then too, even barely conscious and feverish, subconsciously draining him for her own survival -

- Before Wolfe was quite aware of his own decision, he had jumped to his feet and positioned himself between her and Jess. Let her drain him instead. He'd heard so many times over that he had almost enough detectable power. Let that go to protect Jess. Something useful for once.

But rather than reach for him with glazed, hungry eyes, she merely blinked and pulled a confused face. A moment later, her face cleared again.

"It's all right, Scholar. I'm drugged, it's fine."

"You're what?" His head, already sore, throbbed as if in protest at these constant unpleasant shifts. War-zone driving for the emotions. He glared at his father who had just entered the room.

"Don't look at me! It was entirely her doing!" Eskander barely spared a glance for Wolfe, focusing on Morgan with a bad-tempered look that was far too close to the one Wolfe would see in his own mirror. It still disconcerted him, regularly. Not only was his father now in his life, but so much of what Wolfe had thought made him his own person appeared to have come from that damn old man.

"Well, it wouldn't have been my doing if you'd just burnt it out the quick bloody way again!"

"I told you we can't keep doing that!" Eskander's voice thundered in the room. Wolfe saw Morgan's fists clench. This could clearly go on for hours.

"Both of you shut up," he said, firmly and quickly in the slim moment's silence while Morgan was gearing herself up. To his shock and relief, that worked, though they both shot him looks that could strip paint from walls. "Morgan. Are you safe to be here?"

"Yes." She yawned and swayed as she did so. "I overreached getting Jess back and I'm having some problems, but Gregory had this absolutely terrible drug he used to take our powers away temporarily. So I can't do anything stupid."

"Oh, that I doubt." Better to be sarcastic than to probe too deeply about any of that, right now.

She gave him a sheepish grin. Wolfe fought the urge to grin back and folded his arms instead. "So what exactly-"

Then his Codex buzzed.

And Jess' alarms started up again.

--

I'm REALLY CLOSE to finishing the next chapter of hostage fic (can't even remember the actual title it's just called hostage fic ok. The one where Dario and Wolfe get kidnapped.). No snippets from that, I try my best to give @rosalind-of-arden an actual surprise once in a blue moon. Nobody is having a good time in that one, apart from ME.

I'm also writing a sinful Wolfe/Khalila/Morgan smut fic which I'm looking forward to. (Set post-canon, Morgan Lives because I say so). There is no plot. The plot is, Wolfe is sad and women are beautiful.

I've also got a couple of ideas floating round about Dario's family. Because angst. Particularly one where Santi helps Dario out with Dad vibes because @cogaytes once doubted I could write them & not / and I have taken up the challenge!!!!!

[ravenrook]

Materia medica #1: Devil's Darning Needle

Scientific name: Clematis virginiana; Clematis terniflora

Family: Ranunculaceae

Common name: Devil's darning needle; Old Man's Beard; Virgin's Bower; Woodbine; Traveller's Joy

Description: A vigorous vine bearing flowers with four petals. After flowering in late summer or early fall, the fruit develops into a clump long fluffy strings. Several species can easily be confused, C. virginiana can be identified by having trifoliate leaves. Found near edges: fence rows, stream banks, hedges. When cultivated, may be trained onto trellises, but otherwise will overtake other plants.

Toxicity notes: Poisonous. Do not eat. Sap may cause blisters on skin.

Magical notes: No planetary associations, though one source connects it to Venus/Freyja. UPG: I would call this a saturnine plant due to its choking tendencies, poisonous qualities, and association with the "Old Man."

Folklore notes: A similar Clematis species found in Europe is said to have shaded the Virgin Mary while she traveled, and this lore may have been transferred to the North American species. Others associate it with witchcraft and the devil, though I can't find an explanation for this beyond its habit of smothering other plants. The downy fruit is said to look like a beard, perhaps inspiring the devil connection.

Craft uses: I haven't found anyone else's magical uses, so the following is all UPG. I see binding as the primary use for this plant, especially in baneful workings. For instance, a "stop gossip" spell may include the creation of a poppet that is tied up or the mouth sewn shut using the vine. It may be an asset in workings dealing with the more malevolent side of a love goddess, as it brings together the juxtaposed views of this plant.

[I hope you enjoyed my first materia medica entry. I'm hoping to show not just information on individual plants, but also how you can build your herbal knowledge. If you have any suggestions for what I should add to these entries, let me know!]

Sources

North Carolina Plant Toolbox

Wikipedia

Growsonyou

Virginia Wildflowers

Flowers and Flower Lore