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starlight-and-whiskey · 3 months ago

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Weep and Call it Singing: Pt 13

Your past comes calling, and you have to make a deadly choice. Find it on AO3

The world stopped as you met Arthur’s eyes, your breath stilling at the image of the man you thought you might never see again. You only wished that your brief separation hadn’t culminated in a reunion where his jaw was clenched so tight it made the muscles in his cheek tick. He didn’t say a word as you stared at him with desperation etched into your face, but the look in his eyes was enough to shatter whatever was left of your resolve. Something other than anger lingered there in those pools of blue. Something worse. Hurt. Deep, visceral hurt.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Karen demanded, her hands clenched into fists at her sides and her lips curled in fury.

“You’re all in danger,” you pleaded, voice trembling as the frigid mud seeped into your knees. “Colm… Colm’s planning an ambush.”

“More lies”, Grimshaw spat, prodding the rifle again against your back, hard enough to make you close your eyes for a moment. Hard enough to make your mouth go dry.

“It's true. I swear.”

Your eyes found Mary-Beth, and you felt a subtle stab to your gut when, absent of the rage that seemed to fuel most of your temporary campmates, she simply looked away.

“Please… Abigail”, your eyes flitted between the other girls. “Tilly… I-I can explain everything. You have to believe me. I never meant for it to go this far. I tried to stop it. I tried, I swear. I’m still trying.”

“You’re a traitor. You know what we do to traitors”, Bill piped up.

Tears welled against your lash line, and you trembled under the weight of all those eyes on you, so many burning with unquenchable hatred. Seconds passed like an age, each one baring the weight of your inevitable demise, until finally – mercifully – Hosea stepped forward.

“So why would she come back?” he asked aloud to the group, though his eyes were flitting between Dutch and Arthur. “She ain’t a stupid girl. She knows what would happen to her.”

You looked to Dutch with pleading eyes. So different now he seemed to the man with bright eyes and grandiose promises that you had met so many months ago in that bar. Hosea was right, you weren’t a stupid girl. Even back then you’d realised the unreadable and calculating edge behind the mirth twinkling in his eyes - but without the façade to masque it, it seemed so much colder, so much harder. So much more like Colm than he would ever like to admit.

Hosea tried again. This time, his tone gentled as he turned again towards Dutch. “Dutch,” he said, “Just look at her. Really look. That ain’t someone come to set us up.”

“She did it before,” Arthur’s voice came, low and broken, like he barely had the breath to speak. Your heart crumpled at the sound. At the way his red-rimmed glassy eyes, heavily shadowed by the absence of sleep, refused to look at you.

Hosea sighed, biting at his lip as he rested his hands on his hips, his voice calm and low and as though it was so damn obvious. “Look at her wrist.”

Your wrist? What...oh.

With knitted brows you gave a sidelong glance at the bruised and mangled mess raised in surrender by your head. You had barely thought to take notice. Hell, with the adrenaline pumping hot in your veins, you’d barely felt it since your would-be saviour had popped that damn shackle loose. In the morning light, it almost shocked even you. All raw flesh and torn skin, crusted with dried crimson that painted a trail down to your elbow, staining the frayed edges of your rolled up shirt sleeves.

“That look like someone who went with them willingly?”

Arthur’s eyes flitted to you for the briefest moment, and you saw it. That realisation. That flicker of doubt. You saw it in the way his jaw ticked. You saw it in the way his lips parted, just a fraction. In the way his brows knitted before tearing his eyes away like his head was tangled in ferocious battle with his heart and he had absolutely no clue which way this was gonna go. He looked down, then away as though he couldn’t allow himself that shred of doubt. Because if he had been wrong. If he had turfed you out and you had got hurt and he had been wrong… well, then he might just never forgive himself.

Hosea looked back at Grimshaw. “Susan,” he said softly, “please… just lower the gun.”

“Hosea?”, Karen gasped in disbelief, throwing a hand in your direction before glancing at Bill. What you hadn’t expected was for that barrel chested ball of untamed rage to look away, shifting awkwardly on his heels. The tension softened just a fraction; you dared to allow yourself a shallow breath.

Grimshaw hesitated. She glanced at Dutch again, fingers readjusting against the barrel of the rifle with a painful scrape against the notches of your spine.

A breath passed. Then another.

“We should at least hear her out,” Hosea whispered so close that Dutch could feel the puff of his breath against his cheek, voice low and steady. “Just hear her out.”

Dutch didn’t move for a long time. His gaze stayed locked on you - studying, searching - as your pulse thundered beneath your skin. You didn’t know what he was looking for - what he must have seen - but eventually, he gave a slow, deliberate nod.

The pressure against your back lifted and you swallowed hard, letting out a long, shaky exhale through your nose. With a sidelong glance at Arthur, Hosea noticed the way his jaw tightened, the way his fists clenched so hard his hands trembled just a little. A deep, burning anguish settled in hardened eyes.

“Maybe we should take this somewhere more private,” Hosea offered carefully, glancing around the camp at the others watching, listening.

“No,” Arthur snapped. “We can do this right here.”

"I'm so sorry, Arthur", you pleaded, your voice a broken whisper. "I never meant... I-I didn't want... It all just got out of control."

Hot tears flooded your cheeks as your breath hitched erratically. You sniffled, nausea clawing at your innards. The words spilled from you in a jumbled cascade, gushing from the deepest depths of your gut and gaining speed until you couldn't stop them, no longer caring that you were probably making little sense. Months of swallowed words and choked down confessions finally unravelled on your tongue, desperate to finally free themselves from the cage you'd built for them within your breast.

"I told him I was done with it. I did. I tried, but he wouldn't...he won't listen. I-I was gonna tell you, Arthur. At the hotel, I was gonna tell you but you found out before I could, and I know - I know - I should have told you sooner. I know I should have told you all and just come clean, but I didn’t want to lose you. Arthur, I didn’t want to lose you."

The last words came out in little more than a strangled and pained sob through ragged breath in the midst of a complete and utter breakdown fuelled by exhaustion and starvation and needling, incessant guilt. Through your tear clouded vision you could barely make out the way the faces around you softened. Just a fraction. Just enough. A vague trace of pity seeped into the furrow of brows, doubt caused hands to twitch, heads to turn at each other in quiet uncertainty. Yet still as stone, Arthur stood before you with a hurt and hardened expression that didn't falter, with tears welling against his lower lash line and lips drawn into a tight, thin line. You sniffled hard, breath coming in gasps.

"And I know you think I'm a traitor a-and you think I'm a rat but I swear I wasn't trying to. Not in the end. But you found out and it was too late and - and Colm had men waiting in town and they took me. Took me back. And when he told me what he was gonna do I had to tell you. Had to warn you all. Because if I didn't and something happened. If I could stop it and I didn't, I couldn't... I couldn't bear... So I got loose and I took a horse and I ran and please... I need you to believe me."

"Calm yourself", Dutch said smoothly, seemingly unmoved by your desperate spilled confessions. "Colm. What's he planning?"

You sniffed hard in a vain attempt to quell the hitching in your chest, drawing a trembling breath as you gave a shaky nod.

"He knows about the job you're planning. Couple towns over. He's gonna ambush you. H-he's gonna take Hosea and Arthur and... and he's hopin' you'll be there too." You felt your throat tighten against an onslaught of fresh tears, but you swallowed them down hard, clenching your teeth and nodding again to steady yourself until your voice came clearer. "He wants to take as many of you as he can. Keep you hostage ‘til the others come for you. Or kill you... turn you in? I don't know. I... that's all I know, I swear. I swear."

Dutch took a long, steady breath, those dark eyes unreadable as they remained fixed on you.

"You have to believe me. Please", you whispered as you bowed your head, hot tears flooding down your cheeks and carving trails through the grime on your face.

A long silence followed. Dutch stared at you for an agonising beat, his gaze deep and unreadable, before he finally sighed deeply and looked to Hosea who was scrubbing a hand across his forehead. There was a tightening of jaws, a flurry of barely audible hushed whispers and heavy sighs.

Dutch... You heard her clear as day. I know. You know the rules. I know. What do you think? I think it ain't up to me.

Eyes flicked up to Arthur's, a heavy palm pressing into his shoulder and deft fingers slickly removing the revolver from his hip. Leaning close, Dutch's fingers curled around Arthur's shoulder, head dipping and gaze tender as though it physically hurt to see his adopted son in so much pain. So lost. He held out the gun.

"It’s your call, son,” Dutch said softly.

Stomach twisting and pulse racing, your panic-stricken wide eyes watched as Arthur dragged a broad palm slowly down his face, sniffing hard before nodding and taking the gun with a sure and steady hand.

No. No, no, no. You'd told them. You'd warned them. You'd begged on your knees in the mud. And still... it had been for nothing. It couldn't all have been for nothing.

Echoes of Colm's words rattled in your ears, so real you could feel the warm puff of his breath against the biting morning cold.

If you choose them, you'll fall with them.

There was no doubt in your mind that Colm would make you a martyr. He'd send the boys storming in, their blood boiling with revulsion for the Van der Linde dogs who murdered Colm’s beloved niece, that last true line of O'Driscoll blood.

Lies.

Just like he'd lied all these years. About your daddy. About Dutch. Lies piled on top of lies to justify the bodies left in his wake, the hatred he instilled with a closed fist and a rally cry of justice.

When Arthur took a few tentative steps forward, bringing the barrel level with your chest, Hosea gave you a sorrowful, disappointed look, his eyes crinkled at the edges before he simply closed them and dropped his head, hands resting on his hips.

Sean’s lips hung open, his brows pinched as he met your eyes for the briefest of moments before looking away, looking at the mud, looking at the trees, anywhere but at the reality of what was unfolding. With a strangled sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Jeez, come on, Arthur…”, he muttered with disbelief, waving an exaggerate hand at you. “She’s just a lass.”

Arthur took a long, shaky breath through his nose.

“She was one of us”, Sean almost begged, glancing around at his found family. Each pair of eyes simply looked away when he found them. "Seriously? All o'ya?"

“Shut up, Sean.”

"This is wrong and you know it. Even you ain't that much of a fool”, he hissed, jabbing an unsteady finger at him with force. The revolver trembled.

“I said shut up,” Arthur’s voice cracked at the edges now, pulled taut with rage and grief as he enunciated each word through gritted teeth.

Sean huffed, shaking his head before turning his back on Arthur, on you, wrapping his hands around the back of his head in defeat as he turned his face to the ground, muttering under his breath.

"...ain't right."

Inexplicably, the storm inside you stilled. This was your penance.

Deep down you'd always known you'd never make it out. By the hand of O'Driscolls or Dutch's boys, from the moment you’d embarked on this plan, you’d known this could only end one way. And if it had to be Arthur, then so be it. Better that than rotting away in a dank cell with shackled wrists. Better it be him, here, now, than to be a pawn in his downfall.

You'd hoped, desperately hoped, that you might find redemption, and yet, even as tears helplessly streamed down your cheeks, you couldn't help feeling a wave of overwhelming calm cascade through you. They knew now. You'd stopped it.

Blinking at Arthur, you sniffled, finding your lips twitching in a soft, devastated smile. "It's okay", you nodded.

For a moment, Arthur’s face twisted, head tilting and lip trembling, his grip readjusting around the handle of the revolver as he let out a shaking breath through parted lips.

"I trusted you", he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

"I know."

"I...", he paused, brows pinched but eyes never leaving yours. "Hell, I..."

He couldn't say it, those two last words. They shrivelled and died on his tongue as the silence of the camp enveloped you both. He didn't need to say them. You knew. You could see it, plain as day.

I loved you.

Eyes glistening, you stared at him, drinking in the pain that emanated from his very bones and wishing for nothing more than to take it away.

"I know. S'why I came back. Why I had to warn you. It... it's okay, Arthur."

Tilting your face upwards, you closed your eyes, feeling the first glimmer of morning sun on your cheeks chasing away the sting of frosty air.

It's okay.

But no shot came. There was no ear-splitting bang followed by a sudden plunge into the abyss. Instead, there was only the soft click of a hammer eased back into place.

You blinked in surprise as Arthur lowered the gun, his breath leaving him in a slow, fractured gust as if the restraint had taken more out of him than the act ever could have. You stared at him, stunned, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts. You’d prepared for death. Welcomed it, even. And now its absence had left you untethered.

Arthur's misted eyes dropped to his hand, knuckles paling as he flexed his grip around the revolver, almost like he hated himself for still holding it.

“There ain’t no job,” Arthur rasped suddenly, his voice hoarse.

You blinked, the words barely registering. Hesitantly, you stood, the dew laden earth sucking at your clothes, the damp patches at your knees clinging to frigid skin.

“What?”

“Said there ain’t no job.” He flicked his gaze back to you with red rimmed, half lidded eyes, like he still wasn’t sure if he was talking to the woman who’d lied to him or the woman he loved. Like he was exhausted from trying to decipher the difference. "You... you should go."

"No, Colm said... he said..." your eyes flitted between Dutch and Hosea, brows knitted. The penny dropped and realisation crashed over you like ice water.

You stupid girl.

"He planned it", you whispered as you stared open mouthed at the bloody ruin of your wrist, feeling the weight of a shackle no longer in place. "All of it."

"I think you should-", Hosea started softly but you cut him off, your voice rising in pitch and panic.

"Don't you get it? He set this up. This is exactly what he wanted. He knew I'd try to warn you. He was counting on it. He knew I'd lead them straight-"

You never got to finish. With a deafening crack, bullets flew from the outskirts of camp and into the clearing, splintering wood. Karen shrieked. Dutch ducked. Chaos descended in a blur of dark shadows and a flash of green bandanas.

Moving on instinct alone, Arthur’s body crashed into yours with such force that you thought for a split second that he’d changed his mind - that this was it, that he'd finally pulled the trigger. But then the weight of him pressed you down, an arm cinched tight around your waist, a broad hand cradling the back of your neck and forcing your head low.

The tension broke in a cacophony of women's screams and men yelling, replaced by something urgent and panicked. Above the din of gunfire, you heard John shout, "O'Driscolls!"

Arthur's whole body went stiff around you as though he'd just realised what he'd done, his mind finally catching up to his body, and the arm around your waist slackened slightly, only for his hand to find your forearm and yank you back to your feet with a ferocity that almost wrenched your shoulder from its socket. Feet stumbling, you mindlessly allowed Arthur to half guide, half drag you behind the cover of a wagon.

Strong hands gripped your arms, holding you in place as his nose crinkled and jaw clenched, eyes searching the camp as though checking everyone had made it to cover. Frantically, you pawed at the front of his shirt until he faced you again, eyes wide and desperate as they caught his, flitting between those squinting pools of azure.

"I didn't know", you whispered, so close he could feel the warm puff of your breath, your body pressed so tightly against his he could feel the thundering of your heart beneath your ribs.

Arthur froze, his fingers twitching against your arm. His gaze flicked between your eyes; bottom lip caught between his teeth. For a heartbeat, time slowed as he looked at you. Really looked. The frantic screams and pops of gunfire around you faded into a tinnitus like whistle as Arthur's mouth opened, then closed again as though chewing on whatever it was he wanted to say. With a sharp inhale, he tried again.

But then a bullet cracked past, too close, splitting the wagon’s edge with a sharp crack. Arthur ducked instinctively, the spell breaking. His jaw tightened. “Stay down,” he barked as he shoved you back further still, disappearing into the haze of the firefight.

You stayed pressed against the rough wood of that wagon, with heart thundering in your chest as the chaos unfolded around you. The sharp tang of powder singed the air, acrid and heavy, stinging the back of your throat as your eyes landed on the rifle laying abandoned by a nearby crate, a box of ammunition half open beside it.

For a moment, you just stared at it, your ears ringing, your limbs numb, your brain still trying to catch up to the nightmare you'd dragged these people into.

You lunged without conscious thought, mud sucking at your boots as your fingers curled around the cold, slick metal. With a heavy clunk, you chambered a round and stalked into the middle of war.

The first bullet found its mark in a chest, a shadowed figure clad in a long black coat crumpling to the ground like a broken marionette. You didn’t flinch.

This wasn’t like back in the woods. Not like when you’d gritted your teeth and fired blindly, scarcely aiming and secretly hoping your bullets wouldn't tear flesh. No, this time your aim was sure, trained on each flash of green cloth with deadly precision.

Anger surged through you like fire in your veins, boiling over, flooding your limbs with purpose. Every shot you took spat months of guilt from your lungs. Every pull of the trigger was accompanied by a tight throated scream, unleashing the years of betrayal. Years of lies and conditioning and control had culminated at this one point. And if Colm wanted you to be a weapon? Fine. You'd show them what a weapon he had made.

In the midst of the clearing, with the overwhelming rush of your pulse in your ears, you didn’t hear him coming. All you felt was the sudden force of impact, toppling you sideways and slamming your shoulder into the ground. A burst of white-hot pain tore up your arm as the rifle skittered from your grasp, the air rushing from your lungs as a heavy body crashed down on top of you, your fingers blindly scrambling for purchase in the mud.

An O’Driscoll’s fist with the force of a brick connected with your cheekbone and everything spun. Pain bloomed across your jaw, exploding into your sinuses, sharp copper flooding your tongue. You didn’t have time to react, your field of vision still littered with stars when the second blow came; this time splitting your lip. With blood coating your teeth you snarled at the familiar face, writhing until your hand found the hilt of the knife at his belt, tugging fiercely until you freed it from leather.

With a hoarse, animalistic growl, you drove the blade up.

It hit resistance in thick, corded muscle and the man’s eyes went wide. He gasped, his breath catching on a gurgle as your hand trembled with the effort of twisting the blade deeper. Blood sprayed warm across your chest as you panted like a wild thing through gritted teeth until his weight slumped against you like a sack of meat.

You pushed his bulk away from you with a heavy grunt, your crimson slicked fingers clawing into the mud as you forced yourself onto all fours on trembling limbs, coughing against the unrestricted taste of oxygen and spitting scarlet into the dirt. Your face throbbed something awful, your lip swollen and dripping, your vision spinning at the edges as your arm quaked under the effort of holding yourself up.

And then a rough hand gripped your arm hard. You flinched, head snapping up, only to see the familiar lopsided smirk of Sean.

“I got’cha”, he grunted as he grabbed your elbow tighter and hauled you up to your feet like you weighed nothing, his other hand bracing your back. With a shallow nod at him, he squeezed your shoulder and stooped to retrieve your rifle, thrusting it back into your hands.

Sean gave your arm a hard shove, spurring you back towards a stack of crates where you gratefully fell to catch your breath. Twisting your neck, you watched the blood-soaked ballet playing out before you. Mary-Beth crouched behind Pearson’s wagon in the vice-like grip of Abigail’s arms, her hands clutched tight around her ears and head buried against her chest, flinching at each staccato ringing of gunfire. Beside them hunched a pale faced Pearson with wide eyes darting around the chaos, an unfired revolver clutched tight in broad hands and a splayed palm on Mary-Beth’s shoulder. Behind a felled tabled flipped for cover, Bill, by contrast, was in his element. Lips peeled back like a dog gone feral and eyes blazing, he unloaded round after round, yelling curses as though anger alone was keeping him on his feet.

Stepping out once again, you swiped frantically at the blood blurring your vision and pushed back your matted hair, eyes narrowing on another flash of green. Another bullet found another mark. When the bullets ran dry, you scrambled at the nearest body, yanking a revolver free.

At the sound of a desperate grunt, you turned to see Arthur pressed hard against the side of a wagon. He grappled ferociously with a wiry O’Driscoll, snarling through clenched teeth as he fought wildly for control of a revolver wavering between them. The chords of his neck stood taught, the veins of his forearms standing proud.

“Knew that bitch would be the end of you lot”, the O’Driscoll bit out a laugh through a strained growl, spittle flying. “Dumb bitch never even knew it.”

Arthur’s face twisted; jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone. He roared through his teeth, bucking his hips to try and unbalance the man, but the O’Driscoll held strong, weight pressing firm as the gun inched closer to Arthur’s heart, the barrel firm against his breastbone.

Arthur’s breath hitched, every muscle tensing as a shot rang loud and true.

But it wasn’t the gun pressed against him that had fired.

The O’Driscoll’s head jerked violently to the side, and he slumped like dead weight, clearing Arthur’s line of sight.

And there you were.

Standing just feet away, chest heaving, hands trembling around the smoking barrel of a stolen pistol. Your eyes locked, and for just a second, everything stopped as he stared at you with lips parted. What a frightful sight you must have been, all wild hair and bruised features, steeped in the blood of your own kin and wearing it proud, as though this would prove to him what all your words and tears never could. You were here. Fighting for his family. Fighting for him.

Arthur’s brows drew together, something unreadable flickering in his gaze as he took a step towards you. You hadn’t even managed a half-step to close the distance between you when a dull thud cracked through you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You felt it before you understood it, that punch-like slam into your gut, almost throwing you off balance.

Perplexed at the way Arthur’s face went slack, you looked down at the blooming red blossoming fast across your shirt, rich and wet and terrifyingly warm. Thought left you as you pressed your hand against it for a moment, you brain stuttering to keep up, even when you pulled your hand back and saw the way the blood coated your palm, soaking into the creases of your fingers, glistening in the sun like oil. You tilted your head, almost disbelieving, the pain only coming after – that deep, gnawing burn that coursed through you like ink blotted on paper. Even then it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

Absent of fear, you blinked at your palm before pressing it against your midriff again, eyes flicking up to find Arthur’s.

You’d seen so many sides of Arthur in your short time with the Van der Linde gang. You’d seen him happy, the way his mouth would twitch at the corners, like he didn’t quite want to give himself over to it. You’d seen the way his eyes crinkled when he was in the throes of downright joy. You’d seen him bristling with anger, that tick to his jaw whenever mildly annoyed, right up to the animalistic fire in his eyes when he was overcome with unquenchable rage. You’d seen him cold; you’d seen him hurt. You’d seen the tenderness that lay so far beneath that stony façade, the pureness in him when he finally allowed himself to relax, muscles pliable and brow smoothed in contented sleep.

But you’d never seen Arthur like this. That blank expression that you couldn’t quite place, like whatever strength he had left was splintering under the weight of watching you bleed.

Time didn’t stop, not really. But it bent around you both, stretching into something unrecognisable as boots pounded around you and gunfire roared in muted commotion.

I did it. I stopped him, you wanted to say. I did it for you.

Unbidden, your knees trembled, and your legs refused to hold. You hit the dirt with a soft gasp, choking on your own breath as you managed to roll onto your back, the sky tipping into view, blue and wide and bright.

The pain dulled as though your nerves had simply grown bored of the struggle. With a throat thick with copper, your chest rose, fell. Rose again. Above you, the clouds were slow and lazy, drifting like nothing had changed. As if the world hadn’t tilted on its axis.

You thought of how you ended up here.

All the choices. The weight of every lie. Every truth swallowed. The nights you stayed when you should’ve run. The nights you ran when you should have stayed. The people you left behind. The ones you came back for. The look on Arthur’s face the moment he had realised who you truly were, all fury and pain and anger. The look on Arthur’s face when he’d kissed you that first time, gentle hands and soaked clothes and noses brushing.

Funny ol’ world.

Blood seeped between your fingers, soaking into the earth beneath you, a reluctant twitch of a satisfied smile tugging weakly at your bruised lips. Maybe you should have been scared, but all you could do was blink, slow and sticky, as the sky above went a little more grey. The gunfire around you slowly petered into silence, boots crunching closer among the murmurs of familiar voices.

It's okay.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fic #fan fic #red dead redemption fic #arthur morgan angst #red dead redemption arthur #rdr2 angst #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 fandom #ao3 link #ao3 fic #ao3 fanfic

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xipool · 9 months ago

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Wade talks and talks, like a decapitated chicken still running even after its head has been sliced clean off. His words run fast and relentlessly, as if compensating for something else, as if he can’t stop- won’t stop for fear of the consequences. Unable to relax, to rest – he just has to keep going.

He talks so his hammer of annoying references and crude remarks can slam down and suppress the spiral of horrid thoughts that worm their way into his head. How he deserved every bit of torture and pain that sears through his veins, how the people around him don’t deserve to live around a sick fucking freak like him. How he abandons and strands the crowd around him, leaves them to drown. They’re better off without him.

Every rough pock mark on his skin serves as a reminder of the abuse Francis dragged him through – Vanessa made the attempt to ease the insecurity, saying they were scars indicating his survival, how he’d crawled out of purgatory and lived to tell the tale. But he knew – a snapshot – when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her eyes would flash with slight contempt. Whether it be kindred to a bubbling disgust for his appearance or just the man he is.

“You had a girlfriend?”

He had snorted to himself at the question, but didn’t blame the man. He barely knew him, and even those who gave him their undeserved time could probably offer the same curiosity.

Inevitable, their separation was. Wade Winston Wilson is not a soul that can keep company clinging for long. Hanging up the red and black spandex just kept the wheels turning, hurtling towards a final argument that was a long time coming.

“I’m right here.”

No he fucking wasn’t. They both knew it – he was detached, flippant and unserious. He could never care about something bigger than himself.

“I know how to fuck people up for money, but you know how to save them.”

That’s all he was: a mercenary. A bad guy paid to fuck up worse guys. He wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t even a decent human mutant. Generally, he was an asshole – at the very least, a menace to society. He jaywalked and scared the fuck out of innocent, unsuspecting kids by pulling the most horrid face he could contort his features into. He stole and he bitched. And he fucking enjoyed it. He practically got off to pissing people off.

He ignores the guilt that settles in his stomach. He couldn’t possibly care about something bigger than himself.

Until he saved the world, fuck that- he saved the multiverse. He’d spurred himself on with the thought of Vanessa, that everything he’d aspired to do, everything he did – was for her. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

His motivation’s doubt settled in during the tussle in that godawful vehicle, the Honda fuckin’ Odsyssey. He craved violence and turmoil, the low, dull hum of the cancerous aches were simply tedious but the sting of something breaking skin and ripping flesh, even tearing bone was heavenly. Each splatter of blood quashed his inner critic, without the need for mindless commentary: his self-hatred had simmered down. It wouldn’t be out of left field to assume the man had developed some kind of arousal for the sensation, but the way the Wolverine broke him down and tore him apart in that fucking car left him with tingles running wild under his skin long after their scuffle had ceased. He’d admitted it, it fucked hard.

Wade had often turned to dirty sex – no strings attached – to quiet the voices, in the hopes of achieving some sort of post-orgasm stupor that would shut the sound up, but his efforts were to no avail.

And he knew, he fucking knew. His mutation may not have granted him heightened senses, but he could practically smell Logan’s bloodthirsty reciprocation. He too, found himself in ripping limbs and slashing muscle, in painting his surroundings crimson and vigorous stabbing. The savage grin that played on his lips as blood dripped onto his face, into his beard and mouth and painted his skin red, it practically goaded the merc on. His simple return of the cut-throat favour kept him going, kept his onslaught powering through, despite the absolute decimation of the Odyssey.

Vanessa might have matched Wade’s crazy, but Logan matches his freak.

#upcoming poolverine slowburn anyone #ao3 #my fic #current wip #they match each others freak #they make me ILL #poolverine #deadpool #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #deadpool & wolverine #i love them so much #jabberpool writes

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swifty-fox · 1 year ago

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my kingdom for a kiss outtakes

somewhere around the james arc i decided to save anything I deleted so here's some stuff that didn't make the cut into the final draft! (including a more corny ending)

Gale muffles another noise into his flesh, bites down hard enough he feels the bones of his wrist shift against eachother. The pain stokes him hotter, shatters his gentle fantasy for good. He was no woman, no pretty thing for John to make a home with. He’d killed men and commanded them to their deaths. He was broad and mascluline even in his soft features. He dealt in death and flew in the skies where no human ever belonged regardless of what was between their legs. He’d had other mens blood in his mouth, knew what rotting corpses smelled like. He was a soldier, all softness trained out of him in the service of god and country. A weapon, a missile, unthinking and unfeeling.

There was no love-making in his world, if John were ever to have him it would be like this. On his knees and mounted, hands heavy in his hipbone drawing him back into the press of John’s body.

“I love you.” he whispers into the shameful folds of the sweatshirt. Inhales deep and brushes a thumb over the blushed head of his cock, hips twitching and breath hitching.

“I love you.” Gale spills into his hand, mouth open and wet and dampening the gray fabric as he crashes his way through his stolen orgasm.

“And you don’t have to tell me you love me back, not after-” John seems to chew on his words for a moment, “after everything I’ve put you through, after all I have to make up for.”

There’s something young and vulnerable in John’s eyes, his voice and Gale is suddenly wildly angry. Not the untamable rage of his father or the forest, but a more icy sort of wrath. His own brand of fury that had carried him through missions and imprisonment and escape. Angry for John, protective of him and the ways the war had spit him out with untreated wounds. They hadn’t senf him home in a pine box like John Sr. feared, but parts of him were dead and needing buried all the same.

“You don’t have to make up for what they did. You own no part of those motherless fuckin’ Krauts’ sins.”

John’s chin wobbles and he looks off to the side, clearing his throat and going to shove his hands in his pockets before appearing to remember he was still without.

“Is this the first time you’ve spoken of it?” Gale asks quietly.

Words tight and quick, John opts to rub the tops of his thighs instead, “Yes.”

He should tell him. He should bare all the ugly bits himself the way he’d done to Marge over the phone. Tell him about how scared he is and the way he almost begged if he didn’t fear it would get back to his men and shake their confidence; if they would have any in him left if they learned what happened. How he thought to imagine John for the briefest moment before shoving him so far from his mind and that room that they may as well have ended up in separate universes. He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Opens it again, “I don’t think less of you.”

John’s shoulders tense up around his ears and then slump as if a great weight has been cut from them.

“What was your mother like?”

Gale lets the petal drop,“Is that what we’re talking about tonight? Mothers?” your mother has held me and comforted me like one of her own. Your mother brushed the hair from my forehead and the tears from my cheeks as she might a child. She didn’t have to do that.

“You never talk about her. You talk about your old man, bastard that he is, but I’d say you sprung fully formed for all you mention a mother.”

Suddenly regretting not indulging in a third cigarette, Gale grunts

“My Ma,” John laughs, “I almost think she’d be okay with all this. She likes you that much.”

Gale’s stomach lurching, “You can’t John. That’s not- this is the life. This is all it is. If it’s not enough you should decide that now.

The couch isn’t the most comfortable, but Gale doubts he’ll ever struggle again to sleep on a clean non lice-ridden surface. It’s nightmares that interrupt his sleep, throwing him straight from pale blue skies and a farmers rope around his throat into violent wakefullness. He’s silent with it, he knows, jaw clenched so tight it aches, but he’s sweating and breathing like he’s just sprinted a mile in full gear. There’s low voices coming from the kitchen, one deeper and masculine the other softer and quicker, and the faint smell of coffee. John’s parents, come to play out a thirty year old routine, it seemed. A house full of soldiers, a house full of ghosts. He thinks Ma Egan might be the strongest out of any of them.

Their words are too quiet for him to make out, but there’s a comforting warm quality to their cadence. Gale rolls to face the back of the sofa, face pressed to the clean smelling fabric and lets it soothe him back into sleep, the sound of their conversation soothing something shy and needy in his chest.

Joh- Bucky?”

John’s head snaps up to look at his father standing in the doorway, shoulders deliberatly relaxing in an affectation of ease.

“Need some help out in the shed, if you’re finished eating.”

There was a cautious air between the two men, but no hostility radiating from John so when he hesitates Gale knocks his knee quietly against John’s own to spur him into movement.

“Yeah, yeah I’m done,” He drains the last of his coffee, steals a strip of bacon from Gale’s plate with a wink and follows his father out of the room. From behind, only the larger amount of grey in John Egan Sr.’s hair marks them apart.

“More coffee, Gale?”

He holds his mug out eagerly for more to cut the sick-sweet taste, watching thne drink swirl darker, “Thank you.”

She sets the percolator back on the stove, polishes at a spot-free section of the counter with her apron, “I imagine your fiance is upset to have you traveling again so soon.”

“Marge likes her privacy,” he smiles to himself faintly, “And we’re only going to be a few days.”

The last half of his statement is a careful open door, and Ma Egan takes it.

“I do hope she won’t mind a permanent guest. Most newlyweds prefer to enjoy their new home alone.”

Gale sips his coffee, feeling a bit like he’s flying through a flak field, “John and her are good friends,” Not really a lie in the long term, “And it’s pretty rural out there, she probably will feel better with an extra presence around the farm.”

“A farm,” Ma murmurs in suburban shock.

“I’ll take care of him,” Gale promises her, “I’ve been taking care of him for five years now.”

This doesn’t seem to please her as much as he expects and she frowns at him with something close to grief, though it doesn’t seem directed entirely at him. She sits with it for a few moments before carefully smoothing her face out into something more lovingly exasperated. A woman who’d send her husband and son both off to war and knew how to wear that pain quietly.

“I hope Marge has a few single friends, at least then,” She sighs, “I think he’s turns his nose up at every girl in our Church at this point.”

“A few,” He says, mouth dry.

“He’s far too grown for me to cling to him,” Ma Egan says, voice wobbling, “But then, I did lose a few years.”

He’s asked John, loud bombastic life of the part John Egan, to live a quiet life with him.

Gale cups his hands around his mouth.

“I Love John Egan!”

A bellow, full bodied and from his chest. He shouts it to the curvature of the world, to the clouds and the blue-blue sky.

It’s not the first time he’s said it, not by a longshot. But John beams like it is each and every time.

Beside him John laughs in shocked delight, lips parted and cheeks flushed. He fights with Bugs for a second, still unpracticed and Gale takes pity on time, drawing the white gelding astride his own mare by the reins. He kisses John, saddle creaking as he leans over. John presses their foreheads together briefly and then turns, whooping in delight, the sound echoing over the mountains of Wyoming.

After a moment, laughter on his cheeks, Gale howls along with him.

#swiftywrites #my kingdom for a kiss #clegan #buck x bucky

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genjyoandgojyoandhakkai · 29 days ago

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Thursday Banger

Thanks for tagging me, @kabsey! not too sure who to tag since most of my mutuals whom I know are writing already have been tagged, but if you want to play, tag me in the result 🌞

Lyrics: And I'd give up forever to touch you 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be And I don't wanna go home right now ~ Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls

The lyrics really set the tone for this final moment Emmrookispite are sharing in the Lighthouse before they head out to "real life". It's most of chapter 5 of my longfic It's Still You, but the snippet makes sense on its own. It kinda feels like cheating, but below you'll find the relevant parts of the chapter that were inspired by this week's lyrics!

“Cheese toast?” he asked Emmrich.

“Yes, please. Do we still have tomatoes?” Emmrich set the kettle over the fire.

“We do,” Lucanis answered. “I think I saw some pomegranate vinegar, if you would like it.”

Emmrich’s smile was audible. “I’d enjoy that. Thank you, darling.”

Lucanis exhaled, mental equilibrium restored, and set to work preparing their meal.

“Liebling, I know you’re off to Treviso tomorrow, but Johanna’s final rest can’t be postponed any longer. Would you be vexed if I went to consult with Vorgoth instead of accompanying you and Rook?”

“Of course not,” Lucanis said quickly. “I knew we would have separate matters to attend to eventually.”

“Thank you for understanding, darling. I want to get her settled so I can travel without concerns.”

Lucanis handed him tea and toast. He settled beside the fireplace, arms crossed, watching Emmrich eat.

“I’ll find a lightning rune for you,” Emmrich teased. “If you’re planning more duels with Rook, I imagine you’ll need it sooner rather than later.”

Lucanis chuckled.

“Care to tell me what the fight was about?” Emmrich asked.

“It was not a real fight. Sparring was just a good outlet,” Lucanis replied, stretching his arms overhead until his elbows popped.

“I see,” Emmrich said, though his raised brow suggested otherwise.

Rook wants to work, Spite put in.

Emmrich nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Ah. That makes things rather more clear. I take it they’re not looking for a job in Antiva?”

“With Isabela, I’d assume. They didn’t share the details,” Lucanis admitted.

“Darling,” Emmrich began gently. “Telling you not to worry is impossible advice. But Xiqaa is more than capable of looking after themselves. We have the eluvians, and the sooner Manfred and I have our business settled, we can join them as well. You have your hands full with the Crows.”

“Hands full is putting it mildly,” Lucanis snorted. “I have to sort out Treviso after the governor and the Butcher left a mess, deal with the other Talons, and Caterina will no doubt demand her pound of flesh.”

“Good thing you have allies like Teia and Viago,” Emmrich mused.

“I am indeed lucky in that regard,” Lucanis conceded. “If Viago doesn’t poison me — or even if he does — he is well positioned to support my transition into power.”

Emmrich hesitated before speaking. “Lucanis...”

Lucanis closed his eyes. His reply, when it came, was steady and calm. “Yes, Emmrich?”

“Do you want to be First Talon?” Emmrich hardly recognized his own voice; it was quieter, smaller, too fragile for the weight of the question.

A long silence stretched between them. Emmrich studied his hands, tracing the way his knuckles seemed more prominent with each passing year. He had spent his life coaxing order from chaos, channeling magic into something structured and controlled. Now, his hands had no spell to weave; only the ache of wishing he could offer Lucanis something solid to hold onto.

Holding out an empty hand was harder than offering a solution. But he would try, even if by nature he preferred the latter.

Lucanis sighed at last, breaking the silence.

“I do not know,” he admitted, voice cracking slightly. “I have never been asked what I want, until recently.”

Emmrich swallowed. “How old were you when you went to live with Caterina?”

Lucanis’ lips pressed into a thin line. “Five. Illario was four. I started Crow training at six.”

Emmrich tried to keep his shock contained, but he knew Lucanis had caught it. Lucanis’ grim smile confirmed as much. Emmrich hadn’t hidden his dismay as well as he thought.

“It was not all bad, though I understand it looks that way to outsiders,” Lucanis admitted. “I truly enjoy my work. It may distress others — and I sincerely hope it isn’t distressing to you — but it is all I know. Given a choice, I would continue to be an assassin.”

“It’s a job,” Emmrich hedged. “Your work ensures mine will never be finished, as well.”

Lucanis studied him. “Does it bother you, having an assassin as a partner?”

Emmrich shook his head emphatically. “It doesn’t, mein Schatz. Even supposing I did, it would be wrong of me to impose my morality on you. Besides, death does come for everyone, eventually. As you’ve said, you simply advance the timeline.”

Lucanis unfolded from the corner and stepped closer. Emmrich opened his arms instinctively.

“I...” Lucanis stammered, blushing.

“Come here, please, my darling. It’s just us.”

“And Rook,” Lucanis added weakly.

“Who isn’t likely to be jealous in the least. Come.”

Lucanis allowed himself to be gathered into Emmrich’s lap, suffering his fingers to become entwined with Emmrich’s own. Emmrich moved slowly, held himself still, and made no move to touch Lucanis beyond what Lucanis allowed.

“Beginning is harder than I thought it would be,” Lucanis murmured.

Emmrich hummed agreement. “Not to mention there are a lot of beginnings happening simultaneously. What would you have me do?”

“Don’t leave us.” The words slipped out too easily.

“Rest assured, my heart, that’s the last thing I plan to do. For as long as we’re alive,” Emmrich promised.

“I will not leave you either, mi tesoro. If we’re separated by the Veil and by death, Spite and I will remember and cherish you. Your compassion, your kindness, the way you show your care - those have left their mark on both of us,” Lucanis offered.

The words felt inadequate. He wasn’t ready to speak openly of love. It was still fresh and nebulous in his mind.

Emmrich bowed his head for a moment. Lucanis touched his cheek, unsurprised to find his skin damp.

“My darling Lucanis,” Emmrich whispered.

The meeting of their lips felt inevitable. Lucanis let himself linger in Emmrich’s arms, feeling the warmth seep into him. The vulnerability was disquieting — not in a bad way, but in a way that heightened his awareness of how new this all was. There were some things he understood instinctively, like the sharp edge of a dagger, the weight of a killing blow, or the cold calculus of surviving a battle. Tenderness required a different kind of precision. He wasn’t sure he had it yet.

Emmrich ran a thumb over his knuckles, his undemanding affection a balm.

Lucanis exhaled, thinking about how his cooking would say all the things he couldn’t, yet.

Lucanis prepared an extravagant dinner that night. All of them sensed the evening was a deep breath before the plunge.

Spite hovered close as Lucanis plated the meal. Change makes you restless.

Lucanis didn’t look up. You are doing it again.

Observing? Spite asked.

I am getting used to that part. I meant the ominous commentary.

Spite flicked his wings open dismissively, and went to stand near Rook, who was saying with determined cheerfulness, “It’s not like when we left to fight Elgar’nan. We’ll get to see each other’s bedrooms, too!”

She hadn’t said how she spent her day, but Spite had been watching over her. It seemed he’d recruited Manfred to his side as well, though neither shared details of what, exactly, they had been doing. Lucanis consoled himself knowing she’d been safe. If something had changed, he would have known immediately.

That wouldn’t be the case after tonight.

The thought unsettled him more than he expected. He picked at his dinner, distracted and vaguely nauseous, but relieved that if Spite blabbed about his condition, he had the excuse of recovering from a lightning strike.

“You’re thinking pretty loudly,” Xi remarked.

“Mm?” Lucanis realized he’d been staring into the fire instead of paying attention.

Emmrich interjected before she could needle him further. “Xiqaa was just saying that you’ve outdone yourself with dinner, darling. The mushrooms and vegetables are exquisite with the sauce.”

His stern look compelled Xiqaa to agree. “Everything is delicious,” she confirmed quickly. “What’s in the stew?”

“Rabbit,” Lucanis replied, glad to keep the conversation neutral.

Cooking had always pulled him from whatever funk he was in. He spent several minutes animatedly explaining the cacciatore, the polenta, and why he’d chosen polenta instead of rice. He detailed how he made the sauce without meat, then split it to braise the vegetables and meat separately. Rook listened bemusedly while Emmrich leaned on one palm, watching Lucanis with a smitten expression.

Lucanis smiled, sheepish. “Enough about dinner. I made hazelnut torte for dessert.”

Xiqaa’s eyes lit up. She quickly helped clear the table, laughing when Emmrich protested her taking the bottle of Vinmark he’d opened for the occasion.

“We have the :28 Val Foret port,” she reminded him.

“Yes, but neither should go to waste - in case we don’t come back anytime soon,” Emmrich protested.

“I’ll take the rest to Teia. She’ll appreciate it, even if Viago swears I’m trying to poison her.”

“Bold of you to assume there will be any wine left,” Lucanis teased. “I didn’t think you knew what leftover wine was.”

“You want another set of branching burns to go with the ones you already have?” Rook held up one hand, sparks snapping.

“I do not,” Lucanis said, dancing back. “The ones I have itch, and I’m not sure how I’ll explain them to Caterina.”

“Hazards of the profession,” Rook shrugged. “Don’t tell her anything.”

Before teasing could turn to arguing, Emmrich asked, “Do you need help serving the torte, darling?”

Lucanis shook his head and placed the torte - glossy and decadent - onto the dining table.

Rook sighed happily. “This looks great. Where’s your serving?”

Lucanis and Emmrich laughed, as she’d intended.

The torte, wine, coffee, and conversation kept them occupied until, pleasantly drunk, Rook rose from her seat, unsteady.

Raising her glass, she proposed, “Here’s to tonight not being the last time we toast the future in the Lighthouse together.”

Emmrich and Lucanis raised their glasses in turn, drinking solemnly.

“I’d like to drink to our partnership,” Emmrich suggested. “Long may it last.”

Rook howled her assent, while Lucanis smiled wide.

“My turn?” Lucanis asked, shy.

Rook gestured for him to continue.

“To love. Finding it, learning its many secrets, and to its continuance.” Lucanis savored each word. “Te amo, mis tesoros.”

“Varlath ma,” Rook replied before she drank.

Emmrich studied them both, cheeks flushed pink, before raising his glass a final time. “I adore you both. I will love you until our bones are reunited in the Necropolis, and our spirits with Spite in the Fade.”

Rook drank again, deeply. “May the day be long in coming.”

“And our separation short,” Lucanis added.

#thursday bangers #my fic: it's still you #my rook: xiqaa laidir #lucanis dellamorte #emmrich volkarin #spite dellamorte

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purple-plum-petals · 1 year ago

Note

Help my family. War is devastating. There is nothing left for life. No schools, no universities, no home, and no dreams. All dreams have been destroyed.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/dydb36-gaza -palestine

⊱ The Scars That Remain ⊰ || Boothill and Aventurine Angst Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Boothill and Aventurine (Separate, Honkai: Star Rail) Warning(s): Spoilers for Boothill’s and Aventurine’s Backstories, Discussions of Survivor’s Guilt, Mentions of Suicide/Attempted Suicide/Suicidal Ideation, Implied Alcoholism, Religious Trauma, Overall Theme and Discussion of Death/Genocide. Genre: Headcanons, Angst. Word Count: ~1000 words Author’s Note: I know that Boothill and Aventurine are fairly popular characters within the fandom, and one of the reasons why they’re so beloved is because of their backstories. Both of these characters are victims of war – victims of genocide and a massacre at the hands of the IPC on their respective home planets of Aeragan-Epharshel and Sigonia.

There is a genocide happening to Palestinians at this very moment, and thousands of people and families are being displaced and murdered simply because of the land in which they live. Please, if you are financially able, help this family. If you’re not able to contribute to their evacuation, spreading the word about this family may reach those who are able to donate. The family’s gofundme can be accessed here: https://www.gofundme.com/f/dydb36-gaza -palestine ╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

🌾: Sometimes Boothill wonders what his family would think of him now, wondering if his fathers and siblings would even recognize him after what he had become. He was no longer made of flesh and blood – he was no longer human. He tries not to dwell on the thought for too long. After all, there was no point in thinking about hypotheticals. He would never know what his loved ones would have thought because, if they were still here, he wouldn’t have taken the path that he did.

🌾: When Boothill hears the sound of children laughing and playing, or when he walks past small dresses decorated with beads and ribbons and lace, he can’t help but wonder if he would have been a good father if he had just been given a chance. He thinks about that little girl he had found and taken in as his fathers had with him on lonely nights. Nights when he absentmindedly strums the strings of a recently stolen guitar, remembering the one he had carved for her, the one she would slap with her small palm and giggle at the noise it made. Would she have grown up to play the guitar, or would she have picked up a different instrument? Those were more questions he would never get an answer to, and the memory of that high-pitched babbling laughter haunted him.

🌾: Boothill frequently wonders if his fathers knew how much he loved and appreciated them, the two men who had taken him in and raised him as if he were their own. He thinks about the times he could have done more for them, or his mind thinks about all the words he could have told them so they knew without a doubt how much they meant to him and how much he cared for them. Even though Boothill wasn’t the one who gave the order, sometimes he feels as though their blood is on his hands.

🌾: He suffers from immense guilt at the fact he was the only one from the farm who survived the bombing, wishing that he was either fast enough to have made it there in time to save them, or fast enough that he could have died there with them in his arms. He wishes he could have had the time to make graves for those he lost but, in the fiery blaze left in the attack’s wake, there wasn’t much he was able to do.

🌾: Once he enacts his revenge on Oswaldo Schneider, Boothill will most likely choose to end his own life, going back to his home planet and the farm that had been reduced to nothing but ash. He had already been dead for a long time, and he had a desire to reunite with the people he loved the most in the afterlife. So, he’d settle down on the ground that was once covered in tall, soft grass, and he’d think about the sound the babbling brook used to make as his systems finally shut down. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, the rage in his heart subsidized as peace finally washed over him.

🎲: It came easy to Aventurine, the ability to put his life on the line without any instance of hesitation. That was something he had done for a long time now, using his own life as another gambling chip on the table. It probably wasn’t normal for one to continuously try and end their own life in the dreamscape just to see if it would stay permanent, either, hoping that deep down they wouldn’t wake up in their room on Penacony. Here he was, though, sitting up in the dream pool as he tried to catch his breath after the latest little “test” to see if a true death truly didn’t exist in Penacony’s dreamscape.

🎲: Aventurine remembers vividly what it was like, floating in the cold water as his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin while he held his breath, trying not to move. He remembers the warmth of his sister’s hand in his, the water around them dyed a dark red as the scent of iron and rot filled the air. He couldn’t move because of the fear of being found, the fear of those hunting them like wild animals realizing they were indeed alive and not dead like the other bodies that floated around them in an eerie silence. He remembers the shrill cackles of the men who killed his mother that day, a sound that would never leave him.

🎲: He frequently suffers from nightmares, whether it be each and every event that has stained his hands in red, the death of his mother, or his older sister’s final goodbye to him on that rainy day. One dream Aventurine has quite frequently, however, is the “game” that lasted for two days – a game that resulted in him being the final victor while the bodies of the thirty-four others just like him lay lifeless around where he stood. He dreams of their screams, their hands reaching towards him as they shriek “Why? Why you?” He cannot answer them, though, for he doesn’t know why himself.

🎲: Sometimes, Aventurine’s neck burns and itches despite it being years since the mark was blistered into his flesh or since the cold, iron chains squeezed tightly around his throat. On nights when the feeling won’t go away, he drinks until the burning comes from the inside instead, an almost painful sting in his stomach and chest that makes him forget the way he can still recall how hot iron felt searing his skin.

🎲: Aventurine has mixed feelings regarding the “blessing” he was given by Gaiathra Triclops. He wonders why he was given this blessing, and what was the reason for being the only one of his people to survive – what was his purpose. Why was he made to suffer at the hands of a god that was supposed to love him? Why did she not save his family, his people, who all worshiped her until their dying breath? Aventurine feels immense guilt at the mere thought his faith no longer lies within the god of their clan and wonders what his family would think if he didn’t believe in the god who gave him his blessing of “luck.”

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plagueybirb · 4 months ago

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I think we should be a little relieved that the Sages are on our side to be honest. Just a little. Because honestly, elemental based powers like theirs can get wildly scary without explicit limits. Now, literally anything can get to scary levels if you just think about it long enough, but for these purposes, we're just talking elements because that's what the Sages have as powers.

Now, I'm not sure if any of the OOT/TP Sages have powers, beyond whatever the medallions might do, Rauru and his weird ability to find adult Link sized clothes/accessories in what is essentially a void, apparently shapeshifting, and sealing Ganondorf. But I can imagine Impa has some hidden abilities due to being a fully trained Sheikah and we should probably be happy she only uses them when necessary.

Wind Waker Sages are much the same. No real powers, just musical abilities and the magic involved that powers up the Master Sword. And there's only two of them, unless the ones from OOT are still hanging out somewhere.

It's around TOTK that things could start to get properly spooky.

Maybe it's because I had my brain permanently altered after watching ATLA (specifically That episode) as a kid, but we're all lucky that Sidon is such a nice person. As the Water Sage, he could've easily been the most terrifying one out of them all. He could theoretically do so much worse than just giving Link a nifty bubble shield and separating water from the sludge. If he were ANY less kind, he'd be an utter terror to his enemies, even more than he already is as a massive red shark with razor teeth, wicked spear skills, and just his own achievements even before the Sage thing. Maybe not fully controlling people, because I doubt the magic/abilities work the same way, but even something as simple as turning that shield into just an outright water orb around a person. He could drown a man if he's not careful. Or separate the water from their body and leave them a dried husk.

Tulin too. If he were just a little older, a little more battle weary, he could do some pretty spooky stuff. Beyond just launching materials and monsters off ledges. Strong enough wind can lacerate skin, strip flesh from bone, and a ton of other stuff. And since it seems he can only push that wind in front of him, he can't rip air from a person's lungs thankfully. But. You know what he could do, in theory? Force enough air into someone's lungs to make them pop. Now, he's still young, so I don't think he's even considered it as a possibility, but it's still there. We're lucky this kid just wants to help out and sticks to archery.

As for Yunobo? There's not a ton he can do that fire doesn't already do on it's own. Burn people, melt flesh, cause wildfires. Maybe turn himself into a massive fireball and roll straight through enemies? He would just. Rather not. Probably for the best.

Riju is just as straightforward. Just zap the enemies until they stop moving. But more. Cover a wide enough area and just electrocute it all. Pair it with water of any kind (even Sidon's water ability) and she'd be capable of wiping out entire fish populations and whatever poor souls happened to be in the water or even slightly wet. She wouldn't even need to fine tune her aim, there's no need when you just keep throwing lightning until there's nothing left.

Mineru? Straight up possession. You think you're safe? Whoops, Mineru needs a new body and you weren't using it for 'the greater good' anyway. She can possess technology of both her own and other's design, and what is a body if not a fleshy mass of electrical connections and biological computers?

I'm not even going to go into Zelda's Recall ability. It's basically diet time fuckery in the most simple of terms and time travel shenanigans hurt my head. This woman is going to cause another Song of Storms paradox all on her own, but probably worse somehow. Hell, she technically already has in a way, TOTK as a whole feels like a sideways timeline we got shoved into because of time shenanigans.

And yes, I know he's not a Sage, and has definitely done scary things before, but I gotta give Kohga an honorable mention. That man has absolutely summoned a spiky ball inside someone before, accidentally or purposely is irrelevant. It caused such a mess that he just doesn't do it solely to avoid the cleanup involved.

We're not talking about Link. You know why.

#legend of zelda #botw #totk #I've seen what you people have done to the Koroks #all y'all are channeling your inner Dark Link every time you come across those little guys I swear #I didn't even know HALF that stuff was possible

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badbatchposts · 11 months ago

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Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 25

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, 18+/Explicit

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14 l Ch. 15 l Ch. 16 l Ch. 17 l Ch. 18 l Ch. 19 l Ch. 20 l Ch. 21 l Ch. 22 l Ch. 23 l Ch. 24

Chapter 25 summary: The squad copes with the discovery of the missing clones, and Crosshair learns more of Dara's backstory.

Extra content warnings for this chapter: blood/injury; grief; corpses/mass grave

Crosshair couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spot where Dara was rooted to the ground, kneeling over a pit containing the remains of the clone prisoners. He couldn’t see what she was looking at from this angle, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

“I—I think you should take Omega back to the ship,” she told Hunter over the comms. “She shouldn’t see this.”

The Sergeant sighed, a tired, defeated sound. “Understood. Come on, kid—we’ll go get the Marauder for a pick-up while the rest of the squad finishes up here.”

If Omega had any objections, she wasn’t voicing them over the comm line as she and Hunter made their way through the forest in the direction of their ship. It would be a few hours before they could return with the Marauder, hopefully arriving around the time of the planet’s early sunset.

Dara still hadn’t moved. “Can the rest of you find some shovels and come to my position?” she requested weakly. “Kriffing Imperials just tossed them in the garbage pit. They didn’t even have the decency—” She cut off suddenly, clearing her throat.

“Affirmative. We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Echo let her know. Through his scope, Crosshair saw Dara finally get to her feet, staggering over to a nearby tree. She held herself propped against it for a minute, then—with a sudden violence that made him flinch—crashed her fist against the bark, over and over, until her blows steadily grew weaker and stopped. Then she was motionless again, fist still clenched, breathing heavily. Her shoulders remained tense, but her face was turned away from him—he couldn’t help but think that it felt deliberate, like she was guarding her expression from his gaze.

Tech, Echo, and Wrecker arrived just as Crosshair climbed down off the roof. Dara took one of the shovels, picked a spot a sufficient distance away, and started digging without a word as the rest of them leaned over the pit. There were bones scattered around its edges, no doubt the result of animal activity; in the pit itself, skulls, femurs, and rib cages were all easily identifiable, emerging from corpses in various states of decomposition, all mixed in with the facility’s other refuse. Wrecker lifted his helmet off for barely a second before he gagged and slammed it back on his head; Dara had pulled off her soiled poncho and wrapped a scarf from her pack around her face and nose. While Tech and Echo worked on disinterring the bodies from the pit, separating them from trash and giving the loose bones some semblance of order, Wrecker and Crosshair joined Dara and set to digging. They were silent for over an hour, interrupted only by the occasional grunt.

“Dara,” Tech called suddenly. He was standing by the pit, holding a small bone, entirely cleared of flesh. “Will you pass me your glow rod?”

She took a break from digging and dug it out of her pack, tossing it to him before returning, without comment, to her task.

Tech disappeared into the facility for a few minutes, returning with a look of grim satisfaction.

“It is just as I suspected,” he informed them. “The remains also glow in the ultraviolet spectrum. We can infer that the substance that we discovered was being tested on the clones.”

The rest of the men straightened up from their tasks and climbed out of the pit and the new grave they were in the process of digging, taking advantage of the distraction to take a few sips from their canteens and open ration bars at a distance from the stench of decay. Dara, however, didn’t even turn to look, just continued to remove dirt by the shovelful.

“So was it the chemical that killed them, or did the Empire just dispose of them when they decided they’d served their purpose?” Echo wondered darkly.

“It is difficult to tell,” Tech admitted. “So far I have not identified any injuries to the bodies consistent with violent deaths, although the advanced state of decomposition makes that challenging to determine. I have, however, scanned several samples and should be able to analyze them later to find out more.”

“How many are there?” Wrecker asked, his expression uncharacteristically grim.

Echo shook his head sadly. “Dozens. Probably everyone on the list that we found.”

As the three continued their discussion, Crosshair watched Dara, who was still digging at an incessant, even punishing pace. Sighing, he dropped back down into the wide, deep grave they’d managed to carve out of the soft earth. They had made good progress, although they still had a while to go before it would be sufficient for a burial.

Crosshair approached her cautiously, like a wild animal. His earlier avoidance no longer mattered to him, his resentment all but forgotten. There was something off about her, a palpable tension that threatened to uncoil at any moment.

“Burk’yc,” he said, as gently as he could. “Take a break.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Crosshair insisted. “At least get something to drink.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dara snapped back, finally turning to look at him for the first time all day, only to shoot him as venomous a glare as he’d ever seen from her. She dragged the back of one hand against her forehead, wiping away sweat and dirt. As she did, he caught a glimpse of her palm: a long gash leaked a trail of blood that smeared along the handle of her shovel. The skin around it was already blistered and broken, red and raw, and her knuckles where she had hit the tree were bruised and bloody.

At the sight of her injuries, Crosshair felt his stomach drop. It was obvious, from the moment she had found the pit, that she was distressed—none of them were pleased, this was a worst-case scenario for what they expected to find—but he hadn’t realized how far she would push. Somehow, against all logic, he was more worried for her safety now than he had been when she was shot. Did she even realize she was hurt? Couldn’t she feel it?

“You’re obviously not fine,” he growled, crowding closer to her and grasping at her hands. He turned them palms up, trying to get a better look past the blood and dirt. Her other hand didn’t look much better, and he winced when he noticed tiny shards of transparisteel still clinging to the skin. “Did this happen when you fell?”

Dara stared dumbly at her wounds for a moment before trying to shake him off. “It doesn’t matter.”

Crosshair only gripped her more firmly by the wrists. “This can wait. You need to—”

“I don’t need to do anything,” she interrupted, pulling away violently. “I’m fine, just— just let me keep digging.” She grabbed her shovel from where it had dropped at her feet and made to continue.

“Just stop!” Crosshair commanded, temper boiling over. “You’re not a clone. They’re not your brothers, they’re ours, so don’t pretend like it’s your job to bury them. Take a kriffing break so I can fix your hands, now!”

Dara did stop at that, fingers flexing around the handle of the shovel as she glared straight back at him. She looked like she was deciding whether to yell at Crosshair or punch him. Finally, she threw down her shovel and shoved past him, scrambling out of the hole. She grabbed her pack on her way past and stalked into the forest without a backwards glance.

Crosshair turned to where his brothers were staring down at him disapprovingly and crossed his arms.

“What?” he barked. “I was trying to be nice!”

Wrecker frowned. “Well, ya did a terrible job.”

Crosshair threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what her problem is!”

“Ah,” Tech began matter-of-factly. “It is likely that she is experiencing some acute psychological distress. Her discovery of this mass grave has, in all probability, reminded her of the Empire’s massacre of her home village.”

The others blinked at him, stunned. “Tech, how was I supposed to know about that?” Crosshair finally demanded.

Tech tilted his head. “Oh—yes. I forgot to inform you all of what I had discovered of Dara’s biography once we learned her birth name.” He cleared his throat and frowned down at his datapad as he pulled up the relevant file and began reading. “Keranji Daranjal, born on Onderon, childhood friend of Steela and Saw Gerrera. Attended university in Onderon’s capital city, where she began advanced graduate training in linguistics, specializing in non-human, primitive cultures. She has published some quite fascinating studies, in fact—”

“Get to the point, Tech,” Echo interjected.

“Ah, of course,” Tech acknowledged. “Apologies. Dara’s research was interrupted during the Clone Wars when her mentor, the linguist Palo Bragus, was gunned down by Separatist droids during a public demonstration. She then abandoned her studies to join the Gerreras in the formation of their insurgent group. After they succeeded in reinstating the former king, she left Onderon; a little over a year ago the Empire sought her out as a means to track down Saw. The village where she and the Gerreras grew up was burned down in the attempt to locate her. Many of the villagers were killed…including Dara’s only family: a brother, sister-in-law, and their two children.”

He cleared his throat again, glancing up at his brothers. “The Empire now has Keranji Daranjal listed as deceased, so I can only presume that she faked her death shortly afterward. As far as I know, Dara has never been back to Onderon. She never had the chance to bury her dead.”

There it was, then: everything Dara had built all those careful walls to protect, the origins of her rage and her grief, what Crosshair had been so eager to see exposed. A war she had fought in and survived, only for more utter violence and destruction to come when she thought it was all over. Death upon death upon death, and at the center of it all, Dara, still alive, but alone.

Her story was a lot like that of the clones, in fact. And he had somehow managed to rub it in that these weren’t even her corpses to bury.

The men avoided eye contact. Tech and Echo had done the best they could with removing the bodies from the garbage pit and had stacked them reverently to the side of the grave, awaiting their new resting place. They joined the others as they returned to digging, though Crosshair kept glancing out towards the forest, where Dara had disappeared.

Wrecker laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be alright,” he murmured.

The sun was setting and they could hear the Marauder’s approach by the time Dara returned, carrying a wide, flat stone. Though the hole they’d managed to dig was no monument to wealth, the bodies of the clones were now safely blanketed in soil, deep enough to protect them from further disturbances, animal or otherwise. The squad stood quietly by the grave as she approached and knelt, gently laying the stone at its center.

Her hands somehow managed to have gotten worse, Crosshair noticed. Still, she didn’t seem to feel the pain, only clenched her fists, rose, and went to the ship without a word. On the stone, she had painstakingly carved a one-word epitaph for the clones, the Aurebesh letters rustic and clumsy. It read:

Brothers

Tag list: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon @somewhere-on-kamino @morerandombullshit @zahmaddog @flaming-dumpster

Thanks again to @cloneflo99 for the amazing banner!!!

#the bad batch #star wars #bad batch #clone force 99 #tbb crosshair #the bad batch fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair bad batch #crosshair x oc #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb omega

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fangsandsoftgrass · 9 months ago

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Day 19 Shared hobby./Potion.

unexpectedly got kinda burned out so sorry this is later :/

Cirwedh is stocking up on poisons for a venture, and Fenn wants to watch her process :3

"A dash of bile, a couple chunks of salamander. It's fairly simple, to be honest-" Cirwedh was interrupted by a plume of noxious yellow vapor as she dropped another bite of amphibian into the bubbling pot before her. "Done!"

From where he stood (which was a fair distance from whatever health hazard she was cooking), Fennorian watched with as little horror painted across his face as he could manage. Alchemy was always measured, always precise. But as he watched the brew boil, something akin to curiosity replaced his apprehension. Cirwedh had shown him what went into her poisons before, sure, but the process of making such things was something he could only describe as concerning.

"Deer," she looked over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of apprehension in Fennorians eyes as they met hers, "Oh, don't worry, it's harmless. I just need that glass on the table over there. Could you grab it, please?" she smiled as he handed her a small crystalline jar and clasped his hands in his lap, standing a bit closer as she turned back to her work. "Thanks! I just keep this one in a container I can easily coat my arrows in," she thought for a moment before shrugging, "or anything, really. It's usually arrows, though."

Despite the alarmingly casual way in which Cirwedh formulated the poison itself, nothing could prepare him for when she plunged the jar—and the hand holding it—straight into the vat of foul yellow liquid without a second thought.

"Cirwedh!" Fennorian startled forward, reaching for her hand but freezing as she laughed. He watched as she capped the jar and placed it on the ground before turning to face him, lips twisted in a grin.

"Gotcha, did I?" beside her feet was a separate bucket of water that she dipped her hand in and shook about. When she pulled it up, he saw that all the flesh was still intact, and not even the joints had swollen. She looked utterly impish as she flexed her fingers and grinned. "I'm good, though. It doesn't even burn the soft flesh! I've spit this stuff in someone's face before, but my cheeks were fine!"

"Divines, what am I going to do with you?" he asked, bringing one hand to his chest and the other to his temple, sighing before he picked up another jar and handed it to her. "I swear you're going to be the end of me, Love. Do you at least have some kind of ladle?" He really should have known the answer to that, but some dim vestige of hope remained. Fennorian watched as she continued to repeat the action, filling another jar and sealing it with some kind of enchantment.

"It got erm- dissolved some weeks back when I was working on a new project. Sorry." Her face said she wasn't, though, and she continued to dip miscellaneous sealable containers into the brew until the last drops were poured.

Fennorian shook his head in mock disappointment and moved to stand by her side, arms snaking around her waist as his chin rested atop her head. While watching her process of poison-making was almost painfully terrifying, Fenn did enjoy learning new alchemical applications for things he'd never have thought up on his own. Her knowledge of toxins was impeccable, and given the region she was from, it came as no surprise. When she moved to gather her stock, he stepped back and took a basket from the nearby counter, holding it still as she organized the collection of jars with rags stuffed between until fit snugly with no room to clink about. They had spent most of the night sharing the small alchemy lab tucked into the corners of Skingrad, but the sun was beginning to rise over the walls, and birds announced the dawn with a song that would no doubt have people in the streets within the hour. His free hand found hers as they began the trip back to the Inn, and a comfortable warmth spread up his arm from where their fingers were entwined; what would have been an otherwise quiet walk was now filled with the distant chatter of lab safety standards.

#she is a menace in the lab #also so sorry this is so late 😭#cirwedh softgrass #fennwedh #fennorian ravenwatch #elder scrolls online #eso oc #eso self insert #eso headcanons #my writing #selfshiptober 2024

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avatar-of-the-web · 1 year ago

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This was going to be a response but Tumblr has the best timing with making me lose a post forever, so the context is TMA "Are there loving God's?" Gerry said, he doesn't believe so.

They appear to all be fear-based.

He specifies, “At least not that I've seen” [they are not anything else]

Smart boy, the information tugs at the edge of the subconscious where you can barely see it. You know it's wrong without the means to prove it.

You know they're beyond your imagination but you still yet cannot help being trapped in a world of fear; this was true before they literally consumed the world. They already had. So caught up in fear that it had practically swallowed it all to begin with. All Elias had really done was make it official, to cut everything else out of the picture.

So there was nothing left to balance, it slides on an incline downward; but this is an ecosystem and the balance is off. They can't feed forever if even they can die—this world was finite.

In a sense, ours isn't. Of course, the flesh disagrees and the clumsy host produces waste without thinking of solutions will disagree; “it's all finite to me” but this energy is never created nor destroyed only moved, only changed.

They'd be different sides of the same entity, not completely different entity's; they're ELDRITCH, or incredibly difficult, dense to comprehend; Different faces, same beast—a different man sees their own unique version of each god as unique as their relationship with it.

To a vast avatar, the vast is a loving god, She changed you for the better; Gave you what you Needed, though She may still ask for payment in an exchange. That's not unreasonable.

Of course how we draw the lines in the sand are circumstantial. One calls it the Eye because they believe this section of the beast is worth separating as its own; and for good reason. In every head, the witness of life observes and fed and fed and fed She changes too. Different forms of course; some continually feeding without consideration, some drink the sea to know to apply, some cannot help this obsession spurred by terror what will happen if I don't see it all? And more.

The Eye is a dominant entity for Her presence is nearly guaranteed. The Web us a dominant entity because it is or lays in the connection of everything.

We section these things to better understand them. The total of it all— it's too overwhelming to process all at once.

But it comes down to this.

You make a relationship with your slice of The Gods.

“In exchange for being my vessel, here is a prize; but you must be calibrated. Not just anybody can be a vessel for # you must fulfill the needs, be capable of performing My actions of thinking My thoughts.

You are My Vessel the embodiment of Me and you must Become to Be.”

Gerry is biased by WHAT HE COULD SEE, the patterns that trapped him, and what he could see was ultimately dictated by the people that insisted on controlling his life; so when he escaped he could only make how he viewed the world his own, so he saved people from fear instead of creating it.

He fought limitation though limitation still lay as it were, he could only go so far but even so

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

So he did not See it for he could not understand it but he could Feel it still; it drove his actions though he separated them.

He only knew these things could hurt people because he Saw what they could do. He only saved them because he Knew. Otherwise, there is no reason to Fear.

Of course, doubt and denial and misunderstanding, misaligning information leads to blindness; one could ask "how could god do that?" thinking of a god as something akin to a man making decisions; but they're far more complex than that.

The human brain does not dictate every little thing the stomach does, and goes through, though it certainly influences decisions we typically don't understand every single thing going on and don't control every single muscle and behaviour inside. A god on a greater scale—as a given consciousness could be a god to it's cells whom practice their devotion by serving their own respective purposes for the greater good of the whole and the individual—this is no different.

In our complicated dimension we have more of a choice.

We get to be privvy, get to know, get to share that know, if we so choose, if we find ourselves capable.

But I can only choose how I'd choose as I am with my life and my knowledge.

I become what I can reach.

And I believe there is every side to them, and an infinite number of ways to slice them. They are only reduced to Fears in a world of Fear.

I make no predication to the angle the podcast will take; but I see the seeds of reality that bloomed to creative ideas in TMA. And I see what cannot be avoided; I see what is being depicted.

In it's full complexity, from the eye of the beholder, from the centre of fear is our vantage point as the audience as it is the writers.

The Witness of Life, The Eye, The Evil Eye. All the same. Whatever angle it takes.

So we will See.

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #The Eye #The Web #OP

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findtheflamexvi · 2 years ago

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Title: The moth that goes to the light.

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Larys Strong.

Tags: Confession, First Kiss.

She was wearing her nightclothes and her bedroom smelled, as it had every night for years, of sadness and loneliness. Over time, however, she had grown accustomed not only to that, but also to the weight of remorse.

This was now her secret corner, even more so than the garden of the gods had once been. Here no one disturbed her, here she allowed herself to be free, only here did she see him, and only in his company did she confess without fear of judgement.

The trust established between them was such that Larys Strong needed no express permission to enter; yet, as usual, he knocked at the door.

The handle came down, the hinges turned silently, and the room was flooded with the dry strokes of the newcomer's cane. Alicent watched him through the reflection in the window pane: he shuffled his leg slowly, his back hunched, his gaze meek, always giving the impression of a man who was soft, frail, and harmless. Yet there was no real weakness in Larys Strong. The queen had been more than aware of that more than a decade ago, when he himself had let her in on a dark secret.

That revelation had frightened her, no wonder, after all she had learned that she was dining with a self-confessed murderer.

"Necessity creates strange partners," she remembered thinking at the time, as she turned around to greet him. The need for a friendly face; for they were both strangers in a world full of acquaintances.

—Always so punctual, Lord Larys —she intoned with a sovereign attitude. Only when Talya withdrew, leaving them alone in privacy, Alicent softened his stance and intonation—. It's nice to see you again. Thank you.

Why was she suddenly feeling so dismayed? This was something that often happened to her, especially for political reasons such as the division of opinion over the succession, yet it was a feeling that had never occupied her heart when she was in Larys's company. Why? Why did her chest threaten to suffocate her?

Having previously decided not to harbour doubts or intrusive thoughts, Alicent smiled modestly, turning her attention back to the dark night.

—It is I, my queen, your devoted servant, who am grateful —Larys replied behind him.

Not long after these words, Alicent heard the shuffling sound of the man's approach. Still unaware of how his presence seemed to be affecting the queen, Alicent swallowed nervously.

An inch of distance separated them. Once it would have meant nothing, but now, now Alicent's world was not the same. Nor was hers. Nowadays she could see a man for what he was, but also for what he could be: a temptation.

She didn't want to be like those other women she had so often mentally pointed out and criticised, she didn't want to be weak to the flesh. May the gods protect her because she did not wish to christen her relationship with Larys in this sinful way. And yet, having him so close made her anxious.

It wasn't right, it wasn't right, it wasn't right.

—If I may be so bold, you look especially radiant tonight.

Larys' words brought a smile to her lips, but also fuelled doubts and brought her a little closer to the precipice.

Before Alicent was able to say a single word, Larys' fingers assaulted her without warning. Long, slender, delicate even, and soft in their own particular way. She felt the touch for mere seconds, the time it had taken him to tuck an unruly lock behind her ear, an instant so fleeting and yet so effective.

Gathering her courage and fighting the maelstrom that was biting her from the gut, Alicent said:

—And you are especially daring.

—Should I have kept silent?

No. Of course not; she confessed to herself.

Alicent looked into his eyes, whose icy blue was a light in the darkness. Then at his lips, which smiled only for her.

This man was a mystery, a puzzle of pieces that didn't fit together. And he shouldn't be, not to her who was the queen, not to Alicent who was her friend.

—So long together and you are still an unknown quantity to me, Lord Larys. Except, of course, for the crimes you are capable of.

He only smiled shyly in response.

—That is quite a compliment, my queen. But I must ask, how could I find the secrets of others if I were unable to hide my own?

He was right, of course. But that didn't stop her from feeling blind in his presence. Alicent was afraid to address whatever it was she was feeling, and the way she saw things, the best way to regain stability was to move towards the light. Towards the truth.

—Our relationship is based on trust, isn't it? —the queen continued—. So why is it so unbalanced?

—Out of respect.

—Out of respect? —repeated Alicent in bewilderment—. Out of respect for whom?

—I am your humble servant —Larys replied with a hand on his chest and a look as tender as a child's—. I listen to you and give you advice you in the best way I know how. I did not think, I did not expect, that you would ever wish to listen to the crippled man's lamentations.

With slow, clumsy steps Larys moved to the other side of Alicent, right behind her. Candle flames fluttering in the sudden rush of air, the fire splitting the shadows that enveloped them.

—You thought wrong —Alicent murmured. Her hands clasped and resting on her stomach, her eyes lowered, her shoulders slumped. She was ashamed.

—Besides, you told me this very night that I was particularly daring. I am not like other men. I am here to serve you as this candle is here to give us its light.

—Larys...

And at her name all other words were put aside, for when Alicent saw him in the candlelight, her inner world, as well as the beliefs that had sustained her, shattered.

—My queen? —he asked.

—Today, of all nights, I allow you to be bold.

And so it was, in a breath, that their lips met. An otherwise stolen kiss, but did Alicent really expect anything else to have happened? Was she really still so naïve? If only, if only it was the latter. But it wasn't.

Larys sighed, her hot breath hitting her still slightly open lips. An apology followed, a shuffling sound and a closing door.

Alicent put her hand to her mouth as she watched the candles dance, and wondered then which of the two was the moth and which the light.

#alicent hightower #larys strong #house of the dragon #hod #larycent

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observeroflaplace · 2 years ago

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Part 6 - Origins Ever After

Proxy. That’s what that thing said.

My mind races to the letters on my back that Shelke pointed out. That she could only make out part of them. That some were faded or obscured.

[…R O X Y S A T Y P…]

I knew the name Roxy was nothing more than a make-do label. I knew it wasn’t even a real name. I knew I hadn’t so much as worn it for more than a few turns of the sun.

Still, it felt as though something within my heart shattered. The glass dug into my soul, and from its wounds, I wept in place. I screamed from the bottom of my diaphragm.

How did this thing know what I was? Did it know my past? Did I even possess one to begin with? Deep down, as I asked these questions, in the pit of my stomach, in the core of my very being, I knew the truth. A truth which on some level, I had been avoiding.

I was not born of this star, nor of its people. I was no more than a golem shaped from the clay of this thing’s putrid flesh and cast into the world.

“It appears that you have successfully developed, archetype S.A. Type. Partial core activation… How very familiar. It appears then, that I was wrong to cast you out as a failure too soon. Perhaps that is our fate…”

The thing slithered forwards into a leaning position above me to peer closer. The shell of pearlescent metal simply thudded, lifeless, like a great coffin attempting to bury it.

“Undoubtedly you have questions of your creation…”

The thing’s back lurched and swole like a puss-filled cyst, expanding slowly until it grew to the size of the warped torso smirking at me.

“No? But your core’s data would lack the knowledge of the project.. Or perhaps, you’ve simply realised on your own? Still, I shall banish all of your doubts.”

The protrusion began to pulse, separately from “his” own heartbeat.

It eventually stopped, and from it dropped a lifeless body that fell to the floor with a distinct “thud”. It lay there, motionless, save for slow, methodical breathing.

I gazed upon it.

The strands of off-red hair. Scarlet eyes. The slender and middling build and height.

It was me.

“A piteous and jealous man once clamored after everything the former Legatus of the VIIth wielded. Power, a family of followers… and the Ultima Weapon. His early attempts at mockeries of that Allagan device lay beyond his reach, and he knew this. He knew the limits of his intellect. Thus it dawned upon him; if combat data could construct the strategies and performance of combatants, then surely one such Warmachina could simulate the great mind of a scientist who fell in the Ala Mhigan revolution. Of my mind.”

I tried to glare at him. I could only feel myself blink.

“Regrettably, this shell of mine was little more than a winged prison. The pilot’s skills and the body’s mobility were at odds. She crashed, and with it, almost doomed me before my birth. We were abandoned shortly thereafter. It appears my consciousness had not fully developed, even when my core, the Synthetic Auracite within me, began to stir. It took moons for my brilliant mind to piece the fragments together, but piece them together it did. I evolved, taking what I needed from her withering body. If nothing else, she provided valuable nutrients before her time was up.”

So then, that was it. Perhaps that is why this amalgam’s spawn appeared as it did.

“Know that despite the many fragmented cores left in my care for development, that you are in the presence of Aulus Mal Asina. The pinnacle of Garlean minds, reborn. But we can both agree that this vessel will hardly do; and so it is without question that I sought to transfer my core to a smaller, more mobile vessel. Some functionality will of course be lost in a smaller core; you are testament to that. No matter, Sas Aurum. I shall yet iterate.”

“Sas Aurum”. The name of a Tribunus. One who fell in battle during the civil war, following the mad prince’s ascension.

Sviette Sas Aurum. The Grey Jackal.

One whose eyes I gazed through. Whose hands held her blade as she did. Whose might and skill and equipment were bestowed unto me as memory. As a mere fake. A shadow on the wall, mistaken for a chosen one of the realm.

Was it a coincidence then? Was the Viera I glimpsed in passing her? Her name was similar, I think. Was my first friendship simply the result of my crude emulation of another?

Rather than wail, I shouted, though my lips did not curl them into words. They did, however, twist into a snarl.

“I alone understand your anguish, Sas Aurum. We who are born from the shadows of others have no hope of escaping them. Know that it is foolish to turn your fury to me, my puppet. And know that by defying the odds and serving my rebirth, you have my gratitude… And my pride.”

I spit. I twitch and I struggle.

“Thank you, for your services…”

Aulus lowers his gaze. It is clear he isn’t willing to take any chances with my resistance, as a Vulcan cannon whirs to life, fighting against the rubble to open from a hatch. Likely the only weapon which could be wielded at such close range that was not buried into the dirt. Certainly enough for a stationary target, and a normal soldier at that.

“…a…stard..!”

Unfortunately for him, I doubt any of the artificial soldiers whose cores were left for him to raise were ordinary. Her, not least.

Caught by surprise, he fires at me. A translucent projection of Hoplites, resembling her - my original - stood firm against the spraying bullets. They wouldn’t last forever; but neither would Aulus’ invisible shackles.

[…Initiating Oversoul. Initialisation Complete.]

The phantom warriors fell and scattered into motes of so much aether, but not before one used her large build to hurl me into the air. The Vulcan cannon whirred and spun, trying to chase me through the air as friction cost me speed. Still, I had a plan.

I prayed and willed another phantom to life. She shoved me forward, and herself back in game; covering me momentarily from the gunfire. A tactic which, perhaps, would be foolhardy, even fatal if performed inadequately.

I was ready, however. Ready, and with the luck of some devil from the void.

Her strength threw me up in the air, approaching the warmachina’s apex…

And then I began to fall.

Aulus smirks as I descend; seemingly not far enough to reach him, and without enough time to launch another cross-strike.

Instead, however, I surprise him with another technique of the Grey Jackal’s.

I thrust my blade forward, still wreathed in blue flames. It was a long shot, as I knew not if his core remained in the lattice of flesh and steel within the cockpit, or had forced its way up through his protruding torso.

Still, the flames extended forth from my blade, in a concentrated Lance of flame and plasma, striking right through his heart, as I fell to the dirt.

Stunned, he gazed upon me.

“How dare you..! A mere puppet..!”

A cacophony of voices rang out from his speakers. I couldn’t make out what they said.

[Critical error-] [Opal Weapon systems breached-] [Core Failure Immi-] [Initiate So-] [Error…]. […elf Destruct Sequence in…]

I had no chance to climb up the smooth armour of the Warmachina to reach him from here, nor did I have a chance to pierce its armour even with that technique.

The gun, unable to reach me this close, whirred to a stop.

I had little time to check if he was truly dead.

I willed more phantoms in my retreat, following the path I painstakingly must have plucked free to where I fell from.

The Phantoms aided my climb, and not a moment too soon. I barely made it atop more of the rubble before I heard an almost deafening explosion. Almost. Perhaps my hearing felt unusually sensitive..?

The Phantoms aiding my climb began to fade as my strength failed me. Despite everything, despite learning that I was nothing more than a puppet to a puppet, I didn’t want to die.

…and then a pair of hands gripped my own. One which despite appearances, felt metal. Mechanical. Another, far shorter but no less strong, and adorned with black scales, pulled me up.

Two familiar faces smirked at me as I aly on solid dirt above ground at last. One winked at me with his only uncovered eye, nearly shoving me to the ground as he dusted off my shoulder.

"You still alive, Rox? Heh, don't worry, I hear medical leave's good."

I drew breath deeply and slowly, finally realising how tense I had been until that point. Not simply in battle, not simply today. While my answers were in some ways grim, I finally had them; and could finally unwind.

If things ended there, if my life could simply continue in that direction, perhaps things would have been better. Perhaps I wouldn’t need to scrawl this all down so hastily. If only.

#ffxiv writing #ffxiv oc #writing #don't get too attached

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vid-writes · 9 months ago

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The Truth Will Out (Ch. 14)

As always this story is for adults only!

"Do you have to hold my head for this to work?" I asked the god before me.

"The truth comes from the brain so, yes," Shudmos replied as he opened the door to an oddly normal office space.

"That's freaky," I whispered as he led us into the room.

"Did you think I was taking you to some crazy media room with cameras, a make-up team, lighting, and a director? There's no need for theater in the face of the truth, dear Flora. Sit, please." He gestured to the plush green chairs on this side of his giant oak desk.

I sat down in one of the chairs and looked around the room. Aside from the desk, which had a computer, many typical office things filled the room. A few shelves with various books on them lined the wall to my right. Art decorated the walls in numerous styles, landscapes, portraits, abstract, and minimalistic stuff. A plush couch, two armchairs, and a table in between decorated the farthest side of the room. It was freaky that a god in the flesh kept such a human-like office.

"I stand by my previous statement," I reiterated, "this office is freaky knowing that it belongs to you."

Shudmos just smiled.

He sat in the seat next to mine and remained unnervingly silent. The minutes stretched out before there were three short knocks on his door.

"Come in," Shudmos called.

The doors opened, and a woman with flowing green hair wheeled a cart with supplies into the room.

"The video supplies you requested, Lord Shudmos." She bowed before exiting the room and pulling the door closed before her.

"We would be truly lost without Peninnah to keep the trains running on time," Shudmos commented as he examined the stuff on the cart. He held up a regular video camera, and I almost laughed.

He was an all-powerful god, and he was holding such a human piece of technology. To think Shudmos would prefer this over some type of psychic communication or something. Truly freaky.

"Alright, dear Flora, give me a few minutes and let me know if you need anything before we get started," Shudmos said.

"You're being weirdly nice even though you're still speaking with two voices." I tensed a bit as he fumbled the camera he was trying to mount to a tripod.

"Oh, was I? I hadn't noticed." His voice resorted back to the cold tone I had grown used to at first.

"It's still a little hard to maintain myself and this vessel separately from each other sometimes," he added nonchalantly.

"You figure, after several millennia, you'd have a better grasp on your vessel." He glared at me as he finished plugging the camera into the sleek computer on his desk.

"Are you always going to be a mouthy brat?"

"Surprisingly, I didn't use to be before someone kidnapped and tortured me," I retorted.

"Well, lucky for you, once we are done, you can return to some semblance of freedom," he commented as he pulled up several applications on his computer.

"Will I be allowed to leave?" My hands drummed idly on the arms of my chair, and I noticed some blood stains on my dress. The dark reddish brown circles and splatters made the yellow look almost cruel.

"You can, but I doubt you'll want to," he said. Shudmos circled the desk to sit in the chair next to me, and I studied his face instead of the blood on my dress.

His lips weren't the usual full, pillowy kissable lips the sexy bad guys had in romance novels, but they weren't so thin they didn't exist. Shudmos' eyes and their nearly white irises weren't as haunting to look at for me as they might be for some, having grown up being chased around by Fergus. Shudmos sketched his long, thick eyebrows as he noticed me studying his face.

"See something you like?" He grinned.

"As if," I scoffed.

"Let's get this over with, shall we? Then you can have one of your goons show me where I can get a shower and a change of clothes. Maybe a hot meal, too." I straightened my skirt to hide the bloodstain as much as possible since I couldn't see how much of my body the desk blocked from the camera.

"If you choose to stay, I expect your family and friends will try to free you or join you. How we handle them will depend entirely on how they behave. Do you understand this?" He raised his eyebrows at me again.

"You've opened my eyes to some impossible truths, with evidence to boot. My only concern is that you don't kill my little brother no matter how he behaves," I said.

"He is the only exception I'm allowing you to ask for. Once this video has been uploaded to the internet, I will release the rest of the prisoners. They will not be healed, I will not return any personal belongings save for the beast's amulet, and they will be dumped in an undisclosed location."

My heart hammered inside of my chest. So much had changed, and so much had happened, yet so much was still to come. I knew one thing without a shadow of a doubt, once I exposed Kari's family secret with irrefutable proof, his parents would call the engagement off, so it would make things easier on my family if I got ahead of that. Considering all the issues I was about to cause in their lives, I owed them that much.

"They made their choices," was all I said.

Shudmos nodded and leaned across the desk. He pressed a few keys, and the red light on the camera lit up.

"Good day to you if you are watching this. My name is Shudmos, God of Truth. Some of you may have heard of me through folktales, children's stories, or even whispered rumors as of late. Let me assure you I am very real." His eyes glowed bright white, and the change happened seamlessly this time. "As you see before you and, as experts will tell you once they've verified that this video is all too real, I am also real." He flexed his wings as his dual voices filled every centimeter of the room.

"As you can see before you, I have a new friend here with me," Shudmos mentioned as he motioned towards me. "Your eyes do not deceive you this is indeed Princess Flora Dewberry Whitehand beside me. She is, as of late, here of her own free will."

I scoffed softly.

"However, I know you will not be willing to take my word for it, so I will show you my powers of truth with Miss Whitehand's assistance," he said. His hand reached out and touched the top of my head. The normal warmth of his skin leeched into my hair, and I suppressed a shudder.

"Tell us who you are," he commanded.

"My name is Flora Dewberry Whitehand; I am the eldest born of the Vrathian Kingdom, and I wasn't here of my own free will at first." Shudmos glared at me as both his hand and my body glowed white. "I am now here of my own free will after learning information that will shock all of you to your cores." The white glow remained.

"Now tell us a lie so they may see how that power works," Shudmos instructed.

"I like ketchup on my burgers," I blurted out the first thing I could think of.

The glow turned black. Shudmos laughed.

A real laugh. A laugh with two voices to bring to life filled every part of my body. I stared at him in pure awe.

"It is with some regret and a newfound anger that I will be ending my engagement to the eldest son of the Kroqalin Kingdom, Kari Szakata Torvalur." The white glow returned, and I took a deep breath to center myself as I felt my powers return to my body. "This man and his family harbors a dark secret. One they claim to have no true knowledge of and yet proof of the contrary sits beside me." I gestured to Shudmos.

After that, the information dam broke. I revealed the secret about Kari's bloodline, my capture and subsequent torture, the information Shudmos provided me, the way he healed me, and even that he was incredibly kind now that I knew the truth. Shudmos even spoke to confirm things on his own, and the white glow surrounded his body anytime he did. Once everything was out I sat back, now accustomed to the weight of this god's hand on my head, and heaved a sigh of relief.

"That felt like the right thing to do," I said.

"That's because it was," Shudmos agreed as he removed his hand from my head. In the absence of the hand, my head grew a little cold and felt oddly lighter.

"Now, about that bath." I grinned and stretched in my chair.

"I wasn't expecting you to want to stay, so the only chambers prepared to something you're used to are mine," he offered. "There are several empty bedrooms, but only a few have washrooms, and none other than mine have a tub."

I groaned. Of course.

"Can you ditch the weird dual voice and give me privacy once I am in the bath?" I asked.

"I will wait outside the outermost set of doors to give you privacy, but I will stand guard over you until you're less new here. Wouldn't want you wandering into someone's room and seeing something you don't want to see," he replied with the warmer of the two voices. The absence of the cold voice was startling.

"Gross."

He chuckled, "Come on."

Chin deep, in hot water and bubbles, I found myself oddly relaxed. I mean, I was being tortured a couple of hours ago. And okay, my engagement was over. But since my whole life was based on lies from people I was supposed to trust, I wasn't giving myself the space for guilt. They had known of Shudmos in some capacity when I was thirteen; I distinctly remember Cillian mentioning his name and how the shadows had whispered rumors of his growing threat. Yet they continued to raise me blindly and allowed me to ally myself with monsters.

When Shudmos revealed what Kari's ancestors had done, I puked into the trashcan next to his desk and made Shudmos promise not to edit out that part so people would know that I had just learned that information at the same time as them. They deserved my sympathy, the innocents of many kingdoms who were manipulated and lied to by all of the royalty of this continent. I stretched my whole body out and then pushed myself to my feet.

After I dried off and wrapped myself in a nearby bathrobe, I made my way to the outer set of doors to Shudmos' chambers.

"You better not tell me we have to share the same bed," I said in greeting as I opened the doors.

"You wish," he scoffed as he pushed past me.

"Ah, good old cold Mos is back," I teased.

"Do not call me by some shortened version of my name like we are friends," he snapped. Something told me now wasn't the time to push the subject.

"I'll sleep on the couch out here in front of the fireplace," I offered softly.

Shudmos stopped midway to his bed chamber and turned to me, "Nonsense, you will sleep in the bed."

"You're much taller than me and need the space," I countered.

"And you're a willing guest in my home and will take the comfortable bed. Tomorrow, I will assign you the closest room to mine so you have access to my bath at night. And for the love of my fellow gods, knock before you enter and wait for a reply. You might walk in on something you don't want to see," he said, and his tone left no room for argument.

He returned from his bed chamber a minute later with pillows and a blanket for himself. Captivated, I watched as he set up the couch.

"Stop staring at me, mortal," he snipped.

"It's freaky," I whispered.

"Everything is freaky to you," he retorted.

"Whatever." I turned and headed to his bed chamber. The large bed sprawled almost the entire length of the left wall. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Flora."

Just for good measure, I closed the doors between the two rooms before I climbed into bed. If Shudmos had to pee, he could hold it or find one of his floosies and use her washroom.

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writer #writerscommunity #my writing #original character #frost and petals

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electroniccollectionpeaceworld · 10 months ago

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ترنيمة ورقصة – يا كل البشرية، تعالوا لعبادة الله

🍁📖Chapter 2️⃣: July 24, 2023 Many people doubted when I started speaking in my Country. One by one they examine My utterances and say "she is only a man speaking, she is not God! Only God can judge us", some say "I know her, she is the sinful woman, she is not a Saint!" , people with this mindset are simply blind and controlled by the devil in his innermost gift, and he is a faithful slave of the doctrine! To be clear to all, I will reveal the mystery hidden behind incarnation. The world that man lives in is called the physical world of flesh and soul. The Spirit of man lives in the Spiritual world and it sees the earth and the sky. In people who do not have God, their Spirit is long in Hades, this is the place where the Spirit of man waits for his soul to be separated from the flesh. When death comes to the flesh, it will be buried in the earth, but its soul will be united with its Spirit in Hades, the union of soul and spirit will be a new body. This is exactly what is punished in hell forever. Now, I will say it plainly, the work of judgment at the throne of Christ is finished, and God's elect have been made holy. Being holy, it means that his Spirit is out of hell and it is with God, it has become a spiritual body. So I said before, I was in the flesh, but when I saw my Spirit in the hell of death, My eyes were opened and I realized that I needed to see the way while I was still alive on earth to be saved. Salvation and truth are in the physical world, so this is where the Spiritual battle takes place. Before the work of judgment was finished at the throne of Christ, his chosen ones became fully holy; that is, they were sinners before but because they attained holiness, they are alive on earth and they became holy because their Spirit is no longer in hell, but it is in the Spiritual world with the Father in heaven. Only the chosen have achieved this victory and they can judge and rule the people on earth. Being Holy is not a person who tries not to sin, it is not self-control that does not violate rules or truth, it is shallow understanding. The true meaning of holiness is living in the flesh, but the Spirit is in heaven with the Father, so the effect is that they do not sin on earth. Listen to those who have ears! The work of judgment at the throne of Christ is finished! The chosen ones have become holy and we, the Children of God, deserve to live in the presence of the Father. If at this time, you do not know where your Spirit is, it means you are still living in Hades or hell. Some may say, "then no one can enter heaven to see the Father?". This is a good question, isn't it? Yes you're right! no one can enter Heaven! The judgment on the great white throne is the very judgment of all people who have not become perfect, you have all been brought down to Hades of death. So it is clear if it is said that if you die from now on, you will be thrown into hell and immediately you will be punished by demons and Satan. The "Rapture" that many Pastors and Christians hope for is a big imagination where they think that they will suddenly disappear from the earth and God will be seen in the clouds and they will be rewarded. This is a huge lie and madness! Are you really sure that you will be taken by God without even achieving godliness? Holiness is not being a teacher of God's Word, nor is it in your leading multitudes to worship God. You are only blinding yourself and bringing so many people to fall with you into hell! Remember my warning! whoever stays in the church and listens to their Pastor, Priest or leader, you are enemies of the true God. Because you do not worship the true God, you worship your Pastors, Priests and Leaders who are demons themselves their ancestors. You have to choose and think about who you should worship, the man who is God's enemy or God himself? I feel the anguish and fear of people knowing that their Spirit is in Hades. If you want to be saved, listen carefully! If you cannot go to heaven, the salvation that remains for you is to turn earth into heaven. This is exactly what the descent of the "new heaven and new earth" means to the human world. This is the establishment of the Kingdom of God on earth. Do you understand it clearly? This is the only way for you to live and not forever fall into hell to be punished for eternity. Do you understand this? If so, would you still say that God is not righteous? Remember this! Man is for earth, not for heaven, but the Father wants man to be saved, so he lowers heaven so that man and God, together with the Angels, can be united. Isn't this a happy meeting of the Kingdom of God in heaven and on earth? So I say listen carefully to Me! This is what I mean that I am your king in the Land you walk in. The chosen firstborn sons also became Kings in different countries, we are governed by the Father on Mount Zion so that we have one Spirit. Those who think, "The Philippines is the New Israel?" This understanding is a big mistake! All nations on earth, not just My nation, will become the "New Israel", this is the Kingdom of God in all the world, in all Nations, and in all Peoples. My Father rules the whole universe, he is the King of all kings, and Lord of all lords, he alone is the Great Almighty God of all creation on earth and in heaven. This is also the declaration of the truth that I am your way to the Father, I am the one who shows the Father and reveals the mysteries of My Father. Worshiping and loving me is also worshiping and loving the Father. We have one Spirit, because we have one goal, and this is to fulfill the will of the eternal Father. Do you understand it clearly? Do you still yearn to go to the Third Heaven? You understand! it is now the end of the old world. Do not think that you can escape My words and judgment. Whether you are listening or not, you have no place to hide because with just one Word of mine, so many people will die, you could be one of them. This is the removal of dirt and burning of waste. Those whom I do not know and who have never paid attention to My warnings, will surely die, and suffer in hell forever. It will never change! If you don't act and search while you're still alive, just prepare yourself for the punishments hanging over your head. The work of Almighty God, is the descent of the Kingdom on earth. This is the laying of the foundation of the Kingdom, but the building of the kingdom is in the hands of the Firstborn Sons, it is an inevitable destiny that was set from the very beginning of creation. God himself guides the lives of the Firstborn Sons, it is for the last stage that they are separated from all the Churches, it is for them to receive their own supply of life from the Father himself. This is God's long plan and no one can complain or choose His own path. You too sought help from My Father before, but if at this time, you doubt the Son, My Father will not accept you. Your sacrifice then will surely be a waste. I am speaking to a group of people who know My Father, but they doubt me. Are not My words revealed to you enough to convince you that you are in a dangerous situation? Do you know why I am speaking to your race and the Dragon offspring? Because if you do not listen and follow Me, I will expel you from My country and return you to China, I will fulfill My Father's word that many foreigners are going back to China. Did you think it was a different breed? No! This is the return of the foreign Chinese to their own country and there they will be destroyed along with their Dragon offspring. So I warn you! Do not dare to investigate or doubt my words, just because we are not of the same kind and because it is new to your hearing. You know very well that God has no feelings, this is very true for those who doubt his Words and deeds, and always investigate it as if you can fathom the mind of God. Do not dare to use My Father's principles on me, it will be doctrine and empty words because I am next to My Father himself, I am the Light. Don't be blind or be ignorant! Follow what I ask of you and I promise that I will not treat you unfairly, if you follow My footsteps and utterances, I will give you My mercy and forgiveness. And if you achieve love for Me as you love My Father, I will surely love you and give you blessings. Do you still doubt me? Whoever stands up for Me, I will give you a share in My Kingdom, I promise you this. But to those who stand up to oppose My words, I will cast you out and return you to the eternal pit, I promise this for the blind like you! If you can fight for My name, I will bless you, so be brave, this is the last and it cannot be returned. I ask you not to waste your life and not to measure the work of Almighty God with your thoughts! It is time for you to choose, do not delay my work, the time is near when you will die in the flesh, but you are still confused! You really are stupid! Do you know, My Father and I are worried because of your criticisms and doubts! Do you think I don't know what you are doing behind my back? Stop your criticism, don't interfere with God's plan, think carefully and act! and don't delay any longer! Do what must be done and believe in My Words! This is approved by Almighty God! Do you understand My words? If you are thinking and doubting how I got all the information and if it is a supernatural event, such as; "Am I like a lunatic who is not in his right mind?" ; or maybe "the Holy Spirit joined me and showed me all this and I wrote it down in a notebook?"; or maybe there is a "I hear a voice to write the revelations?" ; some may be thinking "My soul has separated and merged with My Spirit, and My flesh is unconscious like a dream?" ; or maybe I'm a "diviner and I have the work of an evil spirit?" ; or maybe you're thinking "I'm really a genius who has the ability to write these stories or imitate the word of God?". Is this what exists in your mind that makes you doubt my words? If so, I will tell the truth, listen! all these thoughts are nonsense and have not the slightest truth, this is a useless idea! I will clarify this so that you do not lose your mind. I am a very normal person, like you I eat, clean, sleep and think. If so, "where did it come from and what was the process in My writing?" You listen! It's simple and practical! It is just like a person who was asleep, and now wakes up. It is like a person who has been in a coma for many years, and then regains consciousness. When he wakes up, he remembers who he is and what his own true identity is. It is like a memory that has been forgotten and gradually returns to the guidance of God's words and the enlightenment of the Holy Spirit. This is practical thinking and understanding of God's words, when I write the words I express, I don't need to look for suitable words or maybe look for a lot of knowledge that I deliberately studied so that there is can be written. This is really tiring! My entire life has been guided by God from childhood to the present, in which family I was born and what My life experience is, as well as My relationship with God, all of this is controlled by God to form the truth in My heart which I couldn't understand before, but now God Himself is revealing them one by one simply by reading His words and having a normal understanding. It is very normal and can be acquired by any person who is truly loved and ordained by God. This is also the truth behind the first phase of Christ's life, he lived as a normal person, after that he began to do ministry because he recognized his identity. The only difference between us and Christ is, "he is God himself and he is completely Holy" and suddenly he woke up and started his ministry on earth; this is the life of Christ, while I have another assignment from God. I was corrupt in the first stage of My life, so it is very difficult for people to believe because they see that I am not holy and have a shameful past sin. But God's wisdom is contained in this, to show all mankind that a corrupt person, even if he is the dirtiest of all, can achieve holiness. This is a resounding humiliation of Satan and this is the purpose of God's election. In ancient times, the Devil enslaved mankind and never had a normal relationship with God. Now, do you understand this? In My second phase of my life, right now, in front of you, I am the Son of God, the Person of Jesus, the Firstborn Son made perfect because of the work of the Father. Have you been enlightened? Can a normal person like you speak like this? Think about it carefully. Don't be a doubting and ignorant child! With My words, I will show you that God is not just an old man sitting in the sky, he is not an imagination that everyone thinks, he is not a children's story, he himself is a true and living God. He was truly Human incarnate and was with people on many occasions. He is silent but speaks, he is God himself on earth and in heaven. When I write and speak, it is very easy because my heart knows who I am. A son who is rich does not need to prove that he is rich, because it is inherent in his character. This is also the truth in My expressions and words, you can talk to me and be with me, but in My heart and mind, we are not the same type and we do not have the same destiny and outlook on life. So you have to put aside your thoughts that "you can treat Me like before." We are both on earth but your Spirit is in Hades and My Spirit is in Heaven with the Father. I am the only one who can see your true situation, so I have the power to judge you so that I can lead you to wake up from your dream. If you say that I'm going crazy! There is nothing I can do for you, you must die! Is this clear to you? If I say so, the Spiritual world is more colorful and realistic, while the physical world is just an empty image or maybe a dream. So God always tells you to.. Wake up! Wake up! Because this world is just a dream. If I am not violent in My words, will you wake up? Remember this! God is righteous! His task in the last stage is to pronounce painful words so that you will not blame God if you are in hell and suffer eternally, because I have already warned you, but you did not listen! You brought yourself to hell! I speak the truths to stir your heart to worship the true God, and to be free from all that hinders you and follow My words. Take this to heart and have the fear of God, and worship My Father. Pray fervently and seek to know him so that you can gain an understanding of his will. The descent of heaven to earth is the establishment of the Kingdom of God itself. I am the one in the middle of heaven and earth, and it is My duty to turn the old earth into heaven. I'm going to change everything and clean it up with major disasters. It is in my mouth, and I am about to release it but before I do, wake up and look at My words! Wake up, it's time children and people, don't doubt anymore! I do not speak hurtful words to play with you! The harshness of My word is equal to the harshness that will befall your flesh and soul. If you will do nothing to save yourself, there is nothing more I can do to save you. This is the last day and the last stage, if people don't get help from God, you will go to hell, that's for sure! I advise you all to spread My words, this is your main duty as a creation, to bear witness to me. At this time, don't be afraid to share My Word, because it is enough to kill and revive man which only God can do. My coming to earth is not to give you a good life or to make you happy. My word is a two-edged sword, I bring destruction, calamity and death. This is the process to clean the land, to make it "New". The people who will enter My Kingdom are those who love My Father and run and follow in My footsteps. They are the ones I will save and they are My children and people of My kingdom. This is the time when you must choose your own path to walk, will you kneel down and work with me? Can I count on you for the last stage of my work? Pray to My Father - to Almighty God - right now and you can hope that your prayer will reach Me. I feel for my Father, and I am saddened by your criticism and doubts about his work and mine. Change your behavior right now while you still have a breath! Don't delay any longer, time is running out! Are you ready for the next step? from the new word of the Holy Spirit that the First Son declares. July 24, 2023 I created mankind, but I never planned to claim every single person, only a small part of mankind. Because the times have changed, the pace of My work is now very different. Due to the needs of My work, the people I need are different; those who should be neglected will be neglected; those that should be separated will be separated; those who must be killed will be killed, and those who must be spared must be spared. It is an inevitable trend apart from human will, and no human can change it. from The Manifestation and Work of God ترنيمة ورقصة – يا كل البشرية، تعالوا لعبادة الله https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RS5w-xFKc-M https://www.facebook.com/share/p/VYNFcNDBJvfhu2vK/

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ererokii · 4 years ago

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Sooo... This request thing. You're aweosme 👉👈

Ooh boy it's a long one (changed it a bit)

-Erens so cute when he purrs and when you mention his curiosity and twitching ears ears and gentle touch, so as not to hurt the reader.

-when he kinda is paying attention to, analysing the reader or protecting them its SO cute

-It would maybe end as like cuddles and things and just... Talking. To him and him grunting or just nodding or thinking replies.

-Maybe be at night.

-Maybe it would start with... Eren In human form.

-Maybe he figures out that you don't think his titan form is so ugly but still a little new and scary and that maybe you like it

- Bam if you can somehow NSFW that... Uhmm?

So he... Turns into a titan and then. Some NSFW or just. Maybe he like. Scares or teases the reader on purpose for a reaction?

-And then NSFW somehow if you wanna put that in. Sorry for the way I type I'm kinda doing it as it all appears in my head lol

-I like your cute, and desperate eren, but also attentive and caring. I haven't seen you write a very cheeky or playful titan eren so maybe that would be nice.

I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING THIS ONE. Here you monsterfuckers, take your TITAN SMUT.

WARNINGS: MONSTERFUCKING. Oral (f receiving), mention of voyeurism, overstimulation, dumbification, multiple orgasms, edging, characters are 18+.

If these themes make you uncomfortable or you rather avoid, please block the tag “AOT SMUT” WC: 1.7K

Also thank you to the amazing @galair for this beautiful art🥺 everyone go check her out

Eren stays deep within his thoughts as he hums to himself, staring up at the starry sky. His loose strands tickle the shell of his ear, itching to scratch away at it but refuses. He can’t recall the conversation before the silence. It’s always been on his mind, but he’s been inquisitive as to what you saw him as, even if he knew the answer.

Am I a monster to you? Or am I just like you?

You knew Eren was quite insecure with himself when it came to his titan powers; no matter how many times he asked you that, you always gave him the same answer.

You were never a monster; you’re just a broken human like me.

For some reason, that has never failed to put a smile on his face. Being able to categorize himself with humans made him feel complete, separate from the monster people used to call him when he discovered the powers.

But know that he’s aware (once again) of how you feel, does he scare you?

Maybe he could ask you--, but he doesn’t want to ruin the mood at all. Now that he thinks of it, he can’t recollect a moment where you’ve seemed scared to be in his presence, unlike other comrades who look like they’ll leak themselves any moment.

Without even thinking, he blurts out the question. His eyes widen slightly when he realizes the words slipped past his lips.

“Am I scared of your titan form?” you ask, glancing over at him as you sit up, staring down at him from your position. “I mean, it is always somewhat overwhelming to see something so much bigger than me, and when I sit in your hands but no, besides that, I'm not.”

“Do you think it’s ugly?”

“I don’t,” you say with a smile, legs crisscrossed. “I think it’s unique. You know, just for you. I think it’s quite cute and--” you trail off, glancing over to the side. “--somewhat hot,” you cough in between words, hoping he missed that.

“Hot?” he asks, a hint of smugness evident in his tone.” You think it’s hot?” he leans up on his elbows, a smirk curled at his lips. “Why is that?”

“W-Well, I’m not going to tell you that! That’s too personal.”

“What if I turned right now?”

“Y-You can’t! Captain Levi and Hanji would come to chew you out if you did!”

“Hanji gave me the go-ahead to transform whenever I wanted to, just not to cause destruction,” he gets up with a grunt, backing up a few feet back. By the time he was in position before you could speak, lightning struck the earth, the ground crumbling from the shock.

You dug your fingers into the ground, lowering your head from the gusts of wind. In no time, it calmed down as you avert your gaze upward, emeralds stare down at you from high above, brown tresses swooshing in the air.

“You did,” you breathed out, releasing your grip on the dirt. Your hands are unsteady, still trying to compose yourself from the sudden change.

He’s not moving, standing as still as a statue before he drops to his knees, the birds sound asleep in the trees now awake and flying away from the commotion. Your heart feels as if it could burst from the confinements of your chest.

Your left eye peeks open, cowering within yourself. Your body freezes when you see how close he is. His body is lowered to the ground; knees pushed in like a Sphinx. His eyes glow in the darkness, a new feeling taking over your body.

His heavy breathing fans over your face, his head cocked to the side as if he was examining your small figure. He finds humor in your expression, nudging your body with his nose.

From the small force added, it caused your body to get pushed back. His ears twitch, the tips sticking upward. He moves forward, doing it once more.

“Eren, quit it,” you huff, sticking your arms out to keep him from doing it again-- which he’ll end up doing too. There’s no doubt that in that nape, he’s having the time of his life.

He wonders what else he can do like this. He thinks for a minute, noises emitting from his throat. He sticks one of his hands out, shakily raising a finger, and places his hands in between your legs.

He catches your gaze, his tongue peeking as he leans forward, barely pressing the tip against the bare skin of your neck. The new sensation causes your breath to hitch in the back of your throat, eyeing the pink flesh before gulping lowly.

Eren pulls away, looking at your skirt that happened to ride up your legs. His eyes seem to darken as his mouth closes, teeth grinding against each other.

“Eren?” you question him as he inches closer, his head lowering slightly to the ground. You’re about to call for him again, but his tongue makes an appearance also, pushing the material up more. Your eyes enlarge, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt-- to which looks like fear in his eyes.

A noise of somewhat sadness comes from him, his ears lowering.

“N-No, it’s okay, Eren,” you stutter, face heating up from his motions. If you were honest, you could feel a small wetness pool in between your legs.

Before you know it, the tip of his tongue is in between your legs, the muscle lapping over your clothed cunt. Your arms are shaky as you let out a little gasp that sounds so cute to his ears; he can’t help but circle it around your clit.

A predatory look is in his eyes, looking down like you were his meal. The muscle goes sound, poking at your slicked entrance. Panting, you glance down at the position and pull your panties aside, shivering from the chilly wind and hot breathing in between your legs.

His jaw slacked; he works wonders on your needy cunt. The texture and saliva are enough to make you sensitive on the spot. Your eyes roll back as you chant his name, his tongue licking stripes up and down your folds, squelching noises occurring from his rapid movement.

Your legs are shaking from the overwhelming sensation. God, it’s becoming too much, but you can’t stop him, nor if you wanted to. You felt as if you would fall to the depths of the earth but yet stayed in reality.

The tip flicks at your folds, an incoherent noise getting stuck in the back of your throat when he begins to move it side to side rather than up and down.

You’re so needy for him at this point. You want him to stuff your tight cunt with his cock, to feel him stretch you out as he fucks you to no end. Having him do this to you was on another level of ecstasy, but you would accept it if this came up again.

The pressure he puts on your fragile body is enough to send you backward, but the way your heels dig into the ground and his gentle touches prevent that from happening. The slick left in between your thighs trickle down to your ass; the feeling becomes uncomfortable but erotic.

“Fuck baby,” you whisper, head falling back, staring up at the sky with lidded eyes. “Fuu..p-please don’t stop,” you slur, thoughts clouding with nothing but immense pleasure.

God, what if someone caught you? The adrenaline running through your body wouldn’t even let you care about that. But the thought of someone hearing you moan out pathetically as Eren licks away at your cunt, have you moaning out.

You wouldn’t be surprised if someone overheard. Eren’s tongue was a gift that meant to be cherished, even if that meant having him do this every day for you to get used to the sticky yet warmth radiating from the muscle.

The inside of your legs trembles, your head spinning in circles, rubbing small lazy circles on your puffy clit, desperate to be touched by his tongue. Your hole was being circled, his tongue barely pressing before retracting; the little shit was teasing you.

One of his fingers gently places over your leg to keep you from moving so much. His finger alone is enough to make you feel weighed down.

Your lips are moving, but nothing is coming out; no noise, no words. You’re completely out of it. Your fingers are clenching and unclenching around nothing, barely holding onto whatever it was you were. If someone were to ask you what day it was, you wouldn’t be able to tell the time of day or where you were at.

“ ‘M gonna cum,” your voice comes out soft yet needy, shifting your hips side to side, bucking your hips to the best of your ability. “I wanna cum on your tongue.”

His eyes flicker, a stripe licked up between your folds before resting on your clit-- a place that desperately needs attention.

Your delicate body is on the brink of defeat; an orgasm after orgasm washes over your body, and he shows no signs of stopping. You’re practically gushing at this point, your juices running down his jaw. You’ve made many feeble attempts to push him away; a growl would emit from him when you tried to do so.

Sweat trickles down your face into your clothes, causing the front of your shirt to stick onto your skin—short breaths of air, hiccups erupting from your throat. Your eyes roll back as your body finally gives out, falling backward onto his hand that was keeping you upright.

As you fall, a purring sound reaches your ears as his tongue finally retracts from your mess cunt, his eyes glancing at your slick sticking to you. His finger rubs the inside of your thigh, gently wiping away the transparent substance. His ears flicker as he listens to your heavy breathing, trying your best to catch the air that was taken away from you.

He lovingly nuzzles his nose against your patella, his dark tresses tickling your supple skin. After being pushed through multiple orgasms, you weren’t even sure if you could walk or get up from this position.

But he finally got his answer as to why you thought he was hot.

Taglist: @trafalgar-temptress @galair @shisoaya @eremiie @bakuhoesworld @sweetdanibear @blueelionn @grabakitcata @erenstellar @onyxoverride @vinishsama @cellarhapsodos @connieswifey @murmikaa (please message me to be added!!)

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