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christinebloodwrittings · 6 months

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To hunt or be hunted

Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer Summary: Shocker! The bleeding heart princess turned out no to be so rainbows and sparkles, she keeps a secret, a soul she owns, a bet and a terrible terror that keeps the demons inside the Hazbin Hotel well fed. Warnings: Blood

Honestly? I don't know if continuing this, let's see how it goes, otherwise I'll arrange this to be a one-shot with another end, and continue other works.

The dust kicked up every time you jumped to avoid the thrusts of her trident. It was becoming more and more difficult for you to move, with the blood falling down your side, your vision becoming cloudy, your back getting closer and closer to the destroyed foundations of what was once a building, until you were trapped.

Falling to your knees you looked up at her red glowing eyes, the two beasts fell to her side, their growl resonating deep within your bones. “I gave you a chance” she sure did, “I wanted us to be friends” her trident fell against your side, only one of the three knifes grazing your skin, “But you just had to, right?” tears fell down her eyes, straight into the dirt under her heels.

“I…I underestimated you” you coughed out blood with a smile, “Go ahead, kill me” she proved to be more of a challenge, you should’ve picked your fights a bit wiser. “You are lost, Y/n, let me help you” she stilled the trident, trying not to deepen the already open wound, “All this fight, and you still want to help me? Why?” you growled, “Let's make it fun, how about a bet?” your lion ears perked up.

“Ten years, you'll work for me at my Hotel, and if I can manage to convince you to find something good to do with yourself, I’ll set you free” she ignited a warm yellow flame on her hand, it danced around her palm without hurting her, “What will happen after if you fail?” you hesitated to take her hand, “You tell me” she already knew your answer, “I’ll kill you” she smiled, her eyes relaxing and shifting colors, “Sounds fair to me”.

You finally took her hand, the flame shifted into a dark hue going up both hers and your arm, the deal sealing itself on your eyes, changing them from red sclera to a black ones, your pupils remaining a white-silver hue.

It was a big relief when the trident left your side, the already warm metal left an uncomfortable empty and cold feeling, “You’re awfully confident” you shrugged, placing your hand over the cut, “Well, we have a long time ahead of us, don’t we?” she took it upon herself to support you on your opposite side, helping you stand from the debris.

7 years later

When the hotel fell apart you received an order, “Take everything inside and take it to safety” and so you did, all that was pictures, pets, luggage, everything, you gathered it far from the fight, then she told you to stay put until further notice.

You took a walk around, trying to go unnoticed as you were ordered, going into your phone adding a lot of new kitchen supplies into a virtual cart, when a groan made you look towards the Radio Demon’s crashed studio. After taking a hit of Adam’s guitar-axe, you thought it was amazing that he remained alive,

“Princess, Smiley is alive” your connection through your deal was truly an advantage when far away, “Try to see if he’s okay, try to stay out of sight, and if he needs assistance, help him” he was obviously not okay, but you had an order, so you made your way across the sulfuric smelling debris, until you reached the door of his studio, pushing it lightly, shadow launched at you, attempting to scare you away, failing terribly.

“I have an order to check if you are, quote unquote, “okay” demon” the shadow smiled and moved away, allowing you in. Shadows painted over your body a veil, which he could not see through, only the silver light your eyes emitted.

You peeked to your right from the door to see Alastor sitting on the floor, back against his desk, trying to hide a big gush on his chest with his hands, “Are you “Okay”?” he shot you a look that you could call a ‘Fuck you’ and a ‘You have to be kidding me’ mix.

“Are you in need of assistance?” again he didn’t answer directly, he just growled making his prongs a lot bigger, “This intimidation skit will not work on me sir, so answer, yes or no” his ears bent down and stayed flat behind his head, “No” he muttered, refusing any help from your part, “Okay then” his shadow opened the door for you, after a small curtsy to the gesture, you moved away from the rubble, the rocks making tiny crushing sounds under your heel.

His shadow caught up with you, mimicking a stop sign with his arm, “What?” then he made a figure with Alastor’s shape, a needle closing up his wound and then the same demon all smiling and walking, “So you want me to patch him up” the shadow nodded, the smile wider and cheery, “What’s in for me? He refused help, why would I go through all that trouble for free?” then he checkmated you with Charlie’s shape, he threatened to tell on you, “Good try joker, but you ain’t got shit on me”.

“Wait, yes” you heard the plea from the echo that the radio cabin made.

You made your way back to the demon, as soon as he saw you he took a look at his shadow before his prongs grew any bigger, then at you taking off his shirt, he continued growling and whining until you got fed up with the static and the guttural noises, “Dry up, will you?” an old way to say shut up and a heavy smack in between his ears took Alastor by surprise, turning his static into light jazz music.

Coming out of the veil he could see your hands, the tips of your fingers were a burned black color, your hands a much lighter color in contrast, light yellow, he would dare to even call it pastel, but due to the poor light he couldn’t decide on hues. Your nails were retractable ones, he noticed how you stopped before you touched the fabric of his coat, your nails went back into your fingers and then you proceeded.

“I’ll stitch it up, but that’s all, if you shower avoid extreme temperatures, and apply alcohol near the edges to keep it from infections” you instructed while partially removing his garments, leaving both his dress shirt and coat hanging down his elbows. The shadow provided you with a curved needle and suture thread, a very resistant one at that.

“What the blazes!?” he shrieked when you undid his belt, only to tie his hands behind his back with it, “I don’t want you messing my work up” you explained, making a pop with your mouth at the end.

As the needle went through his skin, you found weird not hearing a single peep off of him, then you discovered he was biting his lip, to the point it bled down his chin. “If you need to yell, do so, you’ll only hurt yourself if you continue doing that” his ears went back again, like a plea to make the pain go away, at the same time that embarrassment shot against his spine like a lightning. Then he yelled into the opposite side, to avoid receiving another smack.

When you finished closing the large gash, the shadow wrapped it up in bandages, “There you go” you stood up, dusting your knees before turning on your heels. He cleared his throat bitterly to draw your attention to the fact that he was still tied up, only to receive a disinterested giggle and your utter lack of concern.

“I’ve killed pests for less than this attitude you’re insulting me with” he thought that with an implied threat he would get rid of his binds and also get a little sign of fear from you, sadly his magic was weak, and so was the remaining strength he had, so he couldn’t free himself no matter how much he tugged on the leather.

He had a little bit of hope he could induce some authority toward you, but all he got was his hair pulled backwards and the cold steel of an axe pressed against his neck.

He took a couple of seconds to ask himself, how come you were behind him in less than a second? And also swallow the fact that now he was the one being threatened.

“Knowing how to pick your fights, may save your life one day” The edge Of the blade made a sharp noise while being dragged up slowly up his neck, stopping under his chin. “You’ve chosen badly twice in a day, and barely walked alive of the first one” you tugged just a little bit harder on his hair, just to place your authority over his will.

“Tell me, are you dumb enough to bite the hand that stitched you, and die because your bruised ego and your big mouth are taking control of your rational thinking?” you couldn’t measure the amount of hate his stare held, but he attentively took your advice at heart, so he relaxed his eyes and his smile turned less demonic, only answering your question with a soft no with his head.

Withdrawing the axe from his neck, you used the point to let the buckle lose without breaking it, allowing the belt to fall down his wrists. “Start picking your fights more wisely, boy, afterlife 101” you mocked while ruffling his hair right in between his ears.

“Now, I don’t think someone will ask, but if they do, we never had this conversation, rep wise” he nodded, “You better-“ his tongue tied on itself, he reckon your face being inches away from his, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul, deer-est” you chuckled at your own wordplay, while all he could do was stare at your eyes.

“Who are you?” You assumed for a long time that hell had already forgotten you, after thirty years without making yourself present, who wouldn't? Plus, he looked a lot younger than you, he lived on earth at least ten years longer than you, lucky bastard.

“No one” before he could make an attempt to grab the veil, you jumped out the door, disappearing from his sight into the mountain of rubble.

When Alastor made his way back to the new Hotel, he felt tempted to ask around about what he just witnessed, but preferred to keep his mouth shut. He wouldn’t admit in front of the others that the Radio Demon got assisted and handled as a whiny child, so instead he remained the smiley guy he is.

All the rooms got sorted later in the night, with a snap of his fingers everything in the new room looked exactly as it did in the old one. He placed the ruined coat and dress shirt on a chair, resorting to a grey suit he had lying around, “I should start broadcasting” he muttered to himself, making his way to his brand new station situated in the left wing of the Hotel.

After a few hours he came back to his quarters to refresh, when suddenly a sight caught on his eyes before he entered the bathroom. His red coat patched with an almost religious delicacy; he could barely notice the new red thread that tied everything together. Even the broken parts of the tail of his coat were fixed, it looked almost exactly the same as it did when he bought it in his time being alive all those years ago, the same with his dress shirt.

Next to the fixed items there was a note that read:

“Now you may kill looking real spiffy. Regards from in between the walls.

PS: Thank you for not telling on me.

- Axe-man”.

No one would catch the Radio Demon blushing, but Alastor didn’t mind at the moment.

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Part 2

*Dry up: shut up

*Spiffy: An elegant appearance

#hazbin alastor #radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel fanart #cursed cat alastor #lucifer hazbin x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin angel dust #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 1 year

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Hold Still ~ X.T.

A/n: Gender neutral pronouns were used, so gn reader for this one! Pure fluff after the last angsty fic <3

Request: “Xavier x werewolf!reader where R gets into a fight with another student that Xavier pulls them out of and helps patch them up. R is still drunk on adrenaline(or like mildly concussed lmao), and they keep being annoying trying to steal kisses from him while he’s literally trying to help stop their face from bleeding.”

Word Count: 1500+

MASTERLIST

Xavier had gotten there too late to see how it had started, but it was quickly quite clear how it was ending. Y/n wasn’t shifted at all, only their eyes glowing as they went to town on the person underneath them. Xavier had only managed to slip through the crowd and hook his hands under his partner’s arms, hefting them up and away. They had fought, and though Xavier was taller they were stronger and they almost got away. If him not groaning as their foot came in contact with the sude of his leg and them recognizing his voice, they probably would have gotten away clean.

Distracted by Xavier though, their focus changed quickly as they turned from the guy that Xavier didn’t even recognize - except that they weren’t from Nevermore. Which made no sense because they were at school. The town people never came here on their own.

He focused on his partner as their hands ran over his shoulders and down his arms, eyes scanning for injury.

Despite himself, Xavier smiled. “I’m okay.” Of course they had the time and energy to be worried about him when they had a forming black eye, split lip and bloody nose.

Xavier was a little proud to say the other guy looked worse though. Y/n had handled him well.

Not that he should he encouraging that.

Weems was on the scene in the next breath, leaving no room for further discussion. Her eyes ran over something before her worry turned cold and hard as her eyes landed on the boy still on the ground. No one had even tried to help him up, which confused Xavier even more.

Then he saw it.

When Xavier’s art in town had been painted over last year, Weems had given him permission to do something at the school. He had put all of the effort he had into this one, absolutely sure that it would be safe inside the school at the very least.

The wall he’d had his second painting was white, the paint only on enough to cover what he had worked so hard on, underneath. Over the white was splattered, “Monster” in big blocky red letters. At the bottom of the scene on the wall was an open and prepped bear trap.

Xavier felt himself go pale.

The trap was a message of course, the boy probably hadn’t meant to actually catch Xavier or anyone else. But it would have been easy not to see it if you were lost in a book or practicing some practical magic or in regular school stuff - even if you were in a hurry on the way to class. There was a corner that someone could turn around and completely not see the trap at all.

This kid had not only ruined Xavier’s portrait, he had put every single person at Nevermore in very real danger.

No wonder Y/n had gone for the throat.

Weems leered at the boy at her full height and the boy on the ground shrunk into himself. “You won’t press charges, or spread word on what happened here. If you try to I will expose the instigating actions and very illegal trespassing and assault you’ve done. Don’t even get me started on the physical safety threat you’ve made.” It wasn’t totally accurate, but it would he only too easy to play off if anyone tried anything.

Weems had grown a backbone. That was nice to see.

The boy nodded and, once dismissed by Weems, scrambled to freedom. She then turned to Y/n. She didn’t reprimand them as expected. Her gaze simply softened and she sighed. “I know things have gotten difficult for you since getting arrested,” she said softly to Xavier. His eyes fell to the ground, unable to look at his ruined painting.

For the second time now.

“Make me something for my office instead okay?” She asked.

Xavier nodded, looking at her as she kneeled down to check on how Y/n was doing. “Thanks, Weems.”

The woman smiled. “Of course. Now go get your partner patched up.”

Xavier smiled softly, helping Y/n to their feet. The pair left to Xavier’s dorm. Usually they’d be sneakier or at least get some light hearted joking teasing from teachers or reminders of curfew, but today they just walked and everyone left them alone.

Y/n had stepped up for Nevermore ajd taken hits for it. They could have this one.

Once inside, Xavier sat them down on his bed (It smelled like him and he knew they’d like that). Then he got a wet rag, disinfectant and a few bandages. He sat next to Y/n, reaching over to hold their chin as he used the rag to softly dab and wipe the blood away, cleaning the cut.

They hissed, leaning away on instinct. Xavier shot them a half amused look. “We love a knight in shining armor but now I have to patch you up like the good boyfriend I am. So please stay still.”

Y/n did a little pout. “Can’t you just kiss it better?”

Xavier chuckled. Then he sobered a bit as he realized their eyes were dilated and their gaze seemed a little unfocused.

Shit.

“Hey, are you feeling anything abnormal other than the pain from the bruising and cuts?” He asked, trying to move their chin so their eyes would meet his. They seemed to struggling with the task.

Y/n just shrugged. “My head hurts a little. He got like, two good hits in. But only in the beginning. I landed on the ground before he got on top of me and then I sort of flipped us over and-“ They shrugged again.

Xavier frowned. “Did you hit your head?”

Y/n laughed at that. “Several times. Between his fist and the concrete I got a few good whacks.”

Xavier bit back an angry comment. That wouldn’t help them right now. He would chide Y/n for being reckless and apathetic with their well being another time. “Y/n, you have a concussion.” He raised an accusing eyebrow.

Y/n grinned. “Not surprised I got a bit roughed up falling for you.”

Xavier snorted, rolling his eyes and dodging his partner as they went in for a kiss. “You cannot flirt your way out of this. You should have told me that you hit your head. I could have made it worse.”

Y/n sighed, leaning against the end of the bed, first pushing a pillow behind him so the post didn’t dig into his back. “I’m sorry Xav I just. Tired.” They nestled into the bed and closed their eyes, as if to sleep.

Xavier pulled them into a sitting position, heart swelling when they whined. They were so adorable right now…

He had go focus.

“You can’t fall asleep when you have s concussion darling we don’t know exactly how bad your concussion is.”

Y/n rolled his eyes but conceded. “Fine. Continue your treatment Doctor Thorpe.”

A smile ghosted at his lips again, unable to help himself. “Okay sit still and I’ll try to get the rest of your face.”

“Not my face,” Y/n groaned. “My money winner!”

A chuckle bubbled from Xavier as he was caught off guard by the near drunk way Y/n was acting right now. He seemed to be able to focus more easily now and wasn’t slurring his words, and he seemed to be keeping his balancing sitting up fine enough so Xavier was unworried enough to be able to enjoy the shenanigans. “Whatever, Y/n.” He reached the rag forward to wipe more of the blood away. Y/n ducked the rag and leaned in again for a kiss. This time they got a peck before Xavier ducked out of the way. “Y/n,” he chided.

The put on their best pleading face. “One kiss and I’ll sit still?”

Xavier sighed, taking a second before conceding. “Fine.” They made a squeaky noise of celebration before puckering up, leaning in. Xavier chuckled before shifting his hold from their chin to their jaw, leaning in for a long and deep and sincere kiss. When he leaned away they whined and he found himself suddenly sickly in love. “Please let me finish?”

Y/n hesitated, eyes locked on the details of Xavier’s face, drinking in how he was looking at them right now. They pursed their lips. “Xav. You know you’re not a monster, right?”

Xavier felt something warm settle in his chest. Y/n was always so aware and caring of him, even when they were concussed.

God he was lucky. “I know.” His thumb brushed across their cheek, expression soft. He was melted to the floor in love with them.

They smiled. “Good.” They settled into a single spot, lifting their chin and offering their face for cleaning. Xavier went back to work, thanking whoever was listening above that even though people were cruel and mistakes haunted you even when the mistakes weren’t yours - that despite all the bad in the world, Xavier had Y/n. Someone so good they single handedly balanced everything else.

He could paint another picture. They were worth that.

#Xavier Thorpe #Xavier Thorpe x reader #Xavier Thorpe imagine #Wednesday #Wednesday x reader #Wednesday imagine #gender neutral reader

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popjunkie42 · 1 day

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Painted Blind: Chapter Five

Read on AO3

What Feyre Archeron wants is simple: enough food, gold and safety to take care of her family. But when a terrifying fae beast crosses the wall and enters the human lands, she finds that simple, safe life slipping out of reach.

Part one of an ACOTAR re-telling inspired by the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros.

Chapter 5: Feyre finds danger even in her old village. Good thing a mysterious stranger has come to town.

TW: this chapter has depictions of violence and the threat of sexual assault

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for the beta reads!

Chapter under the cut...

I didn’t take my sister’s advice, or heed my father’s tight look from across the room.

The large, open ballroom was sweltering and thick with the smell of cigars, of bodies and ale. My head was still spinning, and I stumbled a bit as I grasped at a glass of wine as it rushed past me on a servant’s tray. White and sparkling, this time. Red now made my stomach sour.

This room, with its gleaming marble floors, sweeping embroidered drapes, and blazing bronze chandelier, was grander than anything I could remember even from my mother’s lavish parties. But the drunken revelries and laughter, the smell of sick and sweat, the loud cacophonous noise - it reminded me of the run-down tavern. Everyone might put on airs and shine their shoes here, but when the wine poured they were all the same.

But even with more wine, bubbles tickling my nose, I still felt…uneasy.

Stumbling across the dance floor, I hugged corners as much as my dizzy feet would allow, brushing past hard shoulders and spinning skirts.

I didn’t realize I was following the smells of cooking until I found myself in the loud kitchen. I wandered through, grabbing a chicken wing as I continued my loose dance around chefs and servants. My belly had been stuffed hours ago, to the point of pain really, but I couldn’t stop myself from shoving more fine food down my mouth at every turn.

Weaving and twirling, I managed somehow to avoid the hot pans and precariously balanced trays.

A cold wind called to me again, the heat of the kitchen banked by the bluster of powdery snow outside an open door. My cheeks were hot and I tossed away the chicken bone as I stepped outside, the back of the grand manor facing a dark forest beyond the edges of the village. I licked the juices and the unfamiliar, delicate spices off my fingers, now shiny with grease, as I let the cold air cool my cheeks.

I wondered if I’d have to get used to it now - these parties, the stares, the pinched manners and the loud cluster of bodies and sound.

The smell of the clean cold of the forest was welcome. The vastness of the night overhead, and the beauty of the sparkling diamonds set therein. I tilted my head back to drink it in, to let the cold kiss of night air caress my skin.

“Well, if it isn’t the famous fae-killer,” a cocky voice called out from just beyond the little yard.

I whipped my head around, too fast, and the earth spun under my feet.

Panic gripped my throat as I blinked to focus my eyes, arms whirling to regain my balance.

Five figures - huddled around something, bony and lanky. A bottle passed between them. And in the back - I spotted Charles, shorter by a head, pouting and glowering in the shadows.

Young men from the village. Clothes fine but untucked, mussed free, eyes glossy. The sharp glint of teeth and low, secret laughter.

Every hair on my body stood up.

Sober up I yelled at myself in my head, and whirled as quickly as I could back towards the kitchen entrance.

Slam - the door shutting echoed through the trees, into my bones. Another grinning boy stood triumphant with his palm splayed over the door, standing between me and escape.

Every instinct was screaming at me as I tumbled again, my good hand barely catching against the stones of the house. My axis lost completely, nothing left of my honed hunter’s senses.

Now it was laughter, cruel and loud, echoing through the trees.

“Looks like the wild beast of the forest can’t hold her liquor,” one of them sneered.

“Cut it out,” Charles whined.

Panic was pulsing through my veins, slowly bringing me back to my senses. Bodies broke away from their group in the shadows. Stalking me, slow and unhurried. Cutting off my exits.

More laughter as they watched my eyes dart between them. Details slowly coming into shape, dark eyes and drunken smiles and too-white teeth.

“Look at her! She can’t even stay clean one day. You should throw her back into the woods, Charlie.”

Only he remained back, the others moving to circle me, a pack closing in.

“I bet she fucked the beast, and cut its throat while it was sleeping.” Rage ignited, a deafening roar in my ears. “She looks filthy enough. Maybe you should get separate bedrooms, Charles. She might have fleas.”

Charles looked away, cheeks heated.

He clearly wasn’t the leader of this pack of mongrels.

No, that would be the tallest of them, a golden-haired boy with a crooked nose and cruel brown eyes. He stood before me, eyes roving over me with a leer on his face.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I cursed this damned dress, and my father with it. He had refused to let me strap my hunting knife onto my waist. The one at my ankle now was barely a sharp dinner knife, snuck from the kitchens when we arrived.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get one of her sisters. At least they’re a bit pretty for poor trash.”

Was the door locked behind me? Any space between us was closing quickly. If I screamed and banged on the door loud enough, if anyone from the party would just hear me -

“Maybe she’s a good fuck,” the leader said, approaching me like a hungry dog. “Maybe we should find out for Charles, before he’s trapped with her in his bed forever.”

A scuff of snow and a grunt from my chest and in a breath, I had closed the distance between us, pulling the knife from my boot. It scraped against the baby hair stubble on his neck. The blade bobbed slightly as he swallowed.

Adrenaline seared through my veins, cutting through my drunken haze. On the edge of my vision, the world still blurred, but I fixed my eyes, wide and fierce upon the boy in front of me.

The other boys jeered and laughed, clearly not intimidated. “Charlie, your wife has claws!”

Mr. Crooked Nose felt different. He froze in position, his back bent at an odd angle to keep from leaning further into the knife.

“I’m nobody’s wife,” I said. Steadier than I felt. Though I was outnumbered, the face in front of me was pale as ash.

He tried to pull away from me but I pushed the knife harder against skin, following his half-step. “I’ve skewered a boar larger than you. I stripped his hide for a coat and carved up his meat for stew.” A single drop of blood dripped down his throat. “Would you like a demonstration?”

But one girl against five was never good odds.

The boy stumbled backward, falling away from my knife. A stinging slap against my face threw me into shock, enough that the knife clattered out of my hands.

In an instant, hands were all over me, grabbing and wrenching and pulling. Strong arms banded around my waist and lifted me into the air. I reared up, kicking my heels into the air and into whatever they could connect with. Skirts flying, screams tearing from deep inside. Until it wasn’t a scream but a roar, shredding and burning my throat as it escaped me.

A beast indeed.

For just a moment, as I thrashed, I met Charles’ wide eyes from across the yard. Something like guilt inside them.

When our gazes locked, he looked away.

Of course, I thought. Of course I’m all alone. Alone and surrounded by monsters yet again.

I was biting and kicking and raging. Filthy hands clamped over my mouth. Hands gripped to bruise around my arms, the hold like iron. A fist to my gut knocking the air out of me and I fell to my knees. And I screamed again, this time like an animal trapped, as someone crushed my left hand in their fist.

I heard bones pop and break.

The adrenaline was waning, my body beaten and I winced, expecting another blow.

But just like that, it was over.

Rough hands lifted off of me. Boots crunched in the snow as they stepped away.

I quickly stumbled to my feet, still gasping for air.

When I finally looked around, I didn’t know what to think.

The boy’s backs were to me, bodies rigid and still, looking towards the copse of trees behind the manor. Still as a pack sizing up a threat.

Wild, old forests. Blanketed in shadow. Trunks groaning in the wintry wind.

Whispers amongst them, “Did you hear that?”

And there stood a man.

At least, I thought it was a man.

The word didn’t seem quite right.

One moment there was nothing, and then he was there.

He was tall and lithe, with powerful shoulders noticeable even in his fine suit. And it was fine, black as the night and woven with designs in glistening silver thread. Epaulets at his shoulder held a long cape that billowed behind him in the wind.

Nothing else about his person moved. He was so still I didn’t know how the boys had even spotted him first. Not even his chest moved, as if he weren’t breathing at all.

Through the stillness, though, there was the threat of violence. It ebbed off of him like smoke, like shadow.

I realized then that the boys weren’t the wolves.

The boys were the rabbits.

Here was the wolf. Here was the lion.

If I thought before that my instincts were screaming, now they were a desperate growing hum throughout my body. Run, they screamed. Danger. Death.

The boy, the leader, tried to stand straighter. Tried to pretend his hands weren’t shaking.

The man, if that’s what he was, took a stepforward. Casually, he slipped his hands into the pocket of his trousers. Odd for how normal a gesture it was. Even from afar, his face was sharp and beautiful, a light frown that was almost…bored.

The shadows seemed to retreat back into the trees behind him as if released from his call. Moonlight danced over the circles and whorls of silver embroidery, over the gleaming blue-black of his hair.

Collectively, the boys took a step back.

“We’re just having a bit of fun here. No need to get bent out of shape over a girl,” Crooked Nose said. His shaking voice betrayed his courage.

The man stopped again. He cocked his head to the side, an almost animalistic movement. As if he were sniffing the air.

Scenting the fear.

At once Crooked Nose went still, his eyes glazing over.

In a blink he was back. As if returning into his body, eyes wide and wild. Feet tripped over one another and he stumbled back a step, scrambling to his feet.

Without a sound, he ran. The others waited only a moment until they realized they were leaderless and followed.

Now, we were alone.

I should have turned and run with them. I should have been more afraid.

But as he stalked closer, my eyes drifted to his face. To a powerful aquiline nose, deep blue eyes that almost glowed.

All I could think was, beautiful.

A flash in my mind - stories from my nursemaid, about beings so beautiful their prey walked right into their open waiting mouths. About humans so overcome with enchantments they bowed before being devoured.

A man indeed.

He took several long strides towards me, the distance being eaten up quickly.

Though he was beautiful, though he had saved me, the thought crossed my mind: am I the mouse?

Stepping into the light of the lanterns of the house, I saw his lips twitch. As though I had said the words out loud.

Although I was afraid, my feet were rooted to the ground. My neck tilted up to watch his approach, eyes irrevocably locked on his form.

But as he got close, he slowed. As if I was a wild beast to keep from bolting. And in a smooth motion he bent at the waist and picked up my knife, glinting in the snow.

I didn’t even have a moment for fear before he had flipped it, standing in front of me, offering the handle.

I looked back up into his eyes.

They were dark blue - almost violet. I could have sworn that stars swirled in them.

Still drunk.

I should thank him. I should say something, or at least curtsy or…something. But my tongue was heavy in my mouth.

Slowly, I reached out my hand to the hilt of the knife. The iron was cold against my hand. A stark contrast to the warmth of his fingers, brushing under mine.

For the first time I saw him breathe. His chest expanded as his lips parted. Glistening eyes widened and he looked at me with surprise. As if I were the mystery.

None of the boys in our village had ever caught my eye. Oh, occasionally my eyes would wander when we crossed someone splitting wood or hauling hay without their shirts, taut muscles gleaming with sweat.

But they were harsh boys, skinny with hunger, and they usually ignored us completely or sneered and whistled as we walked by. There was little that was beautiful in our small scrap of land south of the wall.

But this man…

I felt lost in his eyes. Frozen under his stare. A lock of errant hair slipped over his brow as he moved closer, towering over me.

A strange, new part of me longed to brush it away from his face. I felt a blush steal over me, across my cheeks and down my neck. I realized how frazzled I must look - beaten and bruised, hair unkempt, dress ripped and stained.

The corner of his mouth turned up again, the slightest hint of a smile.

A broad hand reached out to me, slowly, and then paused. When I didn’t run, he continued.

His skin was warm as his palm cupped my skin, covering my jaw, fingers brushing over my neck. Stars were swirling again in his eyes. I felt the brush of his thumb over my cheek, and everywhere we touched my skin tingled and heated.

My mouth was open, breaths shallow, but I still couldn’t form the words. Who are you? Why did you help me?

Why are you looking at me like that?

He hadn’t spoken a single word.

Was I locked in some sort of spell?

A loud slam from behind us and my whole body jolted. A serving woman stepped outside the kitchen into the yard, tossing a bag of trash with a clunk.

By the time I turned back, he was gone. Only a cold emptiness where his hand had rested on my skin, moments before.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Perhaps there were still some gods left to help, because Elain was the one who found me first.

I watched the pleasant flush on her face quickly pale as she spotted me in the ballroom, stumbling and disheveled. My sister paused only a moment before she was on me, grabbing my shoulders, watching the room, and hustling me off to an empty washroom up the ornate stairwell.

“What if I just…ran away?” I said aloud. Elain found a brush and came over to me with a bowl of cold water for my face.

A wrung washcloth, cool and soothing on my heated skin. “And lived where, in the woods? Forever?” She asked softly.

“I could hunt. I could find another village far away where nobody knew who I was.”

My sister gripped my hair, starting the brush at the ends to pull out the snarls and tangles.

“What about your hand?”

I looked at my gnarled appendage, shattered and bent. The bandages were torn and dirty, my fingers twisted unnaturally.

With my hair now in a loose braid, Elain began dabbing at the worst of the stains on my dress. I didn’t hold out much hope, but then again, Elain had a tendency to make everything around her beautiful. Maybe I would be the one blessed this time.

“Is he really so bad?” Elain asked.

Behind my eyelids I saw a face, guilty and scared. Turning away, as I fought and screamed like an animal.

“Make sure you’re not alone when we’re staying here. If I’m not around, stay with Nesta or father, okay?”

Elain was silent for a moment as she dabbed at my dress. “Who did this to you?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “It won’t happen again.”

Elain sighed, returning to wipe the last dirt off of my hot, cold-chapped face.

“Feyre,” she said with a gasp.

“What?”

“Your scar. On your cheek. It’s…gone.”

We both turned towards the mirror, bringing the lone flickering candle close.

It made the shadows behind us grow and dance. I brushed my fingers over my cheekbone, the skin smooth and clear, without a single mark.

Remembered the heat on my skin.

“I guess it healed at last.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Elain had tucked the errant threads from my torn collar into my dress, had wrapped her beautiful floral shawl around my waist to cover the worst of the stains. I walked down the stairs with her, arm in arm.

Elain had worked miracles. But given the rowdy state of the party below, I wasn’t sure how much it truly mattered on this night.

And despite Nesta’s words, and my father’s wishes, I had no desire left to impress anyone in this room.

The roar and heat of the room rose up again to greet us. The booming laughter and the clink of glass shook my bones.

My sister sensed my hesitation, always aware. My elbow in her gentle hand, she led me down to rejoin the festivities.

The band was in full swing, violins and fiddles and drums filling the air and sparking the crowd to dance.

With the deep and heavy night fully situated, most of the party seemed to be as deep in the wine as I was, faces red and ruddy, the dance less than elegant.

“Wait here. I’ll get you some water. And no more wine,” Elain said with a gentle chide in her voice.

I nodded, too tired and overwhelmed to argue.

While Elain slipped away, I scanned the crowd.

If I were to stay here, if I was actually forced to marry Charles, I knew the boys wouldn’t give up so easily. A vicious pack like that wouldn’t forget the slight of losing their conquest, of letting a doe slip away.

My mind was racing with the possibilities.

If I had time and freedom to wander the town freely, I could get them one by one.

Figure them out, decide whether I needed violence or merely threats. Individually, I could handle them. I wouldn’t be their prey. And I knew small cuts could be enough to make my point. Slices to the back of the ankles to keep them off their feet. Bleeding them from the neck or head to disorient them quickly. And if I had to, a carefully placed slice along the back, to take out their legs entirely.

Yes, without the mysterious stranger to interrupt, without his shimmering violence keeping them at bay, they would be back for me the next chance they got.

As if my thoughts had summoned him, he appeared.

The man in black stood in the doorway, the dark outside around his shoulders like a cloak.

He was just as stunning as he had been in the dark. Perhaps moreso in this room filled with drooping flush faces, his black outfit a contrast to the merry colors of skirts and cravats.

Dark eyes scanned the crowd for only a moment until they found me. When they bored into mine, all the sounds of the party faded away.

Again it was though I was in a trance, under a spell. My sister forgotten, I stepped through dancers and pushed past bodies, some inescapable tug pulling me towards him.

Presence overwhelming, he stood at the doorway, darkness hardly ebbing. It was as if he pushed away the chaos of the room, his own aura of beautiful intensity creating space, like a shield around his body.

With a breath, I crossed the threshold.

At once the smells of grease and wine and bodies disappeared, replaced by the clean, cold scents of winter - salt and citrus and the chill outside still clinging to his jacket.

The most curious thing was the way he looked at me. My eyes had locked to his from the moment he entered - I was trapped in them. The strange thing was that he looked at me the same - with surprise, with reverence.

Like I was worth something. Like I wasn’t a filthy girl gnawing at her chains.

All I wanted to do was touch him.

His head cocked to the side. Eyes raked up and down my body, shameless. Possessive. I shuddered.

He hadn’t yet spoken a single word.

Neither had I. I knew I should be polite, introduce myself. Ask one of my thousand questions buzzing somewhere in the back of my brain.

But here, in this little cocoon of just the two of us, I was loath to break the spell.

If I opened my mouth, he might stop looking at me with that intense gaze - would quickly find that the brave killer of fae was just a poor girl, angry and uncouth.

Somewhere far away, applause broke out, then first notes of a new song hummed over our heads.

As the first strong note of a violin traveled across the crowd, he grabbed my hand in his and pulled me to the dance floor.

I stumbled only a moment. His hand was warm, not soft but calloused, a strange contrast to his refined form.

Beside us, couples were pairing off, lining up, and pulled away from his hypnotic gaze, I realized I had been caught again.

For a moment, I seized in fear.

I didn’t know how to dance. Mother was just beginning to turn to my education before she passed.

But my eyes couldn’t look away from his solid form, the dark tunic soaking up the light, mischief dancing in his dark eyes.

He bowed deeply before me, elegant and graceful. My head tilted up to his as he stood and stepped closer to me, and I could only tear my eyes away from his to watch his hand take my own, the other wrapping around my waist.

His hand on me was warm and broad. I felt the heat of it through my dress. Wondered, unbidden, how it would feel on my skin, with nothing in between us.

I breathed into my nervousness as the music began and he gripped me tighter. As our feet danced, his hand moved from my waist to the small of my back to guide me, fingers skimming over the small buttons of my dress.

I knew I was awkward, my legs moving too slow and getting in the way. But I looked to his eyes and got lost - and I swear I was right, I did see stars - and the more I relaxed into him the easier the movements came to me.

He glided us across the floor through spins and steps and wove us gracefully between flaring skirts and flying elbows. I felt weightless, like I was floating through the sky on wings, his hands the only thing anchoring me to the earth.

We spun in circles, my body gently reeled out by my arm and twisting back into his embrace. We circled one another, his legs brushing against the back of my skirts, to come back face to face and place hands palm to palm. I hadn’t realized, before, how a dance was a song between two people - a call and an answer. He held me to him, my body breathless and light.

When our bodies came together again, he slid his hand low from my hip to my waist, the movement slow and possessive, and I felt the jolt of where we touched through my entire body.

His face was beautiful, chiseled like a statue of gods of old, a smile on his mouth, lips parted and inviting. I didn’t know what was coming over me, what had my insides igniting.

The violins reached a crescendo, laughter was all around us, and he dipped me backwards, hands splaying wide across my back.

And strangely - I found myself letting go. Letting my back arch and my head tip towards the ground as he held me aloft. I felt light. I felt held.

When he pulled me back to him, our bodies were grasped so closely together the breath was crushed from my lungs.

That huff of breath stirred his hair, the only part of him lightly unkempt, and though the music and spinning couples continued around us, we were both still in each other’s arms.

I couldn’t move, didn’t want to, while the heat of our bodies mingled together. His form against mine was hard and taut, and I longed to run my hands over it to find the softness, to trace every dip and groove of muscles and joints with my fingertips.

The hand I had on his shoulder wandered towards his neck, but my eyes caught on the dirty bandages and I faltered.

But there must have been no distance between our thoughts, because he turned his head to the side to see my broken hand, poorly wrapped, resting on his shoulder. I took a deep breath, worried I was going to have to break this moment, this spell, by telling a story of blood and murder in the woods.

Instead he lifted a hand off of my waist, lifting my hand at the wrist. And softly pressed my fingers to his lips.

Around us, in another world, the band expended its final note and applause erupted around us.

Terror gripped me, then, where before there had only been blooming heat.

The song was done, and now he would leave, and I would no longer be in his arms.

I had never dreamed of a man, had never thought of one as either a partner to be sought or a viable escape. Had never been able to rely on any else, really.

But I thought for a moment that if I stayed here, next to him, I could walk away from this now absurd world of hunting and hunger and drab cottages and fall into his, one that must be exciting and mysterious and wonderful to hold a creature such as him.

Clasping my broken hand gently against his chest, the other still warming my back, his lips turned downward into a slight frown. Perhaps he felt the seconds ticking away as well, the inevitable parting.

I needed something from him - anything. A name, a title, a single word of explanation as to what was happening between us with our bodies so close. Something to prove this wasn’t a drunken dream.

I opened my mouth to speak.

“Feyre!”

Around us, voices began crying out - calling, chanting my name, as the band broke into a boisterous melody.

I turned out of reflex, feeling too late the warmth of him seeping away, his hands leaving my body. And as I turned back I only heard I’m sorry in a whisper, in a voice so soft I wasn’t sure if his lips were at my ear or his voice was in my head.

Sorry? Sorry for what?

The crowd was crying out for me, chanting “Feyre!” now, led by my father, still wearing the cloak of fur from the beast like a king. He was joined by the mayor, drunk and jolly, and the rest of the crowd rushed in around me.

My body locked up as they lifted me, up over heads and onto a wooden armchair held aloft on the shoulders of four men. It was wooden and ornate, bedecked in waxy winter bows and bright berries. In his hand, the mayor held a crown woven from dried holly, the gaps filled with yellowing roses.

Feyre! Hero! Fae-killer! the crowd yelled. I held onto the arm of the chair for dear life as I was rocked and carried over the crowd as if floating on a raucous wave.

I managed to turn just once. Wishing to find his face, and knowing deep down I would not. My eyes scanned the crowd for his dark raven hair, for his luminous presence, but found no trace of him - as if he had disappeared into the ether.

Just like everything beautiful and lovely. My heart sank deep into my chest as the crowd pulled me towards the wide entry doors.

Glimpses were all I ever got, the slightest spark in my chest of something good - warm, happy, beautiful. And then they were gone. Like the shooting stars I sometimes saw in the forest, blazing bright and then sizzling into nothing, my eyes the only witness to their short-lived glory.

I rocked on the chair as we emerged out of the doors and onto the open town square. Cold air brought me back to the earth, to my own body and away from my dark thoughts.

A bonfire was burning, bright and hot, and the crowd circled once. I worried for a moment they were going to toss me on it like some sort of offering. But instead I was placed in front of the fire, my body jostling until I found my feet and sat up.

All eyes were on me. All the hands reaching. I felt like a rabbit in a trap, about to lose its skin.

The band followed us out, cheers and the sound of strings and drums, and people began dancing. Some drank, some reveled, some sang. The sound traveled far and wide into the cold winter night.

My eyes followed the dancing flames, the embers jumping higher and swallowed whole. My head followed them, tilting further and further up and I exhaled, a puff of mist, all my thoughts and worries carried aloft into the dark triumphant solstice night.

Read on AO3

#feysand #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #feysand fanfic #greek myth inspired #psyche and eros #my writing

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corvidaemnit · 1 year

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Hey so can i have some interesting bird facts? I'm writing a story with a character who loves birds and i would like to hear bird facts that i can make the character tell others

YOU ARE MY NEW FAVORITE PERSON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING.

here are some of my favorites off the top of my head!!

- crows can remember faces and hold grudges! not only that, but they can also spread gossip amongst other crows which can be passed down generationally. if you wrong a crow, there’s a chance even its descendants will despise you

- hoatzins are born with small hooked claws on their wings to grab onto branches when they’re chicks! chicks will hold onto branches and, when faced with danger, they can and will drop themselves into water and SWIM to safety!! cool, right? however, as hoatzins mature they shed their claws and lose their ability to swim- as they have no need for those things anymore

- woodpeckers have long tongues that are supported by the ‘hyoid bone’, two thin strips that run through their tongue and wrap all the way around their skull. basically, woodpeckers have long ass tongues that touch their own skull. they also have been prone to using their tongues as self defense; their tongues are long and sticky so they stick it out at other birds to freak them out lmao

- bearded vultures have the strongest stomach acid of any animal in the world. around 90% of their diet consists of pure bone that they swallow and digest whole. on top of that, despite being born snow-white in color, bearded vultures in the wild are often seen with shades of red and orange painted onto their feathers. for purposes ornithologists have yet to understand, these vultures cover themselves in red dirt and other substances to make their feathers a more desirable color. the theory is that they use this to prevent feather degradation, but I like to think they just enjoy being fancy..

- frigatebirds are a huge subject of interest for scientists because nobody knows exactly how they manage to sleep while flying so much. these birds fly for extended periods of time over large bodies of water, and despite never coming in for a landing- they usually end up being fine. the hypothesis is that they actually take 10 second or so long power-naps while mid-flight, only resting part of their brain so that they can still operate their eyes and wings. neat, right?

- oilbirds, who get their name from the fact that historically people have been known to cook them as chicks for their oil, can echolocate like bats!! this fruit-eating little guy is also the only bird in its family, steatornis, which.. literally just translates to ‘fat bird.’ this is because, as chicks, oilbirds are born and raised to be significantly fatter than their parents. oh also, sometimes they scream so loudly and tragically that they’ve earned the nickname ‘guácharo’, roughly meaning “one who laments.”

- the closest living relative to the dodo is the nicobar pigeon! In fact, dodos are even considered a subset (raphinae) within the pigeon/dove family- columbidae. so… in short, dodos were basically big flightless pigeons. the more you know!

- kiwi eggs take up around 15% of their entire body weight, and are actually considered to be the largest eggs in relation to body weight of any other bird…. despite the fact that kiwis are super small. kiwis are also very reproductive, so females tend to lay a lot of eggs in their lifetime.. like.. close to 100. long story short: ouch.

- birds have knees and ankles and they bend pretty much just like ours!

roping back to corvids.. sorry they’re my favorite hehe

- jackdaws and rooks have been known to not only mate for life, but also choose their partners before they even reach sexual maturity. when eventually reaching maturity, as well, they stay by their partner’s side even if faced with continuous reproductive failure. they’ve also been observed keeping familial bonds and forming friendships!! very social and sweet members of the corvidae family

- the common raven has around 79 different vocalizations and scientists don’t even really understand half of them.

- crows have ACCENTS!!! ok so.. not in the way you’re probably thinking, but it’s the closest a bird can Get to an accent!! and it’s pretty damn cool!! depending on where they live, crows will have vocalizations catered specifically to their area’s murder. the vocalizations remain the same, but have a sliiiightly different tone to them. accents!!!!

- crows understand the concept of zero. this may not seem super revolutionary, but considering the fact it took our overall society to figure it out.. that’s pretty damn cool. (obviously societies preceding us like the mayans had an understanding of zero far before the rest of us did, but it’s still pretty neat!!)

SO YEAH!! THERE ARE YOUR BIRD FACTS!!!!! I never get to talk about this so sorry there’s so much— I got excited haha

I have a lot more but I condensed them to this little list of the ones I find the most interesting! hope this helps!!!!

#birds #bird #bird facts #ornithology #daemnthoughts #rambles

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magicandmaybe · 9 months

Text

gave me the blues and then purple-pink skies.

for @bowserbabe from your secret santa! hi, it's been wonderful getting to know you through the occasional asks i sent. i haven't written fanfiction before, although i do write original content soo you're going to be the first person to read this! any and all criticism is welcome, i'm just looking to start writing more from now on! i'm also super grateful for @tmsource for organizing this so i could stop putting off writing and start again! happy new year everyone:)

Teresa Lisbon was not in a good mood. This was made evident by the fact that she was pressing her thumb and index finger on her temple in a desperate attempt to soothe the headache plaguing her. With a defeated sigh, she opened her eyes and made herself look at the notes sprawled over her desk. This was going to take a while.

~~~

The Texan humidity wasn’t doing Cho any favors. He silently cursed the faulty air conditioning in his office as he made his way to his old friend’s desk.

“Any luck with those files?” He asked, hoping Lisbon had struck gold after they had all started reviewing the case files a few hours ago. She looked up, brows furrowed, as if there was a storm brewing right at the bridge of her nose.

“Not yet. It looks like we’ve exhausted all our leads and the case still doesn’t make any sense,” she replied, her exasperation getting the better of her.

The team’s morale had been at an all time low for the past few days; their latest case had left them grasping at straws for new leads.

Cho attempted to change the subject, wondering how Abbott managed to handle days like this and still close cases while he was boss.

“How’s the new recruit?” He asked her.

Lisbon groaned. “Hopeless. I don’t know what he was taught at Quantico but it definitely wasn’t how to canvass an area. I had more lack sending Wylie out into the field to do his job.”

The agency has brought in someone to replace Vega a little after the incident at the diner. Both Cho and Lisbon exchanged a silent look of shared understanding. The loss of Vega had hit the team hard; in terms of both their efficiency and morale.

Her unmatched enthusiasm was a tough act to follow, and the new recruit was far from capable. Lisbon knew that Cho had taken the loss personally, he was more hesitant now, more cautious. Vega had looked up to him and he knew it; and so he let the memory of her serve as a reminder of his duty towards the safety of his team and occasionally, the fact that she used to make him laugh.

She had been irreplaceable but Cho still took to reassuring Lisbon. “He will learn. They all do.” He also made a mental note to have a chat with their new addition later on.

“I know, I know,” Lisbon said impatiently; “But I still can’t get over this case. How can two seemingly unrelated people end up dead in three same place, at the same time and with the same toxins used to poison them runnjng through their blood?”

“Did forensic get back to you in the evidence found at the crime scene?” Cho asked.

Lisbon shook her head. “A dead end. No DNA or prints at the scene. Everything was wiped clean. Toxicology is working on identify in the poison used but they say it looks like nothing they’ve ever seen before.”

Lisbon crossed her arms in annoyance. “We need fresh eyes. A new perspective. We need…” she trailed off not wanting to finish her sentence.

“Jane.” Cho said. And there was the white elephant in the room; the unmissable Jane-sized hole at the agency.

Lisbon had woken up one day to find her husband missing, with a note beside her saying that he had gone for a run and will catch up with her at work. He never showed up.

She went home sick with worry only to find him by the lake with a canvas. He had been trying to paint one of the trees by the lake.

He told her that he wanted to take a break from solving cases. So she had accepted it and they moved on.

Except, the couch by the big, open windows remained empty and forlorn, as Lisbon and Cho looked over at it.

“Go home.” Cho said. “Get some rest. We can start again tomorrow.” Lisbon tried protesting but was met with silence.

~~~

The walk from the doors of the building she worked at to the nearest coffee shop was a short one, but Lisbon could feel her feet dragging behind her in defiance. Yet, it was the sight of a tuft of blond hair that led her to quicken her pace.

“Jane?” She said in disbelief. Her husband turned, a coy smile dancing on his lips.

“Teresa! Fancy seeing you here,” he said.

“Oh please. You knew I was coming. Did Cho call you?”

“Well I happened to be in the neighborhood. And yes, Cho did call me. He said he was concerned.”

“Did he beg you to come back?”

“I could tell he was contemplating it.”

“And so you’ve been standing outside my favourite coffee shop for what, ten minutes?”

“Fifteen actually. Look, I bought you coffee.”

Teresa couldn’t help but smile as she plucked the he coffee cup out of his hands; and with that it felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

~~~

As she sipped her coffee, Teresa stared at his bright blue eyes. She wondered if she will ever get used to seeing them, first thing in the morning. Would she still feel time slow down every time he smiled at her or made her laugh?

Jane looked up from his cup of tea with a questioning look.

“What?”

It took everything in Teresa to stop herself from blushing as she replied,

“Nothing.”

All he did was smile and pull out a book from the small bag he was carrying.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“A book I found at the library today,” he said. He looked at the cover before declaring that it was Pride and Prejudice.

“Austen huh. I never took you for the reading type,” Teresa said, “Let alone a romantic.”

“Why, I’m incredibly romantic,” Jane said, pretending to be deeply offended. Yet, she noted, the smile never left his eyes.

“I saw this on your bookshelf when we visited your old house a few years ago. The spine was cracked and the pages dog eared. You must have loved it,” he said.

She remembered spending her nights rereading her mother’s old and battered copy, hoping she would be transported to Elizabeth Bennett’s world. She had never told him that. Yet he still knew.

“For years I’ve let Red John dictate my every move. Chasing him was my purpose,” he continues, “Until it wasn’t.”

Jane let out a small sigh and continued looking ahead, deep in thought.

“So, what will you do?” Teresa asked him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if she could, fate be damned.

Jane didn’t hesitate when he replied. He’s as sure of this as he is as sure of her.

“Whatever I feel like doing. I’ve got time.”

He paused and looked at her with a small smile. A smile which could win the hearts of many, which he only reserves for her.

“We’ve got time.”

#aaaaaaaaaaah hello i just wrote my first fic #which is weird bc its so much different from writing original content #anyways be nice and tell me if i did anything wrong im so new to this game #might post on ao3 if i figure out how to #the mentalist #tmsecretsanta2023 #tmsource #jisbon #jane x lisbon #the formatting looks weird i need to figure that out

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pipitwrites · 2 years

Text

let me crack the code

or: a little less than 800 words of superhero au piarles🙃

The window by the little dining nook next to Charles’s kitchen stood wide open, the thin white curtains blowing back and forth as heavy raindrops fell through in sheets. Charles had a bad habit of forgetting to close his windows before leaving his flat, as evidenced by the peeling paint of his window sill, but he’d been better about it this past month.

Please, Charles, Pierre had said, unusually serious, you’ve seen the news. Pierre worked for the Arts and Culture section of The Daily Herald, but Charles had conceded that the city seemed more dangerous recently, with near daily reports of the Titans defending the populace against some new corporate scientist or power-hungry CEO, of which there never seemed to be short supply. Once, Charles had even been trapped at the National Bank when the Living Spider (a silly name, Charles personally thought, but no one had asked him) had taken it hostage and Electro-Boy carried him out to safety in a dramatic rescue. A small photo of Charles’s pale face peeking out over the dark blue of Electro-Boy’s skin-tight suit had run in the news the next day and Charles’s brothers had it printed and cut out.

The sensible thing to do now would be to back out and call the police or perhaps even Pierre, who lived only two blocks away, but—Pierre was always busy these days, tired and distracted even on the increasingly rare occasions when he did have time to meet. He had not even laughed when Charles had shown him the picture that Lorenzo had stuck to the front of Charles’s refrigerator in a magnetic frame.

Phone clutched tightly in his hand, Charles edged cautiously into his apartment, the flickering light from the hallway casting eerie shadows behind him until his door swung back shut behind him. The only other source of light in the room was from the streetlamps below his studio, a softly diffused glow which barely filtered through the storm. As Charles adjusted to the heavy gloom, he could make out a figure in a familiar blue suit slumped in the corner behind his small dining table, dark streaks staining the wall and the floorboards. Charles brought a hand up to the kitchen counter to steady himself against a roiling wave of nausea, sliding down in a controlled fall. If anything the metallic tang of blood and acrid smoke clinging to the air was stronger closer to the floor.

“Oh my god,” Charles whispered, throat dry. Pierre’s head lolled back against the wall at Charles’s voice.

“Charlot, you are here,” Pierre laughed, a horrible wet sound that broke into a rattling cough. There was blood in his mouth, and his eyes were bright and unfocused, a shade of electric blue that Charles had only ever seen before behind the cover of a mask. “Am I dreaming?”

Charles shook his head tightly, unable to speak for a long moment during which Pierre’s fluttered closed again. Terrified, Charles grabbed onto Pierre’s gloved hands, which were clenched tight around something. It was Electro-Boy’s mask, Charles realized.

“No, no,” Pierre groaned, trying to push Charles away when he began to undo the wristwraps that held Pierre’s gloves in place. Determined, Charles stripped them off and tossed them aside, bracing himself as Pierre pitched forward into Charles. “I am not myself,” Pierre said weakly into Charles’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have come here, it is not safe.”

“Who else,” Charles said. “Who else would you go to?”

There was no answer from Pierre except for the sound of his breathing, shallow and unsteady. Gritting his teeth, Charles pulled Pierre up and managed to get Pierre into his bed, heedless of the blood and dirt smearing across his sheets. Pierre’s suit was already torn in several places and with some difficulty and the use of his kitchen shears, Charles managed to cut it open. He had to close his eyes when he saw the mottled bruising and dried blood on Pierre’s chest.

Pierre sighed loudly. “Now I know I must be dreaming. You are taking off my clothes—and in bed, too.”

Eyes burning, Charles turned away to hide his face and Pierre made a soft noise of distress.

“Don’t cry, Calamar,” he said, reaching up to brush away the tear tracking down Charles’s cheek. The touch was whisper soft, but his skin felt abnormally hot, like a fever was burning through his blood vessels too close to the surface. “Look, I’m already starting to heal.”

“You were hurting for so long.” Charles forced himself to look up from the thin, almost imperceptible constellation of scars scattered across Pierre’s body. “You were hurting and I didn’t know.”

The pain in Pierre’s face mirrored Charles’s own.

#piarles #pierre/charles #pg10 #cl16 #f1 fic #my fic #stream anything 4 u by banks #🙃🙃🙃

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rinwellisathing · 18 days

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Paint The Lines, Cut The Flesh: Part 31 second half

Halsin and Jaheira by now had a small group of civilians between the two of them, Jaheira taking the lead, her knowledge of the city unimpeachable. Halsin brought up the rear protecting those who couldn't fight as they made their way into The Upper City. They paused a moment as Jaheira's attention turned to a familiar voice amongst a throng of dying illithids. “You try and make a pawn of Minsc!? You try and hide away Boo to conceal your wrong-doings?” A powerfully built man in leathers felled mind flayer after mindflayer with a large, heavy sword. Jaheira could not fully hide the relief on her face at the sight of him. “Minsc!” She called out as the last illithid fell to his blade. The man's eyes widened as he saw her. “Jaheira? But you were dead! A tricksy creature took your shape and when Boo discovered its treachery, with its dying breath it said it had killed you!” “I am much harder to kill than that, Minsc. You know this!” She chuckled. “But I saw you overwhelmed by cultists, how have you not joined these things?” She gestured to the mindflayers at his feet, their strange ichorous blood pooling. “Ha! Jaheira, Minsc's brain is to smooth for any slithering, crawling little beastie!” He paused a moment, looking to a small ball of fluff at his shoulder. “Eh...except you, Boo!” “Join us, then. We need to get these people to safety.” She nodded towards the group, who seemed unwilling to move until she or Halsin said so, relying entirely on them. With three heroes, their progress moved far more swiftly and they found themselves nearing The Watch Citadel. Halsin could only hope Jaheira's happy reunion boded well for his own and that Sentry was already inside. ---

“Gabraela!” Minthara breathed as the three adventurers passed by a group of mind flayers trampled and frosted with rime on the ground. The tall, imposing tiefling stood in her bloodied armor beside an impossibly beautiful elven woman with long, thick black hair. Several cloaked figures stood beside them. “The Absolute loyalists have usurped our temple. They do not realize this thing will never realize father's perfect end. We rounded up those still loyal to our father and have been fighting them.” She explained, her haunting deep purple eyes full of fury. They softened a bit as she gazed at the drow. “I am glad you're safe though...” “Oh! Please tell us, friends...how is dear brother Sentry? He may be a traitor to our lauded father, but he is still my dear baby brother at the end of it all.” The elf spoke up, batting her long dark eyelashes at Octavia and Gale. Octavia blushed a bit, hunching her shoulders and lowering her head at the attention. Gale seemed visibly uncomfortable as the woman's dark eyes searched his face. “He was well the last time I saw him. He went to confront the brain.” Octavia managed finally. “I'd ask you to help us guide civilians to safety, but...I'm not so sure that's a wise idea to ask of Bhaalists.” Gale wrinkled his nose. “A fair point. Rest assured we will at least secure the streets. Baldur's Gate is our home too and our temple lies beneath its streets.” Gabraela nodded. Their conversation was interrupted by the intrusion of another wave of mind flayers. “You should run.” The beautiful elf giggled and as Minthara took one last look towards Gabraela, she watched the two begin to transform, bones snapping and cracking sickeningly. Gabraela's lower body split and extended, a sinewy, skinless horse body expanding beneath her hips. The skin burst from her upper body and her long white hair fell out in clumps, leaving a raw horned skull with purple light glowing in the sockets. Four lean, powerful arms run through with black and pus-yellow veins held a massive scythe as the dripping, skinless horror began to trample enemies.

The beautiful elf's body began to extend and cover in scales and what appeared to be blood red moss and mushrooms. A pair of insect-like wings sprouted from its back and its eyes went fully black. Its body was like that of a mantis interwoven with a small dragon or a wyvern and the torso of a beautiful woman rose up from it, covered in tiers of fungi and with the long scythe like arms of a mantis. She grinned wickedly, baring terrible needle like fangs and rushed another group of enemies. Octavia gazed in wide eyed fascination, her leather journal open as she scribbled down what she saw. “So any Bhaalspawn can embody The Slayer? And they're all different?” She breathed. “I had only seen Gabraela's slayer form before and only while fading in and out of consciousness as she freed me from Moonrise.” Minthara replied.

“I think I've seen enough Bhaalspawn to last me a life time if I'm honest.” Gale admitted with a shudder as he looked towards the Citadel in the distance. “We should keep moving. The others should be waiting for us there.” ---- Lae'zel dashed up the stairs of the Citadel followed by Shadowheart and Karlach. The Siren's Cove pirates and Priestesses of Umberlee had assured the party that they would hold the docks and urged them to hurry to the rendezvous point and every wasted second, Lae'zel worried that something would go wrong, that Kroger would be unable to free Orpheus, or that he would fall before the chance arose. As the party made their way forward, they encountered another group. “Hey, not to pretend I'm some mind flayer expert, but that mind flayer they've got with them doesn't look like The Emperor.” Karlach pointed in confusion to the being that floated near Kroger as the party that had confronted the brain staggered to a halt just a short distance from them. “It could be Omeluum, the shape of his head is similar.” Shadowheart suggested. “Although the robes are different...Do illithids often change their clothes? I mean, if they're just a projection and all that.”

Lae'zel peered in confusion. This did not bode well, it should have been Orpheus at Kroger's side, not some Ghaik, emperor or not. She stepped forward, about to address her brother, to ask him what had happened, but she was beaten to it. Kithrak Voss looked more furious than Lae'zel had ever seen another githyanki in her life as he stormed up to Kroger, eyes wild with rage. “You held the future of our people in your hands, boy! And you ruined it!” He shouted. Kroger winced but stood firm, neither shrinking away or trembling like he might have back at Creche K'liir. “How dare you parade around with this abomination!” Kroger breathed deeply. “Voss, this 'abomination' is our people's salvation, our people's bravest hero.” He began, but Orpheus brushed past him, eyes on Voss. “Voss! Gith'ka tavki krash'ht” Orpheus addressed him softly. In that moment, Voss' eyes widened in disbelief and he held out a hand to his fellow dragon riders. “Stand down, the true heir has spoken.” Voss cursed, a look of pain on his face as he sheathed his sword. “No...it cannot be....Orpheus, what's happened to you?” He approached him warily. “A sacrifice had to be made, we need to end The Grand Design at all costs.” Kroger spoke calmly, although his guilt still ate at him, the way Voss looked at Orpheus, Kroger dared to allow his eyes for one moment to look back to where Wyll stood. “The duty fell to me, and when it is complete, I must die.” Orpheus explained. “This is the way it must be.” “But what of our people? Our liberation?” Voss replied, Kroger could see there was much he was holding back and he wondered just what the knight's true relation to the prince had been despite himself. “Our people have held my name in their imaginations for years, Voss. Tell them of my fate, some may scoff or dismiss it, but others will believe and will be empowered by it. Our people will be free, you and the others here today will spread my story to them.” Orpheus looked to Kroger and then to Lae'zel. “Yes, of course, we will make sure everyone knows of your sacrifice, my prince.” Lae'zel nodded, striking a solemn salute with her sword. “This will be my oath.”

“Will you help us, Voss?” Kroger asked, looking to the knight. “We must end the grand design, I know this isn't how you envisioned things, this isn't what you wanted, but...” “We stand a chance at defeating the brain. This young hero and his companions hold the key. You must answer to him as you would to me, Voss.” Orpheus gestured to Kroger. He paused a moment, lowering his head and closing his eyes. “But your majesty!” Voss reached out to Orpheus. The illithid gently brushed his hand against Voss' extended hand. “ Your friendship, your constancy – when I fell to despair, they elated me. Thank you, my friend. Sha va zai.” Voss nodded his head with resignation, forcing down the emotion threatening to well up. “Sha va zai.” Kroger looked away, the guilt threatening to overwhelm him now. He told himself this was the right thing to do, the only right thing. There was no other way. He hadn't known what he was taking away from Voss, he couldn't have. “We need to keep moving, the brain won't wait for us to explain everything perfectly.” Jaina interrupted, nodding towards the darkening sky. “Hells, if we could just broadside the damned thing....but what ship could reach it?” “Perhaps it needn't be a ship.” Voss offered finally, looking to the red dragons hovering just beyond the walk way.

Jaina grinned, looking to Lae'zel and then to Kroger. “Never thought of sky pirates, but damn. Your people have the grit for it. I'd say yes!” ---- As the party parted ways from the Githyanki forces, they arrived outside a large set of doors leading to a massive entry hall. Inside were hundreds of people huddled in fear, but alongside the frightened civilians, there stood a host of allies as well. “Zev!” Sentry grinned widely at the sight of the older paladin, rushing over to him. “By the broken god, you're still around!” “Yes, I thought about what you said, Sentry. My Hellriders and I have one last chance to make things right and if this is to be our last stand, at least we'll go out in a blaze of glory.” Zevlor replied, placing a hand on Sentry's shoulder. “Nope! You're gonna survive and redeem yourselves in everyone's eyes and then you're gonna buy me a drink and we're gonna swap stories.” Sentry insisted with a grin. “Oh you found your way here! Nibbles, my sweet boy.” Jaina cooed, hurrying over to the owl bear, now clad in heavy armor. She scratched affectionately at the fur around the sides of his beak and grinned. “And ready for battle too!” She looked to his side to see Dammon standing there. “Your work is excellent, as ever. When this is all done, there's something I'll want to talk to you about.” She nodded towards Karlach off in the distance and Dammon nodded in return.

“Let's put our heads together and see what we can do.” He agreed. “I found some broken Watchers while I made my way here and I think I'm on to something.” “You have done well, little former Sharran.” Aylin beamed with pride at Shadowheart. “Did I not promise my love and I would come to your aid when you needed us most?” She clapped her on the shoulder. “And not a moment too soon, Dame Aylin.” Shadowheart smiled. “It will be an honor to fight by your side again, that brain won't know what hit it.” “There is a Selunite enclave not far from the city, Shadowheart, perhaps when this is all over we could host you there? I'm sure there are a lot of questions you have about your people when this is through.” Isobel offered with a sincere smile. “You've come quite a long way from the scowling, wet dog of a creature I met at The Last Light.” “I can scowl a bit more if you like.” Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “Father....”Wyll smiled as he approached Duke Ravengard, standing discussing the upcoming battle with Councilor Florrick. “Wyll, you've shown yourself to be a hero this day, the hero our city deserves. Only tell me what you need and you will have The Flaming Fist to follow you into battle.” He smiled at him. There was pride in his eyes. Wyll felt his heart surge in his chest at this feeling of being seen, of being understood by his father. All he had ever wanted was to protect his city, and to make his father proud of him. “Thank you father. We will defeat this Nether Brain and restore the city.” He assured him. “When you return, there is a matter I want to discuss...It is far past time you were able to return home, my son, and to the position you deserve.” Ulder began with a nod to Florrick.

“Wyll, your father intends for you to remain here in the city, as Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate.” She explained. “It is time for a change, and you would be a change for the better. Please consider it.” Ravengard nodded his head to his son. Wyll simply stood there, dumbstruck. This was beyond any thing he had ever expected, and in truth, he couldn't even be sure if this was what he wanted. Finally free of Mizora, he could at last live his life on his own terms, with Jaina and Karlach...There were still so many adventures to be had, there were so many people beyond Baldur's Gate who needed him. He wasn't sure what choice he ought to make, he looked to Jaina deep in conversation with Dammon, and to Karlach, who had finally approached Sentry. “Hey soldier...” Karlach gave a grudging nod of her head. “Well, that's certainly a step up from 'ass hole'” Sentry gave a small smile. “End of the world got you sentimental?” “It's not the end of the world, you prick.” Karlach shot back, giving his shoulder a shove. “But look, I could waste so much of the little time I have left being pissed at you, hating you, but I don't want to. In the end, it doesn't matter what you did or what you deserve, I deserve better than to lose my last few hours being pissed off....so I forgive you.” She frowned. “Not for you, but for me.”

“Fair.” Sentry nodded. “You don't have to accept it, but for what it's worth, I am sorry...This is all my fault at the end of the day, and I can't just tell you some stupid little platitude like 'oh, Gortash manipulated me and I see now I never really loved him'. You deserve better than a lie. So I'm sorry for what he did to you, I'm sorry I love him regardless, and I'm sorry for what I did too. Sorry that it hurt you, anyway.” “That's a fucked up apology, mate....yeah, I'd be kinda dumb to accept it, but still, at least you're honest.” Karlach held out her hand. Sentry gripped her hand and gave it a firm shake. “Well, this is our last chance before the final push, I feel like our heroes should say something.” Jaheira nodded towards Kroger, Jaina, and Sentry. “Oh...um...I'm not one for grand speeches.” Kroger protested. “Go on, brother! You must at least try!” Octavia spoke up encouragingly from her place by the door way. Kroger cleared his throat and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose, all those eyes on him, he could practically feel them. But he focused his thoughts and gave it a try. “You are frightened, your city is overrun by Ghaik and a malevolent being has cast its shadow over your home. But when things are darkest, we must look for the light. There are always bright spots if we know where to find them. In this darkness, that light is eachother..and...I suppose...the enduring willingness to fight back.” He trailed off. Jaina caught onto Kroger's struggle and picked up. “I have lived in this city for seven years now, not a long time, but that is long enough to see that you are strong, you are resilient! You are a city that stubbornly sat atop the strong hold of a god of murder, a cloister of darkness, and a vampire lord's slaughter pits, but that has never stopped the people here from living their lives and pushing on ahead. You are home to one of Umberlee's greatest servants and one of her most glorious temples, you are the favored port of so many of her chosen champions...and I want you all to know that you are under her protection as well as ours in this moment.” She looked to Sentry.

“I....” He began, pausing a moment. “Fuck....Enver was good at this, not me....” He murmured. “I'm not good at speeches, which, you know, a paladin probably should be, we're knights in shining armor, right? But that's not what wins a fight like this, if I went up against this thing on my own with just a sword and Ilmater's name on my lips, I would get pulped. I would get pulped and people would panic, and it would all be over.” He looked at the crowd around him, the looks of surprise and disbelief on the faces of many of the civilians. “But that doesn't mean it's all over right now! Because I'm not facing that thing alone.” His eyes fell to Zevlor. “It's too common that people dump all their problems on one person and then that person thinks it's their responsibility to save the world all on their own, it breaks you down, it overwhelms you...It steals the best things from you and forces you into this state where all you can do is just try to survive and hope you don't fuck up too badly. But it doesn't have to be that way! Baldur's Gate, you are going to be alright, we are going to take this Nether Brain down because there are a lot of us!” He could see now. Aylin, Florrick, Dammon, an arcane projection of Rolan. Zevlor was still here, Halsin and Jaheira and...shit, that was Minsc...from the stories.... “We play to our strengths, we do what we're best at, we join forces and we kick this thing's ass!” “Yes! Minsc is most adept in the kicking of evil's butt!” The large, rather enthusiastic ranger beside Jaheira whooped with glee, raising his hands and clapping them enthusiastically. “Exactly! We do this together!” Sentry pumped his fist. “We do this together and we live to see tomorrow and we keep on keeping on, like Baldurians do!”

The applause started slow and hesitant, but it was there and soon it began to rise through the room, filling the enclosed space with a roar of approval. Sentry managed a small smile as he took a few steps back and turned, slinking from the crowd to go join Halsin for a moment. “Well...uh....as heroic speeches go, I'm thinking that was MAAAAAYBE a three if I'm being generous? Hm?” He asked as he leaned against the druid. “No matter what you thought of how it sounded, you spoke the truth, Sentry. I know better than most the cost of placing a burden squarely on your own shoulders alone.” Halsin smiled approvingly, his arm gently sliding around Sentry's shoulder, holding him reassuringly. “You taught me that I would need to rely on others, to accept help. Without you I never could have stopped The Shadow Curse.” “You could have, I think...it just would have taken a really, really long time and you might've had to bring Kagha or someone else much less pleasant to be around than me.” Sentry grinned, nudging Halsin playfully. “If I'm honest, I'd sooner have brought a trained squirrel with me than Kagha, there are some torments even I couldn't bear.” He laughed. “So she was awful before the whole refugee situation too, then?” Sentry asked, relaxing in Halsin's embrace, allowing himself this one moment to feel safe. Halsin winced and paused a moment. “I wouldn't exactly say awful, but she was quite comfortable voicing opinions I found abhorrent....we...disagreed...on Silvanus' teachings to a near irreconcilable extent.” “Fair, fair...I certainly 'disagreed' on Ilmater's teachings with a lot of the prissy upper city boys in my training class back at the temple.” Sentry shrugged. “You know, I'm not much for droning speeches and posturing, but that was far less tedious than the type I'm used to. Good work.” Astarion grinned, approaching the two. “But in all seriousness, try not to get pulped, would you? I'd feel just awful if I had even less to live for when all this is over.” Sentry motioned the pale elf closer and pulled him into the embrace as well. “You'll still have me. Death is cheap and I'm really hard to kill, remember?”

“Well, assuming Withers sticks around after all this.” Astarion replied, though he rested in Sentry's arms, his head against the paladin's chest as he took a moment to allow the events of the day to wash over him. “I saw you talking to Sentry....Are you alright?” Jaina asked as she approached Karlach, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah...I think I am. It's like I told him, I've got maybe hours left to live and I don't want to spend them being pissed off, I deserve more than that.” She nodded, gently resting her hands on Jaina's hips. “I want to think of you...and of Wyll...not of how gods damned unfair everything turned out.” She leaned down, pressing her forehead to Jaina's, a little hiss of steam as her warm flesh touched the chilly, sea slick flesh of Jaina's head. “Hey...if you guys have a kid, name her after me, huh?” Jaina gave a small smile, her fingertips brushing Karlach's cheek. “Well, that would be pretty weird considering you're still going to be around, can you imagine how confusing?” “Jaina....we both know I won't be...I'm not going back to Avernus. I'm never going back to Avernus.” Karlach replied, holding her tighter. “What if you didn't have to go alone?” Wyll stepped up beside her, his arm around her shoulder. “What? But Wyll, you and Jaina...there has to be a wedding and then I bet they'll make you a king or something, at least nobility, after all this...” Karlach turned her head to look at him in disbelief. “Weddings take forever!” Jaina shook her head. “Planning is SOOOO long. On the island, it took a year or more for something formal! Most people just get married in the heat of battle, like aboard a ship in a storm.”

“And look, we're in the heat of battle right now...well, just about to be anyway.” Wyll nodded his agreement. “And as to the being a king or nobility, gods below! Nothing could be worse! I'll fight by your side instead of sitting hearing petitioners and going to boring feasts and meetings any day.” “And besides, who knows? Maybe Avernus is just the place to stave off coral lung just a little longer.” Jaina added. “I think we should all go.” “You'd really come with me, knowing how awful it is?” Karlach looked back and forth between the two of them. “Well, it'll certainly take more than one person to take down an archdevil, three seems like as good a number as any.” Jaina nodded. “Besides, I don't think I'm quite done with Mizora, I would love to pay her a little social call when all is said and done.” The tiefling cracked her knuckles with a shark-like grin. “I've had enough of that woman to last a life time, but I do hear The River Styx is lovely this time of year and the banks are an excellent picnic spot.” Wyll joked. “Guys...thank you....” Karlach bit her lip, eyes glistening as she held them both close to her.

Octavia smiled at Gale as she looked around at everyone gathered in the room. “You know, when I was a little girl back at the creche, I never imagined I would be able to observe so many istik in one place.” She was still writing in her notebook as she sat by his side, her head against his chest, feeling the thrum of magic beneath his skin. “I want to thank you for being kind to me, for letting me get close.”

Gale chuckled, running a hand gently through Octavia's pale hair. “Is this where you tell me you plan to whisk me away to your creche and perform experiments? Because I have to warn you, I'm not entirely sure the orb will stay dormant under a scalpel.” “No!” Octavia gave him a playful shove. “I am serious! Most people chased me away or my questions bothered them, but not you.” She continued earnestly. “You had questions too, you cared about who I was, who my people are...you got to know Lae'zel and Kroger...and now I want to get to know the people closest to you a bit better too.” She smiled gently. “And that is why when this is all over, I want to go to Waterdeep with you. I want to get to know Tara, I want to meet this infamous 'Morena Dekarios'.” Gale laughed, scratching the back of his neck and blushing a bit. “Ah! Well, I must say, I am certain mother will be glad to hear it, she would like you a lot, I think....I just hope you're prepared for her. She may have a little notebook of her own prepared.” Octavia smiled. “A woman after my own heart, I think we will get along famously.” ---- The moment of respite passed by too quickly and Sentry, Jaina, Kroger, Wyll, and Astarion stepped out into the chaos and bloodshed of The Grand Design in progress yet again, Orpheus at their side, making their way deeper into the ruins of the upper city. As they passed the bloodied bodies of patriars, their faces still twisted into expressions of terror, Sentry was reminded of Tomi's favorite story of the night she'd slaughtered her family and come to the temple of Bhaal. He looked at every face and imagined each one a perfect mirror of Tomi's unsettling perfection with the last one standing gazing down in her blood stained gown and smirking. He had loved that story when he first came to the temple.

He could see as he looked beyond the bodies to the ruined buildings so many places he recognized. The restaurant he had gone with Enver on the first...well...he supposed...date. The book shop that had been such a disappointment with its lack of copper dreadfuls. Oh, Vanthampur Manor, he almost chuckled at the memory of the meeting he'd attended there with Enver, he wondered privately how that deal had panned out in his absence. Not well, he supposed, considering that Baldur's Gate was still very much not overrun with Zariel's forces and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Vanthampurs since he'd been back in the cities. “Damn, I kind of liked that lady too, she was funny.” “What are you talking about?” Jaina raised an eyebrow. “What lady?” “Oh, no, just something I was remembering, I haven't been to the upper city in a long time.” he replied as they picked their way across the bodies and debris. Every now and then a choke point of cultists cropped up in their way, but a quick call to arms brought the fury of their allies down. Sentry had to admit, he was particularly impressed by Rolan's contribution, staring with pride and respect at the murderous fire storm that charred their enemies to ash and swept them away. “We're nearly there...just a little further, I think one last climb.” Kroger informed them as he stared up at a tall tower, at the top of which a protrusion almost like a spinal chord hung. “I am very much not looking forward to the climb, though.” “The trick is not to look down.” Wyll gave him a dashing smile.

“Easy enough to say, but in practice...” The githyanki gulped as he watched Sentry begin his ascent, followed by Jaina. The climb wore on their already aching bodies and the height was dizzying. Sentry could feel the tell tale ache of an on-coming nose bleed and Jaina began to feel pity for the fish she and Tibs had caught and raised out of the ocean as children. Finally, they arrived on the platform atop the city, the ridges of the crown atop the brain. Kroger frowned as he watched a red dragon flutter atop the brain, landing, and Jaina and Sentry joined his displeasure at the sight of The Emperor upon its back. “Well, if it isn't the consequences of our actions.” Sentry chuckled with a shrug. “Well, let's make it the consequences of his instead.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and raised his voice. “HEY! You don't have to do this! You really don't have to side with the gods damned Nether Brain just because Kroger freed Orpheus, you can still be on the right side!” The Emperor did not dignify Sentry with a response, only glared and clenched his fists, pods emerging from the ground. From one pod, A tall, good looking male orc with black hair streaked with silver stumbled, dressed in the clothing of a bard. From another, a handsome lean muscled Githyanki with dark hair and a silver armor. Still another yielded a tall, muscular woman with beautiful red hair and the garb of a knight. Another revealed a handsome young man with pale hair and blue eyes in paladin armor. “Is that what you were hoping for, be honest, I won't be upset.” Sentry whispered to Astarion, looking from him to the dream figure. “Is now really the time for that conversation?” Astarion raised a brow. The final pod opened to reveal a tall, slender old woman in paladin armor, her iron grey curls pulled back from her face and her golden eyes trained on Sentry. “You're right, it's not.” Sentry nodded solemnly and then turned to The Emperor with a look of fury. “Oh that is it! I told you how I felt about you impersonating my mum!” He drew his halberd. “I know everything about you.” The Emperor replied. “Your thoughts, your feelings, your weaknesses...and so do they.”

“Clearly not anymore if you would still choose Gerren to try and get a response from me!” Jaina scoffed, glaring at the orc. “We must get to the center of the crown, that portal over there!” Orpheus interrupted pointing towards the swirling portal in the distance. “Sentry, can you get him there safely if we have your back?” Wyll asked, looking to the tiefling. Sentry looked across the battle field from the dragon to The Emperor, to the strange clone beings. He breathed deeply and nodded. “Yes, I can do it...Hey, you guys be safe.” It took one second for all hell to break loose, Sentry and Orpheus began to make their way as quickly as they could towards the portal. The enemy forces made their way towards them, but Jaina called down an ice storm, the ground beneath them slicking and leading them to slip and fall prone, allowing the others to get the jump on them. The battle was a blur of spells and blades, Sentry could not let his focus slip, though, he had to get Orpheus to the crown. He had to see this through. He yanked Orpheus out of the way of a torrent of fire from the massive dragon, pulling him forward as fast as he could. The tiefling shielding the illithid with his body as the hurried forward, pushing through the portal. Not long after, Wyll and the others hurried in behind them, the party finally facing off against their final foe. “No....I cannot...Will not...submit!” The brain cried out. “Good thing we're not asking you to submit, we're just asking you to die.” Sentry shot back. The brain fought viciously, the very ground on which the party stood beginning to crumble around them. Jaina swiftly extended Umberlee's blessings to the others, saving them from an untimely plummet and allowing them a moment to find safety on more solid ground. Orpheus held focus on the nether stones as a barrage of spells and arrows assaulted the brain. Finally, it began to weaken, it began to falter. Its mind reached pleadingly for Sentry. “No...please...join me! Spare me! Become Absolute!”

“It's like I told The Emperor...” Sentry frowned. “I don't want to do that!” And he nodded to Orpheus, who tightened his hold on the power in his hands, his psionic power squeezing the last bit of life from the brain. And then...they were falling. Sentry closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself until he felt a pair of strong hands under his arms. “Did you think I'd let you fall, my friend?” Aylin asked with the kind of heroic smile Sentry certainly hoped he was capable of as well. “Now come, I would be a poor knight indeed if I could not bear two friends to safety.” She sailed towards Astarion's plummeting form, nodding to Sentry to reach out for him. Kroger closed his eyes, wondering who he could pray to now, in what he was sure was his final moment, when psionic energy bore him into the air, leaving him to gently float. Orpheus, nodded to him, floating on the same psionic energy by his side. Jaina closed her eyes and thrust out her hands, lacing her fingers with Wyll's as she called out to her goddess, the whipping winds of a storm over the harbor catching both of them and buoying them gently on the salty air. She opened her eyes and smiled, Wyll smiled back as the two of them sailed slowly and gently back to the ground. As the dust cleared, the party reunited at the harbor on the edge of the pier. Jaina could see her father and brother tending to the wounded near Umberlee's temple. Her mother and Flood Tide Grey administered last rites to the dead and dying. Umberlee's faithful had stood against the illithid empire and won the day, she thought. Kroger stood with Orpheus, gazing sadly at the prince as Lae'zel and Octavia approached alongside Kithrak Voss. “I'm sorry, your majesty...” Kroger murmured. “This was all just another way I didn't think things through.” “But still we thwarted The Grand Design, and still our people will rally around my memory. The sacrifice I made will not be in vain, Kroger of Creche K'liir. You and your kin must spread my name, spread what happened here, across the Astral Sea...it must be worth it.”

Kroger nodded solemnly. “I will...Should I....Should we leave you two alone?” He looked from Voss to Orpheus and both nodded solemnly, Voss' silver sword in his hand at the ready. Sentry smiled at Astarion, taking his hands gently. “We did it! We survived! We survived everything and now we're free.” He grinned. Astarion smiled back, squeezing Sentry's hands tightly. “We are...and I intend to enjoy every...” His expression shot to a wince of pain and then a look of terror. “No...” He winced, pulling back from Sentry. The tiefling could see the sun begin to burn his lover's skin. “Well, it was nice while it lasted...” Astarion lamented, turning and rushing towards the shadows. Sentry hurried after him, already undoing his cloak and preparing to shield Astarion with it. The city would rebuild itself, the friendships forged would remain. There was time now. Without parasites gnawing at their minds, without masters and gods looming over them, without a deadline counting down to their final hours every moment, for now, there was peace.

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i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 6 months

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Greensleeves Chapter Sixteen: Here Comes The Rain Again

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Warnings: Canon-typical violence Wordcount: 4.3k

The party gets into a fight with another pack of gnolls. Xaph and Karlach are worried about Wyll's reaction to his new appearance. Gale is still struggling to sleep

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Xaph gives Wyll his distance. He probably doesn’t want reminders of his new horns. She’s waiting for him to turn around and lash out at her or Karlach - because it’s their fault, because he looks like them now, because they’re closer to the Hells than him - but it doesn’t happen. He walks in the middle of the group, often with Gale. The presence of another human seems to be helping. The tieflings hover nervously behind them, Xaph’s shoulders tensing every time Astarion tries to wheedle a reaction out of the warlock. Shadowheart and Lae’zel stalk in stony silence at the head of the party. They haven’t so much spoken as done nothing but snap at one another since returning to the camp, but it hasn’t yet come to blows. Lae’zel pulls the party to a stop at the base of the hill just past the tollhouse and Shadowheart’s irritation is audible. The tollhouse smells of burning flesh, the white-painted wood of its walls burnt black. Xaph’s not going to ask.

“Bring me the ranger,” Lae’zel says, pointedly turning her back on the half-elf and addressing the men behind her. Xaph skirts around Astarion - as far away from Wyll as possible - to draw level with the githyanki, “More of those beasts, yes? The…gnolls.” She hits the n sound a little harder than she needs to, but when Xaph crouches she can see that she’s right.

“Gnolls,” Xaph nods, “A group of them, going in the same direction we need to go in. Strange…they should have been able to track us, but they didn’t.

“But it’s raining.” Shadowheart points out. Her braid is dripping as she glares at Lae’zel, whose own hair is slick and sticking to her neck.

“That’s redundant. You four came back to us less than an hour ago, and we must be the freshest meat available between Waukeen’s Rest and Soubar, which is my best guess as to where they came from.”

“Soubar?” Shadowheart repeats.

“A settlement on the southeast side of the Boareskyr Bridge. Crawling with a variety of horrors, last I heard,” Wyll answers, “Xaph, what would keep them off our trail?”

“I don’t know. They completely ignored the tollhouse.” She can’t lie, Wyll directly addressing her calms her heartbeat a little. He doesn’t sound angry.

“What if it’s more refugees from Elturel? Stragglers that haven’t made it to the grove?” Wyll asks.

“Then I suppose you’d want to help them.” Astarion rolls his eyes, a gesture that shows he isn’t really annoyed.

“Well, we’re going to the druid grove anyway, right?” Karlach checks, “If there are more refugees the least we can do is get them to safety.”

“A vote?” Gale proposes, “All for following the gnolls?” He raises a hand to be level with his shoulder, joining Wyll and Xaph. Karlach pushes her own hand high into the air, taller than all of them. He’s surprised to see Lae’zel joining their ranks, though she quickly offers an explanation to quell any suspicions of her feeling empathy,

“If we did not, you would all be insufferable.” Her voice is, as ever, full of gravel. Shadowheart seems to be hesitating, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her hand flexes and her face contorts. Seeing as they already have the majority, Gale closes the vote. Their formation changes a little: Xaph spearheads, following the tracks, flanked by Lae’zel and Wyll. Shadowheart falls back, shaking her hand and saying she’d gotten a cramp from holding her flail too tightly. She frowns Karlach into forming the middle band with Astarion and Gale, leaving her with the dog and the owlbear.

They find bodies some time later. Not tieflings, which indicates that they’re not from Elturel. They’d managed to take down two gnolls before losing their lives. Shadowheart goes to the humans to search them, Gale gravitates towards the rucksacks that are spilling ration packs and scrolls and Karlach follows him. Astarion trails Xaph on her way to inspect the gnoll bodies, but he makes a retching sound when she uses a sharp knife to slice off the creature’s ears.

“The bloody hells are you doing?”

“Hyena cartilage is a common ingredient in speed potions. The earwax is pretty useful too, helps bind the whole thing together.”

“I wish I didn’t ask.” Astarion replies.

“Oh, you really don’t want to know what’s in wizardsbane then.” She folds the ears into a pouch and adds it to a bigger bag of alchemical ingredients, but spares one each for the animals. Scratch isn’t as enthusiastic about the gift as the owlbear, and he lets the cub chew both.

“Well, now I have to.”

“Gremishka tails. You know, the anti-magic cats?”

“Yeuch.” The genuine disgust would make Xaph laugh if she wasn’t so preoccupied with thoughts of Wyll. It’s not long before the party move on, Shadowheart unsatisfied with what she finds on the people’s bodies. Gale distributes a few scrolls, bone chill for Astarion, something called scorching ray for Xaph, and a healing spell for Shadowheart that will bolster the pendant looted from a goblin that casts aid. The rest go to Wyll before the others can see them, and they continue on their way. This isn’t quite the path to Waukeen’s rest, more of an uphill climb. At least Xaph’s leg has healed well enough to manage it. The party walk for at least an hour, covering about three miles by Lae’zel’s estimation, before other lifeforms are sensed. Astarion gets it first, a deep inhale through his nose. Blood. Human, mostly. His nose wrinkles as Xaph and Karlach get the next notes, acid and fire and something distinctly canine. They veer in the direction the elf’s nose leads them, until they find blood daubed on a rock. Human blood, the vampire asserts.

“It’s the symbol of the Absolute.” Shadowheart says, slipping the amulet off over her head and holding it up to the rock to compare. It’s the same image. A blotchy handprint forms a skull, imposed over a triangle. It’s the image the goblins had painted on their shields, on conquered buildings and yes, on amulets like the one Shadowheart now has - though when she wears it she turns it so the symbol isn’t visible. It’s the same image Priestess Gut had been burning into people’s palms.

“Why would the gnolls use that symbol?” Xaph wonders aloud, “They follow Yeenoghu.”

“And the goblins followed Maglubiyet.” Wyll replies.

“True.” Xaph acquiesces. She gestures for someone else to take the lead, flipping a hand signal that she’s taught the group indicating that they should be quiet. She’s on the hunt. Lae’zel’s voice pushes into their heads as the gnolls come into sight. The githyanki takes charge, issuing orders. Astarion is sent scampering around the rock that is currently offering the party shelter, and Wyll is sent after him. Lae’zel pairs herself with Gale and carves a path in the opposite direction, creeping towards gnoll scouts who haven’t noticed them yet. This leaves Shadowheart, Karlach and Xaph on the ground. Xaph squints in concentration, leaning on Lae’zel’s grasp of the mental connection to ask how many? It’s Wyll that answers, and she once again finds comfort in the fact that he’s not ignoring her,

Six gnolls. Two hyenas. Two humans in the cave, maybe more.

Let’s spill some blood, Astarion’s voice shoves in, on board with violence.

Yeah, we’re going to need to have a chat about that enthusiasm.

Oh, hush.

Wyll and Astarion’s voices fade as their telepathic conversation becomes whispers, and Shadowheart and Gale take prevalence. They have a semblance of a plan. Four of the gnolls are in a knot at the mouth of the cave and the two scouts Lae’zel has been edging towards are on slightly higher rocks. The two hyenas are gnawing on a corpse several feet away that shouldn’t be difficult for the rogue to dispatch. Karlach swings her sparkly new greatsword in her hand, expertly swivelling her wrist as she and Shadowheart put distance between themselves and Xaph and find flat stones to climb on. Shadowheart glances back at those of her companions she can see, waiting until they nod and confirm that they’re ready before she acts.

“Aqua pura.” Her voice is like a rush of wind and a splash in a pond at once as a cloud forms above the gnolls and then dissolves entirely into rain that falls on the beasts. Shadowheart’s spell makes an instant puddle underneath them, which only gets bigger as non-magical rain continues to fall. Before the group can break apart, Gale’s voice crackles along everyone’s spines,

“Parure.” Something very small and round is flung towards the gnolls. One of his marbles. Electricity turns the ripples of the new puddle into spikes that leap up and sink into the gnoll’s fur. The creatures hop to try and get away from the sensation, yelping at the surprise. Further away yelps indicate that Astarion and the hyenas have found each other. Humanoid shouts come from the cave, too far away for Xaph to hear over the gnolls, but fire roars at the entrance soon after and she can only hope it’s either them fighting back or a spellcaster offering cover.

When the gnolls start to crawl out of the electrified water, Xaph starts to fire arrows. She murmurs the same incantation again, again, again. Sometimes the spell hits and thickly thorned vines wrap around individual gnolls, and these are the creatures Karlach and Shadowheart zero in on. Sometimes the spell fails but the arrows stick anyway, and sometimes the arrows miss entirely. Luck of the draw. The scouts turn their bows from their visible attackers towards the fighter and wizard they’ve only just noticed. The party get lucky, and one gnoll is fried in the electrified water. When the others, not entangled by conjured vines, get too close, Xaph pulls her battleaxe and starts swinging. The problem with this is that if she loses concentration on her magicked arrows, the thorns will dissolve into the sawdust they came from and her friends will have a much harder time dealing with two gnolls each. One has slipped through Shadowheart and Karlach’s net, and there’s no way Xaph can outrun it. She yells for help, knowing she can’t handle it on her own, but everyone’s hands are full.

It takes the others several minutes to notice her. Wyll sees her first. She’s dropped her battleaxe and is staring up at the beast in front of her. The gnoll is huge, hulking, wearing ragged semblances of clothes and clutching a broken flail made of the bones of her own kin. Both of them are twitching sporadically. Astarion can handle himself, Wyll decides. He rounds the outcropping of rock again to avoid catching anything’s attention. Something is wrong. Something is wrong with his friend and if he pulls attention to that she’ll die. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to see the ranger in front of the gnoll from the angle the barbarian comes from.

“Karlach, no!” Wyll’s voice isn’t loud enough. When Karlach’s sword slashes across the gnoll’s back, the beast roars and reels and rears back. It doesn’t even touch Xaph, but the ranger falls directly backwards when the gnoll turns away from her. Shit. Wyll slides the last few feet along the rain-slicked ground rather than runs, but he’s fast enough that the back of Xaph’s skull knocks awkwardly into his body instead of on the ground. He doesn’t know any healing spells. He doesn’t have any potions. He doesn’t even know what happened. All he knows is that his friend, this tiefling who had been the difference between him murdering Karlach and freeing her, who had kept him on the right path, is entirely unresponsive on the ground. “Shadowheart!”

“What happened?” the cleric asks when she reaches them, out of breath, her flail bloodied.

“I don’t know.” Wyll answers. Shadowheart shifts Xaph off his knees to lie on her side.

“Hold her head.” Wyll follows the order he’s given and is relieved when he feels Xaph’s breath against the heel of his hand. Shadowheart passes her hands up and down Xaph’s body but doesn’t say anything. Coming to a conclusion, she takes a stick of what looks like chalk out of her pouch of supplies.

“What’s that?”

“A quick-snap. It’ll wake her up.” Shadowheart answers curtly. She mumbles words and Wyll’s not sure if they’re incantations or instructions or prayers, and then she breaks the stick in two under Xaph’s nose.

Xaph’s tadpole rolls, and she isn’t entirely sure it doesn’t have some of her brain matter clenched in its jaw as it does so. There are people in her head. Other worms reach out to hers while it thrashes. She doesn’t want anyone in her head. The tadpole nips at the connections and severs them one by one, but that leaves her alone in a cavern of memories that are not her own.

Snap. A sharp vinegary smell rises to Xaph’s nose. It tickles, bringing her to the brink of sneezing. Sight and sound rush back to her together. Wyll’s voice. Balduran’s bones, no. Karlach’s yelling somewhere. Shadowheart’s braid pools into a coil on Xaph’s chest as she leans over the ranger. Smell. Vinegar in her nose, yes, but past that the intoxicatingly fresh scent of rainfall and the zing of lightning. Touch. Hands brace her jaw - to stop her from biting her tongue maybe - and the touch is vaguely familiar. One hand smooths her forehead, warm brown skin that holds swordmaster callouses. Wyll. He doesn’t look at her with the hatred she’d expected, and that’s wrong. He’s concerned, his frown of worry pulling the irritated skin on his face even tighter. He shouldn’t be.

“Get her up, get her out.” Shadowheart issues the order and then the weight of her hair is lifted from Xaph’s chest. Wyll lifts Xaph’s arm and pulls until she’s sitting up, then nudging his shoulder under hers to help her upright the way he had when they’d encountered Raphael. Xaph’s more in control in this case, and manages to take her own weight as he takes her back to the rock marked with the sign of the Absolute. He leans her back against the rock and encourages her to slide down into a sitting position.

“I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” Wyll asks. His fingers press into her neck, counting the beats of her heart. He looks so different. He’s in pain. He’s cursed.

“I’m sorry she did this to you. I’m sorry you look like us now, and I’m so-”

“Xaph. Tell me what happened.” Wyll cuts off her blabbering firmly, blinking hard.

“The gnoll,” Xaph answers, “She had a tadpole. She was in my head. The drow are infecting gnolls at Moonrise Towers, using them as berserkers. It was a fucking warzone in there. I’ve never known anything to try and take control of gnolls, it’s ripping their brains apart.” It had felt like it was ripping her brain in half. She finds Wyll’s arm and holds it, her claws sinking into the padded fabric. He tries to pull away but she doesn’t let him. She says his name. Hells-touched eyes meet hers. “I’m sorry.”

“And what exactly are you apologising for? This,” he gestures at his own horns, “This wasn’t your fault, for standing up for Karlach. It wasn’t her fault, for escaping Zariel. It was my own foolishness. The consequences of my actions. Not yours.” Xaph takes long breaths, but doesn’t relax her grip on Wyll’s arm.

“I’m sorry.” She has to say it again. She would repeat it for hours. He’s too nice for this. He’s too good to be one of them. Hellspawn. Blackblood. People come up with new names for them at an alarming rate. Wyll doesn’t push the apology away this time, but he doesn’t vocally accept it either.

***

Every fifteen minutes of their watch shift that night, Shadowheart points out that there is still light in Gale’s tent. It’s bothering her, apparently. It’s reckless, apparently. Xaph supposes she can see her point in that. It’s the only light for miles. Everyone in the party but Gale can see perfectly well in the dark now that Wyll’s been tief’d. What’s bothering Xaph is that her reading is interrupted every fifteen minutes. She manages to get through the hours without beating her friend about the head with her book. Xaph will allow her some nitpicking, it always seems to put her at ease, and her argument with Lae’zel had reached boiling point at dinner time. Besides, it is odd. Gale’s normally out like…well, a light, as soon as he’s permitted to retreat to his tent, and he was on first watch. Soon enough, Astarion reports for his second shift at guarding, elfin meditation and vampiric nocturnality giving him a natural aptitude for staying awake twice as long as his friends. Shadowheart makes one last comment about the lights in Gale’s tent to make sure that is Xaph’s destination. Xaph tucks her book under her arm and pushes a hand through her hair as she walks towards the tent, her bare feet making quiet swish-pit-pat noises on the dry leaves. He’ll hear her approaching, and her shadow will draw familiar shapes on the blue fabric of the tent, but she kicks a tent pole in lieu of knocking on a door all the same.

“Room service?”

“Finally, I’ve been waiting on those extra pillows for hours.”

Xaph parts the flap of the tent with her tail first, giving him time to tell her he doesn’t want her company, but he encourages her in.

“I don’t think you’ll be suffering from a shortage of pillows any time soon.” She tells him once she’s ducked into the tent. It’s lit by his dancing lights, the little streams burning ice blue and unnaturally bright violet, and they spill colour onto the two main things Gale’s tent contains - cushions and books. Xaph’s been in here a handful of times, but only for a few minutes at a time. She doesn’t know how he carries all this stuff unless his pack is secretly a bag of holding, which she’s pretty sure it isn’t. “May I sit?” she asks, and Gale gestures at a pile of pillows in assent. Xaph takes her assigned place. Most of the cushions are plain squares of cool-toned fabric, but there are some brightly embroidered ones scattered about. She takes one of the latter into her lap, a worn thing with loose orange embroidery her fingers can fiddle with that’s been sat flat over time.

“That’s a Tara cushion.” Gale tells her, his eyes soft with fondness as he smiles at Xaph’s choice.

“Tara?” Xaph repeats, carefully transferring her book from her hands to the cushion.

“My cat. She likes a good cushion she can sink her claws in,” he explains. Xaph hums to acknowledge his words. Yes, this would be an excellent cushion to scratch at, “She has a very definite say in what furniture stays and goes in the tower. Destroys anything that isn’t to her taste.” While Xaph sinks into the soft stuff of the pillows piled in the corner reserved for sleeping, Gale sits ramrod straight in the middle of his tent. It’s a posture that suggests his pain is particularly bad and he’s trying to relieve the spikes of it in his spine. His hands are disconcertingly still. Circles under his eyes show his tiredness, as does the lack of colour in his face and his slow blinks.

“Are you alright? You weren’t injured today, were you?” Xaph asks. She hopes not. Lae’zel had kept him a fair distance away from the combat and had kept the gnoll scouts occupied by herself. He shakes his head.

“What about you? You took a fair tumble.” He’s right, in a way. The gnoll’s tadpole had left her with a splitting headache and she’d stayed by the bloodied rock while Wyll had returned to the fight. Her companions had won and found a pair of Zhents in the cave. The Zhentarim was a mercenary company that sprawled across most of Faerun. Xaph knows the Zhentarim as an organisation - their biggest stronghold is atop a peak of the Sunset Mountains she’d grown up in - and the pair the party had rescued were certainly grateful for their help…in their own way. The party had found allies in this branch of the Zhentarim, at any rate.

“Better,” Xaph says, remembering Gale’s question. His breath hitches when he breathes in a little too deeply, but he doesn’t say anything. “You should be asleep, Mr of Waterdeep.”

“Can’t,” Gale tells her, “Back’s bad…” Xaph listens, patient. Showing weakness does not come easily to the Wizard of Waterdeep. This is trust. “I’ll manage.”

“Can I help? I do owe you some comfort during would-be sleepless nights,” she reminds him. His lips quirk up at the corners when she quotes herself. “What can I do for you, Gale?” He blinks a few times, then shrugs, “I could stay with you for a little while, if you wanted.” Tents are for brief visits. No one shares their sleeping space, the closest they come to it is when multiple people want to sleep outside and set their bedrolls in a square around the firepit. When he looks at her there’s a little uncertainty in the lines of his forehead, at odds with the reflection of his dancing lights. “Not all night, if you didn’t want, but it might help. Just to have someone nearby. You’ve certainly helped me sleep better that way.” Gale thinks on this for several moments. It had worked only the night before, leaving him with dreams of stars and waking with one of Xaph’s legs still lying on top of his.

“That…I think that would be nice.”

“Come and sit with me then, bug,” Xaph tells him, wriggling to make room for him and make sure she’s adequately propped up by the cushions. Gale shuffles over to her and sits beside her, lining his leg up perfectly with hers, “You know, Shadowheart’s going to come in here and strangle you if I don’t tell you to put out the lights,” she adds, “As pretty as they are.” Gale holds up his open palm and slowly closes it into a fist, letting the lights fade rather than disappear all at once so his eyes have time to adjust. With her darkvision, Xaph can see perfectly well, if only in shades of grey. It’s quite different for him. She asks him to describe it for her while she coaxes him into relaxing. It’s slow, trying to find a position to sit in that will be conducive to falling asleep but doesn’t wedge pain between each of his vertebrae. Xaph stays perfectly still, waiting until he’s comfortable before adjusting herself. She makes a point of pressing brief touches to Gale wrist, his elbow, his shoulder, so he isn’t startled when she pushes hair behind his ear. She wants to be able to see him properly. The silver stitches in his hair are bright to her.

“There should be a quilt somewhere to your right.” Gale mumbles. It’s not hard to find, harder not to jostle the wizard as she leans to the side to pick it up and pass it to him. She expects him to simply lay it over his legs but when he unfolds it he makes sure to catch Xaph under it too, warning her so she can pick up her book and her Tara cushion. She thanks him for his consideration, and he says something about being a gentleman. She replies that having a strange tiefling woman in the dark of his tent isn’t quite gentlemanly, and they suspend this banter for a few minutes until their jokes peter out.

“Do you want me to be quiet?” Xaph whispers into the silence. Somehow it feels sudden and heavy.

“You don’t like the quiet.”

“I’m asking you.”

“No, you don’t have to be quiet. Sorry.” The apology is because his chin bumps into her shoulder.

“You’re alright,” Xaph assures him. Her fingers smooth his hair again. She feels more allowed to be in contact with him in the dark. “Relax, Gale.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m here, silly.” Xaph says, almost laughing, then she remembers he can’t see what she can. His hand is scrambling over the quilt but he can only find parts of his own body. Trying to be polite. Xaph takes his hand and pulls it across the cushion to set it on her knee. “There.” Over the fabric of the quilt, Gale’s fingers curl around the side of her leg.

“What are you reading?” He asks, and when she lowers her shoulder she feels his chin there again as though he’s trying to see the words on the cover of the book. It’s a collection of plays. Shakespeare. One of the few books she can afford to carry with her, one of only two or three that don’t pertain to medicine or survival. Precious.

“The Tempest.” Xaph opens the book on the cushion and runs a finger down her page to find the line she was on.

“You could read, if you want.” His fingers move over her knee, drawing nonsense shapes or following a pattern on the quilt.

“Should I start at the beginning?”

“No, go from where you were.” The third time his chin bumps her shoulder he lets it stay there. Xaph reads. Gale relaxes. He puts a little more of his weight on her with each scene, occasionally retracting when pain flares and then starting the process again. She reads and he mumbles along to the lines he knows until his breaths fall out of sync with hers and the hand on her leg stills. Gently, she shifts a little lower so he won’t have such a bad crick in his neck when he wakes. She keeps reading.

#rae's writing #greensleeves #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 oc #rae's ocs #xaph [tav]#wyll ravengard #karlach #karlach cliffgate #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #astarion #astarion ancunin #lae'zel #shadowheart

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violettduchess · 2 years

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Napoleon Week 2022 ⚜️

A/N: This is for Napoleon Week 2022 hosted by the incredibly talented @kissmetwicekissmedeadly and @batteryrose

Today's prompt: scar/ "I can't call this beautiful" is worked into an idea I had for Napoleon hand-holding headcanons, since hand-holding is a really big part of his route.

I also wanted to dedicate this to @kissmetwicekissmedeadly as a very belated birthday present ✨

Writing after the jump!

WC: 1035

The air outside stings the bare skin of your hands like tiny needles, each one a cursed reminder of why one wears gloves in winter. You rush into the mansion, out of the cold, seeking warmth, and literally run right into the man you love. His Northern-light eyes take in your cheeks, the wringing of your hands, both red with winter’s burn. He reaches down, taking your hands in his, his smile as warm as summer sunshine as he rubs them gently, bringing life back into them, his first thought to care for you.

In a ballroom full of candlelight and glittering gowns and white-toothed smiles it is easy to feel disorientated, to spin and spin without a sense of direction in the midst of all that brightness. But Napoleon saves you from the arms of other men, pulling you to him, where you belong. One hand settles firmly on your waist, steadying you. The other takes yours, his gloves soft against your skin. He lifts your joined hands, his lips curving into a smile meant only for you. As the music changes and the new dance begins, you feel his grip tighten, reassurance flowing from him to you, a river of safety and security. His touch is your landmark, always enabling you to find your way back home.

Arthur knows your heart belongs to Napoleon but it doesn’t stop him from using his smooth words, his churning ocean eyes to try and capture your smile while lingering after breakfast. You evade him, his words breezing past you, as transparent as the wind. But Napoleon does not appreciate any of Arthur's flirting. He slides down into the chair next to you, his hand reaching for yours on top of the dining room table. His long fingers curl around your hand slowly, demonstratively, his eyes resting heavily on Arthur, hard as jade. Mine, they say. Elle est à moi.

Your heart races, your skin is on fire. Napoleon is lifting you higher and higher with each kiss of his mouth, each roll of his hips. You swear this is as close to flying as you will ever get, buffeted by fiery wings of want and need. You gasp out his name as the sky grows wider, brighter, all encompassing, and then his hands find yours, fingers interlocking, knuckles white as you both leap at the same time, holding onto each other as you reach the sun and then burn, lighting up the night, together.

Your boots pick their way carefully along the top of the small wall that separates the rolling green fields from the shadowy forest. The stones are mottled gray and white, veined with green moss. Carefully you place one foot in front of the other, determined to make it to the end. Napoleon walks alongside you, his arm lifted, his hand gripping yours. It doesn’t matter that the wall only reaches your knees. Or that you are certain you could manage it without his help. He insists, in the name of your safety. His hand holds you like a lifeline and you know should your ego be wrong, should you slip and fall, he will be there. He will catch you. He will keep you safe, always.

Although your dream has broken and its pieces scatter like torn photographs in the wind, you can feel that the night is not over. In that liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, you stretch out your hand and find his. He is asleep, still wandering the corridors of dreaming, but his body knows. His fingers move, intertwining with yours, a reflex as fundamental as breathing. You sigh softly and your body grows heavy as you reach for your dreams again, Napoleon’s touch as soothing as a lullaby.

You stand in the gallery of Theo’s latest exhibit, in front of one of Vincent’s newest paintings. It is a field of wildflowers, swirling with bright, vibrant colors. Colors that reach into your heart and lift it, fill it with hope, with an appreciation for the beauty in the world that often goes unnoticed. You whisper to Napoleon how striking it is, how you can feel the heart of the painting reaching out from the canvas and touching your very soul. He remarks how he has never seen anything quite so enchanting. At the softness in his voice you turn to see his eyes are not on the painting but on you, on the effect it has on you. You smile, feeling a little silly that you should be moved to actual tears, but he lifts your joined hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. It is not silly to him. It is as exquisite as the painting itself.

One moment of distraction while slicing vegetables. That's all it takes for the knife to slip, bare its teeth and bite into the delicate skin on top of your hand. Weeks later you trace the line of the pink scar tissue, your trembling lip caught between your teeth. It's not so bad, the residents say. You're lucky you have all your fingers. But you feel marred, ugly, by something so trivial, so banal, as a kitchen knife. He comes into the darkened bedroom where you sit, watching you a moment. He then moves to where you are sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling your blemished hand. He kneels down slowly in front of you, his eyes like pools of glowing jade, the cosmos in miniature. He takes your hand, ugly and marked as it is, and lifts it to his cheek. He closes his eyes as he rubs his skin against yours, then turns his head to trace the long line with his lips. You are beautiful, he says in a whisper soft as silk. You can’t call this beautiful, you answer. There is no healing in the world that can compete with the light in his eyes when he opens them again. I am Napoleon Bonaparte, he says as he gathers your hands in his and rises, pulling you along with him. I can do whatever I want. And if I must spend the rest of our lives convincing you that you are beautiful to me, with scars or without, then it is my honor to do so.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed

#napoleon week 2022 #ikemen vamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen napoleon #ikevamp napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #ikemen headcanons #violettwrites

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eolewyn1010 · 2 years

Text

Back to sympathizing with Mina as she has sleeping issues. Don't I know the drill. She describes how she woke up at night to find her girlfriend gone; Lucy has finally managed to sleepwalk out of her room. Only in a nightdress, too, lest we forget that Dracula is an Evil Foreign Pervert Who Lusts After White Women. Anyway, so Mina runs out into the night panicking and searching for Lucy. Dramatically Appropriate weather gives us heavy clouds and, of course, a goddamn full moon. Funnily enough, this is only one day off from the actual August full moon in 1897. I can respect that. Very scenic, as usual. Lucy sits in their favorite spot on the churchyard in the moonlight like she's a Caspar David Friedrich painting, and Dracula lurks over her, although he takes flight before Mina reaches her girlfriend, not without giving Mina the stink eye.

The sentence "When I bent over her, I could see that she was still asleep" invites me to make another very inappropriate queer dreams joke, but Mina is quite the sweetheart, making sure to get Lucy warm and being careful to not scare her when waking her up. Lucy sighs and moans in her sleep tho. Dracula is a dirty old man. And Mina is back to telling us of Lucy's pretty and grace, because whatever is appropriate timing? Nightly walk home, clutching to each other - what grim romance in these trying times. Also, Mina is super worried about Lucy's reputation? I suppose that's a Victorian thing; going out at night in insufficient clothing probably equals banging half the harbor's fishermen or something. The other morning, Mina finds punctures on Lucy's neck, assuming she hurt her with a safety pin when she wrapped her up in a shawl in the churchyard. Welp. Lucy is officially a snack now. It seems she can sleep better after Dracula has had a sip; he might leave her alone for a few nights now? Hopefully?

#Dracula Daily #does Dracula get some kind of weird kick out of drinking Lucy on a churchyard?#her backyard would have been just fine too

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flusteredloser · 3 years

Text

sugar sweet

richie tozier x fem reader

category: fluff, fluff, literally just fluff

word count: 3,3k

content warnings: swearing, stealing, slight nsfw (sexual innuendos... bc it’s richie tozier), a driving scene written by a bitch who can't drive, overbearing fluff, sonia

a/n: hello here’s a lil soft fic i wrote in a hyper state today <3 i had ‘beverly’ by ben wallfisch from the it 2017 soundtrack stuck in my head while i wrote the ending so !! enjoy

🎡

"sweetheart, if you don't put your head back in, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to marie antoinette you."

you laughed dismissively at his empty threat, feeling a grin take over. you let the wind crash against your face and through your hair, the scent of sea salt softly filling your nose. if richie thought that you were going to give this feeling up, oh, was he wrong.

despite what he was saying, the sight of morning sunlight streaking through your flying hair and your torso poking out the passengers' window was one richie wished he could get used to. despite his nagging for the past half hour, ranting about the dangers of vehicular manslaughter and mishaps, he couldn't help but beam at your laughter.

he almost hit himself in the head for getting all worked up about safety like eddie always did, but it was something he found himself doing often with you. keeping you safe and sound was one of the few things that kept him from staying up all night. besides, you guys were going to see eddie and the rest of the losers in a bit anyways. the designated role of the pedantic worrier would soon be shrugged off richie's shoulders.

keeping one hand on the wheel, richie’s free hand never left the edge of your knee, not once in the hour-long drive. no matter how far you reached your body out his car's window, his fingers stayed glued around you. you never said anything about the gesture apart from placing your hand over his. being his was something you never got used to, but you were far from complaining.

"richierichierichie i think we're here!" you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the car.

"you sure, dummy? the massive ferris wheel and circus tent means we're close to the carnival?"

your hand leaves his to go shove his temple, "fuck off, rich."

"i know i know, you're really excited," he taps your knee, "so am i."

he pulls into the parking lot, expertly navigating his way through the crowded area before finding a space. an empty space which was coincidentally beside a sketchy beat-up minivan painted with "URIS," in fat letters.

richie laughs, "what are the fucking odds.”

his hand moves from the skin on your knee to the back of your seat, his body shifting to face the rear. you subtly eye your boyfriend sitting in the driver's seat and tried not to physically express any of the thoughts firing in your mind right then. dear god, did he look good today. you end up shamelessly staring at him as he strains his neck to squeeze his way through tight space. his knuckles turn to this ghostly shade of white when he flexed them against the wheel, his rings glinting under the sunlight.

once he finally put the car in park and shifted his weight back to you, he catches your gaze. throwing a wink, he pulls out the keys and stuffs his belongings into his jean pockets.

you’re sure he has zero clue about the effect any of this had on you. sure, he was your boyfriend but sometimes you found yourself feeling scared at how much you liked him. this boy has you wrapped around his finger and he barely knows half of it.

you reach over and run your fingers through his unruly hair a couple more times, enjoying the way the curls bounce back. “you look so good, rich.”

he rolls his eyes at your remark, but you don’t miss the way a small blush reaches tips of his ears. “enjoy it while it lasts, i can’t let the guards recognise me again.”

“i still can’t believe you got fired and banned on the same day, rich. that’s genuinely so impressive, you know that?"

richie rolls his eyes but you see the hint of a grin on his face, “you going soft on me, sweets?”

“could never.” you ruffle his hair, letting your nails glide along his scalp and you laugh at the way his head naturally tips back. richie had no clue why the feeling of your hands in his hair that made him short-circuit, but he wasn’t complaining.

“do we really have to go see them...” richie groans, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his head when you pulled away.

“richard tozier. i did not pester you to drive us an hour away just so you could fold at me playing with your hair.”

he side-eyes you. “why did i agree to this again?”

“because every day for the last month you wouldn’t shut up about ‘taking eddie’s slushee v-”

“ed’s slushee virginity, riiiight,” he breaks out in a smile, “jesus, can you believe sonia never let him near one in his entire life?”

you tug his fringe towards you and the rest of his head followed, “well, now that he’s all alone there, someone’s got to be there to guide him through his first time, right?”

he faux-pouts back at you, the mischievous glint in his eye sparkling brighter. “fine.”

finally, you let go of his hair and he pecks a kiss against your cheek before putting on his sunglasses and tipping his cap further down his face. opening his car door, you sit there dumbfounded as you watch the 6'2 disguised dork clamber out of his side with your tote bag on his shoulder.

he glances back, offering a hand as if you were going to climb out on his side as well, “c’mon, we don’t have all day.” and richie made sure you knew that by dragging you through the park, evading the guards left and right in under a minute. it was only so long before you spotted a group of idiots wandering aimlessly. bev’s bright red hair was the instant identifier, and watching this bill’s lanky frame grab a fistful of stan’s curls to yank it about sealed the deal.

“stanley, darling,” richie yelled through the crowd, “if you wanted someone to pull your hair that badly you could’ve asked me nicely.” “shut the fuck up, trashmouth!” stan yelled back. “wait. rich?”

you walk over and sling your arm around bev, “you guys haven’t been waiting long, have you?” she grins at the sight of you, “no, but if i have to hear mike argue one more time that the high striker is apparently ‘broken’ i’m going to kill somebody.”

“do me a favour and kill me, bev!” stan’s voice cuts through, followed by a shriek when richie too grabs a handful of his hair.

bev’s hand leaves yours to go smack both boys upside the head. “y’all better stop acting like children before i get fucking fired. i’m not going out like dumbass richie here did.” she eyes the rest of them, who all halt in their tracks.

“yes, ma’am,” the chorus sighed.

🎡

"ed's, i swear on your mother's smokin’ bod that blue is the. best. flavour. there's literally nothing wrong with it."

"you just called blue a flavour, richie-”

"because it can be. it doesn’t matter if blue and red colouring are the same, you can feel the difference.”

"no, i really can't. i don't understand how the colour blue could possibly be-"

richie groans, "fine, eat your mommy's packed lunch like the big boy you are." he teasingly starts to wave his cup in front of eddie's eyes.

"quit it, rich. if eddie doesn’t want toxins in his body, leave him be." ben interjects before sipping his own neon drink.

the boys huddled together around a picnic table they had managed to snatch before the carnival’s lunch rush swept over. richie and bev used to work in the carnival last summer, the two-week period spent with one another supposedly being “worse than the devil’s asscrack.” the comment itself earned richie five slaps, one each from the boys, and a high-five from bev. that was until richie got permanently banned (which you still don’t know how) and now bev carried on by herself whenever they roll back into derry.

currently, you and bev were on your way back from the concession stands, attempting not to spill anything. you each held at least four bags of carnival foods and drinks in your arms, bev also balancing the few candy bars she stashed under her shirt. teeter-tottering your way back to the boys, richie burst out in laughter at the sight of you struggling.

“as graceful as a job you’re doing with that, sweets, do you want some help?” he smirks, already swinging his leg over the chair.

“nope, nothing to see here,” you groan at richie’s smug grin. “rich, i swear to god if you come near me i am going to-”

“hurt me, hit me, murder me, mmhm. i’m sure you’ll do a whole lot of damage.” he winks, swiping the bags from your arms.

“freaky.” stan muttered, churning his slushee with the straw. you grumble at richie’s endearing irritating act of heroism and plop yourself next to stan empty-handed.

“here, you want some?” stan raises an eyebrow, offering his blue slushee towards you.

“thanks stan, but he’s got my...” you glance towards richie, half-expecting to see him distributing the snacks, only to see him aggressively nudge the slushees in eddie’s face. “you know what, i’ll take it.”

stan scoffed, “what, you thought i was offering this from the depths of my generous heart? i thought you knew me better-"

the sound of plastic crinkling and eddie’s yelp cut through stan’s sentence.

you look back at the sight of richie threatening to pour the ice into eddie’s hair, eddie shrieking and wildly missing punches at richie. dear god, your boyfriend was such a menace. richie and eddie never spent a day where they weren’t at eachother’s throats though, but anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they deeply loved one another. rich had that effect on people, you think. he was rarely overtly loving, but it’s not like he needed to be. you guys just knew.

ben smiles sweetly between you and your gaze on richie. “you’re staring again, y/n.”

you immediately snap out of it and go to slug ben in the shoulder. “was not.”

“was too.”

"was. not."

"was too!"

you narrow your eyes at ben who sheepishly smiles in innocence. he reaches over to grab a couple onion rings from your bag to which you lightly slap the back of his hand. he groans, trying again from another angle, “just because i pointed out your goo-goo eyes at trashmouth?”

bev snatched a couple rings from across you and threw them at ben. he chuckles gleefully at the perfect catch. “you know, he’s not wrong,” she points out.

“for the last time, i wasn’t staring,” you groan.

“not about that, genius. the way you’re absolutely whipped for that dick.” she smiles. “i mean,” you barely conceal your smirk, “the dick is pretty g-”

"not what i meant," bev sighs while the rest of them groan at your words.

“seriously though,” bill asks with genuine curiosity, “how did you even end up together? how do you even like someone that much?” bev tuts from the other side, “tread lightly there, denbrough.”

“shut up, you know what i mean. it’s trashmouth we’re talking ’bout here.” bill grins, “it’s a mystery how someone can shut him up so quick.”

you laugh to yourself, thinking about the few times you get to see richie completely speechless. “it’s not that hard, you know?” you shrug softly at the way the losers nod. you may all pretend to hate the life out of him but he always had a special place in each of your hearts. “he cares with everything he’s got, no matter what. he’s always there for you even if you don’t want him to be. i just...i don’t think he’s been anything less than...”

“-if you say ‘perfect’, i’m going to hit you.” stan says.

you roll your eyes at stan, “fuck off, but... but yeah. it’s so easy to love him and i honestly owe you guys an apology for being so annoyingly whipped for that dork,” you joke.

aside from the distant bickering coming from richie and eddie in their own little world, a silence hung over the six of you. it was too quiet. wondering if you said something wrong, you scan over them, only to be met with six variations of a smirk. more than confused, you chuckle nervously. “i was joking about the apology thing but if you really want-”

“you said ‘love.’” bev laughed.

“what?”

“you said ‘love,’” she repeated. “that you loved him.”

“i... of course i love him, he’s..” not trusting any more of the words coming out of your mouth, you cut yourself off and gather your thoughts.

of course you loved richie. each and every one of you loved your resident trashmouth, he was one of your best friends. the two of you were the closest of friends, an insufferable duo for years before you began dating. it might have only been a few weeks since he asked you out, but it’s not like too much changed from when you were friends.

there was only more love, more affection, only slightly more sexual innuendos (majority of them were solely just to piss off stan).

so of course you loved him. more than you did when you were friends. which he’s gotta know... right?

“fuck, maybe i do owe you guys an apology.” you joke.

“don’t think twice about it, this is nothing compared to him. if i took a shot for every time he went on some sort of love ramble about you, i’d be fucking dead.” bev replies, “and then he would carry on.”

you laugh, shaking your head in denial, “c’mon, he does not do that.”

“are you blind?” mike speaks up. “you’ve had him since the first day you joined us at the barrens. i can still see fourteen-year-old richie ogling you clear as day.”

you stammered at your response, tripping over your words. “mike, i think you broke her. she’s become bill,” stan teases.

you go to shove stan again and sorely miss. “anyways, my point is...”

you avoid their eye contact and go back to churning stan’s slushee. “he has my heart, fuck, he’s got all of our hearts. like, is he an asshole? sure. does he get on my nerves every other day? definitely. will he be the death of me? probably. but i l-”

“i sure hope you’re winding up to something there, sweets.”

you snap your head up from your dreamy rambling to see richie smirking next to you and eddie squeezing himself next to bill. you feel yourself go bright red at the realisation that he had been listening.

“i- no. that was it.”

“you sure? you going off about me... ‘but’...” richie pushes, quoting your words.

“richie, if you genuinely think you have redeeming qualities, i suggest some self-reflection.” stan quipped. “yeah, i was just pointing how much you bother us. no ifs, no buts,” you jokingly agree.

“mean,” richie rolls his eyes, shifting back in his seat next to you.

he’s gotta know... right?

you wink and stick your tongue out playfully, to which richie raises an eyebrow at. he glances between the blue drink in your hand and your tongue, his gaze on your lips making you nervous.

“now, what?” you sigh, wiping the ice from your mouth and pretending that you weren’t dying to know what was churning in that brain of his.

“nothing,” richie shrugs smugly, “just that i’ve always wanted to know how my cock looked blue.”

the comment took you off guard, your instant blush only fuelling richie’s grin. without hesitation, you lean over with a faux-pout, an act that has richie’s eyes wide. “careful there, trashmouth,” you tease loudly. “you keep this up and you’ll see how stan’s looks blue.”

bev immediately gasps with her hand over her mouth, followed by mike’s stifled cackle as he slapped richie’s back. the rest of the group looks frankly stunned, and stan’s face is on a whole different level of red.

richie doesn’t even look the least bit angry. his jaw is dropped slightly and he runs his hand over his jaw, trying to stop the chuckle that leaves his throat. if anything he looks proud.

shaking his head with a smile, he slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. “that’s my girl,” he grins.

“yeah, that for sure is tozier’s,” bill says.

there’s no way any of you miss the way richie’s face goes red under that comment and your heart skips a beat when he squeezes your side. when no one’s looking, you lean up and kiss by his ear, absolutely delighted by the deeper shade of red on his face.

“darl, if you don’t stop that i’m going to go as red as stan,” he whispers into your hair. the both of you look back at the boy who’s trying to concentrate on his slushee and not the blush that’s continued to creep to his neck. “i’m actually getting concerned.”

you giggle, “shh, he’s fine.”

“no really, i give it a couple seconds before eddie pulls out his medical fanny pack,” richie says.

you look up at him as you’re tucked into his side, his arm still slung around your shoulder. his dark hair and eyelashes caught the sunlight, his blue eyes glinting as he glanced back. his lips were tipped into their signature cheeky smile, almost like a cue that he was going to say something out of hand. you felt the swell of your heart grow as he raised his eyebrows, prompting what he knew you were going to say.

“you know, earlier...” you whisper, looking down to his hand intertwining with yours. “i just... i wanted to say that i... you know... that i-”

“i feel like i should be offended at how hard it is for you to tell me you love me, sweets,” he whispers back, clearly trying to keep a straight face. fuck. “oh god please, you know i-” richie shushes you, kissing the crown of your head. “it’s okay, i know.” you can feel the curve of his lips against your hair. “i love you too.”

trying to tame the aggressive blush and stupid smile that reached your face, you follow his gaze over to eddie. just like richie joked, he had this fanny pack laid on the table in front of stan. you weren’t listening to anything they were saying, but you watched the way stan was squirming from eddie, insisting he did not have heatstroke. mike stood right behind stan, pinching his cheeks and periodically wrapping his strong arms around stan to stop him from squirming. bev was leaning across ben and bill’s laps, joining in and poking her fun at eddie and you notice how bill’s hands traces figures along bev’s side. ben gazes at the group of them, chiming in every so often when stan’s quips got too violent.

it was one of those moments you wish you could freeze.

after a while, richie whispers into your ear. “do you think they’d even notice if we left for the ferris wheel?”

you break your eye contact from the group to gaze up at him. “nope, not at all. you think you can sneak us some tickets?”

“please, you think i got kicked out of here for nothing?” he scoffs.

“is this how you’re going to get banned again?” you grin, poking his side, “stealing tickets for your girl?”

with a soft smile, he takes your hand to subtly stand and back away from the group. with stifled giggles, the both of you manage to make it at least twenty feet without the losers even noticing. the second you two were out of earshot, richie wraps his hand around yours and begins to run, “i wouldn't want it any other way."

🎡

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amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

Replaced

Genre: Heavy Angst, Angst with a somewhat happy ending.

Warning: The following piece is my take on the replaced! au with Arella. Dark themes lie ahead. If you are triggered by feelings of abandonment, suicidal ideation, or outright suicide, this mini fic is not safe for you to read. Please continue at your own discretion.

A/N: I did it guys! I actually managed to break myself with this mini fic by digging into my own abandonment issues. It was fun- cathartic almost. Please enjoy! Also, spoilers for the lesson 16 incident.

What does it feel like to be replaced? If you were to ask Arella, she’d say it felt bitter and painful. Like someone was holding a white-hot branding iron to her stomach and pushing it in to the point it ate through all the layers of her skin and was now searing through her stomach or like someone was rubbing salt into a open, festering wound.

When Diavolo had announced to the other student council officers that a new exchange student would be joining their ranks, Arella was excited- especially when she found out the new student was a female- there was only so much Arella could talk about in a house full of men and one genderless individual that they would understand, all of them having been assigned male at birth and whatnot. So, another woman among their ranks would be a breath of fresh air for her. And it was for a time being- until the brothers had taken favor to this new human.

It started within months of this new exchange student arriving. One by one, her favorite demons started hanging around her more often. It wasn't like Arella could be mad at them. This human was novel and oh so different from Arella. She was everything Arella was not, from her blonde hair to her well-developed body- even her height, which matched closer to the brothers. She was everything human world media told a girl she should be. She even looked like she fit in with them- having taken to the Devildom like a duck to water even without being able to use magic.

Arella wants to be angry with this girl, but she can’t. This girl, named Melissa, was so sweet it was almost enough to make Arella sick. She was smart, innocent, and -above all else- selfless. It was apparent the boys adored her immediately. One by one, Arella was losing them to the charms of this new girl. The first to go was Satan, clearly smitten by her love of books and knowledge of obscure but very talented authors. The second to go was Asmo, often taking her out to clubs or on long shopping trips that often lasted well past curfew. And just like that the other brothers started to follow suit. Game nights between her and Levi? Gone. Drawing up budgets with Lucifer? Not anymore. Going out with Beel to cafes? Not in her wildest dreams. Naptimes up in the attic with Belphie? Hah! Fat chance. The last and most painful to pull away was Mammon- her first man. The one who swore he would always be there for her when she needed him. And oh how she needed him.

Just like when Arella had first come to the Devildom, Mammon was given the task of watching over Melissa by Lucifer. At first Arella tried to justify it as Lucifer worrying about the girl’s safety as even though his brothers had gotten better at controlling themselves, they still had their moments.

As time went on however, she started to notice the little things. Missed movie nights between them, date nights often forgotten about in favor of showing Melissa his favorite spots around the city, the loss of any physical intimacy. Soon, he stopped seeing her all together. Things that she and Mammon did together were now reserved for Melissa: casino trips, movie nights, pranks on Lucifer that would have the eldest chasing after them, running around the city until it was nearly what could considered to be the Devildom’s equivalent of dawn. She knew he was completely gone when she walked down to the dining room for supper one evening and overheard them just casually flirting. Mammon didn’t even make any attempts to dissuade Melissa’s advances. He remembered he actually had a girlfriend, right? Right?!

Or were they even a thing anymore? It had been months since they’d spent any substantial time together outside of classes and even then, he’d moved seats to sit closer to the new human. He’d either ignore her texts or straight up just ghost her altogether. As she listened to them, she had to push down the possessive tendencies that tried to force their way out of her. She pushed them back down into the flimsily locked box they had always been contained in and burying them down in the deepest parts of her mind, forcing herself to accept that she was no longer wanted- no longer loved by the family she thought she’d found. She returned to her room for the rest of the night and for the first time since the initial weeks after arriving here on her first visit, cried herself to sleep.

The next time she interacted with any of the Avatars, it was Lucifer ordering her off to school telling her that she had better not be late and tarnish the good name Lord Diavolo and the exchange programme. Arella only nodded and promptly left the house, not even bothering to finish her morning cup of tea. The walk to school was lonely, Mammon had left earlier with Melissa and it was then, with a broken heart, Arella decided she would leave them all to their new toy. They wouldn’t bother her. They didn’t need her. At least she had Solomon and the angels, didn’t she? No, it didn’t seem to be the case either judging by the mass of unanswered texts.

As she entered class, Arella took her usual seat only hoping Mammon would choose to sit with her for once, would just choose her for once in general. But it wasn’t meant to be. Of course, it wouldn’t. Why would he bother to choose her when there was someone who was much better for him than her? Someone who wasn’t selfish or possessive or... or... worthless... She subtilty looked over her shoulder to watch as they cracked jokes and laughed together and she felt tears pool in her eyes- heart aching at the thought that she would never have that again and the sweet memories she’d made with the demon. The spot she once saved for him was now taken by another demon.

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

Two months more of this- it had been eleven since Melissa joined them. None of the brothers even looked Arella’s way anymore- often forgetting she lived in the house with them in the first place. When she tried to reach out to any of them it was Melissa needs this or Melissa and I are doing this, so she just stopped. She stopped eating, stopped taking care of herself save for basic hygiene needs. No one came to check on her. There were no texts, no calls, nothing. They’d gotten all they wanted out of her and now she was like a cast aside doll. She thought about reaching out to any of them but decided against it. They were demons and she was just an insignificant human. It's not like they actually cared and Arella was a fool for allowing herself to entertain the thought.

She should just go home. But where was home? The human world held nothing for her to return to. Sure, she had that degree in biochemical engineering to fall back on but after having a taste of true happiness, would she even enjoy a life doing that? Maybe she could just go back to her original plan. The plan she had made when she first signed on to the exchange programme. 23 years was certainly long enough to experience everything life had to offer, right? She always did tell herself if the year on the exchange programme didn’t work out, she’d end it all. The idea was sounding more and more appealing by the minute.

With her mind made up, Arella swung her legs over the side of the bed. A smile was painted on her face. Her cheeks stained with tears; emerald-green eyes bleary from all the crying she’d done over the past two months. No one would miss her. They left her- abandoned for the better human like she was an unwanted pet. What did she expect though? No one ever stayed. No one ever cared. No one ever loved her enough to begin with. She was always thrown away like the trash she was after her purpose was fulfilled.

With what little strength she could muster, Arella stood as she uttered a spell and a portal opened. She gladly stepped through it, finding herself in her childhood home as it closed- a place filled with nothing but suffering and pain for her. What a fitting place for her own painful end.

“Hello, Mum, Myles... I’m... home... Isn’t it lovely... that you were right after all? I’ll be with you... soon...”

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

Missing his call on her D.D.D. was the first thing that Mammon noticed. He knew he hadn’t been the best boyfriend ever since the new human arrived and the demon felt guilty for that. He’d put so much energy into helping Melissa get a date with his younger brother that he hadn’t realized how much time had actually passed- how it had been almost a year since he’d done literally anything with his girlfriend. She was probably pissed at him and rightfully so. Now that he had actually looked at his calendar, there had been so many planned dates and movie nights he had missed with her and all he wanted to do was make it up to her somehow. She probably thought he didn’t want her anymore which couldn’t have been further from the truth. He missed her- missed hanging out with her, missed the dumb jokes they would crack and the laughter that followed, missed the pranks they would play on Lucifer that often ended up with them strung up from the ceiling together. He missed the late-night cuddles and having her tucked up under his arm at night as he held her close. The bed they had once shared was considerably colder now that she was no longer there.

Mammon made his way down to her room. That was the only place she could be. Arella never left her room anymore. She always left for school earlier than anyone else too, choosing to skip breakfast outright, so Mammon couldn’t even catch her to talk then. He thought about reclaiming his seat next to his human but every morning he found her chatting up another demon that had taken his old seat. He often felt his possessiveness spike most during those times but did he even have the right to feel that way after neglecting her for the past eleven months?

As he drew closer to her room, he could see Beel knocking at her door, asking if she’d like to go visit that new café she had mentioned a couple weeks ago. When there was no answer, the Avatar of Gluttony would frown, unsure if she was just asleep or just actively ignoring him. That was the second sign something was wrong. No matter what happened, at the end of the day, Arella was always happy to entertain their whims.

“She’s not answerin’ ya, is she?” The second-born asks as the sixth-born shakes his head, looking like an abandoned puppy on the side of the road. “I’ll go in ‘n see if she’s awake. I have to talk to ‘er anyway.”

Beelzebub nodded as he left back to the kitchen- likely to eat his hurt feelings away. None of them really had the right to feel this way after they’d just ghosted their favorite human though. As he opened the door, Mammon stopped dead in his tracks. She wasn’t there, her phone lay on the bed lit up with missed texts from Asmo and Levi.

Immediately, he took off for Lucifer’s study. If anyone would know her whereabouts it would be Lucifer, right? The family patriarch had the uncanny ability to know exactly where every resident of the House of Lamentation was at any given time so long as they were still in the Devildom.

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

After considering her options, Arella was left indecisive. There were a number of ways she could end her own life. She wouldn’t lie, before the exchange programme she would fantasize about the many ways she could kill herself. Would it be by hanging like she found Myles? Or perhaps she could slit her wrists like her beloved mother. If the car in the garage still worked, carbon monoxide poisoning was a valid option too. There were sleeping pills up in the medicine cabinet- a large handful of those would definitely do the trick... Ah choices, choices. As she smiled to herself, the human wondered if any of the brothers had noticed she wasn’t in the house anymore. The chances were unlikely as they were all too busy with their new human but if they had, who was it?

Would it be Asmo, Levi, Belphegor? Surely, it wouldn’t have been Mammon. He’d long since moved on, probably enjoying the start of a new relationship with Melissa. It hurt that he couldn’t have been bothered to even break up with Arella in the first place. What happened to forever? Had it all been the honeyed words of a liar?

She shook her head. It was best not to think too much on it but she still couldn’t help it. Once she was gone- once their pact faded away- would he regret this? Would he regret losing the person who loved him so unconditionally that it was almost embarrassing?

With her mind made up, Arella grabbed a knife from one of the drawers in the kitchen and carried herself up to the master bedroom where she had found her mother four years prior. As she lie on the bed, she pressed the knife to her wrist deep enough to cause substantial bleeding. She drags the blade up her arm, watching as the crimson liquid gushed from the from the wound. She thinks it’s beautiful- a fitting end for a vile creature such as herself.

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

“Lucifer!”

“What, Mammon?” The eldest didn’t even bother to look up from the ever-growing stack of paperwork on his desk.

“Did Arella have plans tonight?” The Avatar of Greed asks as his brother finally looks up at him.

“Not that I’m aware of, but I also haven’t seen her all day. As her mate, you should know, shouldn’t you? As far as I’m aware, Arella hasn’t left the house and is still in her room probably practicing her mag-”

In that moment, both demons felt a sharp pain shoot up their arm as if someone had taken a knife and was drawing a line up the inside of their arm. The same pain was radiating from the places where their pact marks were located. Mammon clutched at his chest as he fell to his knees, the symbol representing his girlfriend radiating with pain that reached down to his heart. If the screams of the others were anything to go by, they felt the same thing.

“She’s not in her room!” The white-hair demon manages to gasp out. What scares him most is that he can feel their pact fading away.

Lucifer’s heart leapt up in his throat as the realization hit him. It wasn’t her practicing magic that he had sensed earlier, it was her casting a spell. She opened a portal to the human world and had gone through. He now realizes the mistake they’ve made as he remembers back to the confession she had made to him over a year ago one night when neither of them could sleep and opted for a late-night cup of tea. She had told him that he and his brothers had saved her life that first year during the exchange programme. That if things hadn’t worked out so well, she had planned to take her own life. Back then, he thought nothing much of it since the problem had resolved itself. But with how they had essentially pushed her aside in favor of Melissa, she would have felt unwanted bringing the suicidal thoughts back full force. They had to get to her and fast before it was too late.

Always fast on his feet the eldest, opens a portal of his own, knowing of only one place she would go to take her own life. Both brothers would hop through, landing in the dusty house with a thud. The smell hit them faster than either of them could process it. Blood. And a lot of it at that.

Mammon was the first to scramble for the stairs while Lucifer made a break for the phone, having forgotten his D.D.D. on his desk in the rush to get through the portal. The second-born knows the layout of Arella's house too well, having been here with her multiple times before this. Back in better times when she knew just how much he loved her. As the smell of fresh blood grows stronger, he finds her resting on the bed, a smile on her face as the knife lay between her body and the arm that was still slowly losing blood.

Faster than a flash of lightning, the demon tore his belt off and was on the bed immediately. He took her arm, fastening his belt around the upper part in a tourniquet to stop the blood flow. He shook her frantically, tears spilling down his face freely.

“Arella! Arella! C'mon, baby, wake up! Please!” His voice came out in a scream and he could only vaguely hear his brother speaking on the phone with emergency services. “We’re sorry! Don’t leave us! Don’t leave me!”

With every passing second, Mammon could feel her life slipping away through the pact that was still searing his heart. This was the price of his actions- of all their actions. Her blood was on his hands, literally. He should have done more. He should have been there. He could have called or texted or even just picked up the damn phone when she had called him, but instead just like the blood that had slipped from her arm, the Avatar of Greed let her slip through his fingers. She was gone and there was no bringing his human back this time like they had when Belphie threw her body down the stairs after he’d strangle her to death. He and his brothers had spent all that time protecting her from other demons but they couldn’t protect her from themselves.

Once the EMT’s got there, the demon stepped back from the blood-soaked bed in a state of shock- a state of disbelief. There was nothing they could do for her now. She had no pulse, no signs of life. He dropped to his knees unable to believe that his human was truly gone. His throat felt tight as more tears came. He was only just able to register the feeling of the Avatar of Pride’s embrace as they cried together- something they hadn’t done since the fall, since Lilith passed.

The two demons were informed that the coroner would arrive to collect her body shortly as they left the room. Slowly they got up, Mammon taking her body in his arms as he fought back the urge to sob. The pair returned to the House of Lamentation with Arella’s body in tow, cradled carefully in her mate’s arms. As they stepped through, they were met by their brothers and Melissa. Even the Angels, Solomon, and the Royals were there waiting.

“She’s gone,” The eldest’s voice cracked as a pained grimace formed on his face, more tears slipping down his face. Mammon couldn’t even lift his head to look them in the eyes as the crying, wailing, sobbing started.

“We didn’t deserve ‘er.” The second-born chokes on his tears, feeling utterly broken inside. “We did this to ‘er. All... All seven of us did this... She reached out to alla us ‘n we ignored ‘er.” He’s the angriest with himself.

The prince and his butler only watch on, tears in their eyes. Diavolo remembers all the good times they’ve had with Arella. The way she made the lives of the Avatars better, the fun she brought to the student council meetings, the beautiful light she’d brought to the Devildom. She’d made such an impact on the lives of all of these demons and angels. As selfish as it was, Diavolo didn’t want to let any of that go.

“Bring her back, Barbatos.” He orders and his loyal servant steps forward.

“Place her on the ground, Mammon.” Barbatos says calmly, almost as if he’s done this a thousand times and for some reason the Avatar of Greed obeys the order.

Once she’s on the ground, the green-haired demon pulls open her mouth and takes Mammon’s hand in his, producing a dagger and slicing the white-haired demon’s palm tipping it to side and allows the blood to drop into Arella’s mouth. As the crimson liquid flows down her throat, the effect is immediate- Arella's body convulsing violently before she gasps for breath as the gash along the inside of her arm heals.

Everyone- demons, angels, and humans alike- stare wide-eyed at the scene. Lucifer looks up to his longtime friend in disbelief. He had just...

“Let this teach you all a very painful lesson. I’ve given her life as a demon, do not take this chance for granted. You will not get it again. She needs rest for now, but in a day or two, Arella will reawaken.” The prince’s voice is stern as he peers down at the former human who would now become a very powerful demon. “Treat her right this time.”

It’s with that that Diavolo and Barbatos take their leave. The rest was up to the brothers now to care for her and right the wrongs they’ve made.

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

The Bad Ending

Find more on my masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me angst #mammon angst #replaced!mc au

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ryoskuna · 4 years

Text

⭑ promised eternity | hades!sukuna x persephone!reader au headcanons (PT 1).

A/N: ... yo... i would like to say whoever threatened to send me toe pics, a-plus, bc you made me release this into the wild. * insert megumi meme face here * but this is just HEADCANONS for a hades!sukuna and persephone!reader-esque universe, and because y’all are as thirsty as I am, it includes some SFW and NSFW headcanons. grab your water bottles, and I apologize for my subconscious now. (cause it’s always on auto-pilot and giving me wild af ideas.) We shall all thirst... over OG form sukuna as well, because ,, well, big daddy, do i need to say more??? also this is some seriously fantasy like au , sort of, it takes place during sukuna’s original time as a curse, when gojo’s ancestor was after him, and hints wildly on that, and also will hit moments where the sorcerers are of course, hunting him. feel free to give me your thoughts and ask questions, because i love you all. onward to the THIRST! ( also side note, promised eternity is the name of the potential series that may come from this. )

this is part one of the headcanons, and they’re all SFW.

being married to the king of curses is not easy. it’s awkward at first, and then later on, comforting at best. to have someone who believes in you, roots you on (even if he’s kind of mean about it at first), is better than having nothing. you’ve been looked at for so long as a “curse” for your untrained cursed energy, that to have someone who sees potential in your “god” given gifts instead of spite (or only useful in preventing a raid) is refreshing. and unsettling at first.

speaking of that, sukuna basically rescued you from your village. for the entirety of your life before him, your cursed energy has gone unchecked, untrained. so it fluctuates with your emotions. it’s useful when you summon your wrath to defend your village or when your untrained reverse cursed techniques help the crops grow— but any other time, you are known as a curse. your emotions grow sad or you grow angry, and people die accidentally. ( hence your harbinger of death nickname. ) sukuna, during his many trips to your village for taxes and the occasional “recruitment” of healthy women and me, he has noticed you. and he has noticed your vast amount of cursed energy. it’s all but too easy for him to command the head of your village to hand you over — your parent(s) have no say.

sukuna is generous enough to compensate them, and the head of village. it’s one of few kindnesses he’ll show, besides eventually to you. sukuna will never tell, not till much later on, that he noticed you in every visit he’s ever made. that you deserved better than the mockery and scorn of your people. he offers to burn them all for you, but your mercy says otherwise.

speaking of when he came to get you, he was 10 feet tall, dressed in a black montsuki kimono and hakama. all four of his arms are on display, and all four of his eyes are on you.

you, are in a shiromuku, complete with a wataboshi — you and your mother (or a village woman) made it, but it will not be the last of your “bridal” gowns as you travel through at least five villages before arriving at sukuna’s fortress-like palace. sukuna has prepared you both a uchikake style kimono (adorned with pinks and reds), a hikifurisode style kimono (black, but also adorned with whites and golds and reds)— lastly is the Tomesode, which you arrive to your new home in, adorned in pins and signs of your new status. it’s here you discover you are not meant to be a mistress, you are meant to be a wife. his wife. his first, and his only (or at least he’ll try to keep it that way).

sukuna does not make time for much. rumors of him are notorious of his over-indulgence, guided by only his pleasure and displeasure, which is slightly true. but he makes time for you. you aren’t like the others he’s taken in his time, whether for his entertainment or to be in his service (you are not his toy as he has a habit of disposing of his playthings once they bore him); you’re his wife, but you are also this powerful being, who if trained, will become even more powerful. if you were a sorcerer, you’d rival him — but you are his equal.

he tries to make you feel that way by shrinking down to your size. he drops his 10 ft height (even through he can grow larger), to 6′8 or 7ft (pick your preference). it helps him watch the way you fight him, and he’ll change his height to help you train to fight enemies of different sizes.

sukuna’s loyalty to you forms in the midst of gifts. he’s lavish and again, over-indulgent. before your lips ask for it, somehow you already have whatever you desire. however, he also realizes, the more that he’s around you that gifts don’t make you happy (as pleasing as they are). being in his company is what makes you happy. oh, and sukuna’s very careful to touch you. his strength knows no bounds, until you touch him. you have to be the one that touches him first. it’s a brush over the knuckles, your tiny hand wrapping around his big one.

the way you manipulate plants to your advantage as a defense will never not amaze him. the way you use vines to wrap around him to capture him is genius, and the sneak attack you give has gotten better. he’ll still tease you ask “is that the best you can do” with your hits to provoke more of your strength, and he’ll give praise at the end, in his own way. (more touches.)

sukuna’s untouched garden becomes yours as one of your wedding gifts. it’s yours, and all the servants know it. everyone on his grounds knows it is yours.

you haven’t realized it since your arrival, but there are female servants that are your handmaidens, but for the harem that sukuna supposedly keeps — you have no idea where they are. it isn’t till one of your handmaidens inform you that he freed them with compensation. it’s not an uncommon practice for him, you’re told. he does not keep anyone against their will, and he never forced the girls he kept to do anything. for him, war and fighting made his blood rush just as much as sex could.

you and sukuna’s cursed energy manages to mingle to create a rare flower, one that turns from a gold color to red at the tips of the petals. he later tells you that beautiful things can come from destruction, and it makes you think of yourself, and who you’ve become with his guidance as you look into his eyes.

the first time you sleep in his bed with him, he lays still on one side of the bed (which is unusual for him) until you beckon him closer. he meets you halfway in the middle, where you lay your head on his chest and listen to the sound of him breathing. he’ll never admit it at first, but the comfort you give to him is startling, but welcomed. he wraps two arms around you, but it isn’t until you’re sleep that all four hold you gently against him, as if those four arms are shields to keep you safe.

He admires your strength and the various ways it shows itself. He has since your “wedding day”, when you shed no tears at being taken from your family. When you told him “do what you will”, but also in your rage he tapped into when you wrapped thorny vines around him when he provoked you by calling you “a murderous curse of a girl”. He apologizes for this comment at some point, while you two lay together in the garden.

he presents to you a crown, shaped after the marks on his forehead (preserved through a picture painted on a fan). it is two horns towards the ceiling, made of black metal the color of obsidian.

sukuna enjoys towering over you. and more importantly, once it no longer startles you, you enjoy the safety that his height reminds you of.

the form of trust sukuna has with you is seen by the servants when assigns advisors to you, as well as teaches you how to deal with trials when they come forth. you are his rose with thorns now, and you know how to use them.

someone speaks ill of sukuna? you are reminding them of their place: “speak ill of your king again with that tongue of yours and i’ll take it”

OKAY BADASS, and sukuna is all for it, just “that’s my s/o”

and lord, the pet names this man has for you: “my dove” “my love” “my moon” and you with: “my sun and stars” (thank u got)... he’s got a lot of pet names.

he likes to hold you on his side for some reason, whenever he can. honestly, he just likes you close.

basically, you’re tough as hell and powerful as hell and you grow into your added strength and he loves it.

can you say POWER COUPLE OF THE AGES

#persephone & hades au ft. sukuna.#persephone and hades au ft. sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna.#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk hcs #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk.#ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna #ryomen sukuna

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21burritoseavey · 3 years

Note

for corbyn based on hard!

hello! hope you enjoy this I’m so sorry it took so long. Let me know what you think:)

here’s a link to my masterlist for my other stories:)

a/n: oop i kinda lied about when i was gonna post...but i actually like this a lot so read it...or else....jkjk.

Summary: When Y/n knocks on Corbyn’s door, he lets her stay the night without an explanation.

Hard (c.b.)

Corbyn jerked his head up at the sound of a faint knock on the front door. His hoodie was draped cosily over his head and his tired eyes were now focused on the wall opposite him. The printed frames of the band’s accomplishments stood out brightly in the beams of a streetlamp’s light that poured through the window. Corbyn stayed on the sofa, resting back against the cushions, and letting the dim T.V. screen grasp his attention again as he thought his mind was just playing tricks on him. On a measly, sluggish Wednesday night, who would even have the energy to show up at his place right now? Eben and Jonah went to bed just before midnight settled around them, painting the sky with deep jet black and shooting daggers of heavy raindrops from above along with loud thunder. They’d left only Corbyn awake to suffer through a painfully boring movie alone. It was something he did often just to soothe himself to sleep.

Sleep was always a struggle for Corbyn. Despite myriad attempts to figure out why, nothing ever seemed to shut his eyes. More often than not, he’d find himself on the living room sofa in the morning, and tonight was merely one of many nights where he’d hope to fall asleep with a T.V. show or movie mumbling in the background under the eeriness and coldness of the house.

Another knock came dancing along the quiet atmosphere. Corbyn glanced at the door again before his gaze flickered back to the T.V. 12:46am was shown at the corner of the screen. Deciding that whoever it was standing behind that door must’ve had a good reason to be, he tiredly lifted himself up with a quiet groan. Y/n’s voice seeped into the house, gradually increasing in volume as he walked towards the door. It was weak and raspy - nothing like the usual softness Y/n’s voice had.

“Y/n,” Corbyn breathed, feeling the hood of his sweatshirt fall backwards as a cold gust of wind swept over him. Y/n shyly stood before him. Her hair dangled in two braids, although it was damp and dishevelled at the top and her mascara stained her cheeks in streaks like it’d been painted on her face. Corbyn’s lips turned downwards into a genuine frown at the sight of her, not only visibly sad but shivering from the rain and cold that reddened her cheeks and soaked her clothes. His gaze stopped at her chapped lips when he heard her whisper. But the heavy downpour of rain engulfed Y/n’s sorrowful murmurs, barely allowing her words to be heard over the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the ground, so he just let her in with a gentle tug of her wrist.

“Hi,” Y/n tried again once the place quietened, looking up at him. The faint sloshing of her shoes had them both dropping their gazes to the floor, roaming from Y/n’s boots to the small gap at the bottom of the door. A narrow trail of mud had followed her in from the welcome mat. “Sorry,” She exhaled again, giving him an apologetic smile.

“No, that’s okay,” Corbyn assured her. He gave her time to take off her shoes before changing the subject. “It’s nearly 1am.” He chuckled humourlessly. “what’re you doing here?” Taking a seat on the edge of the couch, he waited for her response. But when the eerie silence emerged again, he started thinking out loud with his own guesses. “Were you locked out of the house? Did you get in trouble?” He stopped for a second, catching his thoughts before they could travel to him. The one guy he really didn’t want to be the cause of his best friend’s sadness, or the reason she risked her own safety just to come over here. A ripple of hailstones came clattering against the rooftop and the loud sounds sent Corbyn out of his mind and back into the present.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Y/n mumbled, gazing towards him with an almost scared expression in slight fear that he wouldn’t let her stay. But that wasn’t the case at all. In fact, Corbyn loved when she stayed over, and when he noticed the small uneasiness in her expression, he assured her she was fine to stay with a gentle smile, regardless of the heart wrenching swirl of emotion inside him.

“Okay.” He said quietly, “you can sleep here tonight.”

“M’kay,” Y/n bit back her smile of relief and merely watched him hop off the couch and head towards her. He’d set his hands in hers but flinched back at the temperature of her soft skin.

“They’re so cold,” He chuckled softly, resting his crinkled eyes on hers. Y/n gave a half smile back when she felt his warm breath on her skin, her hands now clutched together with his and raised up to his mouth in an attempt to warm them up. Soon, without any control, Y/n’s dimpled cheeks turned scarlet at the sight of him placing a tender line of kisses on her fingertips. He dropped both their hands after a moment and felt himself heat up from just seconds before. Did he really just do that?

“I’ll get you some dry clothes,” He stuttered, starting for the hallway to his bedroom, but turned back to meet her eyes again. “Wait, actually I’ll get you a towel,” Y/n nodded. The patter of his footsteps up the stairwell faded into the atmosphere, just like the weather that had managed to calm from a ravaging storm to an ambient patter of raindrops.

As her clothes were extremely wet and her presence not quite welcome in her eyes, she remained standing in open space of living room. Her damp stocking feet missed the rug and only walked around on the wood floor while Corbyn was busy.

“Here, I got you both just in case.” Y/n looked over her shoulder to see him slightly panting with some folded clothes in his hand.

“Thank you Corbyn.” She smiled.

“And you can use my bathroom.” He said lightly, watching her brush past him and up the stairs. He followed behind her after a minute to go into his room. Y/n shut the door as soon as she got into his bathroom. She sauntered slowly to the mirror, and with the belief that she had complete privacy - although Corbyn was in his bedroom - she got changed into Corbyn’s sweatpants and hoodie.

Corbyn was by the bed, stripping his used sheets and replacing them with fresh clean ones for Y/n, when he heard her crying. A sudden pit weighed him down to sit on the edge of the bed, white sheets clutched lazily between his fingers and face now dulled into a mixture of all sorts of emotions. Something must’ve happened with this stupid idiotic boyfriend of hers. He pushed himself to hide his thoughts away though. Y/n couldn’t know that he heard her, so he forced himself up again to finish changing the sheets.

The click of the doorknob unlocking made Corbyn look up again. Y/n pulled a grin towards him as she walked in closer, clothed in a dry comfy outfit and face free of smudged makeup. With a small glance to the now made bed, he said “you should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,”

“Okay,” He sighed, picking up his phone from the bed. “I can sleep downstairs and you can sleep here.” He looked at her with a ghost of a smile playing at his lips, though it seemed practically non-existent in the subdued warm lighting of bedroom. His eyes dropped down to the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The edges were now darkened, not with raindrops, but with her salty tears he heard fall when she was in the bathroom.

“No, I can sleep downstairs,” Y/n stopped him. Her face was blotchy with red spots from crying. “This is your room.”

“I insist Y/n, and don’t worry I changed the sheets.” He smiled, gulping down the sad feeling creeping up his throat again. “Now come on,” He ushered her over with a wave of his hand. Y/n made her way across his room to his bedside. Corbyn started peeling back the comforter for her to slip inside but he paused when he’d noticed her hair. Her usually luxuriously soft locks were still messily braided in a pair down her back. “Do you want me to take them out?” He asked.

Y/n glanced at him, frozen mid movement as she thought about an answer. “Yes please.” She nodded. Corbyn smiled and shuffled her further on the mattress so they sat on the centre of the bed together - Y/n cross-legged in front of Corbyn who was tending to her hair. Neither of them spoke as he unravelled her braids.

“Okay,” He gave her back a loving pat. “All done.” He smiled as Y/n looked over her shoulder.

“Thanks,” she said. Corbyn had hopped off the bed and Y/n shifted under the covers. The fresh comforter was a brilliant white against her pinkish skin and her hair spread like feathers across the pillow under her head. Corbyn’s eyes lingered on hers, finally softening with the relief that she was safe with him.

“Goodnight.” Y/n’s eyes sparkled under the pleasant warm light of his bedside lamp. Corbyn’s smile that had played at his lips faltered for a second. Then he bent down and placed a soft kiss to her forehead. His delicate lips met her soft supple skin for only a fleeting moment before his lips detached again, pursed and coloured a soft red.

“Goodnight, Y/n. I love you.” He mumbled, placing another lingering kiss to her nose. A quiet flutter of giggles spilled from her lips, and she scrunched her nose at the ticklish feeling.

“Love you too.” She replied, glancing back at the boy close to her.

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