#i am a very very weak man and he can hurl me into the sea and i would thank him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shorkbrian · 4 years ago

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Prelude - I need to stop catching sight of poetry on my explore page lol. This is entirely self-indulgent and very specific cause I’m rotting thru life rn and so if u dislike I understand lol. When I was in the hospital this last time it sucked rlly bad and like the awful horny degenerate I was I kept thinking abt Kirishima and soft sweet Sugawara idk lol

Pairing - Death god Kirishima x Reader

Warnings - Suicide, suicide attempt, no smut. Death. Drunk Drivers. Yandere but only a little bit and cause I can’t voluntarily accept love it has to be forced bc I cannot handle the thot of someone who is sane loving me bc there is no freaking way lol

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5Iy1wdO0tMaHwKnfFYtlel?si=-vqod-W6SHia8ui2Hdl_9g

Adding this one bc it’s like one of my favorites and I wish god I wish and I hope that this year is better than the last amen lol also there’s nothing more sad to me than someone pleading and begging and crying for the year to treat you nicely like bitch u okay? no. the answer is no.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0xRO7EKgYKVB8zKIoiXMDD?si=HYBaiBzjRGmQwfCHgnTUxA

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“It hurts.” You had told him, as the entity sat at the end of your hospital bed.

He often sank heavily onto the nearest surface, as if his bones ached with the weight of his body. You saw him often during those first few days in the hospital, days spent puking up pills, every move you made monitored, doctors and nurses scolding you about the severity of your actions.

You didn’t think they could see the hulking figure that comforted you.

“I”ve heard that it’s supposed to.” The red god of death would think aloud.

“I don’t want it then.” Tears upon your cheeks, soft, misty. “Take it.”

“Your life?” A nod would affirm his question, but the red god would shake his head. “I am no thief. Not a hunter, simply a gatherer of souls. I won’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”

“Then it’s yours, have my life. A gift, from me to you. Don’t make me live it any longer…..”

His sadness would show in his eyes.

But the soul-crushing hugs that were provided were admittedly a tiny bit nice.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good. I’ll receive your life when the time is right, not before.”

“But I don’t want it!” You sobbed into his shoulder, the god seeming to be your only friend in the world.

Hands stroked along your back, soft shushing sounds as the god attempted to soothe you in the ways he knew how. Soft touches, kind truths. “Many don’t. But it happens - life happens anyways. All you can do is find the things that make it less painful.”

“That’s not enough, it still hurts. I can’t stand it.” The sobs wracking your body didn’t stop the entity from holding you.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

——

He’s patient and kind.

Surprising for a god who’s work involves collecting souls as if they were taxes. A job that should be bitter and tiresome, but the entity has infinite softness resting inside of him.

He walks with you, as you get “better“.

You watch him stop to marvel at flowers, to study the way dew drips from trees in little drops, eyes wide and wondering as crows startle from their perches and take off with noisy weeping.

This courtyard is drab and brown, a prison. Safe.

Yet the god of death treats the space gently, with respect. He thanks the old walls for standing, the worn stones beneath your feet. Their service is noted and appreciated. He’s so tender it almost makes you sick.

But you come to realize that he’s simply allowing himself to be vulnerable, to experience the earth and the beings in it.

For as soon as one recognizes vulnerability, which is so different from weakness or tragedy, one experiences a sense of tenderness. Without tenderness, pleasure means nothing. You need only look at the animals to see the truth of that. It is gentleness that distinguishes their playing from the actions they constantly take to ensure their survival.

You ask why he walks with you, why he is so focused on seeing you get “better“.

A soft smile, a meeting of eyes. “There is an end to your pain, sometime and somewhere. It’s most likely not here, not in this place at least-“ and he looks around, at the cold walls, the other sick patients, the staff. All human.

“-It will come. But for now, it’s enough to try and seek it out ourselves.”

You must look more sick than you really are, talking to thin air like that.

——-

Once you return home, the red god writes you letters.

He’s an old soul, an old god. You’re sure if you asked, he’d be able to recount the very first souls he reaped, a man and a woman, sinful and sweet but in love.

The letters help you get out of bed. What new stories or little quips the god has written pique your curiosity, even when you don’t want to move, don’t want to be awake or alive.

He tells you stories about certain souls, how each one is infinitely interesting, how they all interconnect. How some of them struggle against him, however fruitlessly. But he’s not the one who brought about their death, he’s there to comfort and guide.

Other souls, (“souls like yours” he writes) welcome him, run to his arms like a long lost lover. Their death was terrifying by their own hand, and it hurt. He can’t take away that pain, those memories. The red god says he wishes those souls find peace wherever he must take them afterwards, or at least, some form of contentment.

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning, at least, that’s what seems to be the consensus.” You rip off that part of the letter, hang it on your wall by your bed. The other letters you keep in your nightstand, content with the knowledge that there are souls out there like you

It’s hard work, creating meaning for yourself.

The red god takes to visiting you between each letter, says he misses you, the way your soul cries. He tells you that he wishes he could help you quiet it, quiet that raging, terrible storm that hurls you about.

You make him cookies - it’s the only way you know how to say thank you. It’s what your mother taught you, so it may not be right, but the god eats them nonetheless. He likes it when you eat with him, feeding you bites from his cookie, wiping chocolate off of your nose, making you laugh with stupid jokes and a mouth stuffed full of cookies.

Even if some of them are too crunchy, or others too soft, all of them imperfect.

Imperfection is the essence of humanity, he tells you, and it’s more fun eating each cookie with the thought that you’re devouring your imperfections, making yourself whole again, filling up the empty spaces in your soul.

——

Eventually, the crawl back to your feet, rise with the unsteadiness of a toddler. You fall frequently, cry often, but you’re able to get up and try again.

Some days you need to bury yourself in sadness, let yourself feel and feel and hurt. Other days are not so bad, but still tinged with regret and fear and sadness.

The red god is by your side, gives you something to cling to when you waver.

He is always there.

He will be there when you meet your end.

The god is in no hurry.

You question why he wastes his time on you, hours spent reassuring you, talking to you, tucking you in your bed and leaving glasses of water on your nightstand before taking his leave.

Home is a feeling, not a place. Home is with you - that’s what he tells you. You take his breath away, even though he might not even need to breath because he’s the god of death. HIs thoughts muddle and he trips over his feet and can’t help himself from wanting to hold you.

You learn that even gods yearn for home.

He’s capable of feelings and emotions just like any other human. He may be wiser, and older, able to draw from experience and a deep well of wisdom. But he still feels, and feels deeply.

Just as he gives the earth around him such reverence, he extends that same attitude when he deals with you.

“Everything I see reminds me of you. When I wake and the sun creeps over the mountains, hesitant, it reminds me of the way that you rise - haltingly, yet it happens nonetheless. The flowers in the field that so steadily grow, you’re like ground they take root in, soft and unstable yet still tenable with the potential for growth. I don’t know, I haven’t exactly held such closeness with a human-“

He trails off, but you think you understand.

Maybe you don’t. It’s hard to relate to a god.

——

A confession occurs, and you’re surprised to learn that the blood-red god of death is in love.

“What did my hands do before they held yours? What did my heart do without all of this love? I can’t hold enough of you, I carry such love for you in my heart.”

With a frail, hopeless human nonetheless.

You don’t know what to tell him, how to explain that you can barely take care of yourself right now, meet your own needs.

But the red god seems to know, seems to understand the way your breath hitches and your eyes widen. One more hug, squeezed tight to his chest while he promises nothing has to change.

Things do change, even if you wish them not to. The world doesn’t bow to your whims, nor the death-god’s.

Innocent touches, his hand on your shoulder, patting your head, offering to rub out the tension in your back after you’ve had a crushing day - they don’t feel so innocent anymore.

The constant survellience still seemed kind, and you knew it was with your best intentions in mind that the god hovered so close, invading every aspect of your life.

But a creeping tendril of unease took hold, and you worried.

Everywhere you turned, he would be there, ready to support you, walk you through anything you wished.

Again, you questioned his commitment. Why? Why you?

“I can’t explain how fond of you I’ve grown. How heat blossomed in my chest as we grew closer. There’s infinite things I wish to say to you, ways for me to express my-my love, but I’ll just let you live.”

He neither killed you nor let you live.

Was it frightening? Maybe. But you had nothing to really live for, lost, searching for your own meaning in a big big world, floundering in an endless sea of sadness and suffering. You weren’t afraid of anything the god could, or would, do to you.

Until you woke up, not knowing where you were, in pitch black.

Arms encircling your shoulders, a soft body beneath your own, holding you tightly, a hand caressing your cheek.

A sun rose, on a strange new land, on the blood-red god gazing at you.

“There seemed to be so much more time for you. But accidents happen, Drivers drink and hearts give out. I was expecting you to grow old, for us to live and love like that, see how you grew through life.”

He looked around this new world, and you vaguely remember what had come before. A walk along the sidewalk, blaring horns, impact, blood.

“But this will be just as nice. You can stay here with me now. Life can’t cause you anymore pain.”

You don’t feel comforted by those words. There’s no way for you to know whether this new world would be better than the one you left behind.

#kirishima #Kirishima Eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima imagine #bnha kirishima #kirishima x you #yandere #Yandere kirishima #tw.death #tw.suicide

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alolowrites · 4 years ago

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After All These Years

Summary: After being apart for six years, you wonder if you are ready to see Toshinori again.

Tag: @centerhabit (Tagging you as promised! Sorry for the long wait!)

Author’s Note: It is finally here! After four months (I think?), I finally finished writing the sequel for The Point of No Return. For anyone who is new, I highly recommend you read that story first! Apologies for taking a long time getting this story out; I was playing around with a new formatting style.

Once again, I appreciate the incredible response The Point of No Return received from everyone! I’m still touched by all the comments, likes, reblogs, etc it got!! Thank you once again!!

Without further ado, please enjoy the story!

Word Count: 2.3K+

Six years.

It’s been six long years since you’ve returned home.

Stepping off the plane, you bow at the flight attendant and follow the crowd through the gray tunnel. You find your luggage with ease and quietly walk away. Various shops appear, each selling items travelers needed last minute; one man rushes inside to buy a neck pillow while a woman debates between two beverages.

There’s one store that catches your eye with its colorful display. Hero merchandise spews out the door as pop music plays to lure interested customers into the shop. A familiar color scheme stands out from the rest, tugging your heartstrings a bit too harshly; the imaginary marionettist enjoys seeing you suffer.

“I AM HERE!”

You jump from your spot. The famous phrase repeats and you look below to see a little girl squeezing the All Might plushie toy with glee. She skips away, the toy dangling in her hand and All Might’s comical smile mocking you until it disappears into the crowd. Not even thirty minutes in Japan and already you are regretting your decision.

No, no. You can do this.

You had more than enough time to heal from the pain. At least that’s what you tell yourself to soothe the nerves squirming around. You push them aside. As much as you enjoyed your stay in America, you missed Japan; it is your real home. No matter how far you travel from the island, a part of you stays behind.

And it’s that part of you which holds you back from ultimately moving on. A shuffling noise grabs your attention. An employee proudly adjusts a life-size cardboard cutout of All Might outside the store, and a few tourists stop to admire him. Despite not being real, you feel his eyes stare deep into your soul; your fingers twitch and your skin suddenly becomes itchy. Sighing, you drag your feet down the hall to find the exit.

You need a drink.

—

Glass cups clink over the loud noise bursting inside the restaurant. Laughter erupts at the table after you shared a hilarious story during your time in the States. The mood is lively and relaxing as you savor the rich sake flavor exploding in your mouth like fireworks. Oh, how you missed these fun outings with your friends. Seconds later, a waiter passes by with actual fireworks fizzling on a delicious looking plate. It must be someone’s birthday today.

Your eyes follow the plate and blink. Peeking out from a distance are strands of blonde hair. They are like a batch of wild yellow wheatgrass flowing in the meadow. Someone’s large frame is blocking the view. Another waiter brings more appetizers to your table, but you ignore the food begging for your attention. Nothing matters except for the hair currently teasing you from afar. It can’t be him…right?

You stop breathing when the boulder moves, and you're disappointed. It's just a random stranger laughing into a guy's shoulder. You slump back against the booth. The sake is clouding your mind and making you see things. Maybe you need some fresh air; it is getting kind of stuffy in this dimly lit sauna.

Just as you stand, the whole restaurant rattles. You grip the table as the lights sway and flicker uncontrollably. Confused murmurs buzz in the air until the building shakes again with greater force. Dust puffs out from the ceiling, and tiny cracks spread through the walls. Everyone rushes outside, the streets filled with headless chickens panicking like no tomorrow. You grab onto your friend’s hand for dear life to avoid getting separated.

The vibrant district spirals into chaos as the screams deafen your loud heartbeat. You have no idea where the crowd is going nor what is happening. You are a fish who got caught in a net trap with no way to escape. Suddenly the madness stops, and a live shot appears on the large TV above you. Glowing on the screen is a bloody All Might fighting against the incarnation of evil itself. As the battle rages on, you stumble forward when you see him.

Toshinori Yagi. The man behind the All Might mask.

You watch in horror as Toshinori—in his real, but weak form—persisted on with the fight. Grown men wail in pure agony that their throats turn red. A woman desperately bites her fingers that she almost chews them off. The tension in the air is so palpable that it suffocates you. Clutching your shirt, you hopelessly witness the bloodshed battle getting progressively worse until a miracle happens.

Toshinori rises from the ashes to deliver the final blow. It rocks the entire ground and makes everyone lose their footing; even the TV screen flickers, but doesn’t lose the picture. When the black smoke clears, you see Toshinori is alive with a victorious fist in the air.

He won.

That’s the last thing you remember before passing out in your friend’s arms.

—

A rainstorm hurls through the city.

The water droplets lightly tap on your black umbrella, the noise surprisingly soothing to your ears that you almost fall into a small trance. A bright light illuminates half of your face, exposing the conflict swirling through your eyes. One car rushes down the street, and you go back to avoid the tsunami wave coming from the sidewalk.

Once the coast is clear, you walk forward but stop when you reach the sidewalk’s edge. You can’t go beyond this point. You’re afraid you’ll drown, not from mini sea emerging on the road, but from your guilt that is deeper than an oceanic trench.

The hospital’s bright lights glare back at you. Toshinori is in one of those rooms recovering from the severe wounds he received days ago. As much as you want to visit him, see him in person, hold him in your arms…you just can’t. Not when you feel so guilty for leaving him six years ago in roughly the same state—a damaged hero.

You grip the umbrella’s handle. Someone calls your name.

Whipping around, you relax at the sight of a tan overcoat standing a few feet behind. The man walks over and dips his chin to greet you. “Welcome back. It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Detective Tsukauchi.” Your lips curve into a faint smile. “How’s work treating you? Still hectic as ever?”

“Crime never sleeps,” he jokes, and you two chuckle. The rain furiously falls all around you, drowning out the brief happiness you felt. Tsukauchi gazes at the hospital. “You should visit him. I’m sure he’ll appreciate seeing you again.”

“I can’t. Not after what I did to Toshinori six years ago.” Your chest tightens as you fight back the tears. “There’s no way he’ll forgive me after I broke his heart.”

A hand squeezes your shoulder. Watery eyes stare up to meet Tsukauchi’s reassuring smile, the warmth shielding you from the cold rain pouring down. He murmurs, “Something tells me he will.”

You stare back at the hospital; a light turns off, and you wonder if that is Toshinori's room. Tsukauchi’s words echo through your head like a soft chant. You shuffle forward and stick one boot out on the street; it hovers above the fast stream running toward the drain. With a deep sigh, you pull the foot back and hang your head low.

You couldn’t do it.

—

Toshinori adjusts his arm sling until he’s comfortable.

Despite being sickly frail, he feels the bed mattress sink under the weight of his heavy thoughts. He hasn’t been the same since the Kamino incident. The power of One for All no longer flows through his veins, making him feel like an empty vessel. Toshinori was the Symbol of Peace—the strongest hero in the world. Now he is a retired hero after defeating All for One, for good this time. Yet Toshinori wonders if this is all just a dream. The sharp pain shooting down his arm convinces him otherwise.

It will take time for Toshinori to get used to his new life.

A soft knock interrupts his thoughts. Toshinori glances at the door with furrowed eyes; he’s not expecting any visitors today. The doctor medically cleared him this morning.

“Come in,” Toshinori answers, fixing his arm sling. The person enters, and he glances up only to do a double-take; his blue eyes land on you, mouth agape in astonishment. Sitting straight on the bed, he chokes out your name and asks, “Is it really you?”

“Hi, Toshi,” you weakly smile, putting aside the wet umbrella as you calmly approach him. “It is me. Do you mind if I sit here?”

He numbly shakes his head as you take a seat on the chair. The dam bursts, and all his memories of you swarm at him like a massive tidal wave. Toshinori endures the brutal force even if he nearly drowns on the spot. He blinks and notices something off about you. You’re smiling, but your eyes tell a different story. They are empty and full of despair as if you are in mourning; it worries Toshinori very much.

An awkward silence falls between you two. Your finger anxiously scratches the chair’s armrest while Toshinori’s feet shuffle on the floor. Every ounce of your self-confidence goes down the drain the longer you stay quiet. Guess that pep-talk you did outside moments ago had a time limit. You bite the bullet by breaking the silence.

“How are you feeling?”

“To be honest with you, broken.” There’s a brief pause before he profoundly sighs, “And also a bit lost.”

“I know what you mean.” Toshinori’s ear twitches at your whisper and snaps his head up. You squirm under his intense gaze. Your eyes roam to the gauzes tightly wrapped around his injuries he received from the fight; it gives you a deja vu moment. You clench the armrest, the guilt eating you alive. “I’m sorry…”

The hero frowns. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything—”

“Yes, I did! I left you, Toshi!” He hears the pure anguish tainting your voice as watery eyes come into view. With quivering lips, you croak, “When you proposed to me, I accepted it knowing fully well the sacrifices you must make for the greater good. Yet, I got scared after you decided to go down the path that might result in your death and just…abandoned you. You trusted me, loved me, and I left you.”

A tear rolls down your cheek, which breaks Toshinori’s heart.

“I thought I made the right choice by staying far away,” you whimper, hands curling into fists on your lap. “But the longer I did, the more it hurts me knowing your inevitable fate was getting closer.”

Toshinori unconsciously scoots closer to you, ignoring the pain shooting from his sensitive wounds; they don’t matter to him right now. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops. Out of nowhere, you shoot up from the chair and stand in front of the retired hero.

“I was in Kamino the night you fought All for One, probably nearby too. When I saw you, the real you, on TV and at death's doorstep, I-I just thought about the day at the hospital six years ago. During that moment, I realized one important thing…”

Your body trembles as you unleash everything with a swift but powerful confession that leaves him speechless.

“I still love you, Toshinori. I always have, and I always will. If you had died on that night before I had the chance to say this—”

You choke as your throat goes dry…

…and then break down, crying into your hands.

The intense feelings you kept buried deep inside your heart finally manifest into the light. No one knew you carried this agony for so long. Toshinori grunts as he stands up from the bed and carefully comforts you with his good arm. He holds you close, not caring if your tears bleed through his white shirt and wet his bandages.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m sorry for making you feel this way. It was never your fault; if anything, it was mine. I’ve made many mistakes throughout my life. However, my biggest mistake was losing you.”

He steps back to graze your damped cheek gently. His fingertips twitch as they remember the softness of your skin. You close your eyes and enjoy his feathery touches.

“I should have fought harder for you, for us, all those years ago.” Toshinori bores his majestic blue eyes into yours. They are alive and filled with deep admiration for you. “Despite what happened, just know that I love you, and I never stopped loving you. Not once.”

Your heart skips a beat while his throbs like a steady bass drum. He reaches inside his pocket, and you gasp when you see the engagement ring shining against the light. It’s the same one you left behind all those years ago.

“Although my time on Earth may be dwindling, I hope to cherish every last second I have with you. It’s still your choice, but…” Toshinori clears his throat and grasps your left hand. Determination swirls inside his eyes while asking, “Will you accept this ring and marry me?”

“Yes.”

You squeeze his hand as elation surges throughout your body. Toshinori slips the ring on your finger, the cold metal snugging around your skin. Oh, how you missed the feeling of it after six long years. Without hesitation, he captures your lips for a sweet but passionate kiss; the pain washes away and you are giddy.

Pulling away to rub your eyes, you pout, “I probably look like a mess.”

“Nonsense, you look beautiful.”

“Always the charmer,” you playfully tease, sniffling a little. A ray of sunlight shines through the windows, basking the whole room in a warm, golden glow. With soft eyes, you caress his cheek and smile. “Now how about we get out of here and take a nice stroll through the park, for old times’ sake?”

“I would love that.”

It’s as if nothing has changed between you two after all these years.

As always, thank you for reading!

#toshinori yagi x reader #all might x reader #toshinori yagi #all might #all might imagine #bnha toshinori yagi #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha imagines #the point of no return #sequel

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jojo-reader-hell · 5 years ago

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Jonathan Joestar x Selkie!Reader: Seven on the Land, Seven in the Sea

Hello children here’s the selkie angst you didn’t ask for.

...

“And yet, niece, you are subject to our laws, as a being of the same nature with ourselves; and should HE prove unfaithful to you and marry again, you are obliged to take away his life.”

- Undine

...

“Oh Jojo! Yes! Yes I will marry you!”

Your hands, clammy and pruned, began to tremble. You released your fist and gripped weakly at the door frame, legs like gelatin when you heard a cacophony of giggles, and saw a man lift a woman with hair the color of golden beach sand into his arms for a kiss. The barking laughter of the elders echoing in your mind, stomach frothing with nervous bile.

Remember the laws of our people little pup: he belonged to you the minute the child was placed inside your tender womb by his essence. He cannot belong to another, and if he tries... he is condemned to die by your hand.

No... no... this cannot be happening... Why couldn’t your husband just wait for you to explain?! You turned away from the path, blocking the way to the door, turning and seeing a very familiar pair of watery blue eyes searching for the answer in your tear streaked face. Your little boy, your son Giorno, was still holding out the large jet black pelt you’d found. The picture of innocence. Blue black hair pressed wetly to his forehead as he obediently waited. A good boy, in every sense of the word. He didn’t understand human words, he was seven years a seal and a mere few minutes a human. You meant to show him as a surprise. Instructed your little boy to hold out his father’s new pelt and wait for him to come to the door when you knocked. He was then to say his first word, a call of his father’s name. At first the sight made you coo in delight, now it only made you wish to die. It was supposed to be a happy moment. A moment that would inspire joy once you knocked at the cabin door and the fisherman’s son Jonathan Joestar would open it to reveal his half selkie son holding out a seal pelt just his size, that he might join you both in the sea forever.

Oh! You can try to deny the jealousy. ‘Twill be a bitter poison to swallow that will consume your every waking moment. But the lust for blood will consume you, eat away at the heart that was once cradled in the palm of his hand, and you will inevitably partake in the ancient right to carnage. Serves you right for cavorting about with a human. Doesn’t it make you wish now that you’d have taken the harp seal as your husband? Dio would have made a devoted father to little Giorno. You know, once your human mate is dead you are allowed to take another in his stead.

You remembered your words... How proudly you lifted your chin and dared to look into the eyes of the elder selkie.

I’d rather die.

Yes. You’d rather be dead. Rather have stayed on land and let the dryness kill you and the baby than have to look through the salt stained windows of the cabin and see your husband’s lips locked with another, grudgingly you admitted his new choice was pretty. Beach sand hair, eyes as blue as the sea... Certainly not the stormy eyes of a seal woman that were shrouded as though in a dense fog. While it never bothered you before, you suddenly felt the chill of the sea wind creep into your bones, bare toes curling into the mud of the path as you took a stumbling step away. Your son barked, it was all he knew how to do, and you frightened him when you lunged forward on the path to cover his mouth, scraping the sensitive skin of your legs when you scooped him up into your arms.

Giorno barked at you once again when you waded out to the beach in a hurry, not paying any mind to the blood trickling down your legs. You understood him perfectly, it was a bark that meant he wanted his papa’s attention. You made a snuffing sound with your nose as you buried your face in his little neck, a sound meant for seal mothers to reassure their little ones. But he didn’t want his mother. He wanted his father and tried to open his mouth to call his name like you taught him, quickly silenced with the words gurgling in his throat as you dove into the cold gray sea.

No... no... Jonathan... dear Jonathan... why couldn’t he wait for you?? Why couldn’t he have stayed steadfast and faithful, understanding the message of the pearls and shells you’d left in place of the letter you didn’t know how to write. You didn’t know any way to let him know. It wasn’t possible for a selkie to live more than a few days on land. You were able to stay a little longer, because Jonathan had accidentally caught your pelt in his nets. By the laws you were bound to him as husband and wife. Whosoever took your pelt and returned it was by tradition proposing marriage. And because he was so sincere, so kind, you accepted. Happy as a clam to have been fortunate to be taken in the arms of such a handsome specimen of manhood.

“If you are my wife now... then this must be our wedding night.”

He’d told you this on a night similar to the one you returned on. It was just as the sun was setting. The cold wind from the sea blew in, his fire roaring and a cast iron pot of simmering fish stew bubbled in the fire. You’d been waiting patiently to be fed, your pelt wrapped loosely around yourself, unaware of how bewitching you looked when the spotted pelt slid down to expose your soft shoulders.

“Yes. I suppose it is.”

“Tell me, little selkie, do you know what happens on a wedding night?”

You did not know, but oh did you find out. You found out the consequences of such a night too, when your stomach began to balloon out even though you couldn’t keep down your fish anymore. Jonathan was too busy to notice. A fisherman’s life was hard, with him being at sea for weeks at a time and returning dead tired with barely enough food to feed the two of you. You tried to tell him yourself that you were dying. You just needed some time to return back to the sea, a seven year rest in the water and a seven year search for a pelt that he might come to your world without drowning trying to join you and the baby. If you continued living on land, you’d lose the child and your life, leaving the poor man a lonely widow without even a body to mourn. From sea foam you came, to sea foam you’d return if you kept up the facade of being a human for too long.

As you pulled both yourself and baby further down into the murky water, you tried to ignore the sounds of a creature swimming rapidly towards you. Pretending not to see the locks of gold and that damned gloating smile, you pressed Giorno closer to your chest and made into the shape of a torpedo, jettisoning yourself out of reach of the sea and landing with an undignified ‘plop’ on the hard pebbles of the beach. Your son sputtered, coughing sea water and choking because of the abrupt transition from breathing air to breathing water.

“You damnable tease!” Croaked a voice out of breath. “I’m only trying to help you-...”

“Go away Dio!” You growled a warning, lips pulling back over your sharp teeth. “This doesn’t concern you!”

“Of course it does! Am I not the fiercest hunter?! Did I not escort you here to protect you from sharks? In a few minutes you might have had another escort instead of me. Clumsy bitch, you’re bleeding!”

He heaved himself onto land, hissing at the pain of the pebbles pressing into his sensitive skin and hardly experienced enough to walk as he dragged himself towards you with an outstretched hand. You stood on wobbling legs and stepped out of reach, backing away as fast as the love struck selkie male could crawl towards you, his legs still clumsily pressed together because he never fully grasped the concept of his human half.

“He didn’t stay faithful did he?!” Dio laughed, between hissing at the pain of the dry land and hurling insults at you. “He’s going to marry that simpering wench and you’ll have to kill him on his wedding night, in your marriage bed that he defiled with another!”

“Go away!”

“You’ll be left a disgraced widow. Your poor son more of a bastard than he already is!”

“Begone!”

“You know I speak the truth! I was told to bring you the knife to carry out the deed. Take it you fool, take it and free yourself! Save what little dignity you have left and exercise your ancient right to revenge!”

He tossed the offending object towards your feet. The ceremonial knife. A razor clam honed to a fine edge and used by multitudes of heartbroken selkies to free themselves from their earthly bonds. It made you pause, seeing it lay there innocently while Giorno stared wide eyed at Dio. You looked at the child in your arms, and then once more to the razor clam. A feeling... insatiable lust... a hunger for the blood of your son’s father filled your heart, skipping a beat when you saw some of the blood from your knees dribble down onto the blade.

Temptation.

Pure, unadulterated temptation.

The same temptation he might have felt when he committed the sin of taking another...

Kicking sand in your wake, you carried Giorno far away, as far as your weak legs could carry the both of you. They didn’t get you far. Just far enough into the forest that you couldn’t hear Dio’s screams of your name, but you could still see the smoke curling from Jonathan’s chimney and smell the fish he was cooking as a meal to celebrate his betrothal. You couldn’t cry. Selkies cannot cry tears, only making you suffer all the more as your heartbreak had no where else to go but to sink deeper into the pit of your stomach. Giorno had long since stopped choking, opting now to whine weakly into your arms, unused to being on dry land for such a long period of time. You tried your best to rock him back and forth in your arms, mimicking the gentle motions of the waves in an attempt to soothe him.

But it was all for naught. There was nothing you could do to console him. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t give the black pelt he still held to his papa. Didn’t understand why you didn’t produce his father after seven years of singing him songs in your seal voice about the handsome young man that would net hoards of fish for him to eat, then cradle him in his strong arms and shower him with the affection he longed for. You knew even though he didn’t understand things as a human, Giorno wasn’t stupid. He saw the members of his pod paired and taking care of young, wondering why he had no papa to clean his whiskers after his meals or to teach him to catch slippery silver fish in his jaws. Giorno was instead fed on mother’s milk and stories of a papa that walked on two legs, a papa that couldn’t swim very well in frothing waters and that had promised a vow of everlasting love to his mother.

“P-papa!” His first words were raspy, his throat parched from breathing in too much dry air. “Papa!”

#jojo’s bizzare adventure #jojo’s bizarre adventure phantom blood #jonathan joestar x erina pendleton #jonathan joestar x reader #selkie!reader #giorno giovanna #jonathan joestar #dio brando x reader #dio brando #erina pendleton joestar #angst #unfaithful partner #unrequited love #selkie #selkie marriage

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renaer-is-allegedly-hot · 4 years ago

Text

session 13

wow i’m really out of it tonight lmao uh some highlights bc these r rlly atrocious:

adam shit himself and vomited over the dwarf in our basement

fought some ppl n killed; gotta hide six bodies

pregame !

Jacob n dom r talking abt other dnd campaigns

Jacob rigged explosives somewhere

They need souls to open coffins or smth

I REALIZED MY MIC IS MUTED SO THEY CAN’T HEAR ME SING THE GOLDEN GIRLS THEME SONG THE WAY MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER DOES HAHAHAHHAHA

Thank you for being a friend

Bum bum bum bum

Travel round the world and back again

If the truth be told you’re a friend and a confidant

Etc

Jacob explaining his eye scratch

I’m just sitting here singing the golden girls theme song

Tunnel vision in smash

I’m just renegading while they talk smash

Jacob wants to home alone our house the next night we have

Immovable rod is abt 3ft long

Last time on dnd asyna heard a window break

Roll initiative

Aerana and theo roll 22

Asyna rolls 21

Adam 13

Cel 6

Asyna was waking everyone up

Halfling size ballista ? In our turret ? Maybe

Ooh trebuchet is an interesting sans font

Aerana is going first

Double dash downstairs

You hear stuff on the first floor making noise; you and theo get to the second floor about to go downstairs

Theo in master bedroom double dashes towards where I am

Asyna

In watchtower, asyna's gonna try and do stuff from above ? Maybe .

Proposes turning into a hummingbird

Spike growth ? Grows spikes

Also creates rough terrain

In front of the door

Oop they're speaking goblin

Goblins

2d4 damage for each 5 ft they move

Some of them were able to get inside the house but still slowed down

Adam

Will cast cantrip

Thaumaturgy to boom voice 3x louder than normal "WHO DARES ENTER MY HOUSE PLEASE LEAVE WITHIN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS AND YOU WILL BE SPARED ,,, PLEASE"

Intimidation check

Lmao a 7

Entire house booms; everyone heard it but like effect?

Adam sleeps naked

Cel

Right in front of door to hall on second floor

Aerana

2 squares away from action at back of house

Theo

Also goes for pantry, same place generally as aerana

Asyna

Starts downstairs

Gonna turn into ape and try and make way down side of building as ape

Down p much by next turn

Goblins

Apparently being eaten up by spikes

Should I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'm kinda craving

O shoot I gotta run soon for medicine

Adam

Dashing

This is just slow running in a dream

Cel

Base of stairs ?

Also heading towards pantry

Aerana

Bust in

Momentarily frozen

To the right next to basement hatch r two hulking figures covered in thick dark fur; kinda pointy ears, look kind of like goblins and v tall like easily 7ft

Big mauls

Bugbears

Can I fight?

23 to hit, 7 damage to closest one

The goblins trying to move the thing but not working well

Theo

I'M GONNA RUN TO GRAB MY MEDS

Slashes at the one aerana didn't hit lmao I rlly just did that I'm breathing

15 barely misses

Goblin blocks lillian's strike

Asyna

Srsly should I make a sandwich

On first floor outside

Bro my headache went to the other side of my head wtf

Gonna go through a window

Follows them in and attacks a bunch of them

Bro I kinda rlly want a sandwich

17 and 18 to hit, 6 and 4 damage ?? 10 damage ?? 10 damage for both ??

KILLS BOTH OF THEM N I C E

Bashes their heads together

I'm making a sandwich

"it's a very forceful kiss"

Third one readies self

Lashes out at asyna, misses

Goblins

R also gonna try and attack aerana and theo

12 damage to theo

I'm eating my sandwich

One of the middle ones is gonna go for asyna, hits, 5 damage

That was a good sandwich might get another one

Adam

Bro I kinda want another sandwich

Gets downstairs w max speed and peeks in, sees aerana and theo and two dead guys by window and two more living fighting an ape

Looks at theo

Bro again I kinda want another sandwich

Makes the one that hit theo make a wisdom saving throw

Did not make it, hideous laughter

Mans can't stop laughing, has to make wisdom saving throw each turn ig

Adam has to tell a joke

Comes down and looks at bugbear, locks eyes

Our party walks into a bar . But most of us walk under it

What

Is this a short joke ?

I don't get it yikes

Panicked dom laughing

Tells us to not hit the guy laughing; save him for last

Bonus action uses cutting words on the one aerana is fighting; "fuck you"

Cel

I still kinda want another sandwich

To clarify my sandwich was like half

I think yesterday or smth I like hit my foot lol and I did the thing where I compose myself rlly quickly to ignore the pain and up my pain tolerance and it left a mark but like it literally doesn't hurt so not saying I'm upping my pain tolerance but one day if I ever got like idk shot or smth I'm not gonna have a reaction

Cel hits the one that's doing better w a spell and then does shortbow 25 to hit, 12 damage

"how do you want to do this?"

Takes an arrow right through his brainstem and the arrowhead goes out his mouth

Aerana

Wasted insightful fighting, didn't hit

Scream of frustration that I missed

Theo

Takes bow and tries to hit, 13 misses

Asyna

Do I rlly still want another sandwich

Hits on one roll, 7 damage

Guy is barely alive

Goblins

One that tries to attack aerana misses, guy on ground is now up, guy attacking asyna hits, 11 damage

Adam

Cutting words on guy that just got up "oh you're finally awake"

"ever heard of the one where the guy got back up"

Goblin rolls nat20

Cel

22 to hit, 9 damage

Stabs him, hurts

Aerana

"next time remember it"

If an ally is within 5 ft of you you get sneak attack

If u have advantage

Don't need advantage if another enemy of the target is within 5 ft of it

Start over

When rogues have advantage, get to add sneak attack

Can add sneak attack when u don't have advantage if

One of allies is within 5 ft of you

And if u don't have disadvantage

Theo

Gonna try for the bow again

Going for the one asyna's fighting

8 damage

Guy is on last legs

Asyna

Kills

Fun fact apes have been known to rip off the faces of their enemies

Rips face off then gently puts him down

Still two goblins left

Goblins

Try and run

Attacks of opportunity from celandine, theo and aerana

Nat20 from cel

Theo and aerana miss

I've missed like every hit what is this

14 damage from cel

They're still able to get away

Asyna makes attack of opportunity

I still kinda want another saaaandwich

Neither hit

Adam

33 across board for both for sleep; both fall over and hit ground, asleep

Adam goes outside and looks if anyone is watching outside their window

Looks like one of our neighbors is at their window out of the apothecary

Uses infernal legacy to cast darkness, blocking their darkvision

Puts it between fallah's house and bodies

Then drag the bodies

Adam is kinda sweaty n exerted

Aerana is watching ot, asyna takes one body cel adam and theo take the other

Theo is rolling damage

Cel binds their feet first and adam prepares sleep

Theo rolls 13 damage and one dies, other 15 and also dies

Why is my eye glitching lmao

Maybe I still want a sandwich

What time do I need to be up tomorrow wait

Idk lmao

We've brought our bodies in, the night is ours

It's 10ish at night

Adam's gonna sleep in jeans

Adam was not naked in combat ?

Or maybe he was

Adam doesn't wear pajamas so he had pants

Sleeping downstairs shifts for the night

Adam takes first shift

Adam is sweating a lot, feeling a little odd; feels super weak and cold and feels a little sick like he might throw up

Constitution saving throw

"can I feel this coming and give myself bardic inspiration?"

"uh . Sure"

"hold it in hold it in hold it in"

Check to see if he can make it to the bathroom

"boi that's just nasty" adam wakes up someone ? Adam

Adam wakes theo up

"you must be real glad I'm wearing pants right now"

Rolls nat1

Adam vomits onto theo ? Vomits into theo's cloak

Adam becomes violently ill

The key eventually comes out the butt

A 4

Able to makes way down hatch towards bucket by ot

Vomits on ot

"ot is, like, weeping"

Adam is weakened

So adam shit and hurled

Adam stomps it down the drain ?

Next morning

Adam comes down with the key

Adam's exhaustion is cured after long rest

We're not talking to adam today

Adam sets key on table "did you wash that first" theo / adam slowly takes key back

Adam casts sleep on ot to kind of relieve him

Cel goes to jones, one of the goblins informs cel that jones is out ,,, just out

Cel can't find jones

Home alone-ing the house now ?

Aerana

House was in state of disrepair before

Spike spell tore up front of house, lots of windows knocked out from fireball explosion and were damaged during fight

Bad to a little bit worse

Theo 20 for investigation

Random ropes and bricks, nails, wooden planks

Intelligence check w advantage

19, sets up a few different traps; two swinging brick traps when a door is opened + simple nails stuck into plank so would hurt if someone stepped on it

Asyna 9 for investigation

Cel sees jones putting a bunch of keys into the lock

Jones can't find the key to open his door

Jones is maybe gonna get some stooges to remove the bodies

10 dragons

Henrietta is gonna dump em

Astigmatism lmao

Back at the manor

Adam is done cleaning

Ot asked if he could be set free, adam says "this is my fault, I got it buddy"

Adam is going to the apothecary down the street

Walks up to counter, fallah is there

"heyo what's poppin fallah"

Takes out potion of necrotic resistance

Adam says he bought it at sea ward, roll for deception; 12

Why am I sO LETHARGIC ALL THE TIME !!!

Offers adam 50 gold

Pushes for 60, 10 for persuasion check

Just takes it for 50

Fallah gives medicine, smells like oregano

Adam goes in for a hug, hesitates then retracts

Goes to bardic school to talk to master

Yava is there

12 insight check

Yava is usually v composed but today

Yava is an elf so is like bruh wdym u trust me after knowing me for like a month

Asks abt house security

Adam just straight up tells her he's in trouble w the xanathar guild and is asking for glyph of warning spells ?

Persuasion check, gives self bardic inspiration

11, yava agrees to help

She's willing to do it for free

Can cover 8 entrances to the house

"I'd b willing to do this but adam u must b more careful"

Adam tells her he's dealing w a large sum of money - half a million dragons

There was half a million dragons embezzled ?

Yava thought it was just a rumor

Adam is idiot

Adam asks yava if she wants in

Idiot

#i talk a lot about sandwiches in this one #sn #13

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boredroo · 5 years ago

Text

A Messenger pt. 6

Summary: The Council has heard of the names that have reigned down London; the Frye twins have evidently brought upon a change for the better good against the Templar’s tyranny, but order must still be kept.

You have been sent by the Council to evaluate the two sibling assassins, report what is must and maintain control where it must be maintained.

Pairing: Jacob Frye x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

[][][][][][][][]

“Jacob Frye!”

It’s still rather early in the morning, the train is currently at a temporary stop in the peaceful yet awake station in the City of London—That is, until your fury abruptly tears through the quiet, your footsteps heavy as you march into the compartment where Jacob is resting in.

Sitting idly, almost sprawled over the sofa, Jacob looks up as you enter, ready to greet you with a beaming smile before-

“Oof!” He cries when something hits him right in his face.

“What’s the matter here?” Evie steps in just after you, eyes twinkling in amusement as Jacob dejectedly peels off the object you’ve hurled at him.

“(Y/N), what the hell-” he starts, but you cut him off even more zealously.

“You’ve been reading through my notes! My reports!” You gesture angrily towards your book now held in-between his fingers. “Those are confidential, and are only for my use as well as the Council’s!”

Jacob shakes his head, eyes fleeting away from you in what seems to be panic. “I have no idea what you’re going on about-”

“You drew a cat beside your name! Filthy liar!” You snatch the book out of his hand, only to smack it against his nose. He cries out in response and claps his hands to his nose, but to your irritation, you only hear a sheepish laugh afterwards.

Evie pipes up rather complacently behind you. “Oh, Jacob. How could you? See, (Y/N)? I keep telling you, he’s nothing but a walking disaster-”

“She helped me steal it,” Jacob blurts with a finger pointed towards her, and you whirl around instantly. Evie is quick to mirror the wry smile her twin brother wore just moments ago, struggling to ignore the raging fury in your eyes.

“Evie Frye...” you trail between gritted teeth, and she laughs weakly.

“I, well... I have something to attend to, actually!” Evie paces backwards, ready to sprint off into an escape from your wrath, but-

“Easy,” Jacob’s voice is gentle as you feel his hand around your wrist. He tugs it back, having you face him instead. Concern and... care are not quite what you expected to see in his narrowed eyes, not when you yourself can’t seem to feel anything but anger at this moment. They’ve wronged you by doing such a thing, to touch your personal affects like that, intruding your privacy, that now, they surely know.

“We had a reason,” he slowly explains, tapping onto the book now tightly clutched into your clenching fist. Fear, anxiousness render the bitter taste in your mouth, expecting what’s to come.

“And that reason is?” you manage to ask without your voice breaking.

Jacob doesn’t hesitate the least before answering. “I was worried about you.”

“We both were,” Evie joins, now standing beside him. “We thought we could find something that would help us understand, as you refused to tell us what truly happened there in Southwark. At the factory.”

Where you dumbly lost complete control of yourself, your conscience never fails to remind you, of that upsetting event that took place just a few days ago. And as Evie said, you’ve neglected to explain yourself to them, and you’re more than determined to keep it that way.

Your lips purse ever tightly, foot one step back as you fully intend to leave. “I know I’ve blundered, and have regrettably cost your mission-”

“That’s not what this is about,” Jacob interrupts, but you quickly do the same.

“And I’ve decided to quarantine myself in the train from now on should I ever risk failing you again. I take responsibility over my mistake and am punishing myself for it, and I hope you can simply leave it at that.”

“But (Y/N)-” Evie tries, though you’re already turning away, hastening to drop this conversation for good.

However-

“Luther Hart,” Jacob mutters, quiet but enough to have you hear him, just barely. You halt in your steps, the name yet again sets tremors coursing down your limbs, to your trembling fingers.

You don’t turn around, you couldn’t, but he is adamant to continue. Every word spoken has your heart writhing harder and harder. “...That one same name, scrawled all over on a single page. All of them struck out.”

“...Bloodstains visible as well,” Evie adds under her breath. Slightly firmer, “The penmanship frantic, with blood staining the corners.

“Luther Hart was a target, wasn’t he?” she finally asks.

Something shatters ever-so-violently inside you. Your body is immobilised, its mind washed away by the sea of memories, of those dark days that were once your very own life.

“(Y/N), who was he?” Jacob asks, and softer, quieter, “What did he do to you?”

Your silence only intensifies. But Jacob calls your name again, that just by that, by only his voice, the kindest way he says it...

You heave a long, fatigued sigh. The twins wait as you seemingly muster all that you need to finally face them, and in your hand, you reveal to them; your golden pen lay atop of your palm. A reverie upon it, it is when you feel a hand on your shoulder you break away albeit reluctantly from your suffocating thoughts, that when you meet Jacob’s gentle expression, the darkness fogging your mind clears up. Slowly it does, but it’s dissipating still.

...Why is he always able to affect you in such a way?

***

“...I came from a backwater village, just barely by the border of the country,” you begin.

The city and its people are moving along from outside the train, chattering of the few Rooks from the compartment aside than yours fit pleasantly into the backdrop. The usual, contented scene you’ve grown to seeing every day helps eases the weight in your chest.

...As well as the warmth permeating from Jacob, as his side rests gently against yours on the sofa, just as yours rest into him. Evie watches you with patient eyes from the armchair in front of you, though you didn’t miss the curious glance she had when, rather than sitting with the appropriate distance in the middle, Jacob chose to sit as close as he possibly could to you instead.

“After my mother died of illness, my father, my baby sister and I, we had to make do without her with us,” pain singes you now just as it did before, but it doesn’t last too long. You’ve grown past it, at least, this one you have.

“The loss affected my father most, it turned out. His business crumbled for his despair that never cured, and we were taken of everything we had in a single night,” You inhale a breath, and continue. “That was when my sister—Carolyn and I were taken away, to earn to survive. But I had the better end of it, I was a maid for some snob with too much money on her hands, not a child slave, too old for one I suppose.”

“Your sister was forced to work in a factory?” Evie asks, empathy dripping from her voice.

“And this Luther Hart did that to you? To your family?” Intense anger colours Jacob’s instead. You don’t answer, there’s more—more why the taint on your heart will remain black forever.

“...I tried to see my sister every chance I could, between the breaks. The estate I worked for was far, sometimes I barely made it before she would be whipped into working again. ...I distinctly remember how small and weak Carolyn was.”

Silence oozes, as if they’ve understood. They have. It didn’t take much in the first place, but they understand. They know that Carolyn, your younger, darling sister, is no longer of this world.

“We planned to escape, you see? I would take her away when no one’s watching, when the man with the whip wasn’t looking, when the mistress is too busy shagging her gardener behind her husband’s back. I was prepared. I was prepared,” now you’re clenching your teeth, your jaw tensing so tightly, it almost numbs you. Only when Jacob lightly touches your hand you realise, your fingers have tried clawing, digging into your palm, over your golden pen.

“But I was-I got greedy,” your voice strains. “I tried to release the other children as well, I’d protect each and every one of them, with Carolyn, but-!” you’re quivering in pain, in mourn, in fear—fear that they’re about to catch you, they’re going to recapture the poor children, they’re going to kill them, kill your sister, then you-!

“(Y/N),” Evie’s voice snaps you awake. Her hand is comforting on your shoulder, relieving. She’s bent in front of you to meet your eyes, and when they do, she offers you a firm nod. You take this as a signal to continue, but you feel... calmer, just by a slight bit. You’re safe now, especially with the twins so close to you.

“Sorry,” you say, exhaling. “...As you can expect, I didn’t get far. Not at all. We barely made it out of the building before the guards overwhelmed us. It was an accident, but the building caught on fire, a stray bullet landing into explosives instead of us. Carolyn’s hand slipped out of mine, and I... No one else made it.”

You try to continue, but before your lips even lift, Jacob interrupts you readily. “It’s not.”

“What?”

“You were about to say it was all your fault, weren’t you?” He frowns hard. “It’s not. That’s that.”

Your lips purse, teeth then gnawing anxiously onto the bottom. It’s easy for him to say, but you understand that he’s trying to ease your pain, and that’s more than you could appreciate already, especially coming from him.

“And that bastard? Hart? Did you get back at him?” Evie asks. You can see sheer hatred in her eyes as the name slips past her lips.

You nod. “I did.” And lifting your pen towards them, “With this.

“My father gave this to me on my birthday, my last birthday we spent together. After Carolyn’s death, I was in a low place, and that was when my mentor came in. She trained me to be who I am now. I bound my life to the creed in return, my duties and responsibilities for the Brotherhood kept me sane, intact. But then I heard word of a new institution under Hart’s name, yet another slave-driving fate forced upon the weak.”

You twirl your pen between your fingers, the maelstrom of emotions inside you having alleviated. Peace resonates deeply when you recall the justice you’ve served with your own hands, the deserving death you’ve brought down.

“It was against my orders, as the higher-ups intended to track Hart to the bigger force he was working under and so spared him to live another day, but the thought of him continuing to breathe while my sister had suffocated and died in his smokes made me take up my blade despite it. When he overpowered me, I used this pen and stabbed him deep in the neck.”

You’re mimicking the motions without realising, your movement exact and precise just as the one in the past. The sun glints off on the pen when you raise it high.

“...And now I must come clear to you two, that due to my defiance,” you turn towards Evie and Jacob, both very attentively listening and watching you, seemingly reliving your story as if it was their own. “With acknowledging my value as an Assassin, rather than rid of me completely for my one mistake, the Council instead decided to send me here, in hopes that I would not engage in the field without supervision.”

“Wait, what?” Jacob looks at you in shock. “So what you’re saying is-”

You force a smile. “Yes. I wasn’t sent here because the Council expected the worst out of you two. In fact, you are the best assassins I’ve ever had the honour of meeting. It was, instead, to ensure that I’d be out of their hair.”

Standing up, brushing down your clothes, you’re desperate to not look at them in the eyes as you say, “And I will not let myself get into yours either. Just this morning I’ve sent a letter to the Council to ask to return to my own home.”

“What?!” Both of them are upright in no time, their loud exclaim startling you.

“Oh, please, don’t worry,” you quickly console. “I’ve put in a good word for the two of you so you should be fine-”

To your puzzlement, however, Jacob doesn’t at all listen, hastening past you like a man in a mission. “Frye? Where are you-”

“I’m not letting that letter leave this city,” he simply says, holding your gaze so firmly, before jumping out of the train. You’re left almost bewildered, agape.

Then, Evie is covering your hands with her own. Her smile is kind, yet her expression feels stern all the same, determined. “You better not move a single inch until we get back, do you understand?”

“U-Uh, okay...?” Is there any other option when she’s staring you down like that?

Evie traces Jacob’s steps, though she stops short just by the exit of the train. “Say, (Y/N)? Something still doesn’t add up.”

“Yes?”

“Where was your father when all of that happened to you?”

You stare at her, before occupying yourself by going through your notes. There are so many cats Jacob has drawn... And they’re much worse than yours.

“...My father? Busy expanding his business as Luther Hart I suppose.”

***

By the time the Frye twins return from their unannounced trip, you’re rousing awake from a nap, their voices echoing down the path to where you are. It couldn’t be helped much that you had fallen asleep right where they left you, especially after their claims; Evie with her not-at-all-a-threat coercing, and Jacob having planted a dire concern in you that perhaps he might have went on to assassinate an innocent mailboy.

“Here you are, (Y/N)!” Jacob chimes as soon as he steps into the compartment. His eyes light up, crinkling from the wide smile he can’t seem to help himself giving you at first sight. A white envelope stands out in the hold of his gloved hand.

“You actually retrieved my letter?” your voice nearly cracks, the incredulity of the idea, of what he’s literally done confuses you to the end of the world.

“Your welcome,” he says proudly, either not noticing or outright ignoring the mixture of both shock and flusteration on your face.

“I don’t understand-”

Evie approaches you rather briskly, taking you by surprise when her grip curls around your arm. “We have an idea. Come with us.”

“To where?”

“It’s a surprise,” Jacob takes you by your other arm, that before you know it, you might as well be carried off by them to... wherever it is they’re so insistent in taking you.

And that ‘surprise’ of a place is...

***

“A... fight club?”

Your words inevitably drown under the cheers, the howling, the yelps of pain and victory from the rowdy men encompassing the periphery, or rather, the fighting ring located on a circular roof.

The city of Lambeth is spread out like a vast sea underneath your high ground, with eager men and women taking leverage of the stage to prove their strength and win rewards. This, for some reason, is the place Evie and Jacob really wanted to take you to.

Jacob spreads his arms wide in a grand gesture, as if showing off something invaluable to you. “What do you think? Thrilling, isn’t it?”

You glance towards the man in the middle of the ring, groaning almost obnoxiously, hands clutching onto his crotch. Oh dear lord, was he kicked in the-

“Jacob and I, you see,” Evie has her hands on your shoulders, perhaps wanting you to take in the scene with a more perceptive eye. “We’ve discussed, and speculated, that perhaps what you need is simply an... outlet. Just a way to relieve yourself of everything that is pent up.”

“Instead of abandoning us completely, that is,” Jacob adds, bitterness and a bit of mockery tinging his words.

Would they rather you don’t leave? Before you’re even able to voice the question, your heart thumping quicker than it’s supposed to, a man dressed rather colourfully steps up to the three of you. Evie tells you of his name before he reaches you; Robert Topping.

“Mr. Frye, Miss Frye!” he tips his hat with a dramatic bow. “It is always good to see you here. Fancy a round or two in the ring? You know how much the crowd loves watching you dear siblings in action.”

“...This is the sort of activity you two get up to at the side?” you murmur, to which the twins merely shrug in response, their eyes squinting in amusement, and none are meeting yours.

“Oh? How about you? You seem like a formidable fellow, yes?” Robert gestures towards you, his grin sly yet harmless, always on a look-out for opportunities. “A friend of the Fryes is surely a force to be reckoned with, that’s what I’ve learnt.”

You promptly fold your arms. “It’s (Y/N), but I’m hardly interested-”

Jacob slaps you in the back, and you quickly meet his smirk with a hard glare.

“Don’t be shy now, (Y/N),” he says, lifting his scarred eyebrow. “Go ahead and unleash the beast.”

He leans in almost conspiratorially as soon as you’re about to protest. “Or are you too scared you’ll humiliate yourself in front of everyone?”

That’s enough to snap something inside you.

Jacob lets out a small ‘oof’ when your coat splays over his face, that when he pulls it off him, his look of surprise turns into one of fixation as you’re vaulting over the fencing bars to position yourself in center of the now empty ring.

You’re pulling your hair back as you turn to them, noting how Jacob is, unaware even to him, intently watching the way your fingers tread in between your locks. “Sir Topping, what would it take for me to go against him?”

While Jacob barks in laughter as you almost spit out mentioning him, Robert clasps his hands together in keen approval, eyes squinting. “Against the standing champion? Nine rounds, including a match against the runner-up herself-”

Evie thrusts her chin up, her pride evidently casting towards, against you. “He means me, of course.”

“Second place suits you, sister,” Jacob provokes, yet Evie is unfazed, simply rolling her eyes.

“The brains, remember?” she scoffs, then her smirk widening, “At least I have one instead of just punching my way through everything, everytime. No one else could ever compete with you on that one, can they?” A groan as his response, Jacob couldn’t restrain from grinning afterwards.

Amidst the already impatient crowd, you stand just by the boundary, still within the ring. You lean on your arms that rest over the steel bars, surprisingly, with excitement and adrenaline beginning to surge through you. The idea of facing the Frye twins in combat is rather terrifying, and yet, you’re nothing if not eager to potentially get yourself beaten up, perhaps even win—At least, you could dream.

“Eight matches then, before I take on Evie and Mr. Frye?” you reconfirm, no longer able to refrain from smiling in anticipation.

“If you even last that long,” Jacob says with a smug smirk before Robert could answer. “No one ever does.” His last words sound like a threat, yet almost... sultry, especially with that lingering way he looks at you. In return, your eyes narrow in a challenge, one that he seems more than evidently happy to take up.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” you walk backwards, back to the center of the spotlight, holding firmly onto Jacob’s eyes that trace every single motion you make. “We’ve burnt enough daylight already, haven’t we?”

Robert lets out a howl in a cheer’s stead, surely spurring the audience into wildness. Even Evie and Jacob don’t hesitate to join in the unparalleled energy, cheering and applauding with the crowd, though you send a playful glare when Jacob boos you at one point.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you’ll witness today will be one of the finest shows you’ve seen in history yet!” Robert calls upon the crowd as he circles you for dramatic flair. Then a pat on your shoulder, he whispers, like a secret to you;

“Shall we begin, my friend?”

And it all erupts.

You don’t mind the roars of the people, the wind that does nothing to chill the heat kindling in your body, the excitement, the adrenaline—

“Hyargh!” Comes a cry from behind, and the fist that you dodge with ease with a mere spin of your body. Three men are to oppose you for the first round, all three now charging at you with strength surely pulsating through their aiming fists, and...

It’s all ending so quickly.

You’re sure you just finished the very first round, but now Robert is yanking your arm high up in the air, gloating, celebrating your already sixth win.

“Look here, folks!” He cheers, so over the clouds he is he’s almost slurring his words from how fast he speaks. “Absolutely delightful, this one! Do you not want to see more?”

The people’s response is to scream and whistle louder, an obvious sign that the show must continue, and one that you’re more than willing to give.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you catch sight of Evie and Jacob at the side. Evie seems to have changed into an attire more appropriate for the ring, and you’re flattered that she’s preparing herself for you already, giving you an acknowledging wave of her hand. Then, there’s Jacob, who seems like he hasn’t been able to stop smiling for awhile now. He, as well, gives you a friendly wave, and, without thinking, you return it with a wink. Jacob’s jaw drops immediately, his cheeks turning just a bit red.

Oh God, did you just pull a Jacob on the man himself?

“Ready for the next round, fighter?” Robert snatches your attention away, fortunately, before you could ponder on what you’ve done. You nod at him, fixing the bandages swathing your slightly sore knuckles and fingers.

One more brawl before you face one of the glorified Fryes.

...And it honestly doesn’t take much, with the wave of opponents ending as the last brute falls to the ground, air completely knocked out of him after a precise shiner up his chin.

As Robert takes over the grand gestures, you’re already turning towards the spot the twins have been making themselves comfortable in. The corner of your lips quirk up as you watch Evie vaulting over the bars to join you in the ring.

“Finally,” you hear yourself saying, and she lets out a light laugh.

“Took the word right out my mouth, (Y/N),” she says, grinning amiably. And that sense of camaraderie vanishes within a second, quickly being replaced when her bright eyes narrow into a fierce, menacing glare. When she takes her impenetrable stance, you know you’re in for one hell of a time now. There’s no turning back.

“And... begin!”

Your cry and Evie’s meld as you lunge at the same time. The blow you take on your cheek whips your sight white for a good second before you reciprocate with just as much strength, right on her face as well.

Evie spits onto the ground after recoiling, and comes back ever-so-relentlessly, her movements fast, accurate, way too calculating for you to try and counter immediately. Your arms grow tired as they shield you from her onslaught, until you catch wind of her attempt to break through, and you take the opening to spin and land a kick into her stomach.

You think you’ve won the upper hand now, but judging from her animalistic growl, it seems you’ve just made her angrier... You’re not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

That’s when she suddenly sprints towards you, and you receive the answer right at that moment—Evie leaps onto you, her strong legs wrapping around your neck before she twists and drags you down onto the cold, hard ground. Pain inflames through your whole body as you look up to her, wincing and feeling too numb to go on. You’re tempted to admit defeat, when-

“Listen to me, (Y/N),” she speaks quietly, winding her arms around your throat. She’s... masking her conversation with you by holding you in a death grip? “I have no problem throwing this fight to see you go against my idiot brother.”

“Y-Yeah?” you manage through her slowly crushing down your windpipe.

She answers way too happily in response. “Sure! You’ve put on quite a show, if I do say so myself. Consider it a reward, or maybe even a welcome gift for bringing you here, yes?”

“That... does come with you not... killing me on the spot, right? Please?” you choke out, ready to plead when she chuckles.

“Of course. Make it seem like you’ve overpowered me,” she says, loosening her grip. “Don’t disappoint me,” she adds more quietly.

“Evie, wait, I have an idea,” you whisper back. Swiftly presenting your schemes, still hidden from the public, she nods immediately in an agreement, grinning back at you.

In an instance, you take the cue to break her restraint, bumping your head hard into hers. When she balks back, you waste no time in whirling around and kicking her flat in the stomach. She falls down with a surprised yelp, and lifts her hand for surrender. You suppress your smile as she offers you a secret one of her own.

“Unbelievable!” Robert’s voice echoes instantly. The audience mirrors his excitement, hollering with their fists pumping into the air, even going so far to chant your name.

You’re huffing puffs of growing fatigue behind the back of your hand when something emerges into sight just from the corner of your eye—Jacob has entered the ring, and for an embarrassing second, you’re transfixed over his attire, or rather the lack thereof, nothing but fighting bandages and pants. The tattoo covering his chest makes you stare, a dark raven that you’re suddenly desperate to know of its meaning, as well as the subtle cross inked into his left forearm.

“You’re making me blush, love, with such intense staring,” Jacob coos with a hand on his hip, snapping you into attention. You try to glare your blush away, but from the complacent grin he’s wearing, your efforts are paltry it seems.

You’re as if mesmerised as you watch his hand raking through his hair, a scarce sight to behold as Jacob is rarely seen without his hat to compliment the way he’s usually clad in. ...You’ve completely lost control of yourself with the ogling, and worse, he seems to notice from the very start.

“I won’t go easy on you as my sister have, you know,” he declares, standing idly with relaxed arms at his sides. Unlike Evie, Jacob doesn’t even try to take you seriously, which infuriates you more than ever. And by the mischievous twinkle crossing his eyes, you’ve successfully fallen into his trap.

“This is it, folks! Who will stand as victor in today’s battle? Will it be the defending champion, Mr. Frye, or will the newcomer, (Y/N) take his place?” Both your names ring throughout the perennially heated crowd, your blood pumping faster and faster as your eyes lock against Jacob’s, until Robert signifies the start of the fight with an ear-deafening whistle-

You make the first move, deciding that using your better speed is wiser than trying to par against the assassin’s immense strength. And for a moment, you seem to be having the leverage of the fight, with your fast and piercing movements, your punches and kicks nearly overwhelming him. Then, mid-kick, he suddenly grabs hold of your ankle, and throws you back and out of rhythm.

Breath knocked out of you when your back hits the ground, you roll over just in time before he reaches for you, your arms already up to block his next attack—But he’s much stronger, that he’s able to break through still, and your guard ends up completely shattering when he turns and locks you in his grasp, arms positioning around your head in a way that could break your neck if he chooses to.

“Looks like it’s my win this time, huh?” he still finds a chance to taunt you, lips too close to your ear. Seems like he’s just equaled himself against your win in that over-the-rooftop race from before. But, too soon-

“Evie, now!” you demand, and you hear a confused sound from Jacob before he whelps in shock. Forced to release you, you turn to see Evie having jumped onto his back, now trying to break him down. You lend her a helping hand, kicking him hard, and with the element of surprise, Jacob falls down onto the ground on his back.

Snapping out of the shock, he looks up at you in disbelief, and even more as Evie runs up to you and offers you a high-five. The ridiculous, priceless face he makes only has you laughing harder than you already are.

“Oh, what a turn of events!” Robert narrates, amusement pooling down his words. “Looks like our champion’s enemies have joined forces to take him down once and for all! Ingenious play of strategy right there!”

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Jacob complains once he’s found, still, a rather unstable footing. It seems you and Evie had done him in a bit too much.

Evie only laughs in return, sounding more like a sinister villain. You can’t help yourself either, pushing him away by the chest with a finger. “The brains, remember?”

Jacob stares at you wordlessly, an expression that you can’t quite discern playing on his face as he seemingly contemplates between to laugh or scream. As the crowd rouses in celebration, he chooses to laugh in the end.

You let him pull you into an half-embrace, smiling up to your eyes as he nearly meets you forehead-to-forehead. The sheer adoration glimmering in his eyes, towards you, towards your lips, then back to your eyes has you feeling a bit red in the cheeks. You bask in the overwhelming energy the people spill for you as well as for themselves, in Evie’s joyful hug and Jacob’s warm smiles and touches.

...The day goes by rather well, if you could be honest.

***

Night quilts over the city just as you and the Fryes are ready to return to the train. However, Jacob has suggested visiting one of the pubs he and Evie have invested in nearby, and so the party is now off on a carriage to make way.

Sitting next to Jacob on the coach box comes off as a rather surprisingly... calming, insightful experience when the man’s not too busy being chased to death. Your mind is still a bit too wrapped up over the exchange you had with Evie prior climbing on the coach—she had sent you a suggestive smirk as she deliberately pushes you away from joining her inside, and instead forced your way to sit with her brother—when Jacob’s voice, a question gone unheard brings you back to reality.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly say, turning to him apologetically. “What were you saying?”

He simply chuckles. “I asked if you were cold, love?”

You fidget over the casual nickname. He’s rarely used it with you, yet now he does it as if it’s routine. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for asking.”

A glance and a smile, Jacob continues reining the carriage in peaceful silence, apart from the times he’s coaxing the horses. You’ve noticed it from awhile back, but...

“You’re awfully sweet when talking to the horses,” you hear yourself blurt out. Such a contrast between his tough, brash demeanor slightly enlightens you.

“I’m generally a sweet person,” he jokes, and you shake your head in good humour.

“Don’t be so jealous,” he adds.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“I’m not!” you laugh when he goes to stroke under your chin just as one does to a pet, pushing him away. “Focus on driving!” You give him a light slap on the shoulder, and he finally retreats with an endearing laugh.

The ride falls a bit quieter then, but it is a quiet that you more than welcome, the night life sparking hope inside you, as if no Templars exist, no wars to wage. When Jacob briefly sets the rein aside to blow into the cold of his hands, it becomes almost romantic as well—He doesn’t take his wondering eyes off you when you bring his hands into yours to help warm them up.

...The bar, on another hand, is an entirely different story. Teeming with life, with music, with people, you and the twins have to push through the partners bouncing in dance just to get to the counter. Jacob then excuses himself to the side to greet a group of Rooks, leaving you in the hospitable hands of Evie as she orders your drink for you.

“Fun day, wasn’t it? You were able to let your hair down just as we hoped?” she urges you to take a sip from your cup after she does so with her own. The liquor washing down you is sweet, bubbly, warmer than you expect. From your smile, she seems pleased that you enjoy her taste.

“It was... entertaining,” you say. “And very much relieving. You were right.”

“I always am,” she returns. Eyes casting away for just a moment, she says a bit softer, “Though I can’t quite take all the credit, not when it was Jacob who wouldn’t shut up about finding a way to ease your pain.”

“Mr. Frye?” you inquire. The heat bubbling inside you makes you question whether if it’s the alcohol or... something else.

“That’s what I said. I’ve seen you two, your... interactions. It could be harmless, but I can’t say I’m not fairly concerned. Jacob is emotional enough as he is,” Evie looks at you almost critically. “I doubt having more interference would do him any more good.”

“Is that the sort of thinking that have made you and Mr. Green distant?” you ask before you could stop yourself. You know more than enough that it’s a sore spot to touch on, but you couldn’t help yourself—Being called an ‘interference’, as if you were that much of a burden to Jacob impacted something in you.

Evie’s eyes widen, words slowly stammering. “That is... That’s not-”

“(Y/N), Evie!”

Your lips thin just as you feel an arm lace around your shoulders. Jacob has scooted his way up to you and Evie, the wide smile on his face signifies his obliviousness to the conversation he had fortunately missed.

“Less talking, more drinking already,” he lilts, ordering two drinks. One for himself, the other he shoves to you. Your eyes meet with Evie’s above the cup, and you’re hardly able to bear your guilt as she sends you a puzzled, upset look before scampering away. Jacob steals her seat without noticing, though he does watch her leave in slight concern.

“Something happened?” he asks. You wait for the long, unending chug he takes of his pint before answering, shaking your head.

“It was nothing,” you convince. To distract him, you take a sip of his given drink next. The taste is strong, sharp and-

You cough madly after swallowing, slamming the cup down on the counter. “This is revolting!” you croak, then take another long sip—An abomination, but still addictive. Jacob bursts into laughter, clinking his glass with yours before you two match your next drink out of the cups.

Either the drink’s repulsiveness is slowly making you dizzy, or the alcohol itself is getting to you, you can’t exactly tell. Shaking your head, face twisting the unsavoury taste away, Jacob watches you in amusement. He’s already downing a couple more glasses with much more ease than you are.

“Easy now,” he coaxes, hand brushing on your shoulder as you cough. “There’s no need to force yourself, you know?”

“I’m not,” you drink again, then splutter the content out back into the cup. “Okay, nevermind. Enough of that.”

“Wise choice.”

A hand pressing onto the temple of your head, Jacob’s hand running up and down your back soothes the growing headache, the blurriness that is slowly yet surely taking over your sight. You feel... light. Careless. Free of shackles. You could punch someone right now and you still wouldn’t give a damn.

...Is this what being inebriated feels like?

“(Y/N),” you hear Jacob call, a bit muffled through your ear. “Are you still thinking of leaving London?”

“You’ve already taken my letter,” you say, louder than needed. Words are coming out a bit broken out of you. “Don’t see elsewhere I could go.”

“Not planning to write another letter then?” he asks teasingly and you send a playful glare in return.

“Jacob Frye, sir, are you trying to make me leave by force? How unkind.”

His hands lift in surrender. “Now, now, you know I’d never do such a thing. Not to you, love.” That again. Doesn’t he realise how warm he makes you feel from such a name?

“...I never wanted to leave in the first place,” you murmur. “Didn’t ever want to, even as I was writing that stupid letter to the stupid Council. Still don’t want to.” There’s no filter for you, none whatsoever. Self-control has gone right out the window for tonight.

Even Jacob looks surprised, though he wears a light smile alongside, seemingly enjoying the small rebellion you’re putting up. “Wow, someone’s drank a bit too much, haven’t they?”

You huff at his words, then whirl around to face him. “What of you, then?”

“What? Leave London?” he asks in confusion, and you shake your head with vigour, letting out an impatient whine.

“No! I’ve told you what happened to me, what I’ve been through,” you fish out your pen from your person, then tap the edge of it onto the shilling of his necklace resting on his chest. He blinks in surprise, not expecting you to get a bit too close. “What of this? Did you kill someone with this too?”

You see him refraining himself from laughter. “I know I’m good, but killing someone with nothing but a coin is a bit too much to expect from any assassin, don’t you think?”

“So no hidden meaning?”

“Just that it makes me look more desirable,” he simpers.

You nod seriously. “Understandable.”

“What?”

“And this?” You tap a finger just by his brow, leaning in for a closer look of the scar right above his right eye. “Where did you get this from?”

He stutters for some reason, then you see his eyes wide, that they’re on you in awe.

“I don’t... remember exactly,” he finally says, voice a tad bit weak.

“Unfortunate. And this,” you reach to trace the scar down his jaw, just slightly grazing his stubble—He tenses immediately when you palm it as gently as you could against your hand. “This must’ve hurt a lot.”

Jacob stares at you in an almost speechless manner, but it lasts for only a brief moment before he visibly softens, eyes half-lidded in what seems to resemble an entrance. There’s something... different—Kind, affectionate in his eyes, something you’ve noticed from time to time, from the moments where he’s looked at you from afar, and sometimes even from when you’re so close to him as you are now, the thrumming of your heartbeat loud and clear for him to hear.

The tender smile he gives you makes you forget of everything, everyone else around you. He intends to say something, perhaps another of his uplifting jokes, one more of the endless row of his sassy remarks, but-

Your name out of his lips isn’t complete, not when you’re now slanting your own in between his. A light touch, a connection that is barely there, yet you feel it more than your body could harbour its weight—The sparks the short, delicate kiss release are enough to finally snap you out of the dreamlike haziness you were losing yourself in. Realisation sets in like cold, freezing water drenching onto you.

With a gasp, you push yourself away from him, dread tearing you down so intensely, you wouldn’t know where to begin to remedy this mess. Did you really just- with Jacob?

“I-” you start, struggling to avoid from looking at him directly, not even a bit if possible. “I’m so sorry-”

“I’m not,” you hear him, just before you feel yourself being pulled right back, into his arms. Whatever it is you try to say, it’s futile now, now when Jacob is relentlessly kissing you on the lips, compensating what you lacked in the one you gave him.

You’re much too bewildered to do anything else but simply stand there, though you do have to brace yourself against his chest when he presses you close, even closer into him. Melting isn’t enough to describe the disastrous state you’ve become, more like... swooning. And it only further intensifies when he hums sweetly against your lips, sounding pleased.

Jacob barely lets you go even after he pulls away. You’ve as if been struck by lightning, staring back at him in horror. It doesn’t help when he only chuckles at your reaction, then stealing just the quickest, softest kiss from your lips, smiling contently all the while, before he’s walking away—He’s completely leaving you, after all that.

A silhouette now fading into the crowd, you’re gaping on your own, never blinking from the spot he disappeared, through the people still dancing, spinning to the music. Everything’s so loud, it’s all ringing and throbbing inside your head, and Jacob’s little surprise only makes it worse, and still counting over the rest of the night.

Swallowing the nonexistent bile in your throat, you turn and sit back on your stool. Your attention fleets towards the bartender currently wiping a couple of glasses, feeling his eyes examining you. Once he’s sure you’re looking at him, he sends you what seems to be a congratulatory wink, signaling towards where Jacob once stood. ...Damn it, he saw all of that?

Beyond flustered, you yank your hood down your face for refuge, and take a sip of your long unattended drink—then spurt it back into the glass.

“...Absolutely disgusting.”

——

haahah a ha a ah this took me so long to finish oh god

Thanks so much for the lovely comments @multi-fandom-ficrecs @carolinecrazyangel @aikeia Gods you guys make it all so worth it 😭😭😭 Also let me know if you’d rather not be tagged like this, I could simply reply back on the post next time!

Thanks so much for reading! 💕💕💕

#jacob frye x reader #jacob frye #assassin's creed #assassins creed #assassins creed syndicate #evie frye

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plague-doctor-jules · 6 years ago

Text

“Qui me defendet ab me terribilissimo ipse?” - The angsty Julian fanfic noone asked for

This takes place on a ship, sometime during the three years of Julian being a fugitive.

Triggers: Blood, self harm, self-mutilation, depression, suicidal ideation, hints of sexual exploitation, MANY mental health issues in general. If you do not consent to read such content, do not open the link.

He had sunk in again; into the mouth of that kind of madness he had fought time and time again, but never defeated. It was one of the moments he dreaded anyone’s presence; even more so those whose opinion mattered to him. He was still human enough to wallow in a sea of sorrow, after all, and when that happened he wanted to go through the breakdown in secret, afraid that these moments of weakness would destroy the last traces of decency he had left if a prying eye ever saw him in that condition, like the one he was in that night.

The atmosphere was heavy from the smell of alcohol, blood and virginia smoke and the walls bared obvious dents of slammed fists and large stains, as if it had received some kind of liquid projectile, whereas the floor was littered with glass shards and crumbled pieces of paper. A bloodied knife was carelessly tossed to a corner, from where a trail of blood started, leading to the bed. Lying there naked, the plague doctor’s long, bony frame was half-shrouded by a soaked with blood and indian ink sheet, head hanging from the edge of the bed and the mane of unkempt auburn curls sweeping the floor. His deathly pale skin seemed even more sickly, almost translucent and his usually vivid stare was now rigidly fixed on the ceiling, as if the engravings there were suddenly the most fascinating spectacle. He barely breathed, or did his heart palpitate; nor any other muscle made the slightest twitch, save for his occassional blinking, and the tears which rolled soundlessly, mingling with the reddish roots of hair.

Upon the bedside table a sole sheet of paper, crumbled but straightened again, quill pen crushed next to it. The paper wrote:

The bloods of love shrouded me with crimson And joys untold overshadowed me with fear I rusted in the humidity of humans; mother afar -rosebud-oh! rosebud unwithering. At my road’s turn they awaited me, A heard of conflicting passions, and they tore me apart. It was a sin of mine to be able to love; mother afar- rosebud- oh! rosebud unwithering. Sometime, in the timeless void they half-opened; Ebony eyes In my insides- and they chained me in.

The poem did not end there, but the handwriting was even messier to the point of being completely unintelligible, and the ink was still wet, mingled with fingerprints of dried blood. On the doctor’s neck, the mystical sign was glowing; pulsating with light; and angry stab wounds on his chest and abdomen were already shrinking. New tissue had already started lining the inside of the larger one, filling in the hole he had stabbed into his heart. Ironic how sometimes physical wounds seemed to be the only ones healing, no matter how severe they were; for the gaping hole into his soul was still abyssmal and bleeding.

Julian’s tears kept flowing down.

I... can’t die... I can’t... I must be cursed.

This had happened many a time before, and each time it ended up the same bloody way. He would rise up some hours later or whenever duty called, appear and behave immaculate and make sure that noone could have the faintest suspicion of his previous state of mind. That was just a small price to pay for achieving to separate the “doing well” from the “being well” altogether; which he had been doing all of his life. But never was it so bad; never before.

I am a failure; I will always be one... I cannot even kill myself successfully... Why do I have to keep burdening this Earth with my existence?

After a while, doctor Devorak wiped his tears and got up from the bed. Stumbling, he reached the bedside table and grabbing at the piece of paper he threw it into the fire with a scowl. He looked at himself in the mirror; he was a mess. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot; and very very tired. He could barely recognize himself in the eyes of this weak, tired person who was staring at him from the other side of the mirror. God, what had he done to his vivid, filled with life stare? The rest of him was in no better condition, though. He had always been on the gangly side; but now he looked completely emaciated and sickly; almost as bad as he was when he had contracted the plague. Though most of his wounds had healed by now, he was covered in blood. His cheeks were stained with tears and scruffy to the touch; he hadn’t shaved in days.

Opening the drawer, he absentmindedly rummaged through his belongings. A small picture of his sister, back when they were children; that was pretty much the last time he had seen her. Some bottled leeches. A dried bouquet of wildflowers that someone had given him, though he could not quite remember who. A set of golden cufflings given to him by Lucio... the man whom he had supposedly killed. And a small pouch of herbs gifted by Asra... the man who gave him the curse.

Julian’s fingers finally found what he was looking for, and retrieved a straight razor. Julian stared at it expressionlessly for some seconds before he sat back onto his bed and started shaving with the languid strokes of someone who was only half heartedly performing a routine. Three years had passed; and yet, his memory did not seem to come back... though Julian wished he could somehow forget even more. The war, for instance. Or the time when he was captured by pirates. Or the plague. Lucio dying. Lucio using him and hurling him down the stairs like a rag doll after he force-fed him a plague beetle. The satisfaction and excitement in Valdemar’s eyes when he observed his scleras turning crimson.

The sudden sting of pain made him break free from the bad memory lane, and come back to reality. He idly looked at the nick on his chin, and the sign at the base of his neck that started glowing anew. That damn sign... Julian did not quite register his fingers leading the razor to it, until the pain came; as relieving as it always were. He ripped through his flesh desperately, cutting skin muscle and tendons alike; anything to get rid from that glow thaht stubbornly insisted on keeping death from taking him and putting an end to his misery. Finally the piece of skin was loose... But the glow was still far from fading, even through the blood; mocking him. Julian could only stare with disgust as the wound shrunk and disappeared like the rest of them, leaving no trace.

Julian sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a long time; as if he wished the world disappeared alonside with his vision. The sea seemed to be treacherously calm that night; much unlike so many nights before; when the tempest required even the doctor to lend a hand to the crew in order to avoid becoming fish food; and in the process he was busy enough to keep his thoughts at bay, for during a tempest one does not think; merely act and think about why acted like that later if lucky. However the waters seemed to be as still as stone that night; even the usual rocking that can be felt in every boat no matter the weather was barely there. The doctor looked around his cabin and sighed again; it was trashed. Shaking his head, he opened the door and stepped out, making a mental note to find a good excuse if someone happened to get in and see its state.

“Something the matter, doctor?”

The voice that sounded from across the corridor made him jump with surprise and he turned to see the ship captain peering at him; confusion turning into mild shock when he saw his bloodstained shirt and tear-stained face. “Was going out to take some air” Julian hurried, to avoid a cataclysm of questions that the captain seemed to be about to unleash. “I thought I heard a racket coming out of your room, but I didn’t think it would be that bad.... damn.” He only muttered, looking at him up and down. “You look like you could use a distraction.”

“I would, yes.” Julian sighed in agreement. “It seems that alcohol didn’t do much this time around.” he glanced at the captain sideways. “Why, you interested in helping?”

“I might be.” The captain replied, licking his lips.

Julian rolled his eyes. “Because you pity me?”

“Call it what you will.” he shrugged. “It’s your problem, not mine. Not that I care, anyway. You suit yourself, like the rest of us do.” he turned to leave.

“No no wait!” Julian’s voice sounded way more desperate than he intended. “Please... I need the distraction. I need to forget. please, make me forget, even for a while... I don’t care who it is, or why, just... please... hurt me... I want it to hurt...”

The ship captain chuckled darkly. “That sounds more like it.” He grabbed Julian by the shoulders and pinned him roughly on the wall.

And Julian did not bring any resistence.

((title translation: “...Who defends me from myself, who is the most terrible of all?”))

#julian #fanfiction #julian devorak #the arcana #the arcana game

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lachalaine · 6 years ago

Text

drabble . a hangover and two

disclaimer: emilia is jackie’s childhood best friend, and not necessarily the nicest person ever. if she seems excessively rude, it’s because she is. she’s got the biggest ego on the continent borne of being very, very rich and very, very spoiled, and rather just enjoys throwing her money and power around and being the most aggravating presence possible. she has her good sides as well ( just buried severely deep ). regardless, her main countenance is not the best. particularly, she is the type to walk over people if she deems them unworthy, and that’s almost everyone. it’s just the way she is and that’s that. pls keep that in mind if u read, thank you.

* this has talk of a one night stand and a copious amount of alcohol, please be warned thank u

She wasn’t the type to come around very often, and that much was true.

For how much she might have played a part in Jackie’s formative years, and for how much she’d loved to make her presence known when she was actually around ( so loud and so proud and so unapologetically annoyingly Emilia ) the truth of the matter was, the blonde only tended to slip her way out from whatever obscure part of the world she’d lazed her days about in when she’d finally deemed her esteemed attendance to be – well – most opportune, really.

Which in translation really just meant when her instincts were blasting clamorous and off key that Jackie was currently stuck in a most compromising position of which could not miss.

In this case –

“Why is there a very ugly stranger waiting for you outside your house?”

When she was flat out drunk and nursing a hangover. Apparently.

As you do.

Truth be told, the resonance of the blonde’s lilting accent was honestly enough to startle the plastered girl almost fully cognizant.

Perhaps the most terrible wakeup call ever, truly.

“Oh fuck.” And Jackie knew this script only far too well by now.

But she’d still fucking hated it, dammit. “No, please no, Emilia ---“ Incoherent mutterings of the most debilitated kind, the kind that might’ve made one almost pity her.

Almost.

She wasn’t really that lucky. “Why are you here?”

The smile her suffering brings to the blonde reeks of sheer delight.

And if that wasn’t a cause for concern - she didn’t know what was.

“Now, now – no need to sound so excited to see me, Dulcet. As knackered as you are –” A sharp cackle of amused laughter even as lacquered crimson lips stretched into an amused grin, long nails tugging teasingly at the thick comforter that hid her best friend from view, her viridian eyes alight with a shimmer that was perhaps only just a smidgen all too bright.

It only makes the DJ clutch the material around her just that much tighter.

If only she could sink into the fabric and never come back up again --- oh gods, please help her.

“You should have expected I would arrive sooner or later.”

Please.

The gods response?

No.

“Emi.” Jackie whines softly into her pillows, the most that she can manage when she feels so absolutely trashed. Even within the confines of her bed, from where she’d burrowed herself in like some kind of burrito – oh lords, it was too much. “Please, god forbid. Not today. I just had. The worst night. In the history of nights. Seriously, I feel like absolute shit and I could just – “

“Retch?” The echo of a loud and most obnoxious sound, much like air being sucked through an empty Starbucks straw. A Venti. Espresso Frappuccino. Non-fat but with extra chocolate syrup and a double helping of whipped cream. Sugar, sugar, sugar.

( jackie hated how much she’d remembered that even in the throes of her suffering, fuck her sideways, bloody hell )

…oh no. it was happening.

She wasn’t human enough for this.

Yet Emilia continued onwards with her litany much without pause. “Pass out? Die? Do tell which one it might be, darling, and I’ll either have a trash can or a funeral prepared for you either way. Alexander will take care of it, won’t you, love?”

“Of course, my lady.” The corresponding utterance of a subdued voice, most polite and most obedient. The kind that’d made Jackie deflate only that much further.

Between the both of them and their combined forces, she was turning into a soggy ass pancake. As expected. Business as usual, so you might say. “I can have a plot of land dug and prepared for Mademoiselle Jackie in the course of half an hour. Fifteen minutes, if urgently required.”

…well. That was a very promising response, first thing in the morning.

Somehow, she’s not at all aghast by it anymore.

What did that say of their friendship, truly?

She would hate to ask.

“…how did you even get in here?” She asks instead, tone most wary and uncertain, though somehow sounding already resigned to her fate. “I had the locks changed a month ago when I lost my keys, I could swear.”

The soft wiggle upon her bed, as the blonde made herself more comfortable. “Don’t underestimate my capabilities, Dulcet. I had a backup key made the very evening that you had it changed. Can’t have any barriers whilst getting into my protégé’s house. But, please, before you go on into all that personal boundaries speech and all that jazz – “ The female already cutting her off, even when she was still trying to make sense of the words, holy fucking shit. “Don’t try to change the subject.“ Another too loud sip, another clench of Jackie’s nails into the mattress in a bid for self-restraint, the sound of a doorbell ringing faintly off in the distance –

‘Why was this woman her best friend, goddess help her – ‘

“I ask again: why is there an ugly bloke of a man ringing your doorbell? And holding your knickers, of all things.”

--- that caught her attention.

“WHAT?” She was popping up from the covers like a jack in the box well before the uttered sentence could properly settle, and quite frankly, the expression on the Brit’s visage honestly couldn’t be anymore more pleased.

It was like the smile of a shark that’d smelled blood in the water.

Bingo.

And Jackie was whatever sorry son of a bitch sea lion that had gotten caught in its trap.

Shit.

“Ah – so you do actually possess mobile capabilities. Wouldn’t you wonder at that, Alexander? I am so amazed.”

The most playfully amused smirk even as red lips remained sealed around her straw, while her butler’s expression as he’d stared down at them both appeared as though it truly couldn’t be anymore blasé then it already was, really. His short response was just as annoying. “Yes, my lady. Much enthused, it is truly a miracle.”

why jackie ever bothered to put up with either of them, she would never know.

“Oh, screw you both!”

But she was down and shoving herself beneath the covers again without a second thought.

And yet her moment of weakness had been enough, as blonde so quickly reached out and grasped at the edgings of the covers with a steel grip, tearing it up and off her incapacitated victim with a dark grin. “I would say yes to that offer, love, but three is a crowd and you don’t swing that way the last I checked. Unless something’s changed, of which case I would say I am absolutely aghast that you would not tell me, but I trust you to fill me in on every little bit eventually.” A sassy wink, a relentless attack. Jackie would have no escape from her at this rate. Not if she’d had anything to say about it.

And truly. Emilia had a lot to say about everything, all the damn bloody time, Jesus Christ. It was like she never shut up.

( on her fucking grave, bitch. )

“At least, on anything of what I don’t already know about you, more or less. But we’ll talk about that later. We shift instead our discussion to today’s most important concern, of which case, I must say, you cheeky, cheeky girl –” She’d tittered, tossing her cup backwards and not even checking to see if Alex had caught it. She was fairly certain he would have, in any case.

Considering how often she threw things, his reflexes were superhuman at this rate, really. But anyway, as she was saying, back to the main point behind this visit -

Her best friend’s shitty life choices. Exhibit A, of which she’d practically crooned to the poor girl with an all too amused little giggle, the sound conspiratorial in every sense of the word as she’d leaned down, down, down, down, down –

“I really can’t believe you walked out without your knickers.”

Shit. Wait. What?

If the Brit was trying to give her a heart attack, it was working.

For as it was, all Jackie could seem to do was stare up at the ceiling with wide eyes filled with the most optimal amount of dread, and even she couldn’t deny the sudden and pervasive feeling of absolute doubt.

Her heart echoes a stuttered pulse within her chest, and her whisper when it resounds – is only but a mere breath. “...are you fucking serious right now?”

Emilia’s smile when it spreads – is damning. “Look out. The window~”

Jackie blinks. Jackie stares. Jackie is really, really, severely, absolutely and terribly uncertain.

But her heart is pounding at her to move. And she’s up. Up and suddenly rolling herself off the bed with naught but a little thump, where she hits the ground hard; and with a long suffering groan, and despite the unsteadiness ( and oh, she really was about ready to hurl, holy shit ), she’s up on her feet and wobbling her way half off towards the hallway without a second thought.

She stops on the landing, she works her way to the window, and with face pressed flat against the clear glass – she feels her heart drop.

And for the third time in a row this drabble ( or was it the fourth? fifth? who knows? ) –

Holy fucking shit.

“He has my underwear.”

Bad adult choices 101 – how not to have a one night stand, whoops.

“Mhm.” Emilia hums as she inches up against the window with her, looking all as though a pampered cat that’d acquired two villages worth of both cream and tuna. “Black and lacy and waving it up and down like the Union Jack. You do know how to choose them, darling. Your drunken decisions would haunt you. It’s fully on brand, I must say.”

Honestly, she’s not even sure how she would have managed to respond. Her soul was fast spiraling into an endless abyss at the proof of her negligence, and Jackie truly feared she was going to go down with it.

How had he even managed to figure out where she’d lived?

The despair of such notion only triples when the man finally halts his godforsaken doorbell ringing and chances a quick glance upwards – merely a moment, really – but Jackie only has just enough awareness left in her to grab the blonde by the shoulder and duck!

It’s far too late, of course.

“BABY!” His sudden screeching proves that point well enough, oh boy.

But she’s on her knees and digging her nails into Emilia’s shoulder before she can stand to even plan an alternative action otherwise, crap.

Is she having a heart attack? It certainly feels like it. And yet Emi, bless her soul, is far too amused to really fucking care.

Really, she’d lived for this, truly. Who else could you have found to be the embodiment of the protag of a rom-com without even trying?

She was so lucky.

Maybe.

“Provided you are done trying to claw a huge chunk of my shoulder off my body, perhaps we can discuss how you plan to take care of this before the paparazzi show up?”

The look Jackie grants her at that remark with seems to be all kinds of staggering, and the blonde almost feels a surge of pity.

Almost.

She wasn’t that type of person.

“Earth to Jackie. Oi bitch, wake up.” A short slap against her cheek, if only enough to snap her out of it.

If anything, all the stinging gesture manages to do is make her even more panicked.

Both hands quickly relegates to the Brits shoulders without nary a second thought, and even Emilia – in all her persistent amusement – muses if perhaps she might have gone just a wee bit too far off the edge this time.

Jackie’s whisper to her sounds like the beginnings trails of insanity. “You need to get rid of him.”

“BABY, MY LOVE, COME OUT PLEASE – “

Nani the fuck?

“Excuse me, you need me to get rid of that?” The look on her face was pure disdain etched into a picture. “Are you absolutely kidding me? The man sounds like a step away from being a desperate git, he hasn’t even said your name yet, which probably means he forgot it. I am not subjecting myself to that.”

“Emilia. Please.” The softness of her voice was not at all equal to the focused intensity of which laced her very being. “I need you to do this for me. On the love of our fucking friendship – “

“Oh god, Jackie.” The toss of her head, platinum blonde locks shifting with the movement as she’d waved the younger female away. “Don’t beg. You know that’s beneath you.”

Excuse her??

“Emi – I am so fucking plastered off my ass I am going to fucking puke on you. That man has my underwear, which means I made the walk home without them, and he knows where I live even though I’m pretty sure I had him passed out cold when I left this morning and I don’t remember telling him anything and with all due respect, I do not think anything is capable of being beneath me at the moment except my fucking grave.”

“Of which I can still have prepared in but a moment, Mademoiselle.” The short pipe up in the background wasn’t helping.

“Alex.” Sanity was evidently not a word in her vocabulary when Jackie finally looked up at him. “I will fucking slaughter you, do not test me.”

A short shrug, an almost amused nod. “As you wish.”

Her concentration shifts back down to viridian hues without missing a beat. “You need to take care of him. But be nice about it if you can. But just -- please. It is a need.”

“It is a need for you to calm down, that’s what you need. I did not fly here all the way from Bali to solve your boy troubles, Jackie. I merely flew here just to laugh at them --- eep!”

If mahogany hues could burn, then perhaps – the blonde mused - she would be on fire right now.

“Please.”

That was no longer a request.

Five minutes later, and she was finally opening the front door with a look upon her face that spoke quite distinctly of her absolute disdain.

If the poor man felt like he’d belonged more accurately squished at the bottom of her heel, it was honestly because he - quite very bluntly - did.

In her expert opinion, at least.

And she was an expert in all her opinions, but of course.

“Are you done ravaging the doorbell yet, you twit?”

The guy was American, and so he couldn’t quite understand the insult. But also, it appeared he didn’t take to context clues all too well.

That or he was evidently still hung over off his ass.

Whatever.

“Sorry, I just.” The male began, not actually having expected someone to open the door and yet already scrambling for words, perhaps not even having thought about his actual game plan before he’d come by. It certainly seemed to be the most logical explanation, really. He’d been driven to follow after the girl based on something inexplicable really, he’d just - “The DJ girl. Is she - is she here? I just wanted. To see her. She was gone this morning and I couldn’t find her and she didn’t give me her number and you know I had to ask – “

“She’s not available.” She cuts him off. A short response, a curt and both cutting stare.

How harsh, she hadn’t even let him finish.

“Not for the next half of a century, at least. But she will have her knickers back though, if you please. Thank you for bringing it.”

The laundry basket she’d kicked out towards him drilled in the fact that he wasn’t even worthy of an explanation beyond that.

He’d stared down at it, and then looked up, and then down again, and then up.

It was quite like watching a puppy really. Unfortunately -

She wasn’t much a fan of dogs.

The short cock of her head once more, as though that was answer enough. “Well put them in, won’t you? I don’t have all day.”

He was clutching at the piece of lingerie like it was his lifeline now.

‘How terribly depressing.’

“I – but – is she - really not here?” He’d asked, the words sounding almost stilted on his lips.

“No, she’s not.” The female drawled, already rolling her eyes in the picture of absolute irritation. “She’s gone, actually. Lying in a ditch somewhere and questioning her life choices, probably, but regardless, can you please?” Another light kick, a lowly uttered tut beneath her lips. “Put them in?”

Either the guy was slow or he was just very much attached to a woman he’d barely spent even five hours with, good god.

He still hadn’t let go of her underwear.

“But – are you sure? I saw her. People saw her. Come home. Her hair – “

Somewhere by the banister, Jackie was slamming her head against the wall and trying not to groan.

By the doorway, Emilia was heaving a long suffering sigh.

“She’s much a fan of violet, I will tell you that much. Anything that you think is her hair is literally just her couch, her bed sheets, her wallpaper and even her dishes. I’d give you a tour of her place but this isn’t a museum. So god for-fucking-bid – the underwear. Now.”

There must have been a spike to her tone, one that was sharp enough to make the man flinch.

But still. He tried.

“…can I wait for her? I’m sure – she’ll want to see me – after the night we had –“

Another shuddering knock from upstairs, the woes of a plastered woman cursing herself to the high heavens above. It was enough to make anyone look up.

Emilia didn’t even bother.

“Not a chance.” The female uttered, lyrical tone not even missing a beat. “In fact, I doubt she even remembers your name. Alcohol tends to do that to her, no offence. Which, I might ask – what is your name, by the way? For short term memories sake.” For it wasn’t so much that she’d cared, but it was always good to have this kind of information on hand for potential blackmail.

At the slightest glimpse of interest, at perhaps a chance to gain some form of entrance, the man puffed up his chest with a sharp nod. “Kale.”

A short stop. A loud screech. The perch of a thin and neatly trimmed brow.

She couldn’t quite believe this. “Kale?”

“Yes.”

“…like the vegetable?”

“…yes?”

Oh, he was far too proud for a man with a name like that.

“Say no more.” She’d waved him off, much like a woman ridding herself of flies. “Gods, she really must have been drunk off her arse last night. No matter. You can leave now, and never come back again. Drop the knickers or I’ll have my men take care of yours.”

Well – that hadn’t gone the way he’d expected it to.

“What?”

A roll of her eyes, a mere snap of her fingers. And before he knew it

--- there were three dudes boxing him in. Breathing down his neck. Intimidating him even by mere presence.

Had they been there the entire time?

It would certainly appear so.

They’d just learned all too well to be discreet until needed, that was all.

Suffice to say though, that at the very least – he’d dropped off the underwear without much trouble after that.

Yet Emilia, when she finally stalks her way upstairs, along the look of absolute disdain now directed at her wasted best friend sprawled out along the floor – she’d just had to ask, after all –

“You had sex with a man named Kale?”

As if Jackie’s heart wasn’t already due to give out on her. Of all the fucking things to care about - “Emilia, I swear to god – “

“I am so disappointed in you. Of all things. Kale. You couldn’t just fuck a bloody carrot. A zucchini. A cucumber. No, you go for fucking Kale instead. Jesus Christ, no wonder you hated it. Not to mention, you really need to rethink your strategy of not wearing wigs when you go out with plans to get fucked. Your bum is a sitting duck with these men, have you not realized that?”

Jackie doesn’t know she has it in her to answer the blonde at all anymore honestly. Perhaps she would have. Perhaps she would have not. Regardless, and without further ado, with no small amount of drama --

It appears she passes out. Right out of it. Just like that.

Boop.

To the slightest prod of a designer heel - there is no response. “-- is she dying, Alex?”

Said butler appeared as though he could only nod. “Perhaps, my lady. I cannot quite say – “ A low and most suffering groan emanated from the girl, and all too soon, he was quickly rethinking that thought. “It would certainly appear so.”

And for perhaps the first time that afternoon, the blonde doesn’t scoff. In fact, she doesn’t bother to do anything anymore but just release and all too heavy sigh.

“Hmm. Pity. Do pick her up then, I suppose.” The slight nod, even as she’d quickly turned on her heel and moved to make her way down the hall. “We’ll take care of the rest, as usual.”

“Shall I prepare the funeral then, my lady?” The servant had the gall to ask, already bending down to pick up the passed out female, cradling her in his arms much like one would handle overly precious cargo.

One that was lightly snoring and stunk of a distillery, at least.

How charming.

He didn’t mean that statement in sarcasm.

For all as ironic as it was, she really was as precious as they would come.

At least they would think so, really.

“Hardly, Alex. We’ll bother with her funeral only after we prepare her bath. The bloody girl is still as hopeless a turtle as ever, wouldn’t you say? All these years and she’s still the same absolute mess.”

The smile the male sports as he follows after his lady appears to be if anything -- only all too pleased. And he knows for a fact that the same amusement is only ever matched by the blonde.

Not that they would ever tell, of course.

“As ever, madam. A very curious turtle indeed.”

But perhaps, just as they had back then, they’d rather much appreciated her that away after all.

FIN

#&& summer nights last forever (drabbles)#&& club chatelaine (main verse)#/ idk how i write things anymore #/ this was just. an excuse to showcase #/ their friendship and what a mess it is.#/ its so hard writing emi honestly but i enjoyed it enough #/ she's too difficult to work with tho i'd really never make a blog for her #/ idk. this is probably a mess. anyway i got it out of my system i guess #/ OTL #/ i will try the asks and see where i get heck just ignore this its self indulgent more or less blech sbdhsbzdha #/ boop #alcohol tw

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caspian-skye · 6 years ago

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Last of the Inyan, Part 3: This Isn’t the End

A bit ironic given the title, but this is part 3/3 of Alexandra’s backstory series. If you liked it, check out GRAE on fanficion (dot) net (I am not taking any chances with this not being shown up in tags after yesterday) and follow me here as I give updates on my next story!

“Man was born of dust, and eventually to dust he shall return.”

That was what my father once told me. This is the end of my second day with no water. The vultures descend with each hour. I fear I must finish my note soon, if I want it finished at all.

I guess I’ll conclude by telling the immediate events that brought me to this situation.

I’m tired of the desert. Whether I would have become so tired if that terrible night never happened, and I was still a member of the living Inyan tribe, I don’t know. I’m tired of being alone, watching society from the outside as I’m doomed to my stone huts and dark, quiet nights.

My prison of silent isolation.

A couple of days ago, I found my way to a village I had visited a handful of times in recent years. It sprung up almost overnight, but it seems permanent. I had just sold a stone flute when I heard in passing about “Great Canyon City.” Apparently, it’s a city along a massive river and next to what the man called a “dam.” It sounded like a city more advanced than any I’ve visited, entirely modern like the ones in other kingdoms.

I was, of course, troubled by the apparent mistreatment of faunus within the city. If you’ve read this far, you can probably figure out why I don’t exactly agree with the mistreatment of someone for some inborn quality, something they can’t change. Plus, I’ve met a few faunus, and the ratio of decent ones to criminals is the same as humans.

Still, an advanced city with all the food I could ever eat and water I could hope to drink granted a flicker of hope in my heart.

I set off the morning after visiting that village. I had only the roughest idea of where to go, Southeast, somewhat near the ocean. I figured if I found the river, I’d follow it, and I left it up to the whims of chance and luck whether the way I decided to go, either upstream or downstream, got me to my destination.

I never found the river.

My journey was normal for about two days. Wake early, move as far as I could and maybe find water, take shelter during the day’s hottest hours, and move again just before dusk. The Sun rose over the crest of a plateau, warming the desert and bathing it in orange hues. Heat waves rippled over the sand, creating the deceptive silvery hues I had grown to hate-- a mirage.

Yet something caught my eye. Three pillars of stone and a fourth halfway broken, each at the corner of a stone building. At its center, a dome.

My heart raced as I approached. I needed money if I was to find any form of comfort in Great Canyon City, after all. This half-buried temple could contain gold, jewelry, any number of other things. The stone front parted with a swipe of my hand, and I hopped down to the floor of the temple.

The room was rather small. Much bigger than the shelters I conjured from stone, of course, but I could have sprinted to the other end in a matter of seconds. Sun filtered in from cracks in the ceiling above, the illuminated floor below covered in piles of the sand that trickled down in an irregular stream. The ceiling was held up by ruined pillars, each with a myriad of splits and fissures, enough for me to reconsider my search. I rose some sand from the floor to bandage the pillars, just to be safe.

Once I reached the far end of the room, I could see my eyes reflecting on the mural of smooth stone. It was mostly black and white-- obsidian and alabaster, maybe? A colossal black snake with white armor coiled a pile of gold, skulls littering the outside of its lair. Next to the colossal snake, and with one hand on its black side, a woman with pure white skin and hair, eyes the color of blood.

She sent a shiver down my spine.

Below the mural, what looked like a lever. Everything told me to turn back. But that lever invited my hand. I felt as if I was a puppet as I reached out slowly. My fingers clasped the stone, and I pushed forward.

A horrible scraping noise echoed through the chamber as the ground behind me pulled down. With a clunk at each step, chunks of stone settled in at staggered heights, the first stairs in a set too long for me to know, as beyond about six or seven was choking darkness.

A flame danced in the palm of one hand, and I pulled a section of the mural behind me into a stone several inches across. I rolled it down the stairs.

Clunk.

Another horrific sound, the clamor of half a dozen stone spikes protruding from the stair the stone struck in an instant. I swept my hand in front of me as I descended, covering that particular step in several inches of stone. Bones littered the next several steps, adventurers who were apparently not so lucky.

I made it to the bottom of the stairs alive. I stood at the far end of a corridor. Its remarkably smooth floors had cracks at irregular intervals. They looked to be human made, as the straightness of the lines and smoothness of the edges could not have been natural. Yet there was no regularity to them.

Once again, I rolled a stone across the floor. Its knocking on the ground echoed throughout the silent cavern, and I jumped when a blaze of flame suddenly erupted from the crack with a vicious roar.

“Whatever’s in here, someone put it here. That someone really didn’t want it found,” I thought. After all, the temple looked to be old. A lot of Vacuo was destroyed during the Great War, but I wouldn’t be surprised if these ruins, further into the sea of stone and sand than I had ever been, had survived. They looked to be older, maybe even dating back to the lost kingdoms of long ago. My heart began to race.

My footsteps were the only sound, echoing off the walls and into the abyss of blackness. They picked up pace as I continued on for what felt like an eternity, leaping over the cracks of flame. Bones littered the floor, some charred to near nothingness.

Finally, a golden box, longer and wider than I was tall. It was ornately decorated, jewels and colored stone patterning the front. Behind it, a sarcophagus, the golden shape of a man wearing a jeweled crown and ornate robes. Beside him, another mural. The same woman with alabaster skin and hair, dark red eyes. She looked strangely sad.

I reached to the clasp of the golden chest.

Immediately, from every single crack in the floor behind me, a searing inferno burst forth. I backed into the chest, wide eyes watching the dancing flames. The entire corridor was lit now. It seemed to be about twenty feet wide and half as tall, but hundreds of feet long. The wall next to me began to move.

Then, from behind it, a low, guttural grunting.

My breath came uneasily and my heart beat into my throat as my head slowly turned.

Six eyes. One set easily the size of my head, the other two further back, and about half the size. In the second I shrieked, the colossal creature burst from the shadows. Its head was halfway between snake and alligator, covered entirely in white armor and reaching nearly to the ceiling. Its black body, spine and ribs spiked and white, dragged behind it.

The chest forgotten, I began to run.

I swept my arms in front of me with each step, parting the flame and sending it to the terrifying beast behind me. Whether my attacks missed, or the monster shrugged them off, I never had the confidence to check.

I heard what sounded like the beast getting violently ill. I looked over my shoulder in time to watch it hurl a glob of viscous black fluid toward me, and I ducked to the side. The attack splattered on the ground, and from it rose a beowolf.

I’ve hunted enough grimm by now that I eliminated it almost automatically with a stone spike through the gut. I didn’t notice the second that had rose from another black puddle just beside me, and barely dodged a swipe in time.

Its claws slashed my jug of water, wrenching it from my side and pulling me backward toward the massive snake-like beast still in pursuit. I have bad luck with water, I guess, because the container shattered across the floor. One hand raised to impale the beowolf with spears of ice, and the other commanded a torrent of fire back to the larger threat.

Once again, I began to run. This time, abandoning entirely the Basilisk and the beowolves that threatened to pull me into the blackness and flame. Three sounds echoed throughout the corridor in a cacophony: my breath, my sprinting footsteps, and the growls of the grimm behind me. Finally, I reached the staircase. My escape became harder, but the light filtering in from the top gave me the slightest hint of hope amid my terror.

I passed over the stair I covered, and revealed the booby trap that had been laid countless years ago.

I heard the Basilisk shriek as the stone spears launched from their hiding place. The beowolves still snapped at my cloak, but I heard the largest grimm, at least, begin to retreat. As I passed the columns supporting the temple’s ground floor, I blew out their bottoms, causing the ceiling to collapse.

I dove out of the doorway I had created just in time. The ground shook as the very last stones tumbled on top of each other, crushing the dozen or so grimm underneath.

I rolled over onto my back, catching my breath. My first thought was that I should have taken the mural, with the giant snake grimm and white-skinned woman, a little more seriously.

The second thought was that I was entirely without water.

I haven’t made it very far. Ten miles, maybe? It all looks the same. Desert sandier, drier, flatter than I’ve ever seen. Heat haze ripples in every direction as the temperature climbs higher than I’ve ever known.

My throat feels torn, my muscles are weak, and my head is pounding, but writing this as I resigned myself to death made me realize something. I’ve been alive in this desert for ten years for one reason: I survive. I survived the Inyan massacre, I survived the crushing weight of my own identity, and I survived hordes of grimm. I have to survive now, and however many more times, to avenge the Inyan tribe.

My name is Alexandra Ité.

If this note is found in the pocket of a dried-out skeleton, know that skeleton died fighting.

#rwby #rwby oc #rwby fic #rwby fanfiction #fanfiction

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thedcdunce · 6 years ago

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First Born

“You treat me... as a thing you understand. But I am not that. Left to die in a desert, condemned by those that created me. Left... as nothing. It took me seven thousand years... to understand... only nothing lasts forever. Mother! Father! I understand now... I am nothing!” - First Born

Aliases:

Crippler of Souls

Gender: Male

Height: 7′ 6″

Weight: 375 lbs (170 kg)

Hair: Black

Race: God of Olympus

Powers:

Animal Empathy

Olympian Physiology

Magic

Linguistic Assimilation

Weaknesses:

Monstrous Appearance

Power Limitation

Universe: Prime Earth

Parents:

Zeus; father

Hera; mother

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: God of Nothing

First Appearance: Wonder Woman Vol 4 #13 (December, 2012)

Last Appearance: Wonder Woman Vol 4 #35 (November, 2014)

Powers

Animal Empathy: He could control hyenas as a baby to bring him food.

Olympian Physiology

Immortality

Superhuman Strength: He has claimed that his fists are capable of leveling mountains.

Invulnerability: He was able to crawl though the Earth's crust despite the heat and pressure.

Accelerated Healing

Energy Absorption: After being burnt by Apollo he was able to dismember veins from his body to use as tentacles that drain life from others, up to and including the Gods of Olympus.

Magic: After being burnt by Apollo's explosion and taking the throne of Olympus for himself, the First Born was capable of using magic to transform the entirety of Mount Olympus into a fleshy construct of itself. Furthermore, he is capable of opening a portal to the pit of the abyss, through which to imprison others.

Divination: The First Born is able to view other locations through a large pool of blood, as well as share that vision with others.

Teleportation: The First Born is capable of transporting others through blood.

Linguistic Assimilation: He can learn a language by eating someone's brain.

Weaknesses

Monstrous Appearance: In the aftermath of the death of Apollo, the First Born's form was little more than a walking corpse -- naked, bald, and pockmarked.

Power Limitation: The strongest of the First Born's powers are only accessible if he has control of the throne of Olympus.

History

The First Born was the first son of Zeus and Hera, and later an enemy to Wonder Woman.

Iron

The true origin of the First Born is a secret held by the Gods of Olympus. According to them, the First Born was the very first child of Zeus and Hera. On the day of his birth, a prophecy was recited that some day he would sit upon the throne of his father with the rest of the family as corpses around him. To prevent this from coming to pass, Zeus ordered a witch to kill the baby. Hera pleaded with the witch for mercy and instead she left the the baby in a velt in Africa, to fend for itself.

Using its nascent power, he commandeered a pack of hyenas to bring it food. He grew to adulthood, and became strong. He eventually grew into a giant man and learned of his heritage. He sired a army of Human-Hyena hybrids to take control of countless civilizations and slew a dragon to gain special armor. He eventually tried to take over Olympus only for Poseidon to wipe out his army with a tidal wave and Zeus to bury him beneath the Earth. His armies were then taken by Hades.

Seven thousand years later, after the disappearance of his father, he broke free of the Earth's crust in Antarctica and was greeted by his half sister Cassandra and her group of scientists. He ate one of the scientists brains to learn modern English, then lets her join him in his goal of taking over Olympus despite the efforts of the gods, especially Hades and Poseidon's forces. Ultimately, Poseidon swallowed the the duo whole.

War

In the belly of Poseidon, the First Born and Cassandra were forced to make a deal with the sea god in his true home. Poseidon would return First Born's weapon and allow him to overtake Mount Olympus in exchange for leaving the sea and Hell to its current rulers. Naturally, the First Born refused at first, but was forced to agree when it became clear that if he did kill Poseidon, he would be forever trapped within the god's corpse. The pact sealed in blood, Poseidon acknowledged that the throne of Olympus could not be won without the last born, Zeus's final and true heir, guarded by the last Amazon who Poseidon knew to be Wonder Woman.

Going to London with Cassandra in search of Zeke, the First Born was met by Lennox, Zola, and his mother, Hera, and engaged Lennox in combat. Soon after, when Wonder Woman entered the fray, Orion followed by Boom Tube, and brought all present to New Genesis. However, Lennox was forced to stay behind in order to do so, so as to allow a Boom Tube that the First Born was holding open to close. Ultimately, the First Born managed to destroy Lennox, taking up residence on the throne in Westminster Abbey after having sent the city of London into burning chaos before Orion, Zola, Zeke, and Wonder Woman had managed to return, even gaining the aid of War. In the battle, the First Born attempted to kill War, but Wonder Woman impaled Ares to harm the First Born instead, robbing him of the chance to take up the mantle of god of war before he was knocked unconscious by Zola from behind.

Flesh

Captured by the Gods of Olympus and taken to Mount Olympus, the First Born was tortured, by Dionysus and Apollo, by having his internal organs eaten while he was still alive. Apollo had claimed ownership of the First Born when offered him by Wonder Woman after the First Born's defeat. Eventually, the First Born broke free of his bonds, and began to choke Apollo, the latter having been trying to humiliate him by forcing him to swear fealty. His own sheer hatred allowed him to overcome the searing heat of Apollo's powers, and he claimed to be the only one who deserved the power of Olympus, eager to not only remove the "seat warmer" Apollo, but desiring to have the Gods of Olympus, one by one, until he was the only one left. However, this stated goal allowed Apollo enough motivation to cause a massive explosion and kill himself, destroying the tower on which they stood.

Surviving the explosion that took Apollo's life, the First Born took it upon himself to claim the throne of Olympus itself. Draining Artemis near to her death with his newfound powers, the First Born declared himself "nothing," with the meaning that he would last forever. Although Hera was restored to her immortal self by Apollo's sacrifice, she and all others present were forced to escape to find a new army to fight the First Born, bringing all present with her to Themyscira in the hopes of using the Amazons of Themyscira as said army, led by Diana as the new God of War.

Bones

Having used his newfound power over the heavens to transform Mount Olympus into a fleshy, nightmarish tower, the First Born kept Cassandra as his slave, starving her until he fed her companion Doctor Cheever to her for his own amusement at her nausea, also reminding her that he would eat her as well if she displeased him. Not long after, he came to the realm of Hades, extinguishing the candles on the god's head to effectively kill him. As a result, the souls of the underworld were released to the mortal realm, with no one left to rule the Underworld.

With Death conquered, the First Born set his sights on Life in the form of Demeter. With Strife's prodding, he came to the conclusion that he would want a wife with whom to share his kingdom, rather than rule over nothing at all. To that end, when he attacked Demeter and was faced with Diana and her new Hephaestus-forged armaments, he capture Wonder Woman as she allowed the others to escape, bringing her to Mount Olympus.

Forcing Diana to kneel before him, the First Born asked her to join him, despite their core oppositions -- her devotion to love and inspiration, his to destruction. To change her mind, he decided to destroy that which she held most dear. Sending his army, along with Cassandra and the Minotaur to attack Themyscira, the First Born reasoned that even if his children were killed by the Amazons, he would make more with Wonder Woman, despite her revulsion of the prospect. With her continued denial of his advances, the First Born stabbed Wonder Woman in the gut and left her to bleed out as he transported himself through the same blood pool to Themyscira. Though he fought alongside his army and defeated Orion, seeking to humiliate him by having him wear a dog collar, the First Born was driven back by Milan on Orion's Astro-Harness, with Artemis and Orion brought back to Mount Olympus through a Boom Tube, where Poseidon had claimed the throne of Olympus in the First Born's brief absence.

Upon the First Born's return to Olympus, he impaled Hermes on a spear with his claim to kill them all. Upon Strife noting that he had been losing the battle in Themyscira and had come to Olympus to get a secret weapon, meaning he was not as unstoppable as he claimed, he ensnared Zola in his veins. As he opened a hole into the abyss into which to throw Zeke, the First Born demanded that the Minotaur kill the unconscious Diana, then in a coma due to blood lose from her wounds. At the "less-than-man"'s reluctance to kill the woman who had spared his life, the First Born murdered him personally with the Minotaur's own horn impaled in the chest. In the ensuing battle the First Born was hurled into the abyss by Wonder Woman, with the Lasso of Truth, thereby losing rulership of Olympus to Zeke. Wonder Woman claimed it was a measure of "tough love," and hoped that in another seven thousand years, he would learn the real meaning of submission, of power in the strength of others.

#first born #crippler of souls #gods of olympus #wonder woman #dc #dc comics #thedcdunce

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dumbledearme · 6 years ago

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chapter seventeen—weakness of affection

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act III — Deep Blue Sea

Part II — No man is worth the aggravation. That's ancient history. Been there. Done that.

Somehow the Hunters defeated the men in the helicopter. Andy didn't see what happened, nor did she care. He was gone. She wouldn't see him again. Anthony was gone. Forever. But he couldn't be... dead. He couldn't. She hadn't had the chance to tell him, maybe show him, how she felt. Could it be too late? She had to let him know!

The one called Zoë eyed Thalia. "You," she spat.

"Zoë Nightshade," Thalia's voice trembled with anger. "Perfect timing, as usual."

Zoë scanned the rest of them. "Four half-bloods and a satyr, my lady."

"Yes," the youngest girl said. "Some of Chiron's campers, no doubt."

Experiencing a wave of panic, Andy got up and tried to run for the cliff again. Once more Thalia held her back. "Let me go! Thalia! We need to save him!"

The young Huntress turned toward Andy, her eyes filled with pity. "I'm sorry, Andy Jackson, but the son of Athena is beyond our help." Andy's throat made a terrible sound she didn't recognize. "And you are in no condition to be hurling yourself off cliffs."

Andy struggled to push Thalia away. "Who do you think you are to tell me-"

"I am Artemis," she said. "Goddess of the Hunt."

Grover gasped and hurriedly knelt in the snow, stammering: "Lady Artemis, thank you, thank you... You are so... wow!"

"Get up, goat boy," Thalia snapped. "We have other things to worry about."

Andy knelt in the snow beside Grover and put her hands together in prayer. She silently asked her father to save Anthony, if Poseidon was there could he please, please, save Anthony, that was all she was asking for, that he'd be safe and alive and-

Thalia smacked her across the face. "Put yourself together, Jackson. You can't afford to lose it right now." Her voice softened. "We're going to find him, alright?"

Andy tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. Her face burned where Thalia had hit her. But she wasn't angry at her. She wasn't feeling a damn thing but that strange aching in her chest.Was that how a panic attack felt like?

Then Bianca spoke, "Who... who are you people?"

Artemis answered, "It might be a better question to ask who you are. Who are your parents?"

Bianca glanced nervously at Nico. "Our parents are dead," she said. "We're orphans. There's a bank trust that pays for our school, but..." she faltered. "What? I'm telling the truth."

"You are a half-blood," Zoë Nightshade told her. "One of thy parents was mortal. The other was an Olympian."

"Does that mean...?"

"One of the gods," Artemis confirmed.

"Cool!" said Nico.

"No!" Bianca's voice quavered. "This is not cool."

Nico danced around like he needed to use the restroom. "Does Zeus really have lightning bolts that do six hundred damage? Does he get extra movement points for-"

"Nico, shut up!" Bianca put her hands to her face. "This is not your stupid Mythomagic game, okay? There are no gods!"

"Bianca, I know it's hard to believe. But the gods are still around. Trust me. They're immortal. And whenever they have kids with regular humans, kids like us, well... Our lives are dangerous," Thalia explained.

"Dangerous," Bianca repeated. "Like the boy who fell."

Andy held her breath trying not to cry in front of all those people. "Do no despair for the boy," Artemis said as if reading Andy's mind. "I will find the son of Athena."

"Is he alive?" Andy glanced at the goddess.

"He is just gone, child of land and sea. If he had hit the water you would have felt it. Some magic is at work. I do not know exactly how or why, but your friend has vanished."

"What about the manticore?" asked Nico. "It was awesome how you shot him! Is he dead?"

"Hopefully," said Artemis, "he is destroyed. But monsters do not die, young one. They re-form over and over again, and they must be hunted whenever they reappear."

"Or they'll hunt us," Thalia finished.

Bianca shivered. "That explains... Nico, you remember last summer, those guys who tried to attack us in the alley in D.C.?"

"And that bus driver," Nico said. "The one with the ram's horn. I told you that was real!"

"That's why Grover's been watching you," Thalia said. "To keep you safe."

"Grover?" Bianca said. "You're a demigod?"

"Well, a satyr, actually," and he showed her his true feet. Bianca almost fainted.

"You're freaking her out," Thalia said. "Bianca, we came here to help you. You and Nico need training to survive. You need to come to Camp Half-Blood. It's where the half-bloods learn to survive."

"Sweet, let's go!" said Nico.

"Wait," Bianca shook her head. "I don't-"

"There is another option," Zoë said.

"No, there isn't!" Thalia argued.

The two girls glared at each other.

"We've burdened the children enough," announced Artemis. "We will rest here. Raise the tents. Treat the wounded. Bianca, come with me. I'd like to talk to you."

"What about me?" asked Nico.

"Perhaps you can show Grover how to play that card game you enjoy. I'm sure Grover would be happy to entertain you for me."

"You bet!" shouted Grover and he took the boy away.

Everyone went about their business leaving Thalia and Andy alone. "The nerve of those Hunters!" Thalia complained.

Andy nodded. "I'm with you," she sniffed. "I don't trust-"

"Oh, you're with me?" Thalia roared. "This is all your fault! If you had done what I said... What were you thinking going after Thorn by yourself? If we'd stuck together, we could've taken him without these Hunters. Anthony could still be here!"

Andy clenched her fists and stood up. "What did you say to me?" she marched toward Thalia. "You're lecturing me? You've been back for a few days and you think you can boss everyone around because you're what? The daughter of Zeus?"

"I have more experience-"

"In being dead!"

"Listen to me, fishy," Thalia growled. "Whatever happens to Tony, that's on you." She pick Anthony's cap from the snow and threw it at Andy's face. Then she stormed off.

Andy wasn't sure for how long she sat on the snow clutching the Yankees cap against her heart. Eventually, Grover and Nico returned from their walk and Grover fixed Andy's shoulder.

Nico rummaged his pockets for his trading cards. "I've got almost all of them," he told Andy, who ignored him.

"Have you been playing a long time?" Grover made conversation.

"Just this year," the boy said. "Before that..." He knit his eyebrows.

"What?"

"I forgot. That's weird." He looked unsettled, but it didn't last. "Can I see that sword of yours?" Andy handed it to him. "Grover said you're the daughter of Poseidon. And the boy who fell..." he hesitated. "Was he your boyfriend?""

Andy shook her head wishing Nico di Angelo would shut up. Then Zoë Nightshade came get her.

The tent of Artemis was warm and comfortable. Bianca was still there, but she looked better, less scared. Finally it hit Andy how weird it was that the hunters were a bunch of young girls.

"Are you surprised by my age?" the goddess asked, again as if reading her mind.

Her throat was still very dry, so Andy just shrugged.

"I could appear as anything I want, but this is what I prefer. I am patron of young maidens. That is, until they get like you."

"Like me?" Andy asked hoarsely.

"Yes. Smitten, silly, preoccupied, insecure. Before they forget themselves, like you did in that cliff."

Andy tried to ignore the word smitten. "I didn't forget myself. Not for a moment. And that's why-"

"You are so angry because of the boy? It is understandable. My Hunters do not welcome boys. They are usually forbidden to have any contacts with the Hunters. That is why Zoë did not hesitate before shooting."

"Well, she could've asked."

Zoë gave Andy a death stare.

"Things are stirring that I have not hunted in millennia," Artemis murmured. "Prey so old I have nearly forgotten. We came here tonight sensing the manticore, but he was not the one I seek. Bianca tells me he mentioned someone called the General?"

Zoë's face paled at the name.

"Yes," Andy agreed. "And he said soon he'd have the most important monster of all – the one that shall bring the downfall of Olympus."

Artemis shook her head. "I've been too slow to see the signs. I must hunt this monster."

"We'll leave right away," said Zoë.

"No, Zoë. I must do this alone."

"My lady-"

"This task is too dangerous even for the Hunters. You know where I must start my search. You cannot go there with me."

Zoë bowed. "As... as you wish, my lady."

"I will find this creature," Artemis vowed. "And I shall bring it back to Olympus by winter solstice. It will be all the proof I need to convince the Council of the Gods of how much danger we are in."

"You know what the monster is?" Andy asked.

"Let us pray I'm wrong," the young girl said. "Now, I called you here, Andy Jackson, to ask you a favor. I want you to escort my Hunters back to Camp Half-Blood. They can stay there in safety until I return."

"What?" Zoë blurted out. "My lady, we hate that place. The last time we stayed there-"

"I know, Zoë. But I am sure Dionysus will not hold a grudge just because of a little, ah, misunderstanding. It's your right to use Cabin Eight whenever you are in need. Besides, I hear they rebuilt the cabins you burned down," Artemis said. "And now, there is one last decision to be made," she turned to Bianca. "Have you made up your mind, dear?"

Bianca hesitated. "I'm still thinking about it."

"About what?" asked Andy.

"They... they've invited me to join the Hunt."

"What? But you can't! You have to come to camp so Chiron can train you. It's the only way you can-"

"It is not the only way for a girl," Zoë said.

"Bianca..." Andy paused. "What do you get by joining the Hunt?"

"Immortality," Zoë answered for her.

"Are you serious?"

"Zoë's always very serious," Artemis guaranteed. "My Hunters follow me on my adventures. They are my maidservants, my companions, my sisters-in-arms. Once they swear loyalty to me, they are indeed immortal... unless they fall in battle, which is unlikely. Or break their oath."

"What oath?"

"To forswear romantic love forever," Artemis said. "To never grow up, never get married. To be a maiden eternally."

"This is not Neverland, lady!" Andy snarled. "You can't go around offering half-bloods immortality-"

"Not just half-bloods," Zoë interrupted. "Lady Artemis does not discriminate by birth. All who honor the goddess may join. Half-bloods, nymphs, mortals-"

"Which one are you?"

Anger flashed in Zoë's eyes. "That is not thy concern. You wouldn't understand. Your heart has already succumb to the weaknesses of affection. The The point is Bianca may join if she wishes. It is her choice."

"Bianca, this is crazy," Andy turned to her. "What about your brother? He can't be a Hunter."

"Certainly not," Artemis said. "He'll go to camp. That is the best boys can hope to do. But you can see him from time to time. You'll be free, however, of the responsibility. Camp counselors will take care of him. You shall have a new family. Us."

"A new family," Bianca repeated, dreamily. "Free of responsibility."

"You can't do this," Andy pleaded.

Bianca turned to Zoë. "Is it worth it?"

"Yes."

"What do I have to do?"

"Repeat after me," Zoë said. "I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis."

"I... I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis."

"Don't do it, Bianca!"

"I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt." Bianca repeated the lines. "Do you accept the pledge, lady Artemis?"

"I accept," Artemis said. Bianca looked no different but assured Andy she felt stronger. "Remember your pledge," Artemis warned her. "It is now your life." Then she turned back to Andy. "I know you don't understand, Andy Jackson. You don't have to. You will still get to show Nico di Angelo your camp. And if he chooses, he may stay there."

Andy gave up. "Fine. How are we getting there?"

Artemis closed her eyes. "Dawn is approaching. I'll summon a ride from my brother."

The Hunters started breaking camp. Bianca took Andy's hand and said, "I'm sorry you don't understand. But I really, truly want this."

It was colder and darker and snowier than ever and Andy stood shivering in the snow, still clutching the Yankees cap. The Hunters didn't seem to feel the cold. Thalia and Grover joined her and she told them about her audience with the goddess.

"The last time the Hunters visited camp, it didn't go well," Grover said.

"And Bianca joined them," Thalia said, disgusted. "It's all Zoë's fault. That suck-up, no good-"

"Who can blame her?" Grover argued. "Eternity with Artemis?" he heaved a big sigh.

Thalia rolled her eyes. Finally the sky began to lighten.

"About time," Artemis muttered. "He's so lazy in the winter." There was a sudden burst of light on the horizon. A blast of warmth. Apollo parked his red convertible and got out smiling. He was handsome – so very handsome –, tall and blonde and good humored.

"Wow," Thalia said, giving life to Andy's thoughts. "Apollo is hot!"

"He's the sun god," Nico said, clueless.

"That's not what she meant," Andy whispered, biting her lip.

"Little sister!" Apollo called. "What is up? You never call. You never write. I was getting worried."

Artemis sighed. "I'm fine, Apollo. And I am not your little sister."

"Hey, I was born first."

"We're twins! How many times do I have to-"

"What is up?" he interrupted. "Got the girls with you, I see," and he blinked at the Hunters who seemed unaffected by his godly good looks.

"I need a favor," Artemis said. "I have some hunting to do, alone. I need you to take my companions to Camp Half-Blood."

Apollo raised his hands in a 'stop everything' gesture. "I feel a haiku coming in." The Hunters groaned. "Green grass breaks through the snow. Artemis pleads for my help. I am so cool." And he grinned waiting for applause.

"That last line was only four syllables," Artemis said.

"Was it?" he frowned. "Hmm, what about... I am so awesome. That's five syllables." Andy realized she was smiling like a fool and tried to snap out of it. "Alright, let's see." Apollo said, watching them. "Thalia, Zeus's girl, right?" Thalia blushed. "Used to be a tree, didn't you? You smell like Christmas! And... Andy Jackson. You smell like fish."

Thalia laughed. Andy punched her in the arm, deciding she wasn't that into Apollo after all.

"Brother," Artemis said. "You should get going."

Apollo nodded. He took out his car keys and beeped the security alarm button. The convertible turned into a school bus. "Everybody in!"

"A warning," Artemis told him. "You do not help my Hunters. You do not look at, talk to, or flirt with my Hunters."

Apollo spread his hands. "I know, I know. Hey, where are you off to anyway?"

"Just drop them off, Apollo. Zoë, you are in charge of the Hunters. Do well. Do as I would do."

Zoë straightened. "I will."

Artemis disappeared into the woods and the Hunters pilled into the bus. "Who wants to drive?" Asked Apollo.

"Me!" Nico offered.

"Nah. Too young."

"Oo! Oo!" Grover raised his hand.

"Hmm, no. Too furry." He glanced at Andy. "Too fishy," and laughed at his own joke. "But you, daughter of Zeus. You are perfect for this."

"Oh, no," Thalia shook her head. "No, thanks."

"Oh, yes," Apollo nodded. "You'll be eighteen soon," he informed her. "It's about time you learn how to drive." Thalia seemed unsure. "I know you might think you don't deserve an honor like driving the sun chariot. But it'll be fine."

Thalia tried to protest but Apollo wasn't going to take no for an answer. Thalia gripped the wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. She seemed about to puke.

"What's wrong?" Andy asked.

"Nothing," she lied. She pulled the wheel and drove like a mad person. Andy had a feeling she had her eyes closed. Apollo asked her to go slower, but she shouted she had everything under control. She did not lose speed though.

"Hang a left," Apollo suggested. She jerked the wheel throwing everyone aside. "The other left," he said trying to sound calm. "And a little lower."

Thalia tilted the wheel, her face was chalk white, her forehead dripping with sweat. The bus pitched down and somebody screamed. Maybe Andy. She wasn't sure of anything anymore.

"Take the wheel," Grover begged Apollo.

"No worries," the god assured him, but he looked plenty worried. "She just has to learn to- WHOA!"

There was a wild light in Thalia's eyes. Camp Half-Blood was right beneath them.

"BRAKE!" Apollo yelled.

Thalia slammed her foot on the brake, and the sun bus pitched forward at a forty-five-degree angle, slamming into the camp's canoe lake.

"Well," Apollo said. "You did have everything under control. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

#andromeda #andy jackson #child of land and sea #deep blue sea #fanfic #genderbend #dfcrosas #fem percy jackson #thalia grace

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obduratemoon · 4 years ago

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Sedimentary City 16: PASSAGE

The Gulag is allocated several levels composed together in a structure much like an insect’s hive: corridors, stairways, and rooms form a fractalized labyrinth. Much like life found near deep sea vents, groups of prisoners collect around where resources are delivered: food, water, medicine, clothing, raw materials, electricity, but only enough to sustain a minimal life.

The Gulag is expansive and designed to have excess capacity. Within that penal colony prisoners do what they like, unregarded by the State who have relegated them to permanent incarceration.

They walked the three of them almost as if in suspension for, while their legs made motion, the darkness hid all evidence of direction and progress. The sound of footfalls echoed complexly, although every so often their strides would become locked-stepped and synchronized in phase.

Jan wondered how it was that his companions knew the way through unlit corridors and turns, and a staircase that descended for so long that to find flatness again brought a false sensation of acclivity. He realized that the Gulag must be much bigger than other levels, one which extended vertically to contain many sublevels and floors of its own.

As they walked Pyotr passed the time with sporadic chatter. Rollo walked behind them, a silent presence moving through tenebrous space.

“Quite the experience, yes? When that tracker lice first crawled up your ass. Centuries of prisoners hiding things in their assholes, the State finally got wise and put something up there first!”

Jan had to admit that the astringent Pyotr had a talent for dark humor. He allowed the small sound of a laugh.

“Yes. Good! No point in being gloomy, even here. Especially here.”

“I suppose you are right.” said Jan.

“I’ve been here for almost two decades. And there was never any hope of ever getting out. The Gulag is airtight, hermetic. Your past is a dream. No one likes it when they first get here, but the smart ones learn to accept it. Yes, plenty are not happy. But how is that any different than before? Sometimes I even feel it is less cruel here.”

“It is tiresome to hope,” said the voice behind them as if emitted by a pursuing ghost, “and there is serenity in this hopelessness.”

“Yes. As you can see, Rollo came out changed from the Chorion. He used to kill and maim for a living, but now he is a philosopher! Isn’t that right, Rollo? Is it better now?”

The giant gave no reply.

“I changed as well,” Jan said quietly.

“The both of you! I confessed quickly, I knew where it was headed.” And then he added with less assuredness in his voice, “I never went into the Pain Amplifier. Pretty sure. But Mr. Kavfryd, I think you find yourself in good company … ”

“I hear something.” Rollo interjected.

Pyotr put up a hand signalling Jan to stop and then moved it to pursed lips but kept walking. Jan could hear nothing except sounds of their own locomotion. A few minutes later Rollo spoke again, “I think we’re in for it.”

“There should be a room we can use a few hundred meters up, Mr. Kavfryd, you can run, yes? Try to keep up!”

And just like that both men were off, sprinting down the abysmal corridor. Jan suddenly appreciated the faint sound of feet beckoning from some distant darkness. A jagged spike of adrenaline quickened his blood and his legs found flight as if by themselves.

He struggled to follow the erratic dance of headlamps pulling away from him. Jan had not expected to lag even behind Pyotr who ran with unexpected fleetness. It was not long before his lungs burned and his frame was dominated by the desperate work of his diaphragm heaving like a frantic accordion. The sounds of those approaching drew closer and louder in a frightful clamour. Jan tried to turn around and look behind him but the light of his lamp could not punch through the curtain of black; and as he turned, he lost balance and careened like a tripped up bull or a derailed train, hurtling rampant and uncontrolled into distended space. He had hardly time to put his hands out, the momentum sending him skidding and rolling on the ground like a misshappend stone inappropriate for skipping. Spent, with the wind knocked out of him, Jan lay in a crumpled heap, shaking with febrile breath.

Ever attentive, it was not long until Rollo returned and lifted him up like a small child. He hung over Rollo’s muscular shoulder, indecorous as a sack, but feeling as if he were riding upon a galloping beast. Up ahead, Pyotr suddenly stopped and opened a door and entered with Rollo and Jan following. Shutting the door, Pyotr said, “We’ll defend ourselves here.”

They were in a room neither large nor small for the three of them. It was an opaque space whose insides were described only by the moving patchwork of light from their head lamps. In his mind, Jan imputed a rectangular box. Rollo and Pyotr quickly assumed positions next to the door and extinguished their headlamps. Then they produced knife-like objects from somewhere within their All-Suits; these reflected dully, like coins at the bottom of a well, in the weak light of Jan’s lamp.

“Jan, you stand against the far wall across from the door. When they come in they will first see you. And they charge at you without considering the sides.”

Jan said nothing in reply, his inside clenched in anxiety. He remembered the nightmare of the porcine wolves chasing him.

They stood still, tense as statues. The noise of arriving men gathered first like drips and then like a torrent. To Jan it seemed like a great number of them. There was a brief moment of suspended quiet until the door was kicked open. A slim dark figure with a dim headlamp appeared.

As Pyotr had predicted, the man rushed forward at Jan, knife in hand. But as he passed Rollo, the former Enforcer swooped in and, catching him by the neck, elevated him so that his feet kicked air. He brought him back towards the door and slammed the back of the man’s head hard against the lintel. With his other hand Rollo stabbed him with the manic frequency of a sewing machine. Pyotr set upon him as well, gutting the man with a practiced vivacity. The room filled with the terminal melody of screams. Outside, his compatriots generated a braying harmony of invectives, cursing their dying compatriot for blocking the entrance.

In the circle of illumination offered by his headlamp, Jan could see the man's face distorted by shifting phases of anguish. It was the face of a thespian enacting a grim sequence of expressions until the contortions finally slowed and slackened. Essence left and he hung limp like a kitten caught by its nape, smitten of all animation.

Rollo heaved back and threw the corpse out, using that perforated bag of skin to knock over his living companions in the corridor.

Quickly, another man dashed in but Pyotr, ready and waiting, cut the legs out from under him. He fell forward and the older man deftly jumped upon his back and pulled his head up exposing an undulating Adam's apple. The man locked eyes with Jan for a moment as Pyotr slit his throat. An unhesitant flow of blood dispensed upon the ground in a sanguine flood as his eyes rolled up in a gesture of final introspection.

There was a brief pause as those outside, perhaps cowed by the swift brutality within, considered their options. Meanwhile, Rollo and Pyotr returned to their positions to the right and left of the door, tense as felines. A figure momentarily flickered in the aperture of the door and a knife flew towards Jan, quick as a dart. He flinched, his body reflexively hunching into protective concavity but he felt a quick hot sensation as the blade nicked his shoulder.

“Jan!” Pyotr screamed, “Move! Stand behind Rollo!”

As Jan scurried behind Rollo two men flew in, one attacking Pyotr and the other facing Rollo. Jan could see a look of dread bloom automatically upon the face of the man who had turned towards the giant. Using that moment of hesitation, Rollo palmed the man by his pate and twisted. Jan had never seen life turned off so quickly. Pyotr, meanwhile, was grappling with his assailant on the ground, hurling a stream of curses -- “No! You fuck! You fuck! You fuck!” -- entangled in a desperate calamity of limbs and enmity.

The huge frame of Rollo moved adroitly and with the unbidden swiftness of a jaguar. He moved towards Pyotr’s assailant and surgically eased his blade between the man’s cervical vertebra. In an instant the man collapsed like a puppet bereft of strings. A third man, who had been outside, joined the fray by opportunistically sticking a pike in Rollo’s side as he passed the doorway. Nonplussed and insensate to his injury, the giant turned to punch this attacker, instantly breaking his nose and sending him shuffling backwards across the corridor. Calmly removing the shiv from his ribs, Rollo walked towards the man and, breaking through his feeble guard, inserted the pike through the top of the man’s eye and into the prefrontal cortex. He stirred carefully like an epicurean of murder.

“All clear,” Rollo said, placid and cool, betraying little indication of exertion or pain. He projected only implacable calm, an aura appropriate to contemplatives and meditators.

Pyotr limped out into the corridor holding a spot in his abdomen.

“Shit, the fucker got me! Jan! Jan! Are you hurt?”

“Yes, I think I am ok. How about you?”

“Ah, I got poked once, but seems to have missed most of the important things.”

Jan walked outside just in time to watch Pyotr remove the pike from the man’s eye. The fellow was still very much alive, slumped down on the floor against the wall; apparently immobile, but panting like an overheated canine. His leadened eyes stared at some private spot on the ground significant only to him.

“Should I end him?”

“No, Rollo. Fuck him. Let him die slow,” replied Pyotr reaching down to stab the man a few more times in the chest for good measure. The man only made a small wheezing sound in complaint.

“Make sure the one in the room is dead though. And collect the shivs. Oh fuck me!”

Pyotr winced in pain and sat down next the crudely lobotomized man. The two looking like twins, face wan and ashen with tiredness. There was blood everywhere, slick and viscous. Jan wondered at what he saw dumbstruck by the brutality, vivid and real. He thought of his father’s lectures about the jungle and the hyenas that they had seen in the Ark.

In due course, adrenaline left Jan like a tide receding. He began to shake.

“Hey! Jan, stop shaking and help me up,” said Pyotr, hand extending towards him. Jan pulled him up, Pyotr’s grip was strong and solid.

The older man inspected the cut on his shoulder.

“Ok, not so significant.” He sighed. “Glad you are ok. Still, how to explain to the Boss? Rollo, are you hurt?”

From inside the room there was a sound of a skull cracking. Rollo returned.

“It’s nothing.”

Jan aspirated in shuddering breaths. Pyotr tried to be reassuring, avuncular: “It’s fine, you’ll get used to this soon. Here we are the predators! Here take this knife if it makes you feel better. But we must keep moving, we will only be safe when we get back.”

#sedimentary city

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humans-are-seriously-weird · 7 years ago

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The Time I Almost Decapitated Someone While Trying To Surf

Brace for a whole lot of pain and stupidity. It starts off a little slow but stick around for the AHHHHHHH As some of you may know, i am an intense klutz. As in I-Will-Trip-Over-Absolutely-Nothing-And-Probs-Knock-Over-The-Crown-Jewels kind of klutz. A Would-Trip-And-Fall-Off-A-Cliff kind of klutz I really need to drive this point home ok this is v important to this story So this is back in Peru (yes the same trip the chicken chased me off a cliff). Work is over for the day, the sun is starting to set, and all 40 of us Canadians are headed to the beach for our very first surf lessons So we show up and our instructors hurl wetsuits at us. I do mean hurl like mine wrapped around my face like a squid i nearly died before i even hit the water smh We get separated into groups of five and head off with our instructors. All the other groups had these young Peruvian guys and girls, all smiles and gentle teachers My instructor was a cranky 80 year old who never spoke and stared at us until we figured out what we were supposed to do Before we even get to go near the beach we start learning the technique on land. We lay down on these fake boards and pretend paddle and pretend stand, all in complete silence because who needs words right Im at the point of assuming our instructor doesnt speak english, which is totes cool cause we’re getting the message anyways. We’d spent three days working around the language barrier, now was no different. Moving on Our instructor finally deems us worthy of hitting the water so we all gleefully make our way to the beach. We were all sunshine and laughter, expecting the warm sand between our toes Not happening The beach is not soft like we had thought. It was rocks. Thousands of rocks and pebbles that sent us skittering as we descended the steep incline to the water First off: No one told me how freaking exhausting this crap is All those movies of people surfing like haha look at me this is so easy and majestic be one with the waves dude were straight up liars ok i was panting and heaving like a 90 year old race horse by the time i made it out far enough to catch a wave Cue twenty frustrating minutes of trying and failing to paddle fast enough to stay on a wave I thought i looked like Dash Incredible, majesticly spearing across the water from a horde of bad guys, my arms windmilling at break neck speeds Yeah no I was more of a drowning sloth if im completely honest Id make it maybe two feet by the time one wave passed and the next was already approaching Here’s where my surfing attempt took an unexpected turn Water splashed behind me and i didnt bother turning around. Probably one of my classmates heading for a better wave area “Need some help?” The voice was definitely not my classmates My instructor sat casually on his board behind me I was so shocked to hear him speak that i just nodded dumbly, not aware of what i was agreeing to. He hops off his board and bobs in the water for a second. He casually puts on hand on the back of my board like he was keeping me from floating away Behind him a wave approaches. I lay back down and get ready to paddle. I figured maybe he’ll tell me when to start paddling so i can actually catch this one but the wave is getting closer and closer and there was still no word from him. I was long past when I started paddling before I hear this soft intake of breath and then, “BRACE!!!” I obey blindly and grip my board in terror wondering if there was a shark lurking beneath me Instead my 80 year old instructor absolutely freaking catapults me forwards i swear that man could launch Niel Armstrong into orbit single handedly NASA who??

Im rocketing along along, too stunned to move Im on a wave!! Im on a… wave????? I scramble to my feet thinking somebody better be seeing this cuz i will not be doing this again By some miracle i manage to stand ok i do not have great balance on land so sticking me on a board in the middle of the ocean was in no ones best interest So im whizzing along feeling like im flying and just generally trying not to face plant on my board or topple into the sea ok i just got up here no way i can manage it a second time Something about the water ahead of me doesnt look right The sun is glaring off the water just enough to block whatever that thing is. Im squinting, praying im not about to hit a rock It was so much worse It was a man He was casually chillin on his board, a set of headphones in his ears, looking to the world like he was asleep Im heading straight for this guy at top speed and as i get closer i realize two very important things I dont know how to stop … … Or turn I think of the wicked looking fins on the bottom of my board I remember mildly thinking this is gonna hurt before reality truly set in I very well might kill this man if i dont figure something out fast I start screaming and flailing with as much strength as i can muster “MOVE MOVE!!!! UNLESS YOU WANNA BE FILLET LIKE A FISH YOU GOT MOVE I CANT STOOOOOP” He casually lifts out one ear bud and looks at me with a barely audible “que?” “YOU GON DIE MOVE!!!!” Clearly he didn’t understand english, but flailing and screaming is pretty universal He leisurely lays back and paddles forewards, moving him ever so slightly out of the danger zone My board hits his as i pass so close i could have flicked his nose My board launches off his and by some miracle i manage to not only stay on it, but stay standing I twist and stare back at the man I definitely did not kill as he casually lays back down on his board Good. That would have been troublesome to explain to immigration officers on my way home I face the beach again and prepare to enjoy my calm landing and– I am less than five feet from shore going full speed SHIT I do what any sane person would do I jump ship

That was the biggest mistake of my life

See just as i jumped for dear life the wave hit its crest and i landed right in the middle of it

Suddenly i was a soggy pair of Canadian socks in the worlds worst dryer

On a very important side note, i am attached to the board by a long thin cable that is velcroed around my ankle, meant to keep the board from drifting and keep me safe

That cord is the bane of my existence

In my Horror Dryer Extreme experience the cord had managed to wrap from my ankle all the way up to my thigh, digging cruelly into my skin even through the wet suit

I slam into shore like a beached whale

Remember kids: shore is not my friend shore is OW

I slam into the rocks and lay there dazed for a moment, gasping for air. No way im going back out there ill just let the water wash over me im done surfing im done with the ocean

But the ocean wasnt done with me

Suddenly im getting dragged by the leg down the beach. I sit up, ignoring the stones slowly filling my pants.

My board had gotten stuck in the out take and was dragging me out to sea once again

I go through another round of Angry Dryer Mama Ocean and get slammed mercilessly back into shore, this time hitting my face so hard i split the skin above my eye. I still have a scar hidden above my eyebrow from this

At this point i am done

I try to stand and grab my board but the cord was still wrapped around my leg

Our teams guide who just so happened to be a surfer comes running over to see if im ok. “hey! Get up! Another wave is coming!”

I try to shout back “i cant, im stuck!” But that’s not what comes out of my dizzy mouth

Instead i lift my leg in the air like a dog and scream “I cant! It’s winding!”

My guide took this as “I cant! Im drowning!”

He runs over looking like a stern third grade teacher “you’re fine just get up!”

“You think im not trying??”

Another wave slams into me from behind and im washed out and washed back in. Lil me cant catch a break

Somewhere in the time id been brutally slammed back to shore my guide vanished. Fine then

I quickly unwrap my leg and scramble to my feet

Screw this, screw the board, im leaving!!

I start sprinting for my life up the hill to safety

SPLAT

My leg is yanked out from beneath me and i face plant hard

I didnt take off the velcro strap

Washed out

And washed back in

I rip the velcro from my ankle the second i hit shore

My guide appears out of nowhere and grabs my board and starts shouting at me to run

I ask no questions as I scramble up the side

Now, my guide, carrying two 50lbs surf boards makes it to the top of the hill just fine

Not me

A wave sucker punches me and drags me out again

Washed out. Washed in.

At this point im just accepting my fate to be forever bound by the sea im like the opposite of a selkie except the sea has my foot and i cant stay on the freaking land free me from my curse

Eventually i make it up to the top and collapse like sweet releif i am free of this hell

My guide sets my board down and looks at me. “Rekina. Stay here, the others are having a hard time too. Dont do anything stupid” trust me pal im going no where this is my home now tell my mother i love her

(Honestly Never tell me not to do something stupid. It’s a sure fire way to make sure i do the absolute dumbest thing possible)

I shoot him a weak thumbs up as he takes off down the beach, cackling at the poor idiot Canadians floundering in the surf.

Youd think my Adventure was over

Not a chance pal

I sit up and notice one of my classmates in the same predicament i was in

There wasnt even another option for my next choice

I stagger back down the hill and help him up. I grab his board and all but shove him back up the hill and somehow we both made it up safe and sound

Until we see our teacher not moving on the beach below us, her body getting battered and tossed around by the waves

Our guide is nearly a kilometer away down the beach, too far for us to call for help

I look at my classmate and he’s shaking his head like i am not going down there again are you crazy

I pop to my feet and race down the hill i am not letting my teacher die on my watch ok im not that kind of person fight me

My classmate groans and follows behind

I grab the teacher who was thankfully just stunned and unhurt and help her to her feet. My classmate grabs her board and they both start staggering up the incline far too slowly. I stay behind them to make sure they dont fall and hit the surf again. Happily they made it up just fine

Not my ass

Im slammed face first into the ground courtesy of a massive wave that just loves me too much

The ocean gave me a friendly love tap as it dragged me down the hill and slammed me against it one more time for good measure

I finally make it back to the top and swear to never surf again in my life (but let’s be real even near drowning cant stop me from trying again)

All in all a pretty successful first attempt

#Adventure Time With Rekina #Sorry for the long post a lot of crap happened #Hope you enjoy #not my best work but you know what we only have another month for Adventure Time With Rekina until i leave soo

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x-reader-shipping · 7 years ago

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Cherry Wine

There is like... no Caleb Brewster X Reader fics out there, so I had to remedy that. I am so ASHAMED. I /may/ turn this into a real fic.... If you like this, feel free to request your own!

The bonfire surges forward with the addition of another log, the flames licking ever closer to the heavens. Caleb adjusts his wide brimmed hat and leans more heavily against the stump he had been using as a backrest; his strength still minimal. The silence between the two of you is amiable, though you can tell he wants to shatter it, say something he’s had on his mind since his rescue. Ben had left you both in this abandoned shed in the woods, hoping to give Caleb time to heal from the horror his body had undergone under Simcoe’s ministrations, and had ordered you to use the medicinal knowledge you’d learned while living with a small Iroquois tribe at the northern most point of the colony.

The first night you had wrestled with his delirium, always patiently pressing his feverish body back into the large, straw-filled mattress near the fireplace. Sweaty curls clung to his forehead, swirling like wisps of smoke, his screams echoing through the quiet thicket you were camped in. As if by an act of Providence, you weren’t discovered during these fits. On the third night, the whaler’s fever finally broke, and he managed to breathe out your name through gritted teeth. With some maneuvering and a lot of praying, you managed to help Caleb to his feet. He had offered you a weak smile as he slid to rest on the ground, relishing the cool night air as it filled his lungs.

That was how you had ended up blushing furiously in the firelight, ducking your head as you chewed thoughtfully on the last piece of roasted rabbit. Caleb’s steady brown eyes kept their focus trained on you, a hint of a smirk quirked his lips upward. You continued to chew, hoping to excuse yourself before the smuggler could continue with his current proposition. Of course, you couldn’t chew fast enough.

“Ya know, Y/N”, Caleb worried the marrow out of the leg bone he had been holding, “I’m not just askin’ because you saved me life, either. We’ve been tangling for some time now, either as friends on the battlefield, or fellow smugglers in the Sound... My heart’s always jumpin’ when you’re around.”

You sigh and set your dinner down, heart squeezing slightly at the hope in Caleb’s eyes; it’s open and unabashed and you can feel yourself being swept up. “Caleb, we’re in the middle of a war. There’s no time for thoughts like these, and what’s more….Ben...” You trail off at the man’s wince.

“Listen, I know I’m not Tallboy. I can never be what Ben is to you,” a shaky hand cards through the bushy beard at his chin, “Don’t look surprised. I’m actually pretty damn perceptive when I wanna be.”

You try your hardest to close your mouth, but the disbelief is etched there. How had Caleb known? “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brewster. Benjamin Tallmadge is my commanding officer and friend. I suppose if you mean in the terms of you holding rank above me, then no...you will never be what Ben is to me,” You try to turn your tone lighthearted, “In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ll outrank you by the end of this.”

“Cute. But not what I mean,” Caleb tries again, “You say his name while you sleep, you know?” His face becomes kind, pitying, “He may never return your feelings. Ben is…,” He sighs, “Tallboy is a league all his own. He’s a virgin for fuck’s sake. His work will always come first, and it’s not your fault.”

You scratch the back of your neck, all arguments dying on your tongue. It feels almost cathartic for someone else to know your secret, “I say his name?”

Caleb nods, pitching the bone into the fire, “You’ve been doing that for months now. If he were as red blooded as the rest of us... he would have made you his by now.”

You feel your cheeks heat at the implication, though you try to defend Ben, “Ben is just focused on winning, Washington has him running ragged. You’ve seen.”

“Aye” Caleb concedes, “But he’s runnin’ us the same way,” His tone becomes soft, “Alls I’m saying is you deserve something...someone waitin’ for you at the end of this war, and it might not be Bennyboy.”

You feel embarrassed tears prick at the backs of your eyes, you go to speak, but nothing falls from your parted lips.

“Like I said, I know I’m not...him. Never will be. But, I can make you happy. Just as much, maybe more.” Caleb’s tone turns pleading, “With me you’ll never have to wonder, I’ll always tell ya how absolutely perfect y’are. I’d never force you to be someone ya aren’t.” His accent becomes thicker the more desperate he becomes.

That catches your attention, “Ben has never forced me to be anyone other than who I am, and I don’t appreciate such an observation of your friend, Caleb.” Your tone is edging towards angry, and every muscle is prepared to head for the cabin, leaving Caleb to muse by the fire alone.

Two dirty hands are held out to you by way of surrendering, “I don’t mean it like that. Jus’ that you should be thinkin’ about what marrying Tallboy would even mean for you...”

You cock your head to the side, ready to argue once more, but the curiosity stops you.

When Caleb’s certain you aren’t going to hurl angry words at him, he continues, “Yeah, like...Benjamin Tallmadge…he’ll most likely be a Colonel by the end’a this war. Most likely have a thousand offers for a thousand fancy and important posts in the new government, if we win...”

Caleb’s eyes turn almost sad as he sees the realization painting your features, “So that means...”

“Aye,” Caleb explains, “He’ll be a real high society type. How’s he supposed to explain his wife’s native blood to a bunch’a powdered wigs who’ve never set foot off of their plantations?”

You run a hand through your hair, fingernails catching on a snarl; a piece of bramble falls into your lap, most likely from hunting earlier, “I hadn’t thought about it.”

Caleb nods, “Plus, you love canoeing, and smearing squirrel brains on just about any wound big enough to merit the treatment,” His laugh is bright despite the harshness of the truth, “Do you think as Lady Tallmadge you’ll be able to enjoy any of the things that make you, you? Now, I love Bennyboy as much as you, but let’s face it you and I...we’re… wild inna way he never will be.”

A tear slips from the corner of your eye, tracing a clear line through the soot covering your thumb. You hadn’t considered that, hadn’t considered that even if Ben loved you, it may not be enough.

Finally, you find your voice, shaky as it is, “I would give it up. All of it, Caleb. I don’t love Ben with the intention of making myself happy. It’s for him. All of it. My taking up the cause, my services both on and off the field, my friendship. It has never been about me.”

Caleb nods, scrubbing at his beard thoughtfully. It’s quiet for a time, and you think that maybe that’s the end of it. The end of Caleb’s love and your pathetic scrambling in defense of Ben Tallmadge, your defense of what your heart is starting to believe is foolish.

“I just want you to know, you have options,” Caleb’s voice is sweet and soft, the way you imagined it could be when entertaining the idea of being with him instead, “You don’t need to wait for Ben to get his head outta his arse. You don’t need to go back to your tribe at the end of this. You don’t need to walk between worlds anymore,” The Smuggler suddenly becomes very interested in the dirt under his nail, “I’ll love you, always. When there’s sun in your eyes and sea spray in your hair, when there’s blood covering you from head to toe and you’re searching for your tomahawk in the middle of a battle, when you’re begging for Ben in your sleep...I’ll always love you.”

Caleb goes quiet after that, offering the fire an uncharacteristically watery smile before dragging himself to his feet. You move to help him, but he waves you off, choosing to instead limp gingerly to the shack. You let him go, mind reeling from the conversation you’ve both just had. The only word that could come to mind was ‘impossible’. Everything about your life seemed impossible. Your kidnapping and upbringing by the tribe that had invaded your town, your secret enlistment into the rebel army, your love for Ben Tallmadge and the life that could follow.

--------

The stars shift in the sky, and the fire begins to burn low. You should have gone in to bed hours ago, but Caleb’s confession hangs heavy in your mind. He had been so earnest, his eyes shining in a way you had never seen before. Something in your gut roils at the memory, pushing your heart into over drive. You hadn’t imagined a life apart from Ben, whereever he ordered you, you would happily go; you would follow him into hell if he so chose.

But Caleb, he would never ask that of you, would never ask you to be anything other than what you are. Suddenly, whiskey brown eyes seemed comparable to the ocean blue you had come to adore. Unexpectedly, a chill ran up your spine at the thought of losing the booming laughter and sarcastic remarks you hadn’t realized were now part of your daily routine. You may not ever love Caleb precisely the way you love Ben, but you could try to love your friend in a way unique only to him. Ben Tallmadge would always be as beautiful to you as a marble statue, something to reverently worship, but Caleb Brewster was warm and alive, like the sunlight; familiar and comforting.

With your resolve steeled, you buried the coals of the campfire, hoping they would stay warm enough to stoke to life in the morning. Your feet carried you along the same path that Caleb had cut through the long grass earlier, your heart rested in your throat, hands trembling as you opened the door to the cabin. The soft glow at the hearth and Caleb’s light snoring greeted you. You toed your boots off loudly, hoping to stir Caleb from his sleeping. A shift in the sheets of his sickbed confirmed that you were at least marginally successful in your mission.

Caleb sat up in bed, shirtless and wild haired, his voice thick with sleep, “Y/N, what’re ya doing?”

Bare feet carried you passed your bed roll in the middle of the room and over to the owner of the husky voice. You stripped your outer layers as you went, scattering the clothing in a trail behind you. When you reached the bed Caleb was occupying, you were clad in nothing more than your soft, white slip. “I’m exploring my options.” You whisper, bringing yourself ever closer to the courier.

Cautiously, Caleb slides his fingers through your hair, careful to comb through the snarls with nothing but gentleness, “You are so beautiful. I’ve always thought that,” He curls his hand around the back of your neck, “Is this alright, love? I don’t want you to think I’m takin’ liberties.”

You nod and allow your lips to be captured by his. The kiss is sweet, filling your chest with something you’ve never felt before. You both break away for a moment when you whisper, “Take them.”

Caleb groans somewhere deep in his chest, wrestling you into bed with him. You feel his tongue slide along the seam of your lips, and you part them slightly to the intrusion. He tastes of rum and smoke. He tastes of promises and freedom.

#Caleb Brewster #Caleb Brewster X Reader #Caleb BrewsterXReader #Self-insert #turn: washington's spies #Ben Tallmadge X Reader #Ben TallmadgeXReader

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