#Might as well set his stem on fire if you think he's remotely anything like THEM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

firelxdykatara · 3 years ago

Note

I’m just really confused as to where this idea that Zuko is gaycoded came from. Like people are allowed to have that headcanon but I don’t understand where people are coming from when they try and claim that he was undisputedly gaycoded and trying to deny it is homophobic when he’s only ever shown romantic interest in women.

I made a pretty long post on the topic a while back, but the ultimate gist of it is this: there are a lot of elements of Zuko's status as an abuse victim and trauma survivor that resonate with queer folks. This is understandable and completely fine! However, there are some parts of the fandom who have taken that to the other extreme and will now insist that those elements are uniquely queer, and that they can only be read as some sort of veiled gay/coming out narrative, even though that doesn't make much sense since there is no part of Zuko's narrative which is unique to any sort of queer experience.

I think the problem really does stem from two things being conflated--Zuko's history of abuse and trauma, and trauma&abuse being something a lot of queer people have experienced. I suspect it goes something like 'I see a lot of myself in Zuko, and I was abused for being gay, therefore Zuko must be gay too in order to have had similar experiences.' This can then lead to feeling dismissed or invalidated when other people point out that those experiences are not unique to being queer--but on the flip side, abuse victims and trauma survivors whose abuse&trauma do not stem from queerness (even if they are queer themselves) can feel invalidated and dismissed by the implication that their trauma must be connected to their queerness or it isn't valid.

This is also where the 'people don't actually know what gay coded means' part comes in, and I realize now that I didn't actually get into what gay coding (and queer coding in general) actually means, since I was so hung up on pointing out how Zuko doesn't really fit the mold. (And the few elements that exist which could be said to count are because of the 'villains historically get queer coded bc Hays Code era' thing and mostly occur in Book 1, not because of how he acts as an abuse&trauma survivor.)

Under a cut because I kind of go on a tangent about gay/queer coding, but I swear I get back to the point eventually.

Queer coding (and it is notable that, with respect to Zuko, it is almost always framed as 'he couldn't possibly be attracted to girls', rather than 'he could be attracted to boys as well as girls' in these discussions, for... no real discernible reason, but I'll get into that in a bit) is the practice of giving characters 'stereotypically queer' traits and characteristics to 'slide them under the radar' in an era where having explicitly queer characters on screen was not allowed, unless they were evil or otherwise narratively punished for their queerness. (See: the extant history of villains being queer-coded, because if they were Evil then it was ok to make them 'look gay', since the story wasn't going to be rewarding their queerness and making audiences think it was in any way OK.) This is thanks to the Motion Picture Production Code (colloquially and more popularly known as the Hays Code), which was a set of guidelines which movies coming out of any major studio had to adhere to in order to be slated for public release and lasted from the early 1930s until it was finally abandoned in the late 60s.

The Hays Code essentially existed to ensure that the content of major motion pictures would not 'lower the moral standards' of the viewing public. It didn't just have to do with queerness--cursing was heavily monitored, sex outside of marriage was not allowed to be seen as desirable or tittilating, miscegenation was not allowed (most specifically interracial relationships between black and white people), criminals had to be punished lest the audience think that it was ok to be gay and do crime, etc. Since same-sex relations fell under 'sexual perversion', they could not be shown unless the 'perversion' were punished in some way. (This is also the origin of the Bury Your Gays trope, another term that is widely misunderstood and misapplied today.) To get around this, queer coding became the practice by which movies and television could depict queer people but not really, and it also became customary to give villains this coding even more overtly, since they would get punished by the end of the film or series anyway and there was nothing to lose by making them flamboyant and racy/overly sexual/promiscuous.

Over time, this practice of making villains flamboyant, sexually aggressive, &etc became somewhat separated from its origins in queer coding, by which I mean that these traits and tropes became the go-to for villains even when the creator had no real intention of making them seem queer. This is how you generally get unintentional queer-coding--because these traits that have been given to villains for decades have roots in coding, but people tend to go right to them when it comes to creating their villains without considering where they came from.

Even after the Hays Code was abandoned, the sentiments and practices remained. Having queer characters who weren't punished by the narrative for being queer was exceptionally rare, and it really isn't until the last fifteen or so years that we've seen any pushback against that. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is famous for being one of the first shows on primetime television to feature an explicitly gay relationship on-screen, and that relationship ended in one of the most painful instances of Bury Your Gays that I have ever personally witnessed. (Something that, fourteen years later, The 100 would visually and textually reference with Lexa's death. Getting hit by a bullet intended for someone else after a night of finally getting to be happy and have sex with her s/o? It wasn't remotely subtle. I don't even like Clexa, but that was incredibly rough to witness.)

However, bringing this back to Zuko, he really doesn't fit the criteria for queer coding for a number of reasons. First of all, no one behind the scenes (mostly a bunch of cishet men) was at all intending to include queer rep in the show. This wasn't a case where they were like 'well, we really wanted to make Zuko gay, but we couldn't get that past the censors, so here are a few winks and a nudge', because it just wasn't on their radar at all. Which makes sense--it wasn't on most radars in that era of children's programming. This isn't really an indictment, it's just a fact of the time--in the mid/late 00s, no one was really thinking about putting queer characters in children's cartoons. People were barely beginning to include them in more teen- and adult-oriented television and movies. It just wasn't something that a couple of straight men, who were creating a fantasy series aimed at young kids, were going to think about.

What few instances you can point to from the series where Zuko might be considered to exhibit coding largely happen in Book 1, when he was a villain, because the writers were drawing from typically villainous traits that had historically come from queer coding villains and had since passed into common usage as villainous traits. But they weren't done with any intention of making it seem like Zuko might be attracted to boys.

And, again, what people actually point to as 'evidence' of Zuko being queer-coded--his awkwardness on his date with Jin and his confrontation with Ozai being the big ones I can think of off the top of my head--are actually just... traits that come from his history of trauma and abuse.

As I said in that old post:

making [zuko’s confrontation of ozai] about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

And, regarding his date with Jin:

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

Zuko is socially awkward and maladjusted because he was abused by his father as a child and has trouble relating to people as a result. He was heavily traumatized and brutally physically injured as a teenager, and it took him years to begin to truly recover from the scars that left on his psyche (and it's highly likely, despite the strides he made in canon, that he has a long way to go, post series; it's such a pity that we never got any continuation comics >.>). He was not abused for being gay or queer--he was abused because his father believed he was weak, and part of Zuko's journey was realizing that his father's perception of strength was flawed at its core. That his entire nation had rotted from the inside out, and the regime needed to be changed in order for the world--including his people--to begin to heal.

That could be commingled with a coming out narrative, which is completely fine for headcanons (although I personally prefer not to, because, again, we have more than enough queer trauma already), but it simply doesn't exist in canon. Zuko was not abused or traumatized for being queer, and his confrontation with Ozai was not about him coming out or realizing any fundamental truth about himself--it was about realizing something fundamental about his father and his nation, and making the choice to leave them behind so that he could help the Avatar grow stronger and force things to change when he got back.

TL;DR: at the end of the day, none of the traits, scenes, or behavior Zuko exhibits which shippers tend to use to claim he was gay-coded are actually evidence of coding--they aren't uniquely queer experiences, as they stem from abuse that was not related in any way to his sexuality, and they are experiences that any kid who suffered similar abuse or trauma could recognize and resonate with. (Including straight kids, and queer kids who were abused for any reason other than their identity.) And, finally, Zuko can be queer without erasing or invalidating his canon attraction to girls, and it's endlessly frustrating that the 'Zuko is gay-coded' crowd refuses to acknowledge that.

#atla #zuko #on queer coding #atla fandom salt #salt for ts #asked #mudbend

135 notes · View notes

vasiktomis · 3 years ago

Text

Pomegranate, Chapter 17: Quiet Earth, Part I.

John Seed x Female Deputy

Rating: Explicit.

Read it on Ao3 here!

Notes: Thanks all who have been keeping up with this! I'm so consistently floored by the amount of content creators we have in this fandom corner and the sheer level of workmanship that exists here. This is the first chapter of Pom that I'll be posting to tumblr, and I'm hoping to draw up a little sketch with each update. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Big thank you to @shallow-gravy and @consumedkings as always for dealing with my stupidity and being a pair of top-notch angels, and also just like, everybody who takes time out of their day to engage with this? Y'all really sticking with ultra slow burn and I swear after some wicked angst in the next couple of chapters I'll finally be able to throw some well-deserved smut at you. WARNINGS: Forced conversion, descriptions of dissociation and derealisation, explicit language, sexual content, depictions of violence, guns, blood and gore. Canon-typical debauchery.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Don’t touch him!”

Mary May lunged with enough force for John to feel the wake of air sweep through him, even with how quickly she was snatched up and yanked back to her place. The soles of her tennis shoes squeaked against the floor as she was dragged to the far side of the room, unable to be trusted with providing audience to Nick’s Atonement.

A shame, really. It was nicer as a shared experience.

The Baptist rolled his jaw, off-setting some of the tension arising from the shrieks that the blonde flung at the back of his head. He righted himself, taking the tattoo gun from one of his faithful with a gracious nod, and turned his attention down to the pilot currently pinned to the floor. Without a word, he sank to his knees, straddling the man, keeping silent as he could just to listen out for any change in his demeanour. Fear. Grief. Defeat. Acceptance. A sign to prove his readiness.

Nick didn't flinch, breathing hard through his nose and watching with hateful eyes. John hovered an indicating hand over the man’s bare chest, bruised from the fight he’d put up against his capture, mentally mapping out placement. Then, he came in with the needle, beginning with the stem of an ’E’, right in the centre of Nick's sternum.

The pilot snorted, masking discomfort with indifference, turning a wince into a scoff. “Figures you don’t use stencils. I ain’t got a hope in hell of this turning out good, do I.”

That casual old Nick attitude. He missed it.

If only he’d let him do this 5 years ago. He wouldn’t have had to miss it.

John feigned offense. “Oh I’m sorry, Nick. Did you want me to do the rest in cursive? Add a feather? Infinity symbol?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Talk about tonal dissonance. It’s not meant to be pretty.” He grumbled. “Might’ve gotten a little more practice if you’d-”

A yell from the rear entryway pulled John’s hand away from his canvas. More squeaking. More interruption. Jerome Jeffries getting hauled into the church, held under each arm by the pair of Chosen that John had sent looking for him.

The Baptist cast a look over his shoulder at them, content with the sight of Jerome adequately beaten and bloodied. “Ahh. Pastor. Try to run and hide? It’s no wonder your flock ran astray with a shepherd so quick to leave them to the wolves.”

Jerome ignored him. No reply. No eye contact. A crime John noted to make worthy of capital punishment in the New Eden. The Pastor was set down beside Mary May, who immediately began seeing to his injuries. Murmuring bubbled between them.

“Did you reach them?” The bartender asked. Must’ve been a negative, because the next thing she did was curse.

“The Deputy was calling when they caught me.”

And if she had half the spine to come and broker an agreement for her friends, she’d be inbound.

“Could you at least gag them? I’m trying to concentrate.” John ordered no one in particular, earning another scoff from Nick. “The faster we work, the less we’ll have to get through once she arrives. The quicker we can be out of this heinous town.”

“Stay away from her, shitbag.” The pilot ground out, this time unable to save face when John retaliated, pressing the gun just a little too hard, digging down through an extra few layers of skin.

“Nick Rye, you’re a married man.” John tutted playfully, resuming his work. “That sin of yours again. Take, take, take. Didn’t think the Deputy to be your type. Wouldn’t say you’re hers, either.”

Nick looked downright disgusted at the prospect. Less concerned for the state of his wife - which meant she'd been a likely getaway. “Always been so fuckin’ jealous.”

“Come again?”

“Think folks are stupid? Think I don’t know you?”

“You don't know me, period.” John bit back, skin on the back of his neck flushing between boiling and freezing.

“Anyone else givin’ you this much trouble’d be long dead by now. That shit on the radio? Reckon you’d be talkin’ like that if your family could hear you across the river?” Nick continued, averting his gaze when John shot him a particularly poisonous look. He didn’t, however, find it necessary to respond to such a veiled accusation.

At least until -

“Everybody knows you wanna stick it to her, John-”

As if he’d been awaiting the chance, John’s free hand shot to Nick’s jaw, aching in protest when he squeezed, not stopping until he could feel the man’s molars beneath his flesh. “That’s about enough from you.” He crooned.

John had his desires, yes. He’d accepted that much. Had he not been sworn to celibacy, he might have jumped at the opportunity to respond to Cora’s advances last night. That said, she was still an outsider, and while her Atonement made the prospect less dicey, he couldn’t consciously consider laying with the woman in real life.

No matter how torturous it had become to gear his thoughts toward anything else.

He could be content with just her company, without making any further advances on her. Last night had simply been a moment of weakness, and he’d prevailed by stepping away.

“If you’ll excuse me.” John switched off the little machine once he’d completed his piece and promptly stood to beckon for replacement parts. Mary May might have gotten away with an allergic reaction last time he’d attempted this, but considering he’d be slicing it out of her within the hour, he couldn’t see any reason for her to be complaining. The bartender had been a thorn in his side from the start. While Nick and his wife had once lent John their...whatever a sinner’s closest equivalent was to friendship, Mary May had always been trouble. Wore her heart on her sleeve and trusted no one she hadn’t grown up around. Bolshie. Almost fucking killed him, once.

John busied himself with needle transfers and a pleasant expression. He could feel the woman’s eyes on him.

Did she think what Nick proclaimed? That complete and utter lie?

How fucking crass. No, he did not want to ’stick it’ to Cora. At least, as far as anyone else was concerned. He was fond of her, and - while yes, he had encountered temptation - if one disregarded the cum-stained, stolen panties in his pocket, and the conjured fantasies, and the purely incidental erection he’d maintained after the Deputy stuck her tongue down his throat last night - there was simply no evidence to suggest to anyone else that he was even remotely tempted to break the rules.

Sex was the furthest thing from his mind. It was mere coincidence that today had just so happened to fall on a morning in which he’d needed to trim.

…

If, however, she were to decide that she wanted to continue what she’d attempted last night, then surely he couldn’t be to blame if he only failed to stop her. It wasn’t technically fornication if he didn’t initiate it. Nor was it considered intercourse if -

“Brother John.”

John jumped, heart stopping, whipping his head around to the Chosen standing at the door of the church.

“What?" He asked thickly.

“The Deputy’s arrived.”

Right on cue, the crackling of gunshots drifted in alongside the Chosen’s announcement.

“Tell everyone to hold their fire.” John ordered. “We have them outnumbered tenfold. The Deputy can’t be stupid enough to create a hostage situation. Direct her here, and peacefully.”

The Chosen’s throat bobbed, swallowing back outrage, and John squinted hard at him, trying to dispel the flicker of green light in the mist outside as it settled against the man’s temple.

“John, I don’t think-”

He never got a chance to act on that incoming insubordination.

Instead, he jerked, cut off by a sickening crack as a section of his skull blew out of his head. Red mist and liquified brain matter followed, splattering against the doorframe, and the Chosen slumped lifeless onto the front step.

John wasn’t so much shaken by the killing as he was irritated by everyone else’s apparent refusal to let today go according to plan. Maybe also the pile of brains and hair now sitting on his once-pristine red carpet. He’d made this easy for the woman: kill everyone he could round up, leave her with no one to claim duty to, and get this all over and done with. Have her home by mid-afternoon. Embark on a new chapter and achieve salvation. It was that simple.

Woe to him for trusting in her common sense.

“Fuck’s sake. Wrath begets more wrath.” He muttered, smoothing a hand over his chin. He didn’t have the patience for this any longer. “Fine. Sister -”

A woman stood from the pews as soon as John made eye contact, equally as unshaken by the scene mere feet away.

“Send out word: the Deputy wants to sacrifice her friends for the sake of a fight.” John punctuated the end of his sentence with a click as he returned his focus to jamming the needles into his tattoo gun. “Give her what she wants. Take her by force.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The smokescreen was beginning to clear, but despite the weight it was taking off her lungs, Cora would’ve preferred it remain just a little longer. At least until they’d cleared out the town. Had they been quicker, it might have lasted longer. Covered their approach to Fall’s End. Given them more cover to sneak about unseen.

The streets, while still hazy, were visible now. It wasn’t a difficult task watching Peggie silhouettes run from building to building in search of her team. Resistance members and civilians were either in the process of being rounded up, or littered the road and pavement, dead. The Ryes, Mary May, and Pastor Jerome were yet to be seen amongst either group.

Same went for Boomer.

Aside from the barking of orders from Chosen and faithful, there was little sound. Knowing how much of a fuss her dog had put up the last time he’d been caught by the Project struck Cora’s nerves. He was his own alarm, and he would not go peacefully.

Not hearing him was an indication of the worst.

Some part of her brain argued against the idea. Vouching that John wouldn’t have hurt the creature. That was her dog. He had to be an exception to the massacre, no matter how vicious he behaved.

She had to find him, and creeping through the rear entry of the Spread Eagle was the first point of call.

Luckily enough, the back door had yet to be boarded up. Peggies who rushed past covered windows hardly stopped to peek inside the place for fear of being tainted by the presence of alcohol. Sneaking in was simple enough, too, at least once Jess had picked the lock.

“I’m going to pretend that door was open.” The Deputy murmured her equivalent to praise, passing into the building.

Grace headed straight in after her, taking a left to search for any sign of Mary May while she took a right toward the stairs.

“You pretend the Cook’s head was already gone when we found him?” Jess whispered.

“Freak accident. You all saw it.”

“First floor’s clear.” Grace announced from the serving hatch in the kitchen, clearly unhappy about it.

“Right.” Cora acknowledged, “I’ll check up top.”

The second story was as dead-quiet as the first. Furniture had been knocked over in the hallway and bedrooms had been raided. None of it indicated anything good, but she still had to know.

Cora pushed open the door to her room, and while she held no expectation of what she’d find, her heart sank anyway.

It was empty.

Boomer was gone.

Only his makeshift collar and a tattered bandana remained atop the rug he’d been snoozing on that morning.

Her dog.

John had either taken him or killed him, just like the rest. He’d do the same to the rest of her team. She should’ve taken the Baptist’s offer before the latter had even become a possibility.

“No sign?” Grace affirmed once the Deputy slipped back down to the first floor. “My guess is either they’re in hiding, or John’s giving them special treatment. If they were dead he’d be parading them.”

Sharky and Hurk exchanged a frown when Cora offered only a nod, notably more meek than usual.

“Was he in there, darlin’?” Adelaide asked, a little too gently not to invite a sting to her eyes.

Cora felt her jaw clench. It was a different breed of nausea, trying to keep her composure under the scrutiny of the rest of the team. She managed to shake her head, and Adelaide’s hand found her shoulder.

“Could still be with the others, yet.” The woman offered.

“So how do we find them?” Jess asked.

Find John Seed, of course.

“Finding them’s one thing. Getting to them might be the harder part.” Cora began. “The smokescreen’s only getting thinner and there’s Peggies everywhere. It's grasslands from here to the hills. No way we can herd everyone across a field on-foot, safely. We’ve got to make sure they stay freed, first.”

“And?” Jess huffed. “We’re gonna kill some Peggies, right?”

The blonde considered that.

“We split up. Search the buildings for anyone who hasn’t been caught yet. Round them up and plant explosives as we go. With enough chaos, maybe we can have a shot at turning the tide in the short term.”

Sharky was practically trembling. “Explosives, like, everywhere?”

“Everywhere. The more damage, the better.” Cora replied. “Adelaide, Xander, pair up. Sharky and Hurk, same with you.”

“And us on range?” Jess grinned, trading a look with Grace who maintained absolute stoicism. “I’m so into that.”

“No.”

…

“Say what?”

“No more ranged attacks. I need you and Grace to head back to the van -”

Jess was advancing on her before she’d even finished her sentence.

“You’re pulling me outta the fight? The fuck gives?” The huntress loomed over the Deputy, incredulous. Cora made an effort to stay put, but Jess’s insistence managed to outweigh her stubbornness, forcing the blonde to compromise by leaning as far back as she could without falling.

“We can’t keep running on short-term wins.” Cora insisted. “We have to put our foot down. No more small assaults. No more hoping John gets demoralised enough that he hands himself over.”

Sharky frowned. “What’re you saying?”

She met his gaze, puffing out her chest, retaking her space. “I’m saying the Henbane Bridge is unmanned right now. If we get word to the County Jail, there’s no roadblock to stop them from helping us win this. John Seed’s throwing everything he can at us. I say we try for the same. I say we end it for good. We’re gonna take back Holland Valley. Today.”

“...You really like that dog, huh.”

“That too.”

Jess looked unconvinced. “So the two of us are running errands while the rest of you are holding the fort? Fucking bullshit.”

“I told you. No more range.” Cora bit back, jabbing a thumb toward Hurk and Sharky. “You’d rather send Boshaws and Drubmans to convince Tracey to send us her best people? No offence.”

“None taken, bitch.” Adelaide grumbled.

Grace exhaled, throwing away momentary hesitation. “We’ll be fast.”

Cora traded a nod with the sniper before looking to Jess once more.

Still unconvinced.

“They have cars with guns on them, remember?”

The corner of Jess’s mouth ticked. Temptation.

Mission accomplished.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The tacky fucking carpet was the first thing she noticed, creeping along Main Street. Bliss petals had been sprinkled all over the road leading up to the church.

The carpet ended at the door. An invitation if she ever saw one. Boastful. Arrogant.

A pang of dread ached through Cora's bones, holding her in place while she drew her revolver. It could be an ambush. It probably was an ambush, but there was nothing she could feasibly do to avoid it. If the others were in there, then she couldn't wait around any longer.

She had to do this. At least hold out until Jess and Grace returned, with or without help.

She'd been running for long enough. All other options had been exhausted. At least John offered the least awful defeat.

Drawing close to the entrance, the Deputy pointedly avoided examining a dead crow that had been impaled upon the wall. She inhaled, holding the breath in her lungs, steadying her heart rate.

It was only freedom.

She opened the door, immediately training the gun out before her, following its guide into the room.

About a dozen Peggies dotted the space, leaning against walls, lining the pews - all angled at the pulpit, observing Nick on the floor. He stifled a cry while John sliced through the final remaining layers of skin binding the tattoo to his chest, peeling the word 'GREED' out of his flesh. Blood pooled on the floor around them, and the moment John had stepped away, the pilot was descended on with antiseptic and bandages.

The Deputy waited for nausea at the sight to take its course. It never did. She was all but numbed to the sight.

"Deputy, run!"

Mary May's voice cut through the silence, and the bartender lurched from her own spot on the ground. Guns raised all around the room, swinging around to aim for Cora.

”Hold!” John barked immediately, unconcerned when the Deputy shifted her aim to him. Instead, he busied himself with washing his sullied hands. “Hold your fire.”

His followers obeyed.

Cora, meanwhile, cocked the revolver in her grip. One foot edged into the room, and she glanced around for the Project’s captives before returning her gaze to John. All on the other side of the room. Pinned. Fuck.

“Hope County Sheriff’s Department.” She announced, staring the Baptist down, ignoring the grin that crept onto his face - like he found it fucking funny. “Weapons on the ground. Step away from the hostages.”

“Hostages?” John snorted. He gestured Pastor Jerome, Mary May, and Nick. “These are guests! This is their Atonement. This is your Atonement.”

“Drop the fucking weapons.”

John’s patience thinned. Quickly. “I’m not doing this with you.” He replied simply. “Not today.”

With his own look around the room, John inclined his head. An unspoken order to which everyone carrying a gun turned them on her allies.

“We both know you don’t have enough bullets for everyone. Nor do you have the time. So why don’t you put down my gun and surrender.”

“Don’t-” Mary May was cut off with the tap of steel against her temple. Warning.

John was right. She was outnumbered. There was no chance of getting any of them out with force alone.

She inhaled. Exhaled. Watched the fondness slip back onto John’s face like it had never left, and set the gun on the floor.

“That’s my girl.” John murmured. Then, he motioned. “Get her ready.”

Cora’s stomach dropped as two sets of arms coiled around hers, each pulling and pushing, prickling at her skin with unfamiliar, sickening touch. Biology told her to resist. Escape the sensation. The downward pulling.

“No, stop it.” Escaped her while she squirmed. “Get off. Stop touching me-”

“Her friends can’t be far. Find them.” The Baptist ordered, turning away toward the pulpit.

Cora’s knees hit the floor. There was no holding the repetition of protests, but even as she consciously elevated the volume of her voice, it grew quieter in her ears. Calculated attempts to jerk away and make an escape became automatic twitches.

One of John’s followers - a female - crept into view, fingers tugging at the top button on her uniform collar. John readied a tattoo gun over the woman’s shoulder, and the Deputy’s mind screamed alarm bells. Get out. Escape. Fight back. Regain control.

“I won’t hurt you, sister.”

This time, she sank, curling forward, angling herself away from the woman. Another attempt, and she wrenched away again, snarling. Then, the Peggies around her must have gotten tired of all the fuss, because the tear of cotton clawed at her ears. Ringing through her brain.

Her back felt cold all of a sudden.

Green material slipped down her arms, and at the sight of her own uniform pooling in shreds in her own lap, Cora ceased her thrashing. The shredded shirt was yanked from her belt and tossed aside, and she watched with growing resignation while John turned back around.

His gaze found hers. Then flickered downward, first to the compression bra, then a margin to the right. “Here I thought you’d be unmarked.” He commented, inspecting what was visible of the old ink on her lower ribs while he approached.

Hands pressed against Cora’s shoulders, and she drifted back until her shoulder blades hit the floor.

John continued to loom until he stood directly over her. He sank to his knees, expression softening with his descent until he was on all fours on top of her. He looked almost adoring, and she hated how it comforted her, just slightly. She hated how the hands had disappeared from her limbs, and yet she still made no further attempt to escape. He had every ounce of power now.

She didn’t know she’d started trembling until his free hand swept over her collarbones, mapping out her chest, calming the gooseflesh beading on her from the chill, or the fright, or perhaps just that this whole thing felt so humiliatingly exposing.

A blush swelled over John’s throat, maybe indicating some straying line of thought. He snapped out of it and settled to sit on her hips. “This looks familiar, doesn’t it?” He teased, hovering the tattoo gun right over the centre of her sternum.

“Dont.” Was all she could manage. Weak. Pleading. “I don’t want you to.”

“You have no idea how good you’re going to feel after this.” John cooed.

One of his fingers drifted along her jaw. An attempt at comforting her, but to no avail. He looked equal parts gentle and feral with excitement.

The machine buzzed, lowering pitch when the needles finally pressed into her flesh.

This was it.

She’d lost. There was no going back, anymore. No more normal, no more ridding herself of this family. They’d taken everything, and now they were claiming ownership over her, too.

The others were being hunted. It was only a matter of time. John was working too quickly. They’d be gone before the Cougars even crossed the river.

Cora’s nerves muted. Sound closed to just the rumble of blood in her ears. She receded into herself. Found a backseat in her mind, away from the sensory overload and the humiliation and her own failure while her body quietly continued: ”Dont, don’t, stop.”

She’d lost, and John wouldn’t stop. Not while he was branding the evidence of his victory into her flesh.

Defeat tasted worse than anticipated.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bullets whizzed overhead while Sharky and Hurk took cover beneath the window, watching helplessly as the aisle of potato chips and bar nuts was torn to shreds by the onslaught. Dorito dust filled the shop like mustard gas.

“Cuz, I think they found us!” Hurk barked, snapping an arm over his head in defence when a stray round ricocheted off the front counter.

“What gives you that impression?” Sharky hit back, hurriedly setting down his shotgun and shrugging his backpack to the floor.

“How many are there?”

“How about you check?”

A moment of quiet occurred while the cousins glared at each other, leaving their standoff to a battle of no blinking. Then the Peggies outside must’ve finished re-loading, because the back wall of the shop was suddenly being shot into swiss cheese.

They were okay. Everything was cool. Addie and Xander had taken their share of explosives and gone the quiet route. Grace and Jess were gone. Shorty had disappeared into the church, and while he couldn't count the best, Sharky was pretty confident that John had caught her.

Could they have kept on looking for survivors and breaking out captives? Sure - but why do that when they could kill, like 40 birds with one stone and beeline for the gas station? It was conveniently across the road from the church, empty of any and all life barring the dormant tanks underground. An explosion that big was sure to fuck up like a good portion of Main Street. Not even the Chosen would be able to resist checking it out.

Disconnecting the safety switches had been easy. He’d been arrested for doing it like 5 times already. Cops, Peggies; it didn’t matter - Sharky knew what he was doing, and without the giant swinging dick of the law hanging over him, the man was on a mission. Cultists shooting at him was fine. He was used to that.

Threat of death or no, he wasn’t giving up the chance to see this place blow sky high.

“We’ll be outta here any second, Hurky.” Sharky assured. “Just gotta sprinkle a little C-4 around the place and we’ll be gone before it even goes off.”

Hurk was sweating. A lot. He was accustomed to being shot at, but normally, he had more than just Sharky to get him out of a tight spot. “Alright, bro. Gimme some. Many hands and what have you.”

“Fuck yeah. First step, toss some at the tanker outside. We wanna get the place as fiery as possible up here to wake up the big boys underground, and-”

Sharky stopped in his tracks, eyeing the backpack he’d just been in the process of unzipping.

“-uhh.”

“Uhh?”

“Hurky, can I be real with you?”

“Is now the best time for a deep and meaningful?” Hurk hissed, crawling toward him nonetheless.

The arsonist stuck his hand down the pack, rifling through fluff and mesh. “I, uh, I think I brought the wrong bag. And by think I mean know without a shadow of a doubt.”

Hurk watched as his cousin tugged the green, furry headpiece of a dragon out into the open.

“You brought-...”

“I brought my fursuit.”

“Not the C-4?”

“Not the C-4.”

“Okay, bro. That's fine. I'm not mad. Human error. Not even a little bit?”

Sharky checked again, just for good measure. “Nope...so, uhm...you got a match?”

Hurk ran a hank through his hair. “Not to poo poo your ideas, but that probably ain’t the best move.”

So just like that, they were fucked.

Jess and Grace still hadn’t come back. The others were nowhere to be seen. Shorty was holed up in that church, and he and Hurk were about to be rounded up by born-again virgins.

Shit, if that were the case -

“Well, if this is gonna be the last opportunity.” Sharky grunted, tugging the suit out and unzipping the back. “May as well enjoy our last minutes of freedom, huh?”

Hurk took the cue, creeping across the destroyed shop floor and reaching for a popped bag of pretzels. He sat back against the wall, leaning against the rocket launcher he’d propped up against the corner.

“Man.” The brunette sighed, staring at the floor. “If only we had some other kind of ranged, explosive device.”

“No shit.” Sharky agreed. “Some high velocity shit would fix this.”

They exchanged a sympathetic look once the arsonist had zipped himself up and crept over and sit beside his cousin, both leaning on either side of the RPG.

Hurk held out the bag.

“Pretzel?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Was that so bad?” John asked, placing the tattoo gun aside and framing the Deputy’s marked chest. ’WRATH', in true black, beading with blood. The skin surrounding the text was mottled and inflamed. Excess ink covered the area in patches, gathering in the dip of her cleavage, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

All that sin, already leaking out through the exit he’d made for her.

Gorgeous.

Cora didn’t respond. That was fine. Shock was normal. She’d thank him once this was all over. For now, she just trembled, lock jawed, dissociated gaze searching what John had thought was him until he sat up. No, instead she was watching the ceiling.

John flashed a smile, blocking out a tiny streak of dread at the sight of the woman so vacant. Sweeping a lock of stained hair over her shoulder, he smoothed his fingers past her neck, attempting to gently angle her focus back to him. “Hey. You can come back now. We’re all done.”

You're finally on the other side. React to it. React to me. Look at me-

The boom came first, hollow and deep, and John felt the floor beneath him rumble. Chandeliers and decorations wobbled from the disturbance. Several of his followers shot from their seats, immediately abandoning the Resistance leaders they’d guarded in favour of pacing back and forth, trying to get a look at whatever was happening outside.

“Is this it?”

“Is it the Collapse?”

“It’s time?”

“John, is it the Collapse?”

The panic escalated quickly, forcing the Baptist to break his attention away from the empty woman below him and rein in the flock.

“Calm down.” He exclaimed, “It’s not the Collapse. It’s probably just-”

Another boom. Almost deafeningly loud.

This time, the whole church shook. Windows shattered in their creaking panes and smashed to the floor while pews squealed heavily in protest.

Contrary to his assertion, John dove down, covering the Deputy with his body. Holy shit, was it the Collapse?

The tremor must have been enough to snap Cora out of her trance, because a muffled “Get your tits out of my face.” buzzed against John’s chest.

Tragically, however, the Baptist never got the opportunity to reply to her. Had it not been for the fucking tennis shoe colliding with the side of his skull, he imagined he’d have something very clever to say. Alas, pain shot through his head and he jerked to the side, fighting against the blow to stay put. A snarl from Mary May, his apparent attacker, sounded in retaliation. She dove into him, knee driving into his ribs, throwing him off of the Deputy.

His thoughts left him for the briefest moment, overtaken by ensuing gunshots and shouts and the shrieks of the bartender as she was clawed away from him. Her hand shot forward right as she was yanked up, intended as a punch. It didn’t land, and John couldn’t help but shoot her a smirk for her failure.

“Deputy, gun!”

Nevermind. It wasn’t a punch after all. Mary May had been pointing over his shoulder at the revolver that had been surrendered on the floor. His revolver. The same one Cora was now scrambling toward.

No.

John lurched, heart leaping into his throat.

Not now. Not after he’d won. Not when they were so close.

His hand found the leg of Cora’s pants, wrenching, pulling her away from the weapon, and she kicked against him. Her finger tips slid against the barrel of the revolver, tugging it into her palm.

God wouldn’t fucking undo his victory.

John snarled, catching the Deputy’s wrist when she tried to aim - at him no less. Without her own recovery time achieved, he was able to wrestle the weapon from her easily enough, flattening her struggling body beneath his just long enough to hook an arm around her waist. He twisted around, holding the woman’s back against his belly. Her squirming ceased with the press of the muzzle against her head, and the moment her allies had taken notice of the change, everything went still.

Finally.

A little civility.

Several of John’s followers lay on the floor, either dead or close to it. Only a half-dozen remained, though the pair of Chosen had survived and placed themselves closest to their leader.

Pastor Jerome had procured a handgun from within his own bible - something that pulled a breathless laugh out of John as he surveyed the others. Nick hadn’t been able to arm himself, but he’d still tackled one of the faithful to the ground. His knuckles were bloodied. A familiar sight. Mary May had wrestled a gun of her own away from the woman who’d seized her. She aimed it shakily at John.

Armed but outnumbered, outgunned, and now, they were in check.

They never learned, did they?

“The way you people behave, you’d think salvation was a bad thing.” John tittered. “Right. Now, let’s try this again. Atonement, or damnation.” To punctuate his meaning, he tapped the muzzle against Cora’s head. She grunted in protest, and he ignored her. Of course it was a bluff. No one else knew that but him, though. It was too risky a move for the Resistance to let him do away with the one person that banded their factions.

She was their leader. They couldn’t lose her.

John looked around the room once more, locking eyes with Jerome first - then Mary May. “Are we going to behave?”

The answer was immediate and clear: a gunshot cracking through the Baptist’s ears and the flash of a blast spilling from Mary May’s weapon. Cora’s elbow driving into his stomach and the reaction time of his Chosen snapping to attention, covering him, already hauling John out of the church and onto the street.

Fuck no, he wasn't leaving without his prize.

"GRAB HER!" John howled, struggling against the attempts to get him to safety. "Leave the rest!"

It was a reluctant effort, but the Deputy was yanked along as well, shoved into Johns arms on his repeated orders, with me, with me.

“Mary May, what the fuck!” The Deputy roared over her shoulder.

“Sorry Deputy! I missed!”

Missed?

“You sure about that? Jesus fucking Christ!”

More shots sounded, but only the noise pursued them from the building. It wasn’t until John had shoved Cora into the back of the waiting truck that he realised how warm his hand had gotten. Wet, too.

“Get to the ranch!” One of the Chosen snarled up front, casting a look back at the Baptist while the vehicle took off, watching as he peeled away from the blonde to inspect himself.

Blood.

He was bleeding. But where from? Barring the sting of his scabs and that kick to the head, nothing hurt. There were no wounds hiding under his sleeves or -

A hiss sounded from the Deputy beside him, curling in on herself.

Shit.

She hadn’t elbowed him.

“Cora-” John scrambled for her. "Cora, let me see."

“Told you not to call me that.” The Deputy grit out, kicking at him until she’d well and truly jammed herself into the corner of the seat and the car door. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, just below the elbow and to no avail. Crimson coated the skin on her side, encasing her arm completely and seeping through her fingertips.

She was bleeding. Not heavily, but steadily.

”Deputy.” John bit back, advancing. “You’re hurt. Let me help-”

Just like that, the kicking resumed. “Don’t touch me-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME-”

“For once in your fucking life, just relax!”

Only incomprehensible snarling came in response.

John rolled his jaw, brimming with as much irritation as he was adrenaline. The Resistance had made their choice. Regretful, but final. He’d gotten what he came for, and he wasn’t intending on losing her just because she was too stubborn to accept help.

He glanced at the revolver still in his grip. Then back at Cora, rotating the grip toward her. A threat. “Are you going to let me help, or am I going to have to calm you down?”

“Don’t you dare.” Her words came hoarse. She gave scowling a red hot go, but without the rationale to deny him, the Deputy lacked conviction. She exhaled. “Fuck it. We've done this enough already. You get ten minutes. Then you’re under arrest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her cheek twitched. A weak chuckle. The slightest flash of acknowledgement as she let him press his weight over her forearm. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t pulsing; nor was there a puncture wound. A gouged strip had been carved into her flesh where the bullet had grazed, but nothing vital seemed to have been struck.

“That - you can keep saying.”

"You're a flirt when you're in shock, Deputy." Had John not been too busy regulating about a dozen other emotions, he might have flushed at her words. For a moment, he just sat there, basking in the borderline friendliness on her face. Then, it occurred to him that they were among watchful company, and he cleared his throat, returning to his task.

Minutes passed. No more words were exchanged. Not until they’d passed the Rye and Son’s sign.

The Chosen in the front passenger’s seat looked over his shoulder, dismissing another over the radio before regarding the Baptist. “The Resistance isn’t making ground. The faithful are still rounding up stragglers, and we’ve taken casualties, but numbers are looking strong. Medic will meet you at the ranch, John. We can deliver our newest sister to the Gate while you recover.”

John inclined his head. “Much obliged. We need this one to stay with us until she’s completed her vows. She can’t be trusted unsupervised, but I won’t put the responsibility of containing her back on our people again.” He looked to Cora, then. Her face had run pale and she’d gone clammy, but she remained upright. Just...woozy. Pacified, for now.

He’d got what he came for. Fuck the rest.

“I have something to say.” The blonde announced, swaying against John’s arm. “I know why Mary May shot me.”

“This another one of your jokes?” John deadpanned.

“This one’s funny, I swear.”

“...go on, then.”

“It’s because I never tip.”

For a moment, Cora looked very satisfied with herself. Then, she retched, slumping forward into the Baptist’s lap when he instinctually jolted out of the potential line of fire. He hurried to steady her, keeping tight hold over her wound, and grimaced while the noise escaped her a second time.

Thank God nothing came out; his shoes would’ve been the first to know about it.

The Deputy didn’t sit back up.

That was fine. So long as she wasn’t dead. So long as she wasn’t fighting back.

“It’s all the sin escaping you.” John explained, off-handed, when a complaining grunt sounded below. “Evil being expelled from your body. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Pretty sure it’s my blood pressure, actually. Soon as I’m good again, you’re history.”

When one disregarded the fact that she’d had a gun trained on him earlier - and the blood drying uncomfortably on his clothes - and the persistent pounding of a headache from Mary May’s heel, this was almost pleasant. The quiet roads. The Deputy, all but atoned with her head on his thigh. Not fighting back. Conceding defeat. Peaceful.

He got what he came for.

He’d won.

He was saved.

Passing his thumb over Cora’s ribs, John’s attention was pulled back to the old ink peeking out from beneath the band of her top. Text, blurred and flattened enough to be years old, and too obscured to decipher.

“Thought I’d be your first.” The brunette murmured.

“Jealous?”

Yes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s it say?”

“‘The Mountains Are Calling’.”

A sickening wave of dread passed over the Baptist. The rock forming in his throat, icy and bitter and seizing him against any reply.

The mountains are calling.

Jacob. Joseph. The Trials. Atonement wasn’t the final step. Handing her over to his brothers was the final step.

He got what he came for, but the woman in his arms wasn’t the trophy intended for him.

He was saved. He’d redeemed himself. He’d completed his task and Joseph would permit him beyond the gates. That was all he was supposed to do. That was enough.

That had to be enough.

“‘And I Must Go’.” John completed quietly.

Cora tilted her head a little, not quite looking at him - almost like she was trying not to. “You know John Muir.”

“Not enough to warrant a photo on the bedside table.”

“Shut up.”

There was nothing convincing about the chuckle he offered. He was too busy observing her, studying the side of her face. Committing her to memory as if he hadn’t spent years acquainting himself with every spot and micro-expression.

“Maybe working for you will be bearable.” She murmured, and John’s heart only sank further. "If I don't manage to arrest you."

The mountains are calling.

She still had no idea that all the promises he’d made her had been fabricated. That she wouldn’t be staying. That he’d lied to her.

The mountains were calling. In a few days time, she’d know it. She’d despise him. She’d be taken off his hands and he’d assume his regular duties once again.

He’d saved both of them.

Cora’s thumb absently grazed back and forth on his knee. Ignorant. “Can I ask something?”

It took everything in him not to mirror the action against her skin.

“Of course.”

“Can I start next Monday?”

"What happened to you being such a workaholic?"

"To be honest with you, I'm really fucking tired."

She’d be incredible. Jacob would love her. Joseph would be proud. John had accomplished something near-impossible for his family, and even if the Deputy hated him - even if she forgot him entirely, he was content with the knowledge that he’d have brought her to salvation.

Even if they never saw each other again, he’d know that she’d passed through the gates. That she’d climb to the surface once the world had been scorched clean. She’d rebuild, and marry, and have children, and he’d do the same.

Hopeful anticipation and the agony of longing had never felt so similar before.

“Fine.” John smiled, giving in, sliding his fingers up her arm and coaxing a stray lock of hair out of her face. There were no promises he’d be able to do it again after this. “But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Spend those days with me.”

Cora stirred, angling to peer up at him out of the corner of her eye. She smiled crookedly.

“Deal.”

#far cry 5 #john seed #cora stammos #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry 5 oc #john seed x female deputy #all hail cora's big fucking muscles #no beta we die like men

43 notes · View notes

chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

Text

pirate king (80) || atz

The deck is sheer chaos.

All you hear are the frantic footsteps pounding across the deck as the crew race to sail as fast as possible, the sounds of the cannons being loaded, Mingi’s sharp commands and Yunho screaming orders to trim the sails from above. Still crushed to Wooyoung’s chest, you tap him on the shoulder and he looks down at you, eyes brimming with concern.

“Just let me down somewhere, I’ll-”

“Wooyoung! Some of the halyards of the fore topsail has gotten caught, I need you to come with me and free it.” Yunho lands lightly next to the two of you, face unnaturally drawn with worry and flushed from exertion. “Chin Hae, are you alright?”

You manage a smile for him, though your legs both feel like they’re on fire and you’re missing a hand. “As alright as we’re going to get in this situation. Wooyoung, go with him, I’ll be fine on my own.”

He looks doubtful, but relinquishes his grip on you slightly. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

With a sigh, he sets you down and you nearly stagger, biting your lip at the pain that shoots through your legs. Even Yunho looks concerned, reaching out to steady you by the shoulder. “This is definitely not okay. We should take you to the-”

“You have more important things to worry about than a sprained ankle, now shoo!” You push the two of them lightly towards the forecastle deck. “I’m not an invalid, I can get myself to the infirmary on my own. Now go!”

With a final look back, Wooyoung and Yunho take off running for the masts, while you turn around and make your way towards the infirmary, gritting your teeth with each step. However, before you can so much as pass the main mast, the entire ship heels - and you’re thrown across the deck.

Your feet practically fly out from under you, and you go rolling like a log across the main deck, arms wrapped instinctively around your head to protect it. Fortunately, you’re lucky enough to crash into a pile of netting used for storage, and for a second, you simply sit there, tangled in the rope and your head ringing.

Shouts of panic and cries of pain fill the air, Mingi’s bellows interspersed somewhere in between. You can’t think straight.

What on earth just-

Yanking the netting out of the way as you stumble to your feet, you glance over at the port side of the ship - and your mouth falls open when you discover the cause of all this mess.

Another pirate ship, one that had been docked beside you, is pulling up right next to the Treasure. An awful scraping sound fills your ears as the hulls of both ships grate against each other, and the entire of the Treasure shudders at the contact. You very nearly fall over again as the deck quivers beneath your feet, but clutch onto the side of the ship for balance.

“Chin Hae!” You hear Jongho shout and whip around to see the young battlemaster dashing towards you. You step forward to meet him, one hand on the main mast to hold steady as the ship groans. “What the hell is that other ship doing-”

Right before you can answer, a dark shape flies between the two of you, so fast that you could mistake it for a trick of light. But no trick of light could cause the awful cracking sound right next to your head, nor the scent of gunpowder so sharp in your nose.

“Attach the hooks!” You hear shouting from the crew of the other ship, and your eyes widen when you see them swarming over towards the bulwarks, throwing long grappling hooks over to the Treasure and pulling taut.

“Chin Hae, get your head down!” The younger man is next to you in an instant and in before you can so much as blink, another musket shot whizzes across your head. You stare at him, wide eyed. “What is happening?”

“That other ship just started attacking us out of the blue, I don’t know.” Jongho says hurriedly, thrusting a cutlass into your hands. “They’re trying to board us for some reason, but we need to get out of here!”

You can almost hear the rudder creak as Mingi shouts orders to adjust the sails so that the Treasure can pull away, but the other ship clings on like a leech. “We’re all going to die at this rate if the Royal Navy catches up with us!”

A sinking sensation worms its way into your belly. “Don’t tell me that they’re still trying to capture me?”

Jongho curses under his breath. “You need to get to the infirmary before they find to you. I need to clear the boarding hooks before they get on deck. Can you handle yourself?”

This reminds you of the first battle you had witnessed at sea, when still had no name. It’s the same, yet different - you’re different now. All you could back then was run and hide in fear.

You’re not that person any longer. You’re part of the crew, and you won’t allow yourself to be a burden to them.

Your legs still feel like someone has replaced your bones with molten iron, but you give a determined nod. “Yeah.” Gripping the cutlass in your hands, you turn to Jongho and give him the best smile you can manage. “Just like the good old times, huh?”

“I don’t see how the situation we’re in seems remotely good in the least, but you’re free to stay positive if that’s what helps you stay alive.” Jongho’s expression is flat, but you catch the small quirk at the side of his mouth before he leaps over a rolling barrel that you narrowly manage to dodge. “It’s good you don’t have a musket on you this time, though.”

With that, he leaps over a stray rolling barrel and you pause for a moment, confused.

Musket...?

Then you remember, cheeks heating up and the shout of ‘Jongho!’ that leaves your mouth is only met with a chuckle carried by the wind. Shaking your head, you turn to make your way to the infirmary when the deck heaves once more under your feet.

“Ahh!”

You drop onto the deck immediately like a suntanning starfish, and by sheer luck you manage to not get thrown into the bulwarks again. The enemy ship must have rammed you again, you realise, but before you can think too far, you hear an awful sound - of metal snapping. Clambering unsteadily to your feet, you glance around for the source of the noise.

There’s a scream of pain, the sound of something breaking, and to your horror, you realise it’s the sound the a bone snapping.

You’re up and running even before you know it towards the sound. It had come from the port side of the ship, where the gunners and the cannon carriages are mounted. And when you catch sight of the situation, you almost throw up there and then.

A member of the gun crew is lying on the deck, shrieking his head off in agony and for good reason - his leg is crushed under the weight of a 24 pounder cannon.

You rush over to him immediately, knees hitting the ground painfully hard as you lower yourself to check over his injuries. The sight almost makes your stomach turn, bile rising up in the back of your throat at the stench of blood and gunpowder, but you force it down in order to look at where most of the damage has been done - his leg.

“One of the chain links holding the gun carriage in place snapped when they hit us.” Another of the gun crew babbles senselessly over the cries of his crewmate and the desperate reassurances the rest try to give him, and you glance at the long iron weapon to see that he is right. “He must have fallen over and gotten crushed then, but we didn’t know what to do-”

“It’s alright,” you try to say, as calmly as possible when your head is in blank panic, trying to take bearing of your surroundings. Wound first, you think, looking down at what you have on your hands.

The wood of the deck is soaked red with blood. The gun carriage has torn the flesh of his thigh into ragged shreds, so deep you can see glimpses of stark white bone from beneath. Even as you watch, blood oozes out of the wound and the sharp smell of iron makes nausea well up in your stomach.

Where’s San? You think almost desperately, hand shaking at the sheer amount of blood. You’ve never dealt with a wound so serious, and you desperately need guidance. But your master is nowhere to be seen, likely treating other wounded on the deck, and from the way the terrified gun crew are staring at you, you’re the only guidance around here.

“O-one of you,” your voice trembles slightly and you swallow, forcing your nerves under control. “Get my supplies from the infirmary, the rest of you, start ripping up your shirts into strips.” You shrug your own overshirt from your shoulders and press it against the wound, trying your best to stem the blood flow.

Just as you’re about to switch out the bandage and instruct one of the gun crew to feed the patient a painkiller, you hear a scream from the starboard side and pale immediately, recognising the sound of clashing steel. They’ve boarded, and another voice rings out in the chaos. “Find the woman! We’ll be pardoned if we hand her up to the Royal Navy!”

Realisation slaps you in the face as you remember just what exactly you are supposed to be doing - hiding in the infirmary. Horror rises up in you, and you shift, almost in an attempt to run, before the blood on your hand reminds you why exactly you can’t.

The man here is dying, and you’re the only one here who knows anything remotely close to how save him.

“Shouldn’t you hide? They’re looking for you.” A crewmate tugs at your sleeve urgently, concern spilling into his voice. “We’ll figure something out here, but who knows what they’ll do to you once they get their hands on you? Go!”

You bite your bottom lip, mind thinking frantically as you press down on the wound. There’s no way they’ll figure this out, the man right now is probably about to start knocking on death’s door. On the other hand, do you really want the Royal Navy to catch you? Cold sweat forms at your temples at the very thought of it.

And yet, you can’t tear yourself away from the person dying in front of you.

“If they’re coming after me, the lot of you better protect me then.” Is all you say before you instruct another of the gun crew to hold a stick in place so you can tie in place an emergency tourniquet. The men look a little terrified. “We might not be able to protect you! We’re gunners, we’re not much trained in swordsmanship!”

“Then I guess we’re all dying here.” You say, concentrating on yanking down hard on the bandage to secure the knot as tightly as possible. You can’t tie it too tight or the man might lose his leg forever, but at this point, between losing his leg and his life, you think he’d prefer to save the latter.

The gun crew exchange glances, before they draw their swords, one of them rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “How are we supposed to be cowards when you talk like that?”

You manage a small chuckle, before returning your attention to the wound. The man’s eyes are half lidded now, drifting in and out of reality from the blood loss. At this rate, he’s going to end up dead, and you swallow nervously. Should you use the healing techniques San taught you or not? What if the same thing happens like the last time with Yeosang, except this time, you actually die?

The sound of steel clashing and people screaming rings throughout the air, punctuated by sound of musket shot and

The face of a certain man forms in your mind. No, you can’t allow yourself to die.

But you can’t let the man before you die either.

Sucking in a deep breath, you stretch out your one hand over the wound, trying not to tremble as you shut your eyes. Find your center, you remember San telling you. This time, you wouldn’t let it control you.

Before you can do anything, however, there’s a dangerous creaking sound, and your eyes fly open to see the other chain holding the cannon in place starting to groan under the weight of it.

“The chain isn’t going to hold out for much longer!” Someone shouts in alarm, but all you can see is the man lying pinned underneath the cannon, and you know you have to make a choice.

“One of you, get Seonghwa and tell him to bring his carpenter’s saw along.” You try to say as firmly as you can. The man looks up frantically at you, and you take a moment to smile as reassuringly at him as you can. “I’m afraid that I need to take your leg.”

He’s so out of it he just slumps back onto the deck, looking resigned to his fate though his lower lip is trembling. “Do you think Yeosang-ssi will make me a personal peg leg?”

“Of course he will. Although I just lost my hand first, so you’ll have to wait in line.” You try to joke, pushing back the sweat soaked hair from his forehead. It’s a miracle how he’s stayed conscious so long, although it won’t be for much longer judging from how clammy his skin is.

In a few moments, Seonghwa is hurrying back with his saw. When he sees the state the man is in, his steps slow as he makes a face of realisation, eyes meeting yours. “Is there no other way?”

“No,” you say, pulling a drug out of your satchel. “And we don’t have much time left before the entire cannon rolls across the deck and crushes him.” You turn to Seonghwa, holding the herbal tincture up to him. “Here, make him drink this.”

Seonghwa obeys, trusting in your medical knowledge. The second the man has swallowed half the bottle, you strike the side of the man’s neck as hard as you can with the edge of your hand. The man crumples.

Seonghwa stares at you in shock, down at the passed out man, and back at you again. “...What?”

“We needed to knock him out.” You explain, already moving to tighten the tourniquet around the man’s leg. Seonghwa looks down at the bottle in his hand. “Then what was this for?”

“To distract him so he wouldn’t squirm and I wouldn’t miss. Don’t worry, it is actually a sedative, although it wouldn’t have been strong enough to knock him out completely.”

“That doesn’t make it any better!”

“We didn’t have any time!” You protest, dragging him over to the man. “We need his leg off as fast as possible, then I’ll use healing techniques on it to stop the blood flow.”

“The things that San is teaching you...” Seonghwa mumbles as he sets the saw in place, gauging how much of his leg he’ll be able to save. “I’m going to have a talk with him.”

You blink at him. “I didn’t learn that from him. Master only said to ‘do no harm’.”

“How’s that doing no harm?”

“It’s all a matter of perspective.” You insist, reaching over to look at the leg. “You should cut it off right below the knee.”

Seonghwa inhales deeply as he sets the saw to the flesh. “You owe me so much for this.”

“You can claim it when we get out of here alive.” You reply, but your smile is grim. “Now get sawing.”

>>>

When you and Seonghwa finally pull the man free from under the gun carriage, you don’t have any time to think about how the blood is getting all over your pants and shirt.

“He’s bleeding out!” Seonghwa says in alarm, moving over to help you apply pressure on the wound. You glare at him, wiping your red stained hand on your pants. You’re not sure which turns more red. “I can see that, yes.”

There’s no time for hesitation. “Smack me away if I start to go under.”

Seonghwa’s eyes go wide with concern, but he nods, gripping your shoulder tightly. “Come back to us, alright?”

A smile brushes the side of your mouth. “Aye aye, sir.” You return your attention to the man, setting your hand to the side of his injury. Find your center, you remind yourself as you shut your eyes. Concentrate on yourself and the patient, no one else exists but the two of you.

The warmth comes to you more easily this time, like a flickering, slowly waning flame. You swallow, coax the warmth out of your chest and down your arm, directing it into the injury.

There are no memories this time, you realise, except for the pulsing warmth that throbs in your chest, the gentle feeling of the summer sun on your face. You sit there for a while, almost in a daze, holding the tiny flame close as it flickers and sputters.

Suddenly, something yanks you out of that peaceful warmth and you startle, thrashing about in an iron grip as someone lifts you clean off the ground. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you hear something that sounds like Seonghwa’s scream of horror, before you feel cold metal digging into your temple.

“Let us off the ship, or she dies.”

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

90 notes · View notes

ennui-gt · 3 years ago

Text

Here it is. A Piece Of Borrower Content Written Entirely In Stream Of Consciousness:

AN: so this is incomplete and very…needs revisions to the timeline to incorporate some things I added later! It’s the original universe that Mira’s from! I edited it like Slightly to just change Ross’s name to Ross (if u see Max anywhere that’s his old one I just felt like changing it so that’s just him but different. Anyway) Everything's under the readmore tab, cheers!

The Library Fairy:

Basic Plot (Chrono, comic starts from human perspective abt the ‘legend of the library fairy’ ig maybe. Nothing here is permanent cept the characterization)

Part A

1- Mira is borrower currently chillin in a college library

2- She lives off of the cafe on the second floor nd reads lots and lots of stuff about everything when the upper floors close (lower floor open 24/7 but upper floors r vacant p much after 12:00 AM)

3- she starts getting increasingly curious about human stuff cos she’s literate nd books r pry neat

4- it starts one night when she spots an unattended notebook and a half eaten blueberry muffin, nd it’s 12:30 so nobody’s coming back in atm (it’s the 80s so no laptops for the plebians quite yet)

5- so she goes ‘welp’ nd takes part of the muffin, then sees the work on the page and goes ‘hmmmm this is incorrect’ so she helps our and leaves notes here n there to point the kid in the right direction and puts down some book refs for further study bcos at this point she’s been there for 2 years and she knows where most things are

6- she stays behind to see if the human comes back for it, hidden in a hidey hole near the desk

7- human comes in, sees notebook, practically melts w relief nd stuffs it in his bag

8- next day human comes back nd leaves nother notebook and a cookie, along w a hidden camera

9- Mira goes ‘o boy, this a trap, innit’

10- Mira then decides ‘eh whatever I haven’t had contact w anyone in years now so I might as well’

11- she steals the camera film nd leaves a lil scrap of paper saying ‘nice try ;)’ on it

12- student comes back, sees paper, goes ‘dammit’, then leaves note addressed to the ‘library fairy’ and another cookie, as well as more of their work for her to help with

13- bout a decade goes by and now the “Library Fairy” is an urban myth, it’s currently 2003 so she’s also wound up on the school’s unofficial Wikipedia page under ‘local cryptids’

14- most library employees know of her but they don’t go looking out of fear stemming from superstitions bout her, somehow the legend grew from ‘can’t be photographed’ to ‘a student once saw her and died that day’

15- there’s now a small shrine devoted to her where ppl bring offerings hoping to get good grades in return, sometimes they will leave papers for her to proofread nd stuff

16- new prof (named Alexei) finds online article thinks he Knows What’s Up bcos he had a borrower friend as a kid, but they left when borrower’s fam found out about them knowing each other

17- he leaves note wedged in one of her secret entrances behind outlet, asking if she can meet w him at some point

18- Mira, already In it, goes ‘Okay. Alright. This has gone on for long enough. Time to go and never return’ but ofc she’s curious as all hell and like she decides she will at least honor the guy’s request for a convo b4 she goes, but on her terms and w/o speaking face 2 face

19- they Talk in the library after hours, bcos he paid off the janitor to let him stay after hours nd most of the student employees recognize him as a prof nd leave him alone

20- they talk again for every subsequent night

21- she uhhhh finally decides to reveal herself nd prays that her hunch was right nd he won’t try to grab her or anything

22- he doesn’t but she’s nervous so she winds up gettin caught in her own climbing rope like idiot, is now dangling from ceiling in tangled mess

23- he stifles chuckle nd she says smthn sarcastic

24- he moves closer and offers to untangle her

25- she’s like ‘please’

26- so he do, but her grip on the rope slips nd he has to catch her

26- so now she’s in his hand and he just sets her down and now he’s a bumbling embarrassed mess bcos he said he wasn’t going to hold her and he just did and o dear pls forgib him

28- nd she’s like ‘dude u just saved my life it’s fine ur fine chill’

29- internally she’s going HOLY FUCK AAAAAAA but externally, her human’s already worked up enough as it is so she’s gotta b the level headed one

29.5- after a while they both kinda get used to each other more, he gets tenure, they celebrate, some more stuff happens, Aleksei got married (not to Mira, Mira hasn’t actually rly thought about being in a relationship w anyone cos she’s laser focused on gaining as much knowledge as possible)

30- eventually Alexei’s like ‘hey so I’m dean of faculty for the biotech branch now uhhhh would u like actual job teaching students? Cos, uh, you can do it remotely thru online lectures n stuff, no in person interaction, and I uh was just kinda wondering—‘

31- she’s like ‘yes. Yes!!! LET ME HELP PEOPLE OFFICIALLY KINDA’

32- so now she’s a professor, and has revealed her Secret a few times here n there to a number of the faculty, nd she has recorded her own findings in a personal journal

33- ‘humans will treat u like a human if they think ur human first. The kids call it ‘catfishing’’

34- enter Ross, an mall goth who accidentally tripped headfirst into a premed program

35- Mira’s favorite field of study is bio so naturally she’s his prof for a majority of his classes

36- being the good boy that he is, he now knows Mira’s secret. There is an Entire Chapter on him finding out and legit just continuing their conversation as if everything was normal bcos he thought that was how he was supposed to handle the situation

37- then she says ‘u can ask questions, u know’ he’s like OH THANK FUCK CAUSE I HAVE SEVEN HUNDRED OF THOSE

38- and now he kinda knows what to look for in terms of ‘do borrowers live here check yes or no’

39-in his apartment, the answer is yes and he mistakenly kinda stumbles upon the mom one night when he wakes up in the middle of the night for Snack and opts to pretend like its not happening. Unfortunately the thing she was trying 2 borrow (piece of crumb cake for Son Boy’s birthday) is the thing he wants 2 eat so he’s like “uh. ‘Scuse me, ma’am.” and he peels back the saran wrap on the other side of the plate, takes piece, nd then leaves some there for her

40-so now the woman is like ‘welp guess it time 2 Leave’

.1- she and husband Talk

.2-they decide it best 2 go

.3-theyre Packing

.4-lil bab Ellie confused

.5-hawk attacke

.6-cut to Ross

41- Ross also happens to work at a bar and he goes outside for a break

43- he finds smal child—smol smal—on the sidewalk and said child is missing an arm, nd has lost a lot of blood, so he’s uhhhhh Losing It highkey

43.5-parents r nowhere 2 b seen, but the hawk is nearby and circling. Ross gets an idea of what just happened

44- he up and leaves work, thankfully his apartment is above the shop so he jumps up the fire escape w the child and

45- he make tourniquet

46- he calls Mira nd asks her 2 come over to ASAP. he’s A Mess at this point

47- it is Very touch and go, kid needs blood, Mira is the only viable donor so she’s just gotta pray that the blood type is fine and won’t kill him

48- and then eventually they manage 2 stave infection thru antibiotics properly dosed to his size, Mira does Math and Prays basically

49- ‘bout a month in, kid wakes up

50- kid doesn’t rember much since he’s only 3

51- hes v scared of Ross at first but over time he gets used 2 the human

52- kid (elliot) starts 2 call Ross ‘dad’ after a while

53- Ross: *internal screaming but in a good way*

54- the end kinda for now

Part 2

A- New Borrowers In The Building

—three of em. paranoid dad, mom, nd daughter that’s Elliot’s age so he’s pumped

B- Elliot offers them a place 2 stay briefly

C- he knows by now bout like, how borrowers don’t typically interact w humans and Auntie Mira’s a bit of a weird case so he just doesn’t tell em bout his dad being the human

D- the kid finds out first nd doesn’t tell the parents, but they figure it out later kinda and think that it’s a ‘o god he’s being kept as a pet’ sitch so they’re >:| abt it

E- they move out and try to take Elliot w them (by force bcos they think he’s brainwashed) but he escapes and makes it to Ross, who’s like “uhhhhhh”

F- and the mom come out the hole near the counter n starts yelling at Ross, who is…kinda used to it since Mira brings in ppl who need help from time 2 time and they typically don’t react well when they’re lucid enough to understand what’s going on. He’s just not used to being questioned about his own kid

G- so they’re like “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING WITH HIM”

H- and he’s like “r…raising him???”

I- and Ellie steps up and he’s like “this is my dad. I decided he was my dad when I was three. He’s being a good parent”

J- and Ross is like “yeah what he said. I’m a good parent.”

K- Ross is riding that high til the end of fucking time but like back to the story at hand

L- this is when the husband comes out nd is like “lissen. wifey. ily but that is a very big human and he hasn’t grabbed us yet so let’s count our blessings and gtfo”

M- but she’s like “uh no we stay until I’m sure Elliot is Safe and fucking Sound”

N- so they stay for dinner nd stick around a little longer.

O- Val (the kid) gets closer 2 Elliot and also Ross a bit

P- Mira shows once or twice, first time she shows up they’re like “oh god it’s the crazy doctor lady this all makes sense now” (bcos Mira does check up on as many borrower families as possible in her free time so word has got around by now Of her, and the number by which to contact her in case her services r needed)

Q- After a month or so, then they decide to leave bcos they’re like “look we get that ur son is ur son and he only has one arm and in our profession that is kind of a death sentence but we can’t have our kid getting used to dealing w humans who know about our existence” so they go and leave on a kind of sour note bcos Ellie can do anything he wants to do just as well as any other borrower Thank You Very Much and Ross is ready to fite anyone who thinks otherwise

R- Elliot starts trying 2 b more independent, basically from now on he’s like ‘I can do everything my Damn Self Thanks’

S- but uh he does it to a point where he’s going out of the way to endanger himself

T- so they get into a fite about it and ross Yells and Elliot is like ‘kthxbye’

U- and the boi just. Fuckin bolts. Runs Away. Ross is a Mess, he starts smoking again (he quit cold turkey the day he took Elliot in) to curb the depression, he’s jus. Not doin good, worried that his son is dead and the last time they talked it’d ended badly

V- FREEDOM!!!1! Except Ellie doesn’t kno how to take care of himself so it’s a rough month or so and then he runs into some other borrowers livin in their own town in the wild ig, chillin, being hella independent, and he’s like “uh yes ofc I will join u, I was w my dad for a while but.........” he neither confirms nor denies that his dad’s dead but everyone kinda just assumes.

Part 3

W-anyway a year goes by and then the borrower group gets hit hard w some kind of sickness ig. Elliot gets it too he’s basically incapacitated n drifting in and out of lucidity. So. They contact the weird crazy doctor lady who hangs around humans, a.k.a. Mira, and she’s like “oh. fuck. I know this kid.” bcos she does, u kno, and she jus treats em all for their ailment and shows them how to make antibiotic poultice thing in case smthn like it happens again. Mold. Penicillin is basically what it is

X-she and Elliot hav a Chat (Mira basically yells at him a lot) once he’s fixed up and he decides he’s gonna visit his dad but he makes it very clear that he is a Grown Up (he’s not, he’s literally sixteen), and he is living on his own now

Y- he agrees to stay for a week tho since he misses his home a lot tbh and Ross is just. Over the fucking moon to know he’s ALIVE, he’s not gonna fuck up their relationship by insisting that he stay. Or like, by keeping him ofc he would never

Z- unfortunately the borrower community put two and two together and figured out his dad’s human so they have his stuff packed up when he gets back w mira, who’s ready to go the fuck off on them

End 1:

-Ellie is living at Ross’s place atm and hopeful about the future basically. He eventually will go off on his own but he’ll keep in contact w his dad and stuff

Part C.5

55- few yrs later

56- elliot is Adult now he does adult borrower stuff

57- he moves out

58- finds nice borrower gf (her name’s Tess)

59- doesn’t tell her about his dad being human but talks about his dad a LOT

60- so when she asks to meet said father he’s just like “uh. Maybe we don’t do that actually”

61- and she’s like “y tho”

62- and he’s like “bcos”

63- anyway she decides to look into it cos she knows he goes to see his dad nd keep in touch but his dad is allegedly “a recluse who lives in the big scary human’s walls to avoid other ppl”

64- which is. Not true in the slightest tbqh he’s def not an introvert he’s just a workaholic and he Is the big scary human

65- anywho they run into Val and her wife and she’s like “how’s Ross been?” And Elliot is acting Very Suspish so she, being Smart, calls it immediately and is like “oh shit u haven’t told her yet have u”

66- Tess: “told me what”

67- Val: “El’s dad is a human, bro.”

68- Tess: “I’m sorry?”

69- this results in a Big Fight and they separate for like, a month. Elliot blames Val bcos he’s being irrational and doesn’t wanna admit to the fact that lying to his girlfriend for over a year was Real Bad Actually, but over time he’s like ‘yeah it’s my fault sry for snapping at u’ cos he works thru his emotions n stuff

70- Eventually gf comes back cos she’s like “ok so. I understand why you lied to me about your dad. It was a dick move but I do get it and I still care about you a lot. I would like. To meet him.”

80- this is a lie she does not want to meet him she is doing this bcos she does not want to lose Elliot and that outweighs the fear of his dad

81- so they go to meet him but she’s just kinda. Behind the wall at first like “that’s a crazy big human this is crazy ur crazy it’s time to gO”

82- Val is also there bcos she hasn’t seen Ross in a while

83- they eventually coax her out of hiding

84- and by that I mean Val picks her up and drags her out into the open by force bcos she basically freezes up the second she catches sight of Ross and Val’s like “u didn’t come all this way for nothing, bich”

85- they have a Painfully Awkward First Meeting, Tess is trying her best but oh god he’s just too fucking. Larg. Ellie ur dad too big

86- tbh tho the ice kinda breaks after Ellie and Ross get into a fight over smthn stupid (im thinking Elliot grumbles bout Ross’s hair being unruly and he’s worried that mira’s using it like a personal storage system again and Ross is like “I’ve been keeping better track of that actually” and then like a little line of paper clips and a few hand-bound notebooks tied together w some string fall out of his fucking mane and he’s like “I can explain”

87- “dad you can’t keep letting her use your hair like a fucking NEST”

88- Tess is laughing now cos god damn this was not what she was expecting

89- that’s it the end it ends w Tess laughing at them being idiots good times r had by all

Uhhhh that’s it so far. I have More but it’s kinda jumbled rn and I need to fit stuff in places. Anyway.

#was gonna make this into a comic lawl #if I like actually manage to get off my ass over the coming weeks I probably will be able to do that! but yeah #also this was once posted b4 and I deleted it but it’s back now say hellow #Library Fairy #oc: Mira #oc: Ross #oc: Elliot #oc: Tess #oc: Val #oc: Alexei #anyway yeah here it is behold #the uhhhhh most slice of life thing I have ever created

6 notes · View notes

wallyaxiom · 4 years ago

Text

lose you to love me

t a g g i n g → wally axiom, josh axiom, jim hawkins and him

t i m e f r a m e → present

l o c a t i o n → wally’s apartment

n o t e s → i guess this is sort of therapy for both wally and i to release a lot ??? that’s been held inside for sometime ??? like actually releasing it into the abyss and letting it stay there forever and stop dwelling on it. idk a tik tok told me to let go of things so here we are. anyways i’m in pain as per usual

You p r o m i s e d the world and I fell for it I put you first and you adored it Set fires to my forest And y o u let it burn

Wally had been through a lot in his twenty five years of living on this earth. he had lived through wondering why his birth parents had given him up, believing he had never been good enough. He lived through being not good enough for the Axioms and his own parents at time. He lived through the BNL gang and the abuse Runt subjected him to. They had lived through so much pain and heartache that when he showed up Wally believed that he had finally been gifted their happily ever after. But all his dragons weren’t slayed. in fact, more appeared into his life because of said knight in shining armor.

Wally didn’t allow themselves to think about it. Like most things in life, it was shoved into the back of his mind left there to wilt and eventually fade with everything else they wanted to forget. There was a lot there, perhaps it was too full that this was the reason why these memories in particular kept rearing their ugly head. The night of their fight, their divorce, the day everything he knew for years finally falling apart. Those familiar feelings still lingered within his body, tainting his soul the same way they did back then. Wally felt like he needed to take a bath in that instance or anytime he thought about it but he knew no matter how many times the water washed over skin he couldn’t scrub him out. Wally knew exactly what was spawning these exact thoughts. It was his dreams finally coming true. For the longest time Well felt as though he didn’t deserve to have them. No, he was left to rot in a gilded cage provided by his ex-husband. a cage that was built around false hopes, lies, manipulation and gaslighting.

Their relationship wasn’t always like this. In the beginning it was actually magical. Wally fell head over heels for him. they were so young, naive and so desperate to be loved. He believed he had found a soulmate in this person - a forever. It felt so right. Everyone believed they were the perfect couple and maybe they were for a while but that public image wasn’t the truth behind close doors. even now people ask what went wrong because to someone on the outside looking in everything seemed so fine. if only they knew.

currently, wally was sitting outside smoking a cigarette. He stopped smoking them when he was seventeen. They’d like to say it was for their health but it’s actually because he told him to stop because he didn’t like it. He told Wally to stop doing a lot of things they enjoyed because they didn’t coincided with what he liked or what he wanted wally to be. So, Wally was smoking this one out of spite because he could do it now without being reprimanded or deemed a bad person but fuck did this cigarette taste awful. He couldn’t finish the damn thing and ended up chucking it to the ground, stepping on it afterwards to extinguish it. A little too forcefully at that. Watching the smoke float from the ground, wally was reminded of a old friend. a friend who meant everything to them. they used to do things like this together. this friend was someone who was like a brother to wally and maybe he did develop some romantic feelings for them in the long run. maybe because he could be himself around this person when his boyfriend expected him to be this person he wasn’t. maybe he developed feelings for this person because they knew he hated their friendship. Maybe because there was a lack of trsut from the start so why not do what was being perceived? maybe Wally had been doing this out of spite to this person from the start without even knowing it. He was only seventeen at the time. he was a broken mess recovering from a lot. Honestly, Wally was on a path of self destruction at that age so the feelings could have stemmed from that as well. Regardless of where they came from his outlet was ripped away from him. The friendship wasn't ended on his terms. No, it was out of jealousy. But of course the friendship would still live on in gulting words from his husband. A constant reminder that was held over his head despite it happening years ago. A way to guilt him to get wally to things for his husband. and maybe wally would give him that one. They weren’t exactly in the right there but still the pattern of losing friends was something that continued until the once social butterfly had no one but him to turn to.

❝ You wanna know why I stick around? Because I thought things would change, how many times have to told you I didn’t like how things were going and you didn’t do a damn thing to change any of it, you go and make it worse. ❞

The biggest loss they probably suffered throughout that relationship was Eve. She had been there long before him but she didn’t get the chance to stay in Wally’s life. she was shoved out once the two had gotten together. Her name that once brought so much joy and love was tainted with anger and bitterness that didn’t necessarily stem from him. They were perfectly placed and soon festeresr into something that didn’t belong to wally but him because he expected wally to feel the same way about eve that he did.

❝ Well now that you’ve come out and said it, I’m gonna have to agree with you, this relationship is pointless when you think about it. I want to leave because I just need to get away, I’ve had enough of all the shit that happens here. Yeah, thanks for telling me about Eve coming back, with me gone you can just go back to her like you’ve been wanting to ever since she left. ❞

❝ No I’m pretty sure you broke up with me, you made that painfully obvious by the way you talk. Really, I should be asking you those questions, you shouldn’t be asking me them. ❞

❝ Wally, I should be the one who believes you, but I just can’t, the way you are with her, hell even the way you are with Jafar, I just can’t. If you can remain close friends with an ex you either are still in love with them or never were, and it sure as hell isn’t the second one. I was willing to die for you and I almost did and you repaid me by trying to kill yourself and this. I love you more than you could possibly imagine but it just feels pointless half the time because I know you’re torn. ❞

Wally was never torn. The moment he picked him his heart was set on him. Eve became an ex and old friend but apparently she couldn’t be anything to Wally so that’s when she became nothing. Someone who had been with him for years soon because nonexistent in his life. As for his attempted suicide? Well, that had nothing to do with him either. it came from life leaving him hollowed and broken but of course everything had to revolve around him. Anything that was remotely wally’s always came back to him. Nothing could ever just be his. The moment they said ‘I do’ suddenly they became this morphed being of just one human. Wally wasn’t allowed to be his own entity. they were his husband’s property and at times that’s what he felt like. an object. Their breath hitched in their throat as the phantom touches of him graced his, waist, his hips and then some. The pulling. The grasps. The glares at others whenever someone would get too close. The overprotectiveness that was perceived as love but really it was possessiveness. The way their relationship became too physical that wally felt like a piece of meat at times. objectified. The way he felt used. Their body used. Their entire being used for him. but when wally tried to express themselves he was labeled a slut. he was shamed. their son was brought into it as another guilting factor to hold over wally’s head and god forbid their son ever seen their parent in the light that he did.

Josh.

It was the only good thing that came out of their years together. Joshua Matthew Axiom was the light of Wally’s life. Perhaps the rest of the love they had for one another was used for that sweet little boy. It wasn’t just Wally who was affected by the storm he made. Josh was left in the aftermath as well but Wally didn’t allow his son to feel like he wasn’t good enough or it was his fault. He didn’t blame his son for halting his dreams. He allowed his husband’s dreams to blossom while he waited in the wings waiting for his chance to finally make his own dreams come true but that’s impossible when you’re put in the place of a stay at home parent. Wally refused to let Josh be tainted by him the way he had tainted them. Josh was too pure, too perfect, and too good for this world to ever feel the way Wally had felt. He’d be damned if he allowed it to never happen. Josh was Wally’s one perfect thing. The one thing in life he felt he had gotten right. Being a parent gave them purpose. It gave them hope and a light he thought was long extinguished. He wanted to be better for his son. He needed to be better for his son and by doing that he had to finally face the problems he had buried deep within.

❝ I might always have shit to do, but I’ve always found a way to make time for you, but you never let me do anything that didn’t benefit you outright. ❞

with heavy footsteps, wally led himself back into his apartment

❝ I guess this is all my fault because I tried to spoil my boyfriend and husband. But none of it is ever enough is it? You constantly took me away from my schoolwork and yes sometimes I could multitask, but you should’ve understood that sometimes I have other things that are important too, not just you. ❞.

They stood there in the doorway for a minute. Blinking those long lashes of his against his golden skin. He hadn’t realized he had been crying until he felt the dampness coat his lashes.

❝ We will lose everything if I lose this, but whatever, apparently that’s not important. ❞

In that moment all the pain they had been harboring for a year finally released. he didn’t cry when they fought. he didn’t cry when he filed for divorce. he didn’t cry when he left. but right now a sob wracked through his body that left wally hunching onto the floor, folding into himself as he bawled his eyes out in a way he hadn’t in a long time. For years he believed it was his fault. That all of the problems stemmed from him. Maybe if he had been a better partner things would have been better but it took wally a year to realize there was nothing he could do to change his ex-husband. He needed to fix himself and wally couldn’t do it. Wally wouldn’t do it. He needed to heal himself and that’s what he was doing. Healing.

Wally was covered in scars he did nothing to earn but maybe there was a lesson to be learned. A lesson of self worth, value and love. A much needed lesson that Wally needed to learn. he couldn’t keep being dependent on people and giving all of themselves to people who didn’t care nor deserve his kindness. As much as he wanted to hate him Wally couldn’t. He resented him, sure, but hate is something his tiny body was incapable of. He was someone who was easy to forgive. This time was different though. His ex wouldn’t get the satisfaction of knowing if he was ever forgiven.

Wally didn’t know how long he had been crying. They were still curled up into themselves when their heard small footsteps pad against the floor in their direction.

“Papa?” the soft, angelic voice called.

Wally’s head lifted instantly, his forearms wiping away any remnants of tears that stained his cheeks. “Hi, honey.” they spoke softly to their son. They opened their arms wide and on cue the five year old ran into their parents arm hugging him tight. Wally buried his nose into the soft tuff of brunette locks before him holding his son close. In that moment it was as if every bad feeling that had erupted from him soon faded into the abyss. He felt lighter holding his son there in his arms.

“Why are you crying?” the child asked, his voice muffled from wally’s embrace.

“Oh, I was just thinking about somethings but i’m okay now. I promise.” Everything was okay now. it had been for a long time and Wally had to remind himself of that. The hard times were long behind him. A new chapter was waiting to be written but it couldn’t be if he kept dwelling in the past.

“Why don’t we watch some movies, huh? i’ll make popcorn, a tent and everything.”

“Can we invite Jim?”

their heart stopped. fluttered even.

“yes, baby. we can invite Jim.”

he became even lighter at that. Wally didn’t jump back into dating. In fact, they were fine being on their own. they had to learn to be fine on their own instead of feeling the need to have someone give them love. He had to find it within himself first before he went searching for it in someone else. they he came skating into his life and flipped his entire world upside down. This solar flare that burned so brightly that left him blinded and breathless. Someone respectful, kind and wonderful. He felt too good to be true but Jim restored Wally’s faith. He didn’t fix wally. No, wally did that on his own. But Jim reminded him that he deserved someone who treated him like human. They weren’t together but Wally would be lying if he said he didn’t feel something for him. It wasn’t love just quite yet. There was no rush to fall in love this time. instead, Wally chose to enjoy every little moment and if it happened then it happened if it didn’t, well, he was happy to have Jim in his life to teach him another valuable lesson about self worth.

They healing wasn’t done. it wouldn’t would end in that moment of release but it was a start. It was a start for Wally to move on and allow themselves to be happy for the opportunity to be given. To feel like they deserved this and so much more. To be happy with themselves in general and look at life with the glass half full again and not empty. The cage that once trapped him was long broken. He felt more integrated with people again. He felt safe to have friends once again and all of it felt all too amazing to even describe. Wally was starting to feel like the person who had stepped foot into Elias seven years ago. A wide-eyed wanderer who, yes, was a little ripped at the edges but still had so much hope and love to give.

He was becoming Wally Axiom again and no one could take that away from them.

Not again.

#sp: intlutlm #tw. manipulation #tw. gaslighting #tw. abuse #tw. suicide mention #this took three hours to write lmfao

7 notes · View notes

tacittherapist · 5 years ago

Text

Heartbeats quicken. The tremors return. Rose opens her laptop, glancing about to make sure she’s alone. Gods forbid anyone, especially Jade, see her revisit one of her lowest points. She craves it -- to know the bitter ennui of her past mistakes is a nectar that keeps her reality grounded and the fire under her lit. This particular memory is perhaps the worst mistake of her young life though, and to correct it would be to supp deep from the ichor of sweet relief. She pulls up the log...

tacitTherapist [TT] started trolling grimAuxiliary [GA].

TT: So. GA: So TT: It’s come to this. GA: Indeed It Has TT: And you’re still not budging. GA: Consider My Position Entirely Unmoved TT: Entirely? That seems a bit harsh. GA: This Is A Harsh Reality TT: I imagined you’d have at least granted me the niceties and lied about how malleable your convictions are. GA: Rose GA: What Is There Left To Say GA: We Have A Crucial Difference In Opinion That Cannot Be Reconciled GA: We Have Iterated Our Arguments To Each Other For Days Without Relent GA: The Underlying Basis To This Disagreement Is Presupposed On The Notion That This Infernal Game Has Shown You The Right Course Of Action Without Any Other Supporting Evidence That It Isnt Simply Lying To You Once Again TT: They aren’t lies, they’re possibilities. GA: But Only One Of Them Will Happen To Us GA: The Rest Dont Matter GA: Thus They Are Lies And There Is Just One Truth TT: Couching your beliefs that way is what I disagree with. GA: Then You Arent Fucking Listening GA: Only One Of Those Timelines Will Be The One We Are In GA: So Forgive Me If I Buttress My Language In Solipsistic Idiom GA: Unless You Can Give Me More Than One Percent Assurance That We Will All Make It Through This By Jumping On This Fantastic Savior Satellite GA: I Cannot Support Your Idea And I Suggest You Let It Go TT: I can’t. GA: I Know GA: Thats Why Theres Nothing Left To Say TT: I disagree. I think there are a variety of things left to say. GA: Do They Relate To The Problem At Hand Or Are You Stalling TT: Irrelevant. The impetus of communication isn’t inherently problem-solving, it’s to convey meaning. GA: The Impetus Does Solve A Problem GA: You Want To Convey Meaning So The Solution Is Communication TT: Semantics. I’m saying there are other avenues of thought we must explore first. GA: Rose According To You We Are Running Out Of Time GA: Is This Truly How You Want To Spend Your Last Moments With Us GA: Bickering Pointlessly On Separate Computers To Avoid Devolving Into Another Shouting Competition Which Karkat Invariably Wins TT: Would you rather I pivot into sweet nothings about how I’ve so enjoyed our time together on this desolate rock? TT: Would you rather I spin the yarn of our tale aboard this distant laboratory, slowly starving as our grist cache dwindles? TT: Must I recount our feeding calendar in which we literally take turns stemming the hunger pangs until we all eventually succumb to malnutrition and sickness simultaneously? GA: No TT: Then this is how I’m spending my last moments. Quite presumptuous of you to assume I’ve made up my mind as well. For all you know, I could be swayed and end up staying here. GA: Given You Were Just Eviscerating My Position Mere Seconds Ago As To Why We Should Stay Here Im Sufficiently Certain You Wont TT: That’s another issue. Your certainty. The Light has shown me countless avenues to success. There are literally endless timelines in which we follow my advice and everyone meets up to finish the game. TT: And yet you’re somehow unwaveringly certain that none of them will occur? GA: Your Argument Swings Both Ways TT: I don’t appreciate the implicit reference to my confusing sexuality, but go on. GA: If There Are Countless Possibilities In Which We Succeed Following Your Idea Then There Are Also Countless Possibilities In Which We Succeed Not Following Your Idea GA: Its Two Infinities GA: The Question Lies In Which Infinity Is Bigger TT: That makes no sense, infinity is infinity. GA: Yes But Some Infinities Are Larger Or Smaller Than Others GA: Some Infinities Are Not Even Truly Infinity But We Consider Them Infinity For The Sake of Mathematics TT: How does that make even remote sense? GA: While You Were Studying The Majyyk I Was Reading The Calculus TT: I didn’t realize I was speaking to Jade’s pupil. GA: You Arent GA: If I Were Jades Pupil Wed Have Met Up By Now And We Wouldnt Be Having This Inane Conversation TT: But you can become her pupil! If you just come with me. Trust me, Kanaya. Please. GA: I Trust You Rose GA: But I Cannot Go With You GA: Look GA: The Prophecy Satellite Is On The Horizon GA: You Have Not Much Time TT: Technically I have all the time I need. GA: Dave Has Sworn Off His Powers And You Know This TT: He can be convinced. GA: If Your Powers Of Persuasion On Him Are Anything Like They Are On Me I Highly Doubt That TT: Fuck you. GA: Rose

A pregnant pause passes as Rose looks over on the horizon. The satellite is indeed coming into view.

TT: I’m sorry, Kanaya. TT: I love you. GA: I Love You Too Rose GA: But This Is Goodbye TT: It doesn’t have to be. GA: What GA: Didnt We Just Go Over That Im Not Coming With You And That You Arent Staying Here TT: Yes. But if you don’t say goodbye, it means we’ll meet again. GA: Rose This Is Childish TT: If you don’t say goodbye, it isn’t the end. GA: This Is The End Rose TT: It isn’t the end. I’ll see you again. I’ll find John and Jade by myself and we’ll come get you. GA: How GA: How Long Will It Take To Find Them GA: And How Will You Find Us If You Ever Do GA: This Laboratory Is Bound To Continue Drifting Even After You Depart GA: We Wont Stay Frozen In Place Once You Leave GA: This Isnt Like One Of Those Trashy Rainbowdrinker Books You Devoured GA: This Is Real Rose GA: You Must Face This Truth TT: We are the shapers of our world. GA: Not This Again TT: We determine our own fate. GA: Rose This Is A Quote From Another Novel Please Dont Do This TT: We mold the physical to our whims and thrust it forward through our own designs. We shape destiny. We reject that which displeases us and create our own reality. TT: Can you really not indulge me? As this one last act of kindness? GA: I Will Allow You One Kindness But It Will Not Be This TT: Fine. As my last act of kindness from you, I want... GA: It Cannot Be Something Ridiculous TT: I want you to forget me. GA: What The Fuck Did I Just Say TT: Hear me out. TT: If truly everything we’ve been through thus far has meant so little that you can’t put your faith in my decision, I want you to forget it. TT: It will be as if it never happened. I was merely a phantom in this session, and should I somehow return (against your predictions), I will get to vindictively rub it in your face. TT: But if you’re right, and I never return, the pain for you is lessened. You were never in a relationship with me, so there’s nothing to mourn. I never existed. Things were simply bad, and my nagging insistence to redirect our course was never there. TT: I want you to forget me. GA: Rose You Know I Cant Do That TT: Not even for me? As your last kindness? GA: It Would Not Be Kind To Invalidate The Memories You Ensured We Would Create GA: It Would Not Be Kind To Devalue Everything You Have Done For Us GA: And I Still Cherish Those Memories Even If They Led To Something Painful TT: It will only cause you more pain if you hold onto them. I don’t want you to suffer. GA: I Want To Suffer These Memories GA: They Offer Me Some Reassurance TT: But not enough to convince you to join me. GA: No

Rose stops typing, a nerve in her snapping. Her face goes beet-red, despair swelling into wrath. She sets her claws to the keyboard once more.

TT: Then if not by your grace, I’ll make you forget through spite. GA: What TT: I want to be forgotten. I want my existence to be erased from this failure of a timeline. I never loved you. You meant nothing to me. GA: Rose TT: My departure will be a curse upon you unless you forget. Whether by magic or by will, you must forget me. All those memories I made with you meant nothing. I did those things only to ensure my own survival. Your presence was happenstance at best. TT: Now that I’m heading out on my own, our destinies are uncoupled. Whatever happens to you is beneath me. I am taking the path to victory, and you can all squander the rest of your miserable lives here. TT: I won’t come back for you. I gave you all the chances I had. This is your fault. GA: Rose Please Dont Do This TT: You won’t see me again. I’m getting on that satellite and I’m not looking back. Even if I am to die, alone on a satellite, it will be a Heroic death as the only one with any sense not to continue a cursed existence on this fucking rock. TT: I will live with only a spectre of guilt that I didn’t forcibly coerce you onto the satellite with me, chastising myself for respecting your wishes and letting you choose your own demise. TT: That is all. Goodbye.

tacitTherapist [TT] stopped trolling grimAuxiliary [GA].

True to her word, Rose closed her laptop and walked briskly to the edge of the floating laboratory to wait for the satellite to pass by. Sheer anger coursed through her veins, hoping that would mask her true intent. She had never displayed that kind of fury before, let alone to Kanaya. If she played her cards right, Kanaya might still join her, moved by the pure strength of her conviction. But there was no hesitant hand on her shoulder, begging her to stay or to join her. There was no last-second plea, no ‘Rose Wait’, and not even a footstep in her general direction as she waited.

Resigned, she boarded the satellite, breaking her word and casting a desperate glance back as the satellite continued its course away. Through the tiny window, she could see Kanaya simply looking down at her grubtop, her face stained jade. Regret swelled, and for just a second, she could feel herself begin to open the hatch and jump back towards the meteor. But the second passed, and soon she was out of range to give even a cursory wave goodbye.

The same tears begin to stream down her face as she closes the pesterlog and wraps her sheets tighter around her shoulders. She can’t keep putting off her meeting with Cetus forever... but she still doesn’t know how she’ll reckon with the shadow of her failed ploy.

#pesterlogs #long post #((by god this was brutal to write))

4 notes · View notes

saxxxology · 6 years ago

Text

THE CURSED - Ch.3

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~3300

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

Buy Sam’s scent from my Etsy shop

Access the entire series early on Patreon for just $3

Series Masterlist

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Y/N’s scent was starting to get to Sam; he hadn’t smelled an Omega that tantalizing in three years. It was rare that an Alpha took notice of an Omega after losing one, but as they traipsed down the road, Sam wondered for the millionth time if maybe he might have found another Omega to claim… he hadn’t felt the need in a long, long time.

No. She’s meant for another. You can’t.

But just as the sun rose above, the early morning light bathing their backs and freeing them from the night’s chill, Y/N doubled over in pain, falling to her knees in the center of the road. Pala jerked on her rope and whinnied before nudging Y/N’s side as the girl grabbed at her lower belly, fingers splayed wide over the fabric of her bodice.

“Y/N!” Sam fell to his knees beside her, a hand on her shoulder as he tried to get her to straighten up. Then her scent slammed into him with the force of a charging horse.

Dean smelled her as well, but didn’t suffer the same effect as his brother. “She’s in heat,” he said roughly. “Come on, we need to move faster if we’re going to make it.”

Sam stepped back, trying to hide the trembling in his body as Dean lifted Y/N into his arms and helped her into Shadow’s empty saddle. She groaned and curled her fingers in the horse’s mane.

“It hurts,” she whimpered, tears already brimming in her eyes.

“I know, I know.” Dean picked up the pack she had been carrying and fastened it to the saddle. “How long have you been in pain? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Y/N shook her head. “Since last night, but I’ve never felt a heat this strong before, I’ve never been allowed around Alphas… ahh!”

She doubled over again with a cry, and Dean shot his brother a look. He could tell Sam was barely restraining himself, but they had a mission; get the girl to the wedding, stay for that, and return home. If Sam acted on his impulses and claimed her, the punishment for his crime would be horrible.

So they trudged on, traveling over a range of hills before coming to rest in a group of trees well away from the road. They tethered Pala to a thinner tree and pulled the saddle and packs from both horses. They set up their shelters in a ring of trees just as the sun began to dip over the horizon and Dean built a fire, using two sticks to support strips of meat from a couple rabbits Sam had shot earlier as Y/N busied herself with plucking the stems from the wild berries they’d collected earlier. Her cramps had gotten so painful she was constantly on the verge of emptying her stomach, but Dean forced her to drink and kept a linen sheet soaked in water wrapped around her shoulders in order to keep her fever at bay.

They ate in mostly silence. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the wind whistling through the tall trees and the rippling of muscle as the two men ripped the still-sizzling meat apart. Sam ate in an attempt to distract himself from the primal ache in his gut, and Y/N barely ate at all. Afterwards, the brothers washed their hands and faces in a nearby stream while Y/N situated herself in their tent. Dean, who knew all too well what Sam was feeling, took the opportunity to speak to him.

“It would be wrong,” he said quietly.

Sam glanced over at him. “What are you saying?”

“If you claimed her, it would be wrong,” Dean muttered. “She’ll have her Beta in two more days, she can survive this.”

Sam shook his head. “If she survives the next two days and is satisfied by a Beta,” he scoffed as if offended by the term, “I will be impressed.”

Dean noted his brother’s assertive body language and knew exactly what Sam was contemplating. “Don’t. What she needs is to marry her Beta and be with him—”

“No, what she needs is an Alpha!” Sam growled, “not some stinking, useless Beta who can’t give her the satisfaction she needs.” He sighed and shifted, looking back towards the camp. “I should never have come on this journey.”

“Why?”

Sam inhaled slowly and pointedly said, “bad timing.”

“You—” Dean folded his arms, “your rut?”

Sam nodded. “I can feel it coming. If I lose control around her…”

“Brother, she’s barely of age—”

“And children are wedded all the time,” Sam interrupted. “She’s eighteen, older than most. And I would claim her if I could,” he affirmed with confidence. “I’m better, stronger than the man her family wants her to marry.”

Dean scoffed. “You’ve never met him.”

“He won’t be right for her.” Sam growled, turning and stalking through the trees towards the slowly dying campfire. “I’m going to sleep. The sooner this mission is over, the better.”

***

The next morning, Y/N’s heat had gotten even worse. She’d tossed and turned all night, practically weeping with the pain, and the scent of her heat made its way to Sam. More than once he fought the urge to take her right there, two feet away from where his brother lay fast asleep. And all those times he told himself that it would be wrong.

But Y/N was young, at her most fertile, and Sam was beginning to fantasize about claiming her, knotting her throughout her heat and seeing her grow round with child… his child. If he could, he’d impregnate her over and over again, building a family bigger than he could ever dream of.

The next evening they found another tavern. Upon seeing Y/N’s condition, the old innkeeper took pity and allowed them to stay in two adjoining rooms upstairs. Dean kept busy with wrapping the feverish Omega in cool towels and making her drink her special tea to ease the cramps.

Sam remained in an adjoining room, picking the twigs and burrs from his fur cloak in an attempt to distract himself from the ache of his rut, which was nearly in full swing. His balls were full and heavy, practically begging for release even though he’d already snuck off to the private bathroom twice to ‘relieve’ himself. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he knotted an Omega, and there was one lying ten feet away, in heat and ready for him. Dean had gone downstairs to fetch food and water, and when he announced that he was going to retire for the night, Sam knew it was only a matter of minutes before he could make his move.

Soon after Dean’s soft snores filled the room, he quietly turned the knob of the door that separated their rooms.

Y/N lay naked on top of the blanket, her body covered in sweat. Her slick glistened on her inner thighs, and her trembling fingers were anxiously pressing at her belly, trying to soothe the cramps that were only getting worse by the second. Her scent engulfed him, and once again he felt himself harden almost painfully. It appeared that his scent had affected her too, as she arched up off the blanket, eyes flying wide open.

“Sam—”

“You need me.” He muttered stiffly. “You won’t survive another two days like this, it’s killing you.”

She exhaled heavily, chest heaving as she sucked in another breath of frigid air. “Please, Sam, don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you.” Sam growled as another wave of her scent washed over him. “Y/N, you know exactly what you want. Just ask and I will help you.”

“I n-need…” Y/N hissed and pressed at her belly again. “I need it, Sam.”

With a growl, Sam moved closer. “I know you need it. Do you want it?”

She looked torn between refusing and giving in. Finally, she made her decision.

“Yes.”

The second the word left her mouth he was on top of her and laying a harsh, bruising kiss on her lips. Her teeth bit at his lower lip, and Sam felt his cock throb eagerly in his pants at the pain.

At the best of times, Sam was kind, sweet, and understanding. But this acknowledgment of their bond, what they both needed in that moment, had flipped a switch. They were about to cross a line that they knew was wrong, immoral, and neither of them cared.

She gripped him tight, legs wrapping up around his waist as her hands tugged at his shirt, threatening to rip the already worn-out cotton. A chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned back to help her pull it up, exposing his firm, chiseled chest. Y/N skimmed her fingers over his skin, feeling every last ripple of muscle and scar that covered his body. Without hesitating, Sam crawled down her body, caressing her skin until he was able to shove her legs apart and bury his lips between her thighs. She was bare, and he pressed a quick kiss to each lip of her pussy before turning his attention to the most sensitive piece of her.

Y/N had never felt anything remotely close to that before. She writhed on the thin mattress, mouth open in a silent scream as Sam licked and sucked at her sex. "Sa-Sam…!”

He promptly shoved slid two fingers inside her and began roughly pumping back and forth, searching for her sweet spot. She cried out against the palm of her hand as her toes curled, her core fluttering and clenching around the Alpha's long, nimble fingers.

"I'm—" she never got to finish her sentence. With a harsh suck of her clit, Sam sent her over the edge, growling possessively as her slick trickled over his hand. He worked her through it, fighting the urge to ruin his pants before he could properly knot her. When she was simply a whimpering mess, he crawled up and knelt between her shaking legs.

"Sam, please," she was literally sobbing with need now, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "Please, Alpha, I need you."

"I know," Sam reached down and wrenched the tie of his pants open, allowing his length to spring free and into his waiting hand. He used the arousal that coated his fingers to slick himself before notching himself at her opening. He expected her to buck her hips away at the feeling of him there, but she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him close, scratching at his arms and emitting quiet, needy moans.

“Alpha,” tears brimmed in her eyes as she begged for him. “Please, I—”

Sam silenced her with a kiss. “Quiet. I don’t want anyone to hear us.”

She whimpered against his mouth as he ran his length through her folds, coating himself in her slick. When he began to press into her, she flinched, nails digging into his shoulders as she gasped out in surprise. He stopped, looking down at her with nothing but lust coursing through him. “I forgot… you’ve never been with a man before."

“No,” she whispered, “but I don’t care, I just want you…”

He assured himself that he could knot her without claiming her. He had just enough restraint to take comfort in that.

When he began to push into her, past that thin barrier of her maidenhood, he felt her walls flutter and clench around him as her legs shook around his waist. She cried out against his mouth and scratched at his back as he pushed deeper inside her, reveling in the warm, soft wetness of her womanhood around him. She was better than he’d imagined, tighter, softer, warmer.

The perfect Omega for him.

Y/N was surprised at how easy it was, how, after the initial shock and burn of his entry, Sam just pushed inside and seated himself there, resting heavy and thick. Other women, including her own mother and handmaiden, had warned her about the pain, about how it hurt for so long, how virgins always bled and fought… but then she realized that there was no way it would ever hurt, no way she would ever bleed or have to fight the Alpha off.

She was supposed to be with Sam.

And she was all that mattered to him.

On Sam’s first thrust, she nearly cried out in pleasure. He clapped a hand over her mouth and dug his knees into the thin mattress, using it as leverage to push forward again, and he swore she melted around him. His head dropped onto her shoulder as he moved harder, faster, careful to keep the sound of his hips slapping against her as quiet as possible. The little bed rocked on the floor, creaking slightly as they moved in tandem.

He felt her tighten around him and lifted his hips just enough for him to get his other hand between their bodies, rubbing his thumb over her sensitive bud in small, slow circles.

Y/N could barely discern fantasy from reality. The hot, thick length of the Alpha inside of her was more than she could have hoped for, and she clawed at his skin as he filled her over and over and over again, her gasps and cries muffled by his huge hand. Her fingers would never provide the pleasure of him rutting inside her, and her eyes rolled back into her head as she pictured what their bodies must look like together. The room was dark, only lit with moonlight, but as Sam lifted himself up on shaking arms, she glanced down, trying to see where he was entering her.

“Oh,” Sam panted, “God, I need you… need to knot you. Roll over,” he pulled out and helped her move onto her hands and knees before pressing her down against the blankets and thrusting back into her.

It felt even better in this position. Y/N yelped quietly as his length pounded against the perfect spot deep inside her. He was holding her perfectly, both hands on her waist to hold her still as he began moving faster, more urgently. The wet, slick sounds of him inside her filled the room. Sam curled over her, bracing one hand over her shoulder as he kissed the side of her neck hungrily.

Then his hips began to stutter, and she felt a sudden tightness where he was entering her. His knot.

She panicked, trying to pull away and whimpering with sudden fear. Sam went still and kissed her shoulder comfortingly.

"Shh,” he soothed her, “it's okay. I’ve got you."

“It’ll hurt.”

He nodded and dropped his forehead between her shoulders. “Maybe, but only this first time, I swear.”

“Y-you're sure?"

Her voice was wracked with need, but Sam could hear the hesitation. "I promise," he murmured. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she turned her head, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Yes, I trust you.”

Sam kissed her again and rolled his hips. They were a long way from just knotting, he thought. This was becoming something a lot more.

“Good,” he whispered, “let me make love to you.”

He slipped one hand down between her thighs and rubbed his fingers over her clit. When her sex throbbed around him, he continued to move. His knot had relaxed during their moment of conversation and he took the opportunity to stroke in and out of her, getting her to peak before edging her away, not letting her cum until he did as well.

Then, when Y/N tightened herself around him and arched her back receptively, Sam lost control. He snapped his hips forward, managing a dozen hard, feral thrusts before he released inside her, his knot swelling rapidly and locking them together. Both of them silently moaned out each other’s names, mixed with gasps and the sounds of Y/N’s whimpering as the tightness between her legs nearly became too much to bear.

At the feeling of his release filling her in thick, warm bursts, Y/N finally fell over the edge, shaking violently as her climax scorched through her, prolonging when Sam brought his hand up and cupped her breast, his fingers teasing the nipple.

When he was at the height of his pleasure, Sam lost the ability to think and allowed his primal instincts to take over. All he wanted to do was make her his forever… the last love he’d ever take.

With a ferocious snarl of the word “mine” he dipped his head and sank his teeth into the back of her neck.

She did cry out then, this time with pain. Nevertheless, her body spasmed as another earth-shattering climax washed over her, and Sam pressed his free hand over her mouth, forcing her to stay quiet. He collapsed on top of her, uselessly bucking his hips in an attempt to fuck himself deeper into her filled cunt. With a breathy moan, he pulled his teeth from her neck and lapped at the bite marks, already feeling them begin to heal under his tongue.

He cursed himself silently, even as the soft moans and contented sighs she emitted threatened to arouse him again. He’d broken his promise to himself that he wouldn’t claim her, that simply knotting her would be enough to relieve them both until they left her at the castle with her groom.

God, have mercy on our souls, he thought.

“Sam...”

The soft pant of his name was enough to alert him to the fact that he was nearly crushing Y/N underneath him, and he slowly turned onto his side, cradling her close so that his knot didn’t tug. “Yes?”

“You—” Y/N’s voice was thick with post-coital bliss, “you claimed me.”

He buried his face in the uninjured crook of her neck and bared his teeth in a mixture of regret and pleasure. He could still taste her blood, hot and coppery on his teeth as he ran his tongue over them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” Y/N murmured. “I… I wanted you to. It was perfect.”

Sam chuckled and nosed affectionately at the curve of her shoulder. His heart was pounding in his chest, cock still hard inside her. “I’m glad. Are you in pain?”

“Not as much as I feared,” Y/N laughed quietly and tilted her hips so that Sam fit more comfortably inside her. However, the feeling of his knot sent a shock of fear through her blood. “I can’t be married.”

“I know.”

“You could be jailed, tortured,” she let her head rest on his arm as he extended it underneath her neck. “Sam, you could be killed.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t care?”

“Who said anyone will find out that you’ve been knotted?”

“You claimed me.” Y/N brushed her fingers tentatively over the mark, wincing when she felt the already-healed skin under her fingertips.

Sam grimaced. Of course, he was stupid to think that his claim on her would go unnoticed. “Right…” he caressed her skin with a feather-light touch and nipped playfully at her jaw. “What if we never arrived?”

“They’d send a party to find us.”

“Well then,” Sam kissed over her shoulder and reached to fill one palm with her breast, “what if they don’t?”

Y/N sighed and arched herself into his touch. “They might, Sam. And I have to do this for our families. Our marriage is sealing an animosity and without it…"

“I don’t care about that,” Sam growled and pushed his hips forward, making sure Y/N felt him still locked inside her. “I care about you. You’re my Omega now. Mine. Say it.”

Y/N trembled at his words. “I’m yours, Sam.”

“Good.” Sam nuzzled her shoulder and pulled one of the blankets over their still-entwined bodies. “Let’s sleep. We can discuss the situation in the morning.”

She reached down and brushed her fingers over her inner thighs. “I need to clean…”

“Shhh,” Sam brushed his lips over the shell of her ear and splayed his hand out over her lower belly, where his cock and seed were still nestled in her fertile body. “In the morning.”

If you want to see chapter 4, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

Forever tags: @atc74 @artisticlunarmakeup @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @cameronbraswell @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @smallgirlbigpersonality @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @85natalie @81mysteriouslyme

#alpha!sam x omega!reader #the cursed series

214 notes · View notes

fightevilandthengetblownup · 5 years ago

Text

FIC: Hello Again

As the bartender turned away, cash in hand and drinks set before the pair of them in the darkened booth towards the back of the bar, the silence that had shrouded the table since she sat down returned. It wasn’t completely uncomfortable, but it was very obviously awkward for both of them to be facing one another now that everything had been revealed.

“So..” Jo started to speak, eyes darting up to the other hunter’s face before dropping the moment she noticed him looking back at her. Whatever she was thinking of following with was gone, leaving her to pick at the label on the side of her beer as the awkwardness intensified. What was there even to say.

He stared back at her for a long moment, she could feel it despite not glancing up to check again, before he gave a cough and fidgeted with his sleeves. “I’d guess it’s about time we actually got introduced, Jo.” His voice was softer than she remembered, an uncertainty behind it that wasn’t there in the times she’d been around him in past. /Then again, maybe not even the way he talked was real/, the thought made her shudder slightly at the implication until a large hand rested over hers on the beer bottle. “I’ll start then - hi, I’m William Reynolds. My friends call me Will for short.”

Jo looked back at him carefully for a long moment, waiting to see if this was some kind of joke or taunt or jab at her trusting so openly before. It’s not until the other hunter gives a quiet huff and moves his hand to hold it out to her across the table that Jo gives into him, hand reaching to shake his. “Nice to meet you, William. I’m Jo.” Her words parrot the first time she’d introduced herself to the hunter, and her lips quirk up into a cautious smile towards him.

“Likewise.” She was not sure what to make of it as they dropped hands again and go back to their own nervous twitches. That he’d called her two days earlier to meet for a beer, that he’d come back to town after she found out what had been possessing him and had attempted to stab him in the neck barely three months ago, that he wanted to even speak with her - all of it seemed strange and a little bit crazy in her eyes, and yet there they were sitting silently across from one another.

As the silence is approaching a full minute, Jo considers what she could even say to the other hunter. ’/It wasn’t you I was trying to kill/’ sounded too aggressive and rude, ’/Well at least you’re still alive/’ was just blunt and ’/Why are you even talking to me?/’ wasn’t going to help anything at all. In fact she didn’t really want to hear the answer to that last one, that she knew that she’d been suckered into the monster’s tricks was bad enough without another hunter around who could see just how wrong she was to be in the business. She’d fought so hard years before and tried to prove herself over and over again, and just when she thought she was right in pursuing it-

“I’m sorry!” Jo wasn’t even aware she was speaking before she heard the words in her own voice, a small crack in pitch as she met his gaze straight on finally. Brown eyes looking slightly watery around the edges as his reflected the same back to her, William’s head bobbed in a nod after a moment to acknowledge he’d heard her, though his face didn’t shift at all as though waiting for more from her.

What he wanted specifically, Jo didn’t know, but after she took a swig of her beer and sat the slowly warming beverage back down she just went with it. “About your possession. And that I didn’t notice it wasn’t you, that you were in there and.. hurting? I’m sorry that I didn’t help you, William.” She blinked rapidly, battling back the stinging of tears before Jo looked back into the hunter green eyes.

There was another tense moment before the other hunter nodded again, his stare softening as the tension slipped out of his shoulders and pursed lips. The blonde had no idea whether it was the right thing, but her own posture relaxed too, fingers not shaking when she reached to pick at the label again. Whether anything would ever be enough to forgive her ignorance of his torment and torture at the hands of the psychotic shadow, Jo didn’t know but just maybe he wouldn’t ruin her like he could - not that she would blame him if he did decide to drag her across the coals and flames of the hunters.

“I’m not going to lie to you - these last few years have been the worst times of my life. I’ve begged to die more times than a person should ever have to, and I’ve got so much blood on these hands that I wouldn’t know where to begin.” His fingers tightened into a death grip around the neck of his beer, eyes fixated on a point on the wall of their booth as he struggled over the words, over the memories or over speaking them aloud for once. As he continued to speak, the lighter, gentler tone Jo was used to from the other hunter began to fade, leaving his words cold and devoid of the warmth the monster had pretended at and William seemed to have himself. “And yet playing with some stranger, toying with her emotions…breaking her. That’s all that mattered. When she was ready, when it was right - then I’d get to be free.”

The words sent a chill down Jo’s spine, guilt spiking up at the thought that if she’d been a little more open, a little less fun for Gray or stopped seeing the ‘hunter’ she knew, then maybe he’d have been released earlier. That it was because of her William had been picked up to begin with had made her want to cry from guilt after her sense of betrayal simmered down. And as she heard him say it aloud, as though he wasn’t even aware he was speaking the thoughts to her, brought those same feelings back all over again.

“There were moments where I thought you might have been able to tell, Jo. Where I hoped you picked up something was wrong or that I was there to hurt you in the long run, you don’t know how hard I tried to overpower it some days.” William’s voice startled her out of her own head, his hand gripping her wrist as though to jerk her out of them and make her feel exactly how small she was in comparison to him. That /he/ was overpowered, and just what something that could do that could have done to her in his form, made her shudder but not pull away as she looked back at him. “And yet I couldn’t. And neither could you, I know that much - /saw/ that much.”

The fire in his look would have scared her if Jo didn’t know exactly where he was coming from. The fact that the shadow could possess was scary enough, but that he could also change memories, edit details and spin anything in such a way to taint it like he’d done so many times before the blond hunter across from her had ever crossed paths with him just made the need to confirm, to /believe/, what is even remotely good as being reality was something she understood far too well.

After Gray had revealed himself, or had his cover blown as Jo preferred to think of it even though it wasn’t exactly accurate, she’d felt the same anxiety, fear and confusion the other hunter had been. It had taken a few weeks to feel even remotely comfortable around Grey, the jabs had hit deeper than she’d realised when Jo had found herself in tears backed into the corner of the lounge and trying to block him out with her hands the day she finally returned home after she found out about 'William’. They were only slowly working their way back to the normality that they’d had, and it was so very hard for her to open back up to what was or wasn’t real between them.

When the grip on her wrist tightened considerably, Jo bobbed her head in agreement to him. “If I had known, William, I’d have-”

“You’d have tried to stab me years ago. And I would have been glad for it.”

The both just look at each other for a moment before, almost simultaneously, they retracted their hands to their own sides of the booth and let out a laugh. William’s hearty chuckle was completely foreign to Jo, and she smiled as their laughter died down at the thought that there was something that wasn’t ruined by the shadow - his laughter. /And possibly his smile/, she thought at his returned smile, eyes crinkled slightly and the openness to it not at all like the overly sweet smiles or slightly naughty smirks the shadow had pulled in his act.

“And now?” Jo can’t help but ask the question that had been plaguing her ever since the blade had lodged between his collarbone and the shadow escaped from the hunter’s body, leaving her with him bleeding profusely down his front and almost crushing her when he’d sagged against her. William had survived, but only barely, and she had stayed at the hospital despite the worried calls and her realisation that the man unconscious on the bed was really a complete stranger to her in everything but face. It had taken a week before he was brought out of the induced coma to stop him moving, and the look of fear and concern that crossed his face upon seeing her had haunted her until the moment they’d sat down across from each other. That she might have added his blood on her hands figuratively as well as the literal way when she’d attempted to stem the bleeding had worried her, though the moment he was awake Jo couldn’t force herself to stay longer than the amount of time to set up payment for his care out of shame and guilt.

His smile dropped slightly, her eyes darted down to notice how he was once again tugging and fidgeting with his sleeves before meeting his gaze again as William pursed his lips, obviously thinking over his answer carefully. “Now, I have trouble believing he didn’t just actually kill me and this is my finding eternal peace or happiness or something. I stopped believing I’d make it out of it alive after the first year.” Jo’s brows creased in concern, not hearing a clear answer or confirmation before the other gave another chuckle and moved to take a drink from his beer. “I’m glad you didn’t actually kill me, Jo. That’s what I wanted to meet you for, well one of them.”

“Oh..” Jo can’t hide the surprise at that, having thought that he would be happy to never see her or hear of her ever again. After all, she had been the reason the shadow had been looking for a new way to torment her and she hadn’t been able to pick the lie that was given to her to trap the other in the situation.

William’s amusement seemed to soften a little, the serious tone of their conversation sobering the both of them back up though now the silence felt less awkward and more companionable - like two old friends trying to suss out what had changed since they’d last met.

“I almost didn’t believe it when he expelled himself. I felt sort of hollow and out of control all over again, but I was glad to be rid of him.” He spoke strangely and abruptly, the distance coming back into his looks and this time Jo couldn’t suppress the shudder that accompanied it as she started to drink from her beer to give her hands something else to do, her eyes somewhere else to focus although all they did was keep returning to his faraway look. “He was gone and I remained, and I am free again. We, he and I, became a friend to you, didn’t we Jo? You started to trust us, you saved us a few times even. Put your life in danger to protect us. That’s why I was allowed to live now, isn’t it? Because you began to…”

“Care for you. And that’s what he wanted.” She gasped the words out before he could say them, the cold blankness to his voice and face after the laughter and smile would have been too much to hear the harsh truth of it in. Jo’d condemned the gentle giant across from her to possession and a stolen life, just so the shadow could get his rocks off from hurting her in such a profound way. Shaking her head as though to get rid of the thought, she glanced away to look out across the slowly filling bar, giving a quite cough to try and dislodge the lump in her throat.

William shook his own head in response and took a long, gasping drink from his beer, almost draining it completely, before he spoke again. “Which I’m conflicted about, actually. I’m sorry he twisted your emotions like that through me, Jo… But I can’t say I’m upset about your liking me, or at least parts of me.” It looked like he was trying to fight a smile, one side of his lips twitched a little as he continued to drain the rest of his beer and watch her.

Jo tried not to react, not sure how to take what he said or what he meant by it at all - whether or not it was from the loneliness she was sure he must feel after being isolated from anyone nice aside from her for so long or that it was something much simpler. Ducking her head, the blonde sucked in and released a few quick breaths before she turned her attention back across the worn table top. For lack of anything that she felt she could say - sorry sounded too hollow again, agreement seemed too dangerous, and rejection too cruel - Jo bit her lip gently before replying softly. “Is that one of the things you wanted to talk to me about too?”

At the sight of his growing smile, the hunter felt like the gamble had paid off as she smiled back at him gently. Something about the genuine, somewhat dopey smile on his face just made her want to return it, and Jo couldn’t help but feel like that was something else uniquely /William/ and not at all affected by the shadow’s presence within his body in past. "It was, and now I have.“ His matter of fact tone, paired with the smile brought a genuine laugh out of her, before he continued, tone laced with humor underneath as he did so. "Lastly, I wanted to know if you were available to come with me to Louisiana. ..On a hunt!” He was quick to add the clarification when Jo’s smile dropped and eyes widened in shock and disapproval.

She let out a shaky breath alongside an awkward laugh, relief evident as Jo relaxed back into the worn leather of the booth. “You got a hunt you’re wanting to go after? Sure you’re up to it, hunter-man?” She smirked faintly at him as she reached to pull her beer towards herself, surveying him with the same quick efficiency her mother used to give hunters when they’d role into the Roadhouse after a hunt - looking for signs that they weren’t fighting fresh and as good to go as they pretended. “Not so long ago you were laid up in hospital in a coma, you know.”

“I’ll be fine so long as I have a partner I can trust with me, Jo.” That brought a flush to her cheeks in a flash, not at all prepared for the hunter to still seemingly trust her after her getting his kidnapped and tortured for such a long time. William leant forward towards her, smile dropping as he spoke seriously, his fingers once again tugging and fidgeting at his shirt. “You’re the one who’s talking to a stranger right now. I may not have been in control, but I’ve been there, and I know I can trust you - even if you never saw what was right under your nose. It’s your choice if you decide to trust me too, Jo - because I can call on the rounds who know I’m still alive now if you can’t.”

The idea makes her skin crawl - the same way it had when the gentle face looking at her now had been twisted into a vicious smirk and those large hands had pinned her and held her down. That she’d go hunting with /'William’/ again made her want to vomit, and yet it wasn’t the hunter she’d known asking - but some tall, potentially talented upstart who looked so nervous and unsure about his chances. William hadn’t been the one to hurt her, to toy with her, to make her care about him before harming her in the one way that had always left bigger scars than any of the marks that criss-crossed her body. It wasn’t William who had hurt her, and it wasn’t her who had hurt him - they’d both been wronged by the same monster, and just maybe they’d both begin to right again if they helped one another through it. Jo’d never fault him if he didn’t trust her or held resentments, the disjointed and disassociated comments he’d made worried her but not for herself; and glancing up at him from her down turned face, she couldn’t help but see the small, scared child inside of him which settled it for her.

After a deep breath, Jo looked back up to the other hunter’s uncertain look before smiling confidently right back into the face that the shadow had tried to corrupt for her. “So…what are we hunting?”

#CA #AU stories #kidverse fic #jopov

1 note · View note

olga-eulalia · 6 years ago

Text

You know what? I can post terrible self-indulgent fic if I want to, so here’s a Sleeping Beauty AU, featuring Silver and Flint. ~3500 words. R just to be on the safe side. Some non-con. Unbeta’d. Non-native speaker writing here.

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, when it was late winter and John Silver had been travelling across the land for many months, he came into a forest that was dark and strangely quiet, and he thought he’d lost the path when suddenly, just before nightfall, a hollow-way appeared in the gloom that brought him safely to the entrance of an inn.

The room was dimly lit, the ceiling low, and smoke came curling out when he entered. For a moment, all faces were turned towards him, squinting. But since Silver was not altogether unpleasant to look at and had the gift of a charming smile he found himself accepted rather warmly for a mere stranger passing through.

Over the years he had learned a couple of valuable things: That news, embellished, were quick to draw a crowd. That people in general enjoyed the company of a man who held their opinions in high esteem. That a ripping yarn was as good as any currency in that even the most standoffish were afflicted with an unusual bout of generosity once the teller’s tongue started to feel a bit parched. And all these, and more, came in very handy that night.

Now it was true even then that every place, no matter how remote, had its own stories, some of which people liked to talk about gleefully and often. While others, they only mentioned under their breath or kept secret altogether for fear of catching their oddness. And as knowing which was which was nigh impossible in advance, one had to excuse Silver. It was nothing but his natural curiosity that made him ask about the manor in the distance, whose it was, and he couldn’t have known that it would bring conversation throughout the room to a halt.

"The Devil's," a woodcutter muttered into his jug of ale.

The blacksmith, no less brawny in stature, set down his mug and corrected him.

Then, bit by bit, more people felt confident enough to chime in. Indeed, a rather fierce competition arose as to whose sources were the most reliable, whose account the most accurate. The innkeeper's face was impartiality itself as she pulled another frothy pint.

From what Silver was able to gather the building had been abandoned for more than two generations and folk in these parts believed that it was frequented by a most godless crowd: Ogres, ghosts, witches and suchlike. It was somewhat difficult to pin down the particulars of the tale since it morphed as it went from teller to teller, but in one aspect they all agreed: Don��t go near. The message was so uniform that one could almost believe everyone either in on a joke or cleverly hiding something from an outsider.

Silver, intrigued, had just made the decision to discover for himself whether the place held anything of value that could make his detour yet worthwhile when a shadow by the fire spoke up.

Hogwash! A tall, old man shifted his lined face into the light. In his days, everyone knew that the manor had been bewitched and that the only way to release its residents from the spell was to bestow one kiss on the beautiful princess trapped inside.

The old man frowned at the amusement rippling through his audience. He continued: Some of his friends had tried it in their youthful folly. Thought they could best the brambles that encased the stone walls as securely as an iron casket, but none of them were ever seen to make it through. Or return.

"Witchcraft." The woodcutter nodded.

The talk then shifted to discuss other possible doings of the Devil and whether the local magistrate was in cahoots with him, and Silver, feigning bodily discomfort, moved across the room to occupy a cosy seat by the fire as well.

"I'd very much like to see this manor house for myself," he said. Perhaps the tale and her teller's name would find their way into the book he was writing, he offered as incentive, hoping that, at the end of the day, an interested listener would make up for an empty promise. "You wouldn't happen to remember the shortest way?"

The old man studied the frayed edges of Silver's second-hand coat and his peg leg with great care, but Silver’s face yet more carefully still. From the corner of his mouth, where a missing tooth allowed him to comfortably fit the amber stem of his pipe, he admitted, “I do.”

Chapter 2

A glittering layer of ice outlined branch and fallen leaf. Overnight, the ground had frozen over and Silver’s breath fogged the air as he walked the perimeter. His snares were empty, winter mushrooms sparse. With the supplies in his bag dwindling, a longer stay would be ill-advised, and it pained him to think that he'd have to seek his good fortune elsewhere while the turreted manor sat like a most precious egg pristine in its spiky nest. His gaze roamed all that unspoiled glass and iron he'd be able to sell if only he could find a way to get his hands on it.

At one point, the house must have lorded over a large swath of land. The tree-lined road, whose faint remnants had guided him on his way, stretched for about two miles up north and the overgrown front gate was wide enough to fit six horses side by side. In an abandoned farmstead close by, under a roof that sat worryingly askew, Silver had made camp. And though he had a good view of the premises, there was nothing out of the ordinary to report on. Except for one very obvious thing:

The unusually large thornhedge that wrapped the manor in a tight embrace, covering it all the way round and almost all the way up the highest tower. Even the forest kept its distance from such an unruly, greedy growth that had swallowed up ladder, plank and axe in its past and more recently Silver’s handsaw.

He spotted the tool and began to tug at it with all his strength, hoping to pry it from the clutches of the hedge this time. The sun's rays were slanting in just so that he could make out something stuck further inside the thicket. A piece of clothing perhaps. Or perhaps it was...

"Good morning!" An old woman, snugly wrapped up in shawls, had come out of the woods and startled him.

"Good morning," he scrambled up his last ounce of cheer. Seeing that she was dragging a bundle of brushwood along on a makeshift sledge, he then offered his help, though, truth be told, he deemed his own work far more important and had no real intention of abandoning it.

She mustered him with a critical eye and declined. “You seem very busy.”

As it turned out, she was much more interested in what he was doing anyway, lingering by his side and quizzing him about his intentions.

Those were nothing but chivalrous, he assured her. Curse-breaking was his business. Drawn by the warm sparkle in her eyes, he leaned in and said, "I heard," and then recounted the old man's tale.

"Oh, nonsense!" She poked the hard ground with her walking stick. "When I was young, everyone knew that it was no princess trapped inside this bloody hedge, but a handsome prince." The edges of her smile gleamed with gold. "You let me know if you need any help in waking him from his slumber."

Despite the chill, Silver flushed terribly, seeing himself bent over a downy pillow, lips skimming across a prickly cheek, and gave a chuckle that only drew more attention to his self-conscious state.

Perceptive and kind, the old woman changed the subject, entertaining him with anecdotes of bygone days for a while, bringing to life the bustle of the estate with such clarity in his mind’s eye that he was almost tricked into mourning its loss.

“Snow's coming. Can always trust my bones to be right about that,” she eventually said and then pulled a wrinkled apple and a handful of raisins from her coat pockets -- a sweet haul which she handed to Silver in its entirety, patting his cheek. “Good luck, dear.”

Long after she had disappeared back into the forest, Silver was still sitting on an empty plinth with a raisin tucked between his back teeth. When was the last time someone had shown him such kindness? Gifted him food without expecting anything in return? Called him dear without disdain? He should've been more honest about wanting to help her. He should've been more honest in wanting to immortalize the old man's name in a book, too. But instead, he had chosen this. This unrewarding task. This confounded thing.

His next attempt at freeing the saw was rather ungentle. And the more he chided it for its stubbornness, the more the hedge creaked and fought against his efforts. With thorns like talons, it rewarded his impatience by goring him to the bone.

Chapter 3

In the wan morning light, slowly among the branches, snowflakes descended. The forest lay quiet and still as if it had taken a deep breath and slipped under a white cover where it now waited for the sun's return.

While Silver’s sore hands were preparing his belongings for the journey ahead, carefully cording up his burlap bag, his thoughts were far away already, imagining a warm spot, a mouth-watering meal in the next town. He was about to turn his back on the manor, erase this disappointment from memory to the best of his ability when it pierced him: Red.

Red, almost purple, amidst the fresh snow and ashen wood, a delicate bud poked its head out from an array of tender green where yesterday none had been visible, so vibrant and soaked with colour that paint might drip from it at any moment. Behind it, within reach, another blossom coiled. And then another. Dazzled, Silver quite forgot all caution and stepped closer to touch them with his fingertips. They were real, all of them. And a little further on, closer by the wall, where warmth huddled by the stones, one had unfurled its petals like a joyful welcome.

There he saw that he had come a long way already and that the forest was barely visible from this far inside the hedge. Slender rods arched above him like a protective bower, criss-crossing densely. If the old tale had been true and those been possessed of malicious intent, escape would have been quite impossible at this point.

So when the man-high wooden door at the end of the path yielded and allowed him in, Silver grinned: People like him never got stuck in fairytales.

Chapter 4

It was as quiet as the whispering snowfall outside. But a peal of laughter might ring out any moment. A door fall into its lock. A serving-maid pass by, carrying a stack of freshly folded linen. Sumptuous carpets muffled Silver’s steps as he walked the long, branching hallways of the manor, a flickering five-armed candelabra in hand that illuminated a wealth of riches difficult to wrap one’s mind around. Marble, golden ornaments, exquisite furnishings -- only the finest, most expensive materials had been good enough for the owner, whom Silver had started to think of very dearly.

Coming into the great hall by way of the kitchen, he had tried his way through the pickled goods in the pantry till his stomach was stuffed full so that his gait was unhurried now and slow while the bag in his tow grew heavier fast.

Wherever he went, whether rounding a corner or climbing a stairway, eyes followed him, recognizing him as someone who did not belong and looking on his presence with according disdain. At times bewigged and befrilled, at times presented on black silk and ermine, a hundred unhappy faces judged his actions as he explored room after room. It filled him with an odd sense of satisfaction to see that a couple of these portraits had been knocked down and vandalised, their faces ripped out.

Following those, he discovered that someone had beat him to the library. Books had been pulled out, drawers upturned, the floor strewn with loose papers. Ransacked it appeared in stark contrast to the rest of the house which remained undisturbed in its stately splendour.

Like a box full of choice jewels, the lady's bedroom opened up to him, the surfaces sheened with mother-of-pearl gloss in the pale light. A satin evening gown had been laid out. Matching jewellery. Items that Silver thought to leave untouched, stepping past them into the adjoining chamber where he found half the curtains drawn.

In the dusk, which made it difficult to tell shadow from shape, Silver at first believed that an armful of clothes had been carelessly flung across the bed, but the glow of his candelabra soon transformed it into two knee-high boots, a dark coat and even in the dimness the red shock of hair then became unmistakable.

Silver backed away, withdrawing his light as fast as possible. A doorframe bumped his elbow and startled him into speaking. "I'm awfully sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to disturb...,” he said.

But the figure continued to sprawl facedown as if felled by a mortal blow.

Silver hesitated. He thought of the bag bulging with jewellery and artworks that was waiting for him outside in the hallway and he thought of what happened to thieves who were caught stealing from rich people's homes. And then, unbidden, the memory of the two old people and his own wheedling talk entered his mind and prompted him to drag his courage by the scruff.

It took both hands and a lot of strength to roll the body onto its back. Thick strands of hair fell aside, revealing a face both virile and elegant, its features so handsomely drawn and complexion so delicate that Silver was quite startled by its beauty. He had spent enough time in the study, rummaging through the documents there and looking at the portraits to know that this man was not the master of the house, and since there was no plunder on him except for a scrap of paper clutched in his hand, which made thievery an unlikely motive for his being here, his presence remained a mystery.

A quick examination revealed no visible wound. And another couple of minutes gave certainty that the man’s life was not altogether gone. Both his heartbeat and his breath merely came very slowly and could not be quickened by any means at hand. Whatever it was -- surely a quick peck would not be able to cure as strange a condition as this.

To distract himself from that particular thought, Silver grabbed the crumpled paper and smoothed it out. The lines there were even, the letters themselves full of verve as their author vowed to do the utmost to mitigate the damage of the curse and apologised more than once for reneging on the promise of forever, but that these drastic measures were necessary, alas, to avert a much more dreadful fate.

“So I take it you’re James?” Silver, stirred by the intimate, imploring tone of the letter, pondered the sleeper’s face.

By the minute now, the old tale gained in plausibility until it had lodged itself in Silver’s mind like a bulky obstacle that he couldn’t think past, and he caught his gaze returning to those tender lips again and again. Considering it as a real possibility was simply absurd. And it definitely wasn’t good sense that made him lean over and study the man from up close. His thick eyelashes. His freckles. The faint lines bracketing his trim, red beard. Was his expression dreamy? Thoughtful? Mournful? Silver, watching the candlelight shift emotions around like ill-fitting puzzle pieces, couldn’t say.

Nerves aflutter, he gnawed on his lip and considered what if. He lowered his face further. "You’ll forgive me if I," he said, voice thinning to a whisper, “try,” and then hardly dared breathe while he let his mouth sink down into the midst of that soft beard and onto silken lips.

Satisfied, at last, that it would be considered a kiss and not only an attempt at one, Silver drew back and watched for a response. But none came.

Of course, none came. He shook his head. Truly, it was high time to put silly notions of fantastic deeds aside once and for all.

“Well,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time. I’ll just... need to take some things to incentivise the good doctor to make the trip out here. I’m sure you’d understand.”

Concentration proved a slippery thing when he tried to picture his loot and which item he could part with painlessly and, idly searching for a clue perhaps, he glanced at the man’s face again, expecting tacit permission there, but finding green eyes instead whose focus jumped, caught and pinned with terrible accuracy. Silver’s gaze was dragged into them like light into an endless well.

The man pushed himself upright. With an unexpectedly gentle caress, a touch so light that it was barely there, he slipped Silver’s bandaged hand into his palm.

Silver, suspended in a state of anticipation, let it happen. He was glad to be greeted with no anger and no confusion, only a persistent kind of curiosity.

They held each other's gaze for a long moment and then plaintively, evoking an overwhelming need to comfort and reassure, the man asked him, “You’ll forgive me?”

“I,” Silver said and at that instant found himself grabbed by the nape, a thumb splayed across his pulse. “Wait! No, I didn’t mean to– I thought-”

As the man pushed him back onto the bed and shifted his muscular body on top of him, it dawned on Silver too late that he had read the signs wrong, that what he had interpreted as curiosity was voracious appetite instead. And as a gust of hot breath moved over his neck and a set of sharp teeth grazed the all too tender skin there, he remembered that some people knew how to craft a spell with skill and purpose and that not all of their handiwork was meant to be broken.

Pain pierced his skin and sank deeper, sounding out the depths of him.

It seemed impossible that someone might desire such a thing as this and therefore Silver had no words at the ready that would stop the act from happening, and his tongue, which had talked him out of many a precarious situation, floundered.

Compared to the immovable grip on him, his own struggle seemed laughably weak, as if his hands were only curled into loose fists, as if his limbs were good for not much more than a twitch, as if he weren’t struggling to free himself with all his strength, now hanging from a mouth like prey.

The man’s lips were fastened tight to his neck, drinking deeply from his heart’s stream. Warmth radiated from the wound, crawling up Silver’s cheek, down over his chest. Slim-fingered, it reached into his veins and sprouted blossoms, letting them grow as tall as trees so that they tinted everything in the luminous red of their immense petals. To Silver they seemed a marvellous thing and he thought he might rest a while in their light and laze in contentment where pleasure was so abundant and he wanted for nothing. Drowsy, he was rocked. Sated, he was fed more. Aroused, he was excited further until ecstasy prickled all over his skin and every individual heartbeat was delight, so that he was a reedy whine, a writhe in the sheets, and nothing more.

His body didn’t seem to know what to do with all that bliss, and he cusped and came inside his drawers -- a feeble lift of his hips. And then he was spat out.

Waiting for just that moment, cold, slavering, laid hands on him and made him shiver. With a head full of noise and his vision flickering out, he rolled over and dragged himself across the bed, miles and miles of bright cloth stretching out ahead of him. Reason, perhaps, whispered that he was not going to make it, not in such a weakened state, and he could not counter it, not understanding why he was trying to leave in the first place when there was so much comfort and joy waiting for him just an arm’s length away, only knowing that he absolutely must.

And so he grabbed another delirious inch of his freedom and then another, and slowly, ever so slowly managed to pull himself to the edge of a cliff. He clutched at it, belatedly trying to mitigate his fall, already plummeting.

A pair of strong arms gathered him into their cradle, clasped him tight and lifted him up. “Are you trying to lose another limb?” He was deposited somewhere flat and impossibly soft and then covered in warmth. Silver let the world happen around him for a while. “When you’re awake your hand will need cleaning.” The hair was brushed from his face. “And I’m sure you’ll be hungry too.”

25 notes · View notes

thetygre · 6 years ago

Text

Dark Souls Lore Rambling #8

Hey, remember when I said these mini-lores were going to be shorter to write? Or shorter at all? Ha ha ha ha what a liar I am

The Lesser Lords

Now that we’ve covered Gwyn and the Lords in general, I wanted to take a break and cover some of the minor divinities in Dark Souls before we get back into the meatier subjects. There’s a bunch of lesser deities mentioned in passing in Dark Souls, so I thought I’d try to shine some light on them. Please note, I’m only covering the gods referenced in Dark Souls 1; the rest are just going to have to wait.

Flan

What we know about Flan is equal to almost the sum value of bupkis. He is apparently married to Gwynevere and is a god of fire. Also, his name means ‘red haired’ in Gaelic. That’s it; everything else is a mystery. Was his marriage to Gwynevere an arranged one, or did they meet naturally? Is Flan now the King of the Gods by virtue of Gwyn being dead, bereft of male heirs (sorry, Gwyndolin), and Flan being married to Gwynevere? Is he even alive? Who knows.

I think it’s worth noting that Flan is the fire god. That could potentially have a lot of connotations, given that fire is central to the Dark Souls universe. All civilization and life stem from fire. The very cosmic order of duality is set in motion because of the First Flame. So does Flan have some tie to the First Flame? Or perhaps he has some ties to Izalith and pyromancy? Maybe Flan’s marriage to Gwynevere was the sealing pact between the Lords and Witches? Interesting theories, but still just theories.

The only thing I can speculate on for certain is the interesting juxtaposition of divine portfolios in Gwynevere and Flan’s union. Gwynevere, as established earlier, is a benevolent and providing goddess of sunlight, representing the nurturing and feminine aspects of her father Gwyn’s purview. Flan is simply a god of fire; rawer, unrefined, and more elemental. In a way, Flan fills in for the Nameless King as the warrior-prince deity, complementing Gwynevere in a dual relationship. United with Gwynevere, Flan represents not just fire in its elemental aspects, but also fire in its domestic uses, including smithing and the hearth. Or, at least that’s how I envision it.

Allfather Lloyd

Lloyd. Not much of a deity name. Barely edges out ‘Greg the Thunderer’ and ‘Karen the Earth Mother’. The lore states that Allfather Lloyd is Gwyn’s uncle, was the founder of the Way of White, and his clerics are noted Undead hunters. His face is emblazoned on coins which are apparently currency outside Lordran, which travelers cling to as mementoes of the outside world. That alone indicates that Lloyd is a pretty big deal. It might even give us some details about economics outside Lordran; maybe coins are minted in one of the more theocratic countries, like Astora of Thorolund.

Lloyd’s clerics are even given a certain amount of respect for their Undead hunts, which tells us how the outside world views the Undead; at best cursed and unnatural, at worst slavering zombies. (Which, to be fair, isn’t exactly one hundred percent unfounded.) When everything is taken into account, Lloyd is a figure of central importance to not just the Way of White, but the whole world outside Lordran.

But things get interesting when you start to break down his name. ‘Lloyd’ is easy; it stems from the Welsh ‘llwyd’, which means both ‘holy’ and ‘grey’. But the meat of Lloyd’s etymology comes from the important part of his name; ‘Allfather’. Those of you who have been paying attention might recall that Dark Souls draws from Norse mythology a smidge. And in Norse mythology, ‘Allfather’ (or Alfodr and/or Aldafoor, if you’re feeling fancy) was one of the more important epithets for Odin, King of the Gods. Allfather has two applicable meanings for Odin; first, he and his brothers Villi and Ve are responsible for slaying the primordial frost giant Ymir and using his body to construct the cosmos, as well as the human race. In this capacity, Odin is literally all things’ father in that the universe would not exist without him. Second, Odin was the king over all the other gods, or Aesir, and his word was law. And in between is the fact that Odin is listed as the literal father of some of Norse mythology’s more famous deities, including Thor, Balder, and Tyr.

The thing of it is, when you take these meanings, a creator deity and a divine patriarch, and apply them to Lloyd, old Lloyd starts to turn up short. For starts, Lloyd didn’t create anything. The world existed even before the Lords did, so he wouldn’t be in the running as a creator deity anyway. Adding on to that, he’s listed as Gwyn’s uncle, not Gwyn’s father; if he was going to be called a creator deity by association with Gwyn, he would at least need a paternal link. Lloyd isn’t even the king of the Lords, Gwyn is. Lloyd might still have some kind of ruling position, but he definitely isn’t top banana. And, as far as we know, Lloyd isn’t the biological father of any other important Lords. So what gives?

All these inconsistencies, and a little bit of the lore from Dark Souls 3, point to Lloyd being a fraud. Lloyd started the Way of White touting himself as some distant relative of the Lords from on high. This even ties into my theory that the Way of White wasn’t always the religion of Lord worship, but originally the name for the alliance between humans and Lords during the war with the Everlasting Dragons and against the demons. Lloyd took advantage of, or may even have been responsible, for the shift to a more traditional church. The Undead Hunts are just a way to garner favor with the people and direct attention on a common scapegoat; people won’t notice that the Way of White is rotten from the inside if they’re too busy hunting Hollows.

But for old Lloyd’s sake, let’s consider a second option, and accept Lloyd’s story at face value. Even as only Gwyn’s uncle, that still gives Lloyd a lot of leverage with both humans and Lords. Lloyd might have been the one to oversee relations between humans and Lords during the Age of Ancients and the Age of Fire. The Undead Hunts are genuine efforts to protect humanity and/or to contain the Undead curse. His Allfather title is a religious one, associated with the pseudo-Catholic structure of the Way of White (Havel is a bishop, etc.). ‘Father’, after all, is the title given to a priest in Catholicism after all. So it might be that, as the head of the church of the Way of White, Lloyd is equivalent to the Pope, the high priest to whom all other priests defer; the All-Father.

Of course, these answers aren’t mutually incompatible. Lloyd still could have been the founder of the Way of White and still been a fraud as well. He might even have still been a Lord, a rogue deity like Velka. Either way, by Dark Souls 3 the Way of White has gotten so old that old Lloyd has fallen to the wayside completely.

The Nameless Blacksmith God

There’s surprisingly more to the Nameless Blacksmith God then you would think, especially if you look at the Dark Souls meta and concept lore. The canon lore on the deity is actually very sparse, but pretty straightforward; the Blacksmith God was the Lord that forged the armor and weapons for the other Lords. I generally take this to mean the Blacksmith God did not literally craft every arm and armament for the Lords, or invented the process of smithing; rather, like how Seath is the father of sorcery, the Blacksmith God was a pioneer in his field, exemplary in his profession. He was the Lord who spearheaded the arming work during the war with the Everlasting Dragons, and may even have been the one to discover titanite and how to use it.

At some point, the Nameless Blacksmith God died, though nobody knows when or how. For a while, I entertained the theory that maybe Gwyn killed the Blacksmith to keep his secrets out of enemy hands, but I’ve come to reject that now. Gwyn’s a dick, but he’s not a stupid dick, and the Blacksmith God was a bigger asset than liability. I kind of like the idea that the Blacksmith was assassinated during the war with the Everlasting Dragons; dragon forces tried to weaken the Lords by cutting off their biggest arms supplier. There’s nothing to even remotely back that up, though.

When the Blacksmith God died, he left behind two things; the titanite demons, and the titanite slabs. I doubt that these were meant to be the Blacksmith’s legacy because I frankly doubt the Blacsmith ever planned on dying. The demons might have been made as servants for the Lords, but I’ll cover them later. Why the Blacksmith God made titanite slabs, I don’t know. There’s obviously writing on the slabs, and Dark Souls 3 actually has the slabs have translatable runes on them that tell the story of the Lords. It is entirely within reason to assume that the Blacksmith God did not leave behind the titanite slabs as resources at all; they were records, preserving history and knowledge in the strongest material available. By the time of Dark Souls, however, titanite is so scarce and so valuable that humans have started cannibalizing what would otherwise be historical artifacts, maybe without even realizing their true value.

Gwyn’s Wife

We know even less about Gwyn’s wife than we do about Flan or the Nameless Blacksmith God. The Blacksmith God is at least referenced; no one even mentions Gwyn’s wife. It’s assumed he had a wife; he fathered his children, after all. We’re operating on the assumption that the kids actually are biologically Gwyn’s, and not just extremely devout disciples. So unless something is radically different about Lord biology from humans, then Gwyn must have bumped uglies with someone at some point.

We keep seeing a statue of a woman holding a child throughout Lordran. The statue is of a woman wearing a crown, indicating royalty; Queen of the Gods is as good a queen as any. The child she’s holding is grasping a sword, which indicates that he’s meant to grow up to be a warrior. Maybe the Nameless King? I like to think the statue depicts Gwyn’s wife. She’s worshiped as a general maternal goddess, a deity of home, family, women, and fertility. She represents renewal, and the providence of the future. Basically equivalent to the Greek Hera or Juno. Or maybe it’s some random female saint from the Way of White. Maybe there is no explanation for the mother statue, just like there’s no explanation for the statues of Athena in the Undead Parish. It’s just there for the aesthetic.

Fina

Fina is another deity mentioned in passing reference. The only real detail we get about her as that she is described as having ‘fateful beauty’. Her name is most likely derived from the Celtic ‘Fiona’, which means ‘blond’ or ‘fair’. So, established; she’s pretty, and maybe blond. The ‘fateful’ part of her ‘fateful beauty’ description makes me think that there’s a history of people becoming infatuated with her and driving themselves to their own doom trying to serve her, kind of like our boy Lautrec. It could be that it is literally referring to the concept of fate, however, which means that Fina is also associated with destiny in some capacity. The symbol on the Ring of Favor and Protection is also the symbol of Venus, associated with the goddess of the same name, femininity, and copper. This points to Fina being roughly analogous to the Greco-Roman goddess Aphrodite/Venus, but even that is kind of self-evident.

I was originally going to propose that Fina herself was a Fire Keeper, only worshipped as a god and conscripting men like Lautrec to hunt Humanity for her, but that got thrown out the window when I realized Lautrec leaves the Fire Keeper Soul of Anastacia of Astora behind when he kills her, which is a valuable nugget of Humanity. But that in itself raises a question; if Lautrec was just hunting for Humanity and Fina is only his matron, why leave behind the valuable Fire Keeper Soul?

Maybe Fina is a jealous goddess, vain like the Greek gods, and has any woman she deems too beautiful killed, no matter how far away they are. She could also be acting on her potential purview as a deity of fate, condemning Anastacia of Astora specifically for being a heretic. Or perhaps Lautrec simply didn’t know about Fire Keeper Souls, and left behind the soul the same way he left behind the Black Eye Orb out of ignorance. I’m still partial to my theory of Fina as a Fire Keeper and Lautrec as a kind of alternate Kirk of Thorns, but I have to admit, it’s a theory standing on some pretty shaky ground.

Old Man McLoyf

I’m gonna’ level with you, I’d completely forgotten about Old Man McLoyf until about twenty minutes ago. His face is on the Copper Coin, where he’s mentioned as the god of drink and medicine. From his name, we can gather that he is both A.) a man and B.) old. ‘Mc’ means ‘son of’, and ‘Loyf’ means ‘to praise’; both parts are Scottish. We can infer from his placement on the Copper Coin that he comes from the same general pantheon as Allfather Lloyd, revered in whatever potentially theocratic state made the coins.

And… that’s about it. I’ve seen it posited that McLoyf might have some connections to Catarina, with his connection to alcohol for celebration and medicine for healing combat wounds. I’ve even seen a theory that he might be Gwyn’s father, but there’s nothing to really substantiate that. It’s possible that, like Lloyd, he might not actually be a Lord and instead be a hero-deity or charlatan. I doubt that he’s a chaotic and wild deity of drinking like Dionysus or Bacchus. The connecting thread between medicine and alcohol is that they both cause chemical alterations within the body, so I suppose that’s McLoyf’s root purview. In that capacity, he might also be a god of bravery in the face of harm, which really only reinforces the idea that he might be popular in Catarina. Another mystery god.

Velka

And of course I saved the best for last. There’s a lot of controversy surrounding Velka in the Souls lore community. I think it’s best to start by laying out the facts. And by ‘the facts’, I mean ‘a summary of the lore with some of my thoughts sprinkled in’. Velka is described as a ‘black-haired witch’, as well as a ‘rogue deity’. Right off the bat, this gives some cause for speculation; ‘witch’ in Dark Souls can refer to either a female practitioner of magic or the specific race of people inhabiting Izalith. I want to err on the side of simplicity and say that she’s just a woman capable of spellcasting. The ‘rogue’ part makes me think that she operates outside of the standard pantheon of gods. Velka is stated to be the goddess of sin; not of sinning itself, but of defining sin and meting out justice to those who do it.

Her priests are also pardoners, where, similar to Catholic priests, an individual can confess their sins and be told how to atone, or offer one’s self up for punishment. Also like medieval Catholic priests is the practice of indulgences with Velka’s pardoners, where one can simply pay to be absolved; however, this may be unique to the pardoner in the Undead Parish. She also appears to a goddess of magic, both performing it and countering it. She is so closely aligned with sorcery that she allows the usage of intelligence instead of faith for her followers. Her name is either Czech for ‘great one’ or ‘famous, or Finnish for ‘debt’; both meanings are appropriate to Velka’s character, but it’s more likely meant to be the Czech meaning since that is the language Dark Souls draws more from. Finally, she has black hair and is associated with ravens. Ravens already have mystical significance in both European and Asian mythology, but are universally associated with death and the presence of the gods. It’s also worth noting that Velka’s connection to ravens and witchcraft gives her some parallels to the Celtic Morrigan; however, Morrigan is a goddess of warfare and sovereignty, not justice.

Velka’s rogue status might tie into her purview as the goddess of sin and justice. The theory I subscribe to is that Velka’s sense of justice was universal, and so she indicted the Lords as well as humanity. This didn’t sit well with the Gwyn et al, and so Velka had to be disappeared into the Painted World of Ariamis, with all the other undesirables of the gods. Clearly, the Lords were not wholly successful in banishing Velka; she appears to still have some presence in Carim, or at least one surviving pardoner from Carim, and some of her items and spells are still in Lordran. As of Dark Souls, her exact portfolio is trying to be absorbed by Gwyndolin, and the two appear to have a standing rivalry; or, more correctly, Gwyndolin still has a standing bounty on Velka’s worshipers. Velka may have once had control of the Blades of the Darkmoon, but the very name indicates that they’ve shifted allegiance to Gwyndolin.

We now descend into the realm of complete conspiracy, where I state my stance on some of the theories surrounding Velka. First and foremost; no, I do not believe the Chosen Undead is an unwitting pawn of Velka’s to strike back against the gods. True, a giant raven carries the Chosen Undead from the Undead Asylum to Firelink Shrine, but this entire plot thread just seems too tenuous to me. It is placing an undue amount of agency and significance on a character that, for all intents and purposes, is barely more relevant than the Nameless Blacksmith God or Allfather Lloyd. Miyazaki has a history of letting characters directly confront their manipulators; the Fool’s Idol in Demon’s Souls, Gwyndolin in Dark Souls, the Amygdalae in Bloodborne, etc. The importance of Dark Souls is that the Chosen Undead is not significant beyond the fact that they are a person and they control their own fate; an unknown manipulator seems contrary to that philosophy.

That being said, I can’t help but see the giant raven as somehow being tied to Velka. Perhaps, once, long ago, it did indeed serve Velka. But with her disappearance, it now acts on instinct and more like an animal rather than an active agent. The raven, with the hindsight of Velka’s lore, becomes symbolic of the inevitable karmic cycle that comes to Gwyn and the other inhabitants of Lordran. If nothing else, it’s a powerful visual; ravens in the West are considered birds of death and ill omen (before we began associating them with being preternaturally smart). In Japanese folklore, ravens are the servants of the gods and act on their behalf. Given that Dark Souls is distinctly aiming for a European aesthetic, however, I think Miyazaki was going for a more Western signifier with the giant raven. It is both death and justice.

Second, I do not think that Velka is Crossbreed Priscilla’s mother. While Priscilla’s Dagger does do Dark damage and Velka’s rapier also does dark damage, I operate on the general assumption that Seath is Priscilla’s father/creator. Velka, once again, was the goddess of sin and punishment, which means that ‘Weird Science’ Seath would probably want to avoid her. At the very least, he would be in some hot water for betraying the Everlasting Dragons. If she wouldn’t discriminate for the other Lords, she certainly wouldn’t discriminate for a dragon.

Third, I do not believe that Velka was involved with the Four Kings and New Londo. True; the darkwraithes do dark damage with their Dark Hand, and they have what appear to be raven feathers on their armor. But we have no way of knowing if that material is supposed to raven feathers; it could very well be fur. Furthermore, connecting the darkwraithes of New Londo to Velka because of an aesthetic feature seems like a mighty leap to conclusions. By that logic, the darkwraithes also have something to do with Gravelord Nito because their armor looks like skeletons. The presence of the same statue that is in the Painted World is also circumstantial at best; there are also giant rats with Humanity in the Painted World as in the sewers, but nobody calls them part of a greater plot.

And finally, I do not believe Velka is the narrator at the beginning of the game. This ties in especially with the theory that Velka is the grand mastermind behind the Chosen Undead, and perhaps even the Dark Sign. And that’s just silly; the bad guy is not the narrator. That was a stupid plot twist in RWBY, mildly effective in God of War 2, and just out of place here. Dark Souls is known for its subtle storytelling, but this is just esoteric. And I say that as someone who has just written 3300 words about some astoundingly esoteric entities. What purpose does it serve for Velka to be the narrator and mastermind of the game? What does it say about Dark Souls’ broader themes? Humanity, the cycle of life, the rise and fall of civilization, empathy, hope, loss, decay, the inevitability of entropy and the ephemerality of life; those are the themes of Dark Souls. Gwyn is usurped because it’s part of an uncontrollable and inexorable cosmic cycle that repeats endlessly and meaninglessly; the concept that divine justice plays into that is simply counterintuitive.

With all that out of the way, I do think Velka used the Dark. The Dark did not originate with her, and she did not try to push the Dark to act a certain way, but I do think she used it. The pardoner’s rapier does have dark damage, after all, and the Dark Ember mentions specifically that it was used to forge weapons that could hurt the Lords. It could be that, growing desperate to mete out divine punishment to the other Lords, Velka drew on the Dark and taught her priesthood how to do the same. And this, ultimately, is the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back and got Velka banished to the Painted World. Velka, in her own way, became was broken down by the passage of time, as all things are.

And now that I’ve had my fill of lesser Lords, stay tuned for when we turn our sights back to the main stage. Darkmoon Tomb, here we come!

#dark souls #dark souls lore #soulsborne #souls series #video games #long post #dark souls lore ramblings

82 notes · View notes

kfdirector · 6 years ago

Text

Student Awareness of Nonstandard Danger Society

The afternoon finally came. Niewitzski watched as the students were clearly taking initiative; Craig and Tracey were setting up laptops with audio-visual equipment, Joe and Mario were sitting at the back of the classroom, smiling with satisfaction, and Stella was, of course, supervising. Niewitzski kept his directive simple: “I want to know what we know!”

Stella saluted. “Sir, at my direction Freshmen Reubens and Washington built a timeline of the data feeds from all sensors and collated all information! Freshmen Reubens and Washington have valuable results to report, sir!”

“Neat. Who found out...whatever it was?”

The two freshmen in glasses looked at each other and didn’t volunteer.

“Sir, science is a team effort! Now then, Freshmen Reubens and Washington will make the report, sir!”

Craig turned on a projector and pulled down the screen at the front of the room. Tracey stood by the screen, and gulped.

“Relax, Miss Washington. This isn’t for a grade.”

“Well, yes. Umm. This is the monster from the 27th.”

Niewitzski looked at the slide, and could not disagree: it was the monster from September 27th.

“I mean, uh, this is the monster when examined under wavelengths visible to the human eye. This is what you saw. Next slide, Craig.” A very similar monster appeared, only in shades of red. “This is the monster when examined under a segment of the infrared portion of the light spectrum.”

Niewitzski frowned. “O-okay....”

“Freshman Washington! The faculty advisor of SANDS is missing the significance of this data! Please elaborate!”

“Oh, right, okay. Um, overlay, Craig.”

The visible-spectrum slide was now overlaid on the infrared slide, showing two monsters, side by side. Niewitzski still didn’t - oh. Oh? The monsters were side by side, but the backgrounds were in sync!

“Um, as you can see, I hope, in infrared, the monster leaves a perfect after-image of its previous location. With this particular infrared filter, we can see where the monster was about twenty-two seconds in the past.”

“That is - that is not how infrared works. That’s insane.”

“Sir, it gets much more insane! Prepare to have your mind blown, sir!”

“Um, let’s just skip ahead and overlay the ultraviolet filter, Craig.” Several slides were bypassed with quick clicks. “This is the monster in a ultraviolet portion of the spectrum, at the same time stamp. As you can see, with this particular filter, the monster can be clearly seen at a different location. If you fast-forward ahead in the video - yes, like that, this is the location that the monster appears at in the visible spectrum about twenty-two seconds later.”

“We’re past insane and into impossible. Ultraviolet light does not see through time. That’s not how anything works, not even a little - ”

“Science has only begun to be slapped around for its lunch money, sir!”

Tracey gave a small cough. “Um, I need to point out, Mister Niewitzski, that under the infrared and ultraviolet filters, light was only emitted from the monster’s past and future locations, not from its present one, while every other object behaved normally. Also, the readings we got on Friday night were largely consistent, although the time separation was only nineteen seconds. Okay, Craig, next section, please.”

The screen changed from false-color images of monsters to something that looked like an oscilloscope or an EEG - that is, there were a lot of waves being charted on the screen, and Niewitzski had no idea what any of them meant.

“While the creatures were active, Mister Niewitzski, signals were being broadcast on several little-used radio bands that sort of resemble brain waves. When the creature from the 27th was shot by Officer Gale, and when the creature from Friday was struck by your car, the signals became erratic. At the moment they vanished, the signals went completely flat.”

Niewitzski stroked his beard. “That sounds really unlikely, although not seeing-through-time unlikely, but potentially very useful. About how far away could these waves be detected?”

“Um, there were really strong signals. Probably throughout the metro area. So, using a radio direction finder tuned to the frequencies I’ve noted on - next slide, Craig - we could track these monsters. Both monsters used the same frequencies. Also, these are almost completely unused by normal radio traffic. So, any signal on them at all above the standard atmospheric noise could function as a good early warning system.”

The teacher grinned. “That frees us from the police scanners. But...why and how are the monsters broadcasting their thoughts on the electromagnetic spectrum?”

“Sir! With Freshman Reubens’ input, I have arrived at a hypothesis, sir!”

“With Craig’s input? Uh oh.”

“Sir, these beings are clearly in flagrant violation of many laws of science as we know them in this universe!”

“Right.”

“Therefore, sir, I propose that they are not native to this universe! The monsters have found themselves here, and they possess a set of characteristics that are, in their native universe, perfectly reasonable and internally consistent characteristics for monsters to have! However, in this universe, some of these characteristics are perhaps measured in different ways, or along different axes, than they are in their home. Therefore, sir, while in this universe, they are walking incarnations of dividing by zero! I am aware that it is possible in higher math to approximate division by zero, but in normal math it results in two equalling one, so please bear with the metaphor, sir! With every step, they are throwing up read-errors in the very nature of reality, and those manifest as these violations of science!”

“...you came up with this theory on Craig’s help, yes?”

“Freshman Reubens’ input was invaluable in the formation of this hypothesis, sir!”

“I bet it was. I’m with you one hundred percent up through, maybe, the first sentence, that they’re not from around here. Everything after that is...it, ah, needs more data.”

Stella shrugged, as if she hadn’t just spent a minute vehemently shouting this theory and so wasn’t that invested in it.

“Question.”

Tracey called on Joe, at the back of room 203. “Yes?”

“So, if we wear glasses with ultraviolet filters or whatever, we can see where that thing’s going to be twenty-two seconds before it gets there? So Mario and I can see where it’s going to swing and we can then be, y’know, not there when it does swing?”

Mario muttered. “Twenty-two seconds is a longass time in a fight. Give me just two, please.”

Niewitzski slammed his fist on his desk for dramatic emphasis; Craig jumped. “Okay, yeah, that’s the problem with this part! This all violates causality in a big way, I mean, straight up time paradox here! How could we see where that thing’s going to attack next, when the very fact that we’d just make sure not to be there would cause it to not bother attacking there in the first place?”

Tracey sighed. “I don’t know, Mister Niewitzski. All we have our observations on the cameras with the filters. We should test this further in our next battle by equipping the four of you with headsets that apply the ultraviolet filter in real time, and see what happens.”

“Even if it causes a time paradox and breaks the universe? And what do you mean, four?”

“Sir, if you think I’m going to keep staying in the van, you’re some kind of shithead, sir!”

“Um, well, and we won’t know if a time paradox breaks the universe until we try, sir.”

According to legend, Niewitzski had heard, right before the atomic bomb test at Trinity the scientists had done calculations to determine whether the atmosphere itself might catch fire. It was the only comparable situation that came to mind, and yet it had both lower stakes and more qualified scientists working on it. “So, last question, then: why are they here?”

Craig spoke up. “They’re being summoned, Mister Niewitzski, that’s still my guess.”

Niewitzski waved that off. “These are apparently things from another dimension. Magic conjuring circles aren’t going to do the trick. Do you really think Tony Hayes - assuming he even was responsible - was really the first one to muck around with magic and see if it could work?”

“Maybe he was the first one to find something that worked! Magic is all about the experimentation, Mister Niewitzski, that’s why they even have Books of Shadows.”

He did not find that plausible. “Humans have been screwing around with magic for probably longer than we’ve been hitting rocks with other rocks, and Tony is the first guy who finds something that works? I’m doubting that.”

“Hey, Coach,” Mario cut in. “Summoned doesn’t just mean ‘by magic’, does it? Maybe there’s some government or university lab that’s playing with weird science.”

“That’s possible, I guess, but ‘Coach’ is really more Joe’s thing. Okay, that’s...well, I can’t think how they would stumble on this, but apparently the natural laws I’ve been leaning on all my life aren’t as ironclad as I’ve been hoping. Hmm.” He scratched his beard. “Can these things be summoned remotely, or are they being sent from a central point? All of the attacks that we know about are in this county, which is suggestive, but we’ve been relying on police reports until now.”

The students nodded. “So, we need to use the radio frequencies Miss Washington listed to prepare for the next attack. Even more important than destroying the monster will be tracking its initial appearance, and the time it is in existence before being spotted, as well as its location. With a few more data points, I think we can apply some principles of geographic profiling to narrow down the origin of these monsters, and thereby stem the problem at its source.”

And, hopefully, that source would not be, say, anyone he knew personally.

“SANDS, are you with me?”

Of course, they were. All the way.

Even to the point of Craig volunteering to shimmy up a radio tower and install an antenna to aid in their new monitoring plan; Tracey using her careful handwriting to forge backdated paperwork protecting the SANDS’ right to operate as a school club; Mario helping Niewitzski repair his car; and - well, the less he knew about what Joe and Stella might be doing to arm or finance their operation, the better he felt.

But yes, they were with him, all the way.

#student awareness of nonstandard danger society

2 notes · View notes

sippin-on-red-wine · 7 years ago

Text

High Tide | Chapter 1: If You’ll Have Me

Title: High Tide: An Original, Ed Sheeran Mature Fan Fic | Chapter 1: If You’ll Have Me Author: @sippin-on-red-wine Rating: 17+, Mature (Smut comes in at the end of this chapter) Word Count: 10,478 Author’s Note: This is my first ever attempt at writing fan fiction, let alone that of the smutty variety. I started to read it recently and wanted to take a stab at my own story. I am SEEKING FEEDBACK of any and all kinds! Please feel free to drop me a message, an ask, on anon -- ANYTHING! I want to know how you like the story, the characters, do you relate to them? What did you like? What is missing? Any requests for future installments? HIT ME UP. Enjoy!

**Please like/re-blog!**

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

Ed set his glass down on the kitchen counter and poured himself another whiskey, neat. He had lost track of how many he had, though he knew the whiskies were only perpetuating his bad mood. Usually he was a fun drunk, bit of a boozy idiot actually, but that was when he was with his friends. Drinking alone didn’t warrant any celebration. Especially considering the events that had transpired in the last several weeks. Luckily, his mates were due to arrive here tomorrow afternoon.

He strode back upstairs to the master suite of his friend’s summer home in Southport, ME. She had been there when shit really hit the fan and offered up the house to Ed for as long as he needed it. She said it was the perfect place to stay out of the public eye. It was a gated community, the beaches not accessible to the public, and most people only summered there anyway. Labor Day had come and gone, and she assured Ed he wouldn’t be bothered.

He had a few dates to finish up on the Asia leg of his tour and had planned on flying back to London to start work on his next album until he was due to continue touring in the States, and actually be able to spend some time in his own god damned house. But he couldn’t face going home, the home he had built with her, not after what had happened. So he gladly took his friend up on her offer, heading to New England instead.

Ed walked barefoot across the plush carpet toward the electric fireplace. From the bits he heard on the news, it was an unseasonably warm September on the East Coast, but the nights were still really cool. He clicked the fire on and instantly felt a tick better, taking a moment to watch the flames flicker and fade.

He strode over to the big bay window next and, with a different button on the same remote, sent the blinds up. He looked down at the neighboring house, peering into the big, open windows of the living room.

Right, well wasn’t she having a better night than me? Ed looked down and studied his new neighbor. She looked to be maybe in her late twenties, tan skinned and dark hair piled all up on top of her head, rectangular specs perched on her nose. She was wearing tight black leggings and a long-sleeved red T-shirt with “Wisconsin” spelled out in white block lettering.

She walked gracefully into the living room, holding a glass of wine and a very large book. Ed watched her lie back on a black leather couch, whose back was up against the large windows facing him, and slide on some reading glasses that had been left there. Setting her wine down on the table and tossing a throw pillow behind her back, she opened up her book and settled in. Ed wasn’t sure why he was still watching, likely because he had fuck-all else to do, other than finish his whiskey.

A few beats passed and Ed decided he was being creepy, and turned to grab the remote to lower the blinds back down.

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

I slowed to a jog as I jammed the speed button down on the treadmill. I looked down at the controls and saw my stats for this run, I had gone for almost 40 minutes longer than I normally did. I slowed to a walk for a few minutes and then shut the machine off.

My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tucked into an old baseball hat which was now drenched in sweat. I walked across my home gym over to the attached bathroom, peeling off my cap, tank top, sports bra and running tights, depositing them in the laundry chute. I tugged the elastic out of my hair and slipped into the shower, turning the faucet to just barely warm enough.

I stood under the spray, ruminating on the events of the last two weeks.

I had woken up at the asscrack of dawn yesterday to drive Ed’s friends to the airport. They had planned on just getting a cab, but I had insisted. The last two weeks spent with them here would be stuck in my memory forever. They were so upbeat, really bringing me out of my social black hole I’d been rocking for the last couple of years. And holy shit, I thought I drank too much on my own, but I had really punished my liver while they were here.

Ed rode along to bid his mates farewell, sitting shotgun and toying with my shifting hand throughout the entire two hour drive. We dropped them off outside the airport, hopping out to help them unstack their luggage from the back. They each hugged Ed & I, promised to see him again soon, and thanked me for my hospitality again.

The last two weeks had been nearly a non-stop party, chock filled with laughter, booze, bonfires, meals shared at my dining room table (the first time it had ever been used, by the way). But there was something more.

I hadn’t known, but Ed had been living in the house next door for two weeks before I met him. His friend Pete had seen me sitting out on the beach in front of my house on their first night in town, I had headphones in listening to a podcast when he tapped me on the shoulder, scaring the SHIT out of me, making me spill wine all up and down my front. The poor guy felt bad about that for at least a week. He had invited me over to join their bonfire, a friendly act that led to a chain of events that might actually have changed my life.

I must have looked like a total idiot, because I didn’t realize Ed was Ed Sheeran until the third night, when someone brought a guitar out to the fire and passed it around. The group was surprised when it came to my turn and I set my drink down, burying the stem of my glass in the sand, and plucked out a mediocre-at-best rendition of Miranda Lambert’s ‘Oklahoma Sky’. A party trick I probably wouldn’t have broken out if I hadn’t A) Been thoroughly liquored up and B) Knew I was in the presence of the largest male pop artist in the fucking world.

“Anything you can’t do, love?” Ed had chuckled as I finished, clapping along with the group. “The lady can sail, she plays guitar, and makes the best fucking lobstah mac n cheese in the whole world.” He imitated the classic Bostonian accent on ‘lobster’, sending me into a tizzy. His American accent impressions were freaking hilarious.

“Ah, well, you caught me. I know like, three songs. How does that saying go? ‘Jack of All Trades, Master of None’ ? Yep, that’d be me,” I said, passing the guitar to Ed on my left.

Night had just fallen. The air felt like a shade of navy blue with silver-white stars starting to freckle the sky above us. Ed picked up the guitar and started strumming out this beguiling melody.

“You look so wonderful in your dress, I love your hair like that. The way it falls on the side of your neck, down your shoulders and back….” I was in awe. The beautiful tenor of his voice sang out, fingers plucking the bronze strings of the guitar, his eyes closed the whole time. “So in love, so in love, so in love…” It was such a touching song.

He was barely finished when I asked, “Who sings that? That was a beautiful song, wow.”

A beat passed and no one said anything. Lauren, a strikingly tall brunette, stood up and strode over to me, hooking her arm through mine, “Let’s get a refill, yeah?” Well this is awkward.

“Erm, sure,” and I walked with her, arms still linked. She flung open the sliding glass door and I followed her into Ed’s kitchen. It was quite similar to mine, all white, with marble countertops and a large island which was currently being used as a makeshift bar.

“Love, you know who Ed is, right?” She said, looking down at me. Okay, so she didn’t bring me in here for a fill-up.

“Uh… I don’t follow?”

“Are you bullshitting me right now?” She said, taking a step toward me.

“Whoa, okay, can you please clue me in on what we’re talking about here?” I was quick to jump on the defense.

She exhaled loudly. “Ed Sheeran… you know… like, super huge pop singer? Won Grammy’s n shit?”

I racked my brain, trying to find an association with the name “Ed Sheeran”. The puzzle must have played out on my face, because Lauren dug into her pocket, pulling out her iPhone. She quickly tapped the screen a few times, and suddenly a song started playing out of the little speaker. “White lips, pale face, breathing in the snowflakes,” sang out. I suddenly felt like I had a rock in my stomach. She was tapping away at her phone again, another haunting melody beginning, playing in super-speed as she drug her finger across the screen, fast forwarding. “...keep me inside the pocket of your ripped jeans, holding me closer til our eyes meet, you won’t ever be alone - wait for me to come home.”

Holy shit. I set my drink down on the counter and gripped the edge. I didn’t live *completely* under a rock and had heard these songs on the local pop station, both here & back home. I saw Lauren look outside at all the guys still sitting around the fire. She pulled up another song, a sort of xylophone beat playing out, “The club isn’t the best place to find a lover, so the bar is where I go..”

“Okay, I get it.” I said, wanting her to shut the dang thing off. “I had no idea.”

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m the one that made it weird. I just thought you would want to know. Ed is totally chill. Let’s go back out by the guys. C'mon.” She handed my wine glass back, hers in tow as well.

I was reluctant, not really knowing what Ed's reaction would be. Would he think I was lying? Would he be insulted? I followed Lauren across the cool tile of the kitchen floor, out onto the patio and back down onto the beach. Ed turned his head as we approached, the guitar abandoned in the sand next to him.

“I’m guessing Lauren just blew my cover, yeah?” He joked.

“Sorry, I totally didn’t realize. I don’t do like, social media or anything, and I mostly listen to country on the radio.” I shrugged, feeling the need to explain myself.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ed reached out and rubbed my shoulder blade. “I need that ego check sometimes, I think.”

“Bloody hell ‘e does,” piped in one of the other guys, everyone laughing and chiming in with their own similar sentiments.

And things were totally back to normal after that.

The next ten days were a blur of too much food, too much alcohol, a lot of laughs, and a blossoming interest in my new neighbor. I found myself drawn to him, and he, to me. It was a few days after the “revelation” when I had taken the gang out on one of the ocean charters my company operated during the tourist season. We went out a couple hours before sundown, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the whales that would be heading back down to warmer waters now from up in Nova Scotia. We were not disappointed. The six of us were out on the bow of the ship, a 50 foot beauty, new to the fleet this year. There was a small pod of humpback whales that were delighted to play in the foamy bubble spray that was kicked up by our propellers. We were exhilarated, watching the water for bubbles and dorsal fins, waiting for the next breach.

The biggest momma whale propelled out of the water, crashing down, creating a huge splash - I looked over and saw Ed’s face light up, head thrown back, mouth open with silent laughter. I couldn’t help but grin at his childlike wonder. He peeked at me out of the corner of his eye and caught me admiring him. He was up against the railing, I was standing back about a foot away, on deck. He twisted away from the rail and reached out to me, both hands coming to clasp mine, and he drew me into his chest, wrapping me up in a big hug, resting his chin on the top of my head. I closed my eyes, squeezing my arms around his ribcage, inhaling his slightly sweet scent of cinnamon.

I had butterflies in my stomach. I knew that I had started to develop feelings for him, but it was so early, and I didn't think he felt the same way. But when he drew me into his chest, out on the open water, I didn't know what to think anymore. I decided to play it cool.

I was re-watching these scenes in my head, and a few more days passed by. It was Saturday night and the gang was feeling particularly energetic. We set up a game of beer pong and played each other in teams of two. Once that got boring, we switched the flippy-cup, 3 on 3, playing a few sets of that. I was feeling particularly juiced up, not used to drinking any type of alcohol at such a fast pace. The boys turned on some music and we gathered round the kitchen island, grabbing out a deck of cards to play Circle of Death and pouring shots for everyone.

After the first “Waterfall” of the game, I desperately needed some air. It seemed like there were five different conversations going on at once, and the bass of Ed’s rap music was thumping throughout the kitchen. I slipped out the patio door and sauntered down to the beach, not thinking anyone had noticed me leave.

I walked down to the shore, where a few small boulders created a miniature version of Maine’s signature craggy rock seashore. I picked a smooth, flat stone and sat down, leaning back on my hands. The salty air was cathartic and I had hoped it would help sober me up a bit.

I heard the barely-there sounds of footfalls on the sand and turned back to see Ed walking toward me, looking devilishly handsome in a plain white tee and jeans. His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he came and planted himself down on my rock, hip to hip.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself.”

“Something wrong?” He asked, sounding mildly concerned.

“Yeah. You Brits are born with too high of an alcohol tolerance. I simply cannot keep up,” I sassed.

He cackled, “Ha! Don't repeat that to them, it will only egg them on more.”

He reached down for my hand, lacing his fingers in with mine, and leaned his head onto my shoulder. We sat there, just like that, in total silence but for the lap, lap, lap of the tide coming in to meet the beach.

And then he kissed me. He tilted his head up from my shoulder, using his free hand to bring my face in towards him, those perfect pink lips just slightly parted, his hand still cradling my face. His mouth sought out mine and I happily obliged, melting into his, the delicious feel of his tongue slipping past mine, swirling so tenderly. I could taste the cool whiskey and coke on his breath. His ripe berry-colored lips pressed into mine once more, and then he retreated.

“Come on, love, let's head back inside.” He said, standing up and offering out his hands to help you up.

Later, I laid in bed, wondering what the hell that had been about. Was he just tipsy? He had stayed fairly close to me for the rest of the night, once we re-joined the party, resting his hand on the small of my back at one point. But when I insisted I needed to head home to bed, he wished me goodnight with a hug and kiss on the cheek - as did every single one of those drunk Brits. I decided not to over think what this was, or wasn't, or where it was going. It felt nice and I just wanted to roll with the punches.

I snapped back to reality. The water in my shower was running cold now - I jacked the dial up toward the Hot side and went to work on washing my hair. I soaped up my loofah and sloppily scrubbed at my body while my conditioner soaked in. I made quick work with my razor and rinsed my hair one last time. Popping out of the shower, I dried myself thoroughly, wrapping my hair and body up in towels and headed upstairs to my room.

After Ed and I got back from the airport yesterday, we both went our separate ways, and I had resolved myself to leave him be for a while. That was just yesterday morning and now, the next afternoon, I was already yearning to see him again. I dropped my towel, tugged on a pair of black leggings, a white and grey long sleeved baseball tee, and some no-show socks. I bent over, shaking the towel out of my hair and using it to scrunch up my long, brown locks a bit. Then I grabbed a hair tie and piled it all on top of my head in a damp messy bun.

I flew down the steps and out the door into the garage, grabbing the keys for my Wrangler on the way out. My brain was on auto-pilot as I drove into town, calling up my favorite pizza place and ordering a large pepperoni & garlic bread to-go. If I had learned anything about Ed in the last two weeks, it's that his fridge was devoid of anything edible at almost all times. I thought surprising him with a pizza would be a good excuse to “pop in.”

I jammed a bit to the Beatles on the way to and from the pizza shop. It wasn’t a terribly long drive though, so I was pulling back into my driveway in no time, my car just absolutely reeking of delicious cheesy pizza goodness.

I parked in my driveway and crossed the lawn over to Ed’s, knocking on the front door. A beat passed, no answer. I knocked again, then tried the doorbell. I was just starting to get worried when the door swung open.

I was greeted by a tousled Ed...still wearing the same clothes he had on for the drive yesterday. To be honest, he reeked of booze, and not in the sexy whiskey-coke-kiss way that we shared the other night on the beach. I heard bass thumping faintly from somewhere in the house, and it looked like most of the lights were off inside.

“Um, hi, love, whaddya got there?” He was leaned up against the door jam, clearly needing its support to stand. Nice.

“I just thought you might like to, ah, share a pizza? Is this a bad time?” I asked, offering him an out.

“Nope,” he said, popping that “p” sound like he was known to do. “Come on in.”

He beckoned me inside, turning and walking through the foyer, clearly moving slowly, trying to focus on his steps. I walked ahead of him toward the kitchen to set down the pizza boxes. The kitchen was in total disarray; empty, half-crushed beer cans littered the counters and filled the sink. There were ashtrays filled with cigarette butts, frozen burrito wrappers. To be honest, the place looked like a shit hole.

Ed stumbled into the kitchen, plopping down in one of the stools at the island. He put his head in his hands, staring down at the countertop.

“Kendra?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry that you are seeing me this way.” His voice was stone cold now.

“Is this why I didn’t know you were living here for two weeks before your friends came to visit? This is what you were doing?”

I folded my arms across my chest, feeling all of the joy and wonder and magic of the last two weeks slowly seep out in my deep exhale. This was a straight-up turn off. It was clear that he had been on a total bender, alone, since what? 30 hours ago when I dropped him off here after holding his hand in the car? This was like a totally different person. I could just walk away now, cut my losses. I had done this shit before, in a past life, and had no desire to repeat that history.

But then he looked up at me from his hands, tears in his bloodshot eyes. He looked utterly defeated. Where was the cackling, ginger-haired man child? Was this because of his friends leaving? I didn’t understand. I mean, you barely know him, no shit you don’t understand.

I made a decision then, straightening up and bringing my eyes up to meet his.

“Okay, we’re going to talk about this another time, but why don’t I get you a glass of water and some of this pizza? To be honest, I think you could stand to sober up a bit.”

He nodded solemnly. I turned back to the cabinet and pulled out a glass and a plate. I cracked open the pizza box, snagging a slice and taking a quick bite of it myself, then threw a couple slices on the plate and slid it in front of him. I walked over to the fridge, filling the pint glass with crushed ice and then filtered water. I began opening drawers, rummaging through their contents, trying to locate a straw. I spent three months as a bartender, once, where I learned that drunk people will always drink more water if they’re sucking it down through a straw.

I brought the glass of water over to him. He was eating the pizza, good. I set to work cleaning up the kitchen, turning a few lights on, clearing up the beer cans, booze bottles, and rubbish from the countertops. Another quick check in on Drunky McSheeran told me he was drinking his water, too, good.

I quickly took the trash out, and flitted back inside to open a few windows. It was cool outside and this place definitely needed some fresh air. I found the stereo that was on and switched it off. Ed was helping himself to some of the garlic bread, that was a good sign. It felt good to be productive at least. I wandered back over to Ed and sidled up in the barstool next to him, reaching over him to grab myself a piece of pizza.

He rested his hand on my thigh. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to do allthis.” He stumbled over his words.

“Hey,” I rubbed small circles at the top of his back, “It’s okay. I got you.”

He dropped a pizza crust onto his plate and slurped down the rest of his water. “I think I should lie down,” he mumbled, “not feeling s’hot.”

“Okay, why don’t you lie down on the couch over here.” And in the meantime, I’ll locate a puke bucket.

He stood up from the counter and sauntered over to the couch, crawling on top of it and lying on his side. I opened his walk-in pantry and saw a stack of mixing bowls, grabbing the biggest one and taking it over to him.

“Here, Ed, in case you get sick…” I said, setting it on the floor beside his head.

For someone who had totally brought this on himself, I was kind of feeling bad for him now. He looked so small; curled up on the couch, hugging a throw pillow to his chest, in yesterday’s clothes.

I thought he at least deserved a proper pillow & blanket, so I took off upstairs to grab one from the bedroom. I located my supplies and headed back down to the couch, spreading the throw blanket over him. He was passed out already. That's probably for the best. I looked up at the clock; 6:30 PM. Well, this was not exactly how I thought I'd be spending my evening. I lifted his head to slip the pillow underneath, for support, but my hands lingered there in his curly red locks.

I sat down on the oversized chair adjacent to the couch, not knowing what to do next. I probably could go home, but what if he like, threw up in his sleep and choked or something? Not likely to happen, but it was still a possibility. I grabbed the TV remote and clicked it on, selecting Netflix from the tv menu and turning on Lost, Season 1, Episode 1. Ahhh, old faithful. This could keep me occupied for a while.

I must have dozed off too at some point, because I awoke with a start and it was now dark outside. I glanced up at the clock on the mantle, it was a little past midnight.

Ed's POV

I came to, but didn't open my eyes at first. Quick assessment: ok, I feel like shit, but nothing out of the ordinary for this kind of liver abuse. Fucking thirsty. Need water. Where am I?

I cracked my lids open then. No glasses, hmm..okay, I'm sure they were around. I was covered in a pale grey fleece blanket with a paisley design on it, and there was a feather pillow under my neck, but I was stretched out on the living room couch. What the? And then it all came flooding back. My heart sank. Kendra.

I sat up, and saw her then. Curled up in oversized chair, she was asleep with the TV remote in hand. To be honest, she looked adorable: messy bun all piled up on top of her head, no makeup, just a tee shirt and leggings on.

Oh, shit. Here I had gone on a dark & twisty, solo bender and this gorgeous girl had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I checked my surroundings. The pillow and blanket was definitely her doing. I'd slept in a lot worse conditions than just a couch while pissed up, God knew that. Next I spotted a large stainless steel bowl on the carpet beside the couch. Shit, I hope I didn't...

There were three bottles of water next to the bowl too, and I scooped one up, tossing the cap and drinking nearly the whole thing in one go. I turned and surveyed the kitchen next; gone were the piles of rubbish, and there were pizza boxes on the island countertop. That must have been Kendra's work too, because he had discovered earlier that no pizza joints delivered to this neighborhood in the off-season.

I felt a sick knot in my stomach, realizing what she must think of me now. Such a fuck-up. She must have wanted to share a slice with me, maybe cuddle up on the couch and finally talk about what had been going on between us, now that the rest of the group had gone home.

Instead she got this. I could just fucking picture it, here I am, reeking of sweat & shame, having just boozed & chain-smoked my way through the past 24+ hours.

She woke up, then, with a jump. I watched her eyes open, clearly also confused for a sec on where she was.

“Oh. Good morning, Sunshine,” she said, sarcasm just rolling.

“...hi…”

“Can't imagine you're feeling too hot. What, you slept for about 6 hours? Think you’re even below the legal limit yet?” Well shit.

“Shit, Kendra, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry you had to see me that way.” I didn't have an excuse to give.

“Yeah, you said that before. I mean, it's none of my business what you do really. I just didn't want you to choke on your own vomit and die.”

This girl took no prisoners. She was calling me out on my shit. Usually everybody around just put up with my antics, either because they were on my bankroll, or didn't want to offend me. It was honestly like a breath of fresh air.

“Look, Ed, I'm sorry -- that was harsh. I don't know you that well, and I have a feeling that you're dealing with some shit right now. I can't pretend to know what unique set of problems come with, being, well.. You...and Christ, I have a drink to relax or take the edge off after a long day, but that’s not what this is..”

She paused, closing her eyes for a minute, and looked back up at me.

“No,” I said, cutting her off. “There’s no excuse. You’re right.”

She got up from the chair and walked over to the kitchen island, reaching for her purse which was slung over the back of one of the barstools. I stood up from the couch and crossed the short distance to her.

“Wait, Kendra, please don't leave,” I felt like a real dick, asking her to stay, after she had already sat here most of the night watching over me, but I couldn't stand to see her go.

She stopped in her tracks, and turned toward me. “Why, Ed?”. Her big, almond-shaped mahogany eyes were looking straight up at me, pleading.

Shit. She knew, why, I'm sure. She wants you to say it out loud, you asshole.

“I...I really like you, Kendra.” Once the words spilled out of my mouth, I wondered why I hadn't said them before. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”

Those big eyes were looking up at me again.

Kendra’s POV

“Why are you here, Ed? You’re not on a leisurely vacation or spending your time off work with family. Why are you here in this house and not at home?” I was prying now.

He sighed. “....A couple of months ago, I found out my girlfriend was cheating on me. Like, not once or twice. She had an affair the entire time we were together. I finished up my Asia tour dates, thought I was holding it together just fine, but then work stopped for a while and I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore. I didn’t want to go back to England. I wanted to be by myself for a while,” He said, avoiding eye contact with me.

Oh, well that explains some things.

I dropped my purse on the kitchen counter, and walked over to take a seat on the couch. Ed followed suit, taking up the seat on the opposite end. I turned inward, my back up against the armrest, drawing my legs up into my chest. He remained seated forward, talking to the floor in front of him.

He went on. “I told myself I was coming here for ‘solitude’, but that’s not really the truth. I was coming here to wallow. And I did. But then my mates flew in, wanting to cheer me up, and my pissed up idiot friend spotted you from the kitchen window and immediately fancied you, so he invited you over. I was just trying to keep my distance. But as I got to know you, I couldn’t do that anymore.”

He looked at me then, sorrow contouring the lines of his handsome face.

“Honestly, it felt like a trick, to stumble upon you after that….disaster. I love music, I love my job, my life… but it’s not a normal life. Relationships need normal. It never works out for me. I’m away too much, or people see me as a way to get what they want. When I met you, here, it kind of felt like the Universe giving me a big F-U.”

Wow is he dropping some truth.

“You’re beautiful, and smart, and funny, and you’re so good at, like, everything. You’re independent and I’m envious of that. I can’t even be left alone for one day. You deserve better than me, Kenn.”

He finally fell silent.

“That’s not your call to make,” I spoke at barely above a whisper. My anger had totally dissipated. He was so raw, so honest with me. I felt like I owed it to him to be the same.

“Do you know why I’m here, Ed? This is my home, now, but when I came here two years ago, I was a total wreck.” His ears perked up now. “About a year prior to that, I was particularly pissed off after a long day of getting my ass handed to me at work. I stopped off at the store and bought a bottle of vodka and.. a powerball ticket. I tucked the ticket into the visor of my car and went home and drank at least half that bottle. But I won. I had every single number right and I won. A lot. It was amazing, at first, like living a dream. But within weeks, word got out and I had to change my phone number and shut off all of my social media accounts. Within months, I practically had a nervous breakdown, every single person in my life had their hands out and I wanted to give them everything they wanted, all of them, and I could have, but they weren’t there for me. I couldn’t handle it, so I just left. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone but my Mum. And that’s why I’m here. I can’t date; I can’t make friends. Once people find out what I have, it’s all they care about. I see it in their eyes.” I laughed, “You think I’m a strong, independent girl by choice? It’s because I’m the only person I trust. You have nothing to be envious about. It’s fucking lonely.”

God, it was like an anchor had been lifted from my chest. My eyes were stinging, welling up with tears. I fought them back.

He lowered himself from the couch to the floor and scooted over in front of me, wrapping his arms around my hips and laying his head down in my lap. We stayed like that for a few striking moments, not saying anything.

He sat back, withdrawing his arms.

“We're pretty fucked up, aren't we?” He said, out of nowhere. I couldn't help but burst out into laughter, nodding. Ed laughed along with me, too, his throaty cackle causing me to geek out even harder. We were delirious for a minute, like our bodies just needed to do something to shake up the feelings about what had just transpired. We both died down, falling silent again.

“What I feel for you is real, Kendra. I've never felt anything like it. I'm just drawn to you,” He squeezed my hand, those pretty blue eyes looking right into mine.

“I feel that way about you, too, Ed.”

“Then let's give this thing a proper go. I don't have much time left to spend here, maybe another six weeks, but I want to spend it with you. I want to do it right, too, take you on dates and spend hours talking until the sun comes up. I want to know everything about you.”

Gone was the defeated boy that lay here just hours earlier, this was a man, with resolve in his voice.

He went on, “I think, though, this means taking things slowly. I hope you understand. I want to do this right, Kendra, if you'll have me.”

I leapt down to the floor, pressing my body against his, holding him tightly. We kissed then; softly, sweetly, his hands coming up to cup my jaw.

Our lips broke apart. “Yes.”

It was the start of something beautiful.

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

Ed was back to his cheery self the day after our talk. He knocked on my door late-morning, a bouquet of fresh daisies in hand. He was wearing a dark chambray button-up shirt with a crisp white tee underneath, matched with black jeans and sneakers. He had a pair of aviators tucked into the top of his shirt. The effect was quite stunning.

“Hey, love, I got somethin’ for you,” he said cheekily, handing the flowers over and plopping a kiss on my cheek.

“Thank you! They're beautiful,” I brought them up to my nose to inhale the fresh floral scent. “Come in, I'm just finishing up in the kitchen.”

He kicked his sneakers off, abandoning them by the front door.

I quickly located a vase and cut the stems of the daisies, submerging them in water. My kitchen was a total mess, dirty pots and sauce pans and measuring cups strewn about, ingredients still sitting out on the countertop. It was my weekly ritual to prep a few meals and desserts for Augie, the captain who kept my boat tour business afloat, quite literally. I had met Augie at a dive bar over in Boothbay when I first moved here, and he and his wife kind of took me in. He was older, late sixties I think. We formed a fast friendship and he started taking me out on the water, teaching me how to pull up the big lobster pots, expertly navigating the harbor. He taught me to sail, too, though I wasn't comfortable going out too far without him. Augie had worked his whole life as a fishermen, having retired just before we met. He told me his dream had always been to run a boat company and well, I made it happen. He and his wife had showed me so much kindness, it was the best way to repay them.

“Sorry for the mess, I'm just making a few things to bring over to Augie for the week. I'm just about done and then I was going to run into town to drop this off for him.”

Ed had met Augie that first week when we went out whale watching. The two had hit it off instantly.

“That's sweet of you, love. What's the occasion?”

“Oh, his wife passed away last Spring, and I've been doing it ever since. They were married like, 45 years or something, and she did all the cooking before..” my voice trailed off.

“Here, let me give you a hand with this stuff,” he began clearing dishes off the counter. I wasn't about to argue, technically he did owe me from the day before.

I had an oldies station playing softly in the background. Together, we made a good team, Ed rolled up his sleeves and set to work washing dishes while I packaged up the different entrees I had prepared. Danny's Song was playing, and I heard Ed start to hum aloud. I couldn't help but smile.

Minutes later, he shut off the faucet and wiped down the counters. I stacked up all the containers in a big brown bag, threw in a bag of homemade cookies on the top, and with that, my care package was complete.

“Are you busy today?” I asked, “Do you want to run into town with me?”

“I am all yours. Let's go.” He wiped his hands and came over to kiss me, leaving a little taste of those delicious lips on my own.

I drove us into town, stopping first to drop the care package off at Augie's house. We cruised over to the harbor then, parking in the big lot and walking around downtown. I bought Ed his first whoopie pie, which he loved - such a sweet tooth, that one. We picked a few flavors and took a box to go.

He kept his sleeves rolled down and sunglasses on, but we were still stopped by a mom and a young girl on the sidewalk. Ed was so gracious, giving them both a hug and taking several silly selfies before saying good-bye.

We strolled down the boardwalk, hand-in-hand, stopping in some of the souvenir shops to see who could find the silliest item. We ended up leaving with matching Moose slippers and a few other knick knacks.

Hours had flown by like minutes. It was late in the afternoon, then, and neither of us had eaten lunch. We decided to grab a lobster roll & blueberry soda at one of the roadside stands.

“I really love it here,” Ed said, stuffing his face. “Would you be embarrassed if I ordered a second one? This is sooooo good.”

I laughed, “Go ahead babe, I don't blame you.” He walked back up to the order counter and was clearly charming the lady working, as I heard her laugh ringing out like a bell across the little gravel eating area.

He slid back into the picnic table bench with another sandwich. “What's next on the agenda, babe? Do you want to rent a movie to watch tonight?”

“Sure, there's a Walgreens up the road, we can hit the RedBox on the way home.”

We cleaned up from the buttery sandwiches as best as possible with moist towelettes, then headed back towards the car.

He let me pick the movie and we were on our way home, opting to watch at his place. Ed brought out a bottle of white wine, pouring two glasses and we snuggled in on the couch together to watch the flick. I finished mine, instantly feeling sleepy. Ed noticed right away and motioned me over to lie down with him, spooning on the couch. I shut my eyes just for a second and...

The first thing that registered was the feeling of calloused fingers brushing hair off of my forehead. I had this intense feeling of longing, like I had just been reaching for something just out of my reach, and then it was gone. Was I awake, or dreaming? I felt disoriented. Oh, holy shit. I fell asleep next to Ed on the couch...and he's still here.

“There she is,” he said with a sort of chuckle as my eyes opened and I assessed the situation. I was pretty sure I fell asleep as the little spoon, but now I was turned inward, facing Ed, our legs intertwined, my arms laced up and around him.

“Hi”, I said with a yawn.

“Some dream you were having, yeah?”

“Huh?” Ugh, my brain was foggy.

He cracked a smile, just a half grin, one side of his mouth tugging upward. His ocean blue eyes twinkled.

“I was just saying, you must have been having a great dream….you were, ah, a bit vocal in your sleep.”

Shit. I became acutely aware of the slight dampness between my legs. No….

“What? Did I say something? Oh my God, I am so embarrassed.”

“I wouldn't really call it talking...but there were a lot of adorable little mewing sounds..and, ah, little tiny moans…” he said, dropping the hard 't’ sound in little like he was prone to do.

I pulled my arms out from our cozy embrace and covered my eyes. How fucking embarrassing.

“Shit. I am mortified. I didn't even mean to fall asleep…”

He pulled my hands down from my face and planted a big kiss on my forehead.

“Don't worry about it. It was pretty adorable, actually.”

“How long was I out?”

“About an hour, I reckon.”

“I guess last night caught up with me. I never, ever fall asleep while the TV is on usually.” Nor do I normally dry hump someone's leg in my sleep, but I left that thought in my brain.

He closed his eyes, then, and his pretty pink lips came and landed on mine. He pulled my body in closer to his.

“What do you say we hit the hay, properly? This sofa isn't too comfortable. Let's go up to bed.”

“You want me to spend the night?”

“Yeah, well, if you want to? It's okay if you d--”

“No, it's ok, we can do that. I probably should run home and grab some PJ’s though.”

“Oh, you can borrow something of mine to sleep in, love, let's go upstairs.”

We untangled our limbs and got up from the couch. Ed clicked the television off and gathered up the empty wine bottle & glasses as I stretched my arms upward, and rolled my neck back and forth a bit, I was a bit stiff from the sofa.

“Want a glass of water for your night stand?” He asked.

“Yes please,” I replied.

“I'll get this then, why don't you head upstairs and find something to sleep in? Help yourself to anything.”

He deposited our stemware next to the sink, opened a cabinet, grabbed down two glasses, and strode over to the fridge and began to fill the first glass with ice. I turned and walked up the stairs, feeling the plush carpet between my toes. My stomach was in knots, my nerves kicking in. I really hadn't slept in bed with someone else in...shit, a long time? In the few short-lived relationships I had had, we always hung out at his place and I always went home, no matter how late it was.

But then again, I felt comfortable with Ed. Clearly. I was honestly still shocked that I had even fallen asleep with him downstairs on the couch. Very unlike me.

I pulled on the top dresser drawer, finding it stuffed full of boxer briefs. Hmm, okay. Next drawer was all tee shirts. I peeked at one of the labels, a size Medium. Probably not the best idea, I wanted something to cover my ass at least. I walked over to the large walk-in closet and pulled a soft, long sleeved flannel shirt in various shades of blue from a velvet hanger. I undid my jeans, shimmy-ing them off, and pulled my plain white tank top off over my head. I unclasped my nude bra and off that went too, I kicked my clothes up into a pile and shrugged on the flannel. It was just right, me being only 5’2, it came down to about mid thigh. The sleeves were a bit long so I cuffed them up once. I pulled together all the buttons, then thought twice and undid just the top two. I was wearing white lace boyshort panties, luckily, and not a thong.

Ed came in the bedroom door, “Solid choice, love, that's my favorite shirt. Not much use for it here in the blazing fucking heat, though, for me at least. Looks good on you.”

“Thank you,” I beamed. “Do you have a spare toothbrush by chance?”

“Um, I'm not sure… I'll check.” He set the glasses of water down on the dresser and headed into the bathroom. I could see him pulling drawers open at random, shuffling through each one's content. “I guess I don't, sorry. If it doesn't gross you out, you can use mine? I don't mind.”

Luckily I'm not a germaphobe. “That will be fine, thank you.” Ahem. So proper, all of a sudden. I joined Ed in the bathroom, standing in front of the sink while he wet the toothbrush and squeezed some Crest out for me. He handed me the toothbrush with a wink and I went to work on brushing. Meanwhile, he was back in the bedroom, turning on the gas fireplace. I lost focus on brushing, though, when I saw him strip down to just his boxers. Oh. Those knots were back in my belly again. I rinsed my mouth and tapped his toothbrush off, leaving it on the side of the sink

He came round to my side of the bed (“my side??” what the fuck, K) and pulled the corner of the white duvet back, patting the grey sateen sheets. “All set for you, love”.

I climbed up into the king sized bed, pulling the pretty duvet up to my chin. I watched Ed take up place in front of the bathroom sink and brush his teeth, too, it sounded like he was humming something. I couldn't take my eyes off of him; I hadn't seen him shirtless before and had no idea that his entire chest was covered in the same bright ink that danced up and down his arms. He finished up in the bathroom, switching the light off in there and then the bedroom, and walked around the bed to climb in the other side.

I flipped over to lie on my other side, facing him, and he stretched his arms out toward me, so I scooted closer. He wrapped me up in a tight embrace and inhaled deeply, nose buried in my hair.

“Mint shampoo? This smells nice.”

“Yeah, you guessed it.”

“Kendra?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for staying with me tonight.”

“Is it weird if I tell you I'm a bit nervous? I guess I'm just so used to sleeping alone. But.. I like this,” I said, tracing the outline of his shoulders and biceps with my fingers.

“I know what you mean. I feel that way too. Would you... if you want, you could call me Teddy, y’know.”

I reached up to his scruffy head of hair and twirled one of his curly copper locks between my fingers.

“Teddy,” I said, trying it out, “I like that.”

The fireplace was blazing on in the corner of the room. But that wasn't the only burn happening here. I felt that burn through every inch of my body, yearning for this man, here right in front of me. It was like, just being that physically close to him had lit a fire in me. A fire that hadn't burned in a long time.

I kissed him, then, hard and longingly. He was quick to reciprocate, pushing his tongue into my mouth, exploring. His hands came up my shirt but stopped at my waist, just grabbing and pulling me into him even closer yet. I took initiative and pushed him so that he was lying flat on his back, climbing on top and straddling him.

He broke our kiss. “Kenn,” it sounded like he was protesting. “I don't want, I mean, I didn't ask you to stay the night, expecting this..”

“Shhhh,” I sat upright now, directly at the top of his pelvis. The fireplace gave just enough light in the room that I could make out the brilliant tattoos on his chest. “I know, Teddy,” I said, tracing the outline of the great lion’s mane. “Do you want me to stop?” Damn girl, you bold.

He was wide eyed, looking up at me in the glow of the flames.

“No.”

I leaned back down and planted a messy, fast kiss on his perfect pink lips. I then moved to his earlobe, leaving a little bite there and sucking it before moving back to his mouth. I could feel his bulge growing hard beneath me, and his hands were roaming my body freely now, grabbing onto my hips and giving me the friction I so desperately wanted.

“Will you sit up a bit for me?” I asked at a whisper, grabbing a pillow and tucking it behind him. His torso was propped up a bit now, those delicious lips even closer to me. His hands moved from my hips and up the hem of his soft flannel shirt, fingers grazing over my stomach and floating up to my waist.

“Can I unbutton this?” He asked.

I nodded, biting my lower lip. Hearing him ask that out loud had my blood just absolutely buzzing.

He started with the bottom button, moving ever so fucking slowly, up, up to the top. The valley between my full breasts just barely exposed. He took my right hand with both of his and slid it out of the cuff, tugging down gently to free my arm. The flannel shirt fell away from my right shoulder then and he quickly repeated the process on the other side.

My breasts were fully exposed now, I could feel those little sensitive buds beginning to harden under his intentful gaze. He brought his hands up to them, cupping them, so gently. He brushed his thumbs over my nipples simultaneously, sending a lightning rod through the nerves of my body right down to my core. His fingers expertly rubbed, and skimmed, and tugged, while my mouth fell open with barely-audible moans spilling out.

My hips were acting of their own accord, grinding out big circles over his pelvis. I could feel his rock hard cock so easily through my lace boyshorts and the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Teddy,” I closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

He took his hands from my breasts then, placing one on the small of my back and wrapping the other one behind my shoulder, pulling me down to him. He kissed me, hard, on the mouth, breathlessly muttering “You are so beautiful,” and proceeded to cover my whole neck with kisses, moving down my chest, planting those warm, wet lips on every square inch of my tanned skin. He brought his hands up to the indent of my waist and then took a breast into his mouth, expertly sucking and twirling and nibbling over my hard nipples. Another moan escaped my lips as he moved his mouth to the other breast, quickly using his hand to replace where his lips had just been.

Fuck, this boy was good with his fingers. And mouth. And oh, he's pushing back up into my pelvis now as I'm spreading circles over his. I am so aware of my slick wetness down there. Ed finishes sucking on my hard nipple and brings his lips up to meet mine, opening my own mouth with his skilled lips and tongue, a soft moan spilling out of his mouth this time.

I sit back up, pushing off of his sexy, strong chest and straddling him properly again. For a moment, his eyes just glare into my own and I can almost see him thinking, considering his next move or searching for the right words to say.

“Penny for your thoughts, sir?” I say, half teasing, half really curious as to what's going on behind those beautiful baby blues.

“I'm... just.. thinking about how it was my idea to take this slowly, and now you're practically naked in my bed, on top of me... panties soaking wet,” He brushed his thumb over the sheer fabric of my panties, right over my slit. “and you're so fucking beautiful, and cool, and now I want to do anything but take it slow.”

“Oh.” Yup. I got nothin'.

“I want to do right by you, Kendra, but I so badly want to make you feel good, right now, too.”

My heart like, basically just stopped. I must have looked like deer in the headlights, I could see the worry growing in his eyes every second that I was silent. He openened his mouth again, probably to apologize, but I quickly put a stop to that by bringing our lips together, yet again, trying to put all of my feelings into a single kiss, like some unspoken conversation, and I think Ed felt the same way too. He rolled to the side and, hands on my hips, guided me to lie flat on the mattress, his heavenly fucking body coming on top of mine.

His weight on me felt so good, so right. His mouth is everywhere, biting my ears, suckling on my neck, planting wet kisses all over my decolletage.. my hands come up and grip is muscular back, trying to touch every square inch of him to me. I'm moaning now, freely, as his hands grip up and down my body from my breasts, to my hips, up to my waist, over my stomach, and travel back downward, Ed shifting his whole body down towards my center, leaving kisses the entire way.

My entire body felt fucking electric.

Ed sat back on his heels, gently pulling my pelvis up into his lap, kind of at an upwards angle. Holy shit. He traced the outline of my panties, fingers dancing over the edges. He looks up to me, like he's waiting for the green light, and I nod my head, yes, it’s all I could muster.

He reached back to grab my ankle, bending my leg and bringing it forward, leaving little kisses all up and down my calf in the process. Putting that foot down flat on the bed, he took in my other ankle and does it all over again. I am silently whimpering at this point, the anticipation just fucking killing me. I have never been this turned on and he’s barely even touched me.

He hooked his fingers around the elastic of my panties and lifted my ass a bit, peeling away the white lace fabric from my body. My panties were stuck around my thighs now, as he picked up my left knee, threading the panties off around my foot, and wrapping my leg around his waist. Once more, same on the other side, I watched him tuck my ankle snugly around him, finally free of the last piece of fabric covering me. I tightened my grip on his torso a bit and heard a little groan escape his lips. He scratched the top of my thighs lightly, and brought his hands up to cover my lower belly, his thumbs just barely resting on my mound.

There was something so sensual about it… just barely enough light in the room for me to watch him, gazing so intently down there, at me. He moved one of this thumbs down to the bottom of my wet slit, dragging upward so slowly, barely dipping in, opening me up just a bit... and with that, it was fucking real, and suddenly the logical side of my brain turned on, realizing that I could count on one hand the number of times that I’d actually been able to come from someone else stimulating me. I froze.

“Teddy,” I choke out. “Wait.”

His pretty pink lips were parted, still staring straight down. He stopped immediately, bringing his gaze up to mine.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to… I, um, I have a hard time.. getting there.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Kenn, that doesn’t matter to me,” Another beat passes. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” I answer, without thinking.

He swept down to kiss me, no tongue, his lips just pressing up against my own. He brushed the hair off of my forehead, his chest covering my own, and I couldn’t get over the feel of his skin on my skin. He moved his mouth over to the side of my faced and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you, love.”

I wrapped my fingers up in the tousled locks on the back of his head, pulling his forehead to my own, staring up into those endless eyes. I nodded again, giving him a non-verbal yes.

He sat back on his heels again, making direct eye contact with me, biting his bottom lip, and shifted his gaze back down to my glistening nether regions.

He laid one hand flat on my pelvis, kind of grounding me. And then that thumb was back on my slit, dipping in, running bottom-to-top, again and again, deliriously slowly. I pushed my pelvis up towards him, my body reacting on its own, seeking friction. Ed added another finger into the mix, slipping further into my folds. It was both torture and bliss; his almost-rough fingertips just exploring me so patiently. I watched him watching himself touch me and holy fuck that was such a turn on, I thought about feeling self-conscious about it, but the horny side of me won that battle out pretty quickly.

His thumb came up to the top of my slit and rubbed slow circles in one direction, then back the other way. I grabbed fistfuls of sheets on either side of me and rocked my hips up towards Ed again. “Mmm, more, baby,” I muttered. He smirked then, and sunk his perfect middle finger all the way inside me.

I flexed my feet out, toes curling in, taking in the sight of this sexy man, all strong shouldered and rainbow design. Ed switched hands, removing his left from my pelvis and sinking his thick thumb into my opening, and picking up the rhythm on my clit again with his right hands, small circles and then bigger ones and back to small, all clockwise now.

“God, you are so fucking sexy,” Ed muttered as he slipped another finger inside me, picking up the tempo a bit and adding a little twist into his movements.

He was so steady, unwavering, so focused on what he was doing, and I bucked my hips up and pointed my toes and felt a faint warmth building low in my body.

I closed my eyes, letting my head fall to the side. “Fuck,” I whined, “just like that, yeah,” The warmth was building, Ed's fingers slipping in and out of my wet opening in perfect time with that rhythm he was playing in circles over my clit, he had me balanced out on this precipice of pleasure. The warmth was turning into a dull ache now, my back arched, and Ed was right there with me.

He sped up his rhythm just a tick and it intensified everything. “Baby…” I groaned out, turning my eyes back to see him watching my face now, biting on his lower lip again. Fuck.

He switched to a 'come hither’ motion, then, stroking my walls in just the right spot, and I fell over the edge instantly. I cried out, contorting my torso, squeezing my legs around his waist, still holding onto the sheets with my small fists for dear life.

I rode out the small aftershocks, stunned, and loosened the grip I had on Ed with my legs. I looked up to see the Smirk™ plastered across his face. He set my pelvis down, slipping out of his sat-back position and came to lie down next to me, threading his arms around me and nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck. I was still practically panting.

“That was… so good, Teddy, I can't believe I --”

“You are incredible, woman, come here.” and he nuzzled in closer, pulling the duvet back over our bodies. I turned to lie on my side, letting him be the big spoon again. I was very aware of his penis, hard, against my back. I wanted very much to make an introduction, but before I knew it, my heavy lids closed and sleep took me once again.

#ed sheeran #teddy sheeran #ed sheeran smut #ed sheeran fan fic #ed sheeran mature fan fic #smut

55 notes · View notes

airlock · 7 years ago

Text

oh, by the way! the other day I actually finished that affinity list for FE15 characters but I’ve been forgetting to post it so I hope you’re all ready for a whole shitton of “you know what this character is a lot like that one other character from a game that has canon affinities”

Alm - Light y'know, part of my exercises in attempting to make a regular FE cast out of a series-wide arrange of characters with the best FE Heroes poll results was in workshopping affinities for the characters that made the list. when I started attempting this, Echoes wasn't remotely out yet. I've since discarded the progress I've made on that front, due to the recent changes in the roster as per the link I've just shared and also because when that happened Echoes was much closer to being out. regardless, I'll probably end up bringing up the initial affinity impressions I've had at that point for the Gaiden characters who made it to the initial roster, even though I've (rather predictably) doubled back on most of them this side of Echoes being out. Alm is a big case of this happening. when his sparse characterisation in Gaiden coupled with his Awakening lines made it popular read him as the genocidal scourge of Rigel, I had a good time chucking him into the Ice affinity where not one other FE protagonist would fit. well, for better or for worse (and mostly for the better), those times are now over. Alm in Echoes is not without compassion for his enemies or with a very strong impetus towards revenge; he's just young, in over his head, and a little too eager to please, and that eagerness took him in a questionable (if not necessarily wrong, per se) direction when he felt that pushing back against Rigel is what people wanted. he actually hits many of the same notes as Seliph, although his discomforts with leadership seem to be less inherent (as with Seliph) than they're just naturally stemming from the fact that he's a young boy who just keeps suddenly ending up with more responsibility than he thought he was in for. and he ultimately grows into the roles he keeps being given with little further complaint, and it's all because he enjoys the upshot of it all: getting to help more people. and for someone who's always so inclined towards doing right by others, almost unidirectionally, I can't think of a better affinity than Light.

Celica - Thunder unlike her co-protagonist, Celica doesn't require any sort of analysis to be read as having a Light affinity; I'd expect that this is would be most of anyone's initial impulse. but she's, ah... not nearly enough of a pushover for that. when she talks about her mission, she does so with a kind of steely resolve that can only run much deeper than just a desire to do the right thing; each of her decisions mean something important to her, and for that, she's ever glad to take matters into her own hands, even those closest to her desperately wish she'd be more willing to let everyone else lift some of the load as well. and just like Alm sometimes risks everything out of his unwillingness to disappoint, so Celica's weakness is not listening to other people's thoughts when she's made up her mind, which is how she ends up handing her soul over to Jedah despite as many people as possible telling her not to do it. this principled, yet stubborn attitude is definitely the way of Thunder characters like Selena and Jill, and we can only be very relieved that Celica's tendencies mostly pointed her in directions unlike the sorts those two have ended up in.

Gray - Fire this guy has so much in common with Sain, I was this close to calling it a Wind, but there's an all-important difference: where that affinity's crowd tends to be more dreamy and detached, Gray is actually pretty down-to-earth in spite of his rather humorous openness. his flirty side strikes me as more a social butterfly thing than Sain's floweriness, for one (at least, well, in any context but his supports with Clair). overall, he's more than anything else friendly and easygoing, the way of a Guy or a Ross.

Tobin - Anima/Earth painfully awkward, but level-headed, observant, and clear in his ways of thinking -- this one's pretty straightforward, the way Anima characters can often be.

Kliff - Wind OR Ice so this one is also one where I had a pre-Echoes assignment for Poll Heroes. at that point, whatever little character he had seemed pointedly Wind, being the right amount of free-spiritedness and, as per his ending, dreamy wanderlust. this side of Echoes, those traits were kept and driven in further, but at the same time, he also gained a new and very marked personality trait: a mean, haughty streak that would really not land him out of place with the likes of Raigh and Raven. and I kind of wanted to think that this isn't entirely out of left field for a Wind character either, but there isn't anyone quite that mean on the canon listings; at worst you get some lighthearted snarkers like Haar and Bastian. still, it's not as if pushing the frontier is enough reason to demand a change in affinity... so it's honestly easy to argue either way for him. and to make matters worse -- he's very withdrawn and his ch3 base convo implies he has something of a history with secrets, so he wouldn't be out of place as a Darkness character either, although at this point I'm still feeling Wind and Ice more strongly for him.

Faye - the shit writing affinity it speaks vollumes that I feel like I can only possibly ground her primary characterization on anything that makes sense if I review her lines from the prologue and/or in battle situations. this is also something I don't feel like doing.

Lukas - Anima/Earth with his whole "cold observer" thing, Ice is a mighty tempting affinity for him, but Anima/Earth fits that bill just as well and also works for Lukas in a number of ways that Ice doesn't. he's not quite mean, aloof, or detached enough to really seem like an Ice; his quiet is more poise than lack of concern or dismissal. all in all, Anima/Earth is a solid affinity for the character who silently yet gladly takes on the role of Team Babysitter, the way Oswin, Oscar, and Nolan are all known to. that said, there's also that whole other way to read his character: for those whom Lukas strikes as being much more stirred than he ever lets on -- between Clive/Lukas B and the way he's deadpan about his awful backstory -- the obvious affinity would be Darkness.

Silque - Ice I'll freely admit she's a hard one to read whatsoever -- and maybe I'd have more material to work with if Faye hadn't fucked this one up for us all -- so the most I can seem to observe in her character is this aloof elegance. and maybe it's just par for the setting, but there are some precious few moments when she shows something of a lowkey judgemental side... but really, this is not one of the assessments I'd be very attached to; if you've got a better idea, you can probably argue it better

Clair - Thunder proud and stubborn and- you know what, I could just copypaste my rationale for making Lachesis this affinity when I was analyzing FE4. in fact, I'm gonna do that. I’m kind of tempted to put her down for Thunder just because she’d match Clarine that way, tbh (sic)

Forsyth - Thunder being as square as he is, Forsyth could've easily ended up on the Anima/Earth bin, where he can be in the company of such spoilsports as Kent and Oswin -- but it's actually not that simple. for all his veneer of orderliness and properness, this is still a guy who gave up on a quiet and safe life to run after a goose chase of a dream that never had a chance to come true, and only got anything remotely close to that as a result of plentiful fortunate circumstances. besides, when he's trying to whip Python into shape, he doesn't resemble, say, Kent trying to whip Sain into shape -- whereas the former pair's dynamic sounds more "ugh, please stop being an idiot and do this properly", Forsyth's beef with Python is over a lack of commitment. because that's what's really Forsyth's primary characteristic: the kind of commitment that can only stem from a Thunder-affinity character, even if he's basically committed to becoming what an Anima/Earth character might just naturally be.

Python - Wind in his own words, he lives carefree, which is exactly the way Wind characters are when they're left to their own devices. he's certainly got a combination of Ranulf's sense of humour (or even Wil's loose tongue) and Haar's boldfaced laziness.

Clive - Light he's idealistic enough for the part -- to the point that what keeps bending him and bringing out some of the worst in him over the course of the story is that not all things play out like the pretty design he had in his head. to name one, he's fine with putting some farmboy climbing the social ladders as the leader of his resistance band so as long as it makes him feel good for being so nice to peasants and giving the common soldier a leader they can identify with, but it’s rougher on him when Alm starts talking back to him and making decisions he doesn't agree with.

Boey - Anima/Earth there's something that keeps showing up in his lines, that I kind of get but can't seem to describe... but in any case, he's pretty much the Tobin of Team Celica, as someone who tries to keep it real but tends to come off more as the short-sighed comic relief than the shrewd realist.

Mae - Thunder I can just say it's Serra's affinity and leave it at that, that should explain everything

Genny - Wind OR Light we're not offered much in actual characterization for her other than shyness, a dreamy, story-loving nature and a dash of helplessness... it's hard to make anything deeper, least of all considering she's pretty young. Wind works with her detached, "this would make such a cool saga" ways, and also with the fact that her ending will show she's willing to troll people about her choice in romantic partners; Light would reinterpret her love of stories as a sort of idealism, and also focus on her helpless but earnest side, where she's similar to characters like Florina.

Saber - Ice aloof, gruff, and with a bad reputation to boot -- even if we know that Saber gets to be much more attentive and supportive than he seems to be, or frankly wishes he were, his nurturing side still tends to be more like "that sounds stupid but I'm here for it" than anything warmer and more earnest.

Valbar - Fire this is another one I had a pre-Echoes take on, and that one was Thunder -- it made perfect sense, since Gaiden doesn't give you anything more on the guy than the fact that he's willing to all but suicide attack a whole bunch of pirates in the name of revenge. this side of Echoes, though, that part of his characterization now seems to be more of an understandably extreme reaction to grief, while his natural disposition is just friendly and charmingly boisterous in a way that strikes me much more as Fire.

Leon - Light deep down under all his quirks, there seems to be something idealistic, even childish at times. if he can fall in love with someone just because that person was nice to him at a difficult time, that's -- at least, by his own admission -- because he appreciates the beauty of the world; and if he can spend half his dialogue talking about Valbar -- I swear, sometimes he almost annoys me as much as Faye does -- that's because he's sporting this mental checklist of things that make someone The Ideal Man and Valbar has yet to fail any of it. plus, well, for better or for worse, this is also Kyza's affinity.

Kamui - Wind aloof, but dreamy, more than anything else helplessly driven by his wanderlust; and on top of all that, just slightly snarky. Kamui is a very straightforward Wind character.

Luthier - Ice also a pretty straightforward assessment: haughty, but awkward; aloof and a little too focused on something that interests him; Luthier is pretty much a living checklist of Ice traits, although he doesn't quite cover the stricter and meaner end of that spectrum (except in that he's almost strict enough when it comes to Delthea -- definitely "almost", though, he's nonwhere near Marcus-level strict). one amusing way to think of it is that Luthier is the exact kind of guy who Pent only barely avoided becoming.

Mathilda - Light time and again she's regarded as being the voice of reason -- and I think that's less in the whole Lukas-esque "cold observer" sense and more in the sense that she's sensible and doesn't lose sight of what's important. it's also worth noting that, unlike Celica above, she's prone to giving others a little too much credit and yielding to particularly persistent characters; from the third Rise of the Deliverance map, plus some of the base game, Clair in particular can play her like a piano just by being very stubborn. maybe that's also how she ends up with that awful ending... (can I go this long without drawing parallels to characters with canon affinities? naaaah. sometimes she's kind of like a Lucius who actually enjoys fighting.)

Delthea - Fire it's rather clear that when Delthea thinks of her dreamy city life, she's thinking of a place where she can go be a social butterfly -- or, as it were, fall in love with someone suavacious. I've also considered Wind as a strong possibility for her but ultimately I get the sense that she's less lashing out against restrictions or being expected to work hard and more against being judged for not really wanting to be a mage. I'm very probably splitting hairs there, but we'd have more established character to build upon if folks would just let Delthea say "fuck" every once in a while.

Palla - Anima/Earth I'll have to admit that Akaneia characterization isn't fresh in my head at the present moment -- however sparse it can be -- but most of what I remember about Palla is her just incorporating that whole The Big Sister (TM) Archetype without a complaint, which is just another way of being the Team Babysitter as Lukas above is.

Catria - Ice this one's also gonna have to work off her FE15 characterization primarily, but anyways! as affecionate as she is deep down, she's pretty aloof and she'll be curt and critical sometimes; this bill probably suits her fine.

Atlas - Fire a big-hearted guy of very simple ways, to the point that even directly befriending a queen-to-be won't draw him away from going back to his village and becoming a simple lumberjack. he's really like a bar-brawling, trash-talking version of Dorcas.

Jesse - Light he just loves playing the hero, right to the point that he'll bog himself down doing it (like, say, by trying to take on a horde of desert bandits alone and ending up captured by them). he's also got the idealism to boot, what with this whole idea for a mercenary's country. and I mean, really, I shouldn't need to argue very much to say that Jesse would have the same affinity as Gatrie.

Deen - Darkness full disclosure: I did not pick him on my first and so far only Echoes run, so there's every chance I haven't seen the full picture yet. still, as far as I can see, this guy just drips with Darkness, hitting much of the same edgelord tunes as Rutger does. that said, for all I know he could be more of a Jaffar-type Ice affinity, so maybe I'll really have to see yet.

Sonya - Darkness full of secrets and unwilling to let anyone in for real, but she can't help but let off a glimpse of her truths if it might just help someone she can see herself in -- yeah, she's right at home with Calill and Micaiah, to say the least.

Est - Fire lively and straightforward -- to the point that, at least here in FE15, her sisters seem to enjoy just completely reading her -- she's not very difficult to regard as a Fire. although, between the way she does her unreliable sales pitches (in her support with Catria) and certain Akaneia things that hint at some severe commitment issues, it's tempting to keep Wind in consideration, too...

Nomah - Wind if Bastian should live to see old age, then he'll become the exact person that Nomah is. ... well, a more long-winded version of him, at least.

Tatiana - Fire I've dithered a fair bit here, because for all her ostensible cheeriness, she's got a lot of insecurity and fright in her. as soon as you rescue her, the first thought in her head is "oh god they're going to kill me", and the second thought is "oh god they're going to kill my boyfriend". there's also how she's terrified of her beloved's memories returning, and how she wastes no time in beating herself up over it, and she's even got a base conversation where she expresses her self-doubts about being a good cleric. I couldn't help but wonder whether all this wouldn't make her a surprising Darkness character, really. but it seems like the precedent for having a Fire-like personality and a crushing load of insecurities is still remaining in the Fire affinity (cfr. Nino, Neimi), so dredging all of that up may not have been the best use of my analytical energy after all. harrumph, I say!

Zeke - Thunder OR Darkness between his characterization here and in other games that he totally isn't in, we know exactly two things about our amnesiac knight: that for better or for tragically worse he's loyal to the bitter end, and that he's definitely not a big fan of solving things through normal people communication.

Conrad - Thunder frankly a very tentative assessment since, seriously, for a new character who's meant to be central to the plot, this guy seriously got awful little development, probably being that IS decided to save up all of his big reveal quality for the most obvious detail about him and decided to leave us in the dark about all his other secrets. he's not even really hiding them himself -- no moreso than the plot demands at least -- so I can't just blame it on a Darkness affinity. all I really have on this guy is that, for all that he's ostensibly soft and sensitive, he's mighty stubborn, enough so that 50% of his interactions with Celica, especially as his masked knight self, are just him and her being very stubborn at each other. he's pretty much the only one that won't shut down and back off when Celica pushes back -- kind of gives me the awful impression that maybe he just doesn't listen to her very much, on review. maybe. but yeah, on the one hand he honestly doesn't /really/ sound like a Thunder type, but on the other hand, there are two different people he sounds like, and he won't drop the masked knight persona entirely even after he's stopped hiding his true identity, so I can't think of anything ostensible enough to draw my analysis from. but here's an amusing thought: a couple lines back there I did a typo and noticing I'd written "when Celice pushes back" was freaking hilarious l m a o

Mycen - Ice it's hard to pin down Mycen's true personality, since he's always so busy doing as the plot demands. at least, Clive (in one of the DLC memories) implies that he was already a notorious stoic even before he ended up in a situation where he's always having to put his own feelings aside, but it's hard not to think that he must've already had some façade going on by the time he turned into a Rigel-born Zofia knight. that said, even if it's what the plot (or, as it were, the bizarro alternate reality that a tutorial tends to sound like) demanded, this is a guy who yelled at a bunch of children because they were crying about having to fight a bunch of actual knights. so yeah, I'm not too hesitant to pin him down as, at the very least, the hard taskmaster who still gets his pupils' adoration -- you know, the Marcus way. that said, what wouldn't I give for some additional DLC that delves more into his actual character, and specially into that sweet, sweet Mycen and Nomah backstory...

Totals

Fire(6): Gray, Delthea, Tatiana | Valbar, Atlas, Est Ice(5~6): Silque, Luthier, Mycen, [Kliff?] | Saber, Catria Anima/Earth(4): Tobin, Lukas | Boey, Palla Wind(3~5): Python, [Kliff?] | Kamui, Nomah, [Genny?] Thunder(5~6): Clair, Forsyth, [Zeke?] | Celica, Mae, Conrad Light(5~6): Alm, Clive, Mathilda | Leon, Jesse, [Genny?] Darkness(2~3): [Zeke?] | Deen, Sonya shit writing(1): you know who | N/A

#my stupid text posts #Fire Emblem is tagged in this post #Valentia FE is tagged in this post #I'll probably have to evening reblog this bleh

10 notes · View notes

anycontentposter · 5 years ago

Text

Fun winter photo projects for the long, dark days of winter

With the nights and mornings pretty close together for the next few months, and the sun taking some time out to recoup, many photographers head indoors to escape the dark and the rain. Plenty of us are tempted to hang up our cameras until the Spring, with a brief interlude should a decent amount of snow make an appearance.

Don’t be one of those photographers.

Just because bright light and blue skies are a rarer occurrence in the winter months doesn’t mean we have to stop taking pictures. There’s still plenty you can do, provided you're prepared to use some imagination. Here are a few ideas to keep you shooting until the better weather returns.

Still life I used a gold sheet of card from a craft store to send a little warmth back into the subject from the left hand side. The diffused flash was positioned on the right, and contrasting the white light from the flash with the gold light from the reflector emphasizes the warm effect

A good mastery of still life photography should help improve your photography across the board, and the winter months are a very good time to get some practice in. Working with a few objects on the table top with just a single light and a reflector is an ideal way to teach yourself more about lighting, exposure and composition.

If you are new to this area I suggest starting with just an orange and a table lamp, moving the lamp around the orange to see how the direction of the light changes the way the orange looks. Once you’ve done that and looked carefully at the way highlights and shadows control the sense of three dimensions in the image you can move on to everyday objects laying around the house.

Keep things simple by using just one or two objects in your scene, and try lighting with just one source and a couple of reflectors to moderate the shadows.

Here I used a single LED panel at the top of the frame, and a couple of mirror tiles to the left and right of the handle to throw some light back in the opposite direction. A wide aperture created a shallow depth-of-field to draw the eye diagonally up the handle to the point of focus.

The blueberry doesn't need to be sharp for us to know it is a blueberry, and it is used as a counterweight to the main area of interest

Knives, forks and spoons offer interesting shapes and compositional challenges, and natural objects saved from the autumn, like nuts or dried leaves, give you the chance to bring nature into your work. The supermarket is also filled with interesting fruit and vegetables, and home stores and hardware stores stock nice cups, glasses and industrial looking bolts, screws, springs and fascinating sheets of metal/plastic/wood that will make interesting backgrounds.

One of the nice things about still life is that you can take your time and there is usually no rush, so you can look really carefully, try things out and try again when it doesn’t work the first time.

Tips: Work slowly and really look at the effect of the light on your subject Use silver, gold, white and black cards to bounce/block light When used as a reflector, mirrors throw back so much light they can save you having to buy a second flash Macro Planning ahead for your winter shooting can involve collecting interesting items from the garden during the Fall. If you didn't manage to do that don't worry as your local florist will almost certainly thought of it. Here a little light either side is used to demonstrate the three-dimensional qualities of the seed head and the stem, and to lift it from the black-cloth background. I used a pair of hotshoe flash units fired through mini-softboxes attached to an adapter ring

An extension of still life, macro photography will test your ability to see details and to look more closely than usual. Successful macro photography is all about finding hidden textures, patterns and features of everyday objects as well as capturing tiny plants and animals that might otherwise escape our attention.

Macro does require at least some specialist equipment, whether that’s a reversal ring, a coupling ring to mount one lens backwards on another or an actual dedicated macro lens. Using a lens designed for macro will make your life a lot easier and will deliver the best quality without too much effort, but high-quality macro lenses can be costly.

Extension tubes are very affordable, and can be added to a standard lens to help you get a little, or a lot, closer, and a micro adjustment platform for your tripod head can help when it comes to getting accurate focus in the closeup range without having to move the tripod.

Lights don't need to be expensive. This was lit with a small pocket flashlight positioned to make these pasta shells glow in the dark. A sheet of white paper under the lens was enough to throw a touch of light back to reveal some of the details of side of the shells closest to the camera

Cable and remote release devices will help to avoid camera shake with dramatic magnifications and tethering software will allow a bigger preview to ensure anything is perfect before you trip the shutter. How about using the long winter months to teach yourself focus stacking so you can control exactly what is and isn’t sharp in your images?

Tips: Having a dedicated macro lens will make your life easier Use a tripod or support, don’t think you can do this handheld Be aware that depth-of-field is tiny in macro work, so add lots of light if you need small apertures Window portraits Late afternoon light on a winter's day softly passing through a bay window was all that was needed for this portrait. I kept the sitter well back from the window to produce nice soft contrast but still retaining enough to show the shape of her head and features. Using the white balance in Daylight mode shows the coolness of the light and lets us know this is a winter image

It doesn’t matter what time of year it is actually – daylight gliding through a north-facing window will always provide some of the best kind of lighting for natural-looking portraiture. On rainy and overcast days the light levels might be lower but that light will also be softer and more flattering.

Position your subject close to the window if you want more contrast and further away for less, and try turning them 3/4 against the light to get a more dramatic effect. Using a black card on the unlit side of the face can help to deepen shadows if there’s more light than you want bouncing around the room. A net curtain or sheet of thin paper across the window can diffuse the daylight on a sunny day or when you only have south-facing windows to play with.

Positioning the subjects directly in front of a sunny window gives them this stark and very direct frontal lighting. I stood with my back to the window and pulled the shutters across to create the stripes on the groom's jacket. The light on his face is reflected from the white top-side of the shutters.

As he is close to the window the light drops off quite quickly, leaving his friends visible but much darker. This helps to express who is the most important player in the scene, and who are the secondary elements.

Extra diffusion will also cut down the light making it easier to achieve a wide aperture if you want shallow depth-of-field.

Try experimenting with white balance too, so you can create a warm or cool effect whatever the conditions outside.

Tips: Try the sitter at different distances from the window to vary contrast Move your sitter between each end of the window to alter how the light wraps around their face Use net curtains, bubble wrap or paper to diffuse the light even more Home studio

Using quite a small soft light creates strong direction but avoids razor-sharp edges to the shadows. The small light also allows a rapid fall off, so the subject's head is lit more brightly than her body, and positioning the light just slightly behind illuminates the front of her face while leaving the side closest to the camera dark - drawing attention to her closed eyes. A small direct light from behind her lifts her shoulders from the background and helps to create a sense of depth in the picture.

Opera singer Golda Schultz for the BBC Proms Magazine

When there’s not too much natural light coming through the windows, or we need more for smaller apertures and lower ISO settings, it’s a good time to think about alternative light sources. Domestic lights can be very useful for lighting in a home studio but they don’t always deliver enough power, so sometimes we need to look at flash.

There have never been so many flash units available for photographers so we have plenty of choice. Big studio monoblock type studio flash offer the advantage of power and a modeling bulb so we can see what we are doing, but they can feel expensive for the enthusiast. A useful alternative is to use one of the host of hotshoe flash units that are available – either from the manufacturer of your camera or from one of the many independent brands that have sprung up over the last ten or so years.

This is the set-up for the shot above. You can see that I believe in keeping things simple. The lights are Rotolight Annova Pro on the left and the Neo2 on the right. I used a Veydra Mini Prime 35mm T2.2 cinema lens - for a softer feel - on the Panasonic Lumix DC-G9

Modern hotshoe flash units are remarkably powerful, flexible and easy to use, and with auto and TTL modes they can be set to do all the work for you. In manual mode they offer more straight forward options and with wireless control becoming the norm you don’t have to leave the camera position to make your changes – or to check the results of any adjustments you’ve made.

What makes hotshoe style flash units so useful now is the mass of accessories and modifiers that can transform their light to be indistinguishable from that of a professional studio flash. I use adapter clamps so that my flash units can fit inside the softboxes, dishes and snoots that I use with my main studio units, and enjoy the convenience, the shorter set-up time and that they fix in smaller spaces.

Tips: Keep the flash/light source away from the camera for a more three-dimensional effect Bounce light from a white wall/ceiling to create a larger/softer light Use an adapter that allows you to use soft-boxes and accessories with your flash head for a wider range of lighting looks Summing up

I'd find it easier to hold my breath all winter than to keep my lens cap on between the end of November and the middle of February. In fact, shooting in the winter months is exactly as exciting as shooting when the sun shines all day, we just have to think differently and to create shooting situations rather than relying on nature to do it all for us. Indoors we can still enjoy the wonders of natural light but just through a window, and when there's black clouds we can use normal domestic lights or a pop of flash to do the same thing.

All that's required for winter shooting indoors is a little imagination and sometimes a tripod to support those longer shutter speeds. So take a look around your home to see what/who you can aim your camera at, and perhaps take a trip to a florist/hardware store or secondhand shop to see what treasures you can find. The cold weather and shorter days are no excuse - keep on shooting and keep those creative juices flowing until Spring.