#Isaiah scribbles to amuse himself

[andersunmenschlich]

The Usefulness of Religion When Adventuring

“Look out, Tancred! Lizard people!”

The rogue’s voice was excited—there was little he enjoyed more than a good scrap with the malevolent, scaled creatures that haunted the darker, damper areas of Illalia. Tancred, the group’s leader, was less ebullient. He unslung his greatsword, preparing to draw as he waved the rest of the team to a halt.

“Stay here, Emil,” he instructed the rogue. “If you charge ahead into that defile, the lizards—” Will have the upper hand, he’d been going to say, but it was too late. Whooping delightedly, Emil had already plunged into the shadowed dip in the road.

“I will entreat Eulalie on our behalf,” the cleric declared, and headed off to a large rock that would undoubtedly give him a great view of the upcoming battle.

Tancred nodded and unsheathed his sword.

As he started forward, his final companion made an annoyed sound. “Eeeuugh,” Dave, the archer, said. “Do we really have to go after him? I mean… there’s like six lizard people down there. And he’s always doing this. Do we really have to risk death every time Emil starts jonesing for an adrenaline hit again?”

“David,” Tancred chided. “I hope you are not suggesting we leave a member of our party to face the enemy alone!”

The archer made a face. Tancred gave him a stern look.

“Fiiiine,” Dave groaned, and drew his bow. Satisfied, Tancred turned and continued forward, engaging a lizard person who was about to stab the rogue in the back. “And it’s Dave,” the archer muttered, sending an arrow into another lizard’s eye. “Not David. I keep telling you.”

On his rock, Timothy the cleric knelt with his arms raised to the sky, praying loudly.

“Motherfucker!” the rogue screamed as one of the lizards got him in the thigh with an unexpectedly sharp set of rear claws. Tancred cut off the lizard’s head a second later, but the damage was done.

Four lizards down, two to go. The two remaining lizard people seemed to be considering the merits of retreat. Emil threw one of his daggers at them, and one of them dodged directly into an arrow. “Oh, cool,” Dave remarked to no one. “Thought I was gonna miss.”

Screeching, the arrowed lizard retreated, helped by its buddy.

“Hey!” Emil yelled, pointing. “They’re trying to get back into the trees! Get them before they get away!” He threw another dagger to punctuate his point. It fell short.

The uninjured lizard hissed mockingly. “Fuck you!”

The downed rogue looked imploringly at Tancred. The group’s warrior shook his head, out of breath, using his sword as a support (bad for the edge, but he was very tired).

Timothy climbed down from his rock as the lizards vanished into the shadow of the trees. “Eulalie has granted us victory again!” he proclaimed happily, wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead.

“Kinda feels like we did all the work,” Dave pointed out, putting his bow away.

“Nonsense!” the cleric said, smiling beneficently. “Did she not move an enemy directly into the path of your mis-aimed arrow?” Without waiting for an answer, he advanced on the injured rogue, taking on an expression of deep concern. “Your leg!”

“Yeah.” Emil tried to stand and failed. “Fuck! Yeah, it’s all fucked up.”

The rogue’s leg was, in fact, in a remarkably bad way. The lizard’s claws had stripped skin and flesh from the thigh, and he was bleeding freely.

Panting, Tancred sheathed his huge sword and slung it across his back again. “Can you do anything?” he asked the cleric.

Timothy looked grave. “I exerted myself a great deal during the battle,” he confessed, “but I will do my best to obtain Eulalie’s healing for our profane friend.” Kneeling by the rogue’s side (carefully avoiding the spreading pool of blood), he began. “O blessed Eulalie, merciful and kind, grant us balm! O, thou whose love heals all wounds….”

His voice, throbbing with passion and devotion, continued as Dave dug through his pack for clean water, antibiotic herbs, and a packet of bandages.

“O great Eulalie, life-giver, restorer of health—!”

Emil cursed as Dave cleaned and bandaged the slashes on his leg. “It’s too tight!” he complained.

“—grant this man the gift of your supernatural healing—”

“It’s gotta be tight,” Dave told him, packing the med kit away, “to stop the blood. Or else you’ll bleed out, and you’ve already lost a whole lot.”

“Whatever,” the rogue mumbled. “Thanks.”

“—Amen!” Timothy finished triumphantly. “And you’re welcome, but don’t thank me: thank Eulalie.”

Tancred helped the rogue up as Dave scowled. “We should find a place to camp for the night,” Tancred said. “I don’t think Emil will be able to make it to the next town before nightfall.”

“Got that right,” Emil muttered, wincing.

The cleric lowered his flask and wiped a bit of water from his chin. “I am very tired,” he said doubtfully, “but I could pray for Eulalie’s guidance…?”

“No, Timothy,” the warrior told him. “You’ve done more than enough today. Thank you.”

Timothy smiled, looking down modestly.

“David—”

“Dave,” the archer gritted in an undertone.

“—could you scout ahead?”

Dave sighed. “Sure. Why not.”

As he trudged ahead, Timothy the cleric wiped more sweat off his forehead and took another drink. It had been a spiritually exhausting day for him.

—

That night, Emil loosened his bandages because they were “too tight” and he “couldn’t sleep” and he was sure “Eulalie would understand.” He bled to death in his sleep, which was a more pleasant death than anyone had imagined when considering ways in which the rogue was likely to die.

Timothy shook his head regretfully and explained that, while he had done his best, Emil’s profanity had obviously undone Eulalie’s blessing.

Dave pointed out that their last cleric had cast a similar prayer of healing on herself before she died, and she had never used any bad words at all. Timothy sighed patiently and explained that Eulalie called her clerics home when their work in the material world was done. Dave returned that it seemed like people died at the same rate whether Eulalie was invoked or not, and all her clerics did was tell people to feel good about what was going to happen anyway.

Timothy puffed up indignantly, and Tancred broke in to point out that they were literally fighting over Emil’s dead body—could David stop being sacrilegious for five minutes and find something to build a travois so they could bring Emil back to his family?

Dave started to say something about how pretending Emil only died because he wasn’t pure enough for Tim’s fake magic to work on him was more disrespectful to the dead than arguing in Emil’s defense, but was cut off by the cleric huffily asking Eulalie to forgive his blasphemy and Tancred telling him to get a move on and find some decently sturdy wood now.

Neither Timothy nor Tancred noticed Dave went to look for sticks while carrying all of his gear, because the cleric was giving Emil’s dead body last rites, and the warrior was being respectful.

Dave abandoned them in the woods. They never made it back to civilization.

[kaetastic]

TROUBLE

pairing: Isaiah Jesus x Shelby!Reader

summary: The infamous trio of Isaiah Jesus, Michael Gray and the second youngest Shelby pay a visit to a bar, except, few unhappy passer-bys ruined the day.

word count: 2.6k

warning: mentions of blood, violence, 1920 racism, slightly nsfw at the end, invisble indirect mentions of sex

note: the racism in this story is used for writing purpose only. i do not advocate such acts. thank you for understanding.

Easiness twirled a ribbon in the air. A silk, delicate cloth of pounds and dim like the backdrop of the stars. The recent sinking of the sun had painted the sky a blur of black once the flashing orange blended in smoothly. Caressing exasperatedly against the canvas, the brush sitting in the painters’ grip danced over the abyss of colours. The moon tugged on the strings beneath the water body as if a puppet, causing crest to migrate, hurling waves; clashing into one another in a milling crowd. With an arm draped over her shoulder which felt nonexistent, Y/N let out an echoing cackle in the bustling night that was kept alive by overworked factory workers. Lips curling up at his success, Isaiah wore his signature charming smirk.

Dangling between Michael’s nimble fingers was a huffing cigarette whose strands of smoke had been engulfed by the exhaling wind. Since the pair had been pacing at their own pace which was way too slow for the man, Michael sauntered past, leaving them alone while he neared the bar they had desired to spend time at.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Isaiah’s warm lips brushed over Y/N’s ear-shells before yanking his head away, keeping a non-gossiping distance (despite his arm around her). Even though her infamous older brothers had been at London for a vital business meeting, it would take a pathetic fool to dare lie their lives on the quivering string. Even if they were hundreds of kilometres away, prodding eyes might linger to only whisper of the scandal sight of a Peaky Blinder and a Shelby.

The grip around his wrist faltered, her fingers unfurled to stuff her chilling hands in the warm pockets of her coat. The piercing edges of her nails hooked onto bulging looped strings, a tugging war between the article of clothing and her fingers. Isaiah’s eyes did not waver from her, still in shock as to what just happened. A giggle fell off her lips at his gawking eyes. The string of smoke she had just stolen from his cig breezed in the air, flying off to dance in the cloud.

“That’s why I do it.” Glancing down at her teeth chomping down on her bottom lip, Isaiah’s tongue poked to run over his lips. Despite his attempt to smear moisture, the chilly night was not merciful.

With a few more strides and transferred giggles, the pair neared towards the Gray who stood in front of the bar. From the inside, golden rays smeared onto the window panes of the French door. The hazy object obstructed passerby to glance a peek, only offering a puppet show of moving limbs over the light rays. Michael tapped his polished shoes onto the drenched valleys that seeped through the rivers between the stone-bricked roads, impatient to how slow the pair was, “You fuckers done fucking each other’s ears?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at her cousin. Michael had recently been not so easy to tolerate. With Gray blood swimming in his veins, it wasn’t simple to tug anything out of his head or whatever secret that lied deep in his chained up heart. A trait his mother had definitely passed down. However, Y/N believed the reason to his horrible mood for the week was caused by a woman they had come across not too long ago at the exact bar they were currently pacing towards (most likely to why they were even visiting it again).

Although Y/N was the one who insisted that he shouldn’t approach the girl since glancing at the diamonds anchoring the female to the ground connected all the doubtful dots in the Shelby’s head, she couldn’t help but to feel bad when Michael had been stranded alone as soon as he leaned against the bar, the targeted girl fleeing from the scene as if offended. Alone and filty rich. A combination a gang member would approach for only a night’s fun since a whole relationship was not guaranteed, though, the statement was an exception for Thomas Shelby.

“Keep babbling, cousin. You’re just mad no one sucked your dick in a week.” Isaiah threw his head back at her words. Straying pass the Gray, he patted on Michael’s rigid shoulder which had been tensed, stuffed with clenched muscles.

“She’s right, Mikey. Loosen up, no one’s ridin’ a horse.” As the pair faded into the warm glow of the pub, Michael flicked his cig that was once breathing. The clothing of the stick became drenched in a mixture of rain water and the liquid seeping out from the mysterious hole in the brick wall. Oh, how he’s going to prove them wrong.

Chatters swirled in with clinking of glasses. While a group of highly intoxicated men in the corner let out a rowdy, boisterous cowboy yell, the pair of women in the opposite corner sat with frowns on their faces, eyes darting at their empty fingers. Isaiah’s eyes grazed over the room, arm pulling the second youngest Shelby closer to rest her body onto his.

“Possessive now, are we?” He shook his head while a grin lingered on his lips. Making way through the weaving strands of people, his fingers drummed onto the wooden counter at a beat while he waited for the bartender to notice their presence.

“Three whiskeys.” Isaiah raised his cigarette in the air while he leaned his back on the prodding bar counter. The bartender’s tongue was ready to slice through the air, to kick in some sense in the mere boy who was demanding a drink without payement. When his eyes caressed over the accompanying lady who had been in his arm, the bartender froze on his spot. A Shelby. Without any opposition, he began to prepare the desired drinks. Shrugging off her heating coat which began to become a nuisance in the warm walls of the pub, Y/N rested the cloth onto the counter.

When Michael finally made his way to the pair, he rummaged through his pocket to pull out a crumpled sheet of paper he had yanked in the warm storage place. It was an impulsive decision. What could he have done? He was to complete the rechecking of the documents he had already jotted down the day before. Y/N’s eyebrows clashed at the amusing sight. Had he gone mental?

Seeing Michael indulge himself in scribbled numbers and smudged letters, Y/N let out a huff before she snatched the paper away, “Dear cousin, I know your balls are probably blue, but would you not? The night is still young, go find someone to fuck.”

Michael grumbled at her jest. Even though they were only a few years apart, she reminded him of a pestering child who was not able to zip their mouth shut for a mere second. Annoyed at her words, his eyes hurled a glance on the arm that were still weighed on her shoulders, “Yeah? Why are you so annoying lately? He’s not rough enough?”

Isaiah took a drag of his cigarette, a faint whistle seeped through his lips, “Low blow, Mikey, low blow. You know you don’t talk bad ‘bout another man’s fucking.” The Gray rolled his eyes before snatching the paper back as if it wasn’t critical for his task in the office, stuffing it back in his pocket without darting a glance of care. His reaction was uncanny when a teared piece off paper with scribbled numbers had been handed to him by a mysterious lady.

“Fine,” Michael scowled. Once the drinks sat in front of them, he downed the rock-glass worth of whiskey in one gulp as if he had been left to die. With a thump, the glass was slammed back onto the counter. “See there? I’m going to fuck them and when I come back, you better buy me a fucking bottle. Alright? Happy?”

Before the pair had a chance to hurl back a reply, the frustrated man stomped towards the sorrowful table of women. The grey smeared corner of the pub was dim, the absence of light played shadows on the pair of gloomy women.

Shrugging her shoulders at her cousin’s unexpected burst of emotions, Y/N threw her focus back to the cup. Taking faint sips, her eyes caressed over the bottles of liquor suspended for display. Isaiah shifted closer towards her, his hips resting on hers while an arm snaked around her waist. In silence, he wondered.

“Am I really not rough?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at his possible method of fishing for something to smirk or be smug about. Putting the glass on the surface after taking a sip, she turned her body to face the man, “Was the morning not enough evidence for you?”

The exhilarating and exhausting activity they both participated in seeped through his head once he rewounded the tape. The corners of his lips twirled up at the reminder of her cramped legs and her quivering knees. Sipping the rest of the brown liquid, he shot an eyebrow up as if in contemplation. His elbow rested on the bar, chest facing her while his other hand splayed on her waist, under her coat, thumb caressing the warmth radiated by the skin.

“I forgot about it, want to remind me?” Y/N chuckled, fingers brushing his smooth tie. Before she had the chance to throw back a coquettish flirt; tug on his tie so he was on her, a whistle echoed through the silent room which had died down of chattering.

Craning her head towards the man, her fingers furled against Isaiah’s chest, she blinked as she tried to figure out who he possibly was, “This darkie botherin’ you sweetie?”

Just a few thrown glances, Y/N was sure the man was not from Birmingham. The rough smeared accent and velvet suit was the cover that gave everything away. The mood of the room died down from the prominent presence of the trio of men. Hurling her attention back to her whiskey, she turned her back towards the man. To only give him satisfaction, “Fuck me, look at that ass, boys.”

Isaiah’s jaw clenched. Killing the cig within a push, he nudged himself off of the bar to stand in front of the taunting man, “Fuck off.”

“Isaiah...” Y/N mumbled, fingers gripped around his wrist. With a soft tug, she wished he would back away once she noticed the two accompanies at the back cracking their fingers which echoed sounds of bones snapping in fragments, however, his feet had been attached to the ground, ready to spring into action.

The smirk on the man intensified, the curl of his lips pointed a peak to the corner of his eyes, running up the scar that ran from the side of his face to weave to end at the droop of his orbs, “What did you just say to me?”

“I said, fuck off.”

Letting out a loud, amused cackle, he turned his head towards the two other men, who returned with the same hyena crying, “Hear that boys? The black’s telling us what to do,” Noticing the silent from the man much younger than the three was, he proceeded. “Why you with this dog, miss? Hm?”

Y/N pressed her lips, eyes darting to the back of Isaiah’s head. Her brothers were in London. To risk fighting in their absence doesn’t place good luck on their side. Even though a paper of their appearances could lead to mysterious death on papers, Y/N didn’t want to nudge another leaf onto Tommy’s plate, “Isaiah, let’s just go to the Garrison.”

“We just got our drinks, Y/N. I like it here. We’re staying.” Faltering into a tight line, Y/N’s fingers didn’t pull away from his coat, her fingers still pinching it as if a lost child.

“The darkie still talking?” The man chuckled. “I can’t understand what you barkin’ on ‘bout.”

There was one reason the three was going out tonight even though Michael had babbled on about a busy week. Y/N had managed to drag her cousin out of his working cave to drink. And she succeeded. Although she had considered no trouble for the night, her success deserved a celebration. No one was going to ruin that celebration, “Get the fuck out.”

With an amused twinkle in his eyes, he quirked an eyebrow, “You protectin’ this mutt?”

“No, I’m just tryna protect your face.”

His mouth creaked open, the sword rested on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flicked out. Except, a stinging pain tremored on his face. Like a rock had been rammed on his cheeks, he stumbled back from the great force. Oh, the night would’ve been long as she wanted it to be. Except, it wasn’t filled with fucking and drinking. Just blood and punches.

Isaiah’s purple smeared eyes creased at the faint pout sported on her lips. A hiss seeped through the cracks of his sparkly teeth when the taut bruised muscles around his eyes had been tugged too tightly. Y/N glanced up from his hands that were engulfed in hers, her thumb halted in the dipping bump of his knuckles. The strings of branching lines plastered on the scorching red line of hills had been thoroughly washed with water, the first thing Y/N did as soon as they entered the house.

“You’re poutin’. That bad huh?” His hands pulled out of her grip to tug her waist to stand between his legs. Y/N hummed. As her fingers caressed the purple smears on his face, she rested her forearms on his shoulders.

“They ruined your face.” Isaiah let out a chuckle.

“That’s the only thing you care ‘bout?” The words caused her teeth to slide out of the cave, pressing onto her bottom lip.

“That was an bonus point,” Resting her forehead onto his, she gazed deep into his eyes, noticing the plastered sparkles across the abyss. “Glad they didn’t take your cock.”

Without any more words, Isaiah hoped off the table with a creak. Despite the fresh streaks of red on his knuckles, he threw her on before making himself a place between her opened legs. Her mouth gaped open, soft moans trickling into the air in surges that tested his endurance. Isaiah’s lips brushed against the hollow column of her throat before placing a smacking kiss on her humming skin. With her fingers weaved through his hair, she tugged on the locks once he rolled his hips at an agonizing pace.

“‘saiah...” Y/N stammered, teeth chewing on her bottom lip. He let out a chuckle, muffled by the crook of her neck when her legs quivered, hips pressing against him for more friction. His pelvis sat in between her wide open thighs which gave him the best position for his bulging tent to prod against her clothed heat. A hum trickled down his throat while his fingers slithered up her dress to glide over her thighs. Hovering over the radiating barrier that blocked his fingers from her drenched

“For fuck’s sake!” John grumbled. The force he had exerted on barging the door open caused splints of wood to trip over, covering a bedding on the floor as if a neutral-coloured carpet. Y/N didn’t think twice before shoving Isaiah off who let out an ‘oof’ before she sprung off the surface.

Mumbling a a sorry under her breath, she turned towards her older brother, cheeks painted red, flushed from the disturbance, “John!” Y/N yelled, slightly annoyed.

With an irritated pace, Thomas stood by the door, a cig dangling between his fingers. The suspense trickled up her arms while he took his time to huff a drag, “We leave for two fucking days and you lot found yourself in trouble. Fucking unbelievable.”