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brailsthesmolgurl · 6 months ago

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LOSING YOU HURTS

Preview: What have the boys done that got you to go MIA? What lengths would they go to get you back?

Warnings: ANGST, teeth-rotting fluff at ending.

P.S: This is a request from one of you lovely readers. I hope what I had written shall suffice your love for angst and fluff. Rafayel's take is always and always will be and shall be the dramatic route imo, Zayne's just radiating care-bear energy in forever, Xavier? I decided to do him a little dirty and make him a salty boi :3

RAFAYEL - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜

The young artist came home to the smell of alcohol reeked across his living room. The mellow balsamic, saccharine scent created a trail for Rafayel to tail towards his room. The wide span of hallways suddenly seemed so narrow due to the lack of lighting. However, the moonlight provided just enough of a shine to prevent Rafayel from kissing the walls as he led himself towards his bedroom. The scent became more pungent as he got closer to the door and he was wondering if someone had managed to break into his mansion just for a couple of bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon or Merlot. Opening the door with a slight creak, he popped his head into the ajar door to take a peek of the thief. Only to find you, sprawled out on his bed. He could not see your face as your legs faced him but he could see the slight rise and fall of your chest. You are asleep.

Relieved, he walked over to your sleeping figure, studying the situation. A bottle of Merlot emptied out on the nightstand while another half bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon stood still on the floor, next to a wine glass. Someone is clearly in the mood to drink for the night and does not even bother to wait for him. But he did wondered why would you down one and a half bottle of red wine when you have a barely existent alcohol tolerance. Rafayel took a seat next to you, tucking your hair behind your ear and he smiled to himself.

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss onto your cheek, feeling the warmth of your face from your drunkenness. “Mmm…” You hummed out at the slight pressure on your cheek. “Is that you Rafayel?” Your hushed whispers made him pressed another kiss to your cheek again, and another to your jawline.

“Yes, it’s me my love.” Rafayel pressed yet another kiss to your lips, slightly excited at you waking up. Seeing your eyelids opening to reveal your gaze, he leaned back, holding himself up by his palm, taking in your sleepy state. “You want to tell me why you chose to drink all of these yourself instead of waiting for me to come home and toast with you?”

His question only dissolved from words into gibberish as you were too drunk to handle such a heavy topic for the night. “I’m tired.” With a couple more slow blinks, the room disappeared and you travelled back to your dreamland.

The next day came about with you waking up to an empty bed. You slowly sat up, eyes shutting closed when your head cracked a whir and the world started to spin out of control. “Good morning.” A familiar voice tuned in and you opened your eyes just enough to catch sight of your boyfriend walking in casually, a silver tray well balanced on one of his palms. “My beauty is awake.” Smell of pancakes and something spicy filled the air and your tastebuds started salivating. Nothing like a good hungover meal to get things kickstarted for the day. For the talk the both of you are going to have. “I made some breakfast for you. Based on the amount you had drank, you are to be called a drunkard from now on.” He leaned down close enough, nose tip caressed against your cheek. “You’re most welcomed for my care.”

“We have to talk.” You had sat yourself up, hand rubbing your forehead a couple of times when you tried to calm your throbbing pain in your skull and the itch in the back of your throat, begging you to stop what you are about to say. “I want to break up.”

“Awe, is my beauty still—” Rafayel reached his hand out to touch your cheek, a cheesy smile still hung on his handsome features. He had just woken up, shirt messily buttoned, hair tousled and spiking in different directions and face still slightly oily from the sleep he had enjoyed next to you in bed. Nevertheless, his beauty remains inexorable.

You turned your head to the side, leaving his hand hanging mid air with the phantom touch of your warm cheek, and his smile faded when he denoted that you were being serious. “I want to break up.” Your lack of tone and facial expressions led Rafayel to return to his original posture.

“Why?” Rafayels’ eyes narrowed and he knitted his eyebrows together. He was frustrated. Not telling him the reason and just wanting to break up gave the young man a good enough idea that he is no longer wanted in your space. He could have begged, asked, nagged you to stay but he chooses to respect your boundary. “Why would you want to break up suddenly?”

"Have you not seen the news Rafayel?" You grabbed your phone off of the nightststand and unlocked it, revealing a news titled 'NEW MUSE OR NEW COHORT? RAFAYEL FOUND SHARING LIPS WITH THE MYSTERY WOMAN'.

He looked genuinely shocked, grabbing your phone to continue scanning through the article. Hazy from your hangover, you cannot tell if he was being upset or he was actually shocked that he got caught. "Love, that is a mistake. I did not know she—"

"I'm done." You interrupted, snatching your phone out of his palms and pushing yourself off of the bed. Rafayel mimicked you, getting up off of the bed and holding onto you to prevent you from falling and to stop you from leaving. "I should have known earlier given how you had not been coming home recently. All of the promises that you made, it's all just a lie."

"No, it's not a lie y/n. I did not manage to come home because I was busy curating my artworks for the upcoming exhibition. The kiss with Aiki, it was nothing. We were both drunk and—" He started rambling, eyes darting everywhere except meeting yours and face turning red. The lack of detail present within his explanation only pushed your buttons further.

"It's the fact you kissed her and you did not tell me anything the next day, or the day after, or today! That's what made me disappointed in you Rafayel!" You raised your voice, unable to calm yourself anymore. You recalled the night you caught on to the news. Crying became your last resort and you figured by chugging down alcohol you could pity yourself less, seeing the picture of the mystery woman he calls 'Aiki' being so much more alluring than you.

Possessing long blond hair with big wavy curls, tall stature with right amount of curves on her figure. Any man would dream of a model-like woman like her laying in their bed. Not to mention, she possesses the same interest for art, seemingly the only daughter to a family tree of artists. There is no doubt on why she would be hired by Rafayel and why they would end up having an affair.

You squared up against him, pushing him by his shoulders and he stumbled backwards. "I hate you." Your last sentence jabbed him more than anything, maybe it was the tears that ran down your face like streams, maybe the way you bit your lip after you had finished your sentence realising that you had said the ultimatum, or maybe it was your tone of defeat that made him feel utterly useless.

"I'm sorry y/n." Rafayel held onto your wrist, with just enough amount to beg you to stay and not to force you. "It was a mistake of mine, I should have told you about it. I was scared you were going to leave me."

"But apparently not saying it does not change the ending either." You removed your wrist out of his grip and you walked past him and out of the premises of his abode. Your tears streaked your cheeks immediately when the heavy doors closed behind you. Your feet felt heavy with every step you take, secretly hoping for Rafayel to be dashing out of his house, shouting and begging relentlessly for you to not leave him. Despite with that expectation, it remained eidetic to your imagination and you dragged yourself as far as you could. Away from his mansion, away from his island, but primely, away from Rafayel.

Days followed by weeks and then months. That was how long you had disassociated yourself with the purple haired lad. The memories of him are dissolving just like the news of his has dissipated. The last you had seen his name on the news headline was when he chose to cancel his exhibition. The same exhibition that he spent a lot of time trying to curate his artworks and the same exhibition that got him to commit a mistake with Aiki that costed him his relationship. Although the reason behind his cancellation was unknown to the paparazzi, you knew full well that his 'I am moody hence I do not feel like going through with this exhibition' kinda excuse is pure bullshit. But of course, you did not want to jump to conclusions. More like, you are in no position to possess such an assumptive nature towards his acts anymore.

Here you currently sat, on your kitchen table, with a cup of tea in hand and eyes fixated on the hologram showcased in your living room. The holographic news reporter casually stood at the corner of your living room, reading from his cue cards and occasionally pointing towards the graphics that appeared on his left on demand, providing you details on what is going on in the outside world. You were thinking of going out for a shopping spree today as you had been holed up in your home for the longest time ever. Mostly due to paperwork, partially may contribute to the post breakup blues.

The doorbell rang and you swiftly got up, tearing your eyes off of the man in a suit in your living room and you walked yourself towards the door. You clicked the lock open and pulled your door towards you to open it. Rafayel towered in front of you, still looking as dashing as how you always expected of him. His left eyebrow raised, presumably surprised at you opening the door for him. The tension amongst the both of you started arising, one mostly out of anxiety while the other mostly out of frustration.

"What do you want?" You quipped, crossing your arms over your chest as you eyed the young man in front of you. Rafayel clad a suit that puts the reporter's neatly pressed outfit to shame, with the usual combo of black and white, added on with a red tie, there is really not a lot of work required for him to look good. Yet, you could not bring yourself to admire his outfit now.

"I came to apologise." His tone was lighthearted, pressed to crack a joke amidst this tension. You however, caught a whiff of a scent that you do not often smell on him. It smells tangy, fruity even. "I know you do not want me here, but I will not stop like how I had not stopped contacting you for the past months. It took Thomas three months to locate where you are staying and I just had to risk coming here." He pressed one of his palms to his forehead and closed his eyes, body swaying slightly as if there was a gust of wind that blew him. "Can I at least come in? My head is buzzing."

You stood aside to give way to him. His lanky stature nearly manage to fit through your standard door frame and you manage to sneak a whiff off of his cologne of the night. He reeked of alcohol. "Are you drunk Rafayel?"

The man stumbled forward and you lurched towards him, arms secured around his waist to hold him up, not wanting him to kiss the floor just yet and you slowly guided him towards the sofa. Moans and groans and hushed mutters kept tumbling out of his mouth, but you barely focused in on his monologues. The way his rubicund cheeks presented itself, accompanied with his groans; he must not be in a good mood. Although the both of your paths had came to an end, you could not just let him falter to the ground. "Here, lay down." You low-key flopped him onto the couch and hurried off into the kitchen to fetch some water.

It has been a while of silence, with the window opened for maximum ventilation and the curtains that pranced along with the rhythm of the winds. You twisted the handkerchief in your hand, squeezing the water out of the cloth and laying it onto Rafayel's head, repeating the same motion for the next few handkerchiefs that you would use to cover his neck and his chest. He was rather persistent in not wanting you to undress him as the moment is not right and he does not want to be taken advantage of. But again, it seems like you are the one that was getting taken advantage by your ex-boyfriend even after the breakup.

You managed to make him comply by comforting him and telling him that you only want to cool down his body temperature. The permission to remove his blazer was granted with a nod and you unbuttoned three buttons on his button-up shirt, unfoldingthe cotton piece and slowly placing it onto his smooth yet hard chest. Rafayel hissed in response, hands enveloping yours immediately and your cheeks burnt at the touch. "I'm sorry y/n." You looked up to see the man is already looking at you, lids heavy and lips slightly puckered, guilt written all over his features. "I didn't mean to cheat on you at all."

"You should rest." Your dismissive attitude got Rafayel to wrap his arms around your waist in one-go and he pulled you onto him, so you are laying right on top of him. You were frantic, wanting to get out of his arms as soon as possible but his hold was solid. "Rafayel, please. We had gotten over this." "I had never loved anyone like you y/n." His soft voice a total opposite of his iron grip. "Hell, when I kissed her that time when I was drunk, all I could think about was you. I'm sorry I did not tell you about my mistake earlier. I am sorry I let you walked out. I should have tried harder, I should not have gotten drunk that night..." The warm light that hit his face outlined the tears that brimmed around his eyes. He trailed off, words swallowed by the silence. "I'm very sorry my love."

You could not deny it. Seeing him being drunk, standing at the front of your unit that he had searched for relentlessly ever since the parting, apologising being the only thing he could manage to put into a conversation for tonight and the amount of guilt that surrounds him as thick as the smell of alcohol on his body. You could not deny that he melted your heart. "Rafayel, it's okay." You succumbed to your own regret too, revealing the sensations you had felt for the past few months. "I should not have acted so recklessly. I should have listened to you and not let my insecurity consume me. I am sorry too."

"Don't be sorry my love." His finger snaked over to the bottom of your chin and he lifted it up. Your lips only a few inches away from him. "I will always love you, and if you ever plan to leave me again, I will chase you to the ends of the earth even if I have to." Watching him closely, you realised the redness on his cheeks are gone, and the glint of teasing in his nebula-like orbs is back.

Scrunching your face in observation, you asked. "Are you faking yourself to be drunk?" He whined like a toddler and 'fainted' back into his laying position, making you raise your eyebrows in return at his usual mockeries. "Do you even mean anything you said earlier?"

He snapped his head back to you, eyes widened and he pushed himself up with one arm, jaw slackening. "The audacity to assume that I came here just for a show." He pressed a hand to his chest and looked down, the redness creeping onto his ears. "Everything I had said is sincere, I wanted to apologise and wanted to show you just how much you actually matter to me. Because, y/n, losing you really pains me. It affects me greater than what you may think." You did not reply to his laments, but instead just watched this man in front of you conveyed a soliloquy that is so wrapped in sincerity and love for you that it really made you reconsider the word 'break up'.

A snap of a finger made you jolted awake and you realised how stupid you could have looked, with a wide grin stapled onto your face as you admired your suitor in front of you. Rafayel however, has a pout on his lips and he crossed his arms, unsatisfied with the lack of succor he received from his all-time lover. "You are lucky I love you, or else I am suing you for making me look like a fool when I am the least bit interested in theatrical acts." Then, the both of you burst out into laughters, filling the void of the dead silence.

ZAYNE - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝

You flicked your wrist to stare at your new watch that Zayne had gotten for you. It is almost lunch time but you still did not managed to catch sight of Zayne anywhere. You scanned the crowd, watching staffs and patients zooming across the lobbies in various speeds. Weekdays are not an excuse for this famous hospital to have barren hallways as you have figured.

Heavy footfalls against the marbled flooring made you turned your head and you noticed Zayne standing near one of the pharmacy counters, with a girl right next to him. You knew all of the people your boyfriend is associated with but the absence of a memory for the girl's face suggested that she may be new around here. Your eyes started to study this stranger occupying herself right next to your boyfriend.

She has short, neat brunette hair that sits right below her ear lobes. Certainly well-dressed within the premises of the building; with a lilac blouse on and well-fitted jeans, with a pair of low pumps. Her clipboard in her arm and the blue tag pinned against her lovely blouse gave away her position as an intern. Then, this would explain why she would be around Zayne.

But, it does not explain the scenario when she said something with a grin and your normally emotionless boyfriend smiles back, all the while adjusting his necktie. Arbitrarily, you were not really affected by his reactions. He is human afterall. Although humourless most of the time, but it still does not deny him the opportunity to take in a good joke and react naturally to it. The young man nodded his head and you watched the intern walked off before you looked back to Zayne, noticing he already has his eyes on you and is already strutting over to you.

"Hey Zayne." You greeted him warmly, a smile on your face but not lurching forward to hug him as the both of you had agreed to not display any PDAs when he is still within his work premises. "Who's that just now?"

"An intern I was assigned with two months ago." He spoke, eyeing the watch on your wrist. "I see you are making good use of the Rolex. It's about time an adult like you keep track of your own time." You shot him a look of discontentment at his usage of puns but still laughed either ways. "I've gotten us a table at a nearby restaurant, let's get going."

"How's the steak?" Zayne asked, his hazel orbs glided from your face to your plate and back to your face again, expecting an answer.

The restaurant looked amazing, elegantly decorated in shades of white and gold, mirroring the decors and theme from those mythical stories that hailed from the ancient Greek and Roman mythologies. Gargoyles made of porcelain fitted within the alcoves of the vined halls, recessed within the stilts that holds up the ceiling.

"It is good, as per usual from your choice." You catch his eyes briefly and diverted your gaze back onto the meal in front of you. "What is the name of the intern?"

Zayne paused, taking a moment to sip onto the orange juice he had ordered and dabbing the napkin over his lips. "Azalea."

"It's funny how she was never mentioned to me before." It is your turn to lay down your cutlery this time, repeating the steps as what Zayne had done but the only difference is that you sipped onto lemon tea rather than orange juice. "Despite it has been two months."

The man that sat in front of you eased back into his chair, sighing. "I just figured she is an intern and that what goes on between me and her on a daily basis are not worth to be mentioned about. It seemed unnecessary." Your question was not meant to be an argument starter but with the way how Zayne sounded so dismissive about this intern of his, you could not help but to grow suspicious of things between them. When you are about to say something else, a subtle vibration was heard and you caught sight of Zayne's phone screen lighting up. "I have to take this." He got up and left the table to take the phone call outside, leaving you within your own realm of questions.

The phone call took a while. Much to your surprise, the name that flashed across his screen was none other than Azalea. Furthermore, the other surprise factor is that the phone call is taking such a while that you are beginning to imagine fishes appearing in your cauliflower soup. When Zayne came back to the table, he looked apologetic somehow, picking up his coat in a swift motion. "I have to return to the hospital now. I have an immediate surgery scheduled at 3pm later."

Walking beside him, you could not bring yourself to ask who was it on the phone as the name showcased on the screen was bright as day and it would not stop flashing up in your mind. You intertwined your own fingers, mentally encouraging yourself to not worry much about the issue as Zayne had always been loyal to you. However, this is where the devil starts pulling its strings when you started wondering was it because of the fact he had always been so loyal that he got bored? Maybe Azalea turned up to be a whole new, fresh, brilliant individual that may have managed to tempt Zayne. Your confidence in the relationship is immediately questioned at that moment.

"I'm sorry I can't fetch you back. Once you're home, drop me a text." Zayne rubbed his palm on the small of your back but his warmth seemingly non-existent. "I will see you soon."

After the last time the both of you had lunch, Zayne started getting really busy while you, you just got more and more isolated. No, things did not exactly ended between the both of you but at this rate, prepping yourself for the end of days may not be exaggerative at all. The both of you still do have phone calls everyday, but it was textbook-like. The usual greetings and casual singular-sentenced conversations before either one has to run off to work. Maybe sometimes, you might get the luck of hearing Azalea in the background, chattering and laughing off with that nurse that manages Zayne's schedule for the day.

Slowly but surely, the phone calls slowly turned into texts and eventually, your texts became haphazard, even going as far as you having to weigh your mood to determine your willingness to reply. You just could not bring yourself to ask him the question marks in your head, and yet, breaking up is not an option as this may just be a stupid thing to fight and end things up for. So, you struggled alone allowing yourself to be raptured within the palms of your own worries for the future of your relationship. It is also saddening to see that your thoughts now are only full of Azalea; with the memories of you and Zayne but your face being replaced by that intern's features.

A knock on the door made you jolted and you spilled some water onto your shirt. "Tsk, come on. Really?" Muttering to yourself, you got off of the sofa and made your way towards the doorway. Hands hurriedly dusting off the stain the best you could before you came face to face with the person standing at your door. "Hi, how can I—Zayne?"

“I figured you would be at home.” Zayne welcomed himself into your house and you willingly step aside, palms and forehead dripping with cold sweat. His presence has not been exactly expected, but maybe because it was unexpected, you find yourself flabbergasted at his sudden appearance. “You had been very…” He shrugged off his coat, his movements languid but slow, his words churning at the tip of his tongue as Zayne does not want to sound rude. “Distant lately. I came over to check up on you.”

“I was just busy.” You mumbled, toes wriggled against your wooden flooring to trick yourself int thinking time might speed up with this method. It has been a fair amount of time since the two of you had last met up. It has been a fortnight exactly. You missed him dearly but with your own Azalea dilemma, you could not make the judgement for him. Pessimistic one might say and sadly, you admit that you are a prime example for the term.

“Busy catching up on those reality shows of yours I see. That is one way to define busy.” Zayne stepped up to you, his height providing him an advantage to corner you towards your wall. “What’s the matter? You do not look so well. Do you need me to check—”

The extension of his hand was stopped with your grip before he could feel your forehead's temperature. Your cementing grip causing the doctor to raise one of his thin eyebrows. “I don’t need you here.”

“Why?” Subtle but pushy. His deepened voice hinted curiosity. Zayne has never been the one to bear the trait of being assumptive but with how things had developed between the two of you, Zayne himself started realising the amount of doubts that has been growing on him. He is not fond of his particular messy thoughts and he was ought to get an answer out of you tonight.

You released your grip on his wrist and the doctor did not move back, but stayed stagnant in his spot, still staring down at you, hoping that you would at least look up to meet his concerned gaze. He only got slightly disappointed when you lowered your head even further. “You had been cheating on me with Azalea haven’t you?”

Zayne’s eyebrows tilted upwards again, watching your figure growing smaller and smaller in front of him. You are literally shaking, melting, gnawing at yourself for wanting to confront him when your good conscience is asking every bit of you to not mess up what is left of the relationship. Still, a relationship without clarification via communication is as good as not being in a relationship. “Why would you think so?”

You can hear, no. You can feel your mind pushing your heart out of the way like how rugby players be doing on the field, roughhousing the shit out of every opponent they see. “We barely talked, we barely made plans, you are always at the hospital and I had to result to getting updates from your nurse about your schedule and all I see is that intern’s name on most of it. And usually, you would not even have interns on your surgery schedules. What makes her so special?” You wanted to stop yourself but your mouth was no longer yours.

“Not to mention, the way you smiled at her that day when I came by to visit you. It took me a year to get you to at least crack a smile at my stupid jokes but it only takes her two months. Your one-worded responses about her made it seemed like you are really hiding something from me. But, with how things are recently, I am starting to question the basis of our love for one another.”

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes after your yapping came to an end. “When I bought that watch for you to get a sense of time, I do not mean you should be wasting your time on having to crack your head and heart at such wringing issues like this y/n.” His sudden defensiveness made you snapped your head up towards him. How dare he! “I am a man of integrity y/n and I am sorry.” Your anger immediately dissolved, watching Zayne getting down onto one of his knees so that you do not have to crane your neck the whole time while having this conversation. He held your hand slowly, the soft and calloused palms of his matching the heat of yours and he pulled you to sit onto his thigh. “Allow me to explain.”

Apparently, the reason why they are both stuck to the hip is because Zayne was pressured by the medical board to provide her an ‘all-access pass’ to his treatments, surgeries and also anything related to his responsibilities. Zayne is not an advocate for someone who rises through the ranks with nepotism but he was also surprised that she is not just a nepo-baby, but she actually has the brains to be a capable doctor in the future. Hence, Zayne was more willing to overlook his moral judgement for a bit and to actually tutor her according to his own will to create a successful doctor for the near future. When he spoke of the incident whereas he was caught smiling at her, his response is straight. “She is a lesbian and she has a girlfriend.”

Slouched on the couch, you leaned in, nestling your face into his collarbone and you felt the pads of his fingers pressed against your chin and he guided you to look at him. The dashing young man that you are more than glad to acknowledge him as your boyfriend looked extremely seductive under the low light conditions. Zayne’s lips tugged up into a subtle smirk and you noticed the way his eyes flicked in between your eyes and your lips. Perhaps, he owns the talent of being a psychic. “Y/n. From now on, I do not wish for you to worry yourself with such ridiculous thoughts anymore. It concerns me that you are holed up only to yourself when my heart is opened for you and only you my darling. I need you to know that you can always rely on me and I will always be here for you.” The man then leaned down to press a deep kiss onto your soft lips.

XAVIER - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

The last thing you expected was to be attending the reunion party held by Captain Jenna on your long-awaited off day. Several other divisions are invited for this reunion as one of the main purpose for this party is to encourage everyone to let off some steam as well. You tugged lightly at the collar of your turtleneck, feeling like the outfit is not only choking you but your lack of motivation to conduct social interaction is having a grip at your trachea too. "It's nice to see you here." A familiar voice rung past your hearing and you watched your boyfriend approached you.

He is rocking his usual hunter outfit but this time it is in white-grey combination rather than the usual white-navy or full-white sets. He took his stand beside you and covered his mouth immediately, a yawn setting into his palms. Even your boyfriend is rhyming to the same mindset of yours of wanting to just have the day to himself or to spend it only with you. "I suppose you did not want to be here either?" You chirped, taking a deep breath and stepping into the hall, with Xavier tailing your shadow.

"Nothing ever beats a good nap. But, I guess I have no choice when Captain Jenna told me that you are obligated to join." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. Situating himself right next to you. "And I suppose it would not be a bad idea to accompany you in case you get lonely."

The normally neat, simplistic-looking hall is now decorated with colourful streamers and balloons. Standing cocktail tables are aligned near a temporary bar stand that was themed like a Hawaii beach-side bar while fancier banquet tables were placed at the end of the hall. But you gave the party the benefit of the doubt when you noticed a DJ is placed at the very end of the hall, spinning records on their devices. This party is a fun mess.

"I guess this is Captain's idea of a fun party huh?" Xavier asked, question indirectly directed towards you, but mostly towards himself. Cannot blame either one of you as none of you are known to be the best party goers amongst the division. If you both were to be placed into a category for the type of party-goers, the two of you would definitely fit right into the 'non-existent' type.

"Either ways Xavier, I know at least I got you." You turned to him and flashed him a smile and the blond man did the same, patting you on the head as well for his usual comforting gesture. "I think I will go ahead and look for Tara first. I'll see you in a bit."

"Okay. If you get overwhelmed, you can always find me and we can always make an excuse to ride home alright?" His azure orbs were tinted with a shade of baby blue under the garish fluorescent lights. Your nod rewarded you another pat on your head and you dived into the crowds of people, in search for your best friend Tara.

Honestly, at this moment, you wished you had not been looking for Tara as now you are stuck in this awkward social circle of hers. Conversations consisting mainly of newest fashion trends and celebrity gossips are such new grounds to you, more like never-will-touch grounds of conversation. "Hey, you alright?" Tara's pat on your shoulder snapped you out of your boredom and you blinked a couple of times.

"Y...yeah I am fine." Jeez. You should have asked for an opportunity to leave when you got to but your people pleaser attitude does not really grant you the will to just spit out an excuse and peace out. "I am just not the best at these kind of conversations." At least some parts of the truth managed to be rolled out.

"Girls! Girls! The dance is starting." One of the girls came joining the small circle, her smile stretched from ear to ear. "Let's hit the dance floor!" Then you watched as the freckled girl dragged Tara and another girl --whose name you do not recall-- through the crowd and towards the empty space in the middle of it all. The music suddenly had a drastic warped tune to it and it went from sentimental, lovey-dovey songs straight into songs one would blast in the gym or a nightclub.

You looked around and figured maybe this is the best time for you to plan your escape so you started to squeeze through bodies to get to the exit. As you passed by the dancefloor, a familiar figure reeled your attention and you focused in on the figure only to find Xavier standing in front of a girl, talking in the middle of the dancefloor. With the amount of people occupying the dancefloor, there is no doubt some form of physical contact would occur.

Speaking of which, you watched as a man bumped into Xavier and then he hit against the girl, arms reaching around her shoulder to steady himself. The fluorescent lights suddenly went off and laser-like pointers and stage lights becoming the main source of lighting. It is dimmer for sure, but not dim enough for you to figure out that Xavier and the girl are a little too close in each other's personal bubble.

"Look at that couple there." You overheard someone talking behind your back. "I heard they used to date back in the day but then things did not end well."

"Why? What happened?" Another voice chimed in right when the sentence finished.

"The girl got pregnant or so I heard." Your eyes widened in horror when you heard the story. Why have you not heard of the existence of Xavier's ex-girlfriend? He sure is and always have been a man of mystery but you did not expect that he would refrain to tell you such an important information. Here you thought him telling you about his most embarrassing memories of his younger self is considered intimate enough. You could feel your tears welling up, your gaze blurry as you tore your eyes off of the 'couple' and you stomped off and out of the hall, pushing through the crowd like a loaded bulldozer.

You got out of the crowd by jamming yourself through any visible gaps you can see in the aphotic surroundings. Once you got out of the doors, you took in a deep breath, taking in the smell of fresh air that held hints of sourness. Then, you got onto your bike and zoomed off into the embrace of the darkness.

Panting, you wiped the ichor off of the sides of your face, hissing at the gash on your wounded arm. A parting gift from the golem that you had just managed to defeat all by yourself. You flipped your wrist over and looked at your hunter's watch. "No more missions assigned to Agent y/n at this moment." The watch reported, the stiff robotic voice eliciting a huff of annoyance from you. Well, it is late in the middle of the night and you should really be on your way home.

You looked up into the skies as you navigated your way back to your vehicle. Stars littering all over the deadened skies provided a sense of relevancy to your self-isolation for the past few months. Your breakup with Xavier was done through a phone call, with you calling things off without even providing a explanation and blocking him right after. Following up, you requested to be switched to another branch and got yourself moved to a new location. Just like this, it was as if Xavier was never a part of your life.

But, he has been such a part of your routine for the past one year that it had left you in a state of bereft, seeking solace within the past fond memories that you had once shared with him. Before your trail of memories gained access to your mind, you halted your footsteps, eyes studying the three separate routes in front of you. Which one had you taken previously?

"Lost?" A voice startled you and you immediately drew your guns out of your garter belt, aimed directly at head shot level towards the source of the voice. But, you lowered your gun eventually when you came face to face with your ex-lover. "Or you just got caught up in your own thoughts?"

Your act of abnegation was shown with you not entertaining his question and instead, takes a step past him. Xavier however, held onto your arm to get you to stop and your wince alerted him of the laceration on your arm. "I'm fine, I do not seek for your care. I can handle it myself."

"Just like how you handled our breakup. Which is not the most mature I'd say." Xavier loosened his grip and sighed, turning to face you and his voice came off softer. "I have been searching everywhere for you, do you know that?"

"Like I'd said Xavier, there is nothing I wish to clarify to you. A breakup is a breakup." You stood your ground, eyes digging its way through the soil if that is an eligible euphemism amidst this awkward moment.

"You not having the wish to clarify the reasons for our breakup does not mean that I do not wish to know about it y/n. So, are you going to break it to me or would you wish to be left alone?" Desperation came upon his voice as he spoke. If you have a better sense of hearing, you might just be able to catch the slight change of octave in his voice. Oh, how you wish you could just disappear right now, just evaporating up into the night skies. "Y/n."

"Why did you kept a secret behind my back? Especially when it involves your ex-girlfriend having a pregnancy?" You managed to spit out after a minute of contemplation. Escaping is not an option for you either when your ex-lover has the ability to teleport within a good amount of range.

Xavier's lips opened and closed again, hesitation flashed across his face and his eyebrows knitted together now. "What?" His response to a question with another question got you curious so you looked at him. The poor young man looked shocked, eyes widened and jaws slacked. "I do not have an ex-girlfriend."

Your confidence crumbled with a big gaping hole in the middle of your heart as you stared at him with the same expression of his. "That day, at the reunion party. I saw you were chatting with a girl and I overheard the conversation from the people beside me stating that the both of you used to share an intimate connection and you got her knocked up--"

Your voice slowly trailed off when the moonlight peeked through the crevices in between the leaves of the trees, illuminating Xavier's lack of expression in front of you. Although he wears a poker face, you can tell that he was borderline amused and yet in a state of pity for your behalf. "Someone owes me a big apology I suppose." Yes, of course you do. "Just to fill in the gaps for you, the girl I was speaking to used to be my partner till she got married and have to take care of her child hence she got transferred to another division. The story that you heard of, was hers, but the guy part, I am definitely not involved."

"I'm so so sorry Xavier. I just couldn't believe what I was hearing and my emotions got to the best of me. I am so sorry." Your lip trembled as you spoke, voice cracking when you finally admitted that you are the jerk for having to pull such a stunt on him over some petty rumours that you refuse to address to him. "I didn't mean to." Your body was jerked forward and your forehead collided with his warm chest. His arms was quick to pull you in for a hug. "I forgive you y/n. It's okay, don't cry." Yet, you still failed to oblige and started to sob into his chest like a child that received her very first lecture. "I am glad I still managed to find you even after all of these months." His hand rubbed soothing circles onto your back until you regained back your composure. His palms rising up and falling down according to the undulating tempo of your breaths.

"Thank you for coming for me." Your arms tightened around his waist and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss onto the top of your forehead.

"I will be looking forward to you making up for this mistake of yours." He smiled, the moonlight cascading onto the both of you like a stage light. "Let's start with no more breaking up over stupid rumours okay?"

@elysiel is the lovely reader who came up with this idea hence I decided to put my own twist into things so I hope you are very much pleased my love and @prettytemis wished to be tagged when I post this up so here it goes! <3

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #lnds #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader

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zolass · 21 days ago

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𝗔 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗧𝗼 𝗖𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗢𝘂𝗿 𝗢𝘄𝗻

ㅤㅤㅤ···─A WORLD TO CALL OUR OWN

Summary: Lunara once was a beautiful planet, blue and silver sky. The ground was a lush green valleys and long fields of gras, between the green were cities reached far into the sky. It was once such a beautiful home, and now it was a haunted land. When did it go wrong?

FEATURING: THORNE DE VÉRES x MALE READER

Hellou peepol, so I did this blog to announce the first OC x Male Reader.

Well Original Character that I created especially for the male readers, so welcome Thorne. I actually just thought it would be a fun thing to do- definitely not letting my other Oc stories rot in the corner rn, but anyways.

This is simply a 'short' intro for the world and story, the planet it the story takes place is Lunara, and it's a apocalyptic /post apocalyptic world. Just gonna say it's def heavily inspired by Maze Runner (I'm a sucker ngl) bc I have no clue how to write apocalypse stuff.

Anyway maybe if people like it, I will continue it and if there's questions for the world or character (I currently just have Thorne ngl) just ask lil ol' me :)

Was it always supposed to end like this? In so much pain and loss?

Having to watch the infection spreading, slowly turning your loved ones into something entirely different, something that’s just.. Not them anymore.

Devastating as people were reduced to nothing else than beings on the brink of death, with an insatiable hunger lying in the pit of their existence. No remorse as they would tear into their once loved ones, giving the surviving no other choice than to end the miserable life that they have left.

But with the virus came an astrological event that seemed to be rather a blessing and curse as through this there was another virus flaring up. It made more people sick, they would suffer from high fever and chills to hallucinations. Their skin would turn a slightly unnatural color around joints and face, while their body fights against the virus, it would cause metallic tastes in their mouth.

After the first virus wiped out almost half of the human population, the second virus wiped out quite a lot of them too, if it was to the fear of others, simply shooting or decapitating their allies, to the victims taking their own lives, not able to stand through the horrendous pain. Many people died to so many cruel things, you’ve never seen so many deaths in front of your eyes, and you wished you never had to.

Some of these deaths were your close friends and families, who either got infected and turned into one of the many zombies, like your parents. The other’s died through either fear or accidents, or through the second virus that landed through asteroids on the planet, you watched as your little sister screamed in pain, while you tried to hold her still in your arms.

A gun raised to her head, you still remember it so vividly in your mind. The group leader took his shot, the deafening silence as the body of your struggling sister went limp in your arms, and the screams coming to an instant stop, only reverberating in the narrow alley.

That night you left, with your dead sister in your arms, cradling her close to your chest. It wasn’t a time where it was smart to take revenge, but there was definitely a time, your old group leader would suffer and only for a while was this thought like balsam on the imaginative gaping wound in your heart.

While on the other side, there was Thorne Dalca, the rich heir of a prestigious family, he was alone in his apartment while the world turned to shit, and it was even worse as he didn’t know where his parents were. The first few days he was safe in his apartment, he stayed silent when there were groans at his door, or the screams of neighbors, well the ones below him, as there isn’t really a way to get into his apartment except with the elevator and a security key needed to even get on his floor.

But of course, food would go out, and so came the time where he had to step out if he wanted to survive.

Crossing paths with a group of survivors, Thorne joined them for some time. Which didn’t come with stupid comments about being a rich heir in an apocalypse, he soon left them behind one morning, too fed up with their bullshit. He wandered alone for a while, getting blood on his hands when people decided to attack him for no reason or some of the infected trying to feast on him.

While he joined and left groups through the years, it took a bit until he found a group he stayed in, yet it didn’t take long until he was known as Thorne De Véres in his group and soon it spread to the groups they encountered.

Many would think as a rich heir he wouldn’t try to get his hands dirty, but he did. While it shouldn’t be the time to take even more lives, Thorne did anyway.

#A World To Call Our Own - zolass #ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⋆˙⟡#THORNE DE VÉRES ☆#zolass writes #male reader #mlm #male x male #oc x male reader #gay #x male reader #bottom male reader #writer

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writing-whump · 4 months ago

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Painful confessions

Part 3 of hurt Rip and his confrontation with Isaiah. Tw for discussions of domestic abuse, dying, family death and murder.

When Dylan took Seline's place, sleepy-eyed and hair-touseled, but still with a thumb-ups, Seline let go. It was the most committed she had ever seen him.

She climbed to her feet and headed to the upper floor. Like a tower on top of a castle.

She went slowly and quietly, to not alarm Matt who didn't seem to change his position for several hours now. He stood next to the room, arms crossed on his chest, a deep frown etched into his face.

Somewhere between empathy and concern, protectivenss over his pack and wanting to help the strange stray kid in their care.

Seline gave him a nod without meeting his eyes. He didn't follow her as she went into her room.

She knew their shadows so well. It didn't register to her anymore - all the things she could see and feel, when she touched them. Isaiah's swirling generosity and guilt. Matthew's anger like a quite hum of guitar, a sound layer protectively placed over his fears.

It was all in the shadow. Alive and dark, like a being of its own. But when you touched it, it was a pool. A looking glass into their souls.

She couldn't shake what she felt from Rip.

The bite marks covering his neck and arms were an indication. Heck, the silver knife in his side was a glaring one. But he seemed so tough and experienced, even against the pain. The tears and the vulnerability, that came from fever and weakness, from the injury sapping him out for days.

But the pain underneath was real. And the relief and comfort he felt when she held his hand just as much.

Seline went up the stairs and into her room, hugging herself. She stood in front of the window, taking deep breaths against the shakiness of her insides.

Isaiah told her. The witches told her. The wolves told her. They all told her that a witch's touch was different, that the calming effect of their magic, the light in it was the natural balsam for a shadow. For a soul of a wolf.

Seline didn't want to accept it. Some kind of calming influence that she had no power over, that she couldn't change or magnify. That was our of her control, out of touch with her personality and conscious decisions.

She didn't want things that were given to matter. She didn't want something she didn't earn, achieve or make of her own to be the determinating factor of her person. She didn't want to be a witch, she wanted to he a scientist and songwriter and an argumentator.

But it worked. Isaiah and Matt could help and approach all they wanted, Rip's shadow would get upset, his condition would get worse, his breathing would be off. Where they were natural enemies, where Rip wasn't able to decide and think of his own yet, she could come in. Her magic, her given ability, her born in antipole of light to the shadow in him.

It worked. She had never phathomed how much it could help. How much she could help.

Her eyes didn't burn as the tears dripped down her cheeks. She let them run freely.

"Seline? Are you okay?"

She didn't turn as Isaiah went into her room, closing the door. "Are you hurt?"

He approached slowly, carefully. Like he was scared she was afraid of him again. Of wolves.

Was she really so stupid? Isaiah didn't want to be scary either. Not all the time. But he accepted who he was and took it into consideration. People might see a wolf with a big shadow, an Executioner or a Wolfson. All things that he had no control or power over. That just were.

It took much more to get to know who he was on the inside. The kindness and generosity and caring.

He could not unthink or unchoose it, yet it depended on others whether they could see who he chose to be on the inside, outside the born in factors.

Was it really his fault? Did he make it his own by owning up to it? By incorporating it into who he was? By deciding how to use it?

Did taking the good and the bad that came with who you were born like mean you earned the right to use the full power of everything you were?

When he stepped closer and she still didn't turn, he waited. Patient. Quiet. For her.

She still couldn't look at him, some kind of burning feeling making it hard to breathe. Hard to talk.

But she leaned back against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her immediately. And when she clutched at his hands on her chest, he tightened his grip and let her cry.

...

"I feel queasy," Rip said with a tired frown.

Dylan stood next to him, hands hovering to catch him or help him up or back against the cushions.

"Man, you can't have anything in your stomach, you have been on IV for the last couple of days."

Rip leaned forward with a hiss, elbows gingerly resting on his knees. "Yeah. Still feel queasy."

"I'm sorry, man. Do you want to try some water?"

"It's not like you can fix it," Rip said. He was running out of ideas how to explain and out of time to do it. Exhaustion was pulling at him already, mind getting hazy. "You can't fix this."

Dylan tensed. "What's this about?"

"Look at me." Rip motioned to his torso wrapped in bandages and the IV still stuck inside his arm. "This won't heal—"

"Of course it will."

"Not this week. Or the next. I'm gonna be weak and in pain and feverish and at risk for infection. I'll be useless in fights. I can hardly move as it is. Maybe if I had time and somewhere to stay and if you guys kept fucking nursing me like this, it could." Rip rubbed at his eyes.

"Are we—am I not doing a good job?"

Rip sighed. "Dylan. It's not about you doing a good job—fuck. You saved me, you don't have to doubt that. But this is gonna take weeks to heal, if not months and I can't stay here draining your resources like this."

"You can take your time—"

"Dylan." God, he was tired. "I can't. I have nothing to give you. Nothing to pay with. I'm just trash picked up from the street with no worth." He looked up at Dylan with dull eyes. "It would have been easier to just let me die." It would just take longer like this.

Dylan's face went blank, then red and then contorted in anger. It was the first time Rip had seen him angry.

"How dare you! You asshole!" Dylan grabbed him by the shoulders, forgetting for a second to be careful. "Don't you dare giving up like that! What, just because it's difficult, you want to die? Are you gonna lie down on the floor and give up?! That's what you want?"

"D—"

Dylan shook him by the shoulders, rattling his whole frame. Rip couldn't help the little moan, curling into himself as his side was jostled.

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry." Dylan let go of him immediately, hand shooting up to his elbow to steady him, clutch at him. Always with the touches, with the sympathy.

"You wanted to punch me, didn't you?" Rip said with a strained smile that turned into a grimace.

"A little," Dylan said sheepishly, taking a small towel in the basin with water, wrigging it out and placing it against Rip's cheek. "You are still a bit feverish."

And gonna be for a while, Rip thought, but couldn't bring himself to say it again.

...

Rip should have asked more. Been more careful, more curious. If it didn't surprise him that much, maybe he could have controlled himself better.

It wasn't Dylan's fault. Dylan didn't understand who Isaiah was.

So when the black-haired, green-eyed Executioner walked into the room with his second by his side, goosebumps immediately climbing on Rip's arms, Dylan pointed at them with a shrug and a smile. My sister's roommates, yeah. Packmates, yeah. They helped.

Rip's mind went empty of everything. He had heard and seen and spied on the Executioner. He had been hunted by so many he could tell when a wolf had it in him to be one, when he was a successful one, when he was just playing power.

Isaiah wasn't playing anything. The way he walked, the way his shadow felt - powerful force barely veiled under the surface, his stance, his eyes, his body language, where he decided to stand in the room...

Rip's shadow was rippling upwards and against him before he could gasp for breath.

It was instinct. Experience. Years and years of fear, of being hunted, tracked down, threatened.

Rip had met many Executioners in the big cities, but hardy anyone had this much of an power aura.

Isaiah didn't even flinch. His shadow appeared like a shield in front of him, and the second wolf who was staring at them disbelievingly.

Rip's shadow was rolled down. It all took place in three seconds.

Isaiah met his gaze steadily. No challenge, no anger. Just the absolute awareness of his superiority. His ability to win.

You are alive because I said so.

Rip saw it, then. How nobody here truly understood how dangerous Isaiah Wolfson was, who he was and what he had done better than Rip. The innocent boy at his side, the strength-emanating but oblivious second, or that open-minded witch had no clue.

And because he understood and because his shadow was blocked so masterfully and off-handedly, because the reflexes were that great and because Rip had attacked before he could think better of it—he just signed his own death sentence.

...

When Isaiah came to visit him next, he was alone.

Rip wondered if they finally managed to talk sense into Dylan. Explain to him what he couldn't manage, despite his best efforts.

Rip struggled to sit himself upright. He couldn't throw his legs over the edge of the bed without Dylan's help. His absence was like a gaping hole in the side of Rip's head.

Comparable to his missing shadow, even.

But he didn't want to die laying helplessly. Not after Dylan said it like he was giving up.

Isaiah didn't come any closer than last time. He kept to the other end of the room, leaning against the wall with forced relaxation. They stated at each other quietly for several minutes.

Rip couldn't take his eyes off him or look down. He was going to die anyway, he at least wanted to face him.

"Was that the plan," Rip croaked. He has to stop to cough and clear his throat from sounding so raspy. "Let me heal, so you could kill me when I'm awake. So I would know for what it was? I hear some Executioners do it that way."

"I'm not an Executioner."

"Oh please," Rip said sarcastically. "Is that the story they believe? You tell them and they accept it? You can't fool me though. Once a killer, always a killer."

Isaiah's face was a mask of complete calmness. Not a single muscle twitched at the words.

"You think you deserve to die?"

The spark of defiance went out of him. Rip's shoulders sagged and he looked away. "I attacked you on sight after you helped me. That's what feral and mad shadows do."

"Yes. But you only attacked me and not Matthew. And for some reason, despite how uncontrolled and instinctive the attack was, your shadow didn't go through Dylan. In fact, you covered for him."

Rip looked up in surprise, blinking. He hadn't noticed that.

"You went after the biggest threat. And you have honed instincts. You are aware of shadows around you and recognized mine. That is indeed not something people can do without training."

"You are saying I'm not mad?"

"A feral wolf would attack anyone. A mad wolf wouldn't mind attacking his own allies if it brought him an advantage. You could have taken Dylan hostage, knowing we would care because of who his sister is. You did neither of those things." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "I have seen both types up close. I know what it looks like just as well as you know Executioners."

Power of experience, huh? Rip was stunned. He had not realized there might have been a way...that his shadow might not have been crazy or damaged beyond repair.

"I can't walk on streets with normal people," Rip objected. "I can't face other wolves without wanting to attack or dominate them."

"And you keep away from humans and from wolves for that reason. To protect them. That's way too much reason for someone feral." Isaiah regarded him with more open curiosity now, uncrossing his hands. He stood more relaxed, emotions flickering in his eyes.

"What the hell do you want? Do you have some kind of hero complex, trying to save me?!"

Isaiah stared at him coolly. "Why do you want to die so bad?"

Rip's breath hitched and he looked to the side, clutching at his elbows. There was a long minute of silence. "Once a killer, always a killer," Rip muttered finally.

"Who did you kill?"

Rip lowered his head. "Lots of people."

"I don't count the strays in self-defence or wolves from other packs coming after you. Wolves aren't murderers. We are predators, and survivors. It's natural for our shadows to fight as it is for them to die and to kill. Killing is not the same as murder."

"If you knew what I have done..."

Isaiah looked at him expectantly, but Rip dropped his gaze again. His lungs were shrinking just thinking about it.

"Listen," Isaiah said into the silence. "I have experience with shadows and I don't take madness lightly. But I can see yours isn't lost. I'm saying I can help you. Train you back into shape, so you can get your life back."

Rip smiled bitterly. "What's the catch?"

"Excuse me?"

"What are you doing it for? What do you want from me?" Rip would never believe such a thing could come for free. But he couldn't figure out what Isaiah could want him for. Dirty work? Spying on the strays? What could he possibly have to offer to an Executioner? Help him track down other, more seriously lost wolves? It wasn't like Rip had anyone to betray. "Why do you think I'm worth saving?"

Isaiah looked thoughful, but not disheartened. "Tell me what you did and I'll decide that for myself."

Rip glared at him. Isaiah was an Executioner. This could be the absolution he waited for. That chased him around until it finally, finally caught him. What did he have to lose but a quick end for the trouble he was causing?

"I killed a human," Rip said and closed his eyes.

His heart was beating painfully against his ribs. That was absolutely unforgivable for a wolf to do. As much as they could fight and kill each other, humans were untouchable.

They said shadows never got rid of the taste of human blood, once it got a taste.

And Rip knew how forbidden it was and he still did. He did it with full knowledge what that would make him. A criminal. A murderer. Hunted forever.

"Tell me the whole story." Isaiah's voices softened considerably.

Rip gasped for breath. He braced himself against the mattress, but his hands were shaking. Did he really just say it out loud.

"You feel guilty about it. You think it condemns you," Isaiah continued in that low, careful tone, like Rip was a scared deer. "You think you deserve to die for it. But not enough that you would be suicidal or give up yourself. This means it's defensible in your eyes, but you don't feel like it would be in the eyes of others. Without context, it might not be." He motioned with his hand towards him to speak.

Rip said nothing for good five minutes, waiting till his heart calmed down enough he could hear more than the sound of his rushing blood in his ears. He ended up leaning back against the pillows. Exposed, weak, tired. So easy to hurt.

Isaiah was nothing if not patient. Didn't move or say anything to speed it up, to put anymore pressure on him.

So he ended up talking. He told him about his mother, a talented young witch who left her pack, when she fell in love with a human man. That they lived together in a far away village, in nature, alone. How he isolated her, how he wanted her all for himself. She thought it was a sign of love.

It got worse when Rip and his little brother were born. Both little wolves. Both feeding her magic. Reminding their father of the world he could never be part of.

They were isolated and far away from her relatives. And magic doesn't work on humans. It could not protect her when Rip's father came home, drunk out of his mind, eager to let loose of his anger on them. Enjoying the strength he had over the kids. Over the witch that could not hurt him.

Rip wasn't that stupid to think it was the humanity of his father at fault. No, it was very much the beastly in him, way more than anything he or his little brother had.

Rip had been young and slow to grow into his shadow without examples to follow. But whenever he did reach for it, whenever he wanted to protect what was dearest to him, his mother stopped him. With her witchy calmness. With the humming magic in her skin, cooling his temper, his shadow receding.

Until his father's fist came flying.

On the days he didn't drink, his father was completely different. Funny, kind, acting like he cared about them, like he was sorry about everything. He would spend days making up for the damage he caused in one night. Promising everytime he would never do it again.

Why his mother let herself believe it, Rip didn't know.

He only knew that he had been gathering the strength, that he had been hoping to be able to get in the way, without his mother's touch to thwart his efforts.

Until one day it was too late.

"I came from school that day. It was raining, so I ran. The morning wasn't different from any other morning. Father didn't have a drink for the whole weekend, I thought it would be a good week. Then I came home and found her...and Ryan..." Rip gulped down heavily. "He was leaning over them, still screaming. Laughing. In hysterics. I don't know if he knew what he did, if he was enjoying it like he always did, when he was drunk. I don't know if it was the alcohol's fault. Did it make him into something else or reveal who he really was?"

Rip looked up hesitantly, looking for Isaiah. He wasn't at the back of the room, which had his breath catching—but then he noticed him. Sitting crossleged on the floor next to his bed.

The Executioner wasn't looking at Rip, but at the opposite wall. It almost seemed like he was meditating.

"You regret it?" Isaiah asked calmly.

Rip gritted his teeth, before forcing his jaw to relax. His side was throbbing. He was pushing his limits, weaker still without his shadow. "Yes. I should have done it sooner. This way, it's like I killed them all myself. Because I hesitated too long."

"You would have done it, knowing what it made you afterwards? How old were you?"

"12 and half." He had been on the streets since.

"Hmmm." Isaiah continued to stare at the wall, shoulders relaxed. "Well, I was right about the context." Isaiah put his hands on his knees.

"Y‐you mean—"

"My offer still stands. If you stay here, I can help you get your shadow back under control. It's not unreasonable. Just surrounded by hostility for too long." He got up.

"Here? Where?"

Isaiah nodded. "Ah right. You need your shadow to heal faster so having it rolled down isn't ideal." He thought for a moment, his tone now so casual like he was discussing the weather. "The apartment opposite us is free. If you stay that close, our pack can protect you. Dylan can help you out until you are better. He doesn't have a place in Vienna either."

Rip blinked rapidly. The emotional turmoil left him exhausted, he couldn't muster enough strength to be shocked.

"You would—"

"I'll pay it half a year in advance. You and Dylan can pay me back later, when you are back on your feet and your training is finished."

Rip couldn't believe his ears, fighting to keep his eyes open. His thoughts were all muddled together.

Isaiah gave him a quick assessing look, before stepping away. Rip was too exhausted and appreciated the Executioner leaving him alone, when he felt so weak.

He was too tired to decide what to feel. It was confusing. Would he really be able to get his shadow under control to the point he could work human jobs to pay Isaiah back?

And if he didn't, what else would he be forced to pay with?

#sickfic #whump writing #knife wound #recovery #angst #werewolf wip #my writing #Rip

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krscblw · 10 months ago

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Ghoul scent associations pt. 4 - Imaginary Authors edition

Imaginary Authors is one of my favorite perfume companies, and I recently got samples of their entire collection! Of course, my first thought was to apply that to the ghouls. So here that is!!

Some of these are ones that I used on other lists that I still agree with, but most of them are new. Also, as is the nature of using a very limited number of options, not all of them fit perfectly, but I did my best, and I think like 90% of them fit very well.

Usual warning: This might look weird on mobile, but it should be good on desktop. Apologies, I'd fix it if I knew how.

Aeon: TELEGRAMA – Imaginary Authors

Talc, lavender absolute, black pepper, teak, amyris, vanilla powder, fresh linens

Telegrama is a very powdery, peppery, gentle lavender scent that fades into soft vanilla. If it was a color, it would be a gray-purple so pale it almost looks white. It’s comforting but not childish, classic but unique. It smells like Aeon’s particular brand of simple comfort.

Aether: Blend No. 83 – Imaginary Authors

Dark chocolate, sugar cane rum, Arabica coffee, velvety foam, benzoin, musk

Blend No. 83 is a sweet, musky, chocolate-coffee scent modeled after an espresso martini, but it isn’t as gourmand as it sounds. It settles into a dark musk with the suggestion of coffee and chocolate. It’s grown-up but not at all boring, just like Aether.

Alpha: BULL'S BLOOD – Imaginary Authors

Geranium, Spanish rose, patchouli, black musk, tobacco, sandalwood, bull's blood

Bull’s Blood is very musky, smoky, and spicy, and comes on strong enough to knock you over. However, it’s also very sweet, and dries down to more of a smoky-sweet almost-floral. It’s not too serious but has an almost shocking intensity to it, and is potentially polarizing – like Alpha. If it was a color it would be dark burgundy.

Cirrus: SAINT JULEP – Imaginary Authors

Sweet mint, tangerine, southern magnolia, bourbon, grisalva, sugarcube

Saint Julep is a very sweet, realistic gourmand with notes of mint and tangerine in the foreground and bourbon in the background. Despite being lovely in a very straightforward way, it’s dimensional and grown-up, which reminds me of Cirrus, and has light, minty notes that remind me of air as an element.

Cumulus: FOX IN THE FLOWERBED – Imaginary Authors

Jasmine, tulips, frankincense, wildflower honey, pink peppercorns, silver thistle, alpine air

Fox in the Flowerbed is a very pretty, cloying, sweet jasmine and honey scent that makes me think of a field of wildflowers high up on a mountain. This scent is sweet and sticky but also light in a way that reminds me of Cumulus. If it was a color it would be pale blue.

Dewdrop: A CITY ON FIRE – Imaginary Authors

Cade oil, spikenard, cardamom, clearwood, dark berries, labdanum, a burnt match

This is very smoky and woody in the beginning, but it fades into a sweet berry scent. It really does smell like fire and matches. It reminds me of spending all night next to a bonfire. It’s almost overpowering at first, but sweet underneath, just like Dew.

(Also, this was one of the fragrances that solidified Dew's scent for me. All the other ones I've picked for him are based on this lmao)

Ifrit: O, UNKNOWN! – Imaginary Authors

Black tea, lapsang souchong tincture, orris butter, Kyoto moss, musk balsam, sandalwood

This is a very subdued, powdery black tea scent. It’s musky and dark, very mysterious, and somehow not at all gourmand. It’s dark and faintly smoky in a way befitting of a fire ghoul, with the black tea scent that I associate with Ifrit. If it was a color it would be a gray so dark it’s almost black.

Mist: FALLING INTO THE SEA – Imaginary Authors

Lemon, bergamot, grapefruit, lychee, tropical flowers, warm sand

Falling into the Sea is a sweet, citrusy, tropical scent that has a balmy, sandy, coconut background. It smells like a tropical beach on a perfect day. If it was a color it would be the shade of teal that super-clear water is. I typically associate greener, more aquatic scents with Mist, but this fits a different interpretation of her. Mist in a very good mood, maybe.

Mountain: CAPE HEARTACHE – Imaginary Authors

Douglas fir, pine resin, western hemlock, vanilla leaf, strawberry, old growth, mountain fog

Cape Heartache is a gorgeous, sweet pine and strawberry scent. It’s very forest-y without being too atmospheric, and it smells like the fantasy version of a lush, foggy old growth forest. It feels very slow, peaceful, and grounded, and is a mix of masc and fem, which reminds me of Mountain. (Also I smelled this for the first time and absolutely fell in love with it, which I kinda did with Mountain too lmao) If it was a color it would be the silvery green of evergreen needles.

Nimbus/Aurora: SLOW EXPLOSIONS – Imaginary Authors

Saffron, rose absolute, leather, apple, benzoin, cashmeran, Arpora night market

Slow Explosions is sweet and fruity with an earthy element from the leather. It’s pretty and almost delicate until you register the deeper, more grounded notes, similar to the way Nimbus seems dainty at first glance but decidedly is not. Overall lovely. If it was a color it would be glowy yellow-orange.

Omega: MEMOIRS OF A TRESPASSER – Imaginary Authors

Madagascar vanilla, guaiacwood, myrrh, benzoin resin, ambrette seeds, oak barrels

Memoirs of a Trespasser is a very woody scent with a little bit of smokiness and vanilla. There’s also something a little bit animalic. It reminds me of a late 1800s adventurer type with lots of maps and wooden chests full of interesting things. It’s sophisticated and mysterious with a sense of worldliness that fits Omega.

Rain: EVERY STORM A SERENADE – Imaginary Authors

Danish spruce, eucalyptus, vetiver, calone, ambergris, Baltic sea mist

This scent smells like a rocky coast, lined with evergreen trees and blanketed in mist. It’s cold, multifaceted, and surprisingly magnetic (like Rain). I don’t usually like aquatics but this is beautiful, it's one of my new favorites from Imaginary Authors. If it was a color it would be dark greenish-blue.

Sunshine/Stratus: IN LOVE WITH EVERYTHING – Imaginary Authors

Raspberry, citrus pulp, coconut palm sugar, Madame Isaac Pereire (rose), sandalwood, tropical punch, stardust

This scent is very raspberry/fruit punch heavy with a sandalwood undertone. It isn’t overwhelmingly sweet, but it’s very fruity. It’s Miami-in-the-80s themed and that definitely shows. It’s playful, fun, and sweet-but-grounded, just like Sunny. If it was a color it would be magenta.

Swiss: A WHIFF OF WAFFLECONE – Imaginary Authors

Vanilla, salted caramel, Saigon cinnamon, heavy cream, sandalwood, orgeat, scoop shop

This scent is a gourmand with a woody background. To me it smells like burnt sugar, heavy, clingy sandalwood, vanilla, and sweet spices. It’s more mature than the notes would lead you to believe. It isn’t the type of scent I usually associate with Swiss, but I can see it fitting an alternate interpretation. Maybe quint/fire or true multi Swiss. However, it does have the sweet, intense, almost smothering qualities I associate with him. If it was a color it would be the very light gold of slightly caramelized sugar.

Zephyr: YESTERDAY HAZE – Imaginary Authors

Fig, iris, cream, tonka, tree bark, walnut bitters, orchard dust

Yesterday Haze is a smooth, creamy but dry, slightly sweet scent. It smells sort of antique, but not outdated. It’s sophisticated and very pretty, like Zephyr, and has the dusty, powdery feel I associate with them.

(One of my absolute favorites from IA, for what it’s worth)

Thank you for reading!!

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thats-a-lot-of-cortisol · 1 year ago

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Decided to draw all of my current tavs!!

From left to right:

- Corentin (they/them): wood elf storm sorcerer; resisting durge; romancing Wyll; just got into Act III. They're having A Time. Has the volo eye

- Peregrine "Peri" (he/him): "half-elf" abjuration wizard (he's a changeling but I made his save before I learned about that giant multiverse species mod); romancing Gale. I'm almost done with his save, I just have, like, 3.5 quests to do (including two(?) boss fights). His game will be the first finished one. Does not have the volo eye

- Io (they/she): seldarine drow cleric of Eilistraee; probably going to romance Astarion? Maybe? They're my tav for a shared save and we're not very far yet (haven't even hit the goblin camp) so we'll see lol. I refuse to give her the volo eye

- Candor (he/him): tiefling bard (I cannot for the life of me remember what subclass); just finished the goblin camp; romancing Shadowheart (be bi do crimes etc etc). Has the volo eye

- Balsam (any pronouns): human draconic bloodline sorcerer; my honour mode tav! Not sure how far they're gonna make it...even just the temple ruins have been rough so far. Hasn't even met volo yet

- Diodore "Dora" (she/her): underdark drow oath of ancients paladin; romancing Astarion; just about to hit the last set of fights in Act II. She's a follower of Corellon and would have been a cleric if underdark drow weren't locked into Lolth. Has the volo eye

#i made memes of the original three (peri corentin and dora) that i'll probably post at some point??#i don't know io and balsam well enough yet to be able to make memes of them but i'll probably knock out a few for candor #peri didnt have white streaks at the beginning of the game...he's only 33 but he fought tiamat three years ago and he's.#not pleased to be in the middle of More Bullshit #candor was raised in the Guild by his father after they had to run from his mother (who wasn't...stoked to find out her son sprouted horns)#dora had to escape the underdark after her father (who also secretly worshipped corellon) was found out and turned into a drider #balsam was raised by a silver dragon after their town abandoned them b/c they were showing signs of sorcery #(turns out that happens sometimes when you set up shop right outside a dragons lair. who knew??)#i'm still figuring out what io's deal is #will keep you posted #bg3 #bg3 art #bg3 tav #digital art #character art #baldurs gate 3 #my art #io dein #diodore #peregrine faulkner #candor del mar #balsam the silver #corentin

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echo-goes-mmm · 10 months ago

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Moonflower #3

Masterpost

Warnings: fear of non-con (brief)

He was already awake when the knock came. Kit opened the door.

“Her Majesty wishes you to join her for dinner,” said the servant.

“Yes, sir.” Kit closed the door behind him. A guard was posted nearby, and how long had he been there?

He followed the servant, keeping his eyes down. There were so many people in the halls, and all the eyes on him made him feel even smaller than usual.

It was a good thing he had time to nap, because the walk was long. He couldn’t keep track of all the turns and staircases.

Eventually they came to a large room with a long table, not unlike the ones at revels. But instead of being laden with food and wine, it was very nearly empty. Only a white lace tablecloth and a candelabra at the very end, along with two place settings.

Mistress was sitting at the head, and she gestured for him to sit at her right.

He obeyed.

“I thought we’d start off simple, with four courses.”

Kit didn’t understand what she was talking about, but he nodded along.

“This is your soup spoon” she pointed, “and then we move to the salad fork. Followed by the entree utensils, and then dessert.” Oh. Four dishes. That made sense.

“Yes, Mistress.” he looked down at the cutlery on the table. Silver, by the looks of it.

“If you forget which one to use, just work your way in. Any questions?” He better ask, so he wouldn’t get punished so badly when he messed up.

“What if I can’t remember which one I just used?” If four courses was simple, what was complicated?

“You leave the utensils on the plate, and the servants will take it away when you’re finished. Now, do as I do.”

Kit copied the way she unfolded her cloth napkin, placing it just as she did.

Two servants came through the doors from what smelled like the kitchen. One with a crystal pitcher of water and the other with a bottle of wine.

“Tonight we have butternut squash soup, a seasonal salad with a honey vinaigrette, balsamic glazed lamb shank with white bean purée, and a honey yogurt panna cotta with blood orange sauce.” rattled off the servant while she poured them water.

Shit. There was honey in two of the four planned dishes. Were they trying to get him drunk?

“Chef has picked out a white wine with notes of pear.” The servant with the wine uncorked the bottle, and held it near Iris for her to sniff.

“Excellent. Thank you, Percy.” Percy poured her a glass, and turned to Kit.

“Wine?” he asked.

They didn’t know. Kit glanced at the queen, who was swirling her glass. He nodded, unsure if it would offend her to decline.

He’d just have to avoid the honey as much as possible, and drink the wine. It smelled… alright. Almost like faerie wine if he ignored the bitter acrid scent.

Maybe it tasted better than it smelled.

The servants left, leaving the pitcher, and he hesitantly took a sip of water. Blessed water, clean and cool.

Kit avoided gulping it down, as it was clear this was an etiquette lesson, and making a fool of his mistress would have terrible consequences.

Instead, he sipped it slowly before putting the chalice back in its exact place. Not a hair off.

Percy came back, two steaming bowls of soup perfectly balanced on his tray. He placed each one in front of them, Iris first, and then him before leaving.

“I informed the chef to make all of your food without salt, and in copper pans instead of steel,” said the queen.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Iris, when it's just us.”

“Yes, Iris.”

The soup was delicious. Kit wasn’t much of a cook himself; preferring to hunt and forage over the effort of building a fire and such. Of course, at this point any meal would taste fantastic. He copied the specific way she ate, keeping the spoon from clinking against the delicate china.

Soon they were finished, and Percy whisked away the bowls and replaced them with the next course.

“You don’t speak much, do you?”

Kit hesitated. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Queen Iris picked up her salad fork. “Do I frighten you?”

“Yes.” What was the point of all this? What did she want from him that required intimate knowledge of forks?

He took a bite of the salad; he no longer cared about the honey.

“I don’t mean to,” she said. “Really, I don’t.” There was that casualness again, but she was stiff. Like the servants were listening in and she didn’t want to be caught.

“Okay.”

She smiled at him, and then suddenly smoothed her expression, reaching for her wine.

Was it an accident, or more manipulation? Either way, the result was the same. If she was kind to him to achieve her own ends, that was still kindness. He’d take it, and use it to his ends.

“What do you want with me?” Kit asked.

“We’ll discuss that later, when we're alone.”

His insides squirmed at the potential implications, and he ate to cover his discomfort. The honey was getting to him a little, more than it would if he weren’t so sick.

Percy brought in the lamb. “Would you care for more wine, your grace?”

“Ah, no thank you Percy.”

Percy turned to Kit, and he shook his head. He hadn’t touched his wine glass yet.

The lamb was tender and made his mouth water in between bites.

“Your chef is very good,” he said, surprising himself. Damn honey.

“Isn’t she?” said Iris, her posture relaxing. “I’m quite fond of her. Between you and me, I think she’s trying to impress you.”

“Oh?”

“Lamb is usually for special occasions or on request.”

“She doesn’t need to do that. I don- didn’t- often cook anyway.”

“Well don’t tell Christine that. I could do with a little spoiling.” winked Iris.

Dessert came too soon, with more honey on his plate. Kit already felt a little flush. He couldn’t afford to be rude, so he took a small bite of the dessert. The taste of oranges blossomed on his tongue, the perfect balance of tart and sweet.

Just for a moment, it reminded him of home.

The honey relaxed him, tension leaving his shoulders and flowing out of him. His head was pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

Luckily for him, the mortal wine seemed to have the same effect on his mistress.

They finished the meal, and the queen stood. “Come,” she said. “We’ll talk more in my rooms.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

#Chef Christine: everyone likes honey right? RIGHT?!#Sous chef; sweating: uh huh definitely!#Kit; also sweating: are they trying to get me drunk???#my writing #whump #slavery whump #fae whumpee #royal caretaker #whumpee x caretaker

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crimsonsongbird · 4 months ago

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WYLL RAVENGARD

Correspondences: Contracts, Pacts, Honor, Compassion, Magic, Power, Strength, Charisma, Politics, Protection, Goals, Dreams, Chains, Empathy, Kindness, War, Fighting, Injury, Freedom, Yearning, Confidence, Skill, Swordsmanship, Swords, Justice, Memories, Life, Transformation, Knowledge, Journey, Travel, Willpower, Courting, Leadership, Messages, Acceptance, Determination, Movement, Motivation, Persuasion, & Love

Herbs/Plants: Sassafras, Balsam, Black Pepper, Carnation, Sage, & Sunflower

Crystals: Garnet, Pyrite, Diamond, Obsidian, Tiger’s Eye, & Citrine

Elements: Fire & Air

Celestial Body/Planet: Mercury

Numbers: 1, 2, & 8

Scents: Fire, Musk, & Metallic

Candles: Red, Black, & Silver

Magic Types: Cord Cutting, Protection, Warding, Shielding, Leadership, Deals, Messages, Communication, Travel, Strength, Power, Willpower, Political, Goals, Dreams, Skill, Swordsmanship, Charisma, Overcoming, Confidence, Self-Love, Acceptance, Movement, Motivation, Justice, & Transformation

#magical correspondences #pop culture correspondences #pop culture witchcraft #pop culture magic #pop culture practices #wyll correspondences #wyll ravengard correspondences #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #my post #my work #gif #wyll #wyll ravengard

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feliniakattus · 8 months ago

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Character Card: Lychnis, ft. Balsam

Name: Lychnis

Role: Councillor/Kitsitter of the Skulk

Description: A short silver lynx point molly with amber eyes. She has metallic blue scales and wears a leather belt with a sheathed knife. She holds a small cub, her son Balsam, in her arms.

Age: 8 cycles, roughly 40 human years.

Orientation/Gender: Polyamorous lesbian trans molly (she/they)

Personality: Stoic, Quiet, Affectionate

#xenofiction #original work #worldbuilding #fantasy world #fantasy writing #xenomog #xenomoggy #my art #original art #character card #felinia: lychnis #felinia: balsam

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jamessunderlandgf · 1 year ago

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—OCS as OBSCURE ASSOCIATIONS, pt. 6

we are COOKING this one goes out to my beloved fc5 deputy and all of my beloved fc5 moots @teamhawkeye ✨ @florbelles ✨ @adelaidedrubman ✨ @unholymilf ✨ @bloodofvalyria ✨ @fadedjacket ✨ @confidentandgood and you!

ANIMAL: king corso. american black bear. hammerhead shark.

COLORS: yellow. electric orange. burning red. silver.

MONTH: march, april.

SONGS: think of me once in a while, take care | pennsylvania furnace, lingua ignota | genesis, justice.

NUMBER: 9. the angel number for finishing something that was started.

PLANTS: poinsettias. sequoias. lavender. wildflowers.

SMELLS: leather. campfires. cedar. balsam.

GEMSTONE: jasper. tourmaline.

TIME OF DAY: high noon.

SEASON: very end of summer, early fall. before the leaves start falling, but have already turned.

PLACES: the henbane. the garden of eden. a lakeside cabin. an escape room. the crossroads. lost in the sauce. a forest fire. a burning church.

FOOD: old mcdonald’s fries. cheeseburgers. chocolate cake. breakfast sandwiches.

DRINKS: piss warm, shitty beer. redbull. apple moonshine.

ELEMENT: fire, obviously.

ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: aries.

SEASONINGS: salt, pepper, oregano. old bay.

SKY: cloudy, with just a touch of sunlight breaking through.

WEATHER: heavy rain.

MAGICAL POWER: pyromancy.

WEAPONS: shovel. bloodied knuckles.

SOCIAL MEDIA: tiktok live.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: a sexy smokey eye shadow.

CANDY: licorice. any chocolate bar.

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: dune buggy. modified golf cart. something unreasonable.

ART STYLE: expressionism.

FEAR: seeing yourself live long enough to become the villain. you know.

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: phoenix.

PIECE OF STATIONARY: dingy business card that says “YOU ARE NOT SAVED.”

THREE EMOJIS: 🔥👊🏻😎

CELESTIAL BODY: jupiter.

#insanely heavy handed with the fire motif in this one gang #anyways. you know #oc: oslo avery

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zenmai--jikake--no--komoriuta · 5 months ago

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5 Character Associations - D'nyr

EMOTIONS/FEELINGS:

Deep sentimentality (like wistful late-night introspection of days gone by)

A quiet strength (a shoulder to lean on, the heartbeat of a loved one held close, a solid foundation despite shuddering winds)

Still waters that belie their true depth (the world knows well his calm and reticent demeanor, all sharp angles and uncomfortable marks shorn off)

Generosity to a fault (give give give but never take)

Unspoken words and feelings, bottling things up ("this too shall pass")

COLOURS:

Deep indigo

Rolanberry red

Bright golden yellow

Sable brown

Platinum grey

SCENTS:

Sandalwood

Jasmine

Balsam

Petrichor

Woodsmoke

OBJECTS:

An engraved silver ring

Timeworn practice gloves

An overflowing box of sentimental treasures

A mug of soothing chamomile tea, neither too hot nor cold

Well-loved fishing gear, a mahogany rod long stained by seaspray and rain

BODY LANGUAGE:

In General: Loose “casual” poses, limbs more often tucked-inwards; always a bit sleepy-looking (due to his downturned eyes); doesn't emote too strongly, conveyed more through subtle movements/turns/etc. than through “big” facial expressions or gesturing

Standing: Casual but alert -- one hand on hip, leaning slightly to the side; subtle flexing of fists

Greetings: A raised palm with index & middle fingers up; firm handshakes; a wheeling swish of the tail; smiles that crinkle the eyes

Reflective: Head usually tilted to one side so that bangs fall in face somewhat; holding chin in thought; brows knitted and eyes half or fully closed

Insecurity: Withdraws in on self, posture and movements becoming more closed; fidgeting and subtle restlessness; avoids eye contact; tugs at strands of hair; agitated tail whipping; flexing or cracking knuckles sporadically; deep sighs and closed eyes

AESTHETICS:

Early mornings, quiet reading and soft lo-fi mixes

Nostalgia; a summer breeze rustling through fields of grass

The comforting glow of streetlamps in deep fog

Strong muscles that belie a merciful heart

Wanderlust and the pull of sights unseen

SONGS:

The Anthem of Mr Dark -- The Arcadian Wild

Horizon -- Good Scott

Battle Symphony -- Linkin Park

Winners Never Quit -- Owl City

Lost in the Echo -- Linkin Park

---------------------

Tagged by: initially yoinked from @ishgard but later tagged by @arty-ffxiv! glad to finally have this out of draft-purgatory :') Tagging: @arty-ffxiv

#oc meme #ffxiv #d'nyr #d'nyr fellcrest #I have been stuck on that very first set of questions for 3 months and I'm very glad to be done with it lol #could not for the life of me find a fitting way to word everything and it's been changed up and swapped out a million different times

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coldshrugs · 1 year ago

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12 for the fluff prompts 🥺💗

thank you fren!! this is SO late but i missed them so. here we go.

closer to you

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau word count: 815 note: this prompt was "pushing a strand of hair behind their ear" and uh... we got there in the end :')

Muddy darkness thaws to warm pink-gold scattering behind the thin skin of eyelids. She is still in the edgeless realm of half-sleep, unburdened by body or name. Unaware of the exact space she occupies, only that it is too warm.

It would be a simple thing to drift off again, but even now she recognizes the fracture in his routine.

Somewhere outside the boundary, he breathes, and she hears it here, a deep, comforting rumble her mind cannot help but latch onto.

Inhale (Estinien).

She stretches, languorously rolling towards the sound. She breathes with him.

Exhale...

(Estinien)

And now there is a sense of place. They’re in their suite. In their bed, and he’s still here. Her heart (she must have one, the part that recognizes him before remembering herself) is swollen at the thought.

Inhale.

Balsam. Charred vanilla. Uncomplicated and earth-grown, distilled into a sweet amber scent that clings to him like smoke. This is the tether that drags her toward reality.

Estinien.

Exhale.

Estinien. And her name chases his until both settle into something solid. Estinien and...

Io opens her eyes to a flood of soft golden light. The details are unfocused. Here, the bed and her pillow. There, the thin cotton quilt shoved down to her waist. The humidity, thick and oppressive, creeps through the window at her head, relieved only by the feeble breeze that ripples the gauzy curtain.

Her eyes adjust, and Estinien is golden, too, painted by dappled patches of the morning sun. The steady rise and fall of his chest shifts the light. It dances over and into the valleys of long-healed scars, warping into mesmerizing patterns.

It is rare to wake before him. His days have early starts and late endings, a routine worn deep by years of disciplined training, and still more years of dread at what he might find in his dreams. So he rises with the sun, leaving Io to sleep while he readies himself for the day. He wakes her eventually, when only a sliver of morning remains, with the promise of breakfast from a favorite restaurant, or a cup of coffee, or a bath already drawn.

Anything to keep busy.

Then there are mornings like this one when the exhaustion catches up to him. Mornings when his familiar weight and warmth in their bed surprise her. Io savors these opportunities to watch him sleep in.

She props herself on an elbow.

He lies on his back, one hand on his bare chest, the other resting between them. Asleep and utterly untroubled, Estinien's face is softer than the version she holds in her mind. Free of the lines that sit between his brows, free of the tension in his jaw. Dark circles still ring his eyes, evidence of his usual sleeping habits, though they're less stark in this light.

As much as she loathes to disturb his hard-earned peace, Io cannot resist sweeping a stray silver lock away from his cheek, tucking it behind the blade of his ear. Her hand falls to his chest. She settles into the pillow again.

Estinien pries open an eye. "What are you doing?"

"Go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you."

It's too late. He rolls onto his side to face her, and the strand of hair she tucked falls loose again, as obstinate as the man in front of her.

"I overslept." He grins, squinting against the light. "And you let me."

"And I'll do the same tomorrow. You need the rest." Io's hand returns to his cheek. "Besides, I like waking up with you like this."

"Mm, perhaps it's more likely you want a partner in midmorning indolence." His tone is teasing, his voice syrupy, and he yawns loudly, demonstrating the point.

Io laughs, preparing a quip to celebrate her victory, but she doesn't get the chance to answer–Estinien's arms snake around her waist, and he pulls her across the short distance that separates them. The heat is sticky and stifling, so they kick off the quilt. Io curls into him, forehead to forehead, smiling softly at the patterns his fingers trace across her back.

He kisses her slowly, content to linger in each deliberate movement. His lips part, and the kiss deepens, but there is no heat, no request for more than this quiet intimacy. For the second time this morning, her heart feels too big for her body, tenderly beating against her ribcage as if it's trying to find its way into his.

Estinien pulls away and peace returns to his face for a moment.

“Fine,” he sighs, looking at her with an adoring sort of resignation. If Io melts, it will have nothing to do with Thavnair’s heat. “If you would have me waste half my day here, I expect to be plied with coffee. ‘Tis only fair.”

She has never been happier to leave her bed.

#azia writes #io laithe #io/estinien #i am always impatient to post so if you see me editing this for the next three days no you don't #idk i was trying something here and some Trusted Pals said i should leave it so :> and we all know i'm flowery as hell #anyway if i'm not thinking about them i'm dead or bodysnatched

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lastleggysee · 2 years ago

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Substitute Lovers - Sage Lesath (part 4)

Word count: 3,608

Warnings: None that I can think of aside from character-typical arguing and mentions of Balsam's death.

Part 3 here but it's not super relevant to the chapter.

In a gesture that provides almost as much comfort as it does dread (maybe our worlds aren’t so different after all, maybe those emotions not so far removed), you eat breakfast under the looming news of recent attacks on the outskirts of town. Anisa recounts the scene impersonally, almost detached, and you reminisce of news broadcasters and reporters from your own time - all she’s missing is a microphone. You try to focus on the taste of tea.

“...will be stationing knights in the area for the time being, but with half of the homes there in ruins our presence is only a gesture of safety in the face of the tragedy at hand.” Anisa pauses, and you half expect to hear This has been Anisa Anka, reporting to you live from Fathom. Back to you, Felix, for the Starsworn Sports Segment.

Instead, she is quiet. Anisa’s mouth opens, the flutterings of a statement dancing there, but as if by second thought she pulls her lips into a tight, thin line. She pushes a piece of fruit across her plate with her fork, as though she’ll find the words she wanted to say underneath it. You suppose that has about as good a chance as any, given the circumstances.

A neighborhood mere miles from you has been burnt to the ground, and here you sit with a full plate of food, satisfied and safe. You wonder what those citizens had for breakfast the day the fires started.

The sounds in the dining hall feel too muted, too normal, for a moment. Anisa’s fork scraping against her glass plate, Felix drumming his index finger against his mug, the sounds of Sage stirring awake (is he moving furniture in there?) - and if you’d have landed a few miles in a different direction when you arrived in Astrea, you may not have even lived to see this morning.

“Well Annie, at any rate, the implications of your knights’ presence is preferable to the implications of their absence, I suppose,” Felix says, his tone whispering an uncharacteristic silver lining. “Whoever is to blame, may they rest uneasily with the knowledge that the Sunstone Order has their eye on the case.”

“Frankly, Felix, the implications of needing stationed knights in the first place are harrowing enough that we should all be resting uneasily.” Anisa says sharply.

Felix’s only reply is the gentle thud of his mug being rested upon the table. She’s right, and there will be no comfort.

The breakfast on your plate looks more like a bitter pill with each passing moment. You cast another glance at Anisa, and her face looks paler than usual from behind the curtains of her hair. She looks almost gray in the early sun, as though the morning light was being drained directly from her. The surface of her face remains stoic, unbothered. How long would she stay like that, if no one disturbed her?

“Well, I suppose it really is just like old times, Annie,” Felix whispers into his cup over the sounds of Sage pounding down the hallway. A cloud passes over the sun outside, tinting the room in muted shades and grays.

“G’mornin’ party people,” Sage grumbles as he trudges past you all, bottle in hand. The scrape of his chair against the floor seems to echo throughout the room. Balancing on the back two legs of his chair, Sage rattles the china as he sits his boots on the table next to Felix’s plate.

Visibly annoyed, Felix flicks his hand and the dishes rise from the table to begin floating back to the kitchen. Once again, the only sounds in the room originate from Sage as he attempts to uncork his wine bottle, gauntlet clacking against the glass there.

“A bit early for spirits, is it not?” Felix grumbles, glaring at the soles of Sage’s boots.

Sage has taken to using his teeth to try and pull the cork from the bottle, making admittedly unfortunate eye contact with Felix as he sinks his teeth into the material. He gives the bottle a sharp tug with his left hand and the bottle opens, splashing back onto his red coat. Sage spits the cork onto the table and it rolls past Felix, trailing a thin, purple stream.

“A bit early to be dressed for a funeral, don’t you think?” Sage mocks Felix’s accent, taking a big, almost sickly-sounding, gulp from the bottle.

“It’s satin,” Felix hisses.

“Perfect, just like a coffin,” Sage belches in Felix’s direction.

“Exactly. Would you prefer a closer examination of one?” Felix’s hands ball into fists of warning, but Anisa slams hers onto the table with a resounding thud. Gloved fingers pinch the bridge of her nose with her other hand.

“Is now really the time?” She works out through clenched teeth.

You’d be forgiven for forgetting how commanding Anisa’s presence can be when she chooses so. Buttons on the front of her uniform signify ranks and honors you won’t know (and shudder at the thought of how she earned them), sword hanging perfectly on her hip, ready to be drawn. In your mind, she’s the glue of your whole group, the one who makes it a point to ask if you’ve eaten today, the one who giggles at stories of past, better times over drinks.

Now, sits at the head of the table not only as herself, but as a Knight of the Sunstone Order. Even Sage quiets himself.

“Sage, do your contacts have any news concerning the border attacks?”

His golden eyes are on you before he answers (almost apologetic?), but you aren’t able to translate the message he wants to convey before he speaks.

“Nothing, except that a bunch of your guys are holding up the streets,” he chuckles. “With the knights out like that, word comes a lot slower. People being scared and all.”

Anisa scoffs. “Criminals, you mean. The only thing the people of that village have to fear is exactly who, what, the knights are set to defend them against.”

“Those criminals,” Sage sits the bottle down on the table, his tone low. “Have lived next to your precious citizens for decades. Their homes were burnt down too. And now, they’ve got your knights on their back hunting warrants while they sleep in the streets. Like I said, word comes slower when they’re laying low.”

You watch the line of his jaw harden as he grinds his teeth, already on edge. Clouds blow outside again, casting shadows across his face. He looks older than he did mere minutes ago, and you wonder who he’s defending - his contacts or himself?

“Besides, even if they were talking, it’s not like I’d have time to hear anything. Between all this training, and meetings, and damn bodyguard duty,” Sage gestures to you, shaking his head. “There’s no way.”

“Of course not, assisting the Starsworn would impede your drinking-” Felix starts, but Sage cuts him off with a glare, his ears twitching.

Are you that much of a burden to him? Are those nights the two of you spent drinking the reason all those homes were burnt to the ground? Were you just another task for him to check off a list?

“Regardless, Sage, this is information we need. Not just the knights, but us as well. Felix has…theories.” Anisa’s voice lowers.

“Oh? And what might those be?” Sage is eyeing the bottle, already half-emptied, like looking at an escape hatch on a flooding ship.

Do they even remember you’re there?

Felix fiddles with something on his sleeves for a moment too long. “Like Annie said, these aren’t the first attacks. I, uh, happened across some of her reports of the incidents,” his ears flush. “They read like an army passed through, but what witnesses remain to tell tale of it all say there were only a dozen or less…it all points to-”

“Corruption.” Sage finishes. Fisting the neck of the bottle, he turns the bottom skyward. Clouds of dust arise from his tail flicking back and forth against the ground, specks of sediment catching stray rays of sunlight.

Anisa takes a deep, steadying breath before replying. “And if he’s right-”

“Oh, of course, he’s never misjudged-”

“Sage, please,” Anisa cuts him off, bottle green eyes flicking to you for a moment. Felix’s biggest mistake, forced to eat with them over breakfast each morning. If he’s right, it may well be the first time he’s been so since he brought you into Astrea. “If he’s right, then this won’t be the last strike.

“Aye. So what evidence do you have, anyways?” Sage turns to Felix. “Some creepy vision in your crystal ball? Or did the crows come up and tell you this morning?”

“The knights found bottles, Sage.” Felix’s voice is barely over a whisper. He doesn’t have to say the second part of his sentence aloud, but it hangs over the table nonetheless. Just like Balsam.

* * *

Balsam’s face, warping into something dark and unrecognizable, right before your eyes. The place where his eyes, wrinkled at the corners, turned to holes red and hot as campfire embers. Balsam lunging for you before Sage’s blade sinks through his torso. The scent of ash in the room, although nothing was burning. The heaviness. Your heartbeat hammering against the inside of your chest, pounding in your ears. Sage’s face as he sheaths his sword.

Sage only spoke about this with you once since it happened. He was drunk, sliding down the wall of the corridor as you tried to walk him to his room. Having already attempted to invite you to his chambers that night, even with his advances rejected he seemed uncharacteristically quiet. You squat before him, hand wrapped around his wrist, chastising him for having so much to drink. He smiles one of his prize-winning smiles at you.

“I just keep seeing him,” Sage is still smiling, but something is off. His hand rests on your forearm with an unfamiliar tightness. “On the floor of his own home. And I put him there.”

You pause for a moment, unsure of what to say, if he’d even remember you saying anything. A moment ago he was all flushed cheeks and slurred propositions, and it all felt so far away.

“You did what you had to, Sage.”

His laugh sounds like a bark, cold and unfamiliar. “Maybe.” He licks his lips, eyes staring into the distance past your left shoulder. “But it coulda been me there, instead of him. Maybe it should’ve.”

* * *

Your eyes move between the three of them, none of whom dare to make eye contact.

“I’m so sick of you damn magicians,” Sage scoffs. “So what if you’re right? What do you want us to do about it?”

“If we could get a sample, maybe we could at least know what we’re dealing with.” Anisa offers.

Sage laughs in the same way he did that drunken night on the floor, and you flinch. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all week. A Sunstone Knight walks into the black market. What’s the punchline?”

“Naturally, Anisa would be out of the question,” Felix mumbles. “I’d be glad to assist-”

“You’d be even worse!” Sage laughs again, his cheeks becoming pink. “That is, if you even make it to the gate without getting robbed.”

“Then it appears we have an ideal candidate, does it not?” Felix smirks, and Sage’s face drops.

“They won’t sell to me.” Sage shakes his head. “Even if we could find someone with the heat Anisa’s knights are applying, I’ve been seen around one too many times with you all.”

“With your reputation, Sage, I imagine you’ll fit right in with the lot of them.” Felix turns to face him for the first time since he sat down, pushing his boots off of the table.

The argument that breaks out is predictable, but no less grating. Anisa tries to keep the peace, offering that no decisions have to be made right now, but the insults are flying and the goalpost of the conversation is moved from strategizing to who can hurt the other the most. Sage and Felix are standing now, Felix’s chest inches from Sage, his fists curled tightly at his sides and nearly vibrating with energy. Anisa rises as well, hand on the hilt of her sword, ready for when, not if, their squabble comes to blows.

“I’ll go.” your voice is so quiet you barely hear it yourself, but Sage’s right ear twitches in your direction. You clear your throat and repeat yourself, hoping to sound stronger, more confident this time, but your tone just sounds deflated. “I can do it. I’ll go.”

“Like hell you will.” Sage shakes his head. “You may have picked up some tricks hanging around with me, but you’re barely less of a mark than Felix.”

“So come with me,” you meet his eyes. “You’re a mercenary, right? Escort me.”

Sage looks at you, and you catch a glimpse of emotion you don’t recognize. For a moment you’re trapped in the honey of his eyes like amber, and the rest of the room fades away. Sage doesn’t want this for anyone; the black market was almost too much of a shithole for him, and that’s saying something. The merchants there are as likely to rob you as to do business with you, and that’s not to mention what low lifes would be gathering around. Probably for some of the same of what you two are seeking out to buy.

“He paid me to protect you, so that’s what I’m doing,” Sage grumbles, shoving Felix half a foot back from his chest. “Find someone else.”

“Sage, they have a point-” Anisa begins, but he cuts her off.

“I don’t care. Point or not, it won’t be me dragging them through the black market.” Or dragging their body out of it.

“I want to.” Your voice is steel, and your words ring through his ears. “And I want you to come with me. Please.”

Please, Sage thinks. That’s all it takes, with you. One shitty little word, and your teeth sink into the bitter skin of his resolve. He says nothing, but glares at you with warning. Don’t make me take you. I’ll go with you anywhere. Believe me. Don’t make me lead you into this danger. Don’t go without me.

You shake your head at him, and it’s over.

The pact as good as sealed, Anisa and Felix begin making plans. You’re a mage student hoping to purchase some of the corruption to give you an edge on your magical examinations. You met Sage in a bar and paid him a hefty sum to lead you where you need to go. Once you’ve purchased everything, Sage will lead you to a safe place outside of the market and you’ll call upon Felix to teleport you back to Fathom. Easy.

They talk over each other, and their words flow over you like you’re not even there. You rub your hands over your wrists to make sure you haven’t sunk into the chair you were sitting in completely. Eyes go back and forth between Anisa and Felix, but you can’t muster the strength to cast your gaze to Sage. You’ve betrayed him, demanding this favor.

* * *

Sage deliberately keeps his past like a hidden relic in his closet; to be thought of from time to time, but never to be dug out and seen by the light of day so long as he’s living. Least of all by you.

It’s not that Sage thought this trip - mission - would be dangerous, though he was sure it would be. What caused his heart to skip a beat faster was the idea that he’d run into a street full of the relics of his past with no way to shield himself or you from them.

But hells, he couldn’t let you do it alone. He wouldn’t.

His head is starting to swim from the alcohol, but after last night’s events he couldn’t stand the idea of facing you sober. He felt embarrassed at his boldness - to think you’d even want someone like him to do what he did, kneeling before you in the corridor to button a jacket - and at his embarrassment. Sage moved his head from side to side as though the thoughts would unstick themselves from his mind like loose change.

You were notably silent through Felix and Anisa’s plotting. Sage watched as you dug into the skin of your thumbs when they described the plan of how you’d purchase the corruption. Your chest rose and fell more rapidly, eyes flitting between the two of them deliberately.

He wanted to say something, but his limbs felt heavy as his heart. So there Sage sits, watching you watch the room.

* * *

“I’m just going to get some air.” You said at last, excusing yourself. It had been at least two hours of planning (Anisa wanted to make certain you were certain of your role in it all), and with each passing moment of it you felt the room grow smaller. The whole of Fathom felt claustrophobic to you despite its greatness, and you let yourself onto the balcony to find relief.

The gray sunrise had turned to gray morning. Clouds still move in the sky, carrying the previous night’s rainstorm on its back, giving the sky’s blue a dull, sickly sort of color. A few rays of the sun’s white light makes its way through the clouds. You feel motion sick from the world’s rotation, and lay your elbows heavily on the railing of the balcony, counting the seconds in each breeze that passes. For another moment, for the second time today, you feel as though you could be at home - if it weren’t for the ice in your veins.

A familiar voice from behind you calls your name, but you don’t turn. Felix had followed you, and was now standing a few feet behind you.

“What’s troubling you?” he asks, concern dripping from his voice like sickly sweet honey. You wave him off, staring at the ground below you, and he takes it as an invitation to come closer. Any other time it’d have been comforting, but his presence felt suffocating; a reminder of what was to come.

“You can talk to me. I wish you would.” he says. “The first mission is always the hardest.”

You sigh, the peace of whatever moment you’d just had shattered. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely not,” you hear the smirk in his voice. “But I’m glad to allow you to believe so, if it will make you feel better.”

You roll your shoulders, hoping to work some life back into yourself. Felix steps gently closer until he’s beside you, shoulders almost touching. He’s fiddling with the rings on his fingers, pulling them off and sliding them back on again. You know he does this when he’s trying to work out something to say, like someone’s foot peddling the power for a sewing machine.

“I want you to have this,” Felix says, removing a particularly heavy-looking silver ring from a finger and placing it into his palm. The face of it has a large, oval shaped gem the color of a spoiled grape - so violet it’s nearly black.

“It’s not really my style, Felix.”

“Damn your style, it’s for function,” he holds the pad of his finger over the gem. After a moment it begins to glow a brilliant purple. One of the charms on his necklace mirrors the action. “You can use it to contact me.”

You look at the ring in his hand, mindful of the unspoken message that hangs between the two of you - in case something goes wrong. The thoughtfulness of his gesture overwhelms you, along with the thought of going through with this mission at all. You lace your hand with his, the ring casting purple light from between the two of your palms. The coolness of his skin is familiar and comforting.

Sage watches the two of you from the entryway of the balcony, feeling like a voyeur to your closeness.

* * *

By mid-afternoon, the mission had been entirely planned out. You’ve scarcely said a word since, allowing Anisa to fill the silence with her over preparedness. It was the most you’d seen Anisa, Felix, and Sage speak to each other without bickering since the three of you began holding up in Fathom together.

Anisa insists on personally training with you to improve your hand-to-hand self defense, and before you know it the afternoon sun has given way to sunset. You opt to postpone your dinner (though Anisa lightly threatens you with the same moves she taught you earlier if you opt out of dinner entirely) to return to the balcony to rest underneath the sun-painted, pink and golden sky.

You hear heavy footsteps approach, and soon Sage stands next to you. He maintains a brief distance, not making eye contact. He’s quiet for a while, watching the sun pass behind the trees with you for a while.

The last drops of alcohol still remaining in his system dance in Sage’s mind. He’s barely an arm’s reach away from your frame, peacefully breathing in the evening. He can see your face from the corner of his eye, bathed in golden rays of sunlight, and without the creases the day’s discussion worked into your features. He’d spent most of the day working his way through what was left of the black market, trying to secure a seller who cared more for coin than his ties to the Starsworn. A scarce few even remembered the Starsworn, and Sage wasn’t sure if that made him feel thankful or hollow.

His head felt ajar, near bursting at the seams to say something to you. But he didn’t want to say just anything, it had to be the right thing. The thing that’d light you up from the inside like the sunlight you stood underneath with him, but the words didn’t come. He too was transfixed by the way the breeze rustled through your clothes, messed your hair; he could reach out and smooth it against your scalp, if he tried; attach himself to you like that light.

Shame washed over him as you turned to face him, and only then did he realize he was staring. Shit. So much for the right thing.

“Wanna talk about it?” he turned to face the landscape again, already missing the stolen seconds in your presence.

“Fuck no,” you smile softly, turning to face him. The sunlight reflected across his brown skin, making him into a bronzed statue, had it not been for the unreadable smirk on his face.

“Good,” he grumbles. “Me neither.”

He doesn’t pry, he doesn't pester. It’s part of his charm, the real deal, not the façade he puts on. The kind charm that makes him glow from the inside out.

Figuring silence answered most of the questions either of you would have, neither of you say another word. You close the distance between the two of you and rest your head on his shoulder, watching the sky change. It’s hard to think of tomorrow, of anything, past a moment so bathed in golden light as this.

Sage notices Felix’s ring on your finger, and ignores the fire it ignites in his chest. He should’ve followed you out first. But what would he have said? What could his drunken words compare to whatever promises that ring on your finger held? What could anything he has to offer compare?

His breath quickens, unsaid words burning holes in his stomach like ulcers.

But he wouldn't make this night harder for you. Hells, he wouldn't even make it harder for himself. It's over. His knuckles whitened over the railing of the balcony, in sharp contrast with the gentle pressure of your head against his shoulder.

The two of you watch the sun fade from pink, to purple, to inky blackness before returning inside in silence. It's over.

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