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redwinetalks · 8 months ago

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I Won't Let You Sink

Chapter 3

(Previous Chapter)

Word Count: 5.2k

Pairing: Finnick X Fem!OC

Warnings: slight self harm, angst, fluff , protective Finnick, Finnick is a sap, panic attack, violence/gore, death, hurt/comfort, pre-canon, young Finnick and Silk, Silk AND Finnick pov

Summary: It's the next year of the Hunger Games. Silk is a mentor now and Finnick will not let her go through this alone!!

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

~ Silk ~

The old apartment mom and I lived in didn’t have many windows, but that hardly matters when you barely see the sun in the sky. If you live closer to factories, the smog is so thick that you never see the blue in the sky. Victor’s Village is at the edge of town so the air quality is better. There’s still smog, but I can see the sky. The sun doesn’t have to try as hard to come out. It shines in my face and wakes me almost instantly. I’m still getting used to the brightness and the warmth that it brings me, but it feels inviting. It feels familiar. My mouth twitches into a small smile whenever the sun wakes me up. Like a good friend has come to visit and take the darkness away.

I feel the sun’s comfort even on the days I have to leave for the Capitol. It tells me that I’ll be back soon and I won’t lose that warmth. I will find it in Finnick O’dair. Maybe it’s because he himself is always so warm. His hands are warm when he places one on my cheek to ease my anxiety. His chest and his arms are warm when he pulls me into calming hug. His legs are warm when one brushes up again mine as we sit together. Every time I feel Finnick’s warmth I’m reminded of the sun.

We’ve grown closer with each visit to the Capitol. We regularly find each other when one of us is needing a moment to breathe. I think we’ve developed a sense for when it happens. I think Finnick likes it when I look to him for a way out of a dull conversation. He always dramatically whisks me away, playing hero.

Finnick is so much different than the persona he turns on for everyone else. He isn’t arrogant or self centered at all. The real Finnick always wants to focus on how I’m feeling instead of himself. He can get so worked up and always wants to help anyone in need. It took me a bit to grow fully comfortable with his care, to let him in. I’ve never had someone worry over me the way he does.

However, Finnick never wants me to worry over him. He has this idea in his head that he’s supposed to be the caretaker. That his own troubles are irrelevant. It’s like pulling teeth, getting him to be truly vulnerable. I never push too hard as I don’t want to overstep, but I can tell he wants the comfort. It’s almost as if he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. I can only imagine all of the feelings he has shut inside. With each visit I try to open that door a bit more.

I don’t dread my train ride to the Capitol in the same way I used to. I would panic and I could never sleep leading up to my visits. I still feel that gut wrenching anxiety, and I always will, but now I don’t have to go through it alone. I now can give myself assurance that there will be a shoulder I can lean on. There’s someone who can look at me and understand the pain that I feel. I don’t have to see myself in the mirror falling apart when someone will come help me pick up the pieces.

This doesn’t mean that what happens at the Capitol is no longer traumatic. It is still very much so. I will never get used to the pain. The way these people look at me and don’t see a real person. They don’t see a human being that deserves life. They see someone who won their favorite show. A prize that they can play with. They can customize me in almost every way. They pick what I wear, what makeup is put on me, how my hair is done. They give me instructions on how to behave and how to give them their fantasy. They don’t see anything wrong with it and they never will.

“Don’t get lost in there, sweetheart.” Finnick sits next to me on the couch in his room, twirling a piece of my hair.

“How was your shower?” I turn to give him my attention. His blonde hair is still damp and a few wavy strands rest on his forehead.

“Not scalding enough.” he jokes. “Did ya miss me? I’m sure those twenty minutes were quite boring.”

“Nope.” I say, popping the “p”. “Barely even noticed.”

“I’m hurt, sweetheart.” He puts his hand on his chest and gives me a sad, pouty expression.

“So dramatic. One girl turns you down and suddenly your ego is shattered.”

“Only when it’s you, beautiful.” He smirks at me and I can feel the warmth creeping up my face. Finnick is the only person who has ever given me this kind of warmth. It still surprises me every time, this feeling I’ve never felt before.

“You’ll get over it.” I shrug him, and the feeling, off and then turn to look back at the night sky. He laughs to himself and sighs.

“Did you know I’d never seen the stars before coming to the Capitol?” I suddenly say. Finnick faces me with a look of shock.

“What? How is that?” I smile, his surprised expression making me laugh softly.

“I’ve seen them in pictures but, you know how I told you the water at the shore in 8 is polluted?” He nods, now giving me a more focused expression. “Well, the sky is too. The factories cause the air to be polluted as well. There’s this smog that makes the sky look all hazy. During the day I can barely tell that the sky is blue. And at night, I can’t see any stars at all. I didn’t know that they were this beautiful.” I’m still gazing at them. They’re so much brighter than I thought they’d be. Finnick turns to look at them as well.

“They are, but you’re far more beautiful.” He says this so genuinely. I look at him surprised, yet confused. I’m taken aback. It’s not like Finnick hasn’t given me a compliment before. He’s kind and charming. He knows how to make someone feel seen. But this feels different. His tone doesn’t sound flirtatious, like it usually does when he gives a compliment. It’s much sweeter, much softer. He doesn’t give me enough time to dwell on it before he continues speaking. “When I’m home in 4, I sit on the beach and watch the stars almost every night. It’s so peaceful, watching the sun go down and then seeing the moon glow so bright. The sky goes from light blue to a vibrant orange or a soothing purple. And then it turns this dark blue, almost black. The contrast of the night sky and the sparkling stars can be breathtaking. One day, when you visit me, we can stargaze together.”

A pang of jealousy hits me. As much as I love my home, it hasn’t been able to give me these wondrous experiences. The labor that is forced upon us all in Panem affects how we get to experience life. And unfortunately, I didn’t get to grow up in district 4. I didn’t grow up in a district with clear skies. I grew up in a district where being outside for too long can make it difficult to breathe. Sometimes I feel like 8 gets punished the most because of our rebellious nature, but I know that every district struggles with their own hardships caused by the Capitol. It isn’t fair of me to compare us all. I know that I’m just feeling bitter, now more than ever.

“I don’t think I can be too hopeful of that.” He frowns at me. I know that he’s trying to give me something positive to think about, but my mind won’t allow me to dream. “How could I dream of something so wonderful when I know it’ll never happen?” He takes my hand and squeezes tight.

“Come with me.” He gets off the couch and leads me out of the bedroom and onto the balcony. I don’t question what he’s doing. As I get to know Finnick, I learn how he goes to any dramatic lengths to help me feel better. His heart is so big. The fact that he hasn’t lost who he is to the Capitol’s torture makes him one of the strongest people I know.

He ushers me to sit on the ground next to him. When I do, he then lays on his back and I copy him. I look at his eyes. Even at night I swear that they sparkle.

“Look up, pretty girl.” I smile softly at him and then do as he says. “If I can’t yet take you to gaze at the stars in 4, then I’ll take this for now.” He holds my hand and then the few tears that I have been holding in finally let go. The night sky is vast and breathtaking, just like he said. I’ve never just taken a second to look at it like this.

“Thank you” I say in almost a whisper.

“I will always do whatever I can to bring a smile to your face.” He says and twirls a strand of my hair again. I turn back to face him and I’m looking into those sea green eyes. I watch them as they study my face. We both stay like this for a while, still holding hands. I feel a tightness in my chest. It’s like a pull towards Finnick, but I choose to ignore it. I let the moment continue to be just this. Just us looking at each other and feeling like we are the only people in the world. I’ve never felt the way I do now, but I would like this feeling to stay forever. It feels so comforting. I feel safe here. In this little world that is just me and Finnick.

In the middle of the mattress, Finnick’s hand still holds onto mine. This is the first time we’ve fallen asleep right next to each other. He usually sleeps on the floor, going against my protests. But tonight, we lay in the bed. The bed that I used to be so afraid of. It doesn’t feel as scary with Finnick here. He seems to make all of my troubles fade into the back of my mind. I could never thank him enough for keeping me from sinking into that dark abyss. The next time I see him I’ll be a mentor. We won’t be back at the Capitol for parties, we’ll be back for the 69th annual Hunger Games. It is utterly terrifying that I will be the one guiding tributes, but he’s told me how he won’t let me go through it alone. He will be beside me every second he can, and I hope that I can make the year less daunting for him as well.

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

The day of the reaping is finally here. The leading up to it felt somehow fast and slow at the same time. Today I get to relive the trauma of being selected by seeing two kids walk to the stage with the same gut wrenching fear that I had. I am terrified for them and terrified that I will let them down. Even if I do my job to the best of my ability, only one will come home. I will still lose one of my own. I don’t know how I’ll be able to get off the train and face everyone when I return home.

District 8 is the sixth largest district. I know mainly just the people who’ve worked in the factories near me or live close to my home. My old home. I’m familiar with some who I see frequently in the heart of the district. Where people sell food or an assortment of clothes and items at their separate stalls. That doesn’t matter so much, though. It’s not better for someone I know or don’t know to be picked. Either way a child is going to die and a family is going to suffer. I don’t know how Cecilia pushes through. Woof, the other victor in 8, isn’t all there. She’s basically on her own. His dementia has caused him to be less and less involved. A part of me is happy for him that he is losing his memories. Maybe he’s losing the worst ones and is actually living peacefully. That’s what I would like to believe.

I wonder how Cecilia feels today. How did she feel when she was mentoring me? How did she feel when Pinn, my district partner, died? How does it feel doing this year after year, especially now that she has children of her own. One day her children will be old enough to be reaped. I can’t even imagine the fear of having to mentor your own child. The thoughts swirling around in my head make me dizzy.

I wince when I realize I’ve been digging my nails into my palm. I haven’t done that in a while. Finnick stops me whenever he notices and the habit has slowly started to break. However, it seems like I’m picking it back up with the additional stress.

“Honey, are you ready?” My mom peaks through my door and looks at me with a sad smile. She holds my sweater over her arm. It’s one that she knit for me during a sleepless night. When I was away for one of my trips to the Capitol. She still doesn’t know the whole reason that I have to go. She tries to get the answer out of me every few weeks, but I never let myself reveal the truth. It’s just meaningless parties that I have to attend as a victor. I know she doesn’t believe me, but for now that’s all I can give her.

“Just about.” I sigh, looking at myself in the mirror. I use a scarf to keep the hair out of my face for today. The green details complement the dark purple color of my dress. I wanted to wear some of my favorite colors, thinking they’d somehow make me feel more positive. But nothing about today will be positive.

“You’re going to get through this. You are stronger than they know. You’ll have Cecilia with you. And Finnick when you get to the Capitol.” I nod and mom pulls me in for a hug. She squeezes me tight and kisses my head. “I’ll be in the crowd, but I won’t get to say goodbye before you leave. You’ll be back home in a few weeks. No matter how bad it gets just remember that this time you’re coming home.” She holds my cheek in her hand and rubs her thumb back and forth. I look at her and keep nodding. I’m coming home this time.

Standing beside Cecilia, I watch all the kids fall in line. It’s such a weird feeling, not being part of that line. Not being part of the rows and rows of young girls. I should feel some kind of relief. I no longer have to worry about my name being called, but I still feel that worry. It’s just different. It’s now about who will be called on for me to mentor.

Cecilia must sense the anxiety radiating off of me because she starts to rub my back. I look to her and she gives me a kind smile. She doesn’t have to say anything to me. I know that she’s telling me I’ll be okay. I’ll get through it. After all these years, Cecilia is still standing. She has a loving husband and two beautiful children. Watching her gives me a sense of hope that I could have a happy future. It’s hard to see right now, but maybe one day I’ll eventually be okay.

I shake myself from my thoughts and see they’ve chosen a female tribute. I don’t know her, but she looks to be about 12 years old. Her first year in the reaping and she’s been picked. She’s already crying and the escort, Veridie, is smiling as wide and brightly as possible. I clench my fists. The anger I feel growing inside of me is indescribable.

She glides over to the other bowl to pick the male tribute name. I’m trying not to start hyperventilating. I need to look as calm as possible. I’ve done this before. I didn’t allow myself to react at my own reaping. Why is it so much harder now? Because these kids are going to be looking up to me to survive. The pressure is so heavy. It feels like I’m being pushed into the ground.

My eyes focus on Veridie as she shouts the male tribute’s name and I realize I know this tribute. We went to school together and worked in the same factory. He’s the same age as me, 18. He was so close making it. So close to being free.

The panic is rising in my chest. I can feel tears brimming in my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. I feel horrible. I can’t do this. How the fuck am I supposed to do this?

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~ Finnick ~

The train ride to the Capitol was the same as it is every year. The air is tense as I explain the hell my tributes are about to go through. I teach them about getting sponsors and making allies while Mags tries to do some consoling.

I wonder how Silk is doing right now. I wish I was with her right now. I wish I could try to ease her distress. I’m afraid she’ll be more closed off when I finally see her. She doesn’t want to look weak. She doesn’t want for people to be able to read her, but I know how strong she is. How she’s feeling right now doesn’t make her weak. She’s always able to hold herself together when she knows she’s being watched. That takes an enormous amount of strength. I don’t want her to feel like she has to be that strong around me. I don’t want her to close herself back up after I’ve finally helped her relax.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the last night I saw her. She looked so beautiful in the glow of the night sky. With her hand in mine, I felt an electricity shooting up my body. I never wanted to let her go. And when she looked at me. I could have kissed her right there. I wish I had swept her up in my arms, but I don’t know how she feels. I don’t want her to feel comfortable with me now and then ruin it all. Her hand in mine is enough. I never want to let her go.

I still haven’t seen Silk after arriving at the Capitol. The opening ceremony will be happening soon and I’m hoping to catch her. I just need to see how she’s holding up.

Mags keeps teasing me about how I’ve been so distracted. She continues to do so while I’m looking around the carriages. I spot Cecilia, but I’m struggling to find Silk. I stifle a laugh, thinking about how her short stature is probably the reason I don’t see her.

I make my way to Cecilia. If I can’t find Silk I can at least ask about her. As I’m almost to the older mentor, I finally spot her. She looks even more beautiful than the last time I saw her. She’s talking to her female tribute. I see the kindness in her eyes as she tells the girl what to expect. Even though this child is a spectacle to the Capitol, Silk tries to make it sound more magical. She tells the girl how lovely she looks and that being on the carriage feels like gliding through the air.

“Go show everyone out there how strong you are. I’ll be right here when you get back.” She rubs the girls arm and then guides her onto the carriage. When she turns back around she locks eyes with me.

“Finnick” she says with a sweet smile. My heartbeat speeds up a little, her focus now being on me.

“Hello, sweetheart. Want a sugar cube?” Her brow furrows and I let out a breath of a laugh. “They’re for the horses, but I think you deserve a treat just as sweet as you.” She rolls her eyes, as she usually does when I flirt with her, but then takes it. She pops it into her mouth and I can’t help but look at her lips. I bet they taste just as sweet as that sugar. I take a deep breath to try and keep my focus. A task that proves to be difficult whenever I’m around her.

“Thank you.” She doesn’t say more than that. She has on a brave face, but I think that’s all she can give right now.

“How are you holding up? It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been…okay” She says distantly. She’s looking just next to me, eyes lost in space. Her mind must be racing.

“Anything going on in that beautiful head of yours that you’d want to talk about?”

“Finnick…how do I do this?” Her eyes now stare directly into mine and I feel heavy. How do you prepare kids to go and fight to the death? There’s no real answer to that question, but she knows that. If there was an answer I would’ve told her immediately. So would Cecilia. What she’s really asking is how do you cope? How do you keep from breaking down every second?

“You just…you have to push through this first year. It’ll still be hard next year and so on, but you learn the routine. You know what to expect and it makes it easier to process.” I rub her arm and she hums a response. I want to give her more comfort, but I don’t want to overwhelm her. We’re in too public of a space for me to fully embrace her. “You’ll be okay, though. I’m here if you need anything at all, sweet girl. I mean that.” Her lips twitch up into the softest smile. Her hand cups my cheek and I could almost melt into her touch.

“I know, sweet Finnick.”

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*

~ Silk ~

After the long days of training and interviews end, the watch party starts and I sit next to Cecilia. Her demeanor has gotten more tense throughout these past few days. I know she’s feeling drained and I wish I could be more help. She’s told me not to worry about it. She just wants me to try and get through this first year the best that I can.

We’re in a room full of mentors from the other districts. Finnick is sitting with Mags. He’s tying and untying knots into some rope and I assume it’s to help with stress. I see Haymitch in the corner drowning himself in liquor and I wonder if I’ll have to drink like that to get through these trips in the future. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I don’t think I’d be surprised if it does. It’ll just mean I have something in common with my father.

The countdown is starting and I’m gripping the couch cushions. I don’t know what to expect. If I’m being honest with myself, my tributes don’t stand a good chance at winning. Both of their training scores were low. Not impressive enough to get any sponsors. It’s horrible, but I know that they’ll die. I just hope it’s quick and painless. That’s all you can really wish for.

The games start and everything is moving so quickly. I can barely even keep track of where my tributes are. I hear the canon going off over and over. Cecilia gasps quietly and holds onto my hand. When I look to see what has happened, I feel like the air has been punched out of me. That little girl, my tribute, is dead on the ground with an axe in her head. Just a few feet away my other tribute is falling to the ground after being stabbed by a career.

“Cecilia” I don’t know what to do. I feel like the room is spinning. “Um…I think I need to take a minute.”

“There’s a bathroom just outside the door. Take however much time you need. I’ll go grab some water.” She rubs my arm and then helps me stand. I try to walk as calmly as I can out of the room. As soon as the doors close behind me I rush into the bathroom and start hyperventilating. There are no tears flowing, there’s only panic. Panic from me not doing enough to help them. Panic from having to watch their gruesome murders. Panic from failing them. Everything around me is spinning and I feel my stomach churning.

“Silk? Can I come in?” That’s not Cecilia. I’m too upset to be able to focus. I don’t even answer. I just keep failing at trying to breathe.

I whip my head at the door as it slightly opens. Finnick peaks in calmly and then shifts into extreme worry once he sees me.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. You’re okay. Look at me.” He holds onto my arms and locks eyes with me. I shake my head at him.

“They’re dead. They’re dead, Finnick. And I couldn’t help them.” He pulls me into a tight embrace. He has one hand on my head and the other rubbing my back. Even at the Capitol he still smells of salty air.

“It’s not your fault, Silk. None of this is your fault.” I’m still shaking and my breathing is still rapid. I hear what he’s telling me but I can’t process it. The panic in my stomach is rising.

“I’m gonna be sick.” I mumble and push him away. I rush over to the toilet and then I feel Finnick’s hands grab my hair out of my face. He sits next to me and continues to rub my back. “You don’t have to stay in here.” I say, breathily.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet girl.” I sigh deeply and then flush away the sickness. I still feel awful, but at least the anxiety attack has ceased.

He hands me a glass of water and I gladly take it. I clean myself up at the sink and then slowly sip on the water. Finnick stays close by, hand still on my back. I feel calmer now that he is here. I feel the warmth that he brings with him. I lean my head against his chest and he kisses the top of my head. Somehow, even during this horrendous night, he still makes my heart swell.

“Why don’t we go and look at the stars, huh?” He runs his hand through my hair and I nod, still leaning on him. He guides me out of the bathroom and upstairs to his room.

Once inside, he grabs a blanket and wraps it around me. We walk out to the balcony and the warm air hits my face. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Finnick pulls me close to him and I feel myself letting go of some tension.

I wonder how I’d be doing right now if I never met Finnick. I wonder if my nights alone at the Capitol would start to drive me to insanity. There’s a part of me that is afraid of much he means to me. How it feels like I need him. I want to be strong enough to hold myself up, but that isn’t how people work. Pushing others away only makes things worse. I’ve always been afraid of letting people in. I usually keep to myself. The only person who truly knows me is my mother, but I think Finnick is starting to know me. Really know me. That fills me up with so much anxiety. But it’s not really the bad kind. It’s more of a feeling of want. I want Finnick to stay in my life for a long time.

“I wish I lived amongst the stars.” I say while we both stare at the sky. “I want to be the moon and feel the sun shining on me, making the me glow.” He looks down at me while listening intently. I feel like Finnick is always shining. And his sunshine makes me glow. He casts away the darkness. “You’re the sun, Finnick. You are so bright and so beautiful.” I run my hand through his hair and then rest it on his cheek. He’s smiling and I rub my thumb over the dimple that appears. My eyes rest on his lips and I feel that pull that I felt last time we looked at the stars. This time though, I don’t want to keep the moment still. I don’t want to resist the pull.

I raise myself up on my tiptoes and pull his face towards mine. I close my eyes and kiss him. I breathe in his sea salty lips that have a hint of sweetness from a sugar cube. One of his arms holds onto my back while the other tightly wraps around my torso, and there is nothing else in the world. It is just me and Finnick and the stars.

Our kiss eventually breaks, but he doesn’t move his face away. His forehead stays resting on mine.

“Silk…” he says breathlessly. His cheeks are flushed and his sea green eyes are locked onto mine. I wait for him to continue speaking, but he doesn’t. He pulls me in for another kiss. This time feels even more passionate. He holds me even tighter and my feet are just barely touching the ground.

“For the past two years, I thought I’d never feel true happiness again. I was completely defeated.” He starts and I’m now back to standing fully on the ground. “Meeting you has felt like a dream. You bring me serenity amidst all the despair I have endured. Your glow, your incandescent light has guided me out of that pit I fell into. I can’t express how grateful I am to have you in my life.” He still has one hand around my torso, keeping me close, but now his other hand brushes through my hair and then rests just between my jaw and neck. He glides his thumb over my lips and then traces my cheek. I smile and then breathe out a light laugh.

“Such a sweet talker.” He gives me the eye roll that I’m always giving him, but then he laughs and kisses my head.

“I have to keep up the dramatics for you, pretty girl.” I hum happily in response. We stay like this for a minute, just holding each other. I think back to the reason we’re up here in the first place. My face falls and I squeeze Finnick a bit tighter.

“Thank you for helping me get through all of this. Especially tonight.”

“I wasn’t going to break my promise to you. I am here for you and I always will be.”

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

Thank you so much for reading! I had some rough writer's block for this one sooo hope its okayyyy. I hope you enjoyed :) As always I am open to kind feedback. Also let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the next chapter!! <3

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the-entitie · 7 months ago

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Aphla_Werewolf_[Lucas]_×_male_reader_

Good boy~

《Previous ▪︎•°|°•▪︎ Masterlist ▪︎•°|°•▪︎ Next (not yet complete)》

</T|W> slight dub-con or no explicitly stated consent, senting, a/b/o style rut, edging, riding, multiple rounds, depiction of slight injuries, and thier healing.

</C|W> Smutt this time :p, bottom oc werewolf, top amab reader,

Lucas had come in with a dislocated shoulder and some nasty scrapes. Come to think of it, a lot of the wolves had been showing up with these kind of scuff marks.

You didn't really ask. Just patched them up, but if someone would know and wouldn't care that, it's you asking. It would be Lucas.

As you lifted his wrist, warned him of the pain, with a flat palm against his collar bone just over the dislocated socket. A quick shove and slight twist of his wrist had the joint back in place if a little sore.

His breath hitches with the movement, and he holds onto the coat you use with treating wounds. His hands cramping as he grips onto the stained fabric, holding you there to ride out the pain with his forehead resting gently on your sternim. The puffing breaths shifted the loose shirt under him while you ready the disinfectant over his shoulder.

That's another thing the wolves have taken to. Touch.

Any of the 'pack' as you call them would negate any distance and practically beg you for some form of skin contact. You weren't sure why, but you knew that's how familial relationships are stabilized.

Lucas was the only one to hold on. Or hold you there. Every other wolf would just brush up against you and then let you step back.

"You know."

He looked up at you, his chin resting on your sternum. Eyes looking a little to dilated for the adrenaline drop he should be in now.

"I've seen your groupies more often this week."

"Sorry." His arms wind tighter round ypur waist. Not even pouting about the name-calling. "Lots of the pups are going through the 'fight for my mate' phase of growing up."

"Thought that was just a wives tail."

"Nope very real."

"And they need some big strong Alpha to break it up?"

This odd rumble vibrates against your chest. It's almost enough to distract you from patching his spine up.

"I'm more to stop the ones that go past just play fighting."

"I need to clean your neck. And well, the other cuts." You pause when those same dark eyes flicker up to you. Clearly, you weren't clear enough.

"You need to move, so I can help you."

"Help sounds nice."

"Yes so move"

Lucas only shuffles back, unlooping his arms but still holding on to you. Forcing you to kneel down so you could actually clean and tape the wounds he came here for.

Those ink filled eyes still stare as you start on the cuts along his ribs and chest. Hardly flinching when the antiseptic cuts through the dried blood, and you have to push against him to stop the renewed bleeding. His pupils almost seem blown, and the scientist in you wonders if this fight for a mate actually releases a hormorn that keeps his eyes like that.

It's almost like he's looking at the prize of the fights that's been happening. Well, you haven't seen any of the disputes, displays, whatever they really are. So you can speculate their use.

"All done," with a pat to his chest, to pull his attention back from the dazed look he has. "Anything else? Or are there more."

"I don't know. I don't think you're done."

"What? Did I miss anything?"

"Yeah,"

Lucas smirks, leaning back on his hands. Shirt right there at the end of the table, but he refuses to put it on.

"I need a kiss to make it better"

Red flushes all through your neck and up your ears, eyes going wide. This was just a joke right?

But you leaned down, hovering just a breath from him. It was almost serene. Just standing there in the cold open room, this thick emotion hanging off the air between you and him.

Lucas was the one to break the quiet moment.

The split skin of his lip was near sharp as he kissed you, just a soft press at first. But then you lean up against him. Feeling every breath he took with the rise or fall of his chest against yours. His skin radiating heat like a furnace.

Those ruff hands gliding up, under your work coat to trace your jaw and settle along your neck. That same rumbling noise vibrating agaisnt you as he growls.

Some wolves can growl as a sign of playfulness, a fake growl for lack of a better term. It's more a tease or verbal invite to play. And he keeps growling as he pulls you impossibly closer. Arching up into you, just to grumble louder.

The old and ratty matris you use for the more hurt patients, bending under your weight. Lucas opens his eyes to stare at you with a golden ring, elipsing lust blown pupils. Fangs nip ever so softly over your lips and toungs, with soothing kisses placed after the harder nicks.

Must be the full moon looming to rise at the end of the week, amoslt two days of hyper wolves apparently now fighting to prove their love.

As if sensing your distraction, Lucas hauls you up, dropping you beneath him. Those ruff hands are still tracing any link to skin it can find along any gap between your waist and shirt. Happily feeling over the scars he watched you patch up. Panting down your throat between taking your breath away with each searing kiss.

Straddling your thighs, striping your jacket, and shirt with rushed movements. Leading your own hands to his skin, begging in all but words for you to touch. Careful of the buises, you hear those playful growls start up. Now you can feel it vibrate in his chest against yours.

The air around you in this old place warming with each brush of hands, or roll of hips. It's burning this feeling of lust deeper into your soul than you thought would still be possible.

He's careful of the claws dawning his fingers when tracing the skin under your belt. Easily catching on the fabric and forcing you to detangle him from it.

When you've both shed the last layers, you start to realize why his pack mates jokingly call him Alpha.

All it takes is one slip of your fingers over his waist, against his spine, and he's practically presenting for you. Back dropping down so he could roll his ass back into your hands.

"Please."

Lucas laps his ruff tongue over your throat. Chasing the beating pulse thundering away under it, a thick fur scratching at your thighs.

Seems he's partially shifted. Ears replaced by his canine form, tail flopping over your knuckles as you need the muscle under it. But..

There was this. Fairy tail, of sorts.

It was some girl who would brag about her partners in bed. But if what she says is true.

"Hmm, that feels good."

Bingo.

"You're very good at this."

His tail does wag when complemented. Good to know.

It's just the simple sway the end, but maybe.

There's a simple lubricant in the top draw, and an audible thumping follows your breach of him. It's almost distracting, but none the less adorable.

With your dick now fucking up into him, rendering his mind completely blank besides those breathless little noises that he can't seem to keep in.

All it takes is him rolling his hips back into you for it to finally gain a rhythm. And for you to say,

"Fuck. You feel amazing."

The sudden moan and long whimper had almost worried you, and yet he clamped up like a vice. His dick jumping in time with his heart rate so, so close.

One hand on his throat, and the other rubbing along the base of his tail, you methodically take him apart. Finding every spot that makes his gasp, every angle that makes his back draw tight or mouth hang open, every place to scratch raised red marks, suck darling bruises. All of it.

You keep him lost in the pleasure but never enough to cum, even when hes close its easy to pull at his hair, scratch at his hips, to keep him feeling good. But not enough.

Right when you know you have him on the edge, right when you know he's desperate enough to listen.

"Good boy"

Lucas practically locks up. His orgasm rushed through him without any warning, his own cum dripping past his jaw and neck. Breath ragged, although he can't be to worn out.

As his tail still thumps against the inside of your thigh. Eyes practically glazed over before he started moving again.

"Just like that." You comand into his ear, watching it flick with the ghost of your breath against it, "good boy~"

#x male reader #wip.txt #x reader #werewolf x reader #oc x reader #monster x reader #monster oc #werewolf oc x reader #male werewolf #male werewolf x reader #male werewolf x male reader #Lucas

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drenix004 · 5 months ago

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𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄

Soshiro Hoshina x Fem!Oc!

CHAPTER ONE

MASTERLIST | AO | PR | CH.1| CH.2 | CH.3

English is not my mother tongue, so there may be spelling errors. An apology for that in advance :D

A groan of pain escaped her lips as she felt a tug on her hair.

"You're going to make me bald," she complained.

"Sorry, I'm almost done."

"You said that half an hour ago," Ana, the youngest of the quadruplets, huffed as she watched the eldest combing their sister's hair from her seat by the window. "You've changed her hairstyle three times; even I can feel the pain in my scalp."

"This is the final one," Hinata rolled her eyes at the youngest's impatience. Ana was the most impatient of the four. "And get down from that window; you could fall and break something, at best." She gave her a reproachful look before finishing the last decorative clip in the second quadruplet's hair.

"Alright, alright!" Ana climbed down from the window frame. When Hinata stepped aside and saw her sister's reflection in the mirror, she was speechless.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

"Pretty? More like a Christmas tree."

A vein appeared on the eldest's forehead.

"What do you mean, a Christmas tree?!" Hinata pinched Ana's cheeks, sparking a quarrel between the two.

Meanwhile, Liana admired her reflection in the mirror, appreciating the beautiful hairstyle for which she had endured all the pulling and tugging.

Never, as far as she could remember, had she or her sisters been dressed so meticulously and specially for a day like today.

"Can I leave two front strands loose?" Her question halted the argument behind her.

"Hmm? Of course." Hinata approached and carefully released two front strands, curling them with her fingers.

"Thanks." Liana rose from the chair, where she had been seated until then, and carefully smoothed out the expensive kimono her grandmother had given her. She didn't want the matriarch to notice any wrinkles.

"You still haven't made up with Lilia, have you?" Lilian, the third quadruplet, spoke from the eldest's bed. She had been silent since they started styling their sister's hair.

Hinata smiled awkwardly as she began putting away the items she had used on her vanity, feeling the younger ones' eyes on her.

"It's late; we shouldn't make Grandma angry." She changed the subject while ushering her sisters out of her room.

Lilian dropped the topic for now. It had been two weeks since the argument between Lilia and Hinata, and the eldest's decision not to respond spoke volumes.

"This kimono itches," Liana commented as she walked through the halls, followed by her sisters. "Is all this protocol really necessary? Grandma hardly let me sleep."

"You're meeting your fiancé; it's necessary to know manners and etiquette."

"I'm going to be a hunter, not a future heir," Liana protested.

"If you're that frivolous with your fiancé, you'll scare him away," Lilian mocked.

"Let her, that way I'll have a chance," Ana chimed in.

"What if he's ugly?"

"Enough, both of you," Hinata interrupted just as they reached the entrance of the house. "Grandmother," she greeted. The three younger ones bowed respectfully.

Naomi didn't return the greeting; she merely examined Liana's appearance from head to toe, searching for any imperfections.

"Get in," she said before entering the luxurious vehicle through the right door, which the family chauffeur held open.

Liana followed, but not before hearing Hinata's whispered wish of good luck.

The vehicle started its journey, and the enormous traditional house grew smaller as they moved forward.

Liana sat straight, hands clasped on her lap, watching people pass by with boredom. She rarely left the house, so her little world was confined to it.

Even so, people didn't catch her attention due to her limited interaction with them; she preferred quiet, nature-surrounded places.

"It's needless to say that I expect no mistakes, and I hope the etiquette training I gave you bears fruit."

"You'll see results," Liana responded without looking at her. Unconsciously, she clenched her feet, feeling the pain from the blisters on her soles—a vivid memory of her grandmother's etiquette lessons each time she made a mistake.

"I hope so."

"Among the four… why me?" she decided to ask, turning away from the window to look directly at her grandmother.

"You're the most suitable," her biting tone ended the conversation.

✥---------------✥---------------✥---------------✥---------------✥

That her father had arranged a marriage was not a real surprise; what was surprising was that the one engaged was him and not his brother Soichiro, being the successor.

His brother, of course, had mocked him, saying a bunch of nonsense until their father silenced him.

He felt a great curiosity knowing his fiancée belonged to the Nakano clan.

His father had told him they were a clan of military nobility, descendants of samurais. But what he really wanted to see was the albinism that only the members had.

In the portraits, and from what was said about them, they were depicted as white demons with red eyes and a cold gaze.

"This marriage is necessary, Soshiro; it will help the family. The exchange of knowledge is crucial for survival in these times." Soshiro listened attentively to his father, kneeling in front of him. It was only minutes before the guests arrived. "Marriages sometimes don't start with love; as long as you get along with her, that's enough, son."

"Is it true they have red eyes like demons?" he dared to ask, like any curious child his age.

"They do, resembling blood. But don't ask unless she decides to speak about it first. Above all, respect." His father stood as a servant knocked before entering, announcing their guests' arrival. "It's time."

They both left and walked down the impeccably polished wooden halls, whose reflections gleamed under the soft evening light. Soshiro noticed that the garden had also been meticulously arranged. The main garden featured a beautiful bonsai, surrounded by perfectly traced geometric shapes in the sand. The finishing touch was provided by the stones, strategically placed to create an almost zen aesthetic balance.

The shrubs and plants adorning the house had been watered and pruned with care. Every small detail had been covered, ordered, and cleaned by his father's strict orders. The air smelled of wet earth and fresh flowers, a mix that brought tranquility.

Upon reaching the room, they sat on the cushions arranged on the tatami. In front of them were two more cushions, prepared with equal care. The silence in the room was only interrupted by the whisper of the wind against the paper doors.

His father gave an order, and one of the servants slid open a paper door. Soshiro first noticed the older woman who entered; her hair as white as snow and her red eyes reminded him of a winter rabbit, an intriguing and disconcerting sight. But it was his fiancée's appearance that truly caught his attention, making him widen his eyes.

The girl was pretty, no doubt. But his surprise lay not in her beauty but in her unexpected appearance. She wasn't albino like her grandmother. Her hair was a shade of pink similar to cherry blossom flowers. When the girl looked at him, Soshiro was captivated by her deep, serene red eyes, framed by thick lashes the same color as her hair.

Her cold gaze contrasted with her delicate and pretty appearance, and her foreign features gave her an ethereal, almost unreal beauty.

"Son, this is Naomi Nakano, leader of the Nakano clan," his father's introduction abruptly pulled him out of his reverie. Soshiro closed his eyes briefly and bowed respectfully, as custom dictated.

"Pleasure to meet you, Nakano-sama. I am Soshiro Hoshina, thank you for taking the time to come despite your busy schedule."

"The pleasure is mine," Naomi replied, bowing as well, followed by the young girl. "This is Liana Nakano, my granddaughter and your fiancée."

Liana also bowed respectfully to Soshiro.

"Son, why don't you show her around the house? After all, she'll be coming here often for training with you," his father encouraged. Behind his words, he also implied that he wanted him out of the way for a conversation with the clan matriarch that didn't require his presence.

Soshiro nodded, standing and waiting for Liana to do the same.

"Liana."

Her name, pronounced by her grandmother, was a direct order for her to do the same, which she did. Soshiro felt an atmosphere of control that internally displeased him, but he said and expressed nothing.

#soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro #kn8 #kaiju no 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 #soshiro x oc #husband!soshiro #hoshina x reader #fem oc #husband hoshina #soshiro #hoshina #hoshina soshiro x wife! reader

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askfallenroyalty · 2 years ago

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my thoughts on finishing AFR (tumblr version)

Firstly, thank you all so, so so much for reading.

5 years ago, on February 19th, 2018, 2:24 PM I posted the first AFR comic. I drew it thinking it'd be a nice little project for a few months, and then I'd move on. Little did I know it'd become a huge passion project and something that's brought me many, many tears and laughter. It's been a journey making this thing, I can easily say I am hardly the person I am when I first made this. I've learned so much about myself, the world, and what I wanted to say in comics.

AFR didn't become a serious project until I realized Asriel and Chara's story hit home to me and I realized I had something more profound to say than just "heehee silly ut comic where siblings squabble." Now it's become a story about growing up, and the life after the "happy ever after." What does it mean for "everybody to live?" well, you live. You suffer. You cry and laugh and it's everything you want and you fear. You wake up another day.

It's no secret that Chara and Asriel are heavily based on myself. Every OC and every character I can put my grubby little hands on have been influenced by me. Yun's excitement for monsters, Mew Mew's loud declarations of frenzied thought, Hol's quiet, head-in-the-clouds nature... the list goes on. Knowing the characters now, I'm excited for the redraw as I can paint their stories from start-to-finish properly. It pains me more than anything I can't just say "here's a finished product, fully and forever." But one step to getting there was finally finishing the tumblr version. So even if I were to die, or lose my ability to draw, I can say: I told my story. I made it real. It's messy, incomplete, and not at all what I aspire it to be, but it's here. And that means, so, so much to me.

Never again will I be accepting story asks. Never again will we see what crazy thing Asriel and Chara are up to in their journey into adulthood. While the story will continue to develop, it has it's ending.

I've grown, a lot. I started this when I was 21 years old. I've had a on/off relationship, I've learned I'm neurodivergent, I've moved out of my abusive dad's home. I've had so many jobs in that time. I lived through the pandemic (not that it's over) and I've made and lost (out of touch) friends along the way. I am Sam. I drew AFR. I still have so much left to do to make it fully realized but I did it.

And in that time people have offered me grammar and spelling corrections. Advice, suggestions, fanart. You've sent like, I can only imagine to be at least a thousand asks in this amount of time. You guys have been a huge part in this comic being made. Even as the story moves more and more away from the "Ask" part of the title, you guys made it so much more fun, thought provoking, and exciting.

So while my minds a bit scattered and I'm kinda jumbled up, I just want to say with every bit of myself: THANK YOU!!!!!

I understand if many of you don't choose to stick around for the redraw, I'm more than thankful to anyone who's read this far (or heck, just one tumblr post is enough. I feel seen.) and if you so choose to stay, I look forward to sharing a million more little moments with you. ^_^

Thank you and I wish you the very best, have a good life. Peace and love on the planet earth <3

#doodles #ooc

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xalygatorx · 10 months ago

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Unbound | Chapter 14, "In Waters Deep"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: The group reaches an impasse in the mountains. En route back to the goblin camp, Voss pays them a visit with a proposition for Lae’zel. Áine finds herself in a difficult conversation with an inebriated, existential Gale away from camp. Gale puts Áine in an uncomfortable (and triggering) position. Astarion is not pleased.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: 18+/NSFW; non-con/attempted assault (start and end will be noted in the copy; specifically descriptions of a nonconsensual kiss and a physical struggle) by a canon character (Gale); descriptions of feeling triggered, vague flashbacks, and a panic attack; angry/violent Astarion; suggestive content (in memories) & dialogue; brief descriptions of graphic violence and blood; angst; lightly proofread

Word Count: 7k

Listening to: Organs - Of Monsters & Men

Áine hung her head, her hands painfully clenched on her hips. All this way and the godsdamned pathway to Moonrise they’d counted on being at the base of the mountain pass was sealed off. Her heart pounded, hurling itself against her ribs as if it too could hardly stand her, and she felt the beginnings of a feverish headache building just above her right eye.

A tug at one of her digging fingertips jarred her mixed self-pity and self-loathing. The tug returned, this time successfully removing her bruising grip on her flesh. The icy touch threaded its nimble fingers through hers, clumsy but ever more practiced in the gesture. The pad of Astarion’s thumb swept her knuckles and Áine lost a little steam.

“This is on me,” Halsin was insisting, gazing at the gnarled sealed passage with lingering shock. “Last I was here, this seal did not exist—that was however years upon years ago.”

“We had no way to know until we arrived,” Gale suggested, offering an understanding look to Halsin despite the strained fix of his brow. “And there remains the Underdark passage. Which, in fairness, could be just as blocked. And in that case…”

“In that case, we find another way,” Wyll posited, ever the optimist or at least the champion of persevering. “The cult is traveling between this stretch of Faerûn and Moonrise one way or another. We will find their path and use it against them.”

“Fuck yeah,” Karlach rallied to the plan.

Áine nodded, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself. “Well said, all of you,” she agreed, listening to everyone’s footsteps starting anew to begin the path back up the mountain. She looked up at the vampire beside her, gently squeezing his hand. “Thank you.”

“For?” he wondered, keeping their hands joined as they followed the others.

The bard shrugged, swinging their entwined fingers up a little as she said, “This, I suppose. And just in general.”

Astarion tsked in disapproval. “Just ‘in general’? That hardly answers my question, my dear.”

Áine provided only an angelic smile in response and the sight caused Astarion to blush. Her smile brightened into a grin. “You know, I think my blood looks better on you than it does on me,” she commented, admiring his pinkened cheeks and ear tips.

“Hush, you,” Astarion grumbled, feeling his skin heat further and feeding into an embarrassment cycle he would have a difficult time subduing for the next few minutes. He sought to change the subject. “How fares your shoulder today?”

She gave an experimental roll of the joint, her eye twitching faintly as she rounded it back into place. “Still a bit stiff, but much better than it would’ve been otherwise thanks to you,” she said.

“Are we discussing your shoulder?” Shadowheart had slowed to walk with them, pleased to find that they were already discussing what she’d dropped back to ask Áine. Astarion stiffened when the cleric cast a proud glance his way. “How did my student manage?”

Gods above, his face was going up in flames again. Well, as much “in flames” as a vampire’s flesh could be.

Áine, however, was very interested in finally getting more of an answer to the unanswered question she’d posed the night before. “Student?” she repeated with interest. Her thumb was tracing small, soothing circles against the side of Astarion’s hand and he couldn’t decide if he was comforted by the fact that she seemed to know this conversation was already putting him on edge. The affectionate strokes did keep him from grumbling and stomping away at least.

Shadowheart smiled wider. “Of course,” she said, getting what she saw as a full-sweep benefit of embarrassing their vampire and letting Áine in on their exchange to properly act as Astarion’s unappointed wingwoman. He didn’t recognize her actions as helpful yet, but he would. “We had an impromptu lesson last night on how to use massage in a medicinal sense,” the cleric explained to Áine, lowering her voice and adding, “he was worried about accidentally hurting you, which was quite sweet.”

“That’s enough of that!” Astarion was grousing, but he fell silent as his eyes caught on Áine’s face. Her wide chocolate eyes shone with an appreciative tenderness, her free hand subconsciously hovering over where her heart beat and signaling just how touched she was by the whole thing.

Áine suddenly blushed harder than he had and turned her gaze to the path beneath their feet to try hiding it, processing the strong reaction she’d had to learning he’d laid his pride at Shadowheart’s feet to ask the cleric for something…to help her. It was such a small thing, but it wouldn’t have felt like a small thing to him to ask for someone’s assistance, and knowing he’d done so despite that because he wanted to make sure she was okay made her positively melt.

Bewildered, Astarion looked over Áine’s bowed head to Shadowheart, who was already looking at him. She gave him a smug look as soon as they made eye contact, but it wasn’t the sort of smug look she’d shot him before. This was a smug look one might give a teammate after a strategic move in a game bore success.

Shadowheart mouthed, “You’re welcome,” to him and smoothed her features just as Áine looked at her again, the flustered bard none the wiser.

Astarion was fascinated by several aspects of what had just happened. The most of which concerned Áine’s reaction to hearing what he’d first thought to be simply embarrassing on his part and also the fact that Shadowheart had just helped him continue to endear himself to her. Even while Áine was faced away and chatting with the cleric, he could still see the dark flush of her skin decorating her neck—especially around the bitemarks he’d left her last night—and on the tips of her ears.

Gods, he was doomed. The entirety of him was coming undone by sentiments he hadn’t even known he was capable of. It hardly seemed fair. To either of them really. After all, at the end of this, if she even gave him the time of day after she realized the only thing she would get with him was baggage. He was a tangle of trauma steeped in shame, his every touch with tainted intention from a body that he’d lost ownership over long ago, he was just a boy who amounted to nothing—

Astarion’s jaw flexed as Cazador’s voice clawed to the surface unbidden in his mind. His teeth gnashed tightly together, a dull pain forming in the grooves. Phantom pains ghosted across his back in the imagined pattern of his scars, his memories of how deeply and how many times Cazador had carved in those lines his only reference to what they looked like. He’d never known, so he didn’t know why it was bothering him now. Perhaps because this was the first time he’d gazed upon his own flesh and had been able to tell himself that it belonged to him, not Cazador, in the better part of two centuries.

“Why is the poem in Infernal?” Áine had asked the morning after their first little tryst in the woods. His stomach fluttered faintly at the extra memories that thinking back to that night evoked. Those feelings, what he’d experienced that night, were all another aspect of this that he needed to try to better understand.

First and foremost, though, he had a duty to himself and he needed to find a way to better understand what he still carried with him from his old master. And if it was indeed Infernal and perhaps wasn’t even a poem at all, then…

What exactly had that monster done to him in the end?

They all managed to retrace their stale steps back to where they’d first begun to crest the mountain path before setting up camp became the priority. A small clearing just uphill from the stone archway marking where they’d begun this leg of their journey made for an acceptable campsite and, within the hour, they’d established their temporary abodes and begun their nightly routines.

Áine had taken an armful of laundry to a nearby spring, carefully scrubbing out dirt, grime, and blood from her and her companions’ clothes. The bard still carried a tiny sense of embarrassment for how hard Shadowheart’s earlier divulgence about Astarion seeking medical advice for her bad shoulder had hit her. Feeling her face warm again, she scrubbed a bloodstain from one of her shirts with renewed fervor.

It was just…sweet. She felt seen. She felt cared for by both of them, but something about his effort to not only help her but let down his walls a little to learn how to best help her was a heady thing to take in.

Áine adjusted the mint leaf she was fiddling with in her mouth with a careful prod of her tongue. She sighed, defeated by her own too-loud heartstrings. “You poor sweet thing… Are you in love with me yet?” Astarion’s voice drifted through her mind, the memory even holding the faint echo of the ruined temple’s acoustics. She’d not answered him then and she wouldn’t answer him now if he asked again, but she was starting to grow concerned that she didn’t even need to answer for the truth to be discovered.

It was his fault for being so damnably easy to love. Even as much as he tried to hold himself back, cement that awful little rake mask to his honest, beautifully open face that could rend her heart in half at a moment’s notice, and skirt the hard topics with playful smirks and coy banter, she either enjoyed their dance or succeeded in seeing through it.

Last night there had hardly been any dancing around each other at all. At least, for a while.

After they’d successfully used their tadpoles to connect their minds and she’d been able to show him what he looked like, both as a mirror would and also through her own eyes after he’d asked, she’d refocused to see tears streaming from his eyes. And before she could check on him, before she could apologize for any of it being too much too soon, he’d kissed her hard. Desperately, hungrily, passionately. Before she’d had time to react at all, she was on her back and he was all she could feel, his hands on her body and in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, his tears occasionally hitting her cheeks like faint, icy pinpricks.

Áine blushed anew and one of her hands raised to brush her spring-cooled fingertips against the fresh bitemarks in her neck, a shiver running through her that had little to do with the chill of her skin.

Up until last night, their coupling had felt careful, and controlled at times too. Their first time had held moments of released inhibition on his part, the height of it when he’d so beautifully come apart in her arms, but she had meant it when she’d asked him the next morning if he’d been all there. If he was alright. The night after had felt even more careful, but it had been sweeter and more romantic, and she’d taken it to be because she’d been upset not long before and he’d intentionally taken things more slowly.

And then there’d been last night. When the only thing he’d done “carefully” was position one of his arms around her back in a way that stabilized her shoulder while he’d railed her within an inch of her life, his fangs deep in her neck as he’d repeatedly buried himself inside her.

Her face reddened at the memory alone. It’d been all she could do not to wake the damn camp and based on the way he’d needed to stifle the occasional grunt, growl, or groan against her neck or her lips, she could only assume he’d run into a similar dilemma. A faint, smug smile tugged at her mouth. He was still cautious with what he let her do, but she looked forward to discovering all of his most secret, sensitive little spots.

Her smile faded a little as she plunged the shirt she was working on back into the cold mountain water, thinking that she also looked forward to getting him a little more used to the idea of aftercare. Not even necessarily for her—it was something she wanted to do for him, another way she wanted to convey that she cared about him. She’d so far just seemed to confuse him with her affections out of bed.

Áine’s first real attempt—given that he’d managed to exquisitely exhaust her the first night they’d spent together and on the second she’d excused herself after a while because she overthought the fact that he’d seen her cry—had been last night. Astarion had all but collapsed atop her after they’d finished and she’d been more than content to gather him close, her legs still wrapped around his hips and her arms following suit as she’d pressed a kiss to his temple. Áine had felt him start to lean into her, but he’d suddenly stiffened and cleared his throat as he reached back to slide her ankles off his backside.

“Something wrong?” she’d asked, letting her arms loosen so he could lean away if he wanted to. She wanted him to stay or to at least rest a moment and bask in the afterglow a bit, but she also didn’t want him to stay if he preferred not to. And it had seemed at first that he simply wasn’t the sort that enjoyed a bit of pillow talk and snuggling after the main event. However, she’d thought back to how foreign handholding had seemed to him on that first-morning walk back to their camp and Áine had started to wonder if this was all just new for him too.

“Not at all,” Astarion had responded and he’d been just a touch too slow to hide the longing look in his eyes. She’d mentally latched to it like a fish to a hook, deciding that he could tell her the moment her little attempts at extra affection got annoying or unwanted and, until then, she’d simply try as the mood struck her. Maybe he’d think she was odd, but then again maybe he wouldn’t. “Simply allowing us both to get some rest after…that.” He’d looked embarrassed as he added, “Apologies for being a bit sloppy.”

Áine had cocked her head. “Passionate, you mean?” she’d corrected him. “Don’t be.” He was already pulling his pants back on and had just chuckled at her words. She’d hesitated, afraid of seeming needy, and said, “...You can stay, you know.”

Astarion’s hands had stilled on his shirt as if he’d been briefly considering it before he shuffled the garment back on. “I’m afraid if I do I’ll be unable to keep my hands off you, darling,” he’d replied, but she’d sensed that this was simply a way to dodge her offer.

She’d let it go, kissing him goodnight when he’d turned to capture her lips one more time, and watched him leave with a sting of disappointment as she went about cleaning herself up and properly readying herself for bed.

Now, gathering up the washed clothes in her arms, Áine let out a sigh. Until he informed her that he abhorred the idea of post-coital cuddles, he’d be getting them from now on. She wanted them and she just had this nagging feeling that he simply didn’t know what he was missing and she’d be more than happy to show him.

It was almost comical to her how the importance of getting an illithid tadpole out of her brain felt on par with the importance of ensuring that, even if it ended up irritating him, Astarion understood he was someone who was cherished. She was an utter fool, but, as she’d said more than once in her life, she’d never professed to be smart.

Áine congratulated herself upon her return to camp for setting up her makeshift clothesline ahead of time before she’d done the washing, making the task of hanging the clothes a more straightforward one. She’d hardly started when Wyll joined her and held his hands out to relieve her of the wet garments. “Thank you, but I can—,” she started to say, but faltered when she saw his wary expression. “What’s the matter?”

“Leave these to me,” he said, removing the load from her arms as he added, “You may want to check on Astarion. I heard him muttering in his tent and tried to ask after him, but he barked me away before I could get a word in edgewise.”

Áine’s brows rose. “Oh… I wonder what that could be about,” she mumbled, noticing as she looked toward Astarion’s tent that Halsin was fireside tonight managing supper. “Where’s Gale?”

Wyll shrugged as he hung the laundry. “Couldn’t tell you,” he admitted. “He’s still not himself. He seems to be getting better and then he’s just…not quite Gale again. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he isn’t there yet, I don’t think. Though who could be after a salutation like Mystra’s?”

Áine grumbled at the mention of her name. “Who could, indeed.” She sighed. “I might try talking to him. Later, after I see what Astarion’s up to… I need to start a list.”

Wyll chuckled, but his expression remained troubled. “You think you’re ready to talk to Gale?” he asked. “At length, I mean. After yesterday.”

“I��m feeling more comfortable about the idea if that’s what you’re asking,” she replied. “I just need to catch him in a ‘Gale’ moment rather than a ‘not quite Gale’ moment, I suppose. But I think waiting too long will do more harm than good.”

“I think you might be right,” Wyll agreed. “Good luck. With, well, all of it.”

Áine laughed softly and patted his shoulder. “Thank you, my friend,” she said as she began the short trek to Astarion’s tent. She passed out hellos to anyone she passed by, including Halsin and Karlach who were stooped over the fire, Karlach seeming to be less of an assistant and more of a student under Halsin’s patient instruction.

As she drew nearer to the familiar wine-red canvas structure, her ears honed in on her lover’s voice just past the half-parted entrance. His tone sounded stressed, anxious, and almost a little sad.

“A line with a fork and…one…two…three dots?” Astarion was mumbling to himself, his fingertips tracing the base of his back and traveling as high as he could physically reach behind him. A twinge in his muscles made him jolt faintly and swear. “Bloody Infernal… How is anyone meant to read this garbage?”

Figuring he’d already heard her approach, Áine leaned in to peek through the open part of his tent door, finding him cross-legged on the floor with his shirt off and his arms wound behind him. “What are you up to, handsome?” she asked.

Managing what she’d thought next to impossible, Áine realized she’d startled him. “Ah!” he gasped. With kneejerk agitation, he asked, “Wh-What are you doing?!”

Áine flushed with chagrin and quickly said, “Sorry, sorry! I’ll go,” as she turned to duck out from under the opening in the canvas.

“No, no, wait…,” Astarion said hastily and when Áine turned to look back at him, she found one of his hands outstretched in front of him as if to guide her back. He sighed and let the hand rest against his knee. “I’m sorry. You caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“I should’ve found a way to knock,” Áine suggested, but she was appreciative of how quick he’d been to apologize for his snap. “Everything okay?”

Astarion paused, trying to find his words. “I’ve…been tracing the scars on my back with my fingers, trying to read them by touch, but…,” he sighed and it was a sound of pure frustration. “I can’t. They may as well be written in Rashemi.”

Áine’s heart gave a sympathetic pang. “Would you like me to take another look?” she offered.

“I…,” Astarion hesitated again. Briskly, he said, “This isn’t your problem, you know.” Áine gave a quiet snort in response but said nothing as she waited for him to decide for himself. At last, Astarion’s pride buckled and he murmured, “...Fine.”

Áine entered his tent and knelt as Astarion shifted to turn his back to her. “If you intend to touch them,” he said uneasily, “would you tell me before you do?”

The bard smiled and gave his arm a gentle pat. “I would, but I won’t touch them.”

At his nod, Áine began to study the marks, subconsciously tilting her head as if it could somehow help her read the language she was hardly at all familiar with. She hummed under her breath, contemplating showing him the markings by using the tadpole again, but she knew that she’d taxed it plenty the night before to show him his face and it wouldn’t be wise to use it again so soon.

Agitated by the silence, Astarion prompted her. “And? What can you see?”

Áine sighed. “I’m honestly not sure. But maybe I could draw it for you?”

Astarion glanced toward his books and loot all lumped in a small pile at the corner of his tent. “I haven’t any ink or parchment,” he said, audibly tense.

“No need,” Áine mumbled, already tracing the markings she saw on a smaller scale into the dirt beside his bedroll. He was careful not to turn fully to look at what she worked on, reminding himself that the longer he let her study his scars, the sooner he’d get to see for himself. Still, he found himself fidgeting impatiently as he listened to the meticulous scratching of her fingertip piercing the ground. Silence stretched for a moment as Áine compared his scars with her rendition one more time. “I’m done, I think.”

Astarion turned to look at what she’d drawn, dread pooling like bile in his stomach. “What in the Hells…,” he mumbled, his brows forming a deep crease between them. She was right—it was most certainly Infernal, but…why? “What did he do to me?”

Áine pursed her lips, rubbing the dirt from her fingers. “It’s an…odd poem,” she murmured, although she wasn’t convinced the line he’d been fed about what these lines meant was the truth either.

He seemed to agree. “If it’s a poem at all…,” Astarion said, his hand resting across his mouth. A sigh eased past his lips and Áine looked up from the drawing to his face, seeing something unreadable there. “Two centuries carrying this, and I can finally see it.”

Gods, she wanted to help him, she just didn’t know how. Áine suggested, “Maybe Karlach could read it?”

“Perhaps, but… Let’s just keep this between us for now,” he said, his jaw setting. Asking for her help, despite it being her, had taken enough out of him for the day in the way of depending upon other people. He disliked the idea of being studied like a test subject by the larger group. Astarion’s eyes finally met hers as he added, “Thank you, by the way. This is…well, it’s something.”

“Anytime,” Áine murmured, feeling his conflict like it was her own. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

Astarion smirked. “Will we now? How…,” he paused, metering his negative outlook with his next words. Or word, rather. “…sweet.”

Áine smiled, raising her hand to trace her fingertips across his cheek. “‘Sweet’ from me isn’t on offer for just anyone,” she commented, earning a snort from Astarion. “What?”

“You are by and large one of the kindest people this wretched world has to its name,” he informed her, turning his head toward her hand while maintaining eye contact with her. He breathed deeply at the pulse point on her wrist. “The fact that you seem to think that’s not the case is laughable.”

“Kind is different than sweet,” Áine declared in a soft voice, her eyes dipping to trace his lips as she leaned closer to him. “My ‘sweetness’ stocks are smaller and on a more exclusive reserve.”

Astarion still wasn’t accustomed to being the one flirted with, especially by someone who could so easily set his silent chest aflame, but gods he loved it when she looked at him like that. “From what I’ve tasted of you, you’re plenty sweet, my love,” he murmured. He leaned in to meet her halfway, brushing his nose against hers and savoring the feel of her warm breath against his lips. “However, I think what you might be getting at is that I’m,” he gave a soft theatrical gasp, “special?”

Áine grinned, skimming her fingertips up from his cheek to run through his curls. “Very special,” she murmured. She loved the little way he nudged their noses together, she realized. It was cute, but it had also been the first little gesture from him that had felt natural, like him and not just like a seduction tip from a paperback romance novel. She savored all his gestures now, even the more practiced ones because at least she now knew that he felt something for her. Áine wasn’t so sure that he was pleased about that, but she’d enjoy it however long it lasted.

The scrape of steel and Lae’zel’s voice raising outside caused Áine to look away from Astarion, frowning as she angled her head to try and see what was going on outside. Astarion huffed and leaned further in, kissing up her neck in an endeavor to reclaim her focus. Áine was amused by his persistence but started to worry that another spat was brewing between Lae’zel and Shadowheart or that they were on the precipice of being attacked. “What’s going on?” she murmured, starting to get up.

“I don’t know, darling, pay attention to me,” Astarion grumbled against her throat, making her laugh. “If they’re all dead when I let you leave in, say, a few hours, we’ll furnish that cryptic old mummy with a bit of gold and buy them back in installments.”

“He referred to you as my ‘bosom-companion’ the other day, you know,” Áine informed him, looking back at him to gauge his reaction.

Astarion arched a brow up at her and remarked, “Far be it from me to disappoint,” before he pulled her to him and buried his face against her breasts.

She left him laughing at the shriek of surprise he’d managed to draw from her, ruffling a hand through his pomaded hair to get back at him as she ducked out of his tent.

Fixing her neckline, Áine glanced toward Lae’zel’s tent and saw…Kith’rak Voss? He was kneeling in submission with his sword set across the ground in front of him and speaking to Lae’zel and Wyll, it seemed, who was helping to play mediator. When she caught Wyll’s eye, Áine glanced meaningfully between him and the two githyanki, wondering if he needed her to step in. Wyll nodded once back to reassure her that he had it under control before he turned his attention back to something Voss was saying.

Áine relaxed at that, mentally performing a headcount around the camp now that night had thoroughly fallen.

Karlach lingered near the conversation taking place, her gaze shifting occasionally toward Lae’zel with some measure of concern. The githyanki warrior had remained understandably fragile in spirit since all that happened at the crèche and ‘Mama K’ was defaulting to overprotective of her friends, even as her engine roared to an all-time high.

Halsin had retired to his tent and looked as though he was reading a tome that looked like a pamphlet in his large hands, his scarred brow furrowed in concentration as his eyes scoured the pages. He only occasionally paused to have a bite of his quickly cooling dinner sitting beside him when he remembered it was there. She recalled him mentioning that he’d missed reading and was glad to see he’d already found something to pick up on the road.

Shadowheart was nowhere to be seen, but Áine soon gathered that she’d retired early when she noticed thin spindling threads of smoke making their way out of her nearby tent, born from some incense she’d been pleased to find on their way from the temple grounds.

Áine’s thoughts turned to Gale and she sighed, knowing she needed to go find him. He’d been gone for hours at this point, ever since they’d set up camp, and as much as she wanted to just turn around and fall back into bed with Astarion, they needed to talk and smooth some things over. With a resigned sigh, she trudged away from her lover’s tent and toward the edge of camp to start scouting for their missing wizard.

It didn’t take her too long to find him. Gale had found himself a small clearing to settle into and looked almost peaceful to Áine as she approached. However, there was still something very off about his demeanor, the way he held himself, even seated in the grass.

Not wanting to scare him, Áine announced her presence. “Gale?”

Gale turned his head at hearing his name, seeming dazed. “Oh. Hello,” he said, clearly surprised to see her. “Brave of you to venture so close.”

Áine sighed. “Come off it,” she murmured, sitting down next to him. The mountain foliage around them offered a crisp, pleasant smell amplified by the cool night air. She breathed deeply of it to ground herself.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Gale agreed, his eyes tracing the leaves making up the canopy. “It’s the little things. Even in as much as we��ve weathered thus far.”

Áine nodded. “They’re what get us by in the end, it’s true,” she agreed. She looked at him, frowning. “Gale, I owe you an apology, I think.” And you owe me one, too, but I can only own up to my own shit, she added mentally.

“I suppose it is indeed time we dealt with the hollyphant in the room,” he said, his tone terse. “I’m listening.”

Áine’s pride flared, but she tempered the burst of incredulous anger in her chest and continued. “I stand by why I was upset,” she said candidly. “However, I reacted before I heard the whole of what Elminster said. And now knowing what the whole of his visit was about, that feels unfair of me to have done.”

“An audience with Elminster is never less than memorable,” Gale mused. “You reacted how I would have expected you to, all said. You can hardly be faulted for feeling betrayed just because you pity me now.” He sighed. “I couldn’t find a way to tell you. To tell any of the others. That was my mistake and I should have shoved my fears aside the moment I realized that absorbing the power from the magical items you provided me was no longer working.”

“What exactly is it?” Áine asked, her eyes moving over the marking across the center of his chest, its tendrils that wove up toward his eye. She’d always just thought it was a tattoo, but was it the result of the orb too?

“That’s a rather long and complicated story…,” Gale sighed, unsteadily turning toward her. “It would be easier for me, in this moment, to show you.” Áine met his eyes with confusion and he said, “Place your hand over my heart.”

Hesitantly, Áine raised her hand and let it hover over his chest where the perfect circle marked into his skin resided in the vee of his robe. Purple light flooded the space between her palm and his chest and her tadpole shivered in recognition as Gale used his own parasite to let her into his very existence.

Into the dark.

Áine’s body seized as her eyes filled with Gale’s memory—a dread vision of a hallway, a book bound, and then opened, and a horrible remnant unearthed. The book holds nothing but swirling energy, the blackest threads of the Weave that lie in deadly wait. They hurl themselves at Gale—and now at Áine too through his eyes—and shred through the layers that make him, seeking to unmake him in mind and magic if it means a tender meal. And gods is it ever hungry.

< Beginning of non-con content warning >

Losing herself in the memory, feeling his soul wrenching in her very being as if it were her own, Áine fearfully tried to draw her hand back only to find Gale’s hands grasping hers, his grip turning painful when she tried to pull away. His fingers crushed hers like the dark Weave crushed his spirits, its claws and its teeth scraping still at the base of his heart. Even dormant, it struggles to wake, seeks to feed…

Áine succeeded at last in wrestling back her hand, clutching it against her chest as she stretched her aching fingers. “Gods above,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Please,” Gale pleaded with her in a whisper. His eyes still looked half-fogged from the vision and as he came closer and closer, Áine caught a pungent scent of wine on his breath. She realized that a faint glint that she’d seen just past him on the grass when she’d arrived had been moonlight catching on the curve of an empty wine bottle. No, two… No, three empty bottles. He reeked of it. “Áine, please don’t leave me there alone.”

“Gale, you’re not there now,” Áine asserted, leaning away and balancing against her hands. She was starting to get nervous. Gale was drunk and seemed utterly lost in his own dark memories. She’d been in scenarios like this before with faces long faded within her past and she felt the familiar constriction in her chest, the sensation wrapping against her heart and lungs even as they began to work in overtime. “Gale, st—”

But he didn’t stop encroaching. The whiskers of his beard scratched her face and the scent of alcohol stung her nose when he put his mouth on hers, her protest swallowed and silenced. Áine grappled with him, one of her arms pressed against his chest to fend him off while her other arm stayed propped behind her. “Please, Áine, a chance,” he mumbled, his words slurring. “Just one chance before my world upends…”

She gave a muffled yelp of protest against his lips, tears stinging her eyes as she was finally able to at least wrench her head sideways. Áine tried to push him off, but he was bigger than she was and her paladin strength of old—the strength that had gotten her out of these many similar situations her mind called back to her now—was long gone, a broken oath ringing hollow. She just had herself, her own body, to rely on now.

“Gale, get off me or I’ll scream,” she gritted with panic rising in her voice, squirming away from his hands fumbling to hold her in place. He was too close for her to swing at him and, even as she had the passing thought, she felt her shoulder flare again under their weight. Her arm, the last thing keeping her upright, buckled underneath her with her old injuries’ betrayal, sending them both into the dirt.

When he put his greedy mouth on hers again, his heavier body pinning hers down, she bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. That was enough to shock him and make him lean back. “You little—”

Áine tried to use the space he’d added between them to push herself up and shove him away, but her shoulder stayed locked up and she only succeeded in flailing a little. She struggled to get her pinned legs out from under his knees, knowing if she could manage that she’d be able to kick him and get away.

Just a little more, she urged herself, her right leg in a painful position but almost free and mobile again.

But suddenly Gale was no longer on top of her to struggle against.

< End of non-con content warning >

Áine remained sprawled on the grass in a mixed state of shock. She was sure she hadn’t imagined the whole thing out of some horribly lucid trauma response, but she had trouble putting two and two together until the wizard was slammed back down onto the dirt nearby by a very angry vampire.

The bard turned onto her stomach, shifting her shaking knees beneath her and trying to control her panicked breathing. A flash of silver caught her eye as a dagger pressed to Gale’s throat and her panic blossomed anew but, with it, an urgent clarity. “Astarion, hold on!” she choked.

Astarion looked every part the terrifying image of a vampire that most people held as their source of truth for the creatures. His eyes blazed crimson, aglow in the shadows blanketing them here, and his lips curled back from his fangs with a viciousness she’d never seen in him before.

He half-spat in bewilderment at her plea, his words coming out in a near-animalistic growl. “You would defend him?!”

Áine forced enough air into her hyperventilating lungs to respond, “I’m not keen to get blown up and…he’s very drunk… He’s not himself…” She was barely staving off the panic threatening to overtake her, the reactive onslaught coming now that she was no longer in immediate danger. But Gale was.

Astarion sneered down at Gale, his fingers flexing against the hilt of his dagger. “Then I’ll ask you, Gale, which will you miss more?” he wondered, his voice deadly pleasant. “Will you miss your eyes most? Or perhaps your balls?” His eyes flashed as he bore down on the prone wizard too fearful or too dazed to move. “Because I will be taking something from you this night.”

He had felt rage like this in his lifetime. Plenty. He knew it intimately. But he’d never felt it flare so violently for someone else. He’d checked Áine’s tent for her after he’d not spotted her amongst the group seeing off Voss and had taken it upon himself to follow her scent out of camp.

Assuming he’d either find her in a little spot they could make into another of their pieces of “nowhere” or off scouting ahead for their best path forward, he’d been mildly surprised to catch Gale’s scent, staler than hers, on the same trail. Perhaps they were finally smoothing some things over. And, upon seeing them in a darkened tangle in the grass, he could admit that he’d first thought that “smoothing things over” had led to some sort of realization on her part. He’d even started to brace himself to go back to camp and wait for her to return and tell him they were done.

Then he’d smelled Gale’s blood. He’d heard him when he’d started to swear at her or say whatever it was that he’d cut off from saying. And then the palpable smell of Áine’s fear had hit Astarion’s nose, punctuated by a tiny yelp of pain when she’d hurt herself in her struggle to get away from Gale.

And without another thought, Astarion had rushed them like a man possessed, his entrance silent until he’d ripped Gale off her by the back of his robe and hurled him into the ground hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. And there they were still while Astarion debated the wizard’s fate from a place of pure, unbridled anger, where only one thing could still permeate his red-tinted tunnel vision.

“Astarion, please,” Áine breathed raggedly. “It’s not worth it, just leave him!”

“It’s ‘not worth it’, is it?” he snarled. His addled mind translated Áine’s words to mean that she thought she wasn’t worth his ire and, bleeding Hells, was she ever wrong. “In what sense?”

Áine floundered for something, anything to dissuade him from the wizard pinned beneath him. And she could only come up with one thing. The truth.

She inhaled and her breath shook as much as her voice as she said, “Because I need you more than he does right now.”

It worked. Astarion hesitated, his eyes briefly flickering toward Áine on the ground and losing some of their blind wrath. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to steady as he regarded Gale. She was right about one thing—he reeked of wine and self-pity.

Astarion growled low, but flicked his dagger away from Gale’s throat, sheathing it. Partway through standing, Astarion drew his fist back with inhuman speed and punched Gale once hard across his face. The wizard groaned, his hands going instinctively to cup where he’d been hit.

Astarion’s voice was all velvet and steel as he spoke down to Gale with a gesture toward Áine. “Thank her for being the sole reason you’ll walk from these woods tonight,” he ordered in a barely controlled snarl. When Gale didn’t immediately speak, Astarion roughly turned Gale’s head with the toe of his boot to face the bard. “Thank. Her.”

Gale’s nose was dripping red, a welt forming already under his eye at the apple of his cheek. Áine’s eyes were round with shock as she met his eyes and, wetly through a thin stream of tears and blood, he said, “...Thank you…”

“Very good,” Astarion muttered with venom, removing his boot from Gale’s cheek. “Now don’t speak to her again unless or until she permits it.”

The vampire stepped over the bloodied wizard and silently walked to his bard. He said nothing as he knelt, gathered her close, and plucked her off the grass, carrying her back to camp. He stayed silent when curious questions rose around them from their still-awake companions, ignoring them all.

Áine found herself almost afraid to break the silence between them, but she didn’t have to as he gritted through his fangs, “Would you like me to take you to your tent?”

She swallowed hard and shook her head. “N-No.”

“Good,” he growled, his arms tightening around her as he ducked down and took her with him into his.

Next chapter: Chapter 15, "Their Jagged Edges"

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ripnevillestrevor · 2 years ago

Text

our fortress— chapter one

pairing: jake sully x “reader/oc” x neytiri

summary: we were swimming beyond the reef, we weren't supposed to be there. and we knew it, but we were having so much fun.

warnings: character "death," my bad writing, blood, angst, sadness, starts off as fluff then goes "downhill," not proofread, LOWERCASE INTENDED

word count: 909

note: i've been poly for as long as i can remember, and that kinda just mixed in with my shifting life and my dr-selfs. so as you can see, most of my dr-selfs." are polyamorous. i've always wanted to write about my dr's; scenario-wise but also just because, i want to write for people. and i want to write good for people. if you think it's weird, please either keep it to yourself or message me in private, there are actually people that like this type of content and i'm writing for them. again, i write mostly about scenarios going to happen in my dr (haven't shifted yet), btw comments/requests are open! (also i’ve had problems with my posts not showing up in the tags/for other people, so i’m trying to relive this issue)

important: i do not allow my work to be copied, republished, translated, or reproduced. please do not use this story on wattpad or on other platforms. respect the author's work <33

the stress of our mama training ronal to become the future tsahlik of our people was starting to wear off on me, her becoming more and more exhausted, not wanting to 'put up' with me and my 'consistent battering' about wanting to go out beyond the reef. she lashed out, i was hurt, of course, she was my best friend.

ronal looked at me with sadness, "i am sorry sister," she uttered. i nodded, feeling the warmth of her arms and body engulf me in a warm embrace.

"how about i make it up to you, hmm? a trip outside the reef perhaps?" ronal spoke in a low-hushed tone as to not alert our parents in the split above-water maruis we resided in since each other's birth. she said it in a way that enticed me, she gave the words a certain mischievous tone to them, it made me very happy and excited forgetting the previous mishappenings of our rather unpleasant but moderately regular sibling quarrel.

we were swimming beyond the reef, we weren't supposed to be there. and we knew it, but we were having so much fun. it was getting dark, noticed by both i and ronal.

"it is getting late sister, we must go." i nodded, feeling the beginning of the cold spread throughout the water. our ilu's were starting to get anty, gliding through water smoothly beside each other.

ronal touched a glowing hand to her ilu's head, gently stroking it, "what it is aka'ula?" suddenly in between our ilu's came a large, long, and simply black akula.

i was stunned by the sudden appearance of the large akula, and I could hardly believe my eyes. i had heard stories of these creatures, but to see one in front of me was something else entirely. i gasped as the akula came between us, it’s large body forcefully pushing between us, through the water swiftly and gracefully. it was almost like ballet, how graceful it had been. i was taken aback by its sheer size, my hand moved from its previous position of clutching the saddle on my ilu, i fell into the chilly water below.

it split us up right down the middle, knocking me off my ilu and knocking ronal off hers as well.

"ney’ite!" she yelled, pushing herself up on her ilu, the water was lit but yet still so dark. ronal acknowledged her sister's ilu floating at the top of the water, a chunk of her left middle fin appeared to be ripped off, ni'alu wailing in pain.

"ney’ite!" ronal called out to the quiet waters which seemed to not be so quiet just moments ago. ronal wailed loudly, "oh ni'alu," she quietly guided her ilu up to ni'alu gently taking a rope from her sach sitting on her own ilu and attached it to her.

ronal then noticed her ilu had a tinge of red liquid oozing out from it's small upper wounded tail fin, she cried out for help causing ronal to wince from the loud, defending, and heartbreaking sound. "shhh aka'ula, it is okay... sister." the word fell somewhat easy but still felt so hard leaving her lips. the pain of losing her sister still felt unreal, the wound was still openly fresh and very painful, but right now she needed to find her way back to her village.

after retrieving herself from her thoughts she reattached the tsaheylu to aka'ula, telling her to move. bound with grief, ronal took one last look at the glowing waters, whispering a quick but deeply meaningful, "oel ngati kameie ney’ite, eywa had great plans for you," before disappearing towards her home, her people.

she made her way back to awa'atlu, back to the elders. her parents were immediately there to greet her, having been searching for her and her sister for quite some time now. almost immediately they noticed ney’ite wasn't with her. ronal hesitated to tell them, with the rest of the clan surrounded around her wanting to see the state of her wellbeing as well as her sisters.

"we went beyond the reef, an akula attacked us. she's gone mother, i'm sorry," her mother broke down in loud wails, ronal looked down as to not see all the heartbroken expressions of her clan. ronal just then noticed some of the animal caretakers of her clan taking care of both her and her sisters ilu.

the clan wrapped ronal in a seashell shawl made by all the expecting mothers of the clan. her wounds were cleaned and wrapped in a special seaweed dipped in a healing ointment. she was led back to her maruis where just somehow sleep couldn't find it's way to her.

the wailing calls of both ni'alu and aka'ula kept everybody in the village up, the calls full of mournfulness and great, great pain. though around where the dark had finally consumed her village, the wailing of ni'alu had quieted to just soft whimpers then to simply quiet. aka'ula had not minded being awake, wanting to keep a watchful eye over ronal sticking close to the maruis.

finally some tiredness overtook ronal, something she acknowledged as sleep was coming to take her. though, her mind was plagued with images of her sister's final moments and how she might've felt in that moment. the tears and pain welled up in her and took all of her strength to resist it but failed, succumbing to tears that flowed silently down her face.

─────────────────────────

return to my avatar masterlist

return to the main masterlist

#avatar 2009 #ronal avatar #avatar cameron movies #avatar the way of water fanfic #neytiri x reader x jake #jake x reader x neytiri #jake sully x reader x neytiri #jake sully x oc x neytiri #jake sully x reader #jake sully x oc #neytiri x jake #jake sully #neytiri #neytiri x reader #ripnevillestrevor #poly relationship

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bellascarousel · 4 months ago

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OC Interview

Thanks for the tag, @katenewmanwrites

Eli from Sangue Collina will be answering these.

Do you have any hobbies? If so, what ones?

I paint. Mostly portraits. Though, perhaps painting portraits of people whose deaths I feel responsible for can hardly be called a hobby. My housekeeper is always getting on me to paint something that isn't designed to cause me pain. But, at least the portraits are a way to keep my loved ones with me.

I also have an extensive library, collected over the centuries. I love reading, both for fun and doing research on various things. My pet project is collecting books on Necromancy to try to find a way to save Ana from herself. Though, some would call that a fool's errand.

Be honest. Who could you trust most with a secret?

Beverly. She's been with me for a very long time, and knows all of my secrets. She's the one who makes the arrangements when we need to move to a knew city. And on more than one occasion she's shoved me into a box and mailed me to one of my friends. I've been trusting her with my life for over two hundred years, longer than even Benedict has been alive.

Do you dream often? What do you dream about?

It's rare for a vampire to dream. we usually sleep like the dead. Though, I sometimes have nightmares about the night my family died. I don't know if I've ever told anyone about that. Though it wouldn't surprise me if Beverly knows.

Have you ever been in love?

Twice. Once upon a time, back when I was human, I wanted to marry Josephine Leighton. But then we both died and put an end to that. Now, I'm in love with Catie. I'm really hoping for a happy ending, this time. I want to be standing with her in my arms when the world ends.

What is your least favorite thing in the world? What is your pet peeve?

My least favorite thing in the world? How would you even quantify that? As for a pet peeve, I'm going to go with people talking in movie theaters. You've paid for the privilege of watching this movie. So, watch it. Why pay money to watch a movie and then talk though it so that you don't actually know what is going on? But, even worse, you've now made it so that nobody else knows what's going on in this movie that they paid to see. If you want to talk through a movie, wait until it comes out on DVD or comes to Netflix or Amazon Prime. Don't waste, not only your money, but the money of everybody around you going to a theater and ruining the experience for everyone.

Would you team up with your worst enemy if it was your only option?

Absolutely. I'd probably have to keep her on a tight leash. But, I would absolutely team up with Ana if it was to do something good that would help people.

Tagging @elizmanderson @dyrewrites @stesierra and anyone else that wants to do it.

#bella talks writing #sangue collina #tag games #writeblr

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workingdownthewordmine · 7 months ago

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Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 3 Unbidden Guest

Bucky's uninvited housemate makes themself known.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Violence, choking, threatening with a gun, bleeding, hearing voices, hearing the voice of an abuser, references to murder, torture, suicide, violence, sexual assault Prompts filled: Fandom Free Bingo Frosty Edition: Stay a while @fandom-free-bingo Fluffbruary: Day 26: Care package, Day 28: Shelter @fluffbruary Winter Wonderland: Covering the other with a blanket @seasonaldelightsbingo Any Fandom Angst: Held at gunpoint @anyfandomangstbingo LGBTQ+: Non-binary!Character @lgbtqbingo

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

“Don’t ask the name of anyone that asks you for shelter.” Victor Hugo

It had been some time since Bucky had wished so fiercely that he could just stop waking up, stop coming back to a reality that became more of a nightmare each time. Before he opened his eyes he pleaded with the darkness to tighten again, to choke him back out of the world. A little longer, even if it couldn’t be forever, even if it could only be moments more before he had to open his eyes to-

A wet cloth on his skin, stroked down his cheek. For a handful of heartbeats, misery gave way to something almost like contentment. Complacency. Deadly. The horror burst through and propelled him into a rush of movement. He couldn’t go back. They wouldn’t take him back.

The body crouched over him was only a dark blur, hurled across the room and into a wall. It crumpled and he was upon it. His charge was clumsy but he didn’t need precision. His hand was around a throat. He’d need hardly a flick of a Vibranium wrist to snap their neck. The figure was smaller than him, pinned in his shadow, starting to tremble with the need for air. He had secured their arms beneath his knees without thinking about it, his shin across their legs to prevent them from kicking him. He was doing better. All that was left was the kill… It would be instant, almost entirely painless. He would not fail this time.

He froze. They weren’t struggling. They weren’t fighting him at all. There had been no raised alarm. No other movement in the room except the two of them. Bucky struggled to focus through blinding panic and burning eyes. He loosened his grip just enough to allow them a breath, and pushed the muzzle of his pistol beneath their chin. “Why shouldn’t I kill you right now?”

They looked up at him without terror, as though the ease with which he could end their life concerned them little. “Look at your hand.” Reluctantly, he allowed his eyes to flicker downwards – perhaps because the words had been more of a plea than a demand or a threat, or perhaps because defying the voice telling him to do what he was made for and kill was taking too much of his concentration. Even in the gloom, he could see the wet shine, and the scent of blood rose thickly from it. He’d felt no pain at all. “There’s no wound. It’ll stop in a few seconds. I – I could have put the bleed in your neck, or your brain. I didn’t. Please. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt you.” He stiffened. Their eyes widened and they spoke more quickly. “If I’d meant you any harm, I could have done something about it either of the times I’ve found you unconscious today. Right? I have no reason to hurt y-“ His hand pressed down again, choking off their words.

“Reckon I can squeeze a trigger faster than you can do your little magic trick.”

“Maybe.” They could do little more than shape the words but just enough of a hiss escaped for him to follow. “Don’t want to bet my life on it. Seen-” They shuddered, desperately sucking in a scrap of air. “Seen how fast you are.”

He growled and shook them by the throat. They pinched their eyes shut as if they expected death to follow. If they’d also started his brain bleeding, he couldn’t tell. “You’ve been spying on me. Sneaking round in my building. Now you’re fucking with me in my apartment. Why?” He shook them again. Their skull thudded heavily on the floor, long black hair escaping their ponytail. “Why? Tell me why I shouldn’t fucking kill you? You don’t want to hurt me? Then what do you want?”

They tried to reply but could only gurgle. He eased off their throat. “Help. Need help.” His hand lifted a little more, answering a deeper impulse than thought. With an effort, he overpowered the voice in his mind long enough to listen. Their eyes searched his as though watching the struggle. His hand tensed on their neck.

“Talk. Fast.”

They swallowed. He felt the fragile movement through his palm. “Shelter. Please. I don’t want to kill you. And,” Their dark eyes tracked his face again. “I may not be an expert on trained assassins but I don’t think you want to kill me either.” Had he imagined the emphasis? Had it been unintentional? Their voice was trembling. Short on breath, laden with pain. He couldn’t be sure.

“Someone wants you dead though. And personally, right? In more than the ‘all mutants are dangerous monsters’ way.”

“A lot of people. That’s why I need somewhere safe. I thought – I mean, you seemed like someone who’d be sympathetic.”

His lip pulled back in a snarl. “Because I’m a dangerous monster too?”

They didn’t flinch as they met his eyes. “Pretty much. You know what it’s like. Not to want to be someone else’s weapon. To not trust the good guys much more than the bad guys. Right?”

The adrenaline was wearing off. His head was starting to swim again. He should finish them fast, then he could sleep. Alone and safe. “So which do you think you are? A good guy or a bad guy?”

“Just a guy. I’m not much of a team player.” He felt a tremor as though they had tried to laugh. They swallowed again. He knew his face hadn’t given anything away, so they must have realised for themselves that apparent amusement was doing them no favours. “Look, there’s no one outside this room who has my back, or who I report to, or – I hope – who has any idea where I am. I just need somewhere to stay, where I can keep my head down.”

It was a terrible decision, really, not to kill them. He would be safer with them gone. He’d have his solitude back. This was his home. Perhaps he could have handled sharing it with Steve if he’d wanted to leave the compound, but not any random stranger who fancied moving in – especially not here, in his apartment.

“What were you doing in here?” The pistol pressed harder under their chin, forcing their head back a little more.

“I was worried about you. I heard you screaming earlier, and I found you in the basement all bashed up. I wanted to bring you back up here but I could only manage one flight of stairs. Vibranium’s heavy, I guess. Didn’t really know how I’d get you past the traps either – I unfastened some of trip wires but it seemed pretty obvious there’d be more inside. Didn't fancy killing either of us. I came to check on you later and you weren’t where I’d left you – figured you’d got back up here by yourself. I was going to just leave you to it but when I passed by the door there were weird noises. I knocked. You didn’t answer and the noises got weirder so I looked for another way in that you hadn’t rigged to blow up or eviscerate visitors.” Their eyes flicked towards the open closet, the one he’d been trying to block back up. “You were passed out again. You were breathing like shit and your skin and eyes were all red. I was worried.”

They tried to shrug. Their own breathing wasn’t so hot either. He eased off their throat just a little more. Their words had brought his discomfort into much clearer focus. Now he couldn’t help but notice how his breath was whistling and every inch of exposed flesh felt like it had been splashed with acid.

“You got down to the basement through there, right?” Another glance at the closet. “Not surprised you feel like shit. Insulation’s made of fibreglass. Not stuff you want to handle, much less breathe.” They frowned up at him. He could almost have believed they actually were as concerned for his welfare as for the ease with which he could end their life right now. Probably an ability to make someone bleed into their own brain with a thought was quite a confidence boost. If they could really do any such thing. What evidence did he have? His hand? Could have cut it on something and just not noticed. A quick enough thinker could take advantage of that, sure. After being thrown half way across the room and slammed into the floor. With a gun pressed to their head. Probably. And he had to concede that anyone who could do shit like that would definitely be a sought-after commodity for the worst people. Someone like that was definitely not the kind of unknown factor he wanted hanging around, right?

When was the last time anyone had sought him out to ask for help?

“Sit up. Slowly.” He released them and shifted away, gun still readied.

They waited until he’d made some space between them before awkwardly levering themselves upright and raising both hands level with their shoulders in surrender. “I, uh, I’m not armed. I mean, not in any way you can confiscate without decapitating me, which I’d really rather you didn’t. But I guess, if searching me makes you feel any better about letting me stick around, you can…”

Bucky looked them over. The baggy hoodie, the same that had been used for a pillow earlier, and cargoes could have hidden any number of weapons, but they’d made a decent point – if they’d been planning to kill him it was a risk and a waste of time waiting until now. He shook his head. “Just don’t make me regret my trusting and forgiving nature.” They offered a casual salute and even a small grin. “What time is it?”

A shrug. “Don’t know, but probably after ten. Here. Drink. Pretty sure your throat’s still full of glass fibres.” They reached into a cardboard box beside them surrounded by a few scraps of rope and tossed a bottle over to him, then rolled their eyes dramatically when he didn’t reach for it. “Not that convinced I’m not trying to kill you, then? Here.” They grabbed another bottle, cracked the top, and took a long swig. He watched their throat working and found himself recalling that movement under his hand. They recapped the bottle and offered it to him. “Monkey see, monkey do.”

The smirk was infuriating but he found his lip curling in return as he took the bottle. “Don’t push it.” He drank, and kept drinking. The cool water was unbelievably soothing to his sore throat. He drained the bottle and grabbed the first one, downing half of it before freezing with it still at his lips.

“Relax, okay?” His eyes darted to their face, startled to find a sympathetic frown. “I promise, it’s as wholesome as water stolen from struggling communities by billionaires can be.” His narrowed eyes received a shrug. “What? Wouldn’t be fair to lie to you.” He grunted and finished the bottle.

“You’re really weird, you know that?”

“Mutants tend to be.”

Bucky sat and watched, rolling the empty bottle between his palms, while his… intruder? Visitor? Neighbour? Pulled over the box and rummaged inside it, ignoring or not seeing the way he tensed.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?” They glanced up, blinking. Was it possible that they’d actually forgotten he was there in the last twenty seconds? It sure seemed like it. He nodded at the box. “Oh, just kind of a care package I put together. Meant to leave it outside your door but then you sounded like you were dying so I figured a get well card and a blanket might not do the trick. ‘S not much. Food, meds such as I could find, blanket – but you’ve got that already. Getting it down that climb with my face covered to keep the fibres out was hard enough without packing it any heavier, but there’s some more stuff over in the other apartment.”

He looked over at where he’d been lying, and stared in surprise. They were still in his hallway where he had passed out. He remembered dimly the pounding at the door, amplified by fear and disorientation, which must have been their knocking. His sleeping bag hadn’t been here then. Nor had his pillow or the unfamiliar sleeping bag stacked underneath his own. And there was the blanket, lying where he must have thrown it off when he woke up… and attacked them, he reminded himself with an internal wince.

“You did all that?”

“Yeah. Would have put you in your bedroom, but ran into that whole ‘Vibranium is heavy’ issue again so I made you a bed out here instead. Won’t be offended if you want to move back. You can borrow my sleeping bag. Oh, and I redid the bandage on your arm but the bleeding had stopped already, even where you scratched it up. You knocked a few chunks out of yourself. I cleaned the wounds and tied them up. Some of them looked like they could use stitches but I’m thinking you don’t really bother with those and I don’t know how to do them. I could probably figure it out with a video tutorial though if, y’know, you want me to try.” They kept talking as they looked through the box, peering at things as though it had been so long since they’d seen them that they were almost unrecognisable. It was a curious sight. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to cook in here so most of this is about as edible cold…” They were chattering away as if he hadn’t been holding a gun to their head a minute earlier. The effect was almost soothing. Where was that accent from? Not pure American as far as he could tell. Maybe British with some American or Canadian layered on top? There was something else too – something that spoke to his memories of warmth and spiced air. He was only half taking in the words and it was his turn to realise late that he’d been spoken to.

“Uh… huh?”

They grinned. “Sandwiches. Just cheese. Nothing fancy. I don’t do cooking. Probably a good idea to eat something. Might cushion the little spiky glass bits.” They shrugged. “My mother always freaked out about me going anywhere near our fibreglass insulation. I always figured she was overreacting but you look like shit so maybe not.”

“You go all out with the compliments, don’t you?” He bit into a cheese sandwich. They were right – it was nothing fancy, but it was food and it started to help with his painful, feverish exhaustion at once.

“Pretty much,” they admitted with a shrug.

Bucky was about to reply when a fresh storm of coughs overtook him, filling the air with crumbs. They leant back out of the way, lowering their own sandwich, apparently no longer so keen on it.

“That’ll probably happen for a while. You got a pretty good lungful, I guess.”

“’M not supposed to get sick,” he growled.

“You’re not technically-”

“Or injured.”

“Unless whatever they did to you gave you lungs that can dissolve glass, I doubt being a super soldier’s gonna help much with this. Might even be worse. If you can’t get sick, I’m thinking it’s because your body attacks anything that invades it particularly quickly and effectively, so it’s probably throwing a fit about a billion little fibres getting where they shouldn’t and I’m probably not really helping, am I?”

“Your bedside manner really sucks,” he grumbled. The complaint was half-hearted, though. Something had happened to their expression while they were spinning their theory. The gentle coffee-dark eyes had sharpened. The detached enthusiasm had become… uncomfortable. He’d seen too many expressions like that before, usually smiling above him while he was strapped to a table, full of glee over their latest pages of results. His fist curled and he touched his pistol. The movement attracted no attention at all. They’d found a scrap of ancient wallpaper –but still not ancient enough for him to remember it – and started picking at it as though its presence offended them, nails digging fretfully under its edges.

“Planning on building a nest with that?”

They froze and looked vacant for a second. He got the impression they were replaying the last few seconds to work out what he was talking about. In spite of the way his previous observation had jacked up his heart rate, it was a challenge to be afraid of someone who seemed to have so much difficulty just keeping track of existence from one minute to the next. And they’d brought him food and a blanket, he reminded himself. His lips softened into a small smile.

“Uh, sorry, hope that wasn’t sentimental.” They licked a fingertip and attempted to damp the paper back down. “There was a texture.” The explanation ended there.

“A… texture?”

Their eyebrows rose as though his puzzlement was incomprehensible. “Things that should be smooth shouldn’t have textures.” They said it the way someone else might say “tumours”. They gave a little shrug and didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s harder to ignore – tolerate – them when I’m nervous. Really weird, like you said.” He thought he saw a tiny wince. “Sorry, I’ll go back to the other apartment. You should be resting, not suffering through a lecture on the ways my brain is wrong.”

They started to dust themself off and get up. This time the wince was unmistakable. They tried to disguise the awkward movement with a stretch but his eyes tracked the tenderness in their shoulder with ease. He recalled the sound of them colliding with the wall when he’d thrown them off and his stomach churned with a momentary surge of guilt.

“There are painkillers in the box. Oh, and antihistamine cream. If your skin’s too uncomfortable to sleep, it might… And try to rinse your skin again in the morning. Just keep washing the fibres off. Not sure what to do for the lungs but hopefully that’ll be better tomorrow too. If you need anything, I’ll be across the hall.” They offered an awkward smile and took a step towards the door.

“Wait.” He was surprised to hear the word come from his mouth. “Not sure I want you getting up to fuck knows what out of sight over there.” His grin turned out as awkward as their exit. “You can stay. Here.” He cut off their attempted protest. “I’d like you to stay. Y’know, tonight, at least.”

He started to set his gun down, then went to the window to scan the street. The streetlights were on now. The only passers-by seemed natural and uninterested enough. “Just how sure are you that no one’s going to come looking for you here?” He put his back to the window and tried to resist the urge to look again.

“Well, I guess I can’t be a hundred percent certain but I think if they had any idea where I am they’d have come for me before now.” They curled tighter into the corner and Bucky almost laughed when he saw them shoot the window a glance almost identical to his own.

In the moment of strange kinship, he was moved to voice something he’d been wondering about. “You know who I am. You didn’t just stumble onto a guy with a potential safe house.”

They paused, and shrugged. “Well, no, I was looking for you. Got pretty lucky finding you though. Not a lot of guys with metal arms around but there are a lot of people in this city. Then I found you and had to watch for a while to make sure my instincts were right about you. That you’d understand why I needed somewhere to go. That makes me sound like a total stalker… It’s not a weird creepy obsession or anything. I just… heard about you, y’know, and-”

“So you know who I am, the things I’ve done, and you still decided to throw yourself on my mercy?”

He’d expected them to fidget uncomfortably, maybe refuse to meet his eyes. In fact, their gaze locked onto his like a magnet.

“Someone who looked a lot like you did those things. Not you.”

He stiffened. “It was me. A… part of me.” He’d never admitted that, even to Stevie. Why was he doing it now? He wished he could bite the words back, but they seemed unfazed by his confession or his regret.

“Was that part of you given a choice?”

The words stuck on his tongue, tangled in themselves. “We… I could have died myself. Rather than hurt anyone else. Most people would say I should have done.”

Their snort chilled him and he narrowed his eyes. They were just as unmoved by the increased hostility. “Most people don’t choose to die. Not when they’re actually confronted with the choice. So “most people” can take a running jump with their opinions about what any of you should have done. They don’t know what they’re fucking talking about.” He spotted that their hand was knotted into their hoodie so tight that their knuckles showed up pale in the dim light. “And for my part, I doubt it was even an option. Unless you can honestly tell me Hydra didn’t make really damn sure they fucked up your head before they gave you the kind of freedom it takes to kill yourself.”

Bucky could only stare as the words went through him like a laser, leaving a searing path behind them. Something was ready to take advantage of the quiet. It crawled into the ringing silence in his head.

You’d just love to believe that, wouldn’t you, little boy? “Boohoo, poor me. The mean nasty men hurt my feelings and that’s why I tortured and raped and murdered all those people.” It’s a fairy tale, little boy. A pretty lie to manipulate you into letting them stay. We chose you for a reason, asset. We saw the monster in you and leashed it. We didn’t make the monster.

“James?” The name came as such a surprise that it momentarily shocked him out of the guilty hell he’d been descending into. “James… you okay?”

“Don’t.” He gradually got his words back under control and the hysterical note out of his voice. “I – don’t. Don’t call me that.” He forced something like a smile. “I only get ‘James’ when I’m in trouble. I guess you can call me Bucky.”

They nodded, their own smile much more genuine than he had managed. “Bucky, then.” He was fascinated by their ability to look at him so calmly, with no detectable fear or contempt, yet he found himself still wanting to escape their gaze. He felt too seen by those eyes. Like they understood even more than they’d described with such stark and cutting accuracy. He backed up and turned away from them, crouching to straighten his bedding.

“Guess we do have some stuff in common, after all… You know, don’t you?”

“I don’t. Not what they did to you. But I know something about the lengths people like that will go to, to design the sort of operatives they need. And after they put in all that time and effort, they don’t get careless enough to let valuable assets kill themselves.”

The word caused bile to rise in his throat and he whipped around. Could they know? Could they hear? But they’d turned back to their corner, rearranging their blanket and trying to make themself comfortable.

“You can take your sleeping bag back. I’ll be fine with my own.” They waved him off.

“Hang onto it tonight. It’ll help with my guilt. It’s my fault you got all paranoid and trap-happy.” He watched them lean their head on the wall.

He wanted to tell them to at least take the pillow or something, but he had a premonition of how much good that would do. He stood, thinking, for a moment. Then he scooped up the blanket and threw it over them. He crouched to tuck it in, meeting their look of protest with immovable steadiness. And somehow he found himself looking into soft brown eyes a little too long.

“Night,” he muttered, retreating.

No, the voice growled as he contemplated the stacked sleeping bags. Soft. Weak. He glanced back into the corner. Their eyes were closed but they had no talent for faking the rhythmic breath of true sleep. He toed off his boots and climbed into his bag. It was difficult to see them through the shadows but he heard their breathing resume a more natural tempo. When had he last shared his sleeping space voluntarily? He was tempted to think it had been more than eighty years ago, before he’d shipped out. Back when he’d imagined he’d have some control over the course of his life.

And what would you have made of your life on your own? Another groupie for the star-spangled government lapdog? I made you so much more. And this is how you show your gratitude.

The yawning darkness at Bucky’s back reached out for him. Its fingers caressed his spine. He felt himself shaking, his throat closing…

“Hey, Bucky?” The invisible fingers retracted a little way into the dark.

“What?”

“Thanks. For letting me stay.”

How sweet that your new little friend thinks they’re any safer in a room with you than literally anywhere else. Even after your opening pleasantries featured you practically crushing their throat. You must have seen the bruises. I can hear them struggling to breathe from here.

“Y’welcome.” It wasn’t much but for just a moment it interrupted the voice; he searched for more words, desperate to keep it at bay, and to stop himself straining at the quiet to measure their breathing. His eyes locked onto the vague shape on the other side of the hall. “I never asked your name.”

A moment’s thoughtful quiet then a shuffling of blanket. He caught a glint of streetlight reflected in their eyes as they turned their face towards him. “Hive. Call me Hive.”

Note: Our Hive has nothing to do with the Hive who appears in Agents of SHIELD, just a coincidence that they ended up with the same name.

Thanks for reading! Every like and reblog is appreciated and treasured. Feed my need for external validation!

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aztarion · 8 months ago

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HI. 10/11 i actually don't know what route Deva is on💔 fake fan. also 7 and 15 👀

HI JULES!! omg no i dont think i ever mentioned it dont worry im actually not even 100% set on what i have at the moment either BUT lets go on an adventure 🫴

10. If on the Bobby route, did your detective and Bobby kiss? Unwanted or Wanted? How is your detective dealing with this? And how do you think M will react once they find out?

But but but… Dev is my messy chaos child of course she kissed Bobby 🤦‍♀️

its a complicated situation and theres a rat-king tangle of emotions she doesn’t want to even begin to parse through knotting in her chest and stomach after the carnival w Mason and what she overhears from him back at the warehouse. she didn’t particularly DESIRE to kiss Bobby (but the girl lying in bed w her cat and 18 kirbies cackling evilly and choosing whatever’s funniest did shh) but they have a history and hes easy and she has steam to blow off and destructive habits to engage and the devil you know, you know. if there’s one thing about Deva she does not let things go and she will get even after taking the slightest hit to her ego, as shitty as that sounds 😭 zero emotional regulation . so yeah she initiates the kiss 🕴️

she is meh towards bobby in general (thinks hes funny in ‘i hate my job and this nosey ass reporter i used to fw in college adds a little entertainment’ way) but doesn’t regret the kiss in terms of feeling bad with regards to mason. wildly, she went into book 3 with a good relationship with bobby (truly chaotic exes) despite being a huge bitch in book 1 to him so he did NOT bring up the kiss to mason which she had forgot all about until that point. i would say thats when it starts to weigh on her subconscious a little, an uncomfortable niggling that she suppresses with her usual vices and louder simpler thoughts and feelings. im hoping thats not the end of it and that it does get brought up again just to make her squirm hehe

7. What does your detective think of the glimpse of M’s past and their “not guilty” judgment?

dev has an eerie sixth sense for weird shit and a knack for springing into action at pivotal and intense moments, but putting effort into dissecting and finding meaning in these strange situations is not her specialty so she doesnt bother. what she sees hardly makes sense to her at that moment other than the real flesh-and-blood-not-mirror Mason is on his knees in pain so um yeah she fucking shoots the mirror LMAO. crazy ass

later when its mentioned that what was playing out was Masons past, she feels sympathetic for sure — it looked like torture and experimentation to her, plus later when she gets another piece of the puzzle that M purposefully chose to have their memories wiped, she figures thats precisely why. having something like that haunting you, especially for an eternity as a vampire, would for sure fuck you up and she’d do the same.

as for the not guilty verdict, well she barely listened to Falk 😭 but she’d believe it. even if mason went beast mode and killed everyone in that room, it looked like they deserved it to her, and she has off-kilter morals and a twisted sense of justice anyway to put it lightly (capt sung was off the shits on his 8th line of coke with jeremy fragrance and mayor friedman on the day he promoted this woman in law enforcement I can tell u that much . Had to be)

15. What is your detective’s relationship with Rebecca like? If they saw the conversation that she has with M before the end of Book 2, what would they think?

BAD!! oh so so bad. *slaps devas head* this oc can pack so many grudges and let absolutely nothing go, ever . i delve a bit away from canon with her backstory and give an extra L to rebecca to keep secret and feel guilty about — in dev’s early childhood, after rooks death but before her 7th bday, rebecca permitted the agency to wipe a memory from deva which was of an imaginary friend that actually wasn’t imaginary and in fact a supernatural 🏃‍♀️ i go into that a lot more in the fic im writing and what it does to their relationship when dev finds out so ill spare details cuz this is long as hell already.

for the talk with Mason, god im fuzzy on it atm but if i remember right becky stays in her lane 😤 thats another thing that drives dev insane, is Rebecca thinking she can suddenly just involve herself in her personal life because theyre working together now. much too little far too late. rebecca is less than a stranger to her as far as deva is concerned and she is extremely harsh and unforgiving (which if mishka doesnt, i will make come back and bite dev in the ass bc truth be told i do like Rebecca as a character hehe)

thank you jules <33 you have GOT to rb one of these things some day so i can poke and prod about your love triangle menace 😤

#oc pussy indulgence #oc: deva deleón #ask #🫶🫶🫶

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the12thnightproject · 1 year ago

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Chapter 12: Fresh Air: Mitsuhide and Katsu take their act on the road… hopefully they’ll survive the palanquin journey.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

Professionalism warred with fear as Mitsuhide guided me to the street where the palanquin lurked. Yes, I’m contracted to behave in public, but I hadn’t thought to put “no small spaces,” into our agreement. Would it even be possible to control the panic and willingly climb into a box?

Mitsuhide slid open the door, but my feet did not want to move. He stepped closer and spoke in a voice quiet enough to prevent the porters from hearing him. “Dear me, one would think that you’re afraid to being in such close quarters with me. Worried that you’ll be unable to resist me when we’re face to face?”

“That’s not it.” His teasing hardly made an impression at this point. My throat was already closing. Though I rarely told people about my phobia, Mitsuhide was minutes away from finding out the hard way. “It’s the box. I don’t enjoy being confined in this manner.”

Either he had no ability to conceptualize how frightened I was, or he figured he could talk me through it, because Mitsuhide simply picked my frozen body up and carried me inside.

“We do not have time to debate this.” He settled me firmly in front of him, and before I managed to utter a word of protest, the porters lifted the palanquin onto their shoulders. The sudden motion rocked me forward and I fell right into Mitsuhide. By the time I scrambled to a secure kneeling position on the floor cushion, we were already on our way to the Aguchi-jinja Shrine where the kaigoshu regularly met.

Quickly, I twisted my face to look through the window… only to realize it was covered by thick silk blinds. The little light that passed through only bathed the palanquin in a reddish glow.

Breathe.

Air.

I can do this.

I wasn’t alone, though I considered Mitsuhide’s company dubious at best.

Breathe.

I can do this.

Fresh air came in at the edges of the window. I could feel it. I was not alone. I was not locked in.

I gripped the side of the palanquin, trying to ground myself, trying to determine the boundary between myself and the walls.

“You were not being purposefully obstructive.” Mitsuhide’s dry tone pulled on my attention. “You truly do not like being enclosed.”

“What was your first clue?” Please don’t use this against me. I took a deep breath… and another. And a third.

“The fact that my wrist now bears indentations of your fingernails.” I hadn’t even realized I had grabbed him. Mitsuhide pried my fingers off his arm, and transferred my grip to his hand. “Unless you are using this somewhat painful method to signify that you wished to hold my hand.”

“I was not.” That said, holding someone’s hand wasn’t completely unwelcome in this circumstance. His skin was cool and dry, his grip firm, and I felt more anchored to reality. I would have thanked him, except it was also his fault that I was stuck in here, and one good deed did not negate that.

“Perhaps, rather than fighting me on everything,” he tapped his finger on my forehead, “if you choose the most important battle, or if you can imagine such a thing, not fight with me at all, then I would realize when you have objections with merit.”

Oh sure, now he wants logic. “I don’t fight with you about everything.”

“Therein proving my point.” He reached across me to lift the shade that covered the window slats. “Does this help?”

“It does, somewhat.” I kept my eyes on the window, my breathing coming easier now, as the townhouse storefronts of the merchant district gave way to bigger manors with gardens and courtyards. The sun was setting and the sky had turned pale violet. I still didn’t like being in here, but seeing the outside world was enough to make it tolerable.

A breeze from the sea brushed across my face. The ocean-scented air was welcome, although probably it would be a bad idea to let it ruin the hairstyle that Sho had labored over most of the afternoon. With my free hand, I tentatively poked at one of the complicated knots. “It feels like she lacquered it.”

“Not a single hair is out of place. Rather it appears…” his voice trailed off, after taking on a considering tone. A dangerous tone. “It may be too perfect.”

“Was that not the impression you’ve created for your Kyubei character? That he very much takes stock in appearances?” So different from the real Kyubei that I again worried that his vassal would never be able to return to Sakai.

Mitsuhide tugged a piece of hair out of one of the knots, and it sprung free to curl under my ear.

“Hey! Why did you do that?” If Sho were around, then respect for age and authority or not, she’d probably kill him.

Or worse … she’d cry.

“The man I am portraying wants to possess pretty things, and show off that they are his, even as he mistreats his toys.” Mitsuhide freed another piece of hair, allowing it to twine through his fingers. “He would think nothing of arriving at this meeting having … played… with his concubine en route. He might even have marked her.”

He traced that strand of hair from where it lay against my neck, slowly trailing his finger down…

…along my throat…

… finally resting at the hollow where my neck met my shoulder. “Right there.”

Had I thought his hand was cool? Everywhere he had touched now smoldered with a warm steady glow, like a flame slowly working its way along the fuse of a rifle.

“Don’t even think about it.” Was I talking to him or to myself? Suddenly aware that I was practically in his lap, I rocked backward, pressing myself against the wall of the palanquin. “Try it and I’ll cut your throat in your sleep.” I covered my neck with my hands.

“You wouldn’t find it painful. In fact, I believe the experience would be extremely pleasurable.” He leaned closer to whisper in my ear. “Peace, brat. I won’t mar that lovely skin… not tonight anyway.”

Not trusting him, I kept my hands where they were.

“Perhaps this instead.” He brushed his thumb across my lower lip, smearing the lip rouge that Sho had so carefully applied. His thumb was rough and calloused, though the touch was soft and gentle, and the confusing contrasts pushed my breath into my throat, where it hovered there, waiting...

I could not look away.

Then he rubbed that thumb over his own lips, transferring the rouge to his mouth, turning it into a slash of red.

I still could not look away, even when he flashed that teasing grin at me, acting as if he was privy to a secret knowledge that I did not share.

He looked good in make-up – belatedly I noticed he had outlined his eyes in kohl. In modern Japan, I imagined he could easily pass as a glam rocker.

“Ah. We are here.” He calmly… dispassionately slid open the door, winking at me before rearranging his face into the cruel Kyubei mask. “Head down. Stay quiet. After the meeting, the cowed Kaya will circulate and hope that her master doesn’t notice her. If I need you by my side to listen, I will come get you.”

He climbed out of the palanquin, then turned and offered me a hand.

With my nerves still rattling, I took it.

What had that been about? Was it really to costume ourselves for the roles we were about to play? Or had he been trying to take my mind off my fear?

I sneaked a look at his face. Those now too-red lips gave nothing away.

The meeting of the Kaigoshu was initially, at least in some ways, like nothing I had expected, partially because it seemed so wrong to conduct governing business in a shrine. But it was their usual meeting place. Aside from the location, it seemed to be like every other committee meeting ever. Countless topics and complaints were presented for debate, and nothing was ever solved. The thirty-six official members argued between themselves about so may petty issues:

Should taxes be collected on the same day every fourth week?

Were the merchants who lived closest to the moat more responsible for its upkeep?

Should the new foundry be built that close to the premises of a fabric store?

Even when Nobunaga’s name was brought up – a topic sure to interest Mitsuhide – it turned out to be a nothingburger, as the Kaigoshu members were convinced that Oda’s interest in trade would prevent him from interfering with the merchants of Sakai.

Yet.

He would eventually, but these men, and they were all men, didn’t have much imagination.

Once all the official business had been taken care of – or brought up, ignored, or dumped on someone drafted to solve it - it was time for non-member requests and a delegation of foreign merchants joined us.

With a shock, I saw the priest from the auction - he was acting as their translator. In all that had happened, I’d forgotten he existed. Hopefully, he had forgotten me as well, but in case he hadn’t, I edged behind Mitsuhide. While Katsu had the ability to become invisible… Kaya did not. Mitsuhide didn’t visibly acknowledge my reaction to the man, although he did discreetly pat my arm. I supposed that was all he could offer as reassurance, given that we were in public.

If the priest noticed us, he didn’t let on. Most likely he was being kept too busy translating for the Portuguese merchants, as they all started yelling at once. Eventually, one of the Kaigoshu held up his hand for silence, and pointed to the loudest merchant to go first.

The merchant, with the Priest translating accurately (although he was smart enough not to translate a couple of egregious breaches of etiquette) requested that his imported fabrics not be stored in the same warehouse as the spice merchant’s stock.

His request was shuttled off to two merchants who owned the dockside warehouse in question, in a rather ‘settle it yourselves’ solution. Another foreign merchant noted that there was a growing demand in the West for ‘oriental’ silverworks and wondered if he could be put in touch with local craftsmen. None of these matters seemed like they were related to our missing persons case, and I started to wonder that my entire masquerade would turn out to be a colossal waste of time.

After a parade of requests, the full gathering broke into smaller groups, to discuss specialized issues and projects. The priest accompanied the merchant who didn’t want his fabrics smelling like to spice to the previously mentioned ‘settle it yourselves’ meeting. Some of the other Nanban left the building to wander through the shrine’s grounds.

Mitsuhide nodded at a couple who were strolling toward the courtyard. “If you follow those two, I’ll circulate here amongst our countrymen.”

Fine by me – it would take me out of the vicinity of that priest.

While Mitsuhide approached Tadayo, the fabric merchant we had met last week, I went outside to the garden area full of smaller shrines, statuary, and sacred trees.

The Nanban merchants stopped at a statue portraying Raijin and Fujin, their conversation loud enough to be overheard. I walked past them, head down, hands neatly folded, then paused in front of a hokora, to stand in “prayer.”

At first, the merchants made fun of the sculpture, noting that they were ugly (pushing their luck, they were since they were insulting the Gods of lightning and wind – these were not beings that people who relied upon overseas shipping for profit could afford to anger) and speculating that even the uncultured English would not pay for the like. Upon noticing me, one of them said to the other, “that bit of exotic fluff though. We could command any price for merchandise like that.”

Ok. Yuck. But where? Who would they sell to?

Not betraying my interest in their conversation, I continued to stay as still as the statues lining the walkway. And while I could not be invisible dressed as Kaya, I could still be apparently oblivious and no threat to these men.

“I wonder if she know any tricks with toys.” The speaker continued along this vein, complaining about his unimaginative and pious wife.

All this was, of course, creepy, but it wasn’t helping me find Aki, Hideyoshi or Mai. Instead, I had to stand there and listen to them speculate on my bedroom skills. Both men would be happy to have a Japanese mistress, but it was clear they would rather pay a professional courtesan, rather than go to the trouble of acquiring a slave that they would be responsible for until resale. Of course, if one could be acquired and discarded easily, it would be another story.

Unfortunately, I was still stuck in this dead end, listening, for I suspected that if I turned to leave, the two of them might become more assertive if I were to pass within arms’ reach.

“Ah! Senhor Shojumaru!” One of the Nanban greeted the man, just as a third set of footsteps made his presence known. “We were admiring your country’s religious iconography. And the garden. So unusual. Such new and exciting flowers.”

Um. We were in a rock garden. But… details. Interestingly, they had addressed him in Portuguese, so apparently Shojumaru was fluent in that language.

Good to know.

There was the sound of a striking of flint, then a few moments later the smell of tobacco reached my nose. Shojumaru responded to their greeting in Portuguese - he knew these two men well enough to address them by name – Senhors de Sousa and Pegado.

“How is the latest shipment working out?” That was de Sousa again.

“We have no cause to be displeased.” Shojumaru took a long draw on his cigar as the three of them moved a little deeper into the courtyard. Luckily, they stopped before they got out of earshot.

“We have another ship arriving from Goa soon. Would you be able to guarantee safe passage for the same price?” De Sousa offered no additional details about what was on that ship, though Goa generally meant cotton and spice. Nothing illegal, although the safe passage did ping a question. How could Shojumaru guarantee that, why was he guaranteeing it to Nanban, whose ships those had to be, and safety from what?

I kept careful mental notes of all that. Hopefully, Mitsuhide was discovering additional pieces of the puzzle. So far, none of this seemed to be related to the slave trade, for that would be something that would be coming from here, not to.

It was only after I had almost given up the idea that I would hear something useful that Senhor Pegado asked about finding women to ship to Europe. It was a feel-things-out kind of question, tentatively phrased, and I don’t think they had any direct knowledge of Shojumaru’s involvement.

… and apparently he had no involvement. “I do not deal in human cargo. It is an insult to suggest that I would.”

The way the previously affable Shojumaru all but growled it had the other two backing off, although one of them offered a half-hearted apology. “Pardon, Senor. We had heard that you might be amenable to any type of exports or imports, but clearly our information was incorrect.” Then both men decided they’d had enough of the night air and scuttled away.

“Pleasure doing business with ye,” he muttered at their retreating backs, and once again his voice echoed across my consciousness.

Pleasure doing business with ye. Why did those words-

Crunch.

That night air that sent the Portuguese back to the shrine and a chill down my back also carried the sound of more footsteps, and the rustling of heavy fabric… fabric too heavy to belong to any of the Japanese merchants.

It was the sound of a priest’s robes brushing along the leaf-strewn walkway.

There had only been one priest in tonight’s delegation and I absolutely did not want to encounter him in this dimly lit courtyard.

Cursing my light colored kimono, I scooted off the path, as quickly and silently as possible, doubling around brush until I slipped behind an ornamental shrub thick enough to hide me from view. I dropped to my knees, biting my lip to avoid cursing when I banged my kneecap on a large … rock?

Carefully feeling around the dimensions of the rock, revealed it to be a small statue… of Jizo, if I were to guess by touch and size. Jizo was a Buddhist diety, technically out of place at this Shinto shrine, which was probably why it had been half-hidden in the shrubbery. Many people however worshipped Buddhist and Shinto Gods indiscriminately, and to be honest, at the moment, I could use a little protection from this little guardian of children and travelers.

With his cassock ominously whooshing along the ground, the Priest approached… then halted directly in front of the bush.

Jizo… a little more help here, please?

Could he see me? Smell me? Or sense me?

Nothing happened.

I counted off seconds in my head, and when I reached sixty, I risked peering through the leaves – the man wasn’t even looking in my direction. No, he was watching Shojumaru, who continued to smoke his cigar. A tiny glow of orange illuminated his face, which had been wiped of that ingratiating smile.

And yet another set of footsteps. At this point, there were probably more people out here on the grounds than there were inside the main shrine. “Master Shojumaru.”

That… was Mitsuhide’s voice. In front of me, the Priest’s posture stiffened. Alerted.

In a moment, Mitsuhide came into view. When he reached Shojumaru he bowed – just a slight shifting of his upper body that indicated he believed Shojumaru was in a lower caste.

What had appeared to be a calculated insult rolled right past Shojumaru. He couldn’t have missed it, so either he didn’t care, or was saving up for a later revenge. I was more curious to discover why Mitsuhide purposely tried to insult him.

“Master Kyubei.” A much deeper bow, flattering. I felt like I was watching a play – or I did until the priest shifted position and blocked my view. “Did you find the meeting useful?”

“It appeared to be similar to the petty maneuverings of a father who has yet to realize his child has surpassed him.” Mitsuhide more than likely grimaced at that, but it was too dark from where I was hiding to see his expression. “Ruling by committee would be useless in the face of a real threat. When attacked, one must act, not run back and meet to decide what to do. Surely you must agree, for you don’t appear to be a member of the Kaigoshu. Or… have you not been asked?”

“I have no role in the Kaigoshu due only to time and other responsibilities. I travel frequently.” Shojumaru gestured broadly with the hand holding the cigar. Even tonight he wore gloves, though it wasn’t nearly cold enough to require them.

“My mistake. Ah well. These petty officials can enjoy their posturing while it lasts. I’ll take care of my own interests with or without them.” All was quiet a moment, aside from the rustle of wind that brought the scent of tobacco and incense and body-odor d’priest to my nose. “That interest, of course, includes my latest toy. I was told she had wandered out here – did you perhaps see where she went? She’s new and has yet to learn that her place is at my shoulder.”

It was just acting, but I still felt gross. Maybe because I had just been treated like an exotic object by the Nanban merchants. Maybe it was because I was less than half a meter away from a man who had tried to buy me. But since Mitsuhide was well aware that I was out here somewhere, I figured he was testing Shojumaru, giving him a chance to pick a side of what might be considered a moral issue.

“The girl? I noticed her praying earlier.” He had?! “But I don’t know where she is now.”

Once again, the Priest shifted position. But if I had any hope that he would be leaving that wish went unanswered.

Jizo… please?

The cassock rustled again, I could see the man fumbling at his waist.

Please don’t pee.

Especially not on me.

The priest did not take out the item I had been worried about. If only! Instead, what he held in his hand, its gold handle glinting faintly in the lantern light, was a wheellock pistol. Calmly, with enough familiarity to assure me that the man was used to, and unafraid of using, the weapon, he pointed it at Mitsuhide.

@bestbryn @lyds323 @selenacosmic @lorei-writes @tele86 @akitsuneswife

#10things #ten things i hate about mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen motonari #mitsuhide monday #ao3 link

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 1 year ago

Text

Sicktember #27

Prompt: Uncooperative Patient

Fandom/OCs: Wagon Train OCs (Dan and Ella)

Words: 1240

Sicknario inspo: Flu season sicknario E from this post.

Author’s comments/background: Ready their first story here. Another set of OCs that I thought would only ever have one story. And yet another doctor OC lol. ( I don’t have a problem, really…) I don’t write “bad” patients very often (and I should probably change that) but there’s no better candidate for a bad patient than a doctor. So have some sick, tired, self-sacrificing Dan and caring Ella.

~~~***~~~

It was the time of year when Ella hardly saw her husband. As the town physician, Dan was often gone all hours of the day, seeing to one ailing patient after another. It was part and parcel of the job he loved, and after all, this was why they moved west, so that he could continue to serve and treat people in the way he knew best. But the time of year when the crisp freshness of fall was grabbed away by the icy fingers of winter–the end of harvest season and the beginning of the long, miserable months of snow–was very trying for Ella and the children. Half the townspeople were either falling sick with fever or influenza or pneumonia and the other half were injuring themselves somehow or other as they prepared their barns and houses for winter, and all of them running their poor doctor ragged. This year the influenza was awful, and had already taken three poor souls, two old folks and a tiny baby. Dan was haggard and careworn, and Ella hardly less so for worry over him and everyone else.

One memorable day, Dan staggered in the door just as Ella was putting luncheon on the table for the children. He had come in the night before long after she went to bed and left before she woke, so she'd hardly seen him in two days. She greeted him warmly as the children squealed in excitement at the rare treat of having their Pa home at midday. Dan collapsed into a chair with a yawn. Ella served him a plate, getting a good look at him as she did. His color was awful; he was nearly gray with fatigue, the shocking circles under his eyes standing out in sharp relief. His nose was red, perhaps from the cold air, and the beginning of a beard was beginning to show across his chin and cheeks. He always neglected to shave when he was exhausted, not wanting to risk cutting himself with his shaking hands. She reminded herself to offer to do it for him when he had a moment of peace.

She carded her fingers through the hair around his ear, pressing a kiss to his head. He sighed in pleasure, but as his eyes flickered to hers, his attention was distracted by her visibly swollen wrist. He caught the wrist gently, pressing his fingers over it in an exploratory way. When she made a sound of pain, he gave her a questioning look.

"I tripped over a root in the yard and my wrist caught my weight when I fell. It's nothing to worry about."

"It's not broken. But why didn't you tell me? I can wrap it for you," he said, his voice husky and tired.

"You don't need to fuss over me," she said firmly. You've got enough to be going on with."

He kissed the hand below the injured wrist. "You and the children will always be my first concern. Anything you need comes before the rest of it."

"But you're so tired," she blurted out. "My needs are second to yours now. I wouldn't add anything else to your plate."

"Look at my plate, Mama!" crowed little John, and Ella's attention was diverted for the rest of the meal. Dan ate quickly and silently, aside from a husky dry cough that further worried his wife, and he seemed in danger of falling asleep at any moment. Ella also noted, though he tried hard to hide it, that he trembled with every movement. She didn't mention this right away though, wanting to wait until she could give him her full attention. Once the children were finished and cleaned up and she had shooed them away to play, she turned to her husband, but he had already stood and was pulling on his coat, making ready to go out again.

"Can't you stay and rest a while longer?" Ella begged. "Listen to the wind, there's a storm brewing. And you've hardly been home in days."

Dan shook his head. "I can't, lovely. I've got half a dozen folks to check in on yet. Long as there's nothing new, I'll hopefully be home before night."

Ella would have protested more, but it wasn't needed. As Dan turned to the door, a visible wave of dizziness overtook him. His knees buckled, and Ella watched him start to fall as if in slow motion. With speed she didn't know she had, she rushed to him and caught him before he hit the ground outright. Her injured wrist screamed in pain, but Dan suffered no harm as he crumpled into her, and at last she felt the scorching heat under his skin as his cheek met her neck. Her heart fluttered with anxiety, but she tried to keep calm.

She called for her oldest two children, and the three of them maneuvered Dan into the bedroom and into bed. The tall man was floppy and uncoordinated, but he tried to assure them that he was fine all the while. He let himself be put to bed, seemingly unable to do otherwise. Fearing the children would take ill too, Ella shooed them away again as soon as Dan was more or less settled while she went about trying to make him more comfortable, removing his boots and coat and tending to him with cold rags. He seemed to lose consciousness for a time while she worked to bring the fever down.

Some time later, he regained awareness. "Ella?" he mumbled.

"I'm here," she reassured him.

"What will I do?" he moaned. "I must go see my patients. They need me."

"I will send the children down the road to fetch Sarah and Samuel Gardner," Ella said firmly, having been thinking about it. "That pair has dogged your steps since they could walk, and with Sam in town again this winter to help his father on the farm, the timing is perfect. They can stitch wounds and give linseed oil and quinine and all the rest, and you can instruct them as needed from here until you're well. It seems you've picked up the influenza yourself unless I miss my guess, or something else just as nasty, and I won't see you get any worse under my watch."

Daniel nodded, cowed, or was simply too exhausted to argue. "Fetch the twins here to me, then, quickly," he coughed. "Before the fever pulls me under again."

This was done, and the young adults, eager and serious, received their instructions, then hurried away again with an urgency that seemed to ease Daniel's mind.

"They'll do well, never fear," Ella said confidently, watching them go. Then she turned to meet her husband's eyes. "And now you can rest and get well yourself. I'll not stand for you being uncooperative and trying to sneak away. Your mind must be on your own health now."

Dan nodded wearily. "As you say. I'm under your care." His eyes flickered open wider. "Though I'd still like to wrap your wrist if you'll allow me. I know I pulled it again when you had to catch me. I heard you gasp."

Ella smiled. He knew her too well, and was still taking care of her from his sickbed. "As long as you let me give you a shave. That stubble itches like the devil I'm sure."

A fever-hazed smile brightened his face for a moment. "It's a bargain," he agreed.

#sicktember 2023 #skt 2023 #prompt 27 #wagon train ocs

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thebreakfastgenie · 2 years ago

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I'd love your commentary on Wake, specifically on the way you chose to write Peg! your take on her is so interesting and fits so well, and I especially love it because she hardly exists as a character within the show, she's more just an extension of BJ, but you really gave her character and substance so I'd love to hear your thought process and commentary on how you chose to write her, and the conversation her and BJ have throughout and how you made it happen

Oooh thank you!! I had work and class so I just got to this and I had a lot of thoughts so I'm putting them under a cut!

Wake was one of those impulsively written one shots, but Peg in Wake is the product of a lot of thinking I've done about Peg before.

I have thought about Peg a lot as a representation of so many thousands of real women. The way Alan Alda talks about the characters telling the stories of real doctors and nurses is how I feel about Peg. I think I love Peg because I love my grandmother so much. My dad was born the same year as Erin and my grandpa was a doctor (who narrowly avoided the Korean War). There were so many women like her, who were wives and mothers, and they were all people. I want to show them.

I wasn't thinking about this consciously at the time, but I was probably influenced by Pete Seeger's song King Henry, which is from the perspective of a young widow whose husband was killed in Vietnam. A lot of my MASH interpretations come back to folk songs.

A lot of it did come from BJ, too. In Welcome to Korea we get this really striking portrait of this young man who was pulled away from his family so I thought, what does the other side of that look like? Here's this young woman who planned on raising her daughter with her husband, and now she's effectively a single mother of a newborn. Bringing in the bits of information we have, her parents live in Oklahoma, while she's in Northern California, so she's really on her own with her baby.

We see BJ fear the way the war is changing him and that he will no longer have a place in his family, so it made sense to me that Peg would share those fears. They shared a vision for their life and future, which was interrupted by the war. And yet, for all they share, for all that it's happening to their entire family, it still isn't the same, because BJ actually has to live through a war. So I wrote Peg as aware of that, as not wanting to burden him with her problems because he has enough of his own. I think about the loved ones seeing the interviews a lot and with Peg in particular, it's the most visceral look she gets at what the war is doing to BJ.

And honestly, I love characters like Peg. I love creating OCs, but creating and using them takes a lot of time and energy I don't necessarily have, so a lot of my writing right now is fanfiction. I love filling in those mostly offscreen characters. So often they give me just the right number of constraints to be foster creativity.

BJ and Peg's marriage in the show is a lot like the one-sided phone calls and you can infer a lot from the half of the conversation you hear. The conflict between honesty and wanting to protect the person you love when you know they're already struggling is timeless and it's raised several times in MASH, even with BJ and Peg specifically. Hawkeye convinces BJ not to be honest with Peg in Hanky Panky because it would only hurt her. We see the consequences of Peg's honestly a couple of times, when innocuous letters send BJ into a tailspin because they remind him of what he's missing. In Period of Adjustment, Peg tells him that Erin called Radar daddy, and unlike some I don't blame her for that, but it does touch on the theme of whether a policy of telling each other everything continues to work under the circumstances. Both of them beginning to keep things to themselves to spare the other pain, but experiencing the guilt of making that decision without discussing it, made sense to me.

The original idea behind Wake was exploring the idea that maybe BJ had changed too much to go back to his life, but showing that idea to be a fear, not a reality. That's why Peg's nightmare is BJ being unrecognizable, and why BJ understands that. The title refers to the theme of waking up that threads through the fic. I wrote "He woke from sleep, but not from the nightmare," about Korea, but it applies to the night of the fic, as well. BJ is awake, but Peg joining him in the kitchen is Peg waking him from the nightmare.

I thought of Wake as being about BJ, but it did end up being a lot about Peg. I like when characters surprise each other, and sometimes they end up surprising me. I especially like it when characters defy or exceed expectations. In this case, BJ thinks he's alone, and Peg surprises him by telling him she had a nightmare too. Peg drinking with him was something I knew from the beginning I had to include. Drinking straight whiskey is coded as masculine in fiction a lot of the time, and I was deliberately playing on that here. Peg is a fifties housewife and mother (though she does get a job) and the few images we get of her in the show are very feminine. It's kind of a cheap way of adding depth and defying expectations and I can justify it in all kinds of ways but ultimately it did the job. The fact that she takes his glass and refills it after she finishes it is significant, too. It's very intimate and it shows Peg walking into this space where BJ thought he was alone. The little contradiction of Peg worrying about how much BJ is drinking, but offering tacit approval by drinking with him, was very intentional. Humans are full of contradictions. I want the readers to find the nuance for themselves. I loved the image of Peg wearing BJ's kimono, but I also loved the significance of it. Peg has wrapped herself in something he brought back from the war.

The conversation starts with a compromise. Peg leaves the window open, BJ leaves the light on. I gave Peg specific recurring nightmares so BJ could ask "this one or that one?" to show how well he knows he and underscore that they share a life. The Latin exam was for @onekisstotakewithme, the captain of the Peg fandom who has definitely influenced me a lot in our discussions of Peg. But the choice of nightmares was to evoke different phases in her life--a mother fearing for her family's safety vs a student with academic anxiety--and to weave in a little more of her. She studied Latin seriously enough to have nightmares about exams. I phrased it a particular way on purpose, "you forgot to study" because Peg is studious and conscientious and only forgets in nightmares.

The nightmare I wrote for Peg is the only nightmare I've ever come up with that felt real to me. I find capturing the surreality of dreams with the conscious mind incredibly difficult. So I'm personally very fond of that part.

The real climax of that conversation, at least in my mind, is

“I want to help, you know,” she said softly. “I want to make it easier for you. I wish you’d tell me how.” “I wish I knew.”

It's the sleepover moment, the kind of stark honesty that only happens in the wee hours. She's just confessed to keeping something from him, and BJ has confessed not to her but to the reader that he's done the same. But here they are being honest again. And this is the reality: they don't know. “We’ll figure it out," comes in because I felt like she had to say something. Ultimately this is a hopeful fic, so it is intended to show Peg's faith in them, but it's also for the rhythm of the conversation.

This fic is a little atypical because it is the only time I will write short Peg. I normally picture Peg as Catherine Mayfield's height and I joke that I'm a class traitor for being a tall Peg truther. Short Peg in Wake was partly for Ally, but it came from me, "someone who’d grow accustomed to moving through a world that she didn’t quite fit," is how I feel sometimes about being 5'. It worked so well here as a symbol of how BJ feels about not fitting back into his civilian life after the war that I simply had to use it. It also shows Peg's independence, which she had to develop more of while he was gone, and which is not a bad thing. BJ is not only adjusting to it, he might be learning to appreciate it.

Peg's reaction to the alcohol in the morning is meant to indicate that drinking in the middle of the night is atypical for her. It's not going to become a ritual for them, which is good because doing that often would be unhealthy. Not everything will have a "cheerios" solution, but the point of the ending was to give them a place to start. BJ was afraid it was insurmountable, but it isn't.

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awlwren-writes · 1 year ago

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Edgy ask game: for Maria! 1, 2, 19, 20, and 24

1: What memory would your OC rather just forget?

She'd say it would definitely having to watch her brother succumb to the scourge. There were hardly enough moments with the him who had been in between the pain and everything else to justify remembering it.

Honestly, it's having to put down the daemon. She knows it wasn't him. She knows it had to be done, and that's comforting when she can be logical about it. But most of the time she does successfully forget it until it creeps up.

2: What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

She's so no nonsense when it comes to so much, blood, injuries, gross animals, assholes, etc, and she looks like it, but she cannot stand vomit or poop or anything that smells too strongly of bad things without puking.

19: How does your OC behave when enraged?

For a quick threat, battlefields, insults and posturing from Insomnians, etc, she gets snarly and sweetly poisonous, whichever seems most likely to work, and then she gets the vulnerable (herself, her friends, her fellow glaives, etc) out asap. For long-term threats (scourge, Niflheim, slow-moving legal/political threats) she gets unfocused. There are too many angles and too many things to do and it's frustrating not being able to do something now. But if someone (Helen) can focus her, she gets cold anger and plans and plots and could honestly take any three experts in the chosen field of battle combined.

20: Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

Hmmm... not that she'd admit it. When she does, she tends to push herself harder to get better and better. If I'm my best self, after all, I can keep the position/my friends/Helen. If I can be perfect...

Of course no one can be perfect. And she loves her friends because they love the imperfect her, and they don't let her walk that road too long.

24: What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

If it weren't for her brother's slow death via scourge, Maria probably would have never left home. She wouldn't have discovered her magic, or her friends, but she would have tried until her last breath to hold things together at home. She would have maybe married, as expected, or maybe they wouldn't have lasted that long, but she would have died when Niflheim or the daemons came through eventually. It would have been a life she was proud of, honestly, and she would have done good, but she is so much happier in the life she gets instead. Her friends, the chance to wield magic, the chance to actually hold the line and protect other people? Priceless.

#ask games #and get some answers #ocs #meissa #Maria Iterum #ffxv

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delicatenightfury · 1 year ago

Text

Star of the Mountain: Chapter 19

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

The day passed slowly and it was driving Fili mad. Kili’s pain only kept getting worse through the day. He had nearly collapsed after the company departed and when he, Oin, and Bofur took him to the Master for help, they were hardly shut down. Instead, they went back to Bard and begged for his help. Now, the sun had set and Kili’s groans of pain filled the small house. Oin was trying every medical remedy he could think of with the little supplies they had while Bofur and Fili did their best to be useful.

“Can you not do something?” Fili asked.

“I need herbs,” Oin said. “Something to bring down his fever.”

Behind them, Bard pulled more medicines from the shelf.

“I have nightshade, feverfew…”

“They’re no use to me,” Oin called. “Do you have any Kingsfoil?”

“No, it’s a weed. We feed it to the pigs.”

“Pigs? Weed? Right.” Bofur turned quickly and pointed at Kili. “Don’t move.”

Fili would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so worried about his brother. As Bofur ran out of the house, Fili wet a rag and laid it on Kili’s forehead. He felt helpless. He wanted to take his brother’s pain away, but he had no idea how. And seeing Oin scrambled for solutions made the feeling worse.

Suddenly, the ground seemed to shake. Dust fell from the roof.

“Da?” Sigrid said.

“It’s coming from the mountain,” Bain said, glancing out the window.

The dragon, Fili realized. The company had made it to the mountain, but the dragon still lived… and was awake.

Fili left Kili’s side to approach Bard.

“You should leave us,” he said. “Take your children. Get out of here.”

“And go where?” Bard whispered. “There is nowhere to go.”

“Are we going to die, da?” Tilda asked.

“No, darling.”

“The dragon, it’s going to kill us.”

Bard looked at his children for a moment before he reached for the roof. He suddenly pulled down a large metal arrow. Fili’s eyes widened at the site.

“Not if I kill it first,” he said. “Bain, come with me, son. Sigrid, Tilda, stay here with them. Help them with whatever they need.”

Bard grabbed his coat and quickly put it on. Bain did the same, following his father out the door. Fili looked at the sisters and tried to offer a comforting smile, but even he knew that he wasn’t doing a good job.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said.

He turned back to Kili, putting the rag back on his forehead.

Bain soon returned, though without his father. He explained that he had been instructed to hide the arrow then get away. He didn’t know what had happened to his father. Fili could see that the news worried the girls, but there was little that could be done now other than hope that Bard was all right.

Sigrid stepped outside briefly to get some air. The home had become stressful, so it was understandable that she needed to step away for a moment.

The roof above them creaked. Fili glanced up, puzzled for a moment. It almost sounded like… footsteps.

Suddenly, Sigrid let out a scream. Fili whipped his head around and saw her dart back inside, trying to close the door behind her, only to be stopped by an orc’s sword. Bain and Tilda also screamed.

The back door then burst open, revealing another dwarf. Oin quickly threw a stack of plates, hitting the creature in the face. Another came crashing through the ceiling. The one at the door pushed through and knocked Sigrid to the side. Fili rushed forward, shoving the orc against the wall. He did his best to disarm him, but the orc knocked him to the ground.

More orcs kept appearing, coming through the ceiling and doors. The children were screaming, frightened by the vile creatures suddenly appearing in their home. Fili tried to find whatever he could to fight back with, but resources were limited.

Just as an orc flipped the table where Sigrid and Tilda had been hiding, a familiar shout came from the back door. Fili’s head whipped around and his eyes went wide when he saw Oreliell and Vedis quickly step into the house.

“Stay down!” Oreliell shouted, beheading the closest orc.

Oin got down on the ground, putting himself in front of the children. Fili stayed in front of Bain, trying to stay out of the way of the elves. There were too many bodies in the small house.

Fili watched as the elves moved in fluid motions, weaving between each other, the fallen furniture, and other bodies as they fought. Oreliell and Vedis were in almost perfect sync with one another. They each used a pair of daggers, better for close-quarter fighting like this.

Kili suddenly shouted in panic. Before Fili could do anything, the red-haired elf had thrown her dagger into the orc’s head, retrieving it quickly to kill another.

Orcs were dropping quickly. The elves were pushing them away from the children. Fili wasn’t sure if they were doing so consciously or not, but they were keeping death as far from the children as the house permitted.

“Get down!” Fili said to Bain, pushing the boy down as an orc came toward them.

The redhead stuck her dagger in its arm, making it drop its weapon. Fili was shocked when Kili came up behind it and jabbed a knife into its ribs. He was quickly distracted though by another oncoming orc. Fili pulled Bain down further. Vedis was the one to kill the orc, twisting it away and pushing it out the broken window. She paused by the window though, her eyes trailing something in the dark.

“You killed them all,” Bain mumbled as he stood slowly.

Fili rushed to his brother’s side. Kili was squirming on the ground, holding in shouts of pain. Oin quickly dropped down, looking Kili over.

“There are others,” the blond elf announced, walking through the house. “Tauriel. Come.”

Oin looked at Fili.

“We’re losing him.”

“What happened?” Oreliell questioned as she stepped closer as she sheathed her daggers.

“He was shot as we were escaping down the river,” Fili said. “It’s only gotten worse.”

The blond called to Tauriel again before disappearing outside. Tauriel glanced at Kili once more before stepping outside, pausing again when she heard him groan in pain. Fili saw Oreliell roll her eyes before she and Vedis started moving. They began to rearrange the house, pushing furniture away and clearing room. They put the table back upright and Vedis began rummaging through the cabinets for supplies.

“Vedis,” Fili called. She glanced at him. “We’ve tried everything here. There’s nothing we can use.”

Her face hardened so much that Fili almost regretted speaking.

Just then, Tauriel stepped back inside, Bofur behind her.

“We can use this,” she declared. She looked at Vedis. “Help me.”

The mute elf nodded and grabbed the supplies they would need. Fili looked at Oreliell, who knelt slightly before the children.

“It’s going to be all right,” she said softly. “You have been very brave, and right now we need your help.”

She gave small orders to the girls, having them collect clothes and bandages. She then pulled Bain aside, using his help to take the orc bodies down the stairs and dump them into the frozen water.

The dwarves carefully lifted Kili up and brought him to the table. Kili was struggling hard against them. Fili jumped onto the table, adjusting himself in a way so he could hold his brother’s shoulders down. It faintly reminded him of a hold he would use when the two of them wrestled back home.

“Hold him down,” Tauriel said as she finished the Kingsfoil mixture.

She rounded the table and took hold of Kili’s leg, examining the wound. Fili could see that she tried to keep her expression clear, but he knew that it was bad.

“Come on, Kili,” he muttered. “Stay with me.”

Vedis came to stand next to Tauriel. She looked at the wound as well and took a deep breath. She nodded to the other woman, taking a small step back. Tauriel began to speak in elvish. She placed the herbs on Kili’s wound, causing him to shout more and struggle. Vedis quickly came around the other side to hold Kili down. Sigrid and Tilda tried to come over and help, but Vedis gently shook her head. Oreliell appeared and ushered the girls away, whispering quietly to them.

Fili’s gaze went from Kili’s wound up to Tauriel. Kili was calming down and Fili could only hope that whatever she was doing was working. Fili glanced at his brother, noticing that Kili was staring at Tauriel despite how drowsy he was becoming.

Kili’s eyes drifted closed. Fili felt a small wave of panic.

“Kili?” he said.

“He’s going to be fine,” Tauriel said. “I’m just going to bind his wound.”

Fili only stepped away when Vedis did. He looked at her for reassurance and felt that he could breathe a little easier when he saw her nod. Fili followed Oin toward the kitchen but kept an eye on his brother.

“I’ve heard tell of the wonders of elvish medicine,” Oin said quietly. “That was a privilege to witness.”

Fili looked over at Oreliell as she approached.

“Are you two all right?” she asked. “You were not hurt?”

“We are fine,” Fili said. “What about you?”

“Aye,” Bofur said, popping up beside them. “What happened back in Mirkwood?”

Oreliell bowed her head a little.

“We bought you all time to escape,” she said. “We were questioned by the king again then sent to another room. Turns out he was a little more willing to talk. But when we learned that the orc pack was pursuing you all, Tauriel helped us escape and we tracked you here. I wish we could have done more to prevent something like this from happening.”

“What matters is that we’re all right now,” Oin said. “And that is thanks to you all.”

“What of the rest of the company? Are they all right?”

“They went ahead,” Fili said. “We think they made it in time, but… I think they woke the dragon.”

Oreliell took a deep breath.

“Okay. Then we must prepare for the worst. But do not alarm the children. They are shaken as it is. If the company does not kill the dragon, then we must be ready to leave.”

The dwarves nodded.

It was a waiting game after that.

Kili was slowly regaining consciousness. Once he had some of his strength back, Bofur and Tauriel moved him from the table to a nearby chair. Every now and then, everyone would freeze as the ground shook. Vedis had positioned herself at one of the windows and stared out into the night. Oreliell however sat at the table, reclined back in her chair as she fiddled with her necklace. Fili had only seen the necklace a few times, but never got a clear look at it. He only knew that she pulled it out when she was nervous.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Fili asked her, lowering his voice. He stepped closer toward her to try and keep their conversation private.

She looked at him and smiled only slightly.

“I am fine. The last few days have been long and I am looking forward to reuniting with our friends.” She sighed, twisting her necklace a little more. “Though I fear I won’t be fully settled until I see that they are all all right.”

Fili looked at her for a long minute.

“May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve known us for a little amount of time. How come you care so much for us?”

“You are your uncle’s kin, are you not? He cares deeply for you, so I feel it is right that I should care as well.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Oreliell?” She hummed. “How do you care for Thorin?”

Her eyes snapped to his. He noticed that her fingers had stopped messing with her necklace.

Suddenly, a loud boom was heard. Their attention quickly turned toward the mountain. Tauriel stepped outside as the bells began to ring.

“What’s happening?” Tilda asked, coming from the bedroom.

Oreliell put a soft smile on her face.

“We must be ready to leave,” she said. “Gather what you need, and only that. Dress warmly.”

The children put on another set of layers, seemingly all they had. Outside, they could hear the rest of Lake-town beginning to evacuate. The house shook as a large shadow passed overhead.

“We have no time,” Tauriel said, stepping back inside. Her words caused everyone to move at a faster pace. “We must leave.”

“Get him up,” Bofur said. He grabbed Kili’s coat.

Fili began to pull Kili out of the chair he had been moved to.

“Come on, brother,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Kili said, shrugging his brother away. “I can walk.”

“As fast as you can,” Tauriel said.

“We’re not leaving,” Bain said. “Not without our father.”

“If you stay here, your sisters will die. Is that what your father would want?”

Fili made sure that Kili was stable on his own feet before he reached for his own coat. As he put it on, his eyes darted around to make sure they had not forgotten anything. However, he came to notice that Vedis had not moved from her spot by the window.

“Oreliell,” he said. The elven woman looked at him. “Is she all right?”

Oreliell looked in the direction he had nodded. Her shoulder fell a little at the sight of her sister. She glanced back at Fili.

“I’ll get her,” she said quietly.

Fili watched her approach Vedis. She gently placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder, trying to gain her attention. Oreliell called out to Vedis, forcibly turning her away from the window. He heard none of her words after that; he assumed they were speaking through Vedis’s mind magic.

“Quickly now,” Tauriel said. “Everyone down to the boat. We must leave.”

#The hobbit #Tolkien #Thorin Oakenshield #Thorin #Thorin Oakenshield x oc #Thorin x oc #Thorin Oakenshield x elf oc #Thorin x elf oc #Thorin x elf #The hobbit oc #Fan fiction #Star of the mountain

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