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gothcsz · 2 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Interlude.

GIFs by uuuhshiny

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Flashback to the first erotic phone call between our favorite couple.

WORD COUNT: ~5k

RATING: 18+ Minors DNI.

TAGS: more phone sex to satiate our horniness, dirty talk is a given, masturbation (f&m), porn with feelings, lots of terms of endearment, javi thinks she's really pretty and perfect, fluff at the end because these two are in love and it sickens me (in the best way possible), you don't really need to read the main fic to enjoy this, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

A/N: okay, listen, i couldn't help myself from writing this because it was living in my head rent free since i mentioned it in a previous chapter. this takes place between chapters 15 and 16 here on tumblr (17 and 18 on ao3 bc they don't match up, sadly) so, um, yeah 🙃 idk when the next real part of this will be out... but just know blood, sweat, and TEARS are being poured into it. lol anywho, my thoroughfare baddies, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it 🖤 and alliigator tears by beyoncé definitely fits them like a glove. as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier leans back against the sticky leather of his couch, the phone pressed against his ear, his voice low and teasing. “So, is this the part where I’m supposed to ask what you’re wearing?”

Her soft giggle floats through the receiver, and he can almost see her biting her lip, playful yet coy. She shifts on her bed, the soft rustling of her sheets barely audible. “You can if you want,” she flirts, “but m’afraid you might be a little disappointed by my answer.”

He chuckles, “I doubt that. You could be wearing a potato sack, and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful girl to ever walk this godforsaken planet.” He’s anything if sincere and it makes her cheeks flush.

She toys with the cord of the phone, fingers tracing the spiral absentmindedly as she tries (and fails) to suppress the smile spreading across her face. “Y’know, Marilyn Monroe did that once,” she informs, leaning back into her pillows. “Just to prove a point.”

“Yeah?” he questions, taking a sip from his beer, “And what point was she trying to make?”

“That she looked good in anythin’.”

“Seems like you two have that in common, then.”

Her laugh is magnitzing, drawing him in. “That’s like, one of the best compliments you can give to a girl.”

“Being compared to Marilyn Monroe? Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well I’ll tell you right now— you run laps around her.”

Her blush deepens, staring up at the ceiling in a futile attempt to calm the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach.

“Oh, stop it.” He always makes her feel like she’s crushing for the very first time.

The soft hum of the phone line hangs between them, a balm against the ache of being apart. Talking over the phone just isn’t enough anymore. Not after tasting each other, not after knowing what it feels like to reach euphoria together.

It’s become almost unbearable to stay away, more difficult than ever before.

He can almost feel the heat of her skin, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. He imagines her sprawled out on her bed, hair fanned out like a halo, lips parted just so.

“Just saying how it is.”

Her hand tightens around the receiver, heart pounding in her chest. She isn’t exactly sure how to navigate this type of call. She can sense it escalating it into more… naughty territory just by the way tension is building over the line.

It’s something she’s always been curious about, eager to explore, but she’s never had a boyfriend or lover who made her feel bold enough to try it.

And now she has one of the two who is more than willing to indulge.

“What about you?” she whispers in a sultry tone— an attempt to sound confident and not embarrassed. “What are you wearing?”

“Not much,” he admits, the shift in her voice enticing him, which in turn has blood pooling at her cheeks. “Sweatpants, a college t-shirt,” he pauses for a moment, “Thinking about you.”

She bites her lip, the image of him lounging comfortably in his space looking handsome as hell without trying, so close yet so far, sending a thrill through her. “I’m flattered… what exactly are you thinkin’ about?”

“How one of these days I’m going to be selfish enough to keep you in my bed all night. Treat you the way you deserve.” His cock stirs at his own imagination, memories of their date clouding his mind like a beautiful and welcomed storm. “I’m always thinking about you, sweet girl… every inch of you.”

She blinks rapidly. “Javi,” she breathes, “can’t say things like that. Makes it real hard to wanna stay in my own bed tonight.”

“That’s the point,” he replies lowly, using a seductive tone that sends shivers dancing down her spine. “If I didn’t give a fuck about your dad, I’d sneak over and climb your window to show you just how much I want you.”

“I mean… you could…” Her eyes flit over to the open window of her bedroom, imagining his broad frame climbing through and taking her right here on her bed. Her thighs rub together.

“I don’t have a death wish.”

“Honey, dontcha think we’re past that by now?”

He smirks, taking another sip of his beer. “Not entirely in the clear.”

Right. And at the rate they’re going— he’ll never be.

Another bout of silence before he asks, “So… what are you wearing? Told you what I was sporting, it’s only fair that you return the favor.”

Her voice is soft, almost shy, as she answers, “Just a camisole and some sleep shorts.”

He paints a vivid picture of her in those simple clothes, clinging to her curves. It gets him hot all over. “You wearing any underwear?”

There’s a pause, her hesitation makes his pulse quicken. Then, her angelic whisper replies “... No.”

A grunt escapes his lips. “I just know you’re looking real cute right now laying in bed.”

Her lips curl into a small, mischievous smile, “Who said I was layin’ in bed? Could be on the couch… or in the kitchen…”

Javi chuckles knowingly. “You wouldn’t be speaking so freely if that were the case.”

She hums, the sound vibrating through the line, “Hmmm, I guess you’re right.”

Her fingers play with the delicate bow at the front of her camisole, a teasing thought crossing her mind. “There’s a bow tied to the front of my top,” she murmurs seductively, “If I undo it, my tits will spill out.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest. “What a fucking sight that’d be. They’re gorgeous.”

She chews on her lower lip, lightly tugging at the tied string, the tension in her body building. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” words drip with intent. “Love feelin’ them in my hands. Wanna bite and lick all over them, mark them up. Know I’d be able to make you come just by playing with ‘em.”

Her thighs twitch instinctively, a wave of arousal washing over her. She can almost feel his hot breath against her skin, the way his teeth would graze the hardened nub of her nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive area before suckling it into his mouth. The image sends a jolt of pleasure straight to her core, her breath growing ragged.

His smirk is damn near audible as he hears her reaction over the line. “What’s wrong, baby? Wasn’t expecting that?”

She swallows hard, “You and that fucking mouth of yours, Javi.”

Another dark chuckle, words coming out in a low purr. “That’s not even the filthiest thing I could have said.”

Curiosity and arousal bubble within her. “What is, then?”

His voice drops even lower, “I’d latch right onto those pretty tits, querida. Fuck you with my fingers ‘til your pussy is crying for my cock.”

Her hand tightens around the phone, eyes fluttering closed as she lets the scenario he’s planted in her mind take over. The thought of his fingers inside her, stretching her, teasing her, making her lose control, is almost too much to bear.

“Wouldn’t take much— I promise you,” she tells him.

A satisfied laugh rings through the receiver. “Gotta build your tolerance up. It’d be too easy to just give you what you want every time.”

The faint thudding of her neglected clit is slowly but surely driving her crazy. She needs to touch herself, or hell, sneak out her damn self and drive to his place just to have him fuck her. “S’not very nice to torture me, cowboy.”

“I’m not torturing you, my spoiled girl,” he tilts his head, fingers drumming along the tattered fabric of the armrest, “It’s gonna make it that much better when I finally give you what you need. Gotta warm you up first. Tease you.”

She blows out a breath, heart skipping a beat as he calls her his spoiled girl. “You do enough of that by not doin’ a goddamn thing. So fuckin’ annoying.”

“I can say the same to you. Damn near half hard any time you’re around.”

She giggles and he smiles, “Does that mean you tug one out when I leave ya?”

“Sometimes… most of the time…”

“And now?” She asks a little boldly.

“With the direction this call is goin’ in, I was hoping we could indulge in that together.”

Her breathing picks up again and attuned as ever, he notices. “You ever done this before, palomita?”

She hesitates, her thumb tracing the curve of the phone. “No,” she admits, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “Not like this.”

There is a beat of silence, and then his soft, reassuring voice breaks her nervousness. “That’s okay, hermosa. I’ll talk you through it. Just listen to me, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you.”

I’ll take care of you. His words are like a warm embrace, wrapping her in a sense of assurance. Her body tingles with curiosity, nerves, and growing desire. “Okay,” she whispers, her voice small but eager.

He hums, finishing off his beer and placing the empty bottle aside. “Now, I want you to do something for me. Pull the string on your top. Let your tits spill out, princesa.”

Her fingers tremble slightly as she tugs at the string, letting it fall open, pulling the fabric beneath her breasts. The cool air kisses her bare skin, making her shiver.

“Okay, they’re out.”

“So compliant. Me encanta.” He praises tenderly. “Fuck me, I wish I could see you right now. Bet you’re lookin’ good enough to eat.”

A soft whimper spills from her lips, the praise stirring something deep inside her. “Javi,” she breathes, body already aching for more and nothing has happened yet.

“Shhh, just keep listening, baby. Now, slide your shorts down. I want you laying there, all soft and naked, just for me.”

She follows his instructions again, mind swimming with ardor as she kicks off her shorts. She lays back against the pillows, her body exposed for whatever he’s about to throw at her. “Okay, they’re off.” She informs, coyly.

“There we go. Don’t be shy.” He hears it plain as day in her voice. He’s so used to her sharp tongue, her playful teasing when she’s strutting around town like she owns the place. But here, on the phone, she’s different— modest… compliant. He fucking loves that he can elicit this facet of her personality.

His large hand palms at his erection over the fabric of his sweatpants. “Doing so good. You ready to hear what I’d do to you if I was there?”

Her breath is ragged as she nods, realizing he can’t see her. “Yes,” she whispers.

“I’d kiss you slow at first,” he begins, “down that pretty neck of yours, taking my time, tasting your skin. Always so sweet. Like strawberries and honey all over.” He grunts, squeezing his dick, practically tasting what he’s just described on the tip of his tongue.

Her eyes flutter closed again, her body responding to his every word. Picturing him hovering above her, his lips grazing her neck… she can’t help but let her hand come down to grope her own breast, kneading the full, warm flesh with her free hand. “Oh…” an airy gasp tumbles from her.

“You touchin’ yourself, palomita.”

“Mhm.”

“And when did I give you permission to do that?”

Her eyes snap open, “I-I—”

“It’s okay, I’ll let it slide this time,” he licks across his teeth and she shudders.

This time. Will there be more times? God, please let there be more times.

“What are you touchin’ on?”

“My tits.”

He groans, squeezing his cock, “Fuckin’ perfect. Could spend hours between them. I’d suck those pretty nipples into my mouth, just the way you like.”

Her body arches as if his mouth were already on her. She moans his name and he revels in it, “It feels so good… just hearing you.”

“I know it does,” he says, a cocky smile in his voice. “ I love hearing all your sweet noises. Making me so proud, cariño. Reward yourself by rubbing your clit.”

His words make her bolder, her inhibitions slipping away as lust takes over. “I wish you were here so bad,” she whines, manicured fingers moving down her toned body until they’re between her legs and she spreads her thighs, exposing herself.

When she reaches her clit, her eyes widen at how wet she is— almost not believing how worked up he’s able to get her. Her tone grows needier as she begins to rub wide, slow circles against her sensitive pearl. “I wanna feel you inside me, Javi. Want you to make love to me.”

His breath shudders, the tenderness in her voice slicing through the heated tension. Make love. The words hit him in a way he’s never felt before. He can’t remember the last time someone asked for that— hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever done it. Not with Lorraine, not with Helena, not with anyone. He’s always been about the rough, fast release, the urgency of a quick fuck.

Slowing down, savoring each moment? It never seemed like his thing.

Too intimate.

But now, with Paloma’s soft moans in his ear as she touches herself under his guidance, it’s different. She’s saying his name like it’s sacred, begging him not just to fuck her, but to make love to her. And for the first time, the idea makes him want to lose control in the gentlest way possible.

What a sight she must be sprawled out with her hand between her thighs. “Fuck, I’d love nothing more. You’d feel so damn good wrapped around my dick. I’d go slow. Let you feel every inch of me stretching out your tight cunt, chiquita.”

She mewls, clenching around nothing and slowly picking up the pace with her fingers, smearing her sticky arousal around her pussy, spreading her folds and massaging her labia. “No one’s ever made me feel the way you do, honey. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.”

Her words hit him like a shot of adrenaline, stroking his ego. It drives him wild. “Don’t tell me that,” he growls, his voice strained. “Not when I can’t do anything about it.”

His head falls back against the couch, his teeth gritting as he forces himself to slow down, schooling his hand movements so he doesn’t come so soon. That’s how much power she has over him— how much she gets under his skin in the best way possible.

And it’s killing him that she’s not here, that he can’t reach out and feel her, make good on all the promises in his head and on his tongue.

“You’re everything, Paloma. I’d make you feel like the only woman in the world because that’s what you are to me.”

Her chest tightens, lust and emotion wracking against her ribcage. “You’re the best I’ve ever had,” she admits shakily, words laden with sincerity. And I’ve only fucked him twice!

He lets out a low groan, finally pulling his cock out from the restricting fabric and he pumps slowly, tightening his fist around the heated skin as precome squirts out from his slit. “Damn, palomita. You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me. You’re so perfect. Everything about you is perfect.”

Her confidence soars at his words, body humming. “I’d do anything for you.”

“You don’t have to do a thing but be yourself,” He says this so sincerely, it’s almost painful. “You’re already everything I need, nena. Just you, laying there, listening to me… that’s all I want. Still touchin’ on that pretty pussy?” Just asking her has his shaft twitching in his calloused palm.

The intimacy of his words makes her feel cherished and adored in a way she had never felt before, yet the crudeness of his question makes her feel sexy and desired.

“Y-Yeah.”

“She wet?”

“You know she is.”

“Suck and spit on your fingers then, fuck—” he cuts himself off with a groan, adjusting the phone to rest between his shoulder and ear to bring his hand down to cradle his balls while he picks up the pace at which he’s fucking his fist, “put two inside. Slowly. I want to hear you spit on them.”

She can only assume that he’s also touching himself, and envy curls in her belly— jealous of his hand for being able to have him in a way that she hasn’t yet.

Her skin prickles as she obeys, her digits messy as they slide up to her mouth. She licks them deliberately, exaggerating the motion so he can hear the wet suction of her lips around her fingers before she spits and some of it dribbles down her hand. The sound is shameless, and it earns her a sharp curse in Spanish from him.

“Dios mío...” His voice is ragged, barely holding on to control. “I want you to spit on my cock like that when I fuck your throat, corazón.”

“Oh my god,” her back bends as she sinks two of her fingers inside her cunt, and while it feels good— it’s nothing compared to how his had felt. So thick and full and calloused. “Javi,” feeling more comfortable, she continues, “I know you’ve got your cock in your hand,” another grunt from him and a ghost of a smirk haunts her plump lips, “Wanna hear you spit in your hand and wrap it around him. Can you do that for me?” She asks, oh so sweetly, almost echoing his words to a T.

He almost comes then and there, that lilt in her tone and the presumable pout on her lips making him feel like he’s dreaming.

He can envision her looking up at him through those thick lashes of hers, mouth parted while his heavy cock hovers over her face. “‘Course baby. Anything for you.”

He brings his palm to his mouth, spitting into it obscenely, and the sound earns a quiet, satisfied sigh from her. The added wetness makes it easier for him to stroke himself, his grip tightening as he imagines her lips around him. “Add another finger,” he demands, “Know you can take it. Just how you take this dick, babygirl.”

Her ring finger joins her pointer and middle, a slight burn comes with the stretch, the pad of her thumb grazing her clit and it makes her hips buck upwards, breasts swaying with the movement and she almost lets the receiver slip from her grasp. “Oh honey, this feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“The things I’d do to be there with you. Wouldn’t even touch you. Just stand there watching as those pretty fingers get swallowed by that tight pussy.” She gasps, curling her fingers and just barely brushing up against that soft spot that makes stars dance in her eyes. The spot he so easily finds and pleasures as if it’s nothing. Like a fucking expert.

“Turn over. On your stomach,” he instructs, twisting his wrist and shuddering at how good the motion feels on his dick. “Put that fine ass in the air.”

She’s dizzy, his instruction almost muddled from the pleasure she feels by fingering herself. She pulls her digits out, core aching from the sudden emptiness.

She lets the phone slip from her grasp, shuffling onto her stomach, her knees trembling as they dig into the mattress while her ass lifts into the air. The texture of her comforter brushing against her sensitive nipples makes her keen and he hears the faint whine over the crackle of the landline and that makes him dizzy.

She’s never gotten herself off like this before, and her nerves dissolve into excitement as she calls out for him again, phone tucked against her ear, one cheek pressed against the mattress, fingers eagerly awaiting further instruction.

“Put those fingers back inside, baby. I want you to pretend it’s me. Feel how tight you are, how badly your pussy needs me to fill her.”

She writhes under his command, cheeks flushed with arousal, as her hand moves between her legs once more. She slides three fingers inside again, her wet heat wrapping around them, hips instinctively rocking to meet her own touch. “Oh God, Javi,” she moans, quivering as she imagines it’s him, his cock stretching her, buried deep inside her completely.

“That’s it,” he growls, his own hand moving faster, jerking himself with the same intensity he imagines she’s giving herself. “Now bounce on them, pretend it’s my dick.”

She swivels her hips, keeping her wrist locked tight to keep her fingers upright as she begins to ride them in this position. It feels so good, better than anything she could have ever fucking imagined. “Oh jesus fuckin’ christ— Javier I’m not gonna last long, oh fuck—” her words taper off into a loud moan.

He chuckles, dark and husky. “Quiet down before your daddy hears you,” he warns, the thrill of being caught only adding to the fire between them.

She bites her lip hard, body trembling as she tries to keep the pleasure at bay, stifling the sounds that threaten to escape. The phone digs into her ear, his voice the only thing keeping her grounded in the storm of her own lust. “I can’t… it feels too good,” she whispers, breath ragged as her hips buck uncontrollably against her hand.

“I know, princesa,” he purrs, soothing yet commanding. “But you’ve gotta be quiet for me. You don’t want anyone knowing how dirty you’re bein’ right now, do you?”

She shakes her head, even though he can’t see, teeth sinking into her lip to keep her moans at bay. The phone slips slightly from her, resting inches away from her face, his voice still filling her ear as if he were right there with her.

“Wanna ride you so bad,” she’s so drunk off dick she’s getting through a phone call and lewd instructions, “Might not come close to any of your previous whores but I promise I’d make it worth your while.”

The second she says it, a flicker of insecurity tightens her chest. She doesn’t know where the jealousy comes from, but it’s there, bubbling up from the small pit of doubt she carries inside. Being with a man like Javier— someone who’s been engaged, lived a life so far removed from her small-town world, who knows his way around a woman’s body like second nature— it makes her feel out of her depth.

He’s been with women who’s entire job was to know exactly how to please a man. He’s so confident, so sure of himself, and here she is, fumbling through dirty talk over the phone, trying to measure up to whatever came before her.

How could a small-town girl like her ever compare? She bites her lip, feeling the weight of that doubt creep in, even in the middle of something so intimate.

But she says it anyway, wanting him to know. Wanting him to understand that despite her uncertainty, she’d give him everything.

“Not come close?” He scoffs, “fuckin’ crazy, palomita. You’re already lightyears better than any of ‘em.” He leans over, letting a string of spit fall onto the head of his cock before his fist returns to the quicker strokes he craves. Each movement is fueled by the mental image of her submitting to his every command. “I’d bend you over and pound into you so hard, you wouldn’t be able to think straight. I’d watch that sweet ass bounce back against me, see the way it moves with every thrust.”

His reassurance cuts through the lingering haze of her insecurities. The doubt fades away, replaced by a surge of raw desire. She moans, body rocking against the bed, imagining him behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he takes what he wants.

“Oh yes!” she gasps, her free hand finding her clit, fingers circling it in sync with the thrust of her other hand buried inside her. She’s desperate, moving faster, harder, matching the intensity of his voice in her ear. “I’d take you any way you want. Any way, just to feel you inside me again.”

He curses under his breath, large hand moving with a newfound urgency as he tries to prolong his own orgasm, wanting to hold on just long enough to hear her come undone first. “You’d let me fuck you from behind, wouldn’t you? Let me spank that pretty ass ‘til it’s red, leave my handprints all over your soft skin.”

“God, yes,” she cries, her body trembling with every thrust of her fingers. She feels the pressure building, the tight coil in her belly about to snap. “I’d take it all, Javi. I’d let you fuck me so hard. Scream ‘til my throat is raw, ‘til the only thing I know is your name.”

“You’d be so loud,” he grunts. “I’d have to cover your mouth to keep those pretty screams quiet, wouldn’t I? You’d be cryin’ for me, beggin’ me to stop, but you wouldn’t want me to. You’d love every second of it.”

Her body jerks at his words, digits moving faster as her climax approaches. “S’hard to keep quiet when I’m bein’ fucked by a cock so good. Need you to fill me up,” she gasps, her voice breaking as the pleasure overwhelms her. “Oh shit, I’m gonna come.”

He curses, his own body teetering on the edge as he imagines himself pumping her full of his cum, pulling his cock out and watching his spend drip down onto her pretty pussy. Fuck. “Go on, get yourself off,” he urges, his tone both commanding and tender. “Let me hear you fall apart. You’re doin’ so good for me. I wanna hear you come, palomita.”

With a final thrust of her fingers, her body shatters, her orgasm ripping through her as she mewls his name, her entire being convulsing, shuddering from head to toe. “Javier… oh my God,” she moans, barely contained, as she buries her face in the pillow to muffle the sound.

He lets out a low, primal growl as he follows her over the edge, his body tensing with his own release. “Fuck, Paloma,” he pants, milky spurts dripping over his knuckles, voice filled with both relief and satisfaction.

Hearing her name fall from his lips like that damn near takes her out.

“You’re perfect, baby. So fuckin’ perfect.” He babbles, trying to even out his breathing.

She lies there, her body utterly spent, her breath coming in stuttering gasps, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through her like soft waves.

“Jeez, that was…” She tries to find the words, but they seem to hang just beyond her reach. Heaven. She feels like she’s floating somewhere between realms, tethered only by the soft, steady tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” he breathes, understanding and satisfied. “You don’t even have to say it, nena. I know.” He pauses for a second, and she can almost hear the smile tugging at his lips. “Fuck, give me a second. I gotta clean up this mess I made.”

She giggles, a playful note in her voice as she bites down on her lower lip. She slowly pulls her fingers from her sensitive pussy, savoring the last of the sensation. She brings them to her lips, licking at them. “Take your time. I just cleaned my mess up.” The purposeful loud, wet pop of her lips around her fingers makes him groan in appreciation.

“Evil woman,” he mutters, leaving the phone by the couch as he rushes to clean up in the bathroom. The sounds of running water and his quick movements fill the background before he returns.

She turns to lie onto her back, stretching her limbs like a lounging cat while fixing her top.

“You there?”

“Mhm,” she hums, content and satisfied.

“You did so good, princesa,” he praises very pridefully. “Especially for your first time doing this. You were amazing.” His words are sincere, the tenderness unmistakable.

She feels a flutter in her chest, her heart skipping at the praise. Hearing how pleased he was makes her glow with pride. “Really?” she asks a bit bashfully.

“Really,” he confirms, the smile in his voice clear. “I knew you’d be amazing, but damn, you blew me away.”

She’s over the moon, her cheeks flushing with excitement. “I can’t wait to do it again,” she admits, her eagerness bubbling to the surface now that the initial nervousness has faded.

“We won’t have to just do this over the phone for much longer. We’ll have all the time in the world to do whatever we want together. No rushing, no holding back, no sneaking around.” There’s a warmth that coats his words, that speaks to more than just the physical side of their relationship. While the thought of tangling up with her in the comfort of his sheets sounds like fucking paradise, it’s not what he’s most eager for.

What he’s looking forward to, more than anything, is being able to walk hand-in-hand with her in the open, to take her out in public, proudly. To share with the world how happy she makes him, how proud he is to have such a remarkable woman by his side. Never one for public displays of affection before— he’s always been too guarded, too private— but with her, everything’s different. She’s shifting his perspective on so much, and though it unsettles him sometimes, he’s found he doesn’t mind the change. Not with her.

“Anything you want. Whether it’s in bed or out. You being content is all I care about.”

Her heart stirs, fluttering with emotion at the way he always puts her needs first, making sure she’s more than content. It’s that selflessness of his, the way he cares for her, that has her falling even harder. He always brushes it off, insisting he’s the opposite, but she sees through that. He’s good to her— so much more than he gives himself credit for.

“You make me feel so special,” she murmurs softly as she stares up at the ceiling, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “It’s like you always know exactly what I need.”

“That’s because you are special, Paloma,” the sincerity of his words making her chest ache in the best way. “You deserve that and more. I just wanna make sure you’re always happy.”

She swallows hard, feeling the weight of what he’s saying. There’s no doubt in her mind anymore. She’s in love with him— completely. How could she not be? He’s everything she never knew she needed: protective, caring, and so damn thoughtful, even when he’s not trying to be. It’s like second nature to him.

He lets out a soft, almost bashful laugh, a sound so rare it makes her stomach tighten. “You just don’t know how lucky I am to have you.” There’s a vulnerability in his voice that catches even him by surprise. “I adore you so much.”

The openness in his confession after everything that’s just transpired between them, hits her like a wave. She’s used to the way he keeps his emotions guarded, but this side of Javier— the unguarded, raw version— is something new, something precious. Maybe it’s the clarity that comes after the release, or maybe it’s been simmering inside him for a while now, but he feels compelled to express it, to let her know how deeply she’s embedded herself in his life.

And it’s uncharacteristic for him, this kind of vulnerability. He’s always been the strong, silent type, the one who doesn’t talk about his feelings unless absolutely necessary. But her, in her gentle, unassuming way, has a way of bringing it out of him, coaxing him to show sides of himself he’s kept hidden for years. Just like he can draw out her vulnerability in sex, she shines a light on his softer edges, the parts of him that long to be known, to be seen.

“Now get some rest,” he continues, his words a tender caress. “I’ll see you soon.”

She blinks rapidly, her vision blurring as her eyes well up with unshed tears. There’s an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love swelling in her chest, making it hard to breathe for a moment. He’s not the kind of man to throw words around carelessly— when he says something like this, it holds weight, it means something.

A part of her, the cautious part that’s been guarding her heart, once would have hesitated, would have put up a wall to protect herself from getting hurt again. But there are no warning bells going off this time. No second-guessing that they’ve both crossed a threshold where they’re truly seeing each other for who they are— flaws and all. And it’s enough.

“And I adore you, Javi.” They’re not saying the word love just yet, but it’s there, nestled between the lines of their words. For now, this is enough. It works for them

“Goodnight, cowboy,” she adds with a soft smile, the familiar endearment laced with warmth and affection.

“Goodnight, palomita. Sweet dreams.”

They linger for a moment, neither one wanting to hang up just yet, their shallow breathing filling the line.

“Thank you… for everything,” she murmurs without really thinking, not just thanking him for tonight, but for proving to her that she was more than just another woman being used to exorcise his demons.

He lets out a soft snort, “If anyone should be thanking someone, it’s me to you, cariño,” he says, his voice gentle yet firm. “For giving me a second chance. I know I don’t deserve redemption, but I’d move heaven and earth for you. You know that, right?”

Her heart skips a beat, overwhelmed by his convinction. She knows, without a doubt, that he’s telling the truth. He’s already done enough to show his sincerity, and she feels that trust settling in her bones now.

There’s no hesitation. Just a quiet, steadfast belief that this— whatever they’re building— is real, and it’s good.

“I know, Javi. I know.”

And with that, they finally hang up, leaving both of them with a sense of newfound sense of peace. Hearts feels lighter, fuller, and as she lies back against the pillows, she can’t help but smile, knowing that with him, she’s found that something she’s always yearned for.

#javier pena smut #javier peña smut #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfic #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena x ofc #javier peña x ofc #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction

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foap-enjoyer · 1 year ago

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Drugging | Sick | Poisoned

Sick.

'Soap thinks he's got just a simple cold. Nope. Anyway, cue blizzard safehouse one bed trope because I'm lazy'

Trigger warnings for this prompt: Vomit. Ships for this prompt: Sort of the start of Ghoap? Ghost is very affectionate, more or less.

The one my lovely tumblr people voted on all those days ago! :)

Read it here, on AO3: Ouch. - Chapter 5 - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Call of Duty (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

Missions in Russian mountains were becoming way too common.

At least, that’s what Soap thought.

There were positives to mountain missions, he supposed. There were positives to everything. A beautiful view; clean, fresh, untouched air. Sometimes, on long missions, he would even see rare wildlife, animals which had never seen a human before. They would peer at him through the brush, eyes bright and curious. Sometimes, some would even come over, eat a bite of whatever he had on offer before scrambling away. He liked those pros.

But the cons? Well those fucking sucked. The cold, firstly. The cold sucked- oh, and don’t forget the lack of signal, which meant no far-lined comms, no phones, no nada. Just him, his team, and a shit ton of snow, usually for days at a time. It could drive even the most social of men insane.

Oh, and to top it off, as a little added bonus for this mission, because that’s just how he rolls- he was sick. Not super sick, mind you. It’d started off as a cold, when he’d woken up pre-mission. At least, he assumed it was. Itchy throat, ugly cough, his usual first symptoms.

In his childhood, he would have curled up into a tiny, sniffling ball and let his mammy hold him, and soothe the pain away just with her touch. But now, he was a fully grown man. A grown man who worked in a job that, unlike being a student in school, would not tolerate a day off. Especially for something as small as a cold.

So, brushing his teeth, tying his laces, and grabbing his bag, he went out to face the day head on. Like a soldier would.

He really wished he was still seven, still at home with his mum.

This… cold was no fucking cold. This was a parasite worming its way into every orifice of his body, a disease spreading through his blood, an alien forcing itself inside his chest, taking control of every nerve and joint and muscle until he was nothing but mush.

Fucking cold his ass. If this was a cold, maybe it was time to retire, because he clearly was getting too old for this shit.

The harshness of the Russian wilderness didn’t help his case one bit.

They’d landed at their respective drop-off points. Price and Gaz were on the complete opposite side of the mountains to him and Ghost, and the plan was to meet in the middle, where he and Gaz would infiltrate the government-owned set of buildings as Price and Ghost ran overwatch on the outskirts. A simple enough plan, until the blizzard hit.

“You’re telling me that higher-ups can plan entire wars to a T, if they wanted to, but they can’t check the fucking weather?”

That was Gaz, voice static-y through the comms. He sounded pissed, and of course he was, he was allowed to, given their situation. Hell, Soap was too. Price sighed, and Soap could imagine him rolling his eyes at the younger man, “There’s nothing we can do about it, Sergeant, so quit whining. Ghost?”

Ghost was behind him, using his path through the heaps of snow surrounding them to guide himself, and his sniper-kit through the rocky terrain. He could hear the man grunt as he lugged the heavy bag over a large rock in their path. “Yeah, Cap?”

“There should be a little safehouse just a few klicks North of your position. Fancy taking a wander over there? Can’t do shit if this storm keeps up like this.”

Ghost grasped Soap’s shoulder, altering his course slightly up the hill, rather than downwards. Soap’s knees wobbled with exhaustion, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Back up they go. “We’ll take a look. What’re you two doing?”

“Cap’s looking now, says there’s a cave nearby.” Gaz huffed out a laugh, “At least you guys get an actual house.”

Soap chuckled softly, his teeth chattering together like a talkative parrot, “Send me a pic if you find a bear in there, Kyle, would you? You know they’re my favourite animal.”

“Will do, prick.”

The comms silenced soon after. Soap assumed it was because, like them, Gaz and Price were having to hike a while to get to their location. The mountains weren’t the steepest, deadliest of mountains, but in a blizzard as bad as this one, you needed full concentration.

The wind was at its peak now, whistling through the canyons of the snowy wilderness, spiking him right through his clothing with its cold crystals of air and ice. If it weren’t for his deathly grip onto the passing uncovered roots of mountain-grown trees, he’s certain he would have fallen right off of the cliff-face by now.

He felt numb, his whole body was ice-cold. He was trembling, at least, which was a good thing. Meant his body was still working. Ghost was still behind him, lagging behind slightly, preoccupied with lugging his bags as well as checking their location. When he’d last trusted himself enough to look back, the man had been busy checking a little grey piece of technology, the blue light reflecting in his snow-white mask.

He knew that the little ipod-like thing hadn’t initially been supposed to be used to find this supposed safehouse, but rather help Ghost angle himself correctly when it came to overwatch protection. For later in the mission. At least higher-ups had been courteous enough to give them some form of direction in case of an emergency.

“Should be over this last hill!” Ghost startled him with his shout, even if he barely heard it over the wind. A hand clasped his shoulder when he stumbled, startled, and he could see a gloved finger in his peripheral, pointing in said direction. When Ghost spoke next, his voice was in his ear. “Through those trees.”

He nodded.

Another twenty, maybe thirty minutes, and they finally, finally came upon the house. If he was honest, it was more of a glorified shed, maybe. At least from a distance. No windows, one door, a little wooden building sat nestled between a few cut-down stumps of previous trees. Maybe the wood used to make it? Probably.

The door had been locked, but a sharp boot to the lock had solved that issue. Their fingers were too numb to pick the lock anyway.

Inside, it wasn’t too bad. There was a little fireplace, a sofa- actually no, it was a pullout sofa-bed, actually. In the other room, the only other room, a tiny kitchen. That was it, really. It wasn’t the worst safehouse he’d seen (he’d give that to the one he’d stumbled into, half stabbed, in Romania a few years back), but it wasn’t the best either. It didn’t even have a bathroom!

Ghost got to work as soon as the door was closed behind them. He shuffled forward, dumping his kit on the floor as he began shedding his clothes piece-by-piece, dumping them onto the back of the sofa-bed. He was in the middle of taking his shoes off before he peered up at Soap, confused. “Johnny?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Clothes.”

He blinked again, before nodding, fingers trembling, fumbling for his coat’s zipper, “Yeah, gotcha.”

“No inappropriate joke today, Sergeant?”

He shook his head tiredly, “Too fuckin’ cold, LT.”

A soft huff of a laugh, and Ghost placed his boots against a nearby wall, tugging his soggy, icy mask off. Frost clung to his eyelashes, and calloused fingers rubbed at them. Once the majority of the white was gone from the hairs, Ghost’s eyes were on him again, eyebrow curled, “Soap?”

Oh. He was staring again. He shook his head, going back to fumbling with his stuff. “Sorry.”

If Ghost was worried, he didn’t say anything about it. “I’m gonna go look at the kitchen for some food.” He said instead, “You get the fire going when you can. You’re right, it’s fucking freezing.”

He watched as the man turned his back and waltzed into the kitchen. Which, technically, was simply an extension of the living room. All that separated them was a tiny archway, after all.

Once he finally got his coat off, and tossed onto the floor, was when his body began to fail him.

“Ghost…?”

“Yeah?” Ghost turned, peering at him from the other room, his eyes dark in the dim lighting of the safehouse. “What’s up?”

“I don’t…” He swallowed harshly. The room was beginning to spin violently, and he reached a hand out desperately to clutch onto the nearest object, that being the sofa. “I don’t feel so good…”

“Johnny?” Ghost’s voice was starting to fade out as he fought to keep himself upright.

Something was buzzing under his skin, warm and itchy. Sweat pooled against his neck. He had been cold only a moment ago, freezing, even… What was wrong with him? “Simon?”

A hand on his shoulder, “I’m here.”

“I think…” His stomach coiled, and he squeezed his eyes shut with a soft hiccup, “‘m gonna be sick.”

“Alright, alright.” Simon’s hands wrapped around him, guiding him forward, towards the small kitchen. But as soon as his hand released its deathly grip on the sofa, Soap’s knees gave in.

He would have hit the floor if it weren’t for Simon, who took his weight with a grunt, barely managing to move them forward off of carpet and onto tile before Soap vomited.

“Easy, Johnny,” He could hear Simon attempt to soothe as he retched, fully held up in the older man’s arms. He felt limp, boneless, “Easy.”

His world continued to spin violently as he heaved, the cold tile on his knees sharply contrasting the horrible burning sensation consuming him whole. He whimpered, trying to squirm away from the heat inside him. Simon just held him tighter. “It’ll be over soon.”

“I-” He retched again, dry heaving over a steadily growing pile of vomit. His eyes stung, and he choked on a sob. “Fuck-”

A hand pressed into his forehead. “You’re burning up…” Simon muttered softly, “Fuck, Johnny, why didn’t you tell me?”

He hiccuped, turning to press his head under the crook of Simon’s neck. He was crying, he could feel the familiar wet warmth soaking into the fabric of Simon’s shirt. He wanted to apologise, but breathing was hard enough at the minute. His hands, trembling, clutched onto Simon wherever he could get a good grip, circling around the man’s back, holding tight.

He swore a kiss pressed into his hair. He swore it. “You’re alright, I got you.” Simon’s voice was firm, and yet it was laced with worry. They were both hardened soldiers, he shouldn’t be sobbing like this over a simple sickness. It had to be something more, right? After a moment, “Do you still feel sick?”

He shook his head.

“Okay.” Simon took a moment to think, to breathe. Soap. “Okay. I’m going to move you to the sofa, and then clean this up. Think you can move?”

He shook his head again. His knees felt like jelly, if he got up, he’d most definitely fall right back down.

“It’s alright,” Simon murmured, “I’ll carry you.”

With a quick rearrange of arms, followed by a soft grunt, Simon lifted him up. Instinctively, Soap clutched close, squeezing his eyes shut once more as his head spun. As soon as Simon settled him onto the sofa only inches away, he brought a hand up to his mouth, dry heaving into his palm once more. No vomit, this time.

A hand rubbed at his back. “Easy.” A hand in his hair. He leaned against it tiredly as Simon helped him lean backwards onto the old cushions. “Just breathe. It’ll help.”

As soon as he was sitting comfortably, the hands were gone. His eyes cracked open, looking around. Simon had just… disappeared.

“Si’?” He croaked, anxiety coiling. He hadn’t heard him leave, where was he? “Right here.” A damp cloth touched his forehead, and moments later the man was back in view, kneeling down in front of him. A bowl was given to Soap, settled in his lap neatly. “If you’re sick again.”

“Oh.” He rasped. Yeah, of course Simon would think to go grab something.

A glass of water was offered next. His hands reached out shakily to take it, but Simon didn’t let go, instead holding the glass steady as Soap brought it to his lips, taking small sips. He pulled it away a moment later. “Not too much.” He reminded Soap, “It’ll make you throw up.”

He hummed tiredly. “I know.”

“Now you’re not puking your guts up.” The glass was placed onto a nearby old, dusty coffee table. Simon’s eyes were on him not long after. “Care to explain why you thought it was a good idea to come out on a mission when you were feeling like shit?”

“I didn’t feel bad this morning.” Which was true. Sort of. It’d, mostly, come on suddenly. “Once I felt sick, we were already off.”

“You could’ve still told someone.” Simon’s voice was soft, but firm. “Price, Gaz, me, hell, even the pilots. Anyone, Soap.”

“Sorry.” He whispered tiredly. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“I can’t get a hold of Price.” That woke him a little. “Signal’s shit. Blizzard is practically snowing us in, I think.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Simon sighed, hand reaching up to brush some blonde, stray strands behind his ear. “But we’ve got a while before we’ll need to check back in. So, we’ll just hunker down. Feel like eating?”

He shook his head. Simon’s eyes softened. “You need to, Johnny.”

He shook his head again, eyes drooping slightly. “‘M tired.”

“Alright.” Simon relented, biting his lip. “Alright. I’ll… We can eat later?”

He nodded. That worked.

“You take the sofa,” Simon went to move, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He reached out, grasping his wrist. “We can share.” He murmured, exhausted. “It’s a sofa-bed.”

“Yeah, like a single bed.” The older man huffed, “I can take the floor.”

He didn’t let go of the man’s wrist. Simon didn’t pull away, either. “Just sleep here.” He yawned, “‘S easier.”

There was a pause, before a soft; “You’re not gonna puke on me, are you?”

He chuckled, eyes already closed, “Only if you snore.”

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merrivia · 2 years ago

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There’s something I find quite curious about the Captive Prince trilogy.

The lack, or paucity, of any references to religion. Or mythology or folklore. I find that a really interesting creative choice, because I think most readers feel the shapes of the fairytales and myths and beliefs that lie, like bones or the foundation of a building, under the surface of the story.

So let's discuss.

Firstly, belief systems. We know Akielos, much like the Ancient Greece it’s modelled on, has philosophers, even if we never hear about them in any detail.

We know there are Veretian and Akielon rituals regarding death. Aleron and Auguste are entombed, and so is Damen's faked body with Theomedes.

Akielon rituals are told to us in more detail via Nikandros:

There is an Ancient Greek death ritual called the ekphora, a “ritual procession of the deceased’s body from where it had been laid out to the place of burial”. The prefix ek meant ‘out’ and phora ‘to carry’ so it literally denotes the carrying out of the body to be buried. I couldn't find 'ekthanos' as a real extant word, but with the same logic ekthanos means out + thanos- a word that can mean immortal or death depending on how you might interpret the etymology of it.

It sounds like Nikandros completed a mourning ritual and lit something (a votive lamp?) symbolically (perhaps it symbolises the leaving of the spirit, as that which removes or leads out the immortal soul from the body, hence ekthanos?). I would assume it was a funeral pyre if it weren't for the fact that Damen's body was interred (could it have been ashes that were interred? That would be safer if you're going to fake someone's death, but that's honestly me very much extrapolating from nothing. Also damn, Nikandros loves Damen. My heart honestly feels so warm about him. If that happened, and he stepped up to light the pyre when Kastor didn't, than he really is his real brother).

But for all this, there is no sense of an afterlife nor praying to deities.

More after the jump:

Edit: Unless you count Jokaste’s note to Damen, which seems to point to Greek ideas of metempsychosis/reincarnation.

Regardless of that though there are no powerful institutions, no churches or temples, no religious figures to appease.

At first I thought there were no mentions of gods at all.

But there is.

Firstly in the very first description of Laurent in the baths:

And secondly, in the Akielon epic Erasmus sings:

There’s also an unusual mention of Nereus who has a collection of statues in his garden. At first, because Nereus was a Greek god and because it felt faintly familiar, I took it for a classical allusion then swiftly realised on googling that it wasn’t. Or at least I don’t think so? Someone enlighten me, and I'll edit if I'm wrong.

So I think we can safely assume Akielos once had gods, but the religion died out perhaps (thought not due to the rise of Christianity). And their pantheon may have been pretty much been the Greek one as the influence might linger in names like Nereus, literally a god of the sea (and Damianos from Damia, a minor goddess of fertility, and Nikandros which has a root in Nike, goddess of victory…).

Edit: having now read The Training of Erasmus, Nereus is a slave owner, and his gardens a place for young pre-pubescent slaves to have their initial training. Sigh. Reading that story really is just heartbreaking.

Keeping to the topic I suppose (even with the lingering sense of disgust that ran through me while reading it) did he collect statues that were relics of the times before and keeps them in this garden? You can see statuary fitting into this strange rarified space for the most beautiful youths. It could be some echoing of Roman pleasure gardens which generally had that sort of statuary? Or is it a mirroring of Renaissance Italy where they tried to recreate Roman gardens, taking classical statues from ruins to restore and place in them? Who knows!

Without being explicit, Pacat makes it clear that beautiful Laurent is classical-statue-beautiful. Greek god beautiful. A Ganymede, perhaps or an Adonis. And slave beautiful, too.

And, of course, Damianos has so many parallels to Achilles, from his unparalleled strength and prowess on the battlefield, to his ability to strategise as if Athena is guiding him, to how he can become blinded by rage. The warrior-hero.

Ultimately, I guess what’s interesting is Pacat’s choices. It’s really hard to avoid any religious references in writing, as these allusions are baked in so deep to language. Damen being made a slave is called a “living hell”. Laurent presents an “angelic countenance”. Damen "prays" the training arena is empty so he can escape. Orlant thinks that Akielos sounds like "paradise". Interestingly, all those quotes are from Captive Prince, and it seems as if, as Pacat went along, she steered away more and more from any kind of religious reference.

I mean, I get wanting to steer clear of religion. After polytheistic religions came the monotheistic- and then suddenly we have a whole heap of reasons why homosexuality is a sin. If we cut that off, and there is no spread of Christianity across Europe, it seems we get the bisexual culture of Vere and Akielos and Patras.

[Edit: But also sex as a sin in general does not exist. The policing of heterosexual premarital sex came into being to control reproduction, which in turn helps secure bloodlines in a patriarchal society. And so Pacat very neatly invents another social taboo as a substitute; the fear of bastardry, which means no heterosexual premarital sex EVER, and thus bisexuality becomes the norm (Damen is against this seeing it as potentially leading to situational sexual behaviour which doesn’t feel right to him).]

I also think it may have distracted from Pacat’s pared down yet evocative writing style. And added layers of unnecessary complication as the Veretian version of the Church would be another tricky, powerful and corrupt institution for him to battle and there really is no room for that in the narrative.

And just as a mini musing of a postcript, we know Laurent reads illuminated manuscripts:

We know these surely can't be prayerbooks, so I think we can assume that they are histories and works of poetry and stories.

Stories of courtly love perhaps? Fables, legends and folklore? Old Akielon myths? I would love to know what he read.

There are two French/European stories that do come to mind when I think of Laurent.

Beauty and the Beast, of course, with Laurent-the-beautiful and Damen-the-'giant-animal', and the trope of the kind-hearted lover who thaws the heart of the one who has grown cold and cruel.

And Reynard the fox, the trickster figure, whose "sly amorality" is "sympathetic as it is needed for his survival".

And whose main antagonist is, of course, his uncle.

#captive prince #meta #just my meandering thoughts #damen of akielos #laurent of vere

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deathbxnny · 1 year ago

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♧《What lies beyond the paintings》♧

(Chapter one- "??? World")

-----♡

A/N: So this is my official start to my IB x Hsr inspired series! Now, you don't need to know anything about the game to read this and I wanted to get the first chapter out, before starting requests, so here it is! Please let me know what you think of it and if you'd like me to continue the series!<3

Summary: You only begrudgingly agreed to joining your parents on a trip to the Belobog museum. Yet after touring the entire building and coming across an odd painting, you return to the main floors only to find them empty... devoid of life. What is the meaning of this? And most importantly, where is everyone... and are you really alone? And if you are alone... why do you feel so watched?

Content: Angst, Teen reader, Gore warning, blood, stalking, horror/unsettling elements, very loosely IB inspired story events

Featured characters: Serval, Gepard, Seele, Bronya

Reader can be any gender.

((Not fully proofread))

The Belobog History and Culture museum was deemed as the cities most popular attraction, ever since it opened it's doors weeks ago. Crowds of people practically flooded in and out of the building in a steady stream every day, their eyes wide and curious with awe, as they gazed upon the beautiful and breathtaking artifacts every new room had to offer.

Most forgot the time and just walked around for hours, always excited, whenever they discovered something new to learn about. Some just stood before a painting for a small eternity, fixated on the need to observe and understand it's meaning. And through the hard work of certain important members of the city, more and more people seemed to come in through the large doors every day, just so they can experience a small part of the past themselves.

Your parents were one of those people, having waited on the opening of the museum for what seemed to be their entire life's. Or so it seemed to your bored mind, as you recalled their excitement at the news. It didn't take them long to drag you along for a visit either, not that you had a choice in the matter anyways. You weren't convinced of it's importance or it's impressive reputation. It was just a building with some old junk displayed in it. What's so interesting about that?

Your parents on the otherhand believed that a single visit may just change your mind on the matter. "Come on now, dear... Surely a small look around won't hurt, yes? Go on without us, we'll sort out the tickets." Your mother ushered, an eager smile stretching across her face. You frown, but shrug, deciding to just get it over with. You had nothing better to do anyways.

And so you began walking through the large archways into the first room. You looked around, a feeling of uneasiness filling you. Too many people, you determine. You pushed past people to get through. Children, their parents, an elderly couple, so many people. The entire city seemed to be here and it made you quietly note that the rumours were true after all. Everyone loved this place.

Your eyes occasionally caught the sight of some paintings, even going as far as to read the descriptions. But most were redacted or intelligible to your eyes. It was odd and yet you found yourself never paying enough attention to them. Like you weren't supposed to. Not yet anyways.

"Oh hey there Kid! Good to see you around." Your eyes met Serval's briefly, as you nodded awkwardly, greeting her politely. Your parents were architects themselves. They knew Serval and in turn, you did too. But that didn't make you any less quiet or unsociable. You were always a little like that with everyone anyways.

"Bet they brought you here, huh? Well, I hope you're having a little bit of fun at least... Did you see Gepard anywhere actually? I've been looking for him all day." Serval continued, making you shake your head. "Nope, I'm afraid not." You say, Serval sighing with an understanding nod. "Fine then... I guess I'll just have to continue searching for him... see ya around!" Serval ruffled your hair, a slight laugh escaping her lips, before she slipped back into the crowd and escaped your view.

You huff, fixing your hair, as you continued on your way through the room into another one nearby. You fleetingly caught the sight of Supreme Guardian herself and her grumpy, indigo haired friend, you didn't know much about. But just as fast as you saw them, they also disappeared into the thick crowd. It was beginning to feel suffocating here and for a moment, you wondered if you should just return to the front lobby.

But then, your eyes caught the glint of a marble staircase. It was in a dark corner, hidden partially by large, red satin curtains. Yet you still saw it and suddenly felt the urge to ascend them. You were the only one, who seemed to notice them. Everyone just walked past it, like it didn't exist. Weren't they also curious about what might may be up there? You glanced around, deciding that a little bit of silence would do you some good. Besides, you might as well explore this place to the fullest, just like your parents wanted you to.

You quickly slipped past the curtains, before slowly walking up the white stairs. It got darker and darker with every step you climbed, the buzzing of the crowd becoming distant, until all you heard was the sound of your shoes echoing against the tight walls the stairs were surrounded by. You shivered, suddenly feeling so cold. Finally arriving on the last step, you noticed that you were now in a very dimly lit room. But the light was still enough for you to see that... odd painting with.

It was large and long, reaching both corners of the wall it hung up on perfectly with it's size. Approaching it carefully, you tilted your head at the confusing image. It was abstract and nearly nonsensical. You couldn't figure out any of the shapes and certainly not it's meaning. Perhaps it was another instance of weird modern art... but why couldn't you remember seeing it in the catalogue your mother showed you about the artifacts displayed in the museum? Surely you couldn't have missed something like this...?

Your eyes glanced down at the only description that came with the colorful painting. But just like the other descriptions in the museum, this one was also partially intelligible.

"??? World"

You gulp, suddenly feeling watched. This place was seriously beginning to creep you out. And the mysterious existence of this painting wasn't helping either. You returned back downstairs soon after, deciding that that was enough exploration for the day. Home seemed heavenly now.

The rooms were empty. The hallways were empty. It was dark. The lights shut off, blinds drawn closed, the buzzing of the crowd deafening against the natural silence of the museum. The sound of your shoes echoed off the walls, your head turning to look around in confusion and fear. Just where was everyone? What had happened? You were headed to the front lobby now, the feeling of being watched becoming stronger and stronger. You sped up.

Had you perhaps forgotten the time? No... you weren't up there for more than at least 10 minutes. There was no way it could've gotten this dark without you noticing. And your parents would've otherwise looked for you, you knew they would have. But when you finally returned to the front lobby, you noticed that it was empty as well. Just what this any of this mean? You couldn't make sense of any of this, as you approached a window in an attempt of perhaps seeing what was going on outside.

It was pitch black, not even a single streetlight to be seen. You frown, squinting to see at least someone out there to ease your anxious mind. You jumped suddenly, reeling back in horror, as you stumbled away from the window. Blood was running down the glass, the liquid glinting dangerously in the dark. "What the hell?!" You gasped, your body scrambling to get away, before you found yourself running through the rooms again, away from whatever that was. You passed another window, having subconsciously sworn that you saw a shadow pass it by.

Where were your parents? Where was everyone? Why were you alone? Who was watching you?

You skidded to a halt, unable to run anymore, as you panted heavily. You looked back at where you came from, yet saw nothing but the empty halls and rooms stretching on endlessly behind you. What was that? You could've sworn it was blood. Real blood. A shiver ran up your spine, as you wondered where it might've come from.

But wait... this room... those curtains... that hidden staircase. You had ran all the way back here... and suddenly you found yourself ascending those stairs again, against your better judgement. You couldn't help yourself. You wanted explanations, answers. You were so dazed, so confused, you just had to see what was up here again.

You were in the dimly lit room now once more, but something was different this time. There was something written on the wall bellow the painting, scribbled clumsily in blue paint. You grit your teeth in fear, your heart dropping.

"Come to me (Y/N)"

You were shivering, your body freezing up for a moment. That was your name. Whoever it was, that was watching you, knew your name. You slowly turned your body around, wondering if it was too late to run, when you noticed blue footprints leading down the staircase. You stare at them, before sighing in defeat, your breath shaky and weak. It seems like you had no choice. With a final glance at the painting, you began following the footprints.

You seemed to follow them endlessly through these empty, cold halls and rooms, always looking out for someone, anyone. But you were alone with whoever it was that stalked you. You could feel their eagerness, their excitement. You didn't want to know, why they felt this way. It was best you never found out either. But your stalker seemed to have other plans.

The blue footprints came to a halt infront of a painting that depicted the lobby of the Goethe Hotel. Your hand shook, as you reached out for it, your fingertips barely brushing against the surface of the canvas, before you blinked and suddenly found yourself in the hotel's lobby. You gasped in surprise, nearly stumbling backwards down the Grand stairs.

You panted softly from the anixiety and fear you felt. You didn't know what was going on. You wanted to go home. You wanted your parents. Your head turned to the front desk in hopes of seeing anyone. But once again, there was not a single soul in sight.

Only a red rose floated slightly above the desk, enticing you to come closer. You were careful with your movements, as though the flower would attack you at any moment. You felt the irresistible urge to touch it then and so you did, watching in awe, as you grasped it's delicate stem. You were holding it now, feeling energised and replenished. Just what was the purpose of this rose?

As you pondered it's meaning, a door on the right opened on it's own, practically inviting you in. You jumped, nervously glancing at the rose. It seemed like you had no other choice but to go along with whatever game you were involuntarily playing.

And so, you slowly and carefully walked through, the doors shutting and locking themselves tightly behind you.

Your fate officially sealed.

-----♡

A/N: Alrighttttt.... it's been a while since I've written this much hahaha! I really hope you guys liked it! Please let me know your thoughts and what you think of it!

If you're interested enough, I'll make another part! For now though, I'll finally pass out and sleep...

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr serval #hsr serval x reader #hsr gepard #hsr gepard x reader #hsr bronya #hsr bronya x reader #hsr seele #hsr seele x reader #hsr

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leohtttbriar · 3 months ago

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just curious, have you read binti by nnedi okorafor? i’m a bit reminded of her worldbuilding style when i read your star trek fics, if that makes sense

when i saw this i had not read binti by nnedi okorafor but now i have!! and it was beautiful and i really found the world-building fascinating as well as the rest of the story. and i have to thank you so much for bringing these stories to my attention!

i'm not going to claim that my star trek fics are like this bc that is so deeply flattering that i can only shy away from it (how is someone supposed to react to a part of their writing being compared to a quality of an award winning novella--i can't accept that fully but oh wow thank you so much), but i will say that there are details in okorafor's story that appeal to me and drag my interest and inspire me to want to write more. and i think if wanted to try to boil down what these details are it'd come out to something like: physical reality is more creative than the general narrative of physics supposes.

(apologies for how long this got--i am incapable of stopping once i start)

obviously the word "creative" invokes something like a designer, someone who put it all together. and i definitely don't believe in god but i also think that "god" serves as a interpretive interlocutor between how people expect physical reality to be and how it's beyond us--at least to people who aren't consistently enmeshed in theoretical physics or any other field/area of science that engages more with abstraction than materiality. and i love how okorafor takes the aesthetics of spirituality and extends that to tech. how she collapses the space between tech and art:

[...]

okorafor even invokes "god" multiple times, all in relation to the himba people that binti is a part of. and the way she reworks the theme of "innovation" is the expression of "god" in tech--creativity in material realities:

even just the suggestion that innovation and technology can be "small, private" and for "traveling inward" to explore the universe is fascinating enough--then she adds on this idea of "treeing"--of meditating so deeply on mathematics that physical parts of the world can "harmonize" with other parts through that power of mind and noticing and "inward" travel. it's wonderful.

she then has mathematics and harmonizing language with this conceit of "information" being found in certain material and how that material can be the medium of communication:

[...]

and that's not even getting to the way the red clay functions in the story and as a part of the world. the clay has information, data, and healing purpose, but the first time binti is asked to explain it to one of the meduse she says:

so all of this adds up to binti being in the right place and the right time in order to return what was stolen and save lives--when she says she's a master harmonizer, it's a layered claim in the story: she can create astrolabes, she can communicate with her edan--very old tech, she can physically communicate from her people to the meduse with the otjize she kept with her as she traveled outward in the universe, and she can use language.

[...]

i tend to be more interested in language as a physical gesture. as a thing that is wholly reliant on the body. i've always been more drawn to phonetics than semantics, and all the potentially significant ways a body can express itself. i just like meter and sound and gesture etc. obviously that's a part of how okorafor engages with "language" in this story but largely "language" arrives through mathematics--through something as abstract and rational and creative as mathematics--through a practice with "getting closer to 'god.'" and that's so beautiful in terms of the idea of "harmonizing," implying a peace and understanding between conscious beings that always exists so long as someone can tap into it.

binti's role in the story reminded me a little of the narrative/cultural role of the "peaceweaver" in early medieval poetry/culture. the sort of diplomatic conceit behind marriages of daughters to neighboring kings, but instilled in the actual person of the daughter/new wife, the woman who is now "weaving" peace through her ties to both kingdoms. binti of course isn't acting as diplomat through this cultural custom (the politics of medieval power structures are not really there to cause this role to exist to begin with) but the word "peaceweaver" is a word that suggests a creative engagement in material reality. she is weaving material together, she is weaving people together; the word poetically collapses the space between her abilities in a feminine craft and her abilities in her political role. and there's something like that happening with binti's "harmonizing"--her role as "harmonizer."

[...]

so despite the fact that the conceit of "language" is depicted as something that is an abstract truth that can be accessed, okorafor is still arguing that "communication" is a product of the person. so long as the person is not barrier-ed or diminished. so long as that person has always been able to communicate their self to the world around them, in such a way that the person does not keep that self apart from the world. "treeing"--engaging with fractals, self-similar mathematical patterns in perpetuity--being both the accessing of material truth and "god"--allowing for treating with other people. between people. with a result of cultural harmony.

with binti's edan i was reminded also of the golden compass in his dark materials. pullman depicts the compass as a piece of tech more than a piece of magic, even if magic definitely exists in-universe. and the way lyra has a special relationship to this tech, then looses it, then decided to figure the relationship out the hard way: binti's relationship with the edan is very like this but also okorafor writes it so that binti has already done the hard work of figuring out the tech, with her studies and meditation throughout her life (practices of her people), and by the end of the story she just needs to understand her understanding. and there's something about the fact that she is using "god" instead of fully rejecting it, as the story demands lyra does, because the relationship one can have to an object, a piece of tech, can be personal--and the personal is necessarily spiritual (the emergent property of self-consciousness, implementing an abstract meaning on that which might not inherently contain it--the "to be" rather than "not to be").

and the way binti's body is warped at the end of the story, changing her relationship to everything around her, mirrors the way she has carried her people's clay with her as communicative tool and personal expression and cultural honoring of her land and family and loved ones. she is still looking inward for the universe, it's just now the universe has become a part of her body.

anyway i was deeply interested in this story because i the speculative/sci-fi question that has most attracted me is the question of how biology and culture interact and how that interaction can produce something like technology or progress. it's an eco-critical question at the core because it's a question of how to be in the world and of the world while still not limiting the creativity that is as natural to our mind as any other part of the human body. it's how i read something like this novella as well as something like sir gawain and the green knight. it's like: when you're studying any aspect of biology, there's a tendency to see the description of, say, cellular respiration, and think, even unspoken, "who the hell came up with this. this is so impossibly complex. how does it even work??"

and the answer is "it works because that's how matter works. it works because that is how matter is. it works because it was inevitable for matter to behave this way in the conditions created because matter behaves this way and that is what is and that is it."

and so the "creativity" in that reality is not so much authored as it is the ongoing process of everything. trying to interpret and apply a culture that respects that is like...the project of climate activism, i guess. but maybe i'm getting to far into the umbrella Issue here. i just wanted to say that i loved this novella and i'm so so flattered by what you said and i find world-building details like the one's okorafor wrote to be fascinating and inspirational! <3333

#binti #lit #eco-criticism #star trek #sci-fi #i didn't even bring donna haraway into this so i should be congratulated for my restraint lol #thank you for the ask!!

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ladisgarde · 1 year ago

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Marius/Daniel week prompt: Season

1600+ word ficlet set during Daniel's recovery era, pre-relationship.

"Young one, you have fed from me the last few times. You should take some blood from a mortal again. I guarantee it will do wonders for your wellbeing. So, why don't we go out tonight?"

—

On the early evening of that year's first snowfall, Marius quietly opened the door to Daniel's space. By then his work area, as they called it, had expanded from the basement to the living room, as more and more room was needed to accommodate the growing miniature worlds crafted by Daniel's dexterous hands. Already the young blood drinker was at his table, his focus entirely on his continuous creative task. Currently he was applying white paint to a small bridge, which he had placed above a miniature valley he made, painted white as well— the very picture of a winter wonderland. Daniel didn't give any sign of acknowledgement as Marius approached him with careful steps.

"Good evening, Daniel. Have you slept well? How are you feeling tonight?"

Daniel dipped his brush into a paint jar and started applying a clear layer, which Marius supposed was to emulate ice. Marius tried again.

"Are you hungry...? It's about time you fed again."

A beat passed. If Marius didn't have preternatural hearing, he might have missed Daniel clearing his throat. The fledgling's voice was slightly rough from disuse.

"... I'm okay. A little hungry, maybe."

Daniel then looked up and glanced vaguely at Marius' face, before dropping his gaze to the older man's exposed wrist. Expectantly.

Marius let out a breath. Gently, he spoke. "Young one, you have fed from me the last few times. You should take some blood from a mortal again. I guarantee it will do wonders for your wellbeing. So, why don't we go out tonight?"

Daniel lowered his head and turned toward his model landscapes. "I'd rather stay here," he said quietly.

Marius could sense some anxiety building in his companion and took a breath. Maybe he wasn't ready for another hunt. But when would he be? If he didn't push him a little, will he ever get better? He did have to feed.

"Are you certain? We could go to that pub that plays the soothing jazz music..."

"No! No people..." It seemed Daniel shrank into himself.

'So he was anxious about meeting mortal strangers, even though he should learn that they are but prey for him', Marius thought. The ancient vampire closed his eyes. He would have to let the young man drink from himself, again. Be the fountain that sustains him. Not that it would hurt either of them.

"Well, alright, Daniel. We won't go see other people tonight. But how about we go outside for a walk in the woods? Just you and me."

Daniel continued to study the tiny world he was working on.

"It would do you good to get some fresh air. And, it snowed during the day! Tonight marks the start of the winter season. You might get some inspiration for your lovely landscapes when you see the beautiful, fresh snow."

Daniel said nothing, but Marius could tell he was listening. Marius smiled.

"Maybe we'll see a deer."

At that, Daniel suddenly looked at Marius again, his violet eyes curious.

"... can I eat a deer?"

Surprised, Marius gave a laugh. "Of course you can, young one, though I do not recommend it. As you should know, it is mortal human blood that's best for us. Animal blood should only be taken in dire circumstances."

Daniel frowned. "I want to know what it tastes like."

"Not very good, I'm afraid. It can sustain us. But you're better off if we hunted among the human population."

"No. I want to find a deer."

And with that, Daniel stood up and started walking toward the door, his steps somewhat heavy.

"Oh!" Marius said in delighted surprise at Daniel's sudden initiative. "I got you a new warm coat and boots. Let us get ready, then."

—

The snow crunched pleasantly under their shoes as they made their way through the darkened Norwegian forest. With their ability to navigate easily through the night thanks to their preternatural eyesight, they wouldn't have needed the moonlight. But the soft light illuminating the fresh snow added a haunting, dreamlike touch to their surroundings.

Daniel's gaze was mostly downcast as he trudged next to Marius, carefully watching his steps. Now and then he would glance around with sudden alertness and eyes wide. The older vampire supposed his ward never had much opportunity to fully experience all the perks his still relatively new immortal status brought him. Right after being turned he seemed to be in a state of euphoria, which soon turned into mania. At first the new fledgling's behaviour puzzled him, but it didn't take long for Marius to realize just how deeply vulnerable he really was. Their nightly walk might possibly be the first time Daniel could experience natural beauty with all his new senses. At least, Marius hoped Daniel was taking it all in.

"What do you think, Daniel? Do you like this place?"

Daniel squinted into the distance. "There are a lot of sleeping birds. And... small, furry creatures..."

"Do you mean the Martes martes? That is the Latin name. In English it would be the pine marten, or more specifically, the European pine marten. There are a few of those around here, yes."

If Daniel paid attention to what Marius had said, he didn't show it. "You said there would be deer."

Marius smiled. "Patience, young one. Look over here." He gestured to a spot in the snow. "See these tracks and droppings? As you can see, deer do come quite close to our house. Based on these and with your senses, you should be able to easily track—"

Without warning, Daniel suddenly shot away into the woods, leaving Marius behind. The older man's long hair swung in the created breeze. "Daniel!"

Distantly, at least a hundred meters away, Marius could hear the sounds of a scuffle in the snow. It lasted about two seconds. A moment later, Daniel was back in the same place where he stood before, only this time with his arms wrapped tightly around an adult doe.

The animal struggled in terror while Daniel stared in fascination. The young man hadn't even broken a sweat. Marius smiled in amusement. "Well. There you go."

"Soft," Daniel said in wonder, brushing his pale, bare hands over the quivering torso.

"Their pelts have many uses. But please don't torment the poor creature. If you're going to kill it, do it swiftly."

"But of course," Daniel said, a little indignant. He understood the animal's innocence perfectly well. "I just want to look a bit more."

Some clouds shifted and the moonlight hit their small party. A brilliant brown shone in the deer's eye. Daniel stared.

"Doe eyes really are distracting, aren't they," Marius murmured as he watched him.

The dark amber color reminded Daniel of something... of someone. His heartbeat quickened, warm feelings of love and cold feelings of bitterness coursing through him at once, only to be overcome with warmth again. His grip tightened, making the deer wheeze. Daniel started muttering, barely audible, to himself.

"But no. He would never look upon me with such fear. Such a wild pulse. Never, never. Never. The predator... is me."

And with that, he bit strongly into the animal's neck.

Daniel's iron grip crushed the deer tightly to himself as he drained it of its blood. Eventually, the mammal gave its last attempted kicks of life, when Marius placed a strong hand on Daniel's shoulder for him to stop. The young vampire sank to his knees and gently put the carcass on the snowy ground, all while Marius kept his hand securely on him. Daniel shivered, staring at the body. Marius kept watching him carefully.

After a moment, Daniel turned his head to the side. He licked his lips for the last droplets of blood.

"... you're right," he said. "It didn't taste that good."

Marius smiled. "But you did finish it. If it makes you feel better, a deer does taste slightly better than a rat. You can take my word for it."

—

As they ventured further into the woods, Marius fell into deep thought. Maybe Daniel wasn't ready to hunt for humans yet. Not today, maybe not tomorrow. But Marius should and would not push him any further than was absolutely necessary. 'The popular saying is that time heals all wounds, and isn't that an advantage when you are an immortal? I cannot say how true that has been for me,' he thought to himself, sardonically. 'I can only hope that it proves to be right for this lost fledgling.'

"Oh!" Daniel's sudden outburst cut into his thoughts.

Alarmed, Marius glanced quickly at Daniel beside him, then followed the younger man's gaze into the sky.

Curtains of bright colors shone in the night sky, hues of green cut in a serpentine pattern through deep marine. Marius was familiar with the view, but it was always stunning to see it again, and again.

"We are truly lucky to be out tonight. Not only is it a night of fresh snowfall, but we get too see the Northern Lights so closely as well. You can't see them every night, you know. What do you think, Daniel?"

Marius glanced back at his companion who stared at the sky, silently stunned. The thick wool scarf wrapped around Daniel while wonder shone in his eyes made for a youthful, very human look. Once again, Marius was reminded of just how beautiful this young man was.

Soon, Daniel's gaze became glassy, and he swayed a little on his feet. The younger vampire shuffled closer to Marius and leaned against him. Instinctively, Marius put a protective arm around him.

"Daniel, what's wrong? Are you cold?"

Daniel didn't look at him when he asked, his voice small: "... may I drink from you?"

Warmth blossomed in Marius' heart. He pushed up the sleeve of his coat. "But of course, my dear Daniel."

It's the first fic I've written in a while. Hope it reads alright! Sorry about the deer.

#marius/daniel #fic #de romanus coven events #pre relationship #day 4 (late)#writing

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kathanglangit · 1 year ago

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The Seventh Blade: Kalis - Bleeding Edge

And so- in the end- the wheel must turn, and a new day must usurp the old. Perhaps then, these long-fallen flowers will feed the soil, and nourish a new bloom. Perhaps the fire will find home in the bleeding rivers and cauterize the land, and the steam will rise into skies of the clearest blue. Perhaps our songs will be of triumphant yesterdays, hard-won and now bearing fruit. But we are Kadungganan- we do not sit idly to await the dawn. We claw at heaven to bring forth our own tomorrow! One more day until the launch of the Gubat Banwa Kickstarter! Fight for another day in the turbulent fires of the Sword Isles, carving out your own story by blade and sheer will in this tactical martial arts TTRPG, inspired by the thousand, thousand colors of Southeast Asia.

I've been posting weapons I've drawn for the game to count down the final week before the launch. This was supposed to be for Swordtember, but the deadline had to be pushed back. 7/7 blades, ending with the KALIS

This blade adorns the logo of Gubat Banwa, at once uniting and splitting in twain. Kalis refers to a number of uniquely Philippine variants of the more widely known collective of kris blades, which appears in several forms across Southeast Asia.

(Diagram by Lorenz Lasco) What separates Philippine kalis from kris seems to be an answer with multiple facets. Some say it's a linguistic matter, others say kalis refers specifically to certain blades from the Sulu archipelago.

(Photos from Raymundo Lucero)

(For comparison, an Indonesian kris) Admittedly, the kalis is a bit of a blindspot in my knowledge. I've done what research I can, and asked those who know better, but I exist a considerable distance away from where these blades belong- physically and culturally. This is, perhaps, where I will be most prone to making mistakes of fact with the information I present. If I make any mistakes, please do not hesitate correct me!

(Photo from Zambasulta Pakukus) On the heels of that disclaimer, let's take a look at the blade. This is definitely one of the most beautiful weapons I've ever had to draw. Philippine kris/kalis tend to be longer and more "sword-like" than those of our neighbors.

(Photos from Johnwick Cabrera) The hilts tend to differ depending on who makes them. Some sport what might be cockatoo/"kakatua" bird-head hilts, some have very ornate junggayan hilts, some feature okir carvings, some are more rudimentary.

(Photos from Dennis Andrew Golez) The blade is used by several peoples in the south Philippines, including the Maranao, the Tausug, and the peoples of Maguindanao. I am most definitely missing a few groups, this is not an exhaustive list. There are differences between the way they build hilts and assemble blades that I don't feel qualified to speak about. And yes, the blades are like that because they are an assembly near the handle.

(Photo from Sulu Utak Shop) Apart from hilt shape and assembly, variations occur in blade thickness, ornamentaion, presence and type of okir carvings, number of curves or seko (odd numbers), length (kalis sundang = "swords", kalis gunong = "daggers") Actually- you know what?

(Photo from Richard Hudson) Since this is the last one in the countdown, I'm going to do something different. I invite you to find the answers yourself. That is part of what Gubat Banwa is meant to be: an invitation to engage in a fantasy setting centered on our cultures, so you can tell stories built on our terms. The cultures in the Sword Isles are NOT the cultures in the real world from which they draw inspiration. It is very much still a fantasy setting. But part of engaging with the setting in good faith is doing your own learning, on things for which you are not owed an explanation. Curiosity rewards the adventurous. The kalis is well-researched. If you're curious about something, you'll find the answers. You don't need me to hold your hand.

Instead, I'm just going to show you some of the coolest kalis I've seen.

(Silver and ivory-hilted kalis from the NCAA) A (relatively) simple but gorgeous build by a modern smith.

(Blade by Zambasulta Pakukus) A pair of kalis from a smith in Zamboanga.

(Blade by Panday Onsboy Maktar) Silver-hilted kalis from Sulu.

(Photos from Arma Filipinas; Polished by the "Blade Barber") Kalis with some gorgeous carvings on it.

(Photos from Sulu Utak Shop) Kris inlaid with a brass naga.

(Photos from Ron Zambaranno) Kalis rehilted by a Lumad group- uncertain which group. Supposedly, the Lumad would take kris they captured from enemies, disassemble them, and rehilt the blade.

This one appears to have a blade that looks like most of the kalis we've seen, but with a hilt similar to Indonesian or Malaysian variants.

(Photos from Raymundo Lucero) Antique Moro kris sundang with a hilt made of fossilized mammoth tooth, ornamented with a silver coin from the 1700s. A personal favorite, as I used the hilt as a reference for one of my favorite designs.

(Photo from Richard Hudson)

(Art by yours truly) As with the panabas, the people who make and use the kalis are still around. There are bladesmiths, scholars, practitioners of Moro Fighting Arts, historians, and just people who live alongside these blades who can tell their own stories better than I ever could.

(Photo from Richard Hudson)

I hope this and all the other threads I made inculcated an interest in some of you- even those who just look at the pictures (I see you)- to look into these blades yourself. Do your due diligence, treat people with respect, and approach what you are unfamiliar with in good faith- and you should be well on your way to learning more than you thought there ever was to know.

The Gubat Banwa Kickstarter launches in 1 day! Check it out here:

A very special thanks to GB team-member onefloor who helped expand my knowledge on this blade. This legend scores the music for Gubat Banwa, check them out here! This will be the last blade post I do for the promotion. I'm going back into the hole I dug in the ground to work on the rest of the weapons I'm drawing for this game. If there's interest, I might do another series of 7 before the Kickstarter campaign ends. Anyway, help us get the word out, small team of creators from the global south, too broke to advertise, etc. etc. you know the drill by now if you've read the other posts. Until next time! Until glory!

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mysteryshoptls · 2 years ago

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SSR Azul Ashengrotto Masquerade Dress Personal Story: Part 1

"A simple, mysterious talisman."

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

[Noble Bell College]

Azul: Sigh… My plan was to thoroughly enjoy this visit to the City of Flowers, but we were truly in a pinch last night.

Azul: Thanks to all that running around exterminating the crimson lotus flowers, my muscles are sore everywhere, and I hardly was able to sleep, so I'm just terribly tired… Yaaawn…

Azul: However, I've come all this way to the City of Flowers. I must explore every nook and cranny of this city and gather any ideas that may be a boon to my businesses.

Azul: Unlike the other students, I have no time to relax or lounge about until the masquerade. Alright, let's quickly head towards the town.

[City of Flowers]

Azul: My, the people of the City of Flowers sure have cultivated a wonderful entrepreneurial spirit!

Azul: I cannot believe that despite the frantic commotion caused by the crimson lotus flowers last night, the stores have already opened their doors, business as usual.

Azul: Thankfully, that meant I was able to enjoy a nice brunch with dishes made with goat's milk. Now, where should I go next…

Rook: I spy Azul-kun! Bonjour.

Azul: Oh, if it isn't Rook-san. Good morning… Or I suppose it may be a little too late in the day to say that.

Rook: I didn't expect to run into you here in town.

Rook: It is all thanks to the valiant efforts of you and the others that we are able to witness another spectacular morning.

Rook: After facing such grueling tribulations, I'm sure both your body and spirit are completely warn out. Are you sure you don't need to rest in bed?

Azul: Honestly, I would like to sleep, yes… But my desire to explore the City of Flowers far outweighs my exhaustion.

Rook: Fufu, what a coincidence. I've also sprung forth from the confines of my room in order to fully savor this beautiful cityscape.

Rook: What say you? Why not sightsee together, since we've just so happened to meet like this?

Azul: With you, Rook-san…? Hm. I suppose I'm likely to gain some new insight that I would not have gleaned on my own.

Azul: I'm honored by your invitation. I will gladly join you.

[City of Flowers – Topsy-Turvy Event Hall]

Azul: Despite the fiasco with the Crimson Lotuses, it seems the festival decorations are still up.

Azul: It does look as if we will be able to take in the buildings and scenery now that there aren't as many people around like yesterday.

Rook: It's as you say, Azul-kun. …See, look up.

Azul: Up…?

Azul: Ah. There are some carvings engraved onto the building roofs and even the tops of some pillars.

Azul: Hm…? What is that stone statue there… There seems to be two… no, three faces on its body.

Rook: That is a sculpture of the Kind-Hearted Youth, and his friends. You should take a closer look.

Azul: The Kind-Hearted Youth, and his friends…?

Azul: You're right. When I look closer, several people are clustered together to make a single silhouette of a young woman.

Azul: This one here is the Youth, and this lady was his friend. This other face is some sort of animal… Perhaps a goat?

Rook: Trés Bien! You know your stuff, Azul-kun.

Azul: I suspected as much. I couldn't very well make it out just from looking at it, but…

Azul: The locals here in the City of Flowers take pride in their goats. So I thought it could be…

Azul: However, I'm curious what theme they had in mind when creating this statue. The pose is quite comical, and yet their expressions are very serious…

Rook: Apparently, this figure was made to recreate a well-known incident.

Rook: In an effort to escape from the gaze of some villain, they pretended to be stone statues in perfect sync… Or so this work of art is attempting to portray.

Azul: Ah, I see… When you say it that way, I suppose they do have more of a tense expression on their faces.

Azul: It does seem as though the impression one can glean from this work of art deeply depends on whether you know of this incident taking place or not.

Azul: If you don't mind, Rook-san, may I ask you to teach me more of what you know?

Rook: Fufu, you do know how to fill me with joy. Then, I suppose I shall bring you to this one place I highly recommend.

Azul: Yes, please! Tell me, what is this place you will be taking me?

Rook: You'll see once we get there. Do not worry, I promise you will have a grand time.

Part 1 (Part 2) (Part 3)

Requested by @pianostarinwonderland.

#twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto #rook hunt #twst azul #twst rook #twst translation #twst glorious masquerade

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iisasarcasticlittleshite · 2 years ago

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Weak Immune System (Karasuno Volleyball Club/*MALE* reader) Part III

'Jesus, when did the weather get this pissed off?' You mused. Beyond the safety of the gym the rain was pelting down in sheets that pounded against the windows, the claps of thunder that followed lightning flashes made the glass shake. 'I thought the storm wasn't supposed to start 'till midnight.'

'Looks like mother nature changed her mind,' Suga mused 'I'm worried, Hinata can't possibly peddle home in the rain and at night.'

You looked down at your upperclassman, he was huddled in his uniform jacket, arms wrapped around himself, trying to keep himself from showing how cold he was. Your bigger build granted you more protection from the cold. You shrugged off your extra jacket and threw it around Suga, leaving yourself with the long waterproof windbreaker you'd be needed to get home. 'Worry about yourself a little there, Sugamama.'

The setter's face flushed as he took in the garment that you tucked firmly over his shoulders, it was at least two sizes too big for him. 'Hey! I'm not a girl!'

With a curious frown, you tilted your head at him 'is that supposed to be a reason for me to let you freeze to death, dumbass?'

'You've been spending too much time with Kageyama.' Suga pouted at you but didn't object any further.

You smiled wistfully and glanced around. The rest of the team was scattered around the gym, sat against walls, or standing in groups. The first year that Suga was worried about didn't look phased with the prospect of cycling home in a hurricane, but you knew that in this weather, cars were going to have trouble seeing him on those unlit mountain roads, on top of that, Hinata was wearing black. There was no way you were letting him go home in this, and it didn't look likely to let up any time soon.

Daichi walked over to join the two of you beside the window, if he noticed Sugawara huddling into your jacket, he didn't say anything, merely followed your eyes to the ginger, sat against the wall, talking to Noya. 'What does the forecast say?'

'Nothing nice,' you replied grimly 'my place is closest, might ask 'im if he wants to stay over. No one's gonna see him in this weather, it's an accident waiting to happen.'

'Sorry, Suga did you grow up?'

'Ha.Ha. Very funny cap.' you rolled your eyes, grateful to be dragged out of your fretting. You don't know how Suga does it, the anxiety would kill you.

'I'm making a run for it guys!' Tanaka announced 'Saeko's gonna freak if I'm late for movie night!'

'Don't die!' you teased 'I'll steal the girlfriend you don't have!'

Tanaka flipped you the bird 'screw you, dude!'

'You wish!' the pair of you chuckled before he turned away and took off into the deluge, soon followed by Nishinoya who was probably going to crash at Tanaka's place now that you thought about it.

'I guess we outta make a run for it too.' Asahi concluded.

As everyone else braced for the downpour, Suga nudged you toward Hinata. The boy's expression had shifted to something resembling apprehension, and you knew he was trying to hide the fact that he was nervous about going home. You sighed and tapped the boy on the shoulder 'Hinata, cycling home's gonna be a little on the risky side in this weather, you can come to stay at mine if you want.'

Hinata squawked in surprise, stepping back as his face flushed 'I-I'm not scared!'

You chuckled 'I believe you, so? I'd feel a little better knowing you're not trying to climb a mountain in the dark.'

'If your parents don't mind...'

'Pfft, don't worry about my parents. Dad would be more upset I didn't offer. So, race ya?' you gave your junior a roguish grin, shrugging on your waterproof over your bag to keep your books dry.

'You're on!'

'Don't stay up too late, Sleeping Beauty!' Suga teased on your way out, looking relieved.

'Dude, it's me, be lucky if I'm awake past ten!' you huffed, holding the door open for Hinata 'see ya tomorrow!'

Side by side, you and Hinata pelted through the rain. Your shoes were soaked in seconds, puddles splashing up your legs and soaking your trousers while the wind and water beat down against the thin layer separating your skin from the weather. Hinata was fast beside you, almost too fast, you were worried you'd lose him if he took off ahead without knowing the way. You wouldn't put it past him, nor were you in the mood to explain to the club parents that you'd lost their baby crow, so you reached out and snagged Hinata's sopping wet sleeve, tugging lightly as you weaved off the main road and pelted up a flooded side-street, water rushing down, washing over your sneakers.

Hinata's sleeve slipped through your fingers when he slipped in the riverbed that was once a road, and you managed to catch his hand just in time, your momentum hauling him upright after you, he was so light and you were still warm from practice, long legs eating ground even up the steep hill.

You didn't dare let go of him again, weaving past the occasional pothole that you knew all too well and through the back gate of your house. Your family home had a granny annex attached to the side of the main house, you'd moved into it when your older brother had moved out this year. Up a short flight of stairs, you shoved the screen door open and practically hurled Hinata inside the entrance hall ahead of you, gasping for breath and feeling both hot and cold at the same time.

With the door shut behind you, you looked at Hinata and laughed, the shorter boy soon joining you as he collapsed onto the tiles of the mud-closet, as you called it.

'Thanks for catching me back there!' the ginger scratched the back of his neck sheepishly 'I thought for sure I was gonna knock my two front teeth out!'

You chuckled, shrugging off your soaked overcoat, thankfully at least some of parts of you were dry, the same could not be said for any part of your bellow the knee 'no worries, give me two seconds and I'll get you a change of clothes, you look like a drowned rat.'

It was true, Hinata's usually voluminous tufts of orange laid flat against his forehead, some still dripping water onto the tiles. He'd be freezing his ass off soon if he didn't get a warm shower, with how small he was.

You found some of your old clothes, even if you had been fourteen the last time any of these fit you, they would still be a little big on Hinata, but it was the best you'd find without raiding your younger brother's closet, and you doubted Shouyou would appreciate you telling him that he fit your ten-year-old brother's clothes. You offered Hinata some dry slippers and ushered him into your little one-bedroom annex.

He looked around at the open layout, you had a kitchenette to the right of the door, a small living area in the center, and your bedroom was on the left, the bathroom was ensuite.

'Wow, you have all this to yourself? Don't you get lonely?'

You shrugged 'family tradition, the oldest son always moves in here before moving away for good.'

'How many oldest sons are there?' Hinata regretted phrasing it that way, but as usual, you merely chuckled off his awkwardness.

'There are four of us brothers altogether,' you explained, holding out a towel wrapped around a change of clothes 'now go shower, your dripping on my floor.'

'Sorry!' The redhead followed your directions to the bathroom, and you soon heard the sound of running water, so you took to your fridge to find something to feed you both. You hadn't been counting on having guests, and you knew for a fact that Hinata could eat like a horse after practice, so you made your way to the storage closet in the corner of your little space. It was like a secret passage, through a hazardous trap door that lead directly into your younger brother's room. He was busy playing video games with his headphones in, so you snuck past without bothering him and raided your mother's fridge while she was still in her office. It was nothing new, she always had the thing stocked to bursting anyway.

You returned unseen from your mission and managed to haul the load back through the trap door without dropping it all. With the shower still running, you got busy making dinner. In your family, everyone but your mother better be a good cook, the poor woman had no taste so anything she made was good only by accident and coincidence. Your father had drilled the art of not letting shit burn into all of your brothers at a young age, so much so that his first son now worked at a Michelin star restaurant somewhere in London.

Hinata emerged from your room, and before you could say a word, you burst out laughing, because the tiny middle blocker was drooling, following his nose and dragging his feet toward the pull-out table where you'd set a huge dish of egg fried rice. You'd found a fuckton of cooked rice downstairs.

Wordlessly, you served him a massive helping and handed him a pair of chopsticks 'enjoy, I'mma go change.'

Hinata gaped at you in awe 'you're an angel!'

'It's just egg-fried-rice dude, easy as fuck.' You shrugged, heading to your room, smiling as you heard Hinata tucking into the food you'd made. You ran the risk of him eating all of it before you got back, but you could live with that "happy hampster" look he got.

After changing, you and Hinata sat on your sofa so you could eat, you tried not to chuckle at how baggy your old clothes looked on him as you flicked through your phone.

'Hey, (Y/N)-senpai?'

'Yeah?' you looked up to find the boy staring at you with those wide, hazel eyes, like you were something complex to be solved, like a math problem or something 'why are you looking at me like that, man?'

'How come you act like you're not a good player?' Hinata ignored your question, still staring at you like he could burn the answers out of your soul 'you're probably just as good as Kageyama, so why won't you let coach put you in?'

'Pfft, me? As good as Kageyama?! Yeah right.'

Hinata pouted and stood up, marching into your room, only to return with one of the frames you kept on your dresser. He sat beside you and shoved the picture into your lap 'I wasn't sure who it was at first, your hair's so different but, is that you, at the All-Japan Junior training camp?'

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. The whole point of dying your hair is completely different from your natural colour was to avoid people recognizing you in featured pictures like this, how had the shortcake figured it out?

'Yes, yes that's me and my older brother.' you relented 'I was in my third year in middle school, none of the guys know about this so don't you dare tell 'em.'

'Why not?!' Hinata wailed 'we're going up against Shiratorizawa! It's going to be five whole sets! If you'd at least sub in to give Daichi or Asahi a break-!'

'I can't do that,' your voice was low, quiet, in massive contrast to Hinata's passionate outcry 'my brother made that mistake, he's playing on borrowed time to this day, his career could end with one fall.'

'What do you mean?' the boy blinked owlishly at you, leaning on the arm of the sofa.

'I told you, there's four of us. Our dad played all sorts of sports with us when we were kids. Fumihiro's my oldest brother, he might have become a chef but he was a regional tennis champion in mixed doubles. Masashi...we're only two years apart, and we both fell in love with volleyball. He always wanted to be on the court, we both did, but Masa...he wanted the entire team to rely on him, to believe in him no matter what position he played. One day he...he burned out, collapsed mid-set. Watching him getting taken away in an ambulance shook his teammates so much that they gave the game away. I know he's blamed himself for it ever since, but will he stop playing? Hell no.'

You crossed your arms and shrunk in on yourself, brows drew together in a scowl, glaring at the picture in your lap 'if people rely on me, I'll inevitably let them down, or burn myself out trying not to. I...I don't want to live as Masa does, wondering if and when his shoulder's gonna give out and force him to give up something he loves.'

'That's...Senpai you're an idiot!' Hinata wailed, making you jump and knock the frame off of your lap, but your eyes were fixed on the determination in your junior's eyes. 'You told me so many times, there are six people on the court, SIX! That means that there are five other people to fall back on if one falls short! You're just so scared of failing you won't even try and that...that pisses me off! You're tall, you're good at the game and everyone can see it!'

There were tears in his eyes now, his cheeks were flushed crimson, and you froze as the weight of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. Here he was trying to compensate for not having something that he couldn't control, while you wallowed and fought your own desire to get on the court and fight with your friends.

It was almost ironic. 'If I could make you tall and me short, I would.' you murmured, Hinata opened his mouth to argue, but you held up a hand 'I know, that's not what you meant. Look, I can't promise anything, but...next time Coach tells me to get in there, I won't argue with him, okay?'

Hinata lit up with a smile, the tears forgotten and replaced with the sun in your own living room 'just try! That's all I ask Senpai!'

'Quit tryna butter me up, Tangerine, I ain't Noya.' You reached to ruffle his damp hair, smiling despite yourself. The frame lay forgotten on the coffee table while you and Hinata went about setting up the sofa-bed, arguing about who would take it or the bed while a movie played in the background. It didn't end up mattering, since at exactly ten o'clock you knocked out with a half-eaten back of chips in your lap, and Hinata soon followed suit after binging at least two more episodes of the series you insisted he starts watching.

Pt.1 Pt.2

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x male reader #karasuno headcanons #karasuno x male reader

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luverofralts · 7 months ago

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Arkhelios Adventures

A great mountain range. Buildings that were easily centuries old. The long, cold reach of the Void. Adam could see it all as easily as if it were standing in front of him. He didn't seem to have a choice whether he wanted to see these images or not. They were darkness and beauty, strength and fear, each seared into his brain with one word tying them all together.

Theo.

"So hey, sorry if I'm interrupting your private moping time. Dad wanted me to check on you. I don't see the point since it's basically been a prison here since You-know-who left. What trouble could you possibly be causing? I think this is the first time in a week that I've actually seen you out of your pajamas."

Remy didn't even bother knocking on the door of the gardens. Adam had locked himself inside them for the past week, attempting to meditate or something equally as pointless. Mediation wouldn't heal her brother or make him talk to her about what had happened between him and Theo. She was his twin sister, though, and that made it her duty to get him back to the person he'd been before the incident. At the very least, she would get him out of this one room and socializing again.

"You can say his name, Remy. Theo is my boyfriend...or he was." He paused to consider his words carefully. "I don't know. Either way, saying his name isn't going to break me like Mom seems to think it will.

Says the guy hiding away from everyone to "meditate."

"I know I'm not Mom's biggest fan, but she might have a point," Remy said cautiously. "You seem...twitchy whenever he comes up. Have you heard from him at all?"

"Of course I haven't," Adam snapped, louder than he meant to reply. "Mom took our phones, remember? Wherever they sent him, I can't send any magical messages either. It's like he just disappeared off the face of the earth! I don't even know where to start looking for him."

"Do you want to find him?" Remy asked quietly, truly curious about the answer. "It's okay if you don't. I'd understand. No judgment here. With your condition, I'd be pissed too."

"My condition," Adam repeated bitterly. "You don't even know the half of it. No one does."

"Does Theo? Mom threw a fit about you two being connected, and I'm guessing that that's why things got so bad when everything happened. Can't you just sense him?"

"No, that's the problem," Adam sighed. "No matter how hard I try, he's just...gone. It's not like we were connected strongly or anything like that, but I should be able to feel something about where he is. Instead, there's just silence."

He's lying. I don't know about what, but he's lying. He's easier to read than a book. But he's lying for a reason. If I don't press it, maybe he'll tell me in his own time.

"Hey, he'll come back," Remy promised, hugging her brother tightly. "Whether I have to track him down for you myself. Elowen and I will have him back in an afternoon."

"Yeah, thanks. I don't think I'll need you two though."

"So you two are over," Remy gasped, trying to remain playful before he shut down again. "There are lots of other people here who would be happy to date you. Some of which, Mom might actually approve of."

"We're not over!" Adam snapped. "Not officially. We'd have to have a conversation for that to happen, and no one will tell me where he is!"

Remy rolled her eyes and grabbed her brother's hand, dragging him with her to the ground. He tried to wriggle away from her, but Remy was stronger.

"Nope. We're having twin time now," she insisted. "Just like when we were kids. You and I are going to talk this out. I'm sick of your moodiness, and I can't tell if I'm supposed to be rooting for Theo to come back or if I should be setting him on fire for hurting you. So spill."

"We're not little kids anymore. Just leave me alone."

"Not going to happen. If you won't talk to me, then I'm going to be forced to call Elowen and Bronwen in as reinforcement. I'm sure you can remember how powerful your sisters are when we fight together."

"How can I forget?" Adam groaned. "If Theo wasn't so strong, you three would have made my life miserable." He smiled fondly before he caught himself. It was hard to separate his childhood memories from thoughts of Theo. They'd been friends since Theo started at the academy and had been inseparable for years. There was no way of thinking about his past without being reminded of Theo. He just wasn't sure if his future would be the same way.

"Look, it's complicated," Adam said at last. "I love Theo, but...people have been warning me about him for awhile now. He's this kind, funny, loyal person who loves me with the intensity of the sun. But he's also a dangerous, reckless being with so much power that deities monitor him. I love him, but he's like fire. The closer I get to him, the more I get burned. I just don't want to get burned again, Remy. I don't want to hold him back from his potential either, though. He can do things I've never seen someone do and with ease. He might be better off without me."

"If you love him, it shouldn't matter," Remy insisted. "You've known for forever about Theo being unstable and you've never cared before."

"I never thought he'd hurt me like this before!" Adam snapped angrily. "He promised me that he'd protect me, not scar my face and leave me for dead."

Remy paused, unsure of what to say.

"I was there when everything happened, Adam. I saw the look on his face. He was desperate to save you. I mean, the two of you are usually nauseatingly cute together, but this was different. He was going against his own self interests to protect you, Adam. It tore him apart and he still did it. They dragged Theo out of here on a stretcher just like you, and he's not complaining. All he did was ask for you."

"I know, I know. That's what everyone says, but...maybe our love isn't a good idea like Mom says."

"What?! Who are you Mr. I'm Planning My Wedding at Nineteen? Did Mom bewitch you with one of her spells, or did you really hit your head that hard when you fell?"

"It's not like that," Adam mumbled quietly. "It's just common sense. You know that Theo and I have...been intimate lately?" He continued when Remy nodded. "This whole thing stems from that. Theo can't handle the emotions or the increased connection between us. He went off because of me, because of my desire to be close to him. I'm too dangerous for him and he's too dangerous for me. We just end up hurting each other."

"Hmm, fair," Remy conceded. "That makes some kind of sense. I've never had that problem, but I do tend to stay away from demons. Too much drama involved."

"He...he changed me, Remy," Adam admitted quietly.

"Well, yeah, you've been friends forever, of course you're going to change each other's lives."

"No, I mean that he changed me. That day. Why do you think that I spend most of my time here, trying to meditate? It's not for fun."

"I don't know what you're talking about. No one does when you're that cryptic. If you're going to break up with Theo, then you should at least come hang out with some of my friends. Get out there, see what the world outside of Theo looks like before you make your decision."

"I'm not sure if I want to break up with him. I just need some time. I want him to know what he's done and I need to know how he feels too. I want him to see this and ask him what he's going to do about it."

Adam gestured to his cheek, where a dark scar remained. Remy had helped her father try to reduce the supernatural scarring on Adam's face, but a corner of it refused to leave. His eyes were still red and bloodshot from the spell that had twisted the small amount of demonic DNA in his system.

"A deity told me that we have demon ancestors," he continued. "That Mom's side of the family came from Pleasantview demons."

"That's the first I'm hearing about this. Though it does make sense that Mom is slightly demonic. It explains some things." When Adam didn't laugh at her joke, Remy scowled. "Where on earth did you run into a god? Don't they have anything better to do than spill family secrets?"

"She was warning me about Theo. I...I think when the incident happened, our connection latched on to any dormant demon genes I have and went crazy trying to give him their power. I don't have a dark form, Remy, but Theo's energy twisted me into something that looked like one. They had to fix my skull with magic. They had to fix my skull, Remy. Our connection tore demonic energy I barely had and gave it to Theo. It scraped everything I had and...and he just took it."

"That's not something Theo did purposely though," Remy said softly. "He can't control himself. That's why they sent him away to demon boot camp. He would never choose to hurt you, that should be obvious."

"What if I can never sleep with him again?" Adam demanded, his voice betraying how close to sobbing he truly was. "What if even kissing him makes...makes all of that happen again? I can't trust that it won't happen again. He sometimes goes off without any obvious trigger, how will I know how to avoid it? If being with me makes Theo lose control of himself, then I don't think I can take that risk anymore. Next time I might die."

Remy kicked her brother in his shin, making him yelp.

"He's going to boot camp, Adam. When he does come back, he's going to know how to control himself. Do you really think Mom and Dad are going to let him come back here if there's a chance that you'll be in danger? No way. You're being stupid. Give me some time, I'll find a way to talk to your dumb boyfriend and get this sorted out. Life's too short to mope over something that can be changed."

"The scar's not the only change," Adam insisted, still looking like he was about to cry at any second. "The meditations are supposed to be controlling this." He flicked his wrist, releasing a purple haze that oozed from his skin. "Let me show you something."

Without another word, Adam rose from his seat on the floor and gestured for his twin to follow him.

"Well, this should be good."

Adam's pace was slow, but determined. There was still some physical damage from the incident that was slowly healing and Remy noticed that her brother was limping slightly. If it did turn out that Theo had caused all of this on on purpose, there was going to be hell to pay.

But it was an accident, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath to let go of the anger. Theo was just too dumb to handle a Darktide in the bedroom, like so many of Remy's past hookups.

He's just an idiot with no self-control. He didn't do this on purpose. You don't have to murder him for touching your brother.

"Are you okay with walking this far? I can teleport you wherever we're going."

"I'm fine. We're here anyway." He gestured to the expensive telescope that students used to calculate moon phases and chart astrology. "Watch that telescope."

"For what? It's just sitting there. Are you sure you don't want me to get a chair for you or something? Should I get Dad?"

"Dad already knows about this," Adam replied, intensifying his stare at the telescope and holding his hands in a magical stance. "You can't tell anyone else about this, Dad's trying to find someone to help with this, but people wouldn't understand if they saw what happened to me."

He flicked his hand again, and released more of that purple haze as he did so. When he moved his arm, Remy could see the telescope shimmer slightly, and then immediately surrender itself to a sudden rip in the atmosphere. The Void consumed the light around the object, wrapping itself around it so tightly that the two seemed fused together.

"Oh my god, Adam! You've actually become interesting!"

"Thanks," Adam replied angrily. "I'd like to think that I already was interesting before all of this."

Remy scoffed, still staring at the flashing telescope with wonder.

"So you can what? Attack people with the Void? Open portals just like Theo?"

Adam shrugged, flicking his wrist again as he did. Immediately, the tear in the atmosphere reappeared and began to rip the pieces of Void from the the telescope. Within a blink of an eye, the telescope was back to its old appearance, completely Void free.

"I don't know what it is," Adam confessed. "Dad thinks that Theo regenerated some of my DNA to work like a demon's would. Between trying to force a dark form and being able to touch the Void, my body is different now. It responds like a really weak demon hybrid might. A really weak hybrid. I can't do half the things an infant hybrid could, but-"

"But you're more resistant to Theo's demonic magic, just like you both wanted," Remy guessed. "You don't have a lot of cool powers from this, but you should be able to handle more demonic energy than before. You can help ground him if he goes off in the future. Maybe it could keep Theo grounded and balanced when you two are in the bedroom."

"Remy, stop!" Adam shouted. "I don't want to be changed so that I can make Theo feel better about himself or be his backup plan when he's about to have an incident. I want to be me, just like I was! I love a hybrid, but I don't want to become the pale shadow of one. I don't exist to make Theo's life easier."

"Okay, fair," Remy conceded. "But do you know what I could do with that much power? Lots of fun things."

"I also don't exist to make your life interesting, Rem. God only knows what you would do with access to the Void. Probably end up in the same place as Theo."

Remy laughed at the thought.

"Yeah, probably. Maybe that's how I'll find him for you. I'll get Mom to send me to demon military school."

Adam's knee buckled from standing too long and his sister rushed to his side even as he was pushing her away.

"Okay, well I think that's enough demon magic for today," she declared. "Now that you're out of your moping room, let's get you something to eat. You can't say no when you're leaning on me to walk."

Adam scowled, but didn't resist. He was a little hungry and it would be a welcome change from ruminating on what had happened all day like he'd been doing lately.

"Okay, fine. You win."

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azures-bazar · 1 year ago

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Gang members (Arthur, Sadie, Charles and Mary Beth) reacting to their fem S/O who is Turkish. How they react to her language, culture, beautiful olive skin and brown curly hair, golden honey eyes and teaching them about her culture (food, music, arts, belly dance, etc) and she shares her culture and language with the rest of the gang aswell! Also how they would defend her if anyone was ever racist towards her! 🥹❤️✨🥰

Headcanon - Turkish Beauty - Female!Reader

Hey there sweetie ! Thank you again for your request ! + Javier ! 💖

I'm sooooo sorry if it took me so long ! As you know, my life now mostly consists in my job lol (and in the family I'm currently building).

This headcanon was hard to write since I know very little about Turkish Culture in general. At least I tried, any corrections are welcomed !

I tried making it as accurate as possible (but ended up creating a rather weird mixture between Turkey and Ottoman Empire, since it's supposed to be 1899 lol). If anything is offensive towards the Turkish culture, just let me know and I'll either edit my mistakes or completely delete the headcanon !

Request : Female!Reader

Characters : Arthur Morgan, Sadie Adler, Charles Smith, Mary-Beth Gaskill + Javier Escuella

Relationship : Romantic, settled

Lines : About 9 per character

A/N : The Reader is Agnostic !

Arthur Morgan :

Let’s be honest : Arthur doesn’t know much about what is outside America (and perhaps Tahiti). When you tell them you’re Turkish, he is a little confused. "Wait up, ain’t Turkey a large bird ?" is the very first genuine question he asks when you talk about your country. After you explain him a few basics, he profusely apologises for his mistake, telling you his just a "dumb cowpoke", which he isn’t. He’s just clumsy.

You wear a nazar as a necklace. Arthur is curious, often asking you about the meaning of this beautiful eye-shaped pendant, staring at its dark blue, white, light blue and black colours. When you explain its use, Arthur is even more curious, asking you if he can have one for himself. "Maybe a nazar can be a lucky charm for me too, so the Pinkertons won’t ever find us !".

On some occasions, you can be heard talking to yourself in Turkish, either when you think out loud or when you’re a little pissed with folks like Micah or Bill. Arthur doesn’t show it, but he’s thrilled when he hears you talk in Turkish, finding it beautiful. As he often says, he can barely speak English, but he still tries his best to learn a few words while listening to you !

Believe it or not, but Arthur knows how to count up to ten in Turkish. He made this surprise to you while the two of you were in his tent after a long day on guard duty. "Hey, listen to that, bir, iki, üç, dört…". You were so amazed by it, listening to his raspy voice and heavy Southern accent when he tried his best not to mess up ! When you asked him how he learnt how to count in Turkish, he just told you he has his own "sources".

Yes, he indeed went through your belongings to snatch a book written in Turkish. Still, how he managed to translate Turkish words into English is an absolute mystery even Arthur himself can’t really explain. He isn’t as dumb as he believes he is, him trying his best to learn a few words in your language is a proof of his hidden intelligence.

At some point, you tried your best teaching Arthur to say a few basic sentences, such as "benim adım Arthur". Your favourite Van der Linde boy struggled a lot, but was indeed thrilled to make you even a little happy. Arthur is not as fast as John when it comes to learn things, but he is definitely devoted to whatever he does. And your proud gaze is absolutely worth any single grammar mistake (which might also be heard as a potential ancient invocation due to his mispronunciation) he would make.

In case you’re being harassed by anyone, Arthur is very quick to jump in and defend you from all these folks causing you harm. Since it’s the United States in 1899, many folks are just blatantly racist. If you’re a few feet away from him, he will proceed walking towards you and wrap his arm around your shoulders. "Get away from my girl, I doubt ya wanna have a hole in your head, partner." is what he often says to calm things down. If it doesn’t, the situation ends up in a fist fight which often results in the two of you having to run away because Arthur "unexpectedly broke someone’s skull".

Arthur is absolutely in love with your looks. Each time the sun shines on your face while you’re both around camp, he will proceed caressing your olive skin. And when your golden eyes meet his, he nearly faints due to your exquisite beauty. Your eye color is so unique that he can’t avoid blushing a little whenever you’re looking at him. A few pages of his journal are dedicated to you, as well as some drawings. He loves describing your golden eyes in his journal, comparing them to the sun. You are the light of his life, literally speaking.

Each night, Arthur runs his fingers through your thick brown curls, slightly brushing them away from your beautiful face. You’re one of the most beautiful women he had the opportunity to meet, and your natural beauty made him fall in love with you on the day Dutch had brought you to camp. But don’t worry ! You’re so beautiful that he falls in love with you every day, even if he’s too proud to say it.

Sadie Adler :

For some reason, Sadie somewhat knows more about the world’s geography than the rest of the gang. She can’t forcibly place countries on a map, wherever they are republics, kingdoms or empires, but can actually tell that there is a huge continent across the Atlantic Ocean. So, when you tell her you’re from beyond the ocean, Sadie is indeed quite curious !

Sadie loves listening to you when you’re talking about your culture. She just sits there with starry eyes, gazing at you whenever you talk about its traditions. She is indeed fascinated by it, it feels so mystical compared with the life the Van der Linde gang is currently living. Having you tell stories about your country or about your culture and beliefs is certainly much better than Dutch’s speeches about freedom and MONEY.

She is pretty much your personal bodyguard whenever you’re alone. She knows you know how to fight, but she just loves you so much… and even ends up wanting to know more about Turkish fighting techniques. "How do folks fight in your country ? Like us ? Or do they still use swords ?". Her question seems pretty innocent for a woman who went through so much, but you don’t mind.

You eventually end up telling Sadie about the Ottoman Slap, which is one of the Ottoman martial arts. "I wanna try it, I wanna try it !" is the very first thing an excited Sadie tells you when you explain her that it implies using her hands. You don’t even have time to explain anything to her that she is already on her way to give Micah an absolutely massive slap.

Sadie loves being around you when you do to town, and is quite protective towards you for a variety of reasons she can’t even explain. So, when she hears a few folks criticise your looks, your skin or your clothes, if not even your origins, she is quick to get into a violent fight and, quite often, wins it. Sadie even tries doing the exact same Ottoman Slap you told her about, but is likely to take out her guns to finish a fight if the situation goes worse.

You two have fun altering Mr. Pearson’s stew with a few ingredients which match the Turkish recipes you have collected in one of your books upon traveling to the United States. Sadie loves the Tavok Sote, which is a Turkish chicken stew, and is even willing to chop vegetables for you, something she wouldn’t have done for anyone else. She just wants to spend all her free time with you, even if, as she says… she "ain’t gonna chop vegetables for a living".

Sometimes, when she is on guard duty, Sadie will just slightly turn her head and look at your for a few seconds, analysing your beauty. Your black hair is often beautifully tied in a braid, your nazar bracelet hangs on your wrist, your colourful dresses make you look divine. She loves you, and if you pass by her while she is on guard duty, she will gently stroke your chin. "Here’s my beautiful balım." she would say before dropping a kiss on your lips.

At some point, after you told Sadie about belly dance, she is excited to learn it from you ! The very first time she tries it, she laughs as the feeling it gives her. She is not used to it, but absolutely loves it ! You like seeing her so happy to try new things, and can’t deny you did not expect her to enjoy belly-dancing this much ! She isn’t really good yet, but she really tries her best to impress you !

Sadie tries really, REALLY hard to learn a few words in Turkish. She already knows how to say some sweet words, like "balım" or "güzelim", and… a little set of swearwords. In fact, whenever you swear in Turkish, you can hear Sadie repeat the word after you, even if you told her you would rather want her not to say any swearwords in a foreign language.

Charles Smith :

Charles is well aware about the countries surrounding the United States, such as Mexico and Canada, and knows a little about Europe due to him listening to Herr Strauss. He is very respectful towards you and asks a few questions he repeated to himself a few times. Charles doesn’t talk much, and each word he says are filled with a wisdom a very few 28 year olds have. Needless to say that, compared with John who is just two years younger and eager to ask foolish questions, Charles just thinks twice before saying anything.

Charles is, again, the quiet type, except when he is drunk or around Javier and Arthur at the saloon. And he is even more quiet whenever you’re talking about your culture by the fire. He just gazes at you with starry eyes, interested and fascinated by your country's customs and traditions. Charles doesn’t interrupt you, he doesn’t want to spoil your stories with his questions. He will have all the time he needs to ask them after you will finish.

If he is on guard duty with you, there is a huge chance that Charles will likely end up asking you some details about your country. "What do Turkish people eat ? How do they fight ? How do they talk to each other ?". He is curious, and just wants to be around you, and only around you, to ask his questions. Even if he only answers with a soft smile whenever you answer him, he is so thrilled to learn new things.

The simple presence of Charles near you is quick to make people shut their mouths whenever they want to insult you. Charles, being himself a man of colour, as the son of a Native American woman and an African American man, knows what it feels like to be downgraded due to the colour of his skin, especially in 1899. If he sees anyone offend you, he will just stand before you and calmly tell people of. "Please, leave this lady alone.". If it doesn’t work, after a few good punches, he will take you to someplace safe, apologising for all the mess he is not even the responsible of.

When he has the opportunity to rest, which is often rare since he is one of Dutch’s strongest men, Charles just enjoys gazing at you. He loves the way you look, the way your beautiful hair flows around you whenever you make even a subtle movement. But what Charles loves the most about you is your voice, and how beautiful it sounds whenever you speak to yourself in Turkish.

Charles doesn’t speak much, but he secretly mumbles each word you say in Turkish, and sometimes asks you what you just said means. He then proceeds repeating the same word once again. "Did I say it right ?" is the question he asks you the most whenever he tries talking to you in Turkish. He does his best, and it's a beautiful thing to watch. His smile in the end is worth it !

Like many folks, Charles is not indifferent to your golden eyes. Whenever you’re close to him, even if it’s already clear that the two of you are in a very stable relationship, his heart beats faster and his eyes twitch a little, he even blushes and stutters at times ! You, Y/N, are the only person who can make Charles Smith loose his words whenever he is around you ! Charles even commented your eyes more than once. "So your parents put all the gold of the world in these eyes of yours.". That’s quite a compliment !

You managed to bring up a Hookah with you, and a lot of gang members often ask you if they can use it. Charles was very curious to try it at first, especially knowing that you can sometimes combine the effects of tobacco with other plants. You made him try a mixture of regular tobacco with vanilla flowers, and Charles surprisingly loved it. "Damn. I like it. I like it !". It was probably the very first time you saw Charles so happy !

Charles loves laying next to you whenever people are already asleep or far enough from him, his head either on your thigh or on your shoulder. He knows that you will naturally start singing. You can’t resist singing a few beautiful Turkish songs you know, especially with Charles being so close to you. "It’s beautiful, breathtaking." he often tells you between two songs.

Mary-Beth Gaskill :

Mary-Beth is quite aware of where Turkey is located, having red so many books about everything, and not only romance books as Ms. Grimshaw often says. She is thrilled to meet anyone who is not from the United States or from America in general, apart from Herr Strauss, indeed. But a woman like you is more interesting than an old loanshark !

You tried making a lentil soup based on what Mr. Pearson had in stock, and it made Miss Gaskill happy. "It’s peculiar and so different from Pearson’s stew ! How did you manage to do it ?" she asked. Mary-Beth barely knows how to cook, but is interested by your Turkish cookbook you brought with you upon being inducted into the gang.

Sometimes, Mary-Beth daydreams while listening to your stories about your country. She just pictures so many people wearing bright colours, women doing bellydances while men are trained to fight. Mary-Beth is quite a romantic and re-interprets your stories inside her head, but genuinely likes asking questions about your culture. "What does a Turkish marriage look like ?". You try your best to answer, making Mary-Beth’s eyes get filled with stars.

When the two of you are in town, you often get a side-look from passerby because of your origins. Mary-Beth is eager to fight for you, quickly taking your defence if someone tells you something inappropriate. Even if she knows how to fight, the two of you most likely end up in trouble if many folks try attacking you. But Mary-Beth is courageous enough to defend you, telling people off and throwing a few more or less impactful punches if needed. You two can’t even count the number of times you ended up at the Sheriff’s Office after a fight, having Dutch, Hosea or Arthur bring you back to camp. But a good fight was worth saving your honour.

Even if you told her about henna and its use on very specific occasions, Mary-Beth is eager to try some on herself, on Tilly or on Karen, and even on Arthur who just grumbles when he sees her drawing figures on his wrists when he’s around camp. She doesn’t care about the fact that henna figures she made on herself is a temporary tattoo, she just loves it so much and is very skilled !

Mary-Beth loves reading, and it’s no secret for anyone. So when she genuinely asks you if she can borrow one of your books and read some pages out loud, you can’t say no. You just love listening to her when she tries her best to read some Turkish words properly with her sweet voice and adorable accent, and she loves the way you look at her and how proud you are whenever she tries either reading something out loud, or talking in your language.

She likes asking you if she can borrow your dresses. Her favourite is a traditional Turkish gown you brought from your country, white and red coloured, with a matching headscarf. Mary-Beth loves it and often likes putting it on whenever she knows you will be around camp. She respectfully wears it and twirls around with it, thrilled to wear something as beautiful as a traditional Turkish gown. She sometimes digs into your jewerly, but you don't mind much.

When you told Mary-Beth about belly dancing, she was eager to give it a try ! Despite she did not know much about this dance or about the moves, looking a little uncomfortable while trying her best, she just gave you a rather nice performance, which was both funny and adorable. You fell for her as much as she fell for you. Between two moves, she even got to stroke your olive skin while blushing, which made you love her even more than ever !

She loves brushing your hair. It’s so thick and beautiful, she loves running her fingers through it, or combing it to create the most perfect hairstyles which could fit you on a daily basis. Mary-Beth loves you enough to compliment you anytime she tries something new on you. After all, you’re so beautiful ! So, mesmerising ! She keeps reminding this to you almost three or for times a day ! And this even in bed…

Javier Escuella :

Javier is definitely smart enough to say that Turkey is a part of the Ottoman Empire as of 1899. He is genuinely curious about everything, and loves asking you so many questions that you sometimes end up struggling to find a correct answer. "What are your people doing when they’re angry ? How tall is the Ottoman Empire ? Are all Turkish women as beautiful as you are ? What music do they play ? Do they believe in god ?". Many questions, too many.

You don’t know how he managed to do this, but Javier has, very soon after you were inducted into the gang, tried talking to you in Turkish. Since he already speaks English and Spanish, he is willing to learn another language, just for you ! Javier tries his best, he really does. He even repeats the words after you whenever you correct him, and often compliments your language. "Ah, Turkish language is quite beautiful, mi amor ! Hard, but wonderful !".

Privately, between two trees, while the rest of the gang was having fun by the fire, you showed Javier how you belly danced. He is absolutely not familiar to it, but spends his time gazing at your moves, at the way you shake your hips, the way you twirl at times. He loves it, and even ends up asking you if men can try doing it too ! He is genuinely interested, which is a pleasure to see !

Javier is often lost into his deepest thoughts when looking at you. Your golden eyes make him loose every word, even his most romantic ballads can’t express how smitten he is to you. He often tried singing about it, playing his guitar by the campfire, but nothing can describe the "hermosa chica de ojos dorados." that crossed his and the rest of the gang’s path.

Whenever you’re out, Javier doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second. Sometimes the two of you get side-looks from people seeing two non-white people just enjoying their day in 1899. Javier doesn’t usually jump into fights and tries his best to tell people off. However, sometimes, random folks don’t cooperate, and it ends up in a brutal fistfight. "You won’t ever insult my girl again, puto !" Javier usually says when his opponent is either unconscious, or dead. He won’t let anyone insult you. Never !

When you joined the gang, you had a few belongings coming from your country, among which a few musical instruments such as an Oud, a Kaval and a Sipsi. Javier taught himself to use the Oud, pretty proud of himself whenever a nice melody was coming out of it. "It’s as easy as playing a guitar, but the sound is so beautiful !" he always says whenever he plays it… when you don’t play it yourself.

Sometimes, when you’re the one playing some Oud, you like singing a few ballads from your country. Javier loves listening to you, often getting distracted if he is on guard duty. Your voice is so beautiful, so mesmerising ! Enough for him to loose the track of time whenever he listens to you. He usually doesn't understand your songs, but genuinely loves them !

At some point, only to make you a rather nice surprise after you went back from a robbery with Dutch and Micah, Javier decided to sing a personal song just for you, playing the Oud, while Uncle played the Sipsi, and Lenny used a barrel as a drum to add some rhythm. Javier just wanted to make you happy, especially after a robbery with your absolute friend Micah Bell. "Look ! Look Y/N !" he had told you, so excited. The song was in Spanish, played with two Turkish instruments and a barrel as a drum, but it was awesome !

Sometimes, late at night, when the two of you are nearly asleep, Javier usually tries his best to mumble you some sweet words in Turkish, running his hand through your black curls while gazing at you with a loving smile. He just loves making you happy, and knows how excited you are whenever he tries speaking your language. "Seni seviyorum, mi chiquita.". A rather peculiar mixture between Spanish and Turkish, but very sweet !

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #azurestales #sadie adler #charles smith #mary beth gaskill #javier escuella #rdr2 headcanons #I'm not turkish please folks don't be mad at me if I did things incorrectly I'll edit it right away #female reader #my gifs #bad english incoming lol #and turkish words too

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this-is-a-podcast-fanblog · 6 months ago

Text

restoration (a mother Lauren fic)

Mother Lauren surveys the dead.

She sees them simultaneously as the spirits hovering wherever they actually are and as a collection of souls in the sand wastes. Some writhe and howl. Some cower in much the same way that the living do when her long arms sweep over them. They are afraid of her, but they speak to her when she calls voicelessly upon them.

Who killed you? she asks one. The ghost is still mostly intact. Strexcorp, it rasps back. Mother Lauren giggles. Oh, she says. Oopsie.

Night Vale is full of ghosts the way that clouds are full of water and bodies are full of blood. In truth, Mother Lauren isn't sure why she came through the portal. There's something old inside of her, very old, and far wiser than the Lauren Mallard she used to be. It compels her arms to move and lurches her body forwards towards some destination. She allows it. She's curious to see how this will end up. Besides, now that she's in Night Vale, things are becoming much clearer.

Mother Lauren speaks to the dead as an act of necessity, as easy and thoughtless as breathing. She inhales their memories and exhales ash. She can see over the tops of the buildings around her as she floats through the city, even though she is simultaneously in the sand wastes cutting the soles of her feet on tumbleweed.

Who are you? Mother Lauren asks a ghost. This one is familiar. Its body is hollowed out, spattered with acid and partially digested. Its clothes are charred. It is the Pastor from the Joyous Congregation of the Smiling God. She knows the name before the ghost actually speaks it, but it does speak anyway: I am the Pastor from the Joyous Congregation of the Smiling God, it says. Night Vale chapter. I was devoured by the Smiling God. By you. It's all I ever wanted.

I'm not/I am the Smiling God, Mother Lauren says. I am the High Priestess/The Mother of Cruelty.

You came to me as a giant centipede, the pastor's ghost says. It doesn't look at Mother Lauren, which is honestly kind of rude. You were so beautiful. You swallowed me. Inside your belly I felt true religion, and I felt you crawling over the sands and slithering through the streets of Night Vale. I felt your stomach acids dissolving me, so beautiful, like baptism. Then suddenly I felt pain, great pain. And you burned to death with me still inside you. It really hurt. It was not beautiful. I want to be alive again so that you can digest me properly this time. If you had just digested me properly I wouldn't be here.

Sorry kid, no can do, says Mother Lauren, and moves on. She feels that she could bring the ghost back to life if she wanted to. It's just that she doesn't want to.

Her mission is becoming clear: Night Vale needs to fall. It needs to, because it's been annoying her since before she even became The Mother, and because she is so hungry. She could mind control that radio host to speak for her again; he's enough like Kevin that it would be easy. Mother Lauren left him chanting into his microphone, but she decides that's okay for now. He can wait there for a little bit while she figures out what to do with him. She walks through the dead, parting them with her long arms. They claw at her cloak. They cry for resurrection, and for eternal death, and for damnation. They cry for Mother Lauren.

Mother Lauren reaches the end of the sand wastes. It's a point of space that shouldn't exist, since the sand wastes should stretch on forever. Yet, here it is, the end of the sand wastes; it just... stops, the sands turning to glass and the tumbleweeds turning to dust and a jagged mountain like a wall against the edge of the world. There's only one ghost here. It is a woman.

"Hi," says Mother Lauren. "The sand wastes aren't supposed to end. They are meant to stretch on forever/forever into the great glowing coils of the universe, where there is only Mother Lauren/Mother Lauren."

The spirit doesn't look at her. In fact, she doesn't even turn around to face Mother Lauren, just keeps doing whatever it is that she's doing by the base of the jagged mountain. "The sand wastes are made of physical matter," says the ghost. She walks over to the left a few paces, leaving bloody footprints on the glass ground. "Everything that is made of physical matter has a start and an end. That's how space works." She shouldn't be able to walk, because she doesn't have legs. They are splintered off at the knee, leaving visible bone and dripping gore. Her arms are at impossible angles. Half of her head is shaved and the other half is broken skull. Mother Lauren can see the ghost's brain.

"How are you walking?" Mother Lauren asks, intrigued. She doesn't know the answer before it appears this time. "You shouldn't be doing that."

"I'm dead," says the ghost. "I'm not doing anything." She's writing equations on the wall of the mountain, spelling them out in her own blood. "None of this is actually happening. I'm sorry, can you leave me alone? I'm kind of in the middle of something."

That's a very rude thing to say, and Mother Lauren should punish her. "Look at me," she commands. Even this ghost cannot resist the booming tones of Mother Lauren. She turns around. One of her eyes is missing and she wears only a pair of broken glasses. Actually, she's kind of hot. Mother Lauren sinks to her knees before the ghost. Her robe flutters around her, rapidly flickering from gold to purple to green. "I walk among the uncounted dead and seek one for the mission within me, which is eternal/brand new," Mother Lauren tells her. "I have to destroy Night Vale."

"That's cute." The ghost's tone is patronizing. She dares condescend to The Mother, the High Priestess of the Smiling God. Not only that, but Mother Lauren is pretty sure she's going to let her get away with it. "I tried that, you know? I tried so hard, for almost an entire year, with absolutely meticulous planning, but oh ho ho!" She laughs. "Look at me now! I fought, and I mustered an entire army of scientists on hardly any funding - which is insane, by the way - and I still died. So trust me, destroying Night Vale isn't worth it. You'll end up dead too, if you're not already. I mean, I'm having a conversation with you, and I am literally dead! Dead! And when I realized I was dead, my first thought was, there's no such thing as the afterlife, what the heck am I doing here? I'm sorry, am I boring you?"

"No," says Mother Lauren. "Please continue."

"Thank you. What was I saying? Oh, the afterlife. I mean, the human body is powered essentially by the brain and the heart, if we think about things in simplest terms. When that... bastard dropped a dead cow on me, it collapsed my skull and drove bone fragments into my brain. It shattered my ribcage and squished my heart like a teeny tiny little grape. But I'm. Still. Here." The ghost curls her fingers into claws. "This doesn't make any sense. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be anything. I'm dead."

Mother Lauren's heart stirs with pity. Pity is sometimes the cruelest emotion of all. "I am so sorry for your loss," says Mother Lauren. "You seem like a very wise individual."

"Thank you. It's nice to be appreciated."

"What is your name?"

"Janet. Dr. Janet Lubelle."

"Excellent." Mother Lauren scoops up the ghost of Dr. Janet Lubelle in her hands like so much sand. The ghost yelps as Mother Lauren lifts her to her face. "I'm going to call you Jan."

"Do not call me that."

"I will bring you back, Jan." And with her eyes that are God's Mother Lauren sweeps her gaze over the broken body. She restores the legs that her soldier may walk but leaves the brain as it is. It's kind of sensual, to see Jan's insides on her outside. The sins of the flesh have always been Mother Lauren's favorites "I will give you another chance, and you will serve me. Mother Lauren will save you from being a ghost." This is going to be fun, so much more fun than Kevin or Cecil. This is going to give her what she actually wants.

The being trembles in her hands, small and human. "Listen," she says. "I appreciate the sentiment, but what you're describing - it isn't scientific. It isn't possible. You can't resurrect me."

Tiny human. So stubborn, and ultimately still so limited. "'Can't' is not a word that carries much significance for the mother of all cruelty." Mother Lauren pats her new plaything on the top of the head. "Now, go forth and destroy/destroy."

She turns and walks out of that place that should not exist, back the way she came. She ignores the other spirits and ghosts as they vie for her attention and her mercy. Mother Lauren has enough mercy only for one. She walks out of the sand wastes, and at the same time, she walks down the main street of Night Vale, and her arms are as long as shadows at sundown.

And at the same time, on the edge of town where a cow is decomposing, a hand breaks through the earth.

#my fic #I'm gonna do what finknoriams never could #woe zombie Janet be upon you #for anyone who is as into literary analysis as I am: all the ghosts are referred to as It except for Janet #because she's the only one that stands out to Mother Lauren as still partially human and herself #she's naked because she's ready to be 'reborn' and people are naked when they're born #and her dialogue is in quotation marks because she's speaking with her actual voice instead of mind communication #Janet lubelle #Lauren mallard #mother lauren #Lauren said you may be weird but you're hot so i'll resurrect you #laurbelle #wtnv #welcome to night vale

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