#apothecary white you are a very odd shade indeed!!!

[magistralucis]

Although I'm not a fan of the Citadel paint pots design I can't deny they're excellent to fidget with... they fit perfectly in my hand, and are quite pleasant to hold due to their rounded caps. There are some unopened contrast paints on my desk and every now and then I pick one up and give it a good shake. Pleases me to know my paints will always be well mixed, and that I can see it being mixed, since you can see through most of the pot

[kiraelric]

As You Wish  - Fantasy AU 

[ Part 1] [Part 2] 

Inspired by the art of @cyalidecider 

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Pairing - KatsuDeku / Slow Build 

Rating: PG13 - NSFW 

Summary - Izuku Midoriya is an Alchemist living in a Kingdom ruled by the Mighty Endeavor. After going on a journey into a forest that is known to have no one ever return once entered - he goes missing for over a year after being captured by the forest’s King. 

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Part 3 

It was odd to find how easily he'd found his way back to the city, considering how easily Izuku had gotten himself lost leaving it. Returning to the place of his origin should have been a much more complicated endeavor he'd thought, but before he knew it, he'd managed to find his way to his small laboratory on the outskirts of town.

It was a quaint building of minimal design. A few rooms inside meant for the use of bringing his creations to life and restocking the local store with any medicines he could offer. It seemed that being an alchemist and an apothecary went hand in hand most days but with the current predicament in mind, that knowledge would prove more than useful.

He tossed his satchel down upon entering the building, hands working to clear the shelves of the seemingly endless amount of tomes he'd collected over the years. Something had to be here that would be able to help Katsuki’s condition. He’d seen it before after all.

He’d seen many things in his days within this city - as it wasn’t like the overall health of his kingdom was anything to be proud of.  Lord Endeavor ruled over them and as such, everyone was forced to bend to his will. Izuku had thanked the stars above many times that he, himself, had never been called to the castle. As he had heard tales from the poor souls that had been summoned before the fiery man’s throne.

It’d been a year. Since he’d seemingly fallen off the face of the Earth, aftering venturing into that Forbidden Forest to find the missing ingredients he needed for the concoction he’d been working on, but things hadn’t gone the way he expected them too and now slender fingers were flipping the pages of his notebooks faster enough to tear the corners if he wasn’t careful.

Something had to be here.  Katsuki had come down with a fever without warning. His body was racked with coughs and over taken with chills all at once.  Izuku could still see the incident vividly in his mind.  

Katsuki had left the small part of the forest they called home to go hunting; nothing out of the ordinary and been gone for several hours. Izuku was used to this after the amount of time he’d spent in the presence of the self-proclaimed King but when he started to linger - started to get the feeling of a chill running up his spine, he knew something was wrong - something settling in the pit of his stomach that told him that not all was right with the world.

Sure enough, the blond had appeared before him with a few more marks upon his person than he usually did and a fresh kill in hand.  He’d tossed the animal down on the table in the center of their camp with little care, looking to Izuku to prepare the creature as he usually did - but there was a slight wobble to the blond’s form that didn’t go unnoticed by green eyes.

The lingered in fact, too long he supposed seeing as he could still recall his King demanding he quit gawking and get to doing something useful - but with another step forward time slowed in Izuku’s mind.  His eyes widened as he found himself running to catch the other man as his weight buckled underneath him and his knees gave way.   

Izuku hit the ground first catching the other in his arms, careful to make sure that his head didn’t strike anything in their unexpected tumble.

“Kacchan…” He spoke looking down to find a lack of glaring crimson. Izuku’s heart skipped a beat. What happened?  His grip on the other grew tighter as the gears in his mind began to churn faster than they usually did. “Kacchan…?”   He sounded once more, giving the blond’s frame the gentlest of shakes.  

No answer.

There wasn’t time to panic. He needed to act properly now, and use all the knowledge he’d filed away in his mind’s library. One hand resting on his King’s chest, Izuku’s fingers came upward as he pulled the white fabric from his other hand free with clenched teeth.  Pushing the first two together he felt along the side of the blond’s neck and let out a sigh of relief.

He still had a pulse so that was something.

His hand then moved to cover the blond’s forehead and he felt the sweat cover his hand in a thin film.  He was burning up. Drawing in a breath to calm himself, Izuku took in the sight of him to gather further clues - flushed skin, sweating, fever, his breathing was shallow and rushed.  Honestly, considering the conditions he’d been living in the young Alchemist wouldn’t have been surprised if the King had never seen proper medical treatment a day in his life.  

Izuku sighed.

He’d need to get him into a proper bed if he was going to properly assess the true nature of the situation.  

Bracing himself, somehow the smaller man managed to get the other to his feet after tossing a limp arm over his shoulders.  

Who would have thought that such a slenderly built man would be so heavy?

Luckily, in his year here - out in the wild with his now King - Izuku had taken the time to build them things that he considered needed.  Tables, chairs, beds, the usual amenities for one from the city - things that said King had to come to adjust to.  Things that said King had mocked him for at first but soon came with a change of his tune when he realized just how useful the things his newly claimed companion had created.

Their camp expanded and over time it had come to stay in one place instead of Katsuki’s usual habit of camping where he lay and dragging Izuku along with him from place to place.

So thankfully, there was a bed to drag his now unconscious form to, and Izuku was relieved to be able to place said weight onto a place that was much more comfortable for the both of them.  

Unfortunately, night was coming upon them and it was in these moments that Izuku would have done anything for a lamp or something other than a campfire to provide a dim light to see by.  Still, he managed strip the blond out of his cape and toss it to the side - with the fever he was running it couldn’t be helping and the first thing that needed to be done was to control his temperature.

However upon removing the large fur collar that hide the other’s neck, green focused on bite mark that was coloring his skin ugly shades of purple and brown.  It looked bad.  It looked really bad. Lips pursing together in a half pout half contemplative look, Izuku sighed. He couldn’t very well ask Katsuki what happened with him passed out like he was, but at the same time he didn’t was to simply assume.

If whatever bit him was poisonous it was imperative to know just exactly what that something was.  

He supposed all he could do for now was treat the symptoms he could see and wait for the blond to wake.

Hands shaking, he moved to the stachel he’d brought with him into this forest, to pull out one of the rags within.  He’d lucky been keeping water in a canteen at their camp so he didn’t need to travel to the river. Drenching the rag, he placed it over the other’s forehead and prayed it would help.  

He’d fallen asleep next to the other’s bedside that night, and was awakened by the feeling of a hand resting on his shoulder.

“Wake up.”

….

“I said wake up dammit.”

Said hand gave him a hard push causing the alchemist to jolt back into the land of the living.  “Huh?!” Izuku sounded as emerald blinked several times to clear his sight of his dreams and as his mind fired up for operation he turned quickly to face the other.

“Katsuki, Thank God.” He sighed in relief, holding a hand over his heart, as if he just had had the air knocked out of his lungs. “You need to tell me what happened! I need to know what attacked you.”

Red blinked at him, focusing for a moment as eyes became small slits of annoyance. “The fuck’r you on about?”

Izuku’s hands were at the other’s shoulders as his mind flew into urgency. His heart was racing as he panicked.  “The animal or creature or whatever - something attacked you yesterday when you left to hunt. What was it?!”

Still, the annoyance remained as the other looked at the frantic man before him. What the hell was he blathering on about this early in the morning? Katsuki paused - thinking what could have this idiot so riled up and found himself trying to recall the night before.  He’d gone hunting and then… black.

“What the fuck happened last night anyway?”

“You passed out.”  Izuku explained as he found himself drawing in a breath to reel in his emotions before they spiraled even more out of control than they were already starting to. “You came back from hunting like  you usually do and then you just passed out so I moved you to the bed and took your cloak off because you were running a fever.  I found a bite mark on your neck. So I need to know what attacked you, so if it’s poisonous I know how to treat it.”

Izuku watched the other as a hand raised to press against his neck. It was like watching the lights come on all at once, as the realization that he was indeed injured came into his mind.

“Son of a Bitch bit me. Fuck.”

Hands clenched on Katsuki’s shoulders as if to draw the other’s attention. A gentle shake followed with the purpose of refocusing crimson on the concerned emerald that were fixated on his form.

“So what was it? Do you remember? I need to know Katsuki. This is of the utmost importance.”

Again the blond paused, as if trying to recall the incident in his mind only to give a shrug of his shoulders as if the entire ordeal wasn’t as important as Izuku was making it out to be.

“I dun fuckin’ remember. A snake fell out of a tree and that must have been when the bastard bit me. I killed one though.”  He paused, rubbing his hand against the wound on his neck he was now aware of. “Fucker. Serves the bastard right.”  

Izuku withdrew himself, drawing in a breath of his own as he found himself pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.  “Katsuki.”  He paused, drawing the word out in a long breath that spoke of his dwindling patience. “What kind of snake was it?”

“There are different kinds of the fuckers?! What does it matter? It’s dead now.”

Teeth clenched together, again Izuku drew in a breath. His hands tensed as his shoulders went rigid.  Giving a loud intake of air through his nostrils, the smaller man did his best to speak in a level tone.

“Yes Katsuki. There are different kinds, and some of those kinds can kill you, so you need to tell me what color it was and what it looked like so I can figure out how to properly care for you.”

-

And that was what brought the young Alchemist back to his laboratory.  There had to be something about poison and antidotes in these pages somewhere. He had made hundreds of them in the years he practiced this craft, but he needed to know the source first.  One book deemed useless and then another, Izuku found himself piling up tome after tome looking for the serpent that blond had described to him.  Black with red stripes, and touches of yellow and gray throughout its form.  It wasn’t a complete description, but it was all Izuku was given to work with - and if he was right in his assumption he’d be needing to start working on an anti-venom as quickly as possible.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of something pounding against the door to his lab had shivers shooting up his spine, and his entire frame jolting upright.  

Who could that be? Why would someone even bother to knock?

He’d been missing for little more than a year by now, wouldn’t those who knew him had assumed the worst had happened? Were they still holding out hope for his return?

Swallowing hard, he wondered as he made his way to the entryway and twisted open the door knob.  He was met with the sight of two sets of familiar eyes. A tall blue haired knight stood accompanying a shorter brown haired girl with round cheeks.

“Izuku!” She sounded as she threw her arms over his shoulders and brought him into a tight embrace. “I thought you were dead. I’m so happy that you’re okay! Where have you been all this- “

“Uraraka.” The tall knight spoke as he adjusted the glasses that rested on his nose. “I understand your relief, but we came here for a reason. Forgive the sudden intrusion, Midoriya, and while I too am pleased at your return, you were summoned to the castle several months ago and I was sent here to insist that you attend your audience as soon as possible, or Uraraka was ordered to take over your charge in your absence. However seeing as you are fine, you can explain yourself before the King.”  

His mind ran blank in that moment.  

What was happening?

He’d promised Katsuki that he’d return to him in three days. He swore to him that this wasn’t a lie or a trick to return to his precious city. He’d given Katsuki his word. Katsuki was his King now.

Why should he have to answer to any other?  

“I’m kinda in the middle of something. Can’t you just tell him I died or something?” Izuku spoke half heartedly, waving a hand in the air as if to say that such things were no longer his problem. Katsuki needed him, he could deal with whatever it was that the other king needed him for later.

“I can give you one final chance to comply, but I’m afraid if you refuse me again, I’m under orders to put you under arrest and escort you myself, Midoriya.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” The Alchemist sounded, the influence of his King’s company ever present on his tongue. “Like hell I’ll comply with that idiot’s bullshit. I am in the middle of something important, Iida. I can deal with whatever Endeavor wants later.”

Click.

The cuffs came down in the matter of seconds. Before Izuku could blink, he found his wrists bound together by a metal chain.

“I’m sorry, but you’ve left me no choice. Izuku Midoriya, I find you in contempt of the King, and I place you under arrest. It is my solemn obligation as the Captain of the Royal Guard to bring you before the King as requested.”  Iida sighed, tugging the other forward, leaving Uraraka there to just gape awkwardly at the situation.

“I wish you would have made this easier on yourself and come months ago when you were ordered to. Prince Todoroki had requested your presence at first, Lord Endeavor only became involved at your constant  disregard for the royal summon. Now come along. Please don’t make this any harder on yourself than it already’s becoming.”

I love cliffhangers. 

[readbookywooks]

Story of the Door

Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove.

“I incline to, Cain’s heresy,” he used to say. “I let my brother go to the devil in his quaintly: “own way.” In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of down-going men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.

No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that was the lawyer’s way. His friends were those of his own blood or those whom he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt, the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common. It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks, that they said nothing, looked singularly dull, and would hail with obvious relief the appearance of a friend. For all that, the two men put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted the calls of business, that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.

It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a by-street in a busy quarter of London. The street was small and what is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the week-days. The inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed, and all emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of their gains in coquetry; so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen. Even on Sunday, when it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of passage, the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighbourhood, like a fire in a forest; and with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught and pleased the eye of the passenger.

Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going east, the line was broken by the entry of a court; and just at that point, a certain sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It was two stories high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower story and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on the upper; and bore in every feature, the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The door, which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered and distained. Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the panels; children kept shop upon the steps; the schoolboy had tried his knife on the mouldings; and for close on a generation, no one had appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair their ravages.

Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street; but when they came abreast of the entry, the former lifted up his cane and pointed.

“Did you ever remark that door?” he asked; and when his companion had replied in the affirmative, “It is connected in my mind,” added he, “with a very odd story.”

“Indeed?” said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, “and what was that?”

“Well, it was this way,” returned Mr. Enfield: “I was coming home from some place at the end of the world, about three o’ clock of a black winter morning, and my way lay through a part of town where there was literally nothing to be seen but lamps. Street after street, and all the folks asleep — street after street, all lighted up as if for a procession and all as empty as a church — till at last I got into that state of mind when a man listens and listens and begins to long for the sight of a policeman. All at once, I saw two figures: one a little man who was stumping along eastward at a good walk, and the other a girl of maybe eight or ten who was running as hard as she was able down a cross street. Well, sir, the two ran into one another naturally enough at the corner; and then came the horrible part of the thing; for the man trampled calmly over the, child’s body and left her screaming on the ground. It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see. It wasn’t like a man; it was like some damned Juggernaut. I gave a view-halloa, took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought him back to where there was already quite a group about the screaming child. He was perfectly cool and made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly that it brought out the sweat on me like running. The people who had turned out were the girl’s own family; and pretty soon, the doctor, for whom she had been sent, put in his appearance. Well, the child was not much the worse, more frightened, according to the Sawbones; and there you might have supposed would be an end to it. But there was one curious circumstance. I had taken a loathing to my gentleman at first sight. So had the child’s family, which was only natural. But the doctor’s case was what struck me. He was the usual cut-and-dry apothecary, of no particular age and colour, with a strong Edinburgh accent, and about as emotional as a bagpipe. Well, sir, he was like the rest of us; every time he looked at my prisoner, I saw that Sawbones turn sick and white with the desire to kill him. I knew what was in his mind, just as he knew what was in mine; and killing being out of the question, we did the next best. We told the man we could and would make such a scandal out of this, as should make his name stink from one end of London to the other. If he had any friends or any credit, we undertook that he should lose them. And all the time, as we were pitching it in red hot, we were keeping the women off him as best we could, for they were as wild as harpies. I never saw a circle of such hateful faces; and there was the man in the middle, with a kind of black, sneering coolness — frightened too, I could see that — but carrying it off, sir, really like Satan. ’If you choose to make capital out of this accident,’ said he, ’I am naturally helpless. No gentleman but wishes to avoid a scene,’ says he. ’Name your figure.’ Well, we screwed him up to a hundred pounds for the child’s family; he would have clearly liked to stick out; but there was something about the lot of us that meant mischief, and at last he struck. The next thing was to get the money; and where do you think he carried us but to that place with the door? — whipped out a key, went in, and presently came back with the matter of ten pounds in gold and a cheque for the balance on Coutts’s, drawn payable to bearer and signed with a name that I can’t mention, though it’s one of the points of my story, but it was a name at least very well known and often printed. The figure was stiff; but the signature was good for more than that, if it was only genuine. I took the liberty of pointing out to my gentleman that the whole business looked apocryphal, and that a man does not, in real life, walk into a cellar door at four in the morning and come out of it with another man’s cheque for close upon a hundred pounds. But he was quite easy and sneering. ’Set your mind at rest,’ says he, ’I will stay with you till the banks open and cash the cheque myself.’ So we all set off, the doctor, and the child’s father, and our friend and myself, and passed the rest of the night in my chambers; and next day, when we had breakfasted, went in a body to the bank. I gave in the check myself, and said I had every reason to believe it was a forgery. Not a bit of it. The cheque was genuine.”

“Tut-tut,” said Mr. Utterson.

“I see you feel as I do,” said Mr. Enfield. “Yes, it’s a bad story. For my man was a fellow that nobody could have to do with, a really damnable man; and the person that drew the cheque is the very pink of the proprieties, celebrated too, and (what makes it worse) one of your fellows who do what they call good. Black-mail, I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose for some of the capers of his youth. Black-Mail House is what I call that place with the door, in consequence. Though even that, you know, is far from explaining all,” he added, and with the words fell into a vein of musing.

From this he was recalled by Mr. Utterson asking rather suddenly:" And you don’t know if the drawer of the cheque lives there?”

“A likely place, isn’t it?” returned Mr. Enfield. “But I happen to have noticed his address; he lives in some square or other.”

“And you never asked about the — place with the door?” said Mr. Utterson.

“No, sir: I had a delicacy,” was the reply. “I feel very strongly about putting questions; it partakes too much of the style of the day of judgment. You start a question, and it’s like starting a stone. You sit quietly on the top of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others; and presently some bland old bird (the last you would have thought of) is knocked on the head in his own back-garden and the family have to change their name. No, sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks like Queer Street, the less I ask.”

” A very good rule, too,” said the lawyer.

“But I have studied the place for myself,” continued Mr. Enfield." It seems scarcely a house. There is no other door, and nobody goes in or out of that one but, once in a great while, the gentleman of my adventure. There are three windows looking on the court on the first floor; none below; the windows are always shut but they’re clean. And then there is a chimney which is generally smoking; so somebody must live there. And yet it’s not so sure; for the buildings are so packed together about that court, that it’s hard to say where one ends and another begins.”

The pair walked on again for a while in silence; and then, “Enfield,” said Mr. Utterson, “that’s a good rule of yours.”

“Yes, I think it is,” returned Enfield.

“But for all that,” continued the lawyer, “there’s one point I want to ask: I want to ask the name of that man who walked over the child.”

“Well,” said Mr. Enfield, “I can’t see what harm it would do. It was a man of the name of Hyde.”

“H’m,” said Mr. Utterson. “What sort of a man is he to see?”

“He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable. I never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I couldn’t specify the point. He’s an extraordinary-looking man, and yet I really can name nothing out of the way. No, sir; I can make no hand of it; I can’t describe him. And it’s not want of memory; for I declare I can see him this moment.”

Mr. Utterson again walked some way in silence and obviously under a weight of consideration.

“You are sure he used a key?” he inquired at last.

“My dear sir...” began Enfield, surprised out of himself.

“Yes, I know,” said Utterson; “I know it must seem strange. The fact is, if I do not ask you the name of the other party, it is because I know it already. You see, Richard, your tale has gone home. If you have been inexact in any point, you had better correct it.”

“I think you might have warned me,” returned the other, with a touch of sullenness. “But I have been pedantically exact, as you call it. The fellow had a key; and what’s more, he has it still. I saw him use it, not a week ago.

Mr. Utterson sighed deeply but said never a word; and the young man presently resumed. “Here is another lesson to say nothing,” said he. “I am ashamed of my long tongue. Let us make a bargain never to refer to this again.”

“With all my heart,” said the lawyer. “I shake hands on that, Richard.”