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gryfon-spanish-werewolf · 4 years ago

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Frozen(elsanna)x Prey au Snippet 2

Because I’m insatiable here’s another

(And here’s Part 1, for those who missed it)

Context: This is before containment break, before the events that take place during Prey canon. Anna gets downtime every once in a while between bouts of testing, and this would be an example of time off. Restful and relaxing.... not ;-; This is the early days of Anna’s memory loss, and Elsa’s burgeoning guilt

Similar characters to last time, but three new ones (also in Prey canon): Dr. Igwe, chief neuroscientist assigned to Psychotronics, Head Nurse Goldcrest, and Dr. DeVries, Chief Surgeon, who both work in the Trauma Center

Slight content warning for blood and injury, specifically regarding the eye. No graphic description, but it’s in there

———————

There is something here with her.

Anna presses her bare fingers against tempered glass. The translucent substance ripples under her touch, vibrating slightly in purples and reds and yellows before accommodating, and slipping back to it’s sleek, clear form. This glass, this… barrier, has been tested against wrench swings and shotgun blasts and bunker busters - engineered to self-heal and withstand the vacuum of space for decades if necessary. It’s all over Talos I, beautiful and secure. It keeps everyone safe and sound.

But the shape in the dark is already inside.

Or it… wants to be.

Anna strains her eyes, trying to see beyond the billions of stars that pinprick the black, endless cosmos. She ducks her head and puts a hand over her brow, trying to block out the outline of her reflection. She tries not to blink, lest she miss something, some wisp or shift in that massive vastness. There’s a presence. It lurks and hums in her mind, roiling like ink dark waves.

It’s hungry. It’s so hungry.

The effort of looking too hard for too long catches up to Anna. Her eyes hurt. She’s only human.

She blinks.

She blinks and all the stars are teeth and all the teeth are stars and they bare down on her with the weight of the universe.

—

Anna gasps as she bolts upright in bed. It’s dark here too, but warm instead of cold. Not stars but stained wood paneling and soft carpet. Not endless space but walls, a dimmed desk light, and a tangible sense of scale. Anna swallows, breathing harshly in the night, half under the covers of the bed in her sister’s personal quarters. Sweat covers her skin and gooseflesh shivers across her body from head to toe in waves. Anna’s body shakes, trembles, her arms on the verge of collapsing her backwards.

Back to the dark. To the dream.

There is… movement, beside her.

Adrenaline crashes into Anna’s system again as the bed dips. Something moves closer.

It’s… Elsa. Rolling over in her sleep.

Her sister’s arm falls across the space Anna should be. Her fingers splay out, and in the dim light, Anna sees Elsa’s brow furrow slightly, even asleep. She murmurs, and after a moment her eyes open, hazy with fatigue.

“Anna?” She asks into the room, quiet and small. Anna takes a breath and puts a hand out towards Elsa, letting herself be found. Her sister takes it immediately, grip tightening when Anna can’t stop the shaking. “Was it that nightmare again?”

“...Again?”

Elsa tilts her head, slow in her stupor. Anna hears her shift and her free hand comes into view. Her thumb brushes the pads of her fingers and a blue glow emerges, floating gently between them. Elsa’s snow glitters in it’s own aura, illuminating their faces like an incandescent bulb under water. In this wavering light, Elsa searches Anna’s face. “The one about the stars.”

Anna bites her lip. The dream still wraps it’s tendrils around her, brushing against the back of her brain. Surely she would remember a nightmare like that, yet she can’t recall having it before, much less telling Elsa. When Anna was little it was the endless hallways that narrowed and choked her young mind until she burst into tears and ran to their parents’ room - but as she’d gotten older, and moved away, those nightmares had faded into more mundane things, if she dreamed at all.

But the terror of that open night sky in her mind. The one that looks back at her.

No. That is horrifyingly new.

Maybe her mind is playing tricks on her, still mired in the black. She would remember telling Elsa about this later, when she was calm. For now, she simply nods.

Elsa hugs Anna’s arm to her, pulling her down, back into bed. “You never used to have nightmares,” she says softly. “You used to sleep so soundly, here with me.” She combs sweat soaked bangs back, her hands warm against Anna’s chilled skin. “And you used to love the stars.”

Anna exhales, grounding herself with Elsa’s touch. “They’re unsettling.”

“You always thought they watched over us.”

“Now they just watch us.”

Elsa’s hand stops. “They’re just balls of gas, Anna,” she states, though her tone is patient. “Burning millions or billions of miles away. As fascinating as they are, there’s nothing more intelligent about them.”

Anna remembers the universe of teeth and doesn't answer.

“These tests are taking their toll on you,” Elsa says finally. “Maybe you should stop.”

“I can’t.” Elsa knows this. Anna can’t give up. Won’t. The technology they're bringing into the world, the discoveries made - all of this is for something greater. These neuromods are going to change people’s lives, they just need some fine tuning.

And if more people could do the extraordinary things Elsa could, what more might humanity be capable of?

Anna --powerless, human-- has to try.

Elsa sighs before she replies, cupping Anna’s jaw with both hands and looking into her eyes in the darkness of their room. “I’ll ask Bellamy and Dr. Igwe to slow down, then. Just a little,” she adds before Anna can protest. “You’ll burn out, Anna, and then who will you be helping?”

Anna huffs; Elsa has a point. But before she can speak a stinging pain lances through her right eye and she flinches. She rubs the spot as Elsa makes a concerned noise. “And I think I’ll email nurse Goldcrest about that. The redness is getting worse.”

Her eye.

It’s been bothering Anna for a while now. At first they thought she was developing an allergy. “An allergy,” she’d laughed with Elsa over coffee in the Lobby, overlooking the incredible, blue and green sphere that was Earth. Close enough to fill any person with awe, but far enough away to cover with one hand. “An allergy, in space!” It was funny.

Then it got worse.

Itchy, irritated, dry, but above all, sore. Painful. It throbbed during her tests and in her sleep, keeping her awake, sometimes for hours. Sweeping past Anna’s stubbornness, Elsa had scheduled a consultation with none other than Dr. DeVries, the head surgeon, but even he had come back with inconclusive results. “Stress might be a factor,” he’d said, “but we’ll need to monitor her to be sure. For now, we’ll put in a request for medicated eye-drops to help with the more common symptoms.”

Those had worked. For a week.

It was strange though. Sometimes Anna would forget the redness was there at all - in fact, sometimes it wasn’t. She’d look in the mirror and her eye would be perfectly fine, and she’d think maybe it was just a passing illness or bad reaction. But other times the pain would spread from her eye to her temple to the base of her skull and just press, like her head was in a vice. Worse than a migraine or a hangover because it squeezed, and left Anna short of attention and breath.

And then one morning she woke up alone, a note from Elsa on the bedside table, wishing her good morning and good luck on a new slew of tests…

...and on the paper fell a single, red blot.

Bellamy barred Anna at the door to Psychotronics and sent her home. Elsa was back from the labs within the hour.

Anna had spent the rest of the day in a blur of check ups and people talking over her, her head buzzing with heat and white noise, her vision speckled with black dots. Goldcrest had prescribed medicine and recommended two weeks off work. Despite the circumstances, and Anna’s state, Elsa had been relieved by that decision.

Now, a few months later, Elsa draws Anna close, pressing a kiss to her temple. She wraps her arms around Anna’s head, pulling her love to her chest, feeling as well as hearing the deep rhythmic breaths of slumber washing over Anna. She’d fallen back asleep fitfully, though it seemed true rest had stolen over her at last. Her hands clutch loosely to Elsa’s nightgown, and her exhales ghost over her sister’s collarbone.

Elsa’s eyes remain open, gaze on the far wall as the clock hands tick the night away.

This time, it was she who cannot sleep.

Trepidation churns in her stomach. She knows Anna would move the Earth, moon, and stars for her if she asked. That Anna has a heart of gold and hope, and a determination to put all of that to use.

Elsa just worries that someone.... or something… is taking advantage of that goodwill.

Not that Elsa suspects any of her co-workers in particular. While they may work in many different fields, everyone aboard Talos I’s goals are the same: the betterment of humanity through their research. These neuromods, with their ability to teach any skill provided they can find someone to model and copy, could change everything. They could give people abilities that they’d only dreamed of before. Elsa looks up at her glowing snow sphere, twinkling as it spins.

Neuromods could even make more people like her.

The thought puts a crease in her brow and she waves her hand, dispelling the magic and drenching the room in darkness once more.

Because the truth is: Elsa hadn’t asked Anna to do this. Anna had volunteered, knowing TranStar wanted what Elsa had, but that the risk of researching on the only person they knew of to have such a gift was too great. Anna, already a talented and intelligent scientist in her own right, had sacrificed her own job for Elsa’s sake, without hesitation.

And it is hurting her.

Elsa’s heart pangs with remorse. She buries her fingers in Anna’s hair and cradles her close. “It’s for the greater good,” she whispers to herself. “It’s for the greater good.”

When Anna had returned from Psychotronics that fateful day, Elsa had found her curled on her side, clutching her head and sweating bullets. Blood in her hand and blood on the sheets.

After the medical review, Anna had slept.

And slept.

For two days Elsa could barely rouse Anna long enough to eat or drink, and when she finally recovered it was as though a pall had been cast over her. Grey and listing, muted as though through a screen.

“It’s for the greater good…” Sorrow wells in Elsa’s throat. Anna breathes deep against her and Elsa wishes that her powers were something else. Something to keep Anna here, safe and sound. To keep her... hers.

Anna’s spark had tempered those two days, and Elsa isn’t sure that it fully returned. She fears that it never will. Her sister is chipper and bright, but like a gas stove with a faltering igniter, Anna’s flame is struggling to catch.

“Greater good,” Elsa’s voice breaks, tears tracking down her face to fall on Anna’s head. “It’s for the greater… good…”

Sleep comes for Elsa too, jagged and broken and troubled. She dreams of a star in her sister’s chest.

She dreams of that star going out.

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hallospaceboyy · 5 years ago

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Hey, first of all: You are incredibly talented and very pretty! Do you still take requests, even if they're angsty? If so, please do one where the "mortal" lover of Zelda is dying. Unbeknownst to all of them she is a witch and could be resurrected. Maybe the Spellmans figure it out or not, it's up to you. Have a great day and thanks a lot!

Awakening

AN: It took me FOREVER to figure out where to go with this, and this is where it went lol.

The illness is taking hold now, seeping into the very marrow of your bones, clawing it's black tendrils at your heart, your lungs, and you know it wont be long. Zelda knows it too, and rarely leaves your side. Clutches your hand through the bouts of pain coursing through you, tries to relieve you with potions. But you make her stop that, refuse the foul tasting liquids. They leave your mind addled and hazy, and you want to be present for your last moments with her. You can’t ignore the scent of death in the room, and there's an incessant ticking in your ears, the ticking of the time left on your clock – the clock of your life, drawing to its end.

“I love you, Zelda Spellman.” You whisper weakly, and it's becoming harder to breathe, and the pain in your chest is almost unbearable. They all know that it's time – time to say goodbye. Hilda, Sabrina and Ambrose stand respectfully at the side of the room, wanted to be there for your last moments. You’re family to them, and they’re all crying, Sabrina tucked into Hilda's side, trying to muffle her sobs.

Zelda kneels beside you, tears streaming down her cheeks, hands clasped in yours. “I love you, my darling.” She releases a strangled sob, squeezes your hands. “I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

“You-You'll be okay, Zelds. You're strong. Stronger than you know.”

“I won’t be. Not without you.” She strokes your hair from your face with trembling hands, and you wince as a stabbing pain clutches at your chest,

You look past her to the others, smiling softly at them despite your suffering. “You look after her for me, and each other. Don’t make me come back to haunt you.”

They all laugh, although somewhat half heartedly, through their tears.

“Don't you worry, we'll take good care of our Zelds.” Hilda replies, voice thick with tears.

Your eyes drift shut, and Zelda sobs, you feel her kiss the back of your hands, and then feel her hot lips on your forehead, dampening your pallid skin. You exhale your last breath, thinking of Zelda, feeling Zelda, and the pain ebbs away.

Hilda rushes to Zelda's side as she collapses to the ground, body wracked with sobs, she desperately clings to your hand, and Hilda gently prises her fingers away, stopping her from tugging you from the bed as she falls.

“She's gone, Zelds. She's at peace now.”

“No no Hilda. I don’t want her to be gone, I don’t-" Hilda rocks her gently, sniffling away her own tears. “We're putting her in the cain pit.” Zelda suddenly says firmly, standing on shaky legs.

“Zelds, she's mortal. It won't work.” Hilda eyes her sister, concern etched on her face.

“We’re putting her in the cain pit!” She shouts, and Hilda jumps, eyes widening.

“Okay, Zelds. Okay. We'll put her in the cain pit.”

You claw your way through the dry earth, emerging into the bright light of day, and it's so very bright it makes you squint and hiss at the assault on your eyes. You sputter and cough, spitting out the gritty dirt in your mouth, and stumble to your feet. You have no idea how you’re alive, can remember the sickness grasping at you, tearing you away from the world, from Zelda. But you feel revitalised, there's an electricity coursing through your veins, tingling at your fingers, your toes, your tongue, and it feels exquisite. You feel energised, recharged.

You don’t even knock, just barge your way through the front door, and you cough again, your throat painfully dry. You hear the scrape of chairs from the direction of the kitchen, and Zelda all but sprints down the hallway in her long flowing nightgown and floral robe. She looks exhausted, shell shocked at you standing there in your nightdress, caked in mud from head to toe, but there is also relief in her eyes.

She throws herself into your arms, and you hold her tight as she cries on your shoulder, her form shaking profusely. Sabrina is next, barrelling into the two of you and holding you both, tears tracking down her own cheeks. Soon, you're sandwiched in the middle of all of the Spellmans and you're overwhelmed with emotion, relief at being back with them, your family, your Zelda.

When they all finally pull away, you’re being scrutinised with awe, and Zelda wipes at your cheeks, paying no mind to the mud coating her fingers.

“That has got to be one of the most revolting experiences of my life, by the way.” You point your thumb behind you in the general direction of the pit you had just crawled from, and look to Hilda. “You’ve seriously done that multiple times?”

Hilda nods, laughter bubbling in her throat, and then you’re all laughing, at the absurdity of the very first words you spoke after coming back from the dead.

“But I thought the cain pit was only for witches?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at Zelda.

“Well, it is.” She takes your hand, smiling softly. “Can't you feel it, Y/N? The power coursing through you? I can feel it, I can smell it.” You shudder at her words. You can feel it, that pulsing warmth within you that you had noticed only moments ago, beside the pit.

“But, how can I be a witch, and not know?”

“Powers eventually fade to almost nothing when left unused. It was always within you, somewhere. It just needed to be awakened.” She tucks your hair behind your ear, and kisses you softly.

“You knew?”

Zelda shrugs, biting her lip. “I had an inkling. I could feel it sometimes, something within you. In our most... intimate moments. Powers are always strongest when emotions are heightened.” You blush and glance shyly at the others, avidly listening to the conversation.

“So... what now?” You look down at your hands, frowning slightly, unable to believe you could be capable of the same magic the Spellmans themselves practise.

“Now, we teach you how to use your powers. Harness them, nurture them.” Zelda grins excitedly. “We'll get you in a bath, and some food down you, and then we can start right away.” You groan as she takes your hand and begins dragging you upstairs towards the bathroom.

“Zelds, I just rose from the dead! Can't it wait?”

“No.” She states simply, and you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the ghost of a smile on your lips.

#zelda spellman x reader #zelda spellman #zelda phiona spellman #caos #caos fanfiction #chilling adventures of sabrina

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bluerene · 6 years ago

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Do you take requests for stories? If yes, I have one: Family Fluff involving a sick day for Starfire, having her husband and her two kids Mar'i and Jake take care of her. Do what you like.. Pretty Please?

Ahhhh omg yes, this sounds adorable. Here’s some Grayson Family Fluff! Hope you enjoy it

Remedy

Of all the illnesses his wife had ever taken to, Dick had found the Tamaranian Cold to be the worst.

Fevers were easy. Fevers meant Kori took an icy shower, swaddled herself in blankets, and slept for two days. Fevers were the evenings when Dick tucked the kids into bed before shutting himself in his office to work late, without the worry that his beautiful, terrifying wife would burst in and drag him off to sleep.

Eight days before Jake’s fifth birthday, an explosive sneeze from the master bathroom rattled the windows and doors of their home. This was not a fever.

The Cold always arrived without warning. It hit hard and fast, and each turn came with a bout of unpredictable symptoms. It needed a plan of attack. As it turned out, Mar’i and Jake’s mixed physiology made them immune to the common strain of cold that left their mother miserable for days. So when it reared its ugly head, the Grayson Household had all hands on deck.

“Let’s get you back into bed, m’lovely.”

“Do not baby me, Richard, it was merely a small sneeze -”

Dick shook his head, “You can tell that to the neighbors. Want me to fix those?”

Kori crossed her arms and leaned forward, allowing him to fluff the pillows at her back.

“You are fussing.”

“I’m your husband, I’m allowed to fuss.”

“It begins with the fussing, but then you will sound for the children -”

“MAR’I! JAKE!” Dick bellowed, clapping his hands over his wife’s ears, “OPERATION EXTREME SNIFFLES IS A GO!”

“X’hal, Richard.”

The sound of giggles and feet padding along the floor that reached their ears was enough to wipe the exasperation off her face and replace it with a smile.

To Dick, that alone was everything.

Mar’i floated into their bedroom and seated herself at the edge of her parent’s bed, watching the door expectantly.

“Jakey!” she called, “hurry up or else Dad’s gonna start the plan without you!”

“Wait!” her younger brother wailed, running into the room as quickly as he could, a half-dozing Silkie struggling to wiggle out of his grip, “don’t start without me, Daddy, I’m here, I’m here!!”

Dick chuckled, bending down to scoop his son up into his arms.

“Slow down, buddy, you didn’t miss a thing. Now, who remembers the plan?”

Mar’i bounced on the bed, waving her hand excitedly, “I do! Jake and me get to help you make soup and read Mom books and give her medicine so she doesn’t ‘splode the bathroom and make cards and watch The Little Mermaid until she falls asleep so that Rella and her mom can come over and help fix Mom’s cold -”

“I am still here, you know,” Kori said indignantly, unable to hide the grin that had spread across her face, “and even if I am fighting a small guffax’hlr, it is unreasonable to expect Raven to drop everything for me.”

“We already called her,” Dick said triumphantly, “and she says she could hear you sneeze from Jump.”

“She did not, do not be a clorb -”

“Kids! Let’s go make Mom some breakfast. Jake, wanna keep her company?”

Jake nodded and floated out of his father’s grasp, landing clumsily beside his mother.

Mar’i took advantage of the newly freed space on her dad and clambered onto his shoulders quickly.

“Dad,” she whispered, holding out a fist, “Operation Breakfast for Extreme Sniffles is in action!”

Kori watched Dick bump knuckles with their daughter, shaking her head as they left. The headache that had been quietly raging in her skull had heightened to a hard pounding. Her limbs felt heavy and drained of energy, there was an odd flutter in her stomach, and an itch in her nose that could only be a starbolt sneeze.

She sighed and held her arms out.

“Come here, my bumgorf.”

Jake smiled and crawled into her embrace, curling up on her chest as he always did when they cuddled.

Kori stroked his dark hair gently, pressing a soft kiss on the top of his head.

“Can I tell you a secret? You must promise not to tell your pyha’r.”

“Are you gonna tell Mar’i too?”

“No,” Kori said, “it is just between us. I am feeling a little bit of the sickness. But if you tell pyah’r he will tease me. So you must not say a word to him or your sister.”

Jake sat up and tilted his head, studying her with wide blue eyes.

“Daddy says if you’re feeling bad you’ll get grumpy ‘cuz of your tummies hurting.”

“My tummies are hurting a little,” she admitted, smiling despite herself, “but I will do my best to not be the grump.”

Her son crossed his arms, and there he was again, a miniature version of the boy she had fallen in love with all those years ago. Kori’s four year old was serious, thoughtful, and surprisingly observant. Mar’i, who was every bit the acrobat her father was and possessed her mother’s energy and sunny personality, flitted about in crowds with confidence. Jake, on the other hand, demonstrated the same silent watchfulness as her Robin. Whether they were at the movie theater, a dinner party, or in their home, he behaved like a quiet protector. Just like he was doing now.

“If your tummies are hurting, Daddy should know.”

Kori rolled her eyes.

“I am sure he already does. Now, I believe I was promised some of the get well cards?”

“Can I make them in here if I’m quiet? I promise I won’t get marker on your bed.”

She nodded and allowed Jake to wiggle out of her hold, climbing off the bed, and racing out of her bedroom.

Kori leaned back into her pillow and groaned, shutting her eyes. She hated the cold. What she wanted and needed more than anything was a steaming bowl of-

“Fyegnar Root and Jek’k soup!” Mar’i announced cheerfully, balancing a full tray of food in her arms. Dick followed her with arms open, ready to grab her if anything fell.

Mar’i placed the tray on her mother’s lap and grinned, “Daddy says it’s your favorite.”

“I always keep a few packs of it frozen, just in case,” Dick explained with a wink, “we also made you toast with sp’tflink jelly.”

“And zorkaberry juice!”

Kori beamed, touching her daughter’s cheek.

“That is very sweet of you Mar’i. Will you go check on your brother and make sure he is not having trouble bringing his items for coloring?”

Mar’i nodded and bounded off to find Jake, leaving her parents to themselves.

Dick held up his hands apologetically (though the smug look on his face said otherwise).

“I know you said you aren’t sick, but I cleared my schedule and the kids didn’t have anything planned for today, so I figured we’d take care of you. It’s good practice anyhow.”

“For?”

Her husband grinned.

“When baby number three comes around, Team Grayson will be totally ready to handle the mood swings, the morning sickness, and everything in between.”

Kori burst into laughter and shook her head, taking Dick’s hand.

“I should not be surprised you know, but I would like to know how you figured it out. I have only known for a few days.”

Dick bent down to kiss her cheek, intertwining their fingers.

“I’d be a pretty terrible husband if I didn’t pick up on any of the signs the third time around. And you’ve been overly sneaky this last week. Mar’i also found six positive tests in the trash while she was doing her chores and she asked me what they were soooooo…”

She smacked his arm lightly.

“You are such a…an usstor varblernelk. Why did you not say anything to me?”

He shrugged.

“I trusted you’d tell me when you felt ready. I remember how nervous you were when we found out about Mar’i and Jake. It made more sense to wait.”

Kori kissed the back of his palm and smiled.

“That must have been difficult for you.”

“Oh, you have no idea, it’s been exhausting,” he joked, “so I’d love it if you’d indulge me with some bed rest and family snuggles. Just until you’re feeling better.”

“It will be seven months before that happens,” she mumbled, playing with their joined hands.

“Totally worth it, babe.”

They sat there for hours, talking and touching and laughing as their children flitted in and out of the room, bringing books and hastily scribbled cards to the foot of the bed. Dick dared to taste the sp’tflink jelly that his wife had loved for so long, quickly tossing it at Silkie to finish it off before she noticed. Mar’i refilled her mother’s juice dutifully, before floating into bed with her tablet to watch The Little Mermaid. Jake lay curled up against Kori’s side, napping peacefully. There, with her family bundled up in her arms, her husband beside her as he had always been, Kori finally fell asleep.

When she roused she could feel the headache pass and the tightness of her limbs ebb away as the flow of energy slowly returned to her body. The fluttering in her stomach had grown stronger, but it was clear to her that it wasn’t a symptom of the cold.

“Feeling better?” Dick asked softly, stroking her hair.

She nodded, blinking tiredly, “much better. I believe it was the soup.”

“Well, Raven popped by while you were sleeping, “ he admitted, “but we didn’t want to wake you. She gives her love, by the way. And -” He paused for a moment to retrieve his phone from his pocket, “she’s confirmed a strong heartbeat, good flow of energy, and a lot of activity.”

“Oh,” Kori said, drawing her hands to her mouth.

“I wanted you to worry about it a little less,” Dick said, lips pulling into a half-smile, “I know you would’ve wanted to be awake for it but you’re sick and stressed -mmph!”

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level, kissing him soundly, careful not to move Jake.

“I love you so much, Richard,” Kori whispered, pecking him on the nose, “I love you now and always and our beautiful family.”

He touched his forehead to hers, gazing into her shining green eyes.

“I love you too, Star. Always have and always will.”

“Did Raven say it was safe to tell people?”

Dick placed a hand on her stomach and nuzzled her neck, peppering kisses along her skin. She giggled and tilted her head back, beaming as he shared his enthusiasm with her.

“Another week if you’re still worried, but otherwise, yeah, she’s given the green light. Wanna wake the kids?”

Kori glanced over at the little boy snoring by her ribs and the fierce girl snuggling beside her brother. She placed her hand on her stomach and closed her eyes, imagining the feelings to come in the next few months.

“Tomorrow. For now, it can just be us.”

The cold, in an unusual twist of fate, had passed quicker than Dick had ever seen it go. In the Grayson Household that night, there was only warmth.

#blue writes #blue answers #thank u for asking!#steward-of-geekdom62 #starfire #dick grayson #mariand'r #jake grayson #dickkory #fic #teen titans #grayson family fluff!!!#ahhhhh is this good or not i can't tell lmao #robstar

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aswithasunbeam · 7 years ago

Text

Homecoming, a Hamliza fanfic

Summary: Eliza and her family are thrilled to finally have her husband home from the war, but Hamilton is far from well. She cares for him.

Warnings: Enslaved character; vomiting

[Read on A03]

The bed was empty.

Eliza halted in the doorway with the tea tray, looking about the room with confusion. Medicinal bottles still cluttered the side table beside the water basin. Eliza’s dressing gown still hung over the back of the chair by the bed. The stale air of the room was just the same as when she’d left. Only her husband was missing.

She placed the tea tray down on the bureau and pressed her palm against her back in a futile effort to ease the ache that had sat there since she entered her seventh month of pregnancy. Where had he gone? She moved towards the bed, her brow wrinkled with worry. The bedding was disordered; the sheets and pillow case were damp with sweat.

The creak of a floorboard caught her ear, and she turned to see Hamilton braced against the door frame, face pale and shiny with perspiration.

“Hamilton!” she gasped, hurrying towards him as fast as her protruding belly would allow. “What are you doing out of bed?”

He coughed roughly into his fist, but then smiled weakly. “I went for a bath,” he answered when he had his breath back.

“A bath,” she repeated flatly. Unbelievable. He nodded. His smile made his blue eyes glitter. She gazed up at his handsome features and debated whether to kiss him or slap him. Perhaps both. “Do you know how worried I was? I didn’t know where you were.”

His smile dimmed. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

The apology dispelled some of the urge to slap him, so she leaned up to kiss him softly. She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt his muscles trembling under the strain of standing. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I’m all right,” he whispered, but he didn’t object when she slipped an arm under his own to brace him.

He refused to get into the bed. Instead, he sunk into her chair, his head tipping back and his eyes falling shut. “Diana promised to bring fresh bedding,” he explained. “The sheets are soaked. I believe my fever has finally broken.”

Before she could say anything, the house keeper entered carrying a bundle of fresh linen. “I have some nice fresh sheets for you, Colonel Hamilton. I’ll have these changed in just a few moments,” Diana cooed reassuringly. “Are you feeling better after your bath, sir?”

“Much improved, thank you,” Hamilton replied, giving the middle aged servant a charming smile. Diana, who Betsey had rarely seen so much a smile during the whole of her childhood, quite nearly giggled at Hamilton’s attention. Hamilton seemed to have that effect on the whole female sex. Diana must have been the one to draw the bath for him when Eliza went for refreshment downstairs, she realized.

“Betsey, darling, would you open the window?” he requested as they watched Diana efficiently stripping the bed.

“It’s December. You’ll catch your death,” Eliza refused.

“Just for a few minutes?” he pleaded, turning those eyes back to her. “I could do with some fresh air.” His palm moved gently over his middle, gliding over the soft material of his night shirt to settle over his stomach. He’d told her before that the heat from the roaring fire and close air of the room made him feel queasy.

“One minute,” she agreed reluctantly. She cupped his cheek fondly and kissed his temple before going to the window. After she’d pried it open the icy air of winter rushed through, causing goose pimples to rise immediately on her arms.

Hamilton gave a sigh of relief behind her.

“There, now, Colonel. The bed is all ready for you,” Diana announced as she gathered up the sweat soiled sheets for the wash.

“Thank you, Diana,” Hamilton said, smiling again.

The stern house keeper seemed to fight down a girlish giggle once more. She eyed Eliza before taking leave of the room, warning, “Don’t leave that window open too long, Miss Betsey.”

The bedroom door closed behind her with a click.

“Do you think she will ever take to calling you Mrs. Hamilton?” Hamilton asked, chuckling softly.

“I don’t think she likes thinking that Angelica and I are old enough to be married,” Eliza explained. “She’s been with us since we were infants.”

The mirth disappeared from his face quite suddenly. She winced as she realized her misstep in mentioning the purpose of Diana’s purchase and the length of her servitude. When they were first married, Hamilton had explained his distaste for slavery. He told her the cruelty he had witnessed in the Caribbean, and about the little boy he had grown up with who had been sold immediately upon his mother’s death. Eliza agreed with him more the more she considered the issue, but neither of them were in any position to demand her parents release their servants.

She turned towards the window.

“Please, darling, just a few minutes more. It really does help,” Hamilton asked as he levied himself off the chair with a groan.

“At least get under the covers,” Eliza sighed. “I’d hate to get you back from the war only to be widowed by your insistence on fresh air.”

Something dark passed over his expression, as it always did when she mentioned the war, but it disappeared quickly, replaced by a his sunny smile as he eased into the newly made bed. “A great improvement,” he declared as he settled in. “When I woke, I was bathed in sweat and my stench offended even me.”

“I brought up some tea,” she told him as she helped arrange the blankets over his legs. “Although it’s probably ice cold by now.”

His nose wrinkled lightly. “Thank you, dearest, although I wouldn’t much care for tea at the moment anyway,” he said.

She worried about his persistent nausea. He’d lost at least a stone during this bout of illness, and he’d been skin and bone to begin with. “Is there anything you would care for?” she asked. “Anything at all?”

He cocked his head to the side as if considering. “Something sweet,” he decided seriously. “Perhaps something chocolate, or, maybe, some cherry tarts?”

Eliza let out a fond chuckle. “I thought your stomach was upset. Really, you were just holding out for sweetmeats.”

“The cool air helps tremendously,” he told her with the same serious expression, although it soon gave way to the eye crinkling smile that made her knees feel wobbly.

She kissed him again. “I’ll see if I can find you some sweets,” she promised.

A loud rap on the door startled them both. A moment later, Philip Schuyler poked his head around the door.

“How is my favorite son in law?” he asked loudly, stepping into the room and leaving the door ajar.

Eliza glanced furtively at the open door, hoping Angelica and John weren’t in earshot. Hamilton laughed heartily, as though her father had just told a great joke. “I won’t tell John, sir,” he answered easily.

Her father look unconcerned with whether Hamilton mentioned it to John or not. He may have accepted John into the house, but he still wasn’t entirely happy with the man who had eloped with Angelica against her father’s will. Eliza had spent her life in Angelica’s shadow. She still wasn’t used to this new world order, where she basked in Hamilton’s glow while Angelica withered in the shade of disapproval.

“How are you feeling, son?” her father repeated, voice softer.

“Stronger every day, General,” Hamilton replied. He’d been saying that ever since he came home from Yorktown. He’d rasped it out while a doctor hovered at his side, monitoring his pulse with a worried expression. Still, he did seem better today.

“Good,” Philip nodded.

“Hamilton was just saying he felt well enough to try some of mother’s cherry tarts, Papa,” Eliza reported.

Philip clapped his hands with pleasure. “How wonderful! I’m sure Kitty will make you a special batch. They’re delightful when their still warm from the oven.”

“If memory serves, they’re delightful any way, sir,” Hamilton replied.

Philip laughed. “Betsey, my beloved girl, why don’t you go ask Mama to cook up a batch? I’ll keep your young man company while you’re gone.”

He wanted to talk business of some form, she sensed, likely something related to the army or Hamilton’s future career as a lawyer. She snuck a glance at Hamilton, meeting his eye. He’d been so ill and tired, she didn’t want him forced into a conversation he wasn’t up to having.

He gave her a little nod. “Bring back a plate full,” he requested.

She’d be surprised if he so much as nibbled a corner, but she promised him a heaping plate. She closed the window quickly, before Hamilton could voice a complaint, then stepped outside. The door clicked behind her, followed immediately by the sound of her father’s low, raspy voice.

She began to make her way down the stairs, smiling to herself at her father’s fondness and enthusiasm for her husband. In Morristown, two years ago now, her father had been beside himself with joy when he heard the name of her suitor. Still unmarried at the age of twenty-two, Eliza had sensed his concern with her prospects. When she related that Colonel Hamilton, of General Washington’s staff, had been courting her, Philip had given her the smile until then reserved for Angelica when she made a particularly clever comment.

And, when word reached them a few weeks ago that Hamilton had lead the attack on one of the British forts and thus helped secure the surrender at Yorktown, her father’s chest had puffed up with pride. My son, the hero of Yorktown, he took to saying at every available opportunity, his face beaming. She sobered as she remembered her eldest brother John’s face upon hearing that for the first time. Her other brothers, Philip and Rensselaer, hadn’t looked terribly happy either. Never mind Angelica’s husband, even her father’s natural born sons felt displaced by her father’s regard for Hamilton. She wondered if Angelica had felt guilty when she had been the object of such apparent favoritism.

The kitchen was humming with the sounds of a great dinner being prepared. Christmas and the New Year were fast approaching. The number of guests in their home always exploded at this time of year. Kitty Schuyler stood calmly in the center of the ordered chaos.

“Do you need something sweetheart?” her mother asked upon seeing her.

“Hamilton’s feeling up to trying some food. He requested something sweet, perhaps some of your cherry tarts?” Eliza asked, kissing her mother’s cheek.

“Of course!” Kitty cried, face lighting up. “I’ll make him some fresh right now. They’re best warm from the oven.”

Eliza held in a laugh at her mother’s inadvertent echo of her father. After two and a half decades of marriage, the two seemed mentally linked. She wondered if she and Hamilton would be like that in twenty years or so.

“Should I help with anything?” she asked, looking around at the servants bustling around as they prepared for the latest grand dinner.

“No, no. You should have a seat and rest,” Kitty urged. Her hand rubbed fondly at Eliza’s prominent belly as she nodded to a stool.

Eliza sighed and sat down, rubbing her own hand over her round stomach. The idea of childbirth was nerve wracking, but part of her couldn’t wait for it to be over. She’d always been hardy and active. Ever since she’d realized she was pregnant, however, people had been treating her like an invalid. Everyone wanted her to rest, even Hamilton. Resting was terribly boring when there was nothing wrong with you. She rested an elbow on the counter, her head on her fist, and contented herself with waiting.

Not too long after, Eliza was climbing the steps with a heaping pile of tarts still hot from the oven. She knocked once on the closed door to announce herself and then pushed inside. “Fresh cherry tarts, warm from the oven, as requested.”

She looked up to see her father sitting in the chair by the bed. He held a finger to his lips and nodded to the bed. Hamilton had fallen asleep again.

Eliza hesitated, then shook her head. “We should wake him. He needs to eat something.”

Her father reached a calloused hand towards her husband, laying it gently on his brow. He shook his head. “Still feels warm to me, poor fellow.”

“He said he thought his fever had broken,” Eliza said, disappointed at this new setback.

“Well, if it did, it’s come back.” Philip sighed and looked at her. “Still, perhaps you’re right. It’s important for him to eat. Keep his strength up.”

Eliza stepped up to the bed and shook Hamilton by the shoulder gently. “Sweetheart? Wake up.”

“Mm,” he hummed, turning his face away.

“Hamilton, darling, you need to wake up.”

“Son?” Philip added, patting his large hand over Hamilton’s slender chest lightly.

“What?” Hamilton asked, voice slurred with sleep.

“Food, sweetheart,” Eliza explained. “You need to eat.”

His brow wrinkled, but his eyes blinked open. Eliza leaned in to press a kiss to his soft pink lips. As she pulled away, his lips quirked up. “That’s the way I want to wake for the rest of my life,” he whispered hoarsely.

Philip cleared his throat beside them.

“My apologies, General. I didn’t mean to drift off during our talk,” Hamilton said.

Philip waved a hand as if to banish the words. “Think no more of it. We’ll talk more when you feel better. Until then, rest, and do as my dear girl says. And that includes eating.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I will leave you to her tender ministrations. Be well, son.” Philip rose with a hint of a wince, no doubt from putting weight on his gouty toe. Eliza frowned at him, which prompted him to chuckle. “Focus your maternal inclinations on your husband, my dear. I get plenty of those looks from your mother.”

He walked around the bed, pressed a kiss to her brow, then patted her belly twice before leaving the room.

Eliza collected the plate and settled onto the bed, holding out a cherry tart to her husband. His pale complexion turned slightly green as he looked at the treat, but he took it obediently. He stared down at it for a long moment. Finally, he held it to his lips. He took a long breath through his nose and then bit off a corner. Eliza patted his leg approvingly.

“What did Papa wish to speak to you about?” Eliza asked after he’d finished chewing his second bite.

“General Washington has settled into his winter encampment with the army. Your Papa wanted to know if I intended on joining him.”

Eliza felt her heart skip a beat. Joining Washington? But the war was over, surely? He was supposed to be home for good now. “And? Do you?”

He shook his head, his bright blue eyes locking with her own. “No. Not unless the war starts up again, and I don’t see how it could.”

Papa surely knew that more fighting wasn’t likely. “Why did Papa think you might rejoin General Washington, then?”

“I had asked him to send a letter to the General yesterday. I needed to request additional leave, as I haven’t yet resigned my commission. I assured your Papa that I would, once I was sure the fighting was over. We’ll know more this coming spring.”

Eliza didn’t like the hinted possibility of losing him to the army again, but she fought down her concern. The fighting was over. Hamilton said so, and Papa. He was just being a good soldier, she consoled herself.

Hamilton looked down at the tart held loosely in his hand, then back up at her. “I can’t finish this,” he said apologetically.

“That’s all right,” she assured him, placing the unfinished pastry back on the plate for him.

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then, suddenly, Hamilton grabbed her wrist. “I need a basin,” he gasped.

Eliza’s eyes widened and she scrambled to grab the water basin on the side table. She shoved it before him just in time for him to lean forward and heave. A watery mix of undigested tart and the endless tea she’d been forcing on him splattered into the bowl. He heaved a second time, bringing up little more than spit and bile. Then, for several minutes, he heaved dryly over the bowl, retching and spitting until his face was red and shiny.

He reached a shaking hand out to the handkerchief sitting on the side table. He closed his eyes as he wiped the remnants of vomit from his lips and sat back.

“Are you done?” Eliza asked softly.

He nodded once.

She placed the basin on the side table to be disposed of momentarily.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His cheeks were still pink, but she thought she sensed embarrassment as the root cause now. She shook her head and reached for his hand.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I did plenty of that in the early days of my pregnancy. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

His face fell even more. “I should have been here with you.”

She winced. She was trying to make him feel better, not bring up feelings of guilt. “I was all right. And you were fighting to make the country safe for our child. A much greater use than sitting aside of me while I was vomiting.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded.

“I’ll go clean this out, and bring the tarts downstairs again for now,” she announced.

Hamilton shook his head once. “Leave the tarts. I’m going to try to eat again in a few minutes, once my stomach settles a little more.”

“Are you sure?” Eliza asked.

He nodded. His palm splayed over his middle again as he confessed, “I think some of the pain is from being so empty. I really need to eat something.”

She felt her heart melting for him and she reached out to squeeze his free hand. “Perhaps something else would be better, something lighter?” she suggested. Cherry tarts didn’t seem like the most stomach friendly food to her. “Some broth?”

“They…they taste all right when they…come back up,” he said hesitantly.

Ah. She could sympathize with that. “All right. I’ll just clear out the basin, then, shall I?”

He nodded.

“Do you want the window open again?” she asked gently.

“I thought I would catch my death?” he replied with a smirk.

“I just want you to feel better.”

“Another breath of cool air may help.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand again before standing and going to the window. Fumbling with the latch, she wrenched it open once more. The icy air felt even colder than before, and she could see her breath as she exhaled. Just a few minutes, she promised herself. He wouldn’t be harmed by just a few minutes of cold.

After she’d rinsed the basin in the kitchen, she returned to the room and sat by her husband while he tried to eat again. In the end, he managed to keep down about a third of a tart. Not much, but more than he’d taken in a while, so she decided to call it a victory. He fell asleep soon after.

She dressed for dinner quietly, not wishing to disturb him. Many guests had arrived for the meal when she made her way downstairs once more. Blessings and congratulations were showered upon her, along with well-wishes for her ailing husband.

“He’ll be up and about in no time,” her father interjected into one such conversation after they’d sat to eat. “We’re all so very proud of him.”

“I had hoped to be regaled with the victory at Yorktown,” Judge Livingston replied. “I’m sorry Colonel Hamilton is so unwell.”

“I’m sure Papa could tell it to you,” Angelica said with a teasing smile from a few seats down. “He’s spoken of little else the past weeks.” Nothing but good humor showed in her sister’s face, but Eliza wondered if she was hiding hurt feelings.

Her father didn’t seem concerned at all. He welcomed the invitation, and immediately launched into the tale he’d pulled from Hamilton not long after he’d stepped through the door of the Pastures. Eliza glanced back at her sister and caught her eye. Angelica grinned at her. Eliza grinned back, silently thanking God for granting her the perfect sister.

After the meal, they retired to the parlor for conversation and cards. Dinner had been later than usual to accommodate traveling guests and it was well past dark as they settled into the warm room. Eliza remained long enough to be polite, then excused herself, claiming fatigue. “Sleep well, my beloved child,” her father wished as she left the room.

“Good night, Papa,” she responded.

The quiet of the upstairs house was a welcome relief from the lively conversation below. She entered the bedroom to find Hamilton still sound asleep in the bed. She undressed in silence, pulling on a nightgown and then blowing out the candle. The bed was warm from her husband’s body heat, and she curled against him. She dropped to sleep quickly.

Movement woke her. She blinked open her eyes to find the room still dark. Hamilton tossed beside her, rolling onto his side, then onto his back again, muttering. He whimpered. Sitting up quickly, she reached for him.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” she cooed softly as she shook his shoulder. “It’s only a dream.”

“No,” he whimpered again.

She placed her palm against his cheek, then jerked it away, startled by the heat. He was burning up with fever. “Hamilton,” she said with more urgency.

“Mm…’liza?” he slurred.

“Yes, darling,” she confirmed.

“’liza, I’m cold,” he said plaintively. “I’m so cold.”

She could feel him shivering, his whole body tense as he shook with chills. She pushed the blankets back and moved to get up. “I’m going to ask Papa to send for the doctor,” she told him.

“No,” he groaned miserably. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave me. I’m so cold.”

Worry sat heavy in her gut. “You need the doctor,” she argued.

“Please, hold me. Just hold me.” His teeth were chattering, and his breath was coming in staccato gasps, as though he were standing outside in the freezing cold with no protection.

She closed her eyes to fight back tears, then adjusted in the bed so she could wrap him in her arms. She’d go get Papa when he fell asleep again, she decided. He shook horribly in her arms. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, and his skin felt dry and frightfully hot. The baby kicked at her, unsettled by her anxiety, and she fought to take calming breaths. She rubbed her hands up and down her husband’s back, hoping to relax and soothe him.

He went limp in her arms after some time. She eased her arm out from under him, kissed his brow quickly, then hurried from the room towards her parents. Her father woke with a startled shout, sitting straight up in bed.

“Papa, you need to send for the doctor,” she said as soon as she was sure he was awake. Philip wasted not a moment, jumping from the bed and hurrying into action. Her mother got up as well, and had Eliza go downstairs to sit in the parlor with some tea to calm her.

“He’s very strong, darling. He’ll be all right,” Kitty soothed when the doctor finally arrived and hurried upstairs.

The doctor stayed upstairs with Hamilton for well over an hour. Twice Eliza rose to go check on them, and twice her mother had her sit again. “Leave the doctor to his work. Once he’s done you can stay with Hamilton to your heart’s content.”

Finally, the doctor came down, conferring quietly with Papa. The two men stopped in the parlor and the doctor gave Eliza a weak, closed-lipped smile. “You did well to send for me, Mrs. Hamilton. Your husband’s fever had climbed dangerously high.”

“Is he all right?” Eliza demanded.

“His fever has abated somewhat. I gave him laudanum to help him rest. That will keep him asleep for some time, so don’t fret if you have trouble waking him. He should be all right now.”

Eliza smiled shakily at the doctor. “Thank you.”

Her father showed the doctor out, and Eliza hurried upstairs once more, eager to see for herself that her husband was out of danger. The room was illuminated by a freshly stoked fire when she re-entered. Hamilton was on his back, his face slack in his drug-induced sleep.

She crawled back into the bed. Settling onto her side, she gazed at his profile. Hamilton’s hands rested on his stomach and she reached out to hold one in her own.

“Hi,” he mumbled, his eyes opening a sliver to look at her.

Eliza smiled, surprised. “I thought you were asleep,” she whispered.

“Almost.”

“Just rest, sweetheart.”

With what looked like real effort, he scooted down in the bed until his head rested on her chest. One of his arms looped around her belly protectively, his thumb stroking at her side. He let out a long breath and whispered, “Better.”

She held him against her, relishing the feel of him in her arms. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

She felt him nod against her. He muttered, “Me, too.”

#hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #eliza schuyler hamilton #hamliza #historical hamliza #sickfic #hurt/comfort #post yorktown

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maybrandon · 4 years ago

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Reiki Master 3 Creative And Inexpensive Diy Ideas

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#Reiki Master 3 Creative And Inexpensive Diy Ideas #Reiki Energy Flow

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confessionsofacookie · 8 years ago

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Don’t Steal From The Bogeyman (John Wick x Reader)

For the anon who asked: a fic where john almost lost reader during a job or something, like saving reader then passionate smut ;D

Author’s Note: i hope you enjoy. I had a migraine when i wrote this one but i know how much people must be looking out for their requests so i finished it. i hope you like and enjoy it.

Pairing : John Wick x Reader

Don’t Steal From The Bogeyman

I huffed heavily, trying to drag as much air into my lungs over the gag that covered my nose and mouth. The dank smell of my surroundings assaulted me through the rough fabric. I was seated in a rusting metal chair with my arms bound behind my back. I was placed in the centre of a dingy, darkened, abandoned warehouse. Weak, yellowed light filtered through dirt encrusted windows. Some of the glass panels were broken allowing the outside foliage to migrate within.

I couldn’t tell what time it was because I couldn’t see the sun and the quality of light shining through didn’t seem to change much. All I knew was that it was getting cold, fast, which meant the day was coming to a close. I shivered in the short sleeve, white blouse and trousers I had been taken in.

I had just arrived home from the grocery when two men jumped out from the bushes and pressed a cloth to my face. Instantly I fell asleep and awoke to the place I was currently being held. I didn’t know how many hours had passed or why they were doing this.

Two men dressed in tactical gear and face masks were propped in the back corners of the room watching me.

A walkie-talkie crackled “, any movement?”

“It’s quiet,” replied the man to my left.

“Just wait, he’ll come for his woman,” the walkie crackled again.

Did they mean John? My heart lurched at the thought. John, the love of my life, was probably going out of his mind looking for me right now. They couldn’t possibly mean him. He was a travelling business man and was currently on a break from work. This was all probably just a case of mistaken identity.

Tears brimmed in my eyes and I did nothing to prevent them from falling. My vision swam before me as the liquid spilt down my cheeks and soaked the gag. Quietly I sobbed.

One of the men walked out from the room, his weapon slung across his back. Footsteps echoed behind me.

A hand fisted in my hair and jerked my head back painfully, I winced “, he won’t be back right now. So how bout we have some fun?”

The tears stopped instantly. A wintry blast of fear filled me. I recoiled from his warm rotting breath and did my best to squirm away from him. His grip on my head held me in place. My scalp was lancing at the tension at which he held my hair.

He yanked my hair violently again “, stay still bitch. It’ll be better for you.”

I growled at him through the gag, hurling muffled insults and curses at him. He released my hair, walked around me, stooped to eye level and removed the gag. He smiled, only his teeth and obsidian eyes shining out from under the ski mask he wore. I screamed. Suddenly I found myself still in the chair on the ground, disoriented, the right side of my face on fire. I opened and closed my eyes a few times; a tear trickled from my right eye. I was vaguely aware of the chair being lifted and being set upright.

He stooped to eyelevel again, his blurry face pressed close to mines “, don’t do that again or you’ll end back up on the ground with much more than a split lip. Maybe I could fill your mouth with my dick so you won’t be able to scream.”

He stoked my hair caressingly, panic filling my bones “, now what am I going to do with you baby?”

His hand trailed lower, skimming over my neck, across my shoulder before cupping my breast. He squeezed. With all the strength I could muster, I slammed my head into his nose. He fell onto his back in a flurry of curses.

“Fuck you,” I gritted.

He sat up and laughed, blood coating his teeth making him look like a devil from hell.

“Oh honey, that’s what I intend to do with you.”

The wind howled ominously, battering the old galvanized roof and filling the room with its frigid self. Goosebumps broke out on my skin; a shiver crept up my spine.

Gunshots erupted from outside. I turned my head to the sound. The man swore again and tied the gag back on my mouth, grabbed his gun and ran to the shadows behind me. Various explosions were happening, the orange bursts momentarily increasing the amount of light in the room like camera flashes. Men were grunting and screaming in pain. The sounds of the gun fight increased.

The glass behind me shattered as a nearby explosion shook the building. I screamed and struggled against my bonds only to have it cut into my wrists. I sobbed and grunted, tugging and pulling at the ties. I rocked too hard on my chair and ended back sideways on the floor.

The noise from outside stopped, even the insects ceased to make a peep. I laid on the ground sobbing and hiccupping when the door to the warehouse squeaked open. I couldn’t see who it was through my cloudy vision but I didn’t care, I was going to die. Oh, John how I wish I had seen you one last time. I felt my insides crumple at the thought.

The figure walked into the room, and rushed towards me. I looked at the stranger through watery eyes.

John?

“y/n,” asked John quietly and pulled off gag. His eyes were murderous as his finger carefully ghosted over my split lip.

“John?” I whispered in disbelief.

He pulled a knife out from his pants leg.

“Drop the knife Wick and the gun,” threatened a voice from the shadows. I had forgotten about him and stared wide-eyed at John. He was going to get killed.

Ignoring the man, he asked me “, who hurt you?” his large warm fingers smoothed my hair.

My eyes darted to the man appearing from the shadows. A dangerous calm settled over John as he stood to face the assailant. The man had his gun pointed on John, finger on the trigger ready to fire.

It happened so quickly, John rolling behind an old stack of crates, the man firing after him, and then a knife was sticking out of his neck and John holding a handgun repeatedly firing into what was left of the man’s head.

I couldn’t breathe; my lungs couldn’t draw in enough air. I did my best taking in the oxygen through my nose and mouth simultaneously. I felt like someone was squeezing my lungs. I began panting, shallow in and out breaths. The edges of my vision were darkening until black was all I could see and everything went silent.

John, my John had just killed a man.

I was jostled out of my slumber. I cracked an eye to see a blackened sky and pin pricks of silver light staring down at me. I was warm and vaguely aware that I was moving. The light from a street light flashed in my face. I squinted and tried to sit up, my whole world rocked and pitched. I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat and eased my way into a sitting position.

I was in a car. I rubbed the seat – leather. I looked more carefully at the interior, it was John’s car. I looked at his form in the driver’s seat, face impartial in the rear-view mirror. I shuddered remembering the events that had taken place probably not more than an hour ago.

Who was this man?

He met my eyes in the mirror, quickly I looked away “, we’ll be home soon.”

I didn’t respond but looked down at my lap at the crumpled jacket that had covered me. I picked it up and buried my face into the fabric. I inhaled deeply catching a faint whiff of his cologne, aftershave, burnt matter and copper pennies. I let my hands drop, still clutching the jacket and stared out the window.

Who was this man?

Sometime later we arrived home. Quickly he hopped out of the driver’s seat and opened the passenger’s door for me to get out. The sickly feeling had left me and I stood on steady feet. A light wind blew and shifted a piece of hair in my face. John raised his hand to brush it aside, instinctively I flinched. Instantly he dropped his hand, curling his fingers into fists at his sides, a wounded and tortured expression coating his features.

He walked away from me and opened the door to the house, motioning me to enter. The lights turned on automatically as I entered the sitting room. I stood in the centre of the room my back to John. I could feel him watching me, assessing my movements and reactions.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

“You know who I am,” he responded quietly.

I spun. “Do I? You just killed a man!” I whimpered, my voice an octave higher and edging on hysteria.

John was still standing in the doorway, hands clenched in fists and a neutral expression on his face.

“Who were they?” I shouted, tears brimming in my eyes “, tell me Jonathon!”

His dark eyes dropped to my chin contemplative.

“Please,” I begged, clutching his jacket to my chest “, I need to know.”

He sighed regretfully “, relics of my past.”

I frowned and forcibly willed the tears on the verge of spilling back “, what?”

His eyes found mines once again “, I was a contracted killer, the best actually and I left the business but, it seems some people still have some personal vendettas against me.”

The words seemed to reverberate in the room. I was a contracted killer… John was contracted killer… john was… Suddenly I felt ill again and the world was slowly spinning. I forced myself to stay upright.

I licked my lips nervously “, you say, was – why did you quit?”

“Because of you,” he said simply, but there was so much love and devotion attached to the simple statement.

Unwillingly a tear spilt. Then another and another until I was ugly crying. All the trauma and painful truths spilling out on my face.

Warm strong arms banded around my waist. John pulled me to his chest. I fisted my hands into his blood splattered shirt and bawled into his shoulder. Soothingly he rubbed circles into my back and stroked my hair as I cried.

Eventually I stopped and just clung to him. His arms around me feeling so familiar, just like home. God, I loved him, I loved him so much!

“I’m sorry for keeping this from you,” he murmured into my hair and pressed a kiss on my forehead.

I turned my face to his “, the past is the past,” I said hoarsely, meaning every word I said.

He gave me a small appreciative smile and kissed my nose, my eyes and cheeks. Slowly and carefully as not to scare me off he pressed his lips to mines in a tender kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me deepening the kiss.

“Open your mouth,” I murmured against his lips and he complied.

I slid my tongue inside, running it over his bottom lip, thrusting slowly in and out of his mouth. A flame erupted in my core and slowly it spread consuming my entire body.

I pushed up on my toes and nipped at John’s ear “, I need you in me.”

He responded by ripping open my shirt, spilling the cream buttons over the beige rug. I kissed him hungrily. Urgently I grabbed at his clothes, clumsily unbuttoning them. I disposed of his shirt and raked my nails over his bare chest and back. I didn’t want his mouth to leave mines. I felt him rip off my bra and he tossed it somewhere across the room.

Hastily we undid each other’s pants, our mouths still joined. I fumbled with his buckle unable to remove it. Unwillingly I broke the kiss and looked down, his hand found my breast and squeezed it gently, kneading and massaging the delicate flesh. Goosebumps erupted onto my skin. He flicked a thumb over my nipple and I stilled feeling the pleasure emanate through my body and pool between my legs. John’s other hand was working my trousers down my hips. His lips sucked a trail down my neck and over my collar bone. I was barely seeing straight, the carnal instinct to mount him growing leaps and bounds.

I let out a triumphant squeak as I undid his pants and watched as it pooled around his legs. I yanked down his boxers and shoved him onto the floor, he fell backward with a heavy thud. I ripped off my underwear and tossed it over my shoulder.

I licked my lips hungrily as I watched the length of him. His cock laid back on his stomach, swollen, the vein underneath protruding through the silky skin. The cherry head was already leaking precum.

Wasting no more time I kneeled over him and pick him up in my hand. I pumped it a few times earning me a shuddering moan. Slowly I slid onto him, both of us groaning from the contact. I sat on him a few seconds letting my insides stretch.

Somehow with him being in me, I didn’t want to take it fast. John pushed himself up onto his elbows. I placed a hand in the centre of his chest “, no, stay down.”

He complied and laid back down, his almond eyes locked on mines.

“I love you,” he whispered.

I rolled my hips, we gasped together. He placed his large hand on my hips steadying me as I rode him slowly, working my hips backwards and forwards in a rhythmic motion. He let me take control, knowing that I needed this.

The electrifying feeling was building, churning in my core and numbing my legs. I was close. Planting a hand in the centre of his chest to brace myself I increased my pace, both of us groaning with each stroke. I came, my head through back, a guttural groan sounding from my lips as ecstasy bubbled and burned slowly through my body. I continued rocked my hips in no particular motion riding out the orgasm.

I looked down at John, a satisfied smile on his lips. He pulled me down to him for a kiss and stroked my hair and slicked skin. I slipped him out of me and laid on his outstretched arm panting lightly.

Something seemed odd, I frowned at him “, didn’t you come?”

Absently he brushed my hair “, it’s alright, don’t worry about me.”

My frown deepened and I sat up “, I can’t have that, this is for both of us.”

I crawled between his legs and picked up his still engorged cock. I licked my lips and gave him a naughty smile before my head descended upon the cherry tip and a rasping grunt escaped.

#John Wick #john wick x reader #john wick 2 #john wick chapter 2 #john wick two #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader

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paranoiakrp · 5 years ago

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CITIZEN FILE RETRIEVED: JUNG JUNO ...

STATS

name / jung juno d.o.b. / 03.15.93 age / 26 pronouns / she/her job / research & development at doryeongsan national park societies / grimoire groups / vlog › host

WHATS YOUR WEIRD?

jung juno is a scientist, and thus, when presented with a grimoire of magical dealings, approached it as a science. what is a grimoire but a more delightful sort of textbook, after all? when she takes the thin and hastily bound book home, she discovers first that it is incomplete, either by design or some other purpose.

secondarily, she discovers the contents to be fairly dry initially. there is a catalogue of information, first, on various herbs and plants. it appears to have been arranged alphabetically, but the a and b sections are missing. this is of little real consequence to juno, who is for the most part quite aware of the composition and qualities of most common plants by virtue of her trade and studies. what she finds surprising, however, are the hints of extra information, the implication that various wildflowers and so forth may entreat certain magical effects.

moving forward the book digs into timing - celestial bodies and occurrences that might affect the outcome of spells and potions once she has plucked them. there are instructions for growing these plants as well, for how to tend the seeds, what to offer them, what words to whisper to ensure the outcomes. instructions on how to prepare them afterwards- from when to pick them to how to dry them, how to powder them, how to mix them, how to boil them. these potions, tinctures, poultices; they astound her, draw her fascination with an intensity that alarms. she spends countless hours pouring over the information, bruises blooming beneath her eyes. she makes powders to take that chase away fatigue with twice the power of caffeine in a quarter of the time, even if she finds herself catching up on lost sleep later.

she bottles happiness and she decants bliss and with each step deeper into this mire she finds herself losing a little more of her own strength, pouring it into these potions and then relying on it. she feels slowly as if her strength must be fading, as if her old afflictions could resurface, uses more of those potions to offset the effects and exacerbates the cycle.

WHATS YOUR STORY?

the doctors look down at the newly born baby and, instantly, the exhausted mother can sense that something is wrong. “what is it?’ she asks, with notes of exhaustion. when they hesitate, when the baby doesn’t start crying, her voice climbs as she repeats the statement. panic continues to read as she repeats her request, as the doctors, preoccupied, attempt to assess the situation. finally the baby cries out, but it’s not the way it ought to sound. it isn’t the powerful wail of a strong child calling out new existence to the heavens. it’s a weak sound and small, tired and worn.

this is jung juno.

she’s born under inauspicious stars. the ides of march, the dead space in a season of life and finery. juno is born sick. it’s autoimmune they think, her body turning on itself, attacking itself. she’s small from infancy, with eyes too big and too dark and too haunted. like she remembers something from beyond the veil, something she isn’t meant to know. her developmental years are riddled with hospital visits and IVs, bruises and the worried flutter of her mother. a father who overworks himself to pay off hospital visits. while their insurance is a blessing, the frequency of her needs and the magnitude of her problems becomes a financial burden regardless. too many days taken off work, and her mother is reluctantly let go from her job.

junae is a weird town, and her parents have been inhabitants since birth, along with their parents, and theirs, and so on. the jung family came to town so long ago they are rumored to have been amongst the founders of the township, though they never held a particular importance. the kims, her mother’s side, came a bit later, outsiders that entered the town from another nearby village, rumors of their shamanic capabilities following after them, passed generationally from mother to daughter, until the traditions slowly died, replaced with modernity.

so when the latest in the two lines is a sickly creature with tired eyes and tortured sleep, the rumors start up easily. she’s haunted maybe, one foot in the grave. it’s the shinbyeong, that illness that afflicts those shamans who do not follow the path that has been chosen for them. it’s a curse for the families due to some dark secret.

whatever the reality is, the truth is this: she’s often bed bound, or at least restricted to her house. she is raised by books and music, a record player and a boom box and a computer her constant companions. she devours information of the world outside, of the oceans and rivers, of plants and animals, things she so often is not allowed to mingle with for fear of contagion or injury.

there are days when her health is better than others. there are months where she does all her work from home and months where she goes to school as happy and carefree as she can be. she’s weak of body but strong of spirit, honey sweet laughter and piercing eyes. like she can see through you, into you. like she enjoys the fact that people find her unsettling - and she does.

she never gets very tall, remains diminutive as she grows, and at thirteen her friends are blossoming and she’s furious. she feels sickly and stunted and sequestered, like a nun, like rapunzel in a tower. she’s boiling over with it - with the frustration and hatred. and one night, it seems almost to be a dream. she thinks it is, sometimes, at first.

it happens like this. she sits up in bed, startled,and there is the feeling of a scream that echoed in the air just before her waking. she can’t hear it but she feels it must have been there. the blue light of the moon filters through the window and she breathes out a sigh, one barely audible except in the rattling of weakened lungs, thick with fluid that ought not be there. there’s that familiar ache in her sternum as she breathes, and she slings her feet to the floor beside her bed.

the next thing that she remembers from that night, she’s in the forest. there’s a clear, cool pond of water in front of her, big enough for a few people to swim but not much more. it’s eerie, still water seems to beg her to jump in, and she does.

she submerses beneath the surface and opens her eyes. the world is a study in blue and purple, in hazy lavender and foggy steel blue. there are beautiful flowers in the depths of the pond, shining in an opalescent glint. she picks one and brings it to her nose to smell it, before she remembers that she’s underwater. time slows to a crawl and the sound of the cicadas in the forest is dimmed, muted to a quiet throb. for a moment, she feels like she’s drowning. lungs burning, she opens her mouth to take a breath, to fill her lungs with water. maybe she’s tired of living half functional and sequestered, maybe it’s an instinct she can’t name, maybe it’s a panic response. the pond seems so much deeper than it looked, and then -

she’s resurfacing.

and then -

she’s in her house. her hair is half damp, mud smudges over her cheeks, her legs and arms have been scraped and scratched. there are fading bruises on her shins and scrapes on her elbows. she’s paler than usual and her lips tinged slightly blue despite the fact that it’s been so warm out lately. her mother looks to her as she enters the door and drops the phone in her hand. stares, like she’s seen a ghost.

“i must have scared you right?” is what juno says, tries to downplay the situation, but her voice hitches and rasps, vocal chords struggling, and she blinks hard, surprised at the croak of sound. she clears her throat but it’s only a little better. she realizes now, suddenly, how desperately parched she is.

her mother begins to cry.

it seems awfully exaggerated, the wail that comes from her lips, and she’s startled. afraid, even, to find her mother suddenly and desperately clinging to her, sinking to her knees, holding her so tightly juno feels her ribs are on the edge of cracking, a rupturing at hand.

that’s when it begins to come out.

she’s been gone for a week and a half.

there have been search parties and missing persons fliers and they’d feared the worst. she’d always been so sick, after all, and it’s the height of summer. monsoon season. the heat oppressive and the rain and winds furious. tropical storms have been blowing through the region and that at least would suggest where the dampness of her hair has originated, considering it couldn’t be from the dip in the pond she remembers as happening just hours ago – right?

they rush her to the hospital, a familiar route she could navigate blindfolded by now, she thinks, and settle her in a bed. there are tests and iv drips and examinations and what they find is thought to be a miracle. now the first note of worry is that her illness will have overtaken her recent bouts of good health, the second that she had been abducted. she explains what she remembers and the doctors verify what the police had suggested - that there’s likely some kind of amnesia, that it might not come back, depending on what happened. repressed traumas or a bump on the head or some kind of complication of something, it was impossible to tell easily. but the surprise, the surprise is that all evidence of autoimmune disorder, of weakened organs, of struggling cells, has been erased.

the doctors call it a miracle. it is as if her body has called a truce upon itself, sweeping away the horror of what it had been to the far more functional and amenable current state. and that’s how jung juno starts high school as a minor celebrity. with her face having been plastered all over the town on missing posters to the near constant news coverage from the town on the matter, everyone wants to talk to her. to know where she had been, what had happened, was she really entirely well now? had she sold her soul to a demon or slept with the devil, had she been abducted and escaped (or killed) her captor.

at first she’s annoyed by it, frustrated and flustered. later she leans into the attention, having found so little of it in her past. she becomes a master chameleon, shifting shades to appease and please the people around her, to titillate or horrify at her own discretion. she finds a gleeful joy in her macabre power over this lost chunk of time. she tells no one the truth- that she can’t remember a lick of it. that she doesn’t even feel, truly, like anything is missing from her mind. rather it seems as though she had spent that whole week drowning in the pond. she returns there, occasionally over the years, as if to find some secret answer. it takes two years before she can duck beneath the water again with all the hubris of a teenager who finds herself immortal, but the only outcome is wet hair and a gasp for breath when she resurfaces, checks her phone to find no such anomalies of time or space.

sometimes, there are never answers.

she gets older. she grows up, and the interest in her strange story fades but she’s always wondering. always thinking. how can science explain what happened to her? what’s going on out in those wood? what might she have seen, wandering out there for a week and a half with no recollection? what could she have faced?

eventually this insatiable curiosity feeds into her motives, and she goes up to seoul to study. a bachelors in biology and a masters in biochemistry later, she returns to junae with a job. hired on by the doryeongsan park service, she is set up in a lab to run research and development, a dusty department with little to show in terms of budget, progress, or initiative. but juno holds new vigor and life, a relentless obsession with the dark woods and the life that grows in them, which she knows - desperately believes - must transcend the realm of science as it is understood now.

this leaves her in a unique position to take full advantage of the grimoire, when she uncovers it on a normal afternoon in the library. after all, she spends plenty of time there, pouring over various books, records from past years on rainfall and growth, this and that. it doesn’t seem like much at first - clearly incomplete as it lacks either title or table of contents, without a clearly defined end. this in itself intrigues her. it doesn’t have a library system sticker so she makes the executive decision to slide it into her bag for further exploration later.

the pages tell her things she already knows, in a certain sense. firstly that plants have particular properties and effects, and so on. this isn’t new information. willowbark for headaches, ginger for stomach aches, it’s all been known long into the past. but this book goes beyond that. it delves into combinations and effects, into powders and potions for consumption and promise more than she could ever imagine.

she digs into it with fervent abandon, initially skeptical.

in her time back in town she’s fallen into a group of vloggers, her incessant questioning and skulking around the woods and the library finally drawing attention by the plucky group. they don’t start off as much as anything, but gradually they find themselves falling in with one another, stumbling along the route of ghost hunters or scooby squads the world over. she’s not completely sold on half of the things that they seek out, but she holds the desperate yearning to know more, to pick apart the world around her. besides, they say it adds some credibility if she’s there. a real scientist, and one with familiarity of the acres of land and mountain that the park encompasses.

so far the only mysteries she has begun to actually unravel have been done far off camera in the secret of her home, pouring through the pages of the grimoire and delving into the world of potions and talismans and charms.

#pa.app #pa.lee jieun #pa.grimoire #pa.vlog

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atakportal · 6 years ago

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agameoftangledwebs-blog · 7 years ago

Text

#13 The Warden and the Highborne

In the deterioration of Highborne Society those of Eldre'Thalas found themselves and their unique skills in an.. interesting position. Most of the leadership, and those who Saeros at least listened to, had done their political work well in convincing the Kaldorei that they needed them in these new and dangerous times. The world had changed for the worse yet again as the Aspect of Death roamed the skies unchallenged in his madness, scorching and breaking the land. Even with all the change some things simply didn't and requests for the acquisition of powerful, magical artifacts kept the few Shen'dralar that worked with their hands busy across one corner of Azeroth to the other. Some tools shouldn't be allowed out into the world either having been long ago plundered from ancient Highborne vaults or created anew and so they searched with ears to the ground for tales of such artifacts. Saeros and Elru had just returned from across the seas to Lor'Danel and then down into Ashenvale after one such scouring search in one of the Twilight Hammer's holdings in the Twilight Highlands. Saeros had stopped them and their sabers around a familiar lake to the Northwest of the newly built Stardust Spire for the evening to start their trip to the outpost tomorrow while they would be more likely to trade cat for Hippogryph in the daylight. Those magical artifacts lay in a solid wooden chest carved with runes by their campfire for the night while Saeros had stepped away, seeking a bath down by the lake before he needed to be appropriately more civilized in the nearer future.

Elru by now knew how to tend to a camp and was currently doing so while keeping an eye on their belongings and sabers. The swift, large changes in the world were jarring but her young, intelligent, and curious mind was able to take it all in and adapt as she saw fit but also as Saeros trained her. It could be as early as when Saeros is in the middle of dressing down, or a bit later after he's stepped into the waters to clean, but he'll get the sense that he's not alone, and that this is no mere wildlife, either.

It hadn't been the first time in his life or even on this short trip where Saeros had had both curious and malicious attention upon him when he took a few brief moments to himself. Until he was forced to act, he ignored it, and that set of gilded leather was unlatched and unbuckled as he set it off to a dry side along with his weaponry. One would expect scars with his age but oddly enough none were immediately apparent on his dark, muscled skin. Starkly naked he padded down to the shore and wadded into the lake up to his waist with a bar of crude soap in hand as he set about his task.

It was at this time as he washed that she appeared. One moment nothing, then the next pass over of his gaze and there she was standing at the water's edge in the same wear as Saeros had seen her before. Warden Lanath. No apparent hostility, as her ring blade was resting at her side with a slight dig into the dirt. Her gaze was as blank as ever, and if she was impressed with the quality of his physique she didn't show it.

Saeros didn't immediately acknowledge her, soaping up his hands and arms well to scrape off the nigh invisible layer of grime that covered him and his flesh did well to hide. A moment later proves that he'd simply been contemplating on what to say. "Some of us had wondered what became of those noble houses that carried our blood through newly Druidic veins. I can see that the Warden's took their fair cut of those who could be controlled, trained, and made utterly loyal."

If he were looking right at her he'd notice the first real reaction she'd ever made around him, just a slight, brief tightening of the eyes and lips before it was gone. She drones, "I would have thought such lines of thinking were beneath those of the Highborne, self contained as you were."

"You'd be surprised how un-ignorant we were. Even when the War of the Shifting Sands upon the Kaldorei doorstep we knew of the blood spilled upon the sands and the clicking, chittering language that was Qiraji. We've several books on the subject."

"Ever opportunistic, but at least among you there are those who regularly maintain their knowledge and wisdom of the world. Some of you."

"More than the Wardens it would seem. How undyingly grateful you must be that Tyrande saved your miserable lives after Maiev so utterly shattered the trust held by your kind." He glances her way with an easy smirk while lathering up his chest and neck.

She remained impassive to that barb. "There is no trust lost, because such trust is irrelevant. Regardless of whether Maiev was right or wrong, the Warden's purpose remains. Innocent deaths, as they are referred, do not invalidate the existence of infractions, Saeros."

"Ah, and what such infraction have I performed to warrant this visit? Come to murder me on the excuse that by the virtue of my blood and talents I must be a power-hungry danger to the Kaldorei people?"

"This is merely that, Saeros, a visit. And to see how well you and your partner fare in your reintegration. There are others, I am told, who did not make the transition so.. seamlessly."

"And so as opposed to approaching me out in the open I find you here spying upon me and taking full advantage of my nakedness." His comments were all idle but they had steadily grown to have that teasing edge of laughter to them. He takes a moment to douse himself and slick off what suds were still clinging to him.

It was then that something wry seemed to slip into her otherwise dull tone. "You did not seem like someone favorably disposed towards tea."

"And how exactly am I expected to interpret your observation, Warden? Is that a not so subtle request?" A few steps are taken backwards to bring the level of the water to his knees while he goes about cleaning the more interesting rest of him.

"Don't speak such nonsense, Saeros. And how you interpret my observation is irrelevant to me." Her gaze remains the same, pointed in his general direction, irregardless of his cleaning.

"I wouldn't blame you. I can't imagine too many men willing to allow a Warden into their beds." Even as he spoke Saeros took advantage of the water and suds he coated himself with. Slicking one hand with its long fingers over the soft length in a leisurely fashion was slowly stirring him to a visible hardness. If he was more of a grower than a shower.. Elru was going to have a lofty task by the time Saeros got around to making a woman out of her.

Though her expression remained blank the specific point of her stare was fairly obvious. The corner of her mouth twitched as he continued to stroke to hardness, until she exhaled slightly and looked at Saeros proper. "I do not accept propositions regardless, Saeros. And I think my time spent here is sufficient for my visit's purpose. Next time I'll keep a mind not to disturb you during your... bath."

"Which in turn makes me wonder if you've ever had one at all."

"A simple visit to see that two of our returning Highborne are integrating as well as they should. It was not to watch you bathe."

"Two birds and one stone, Warden. Somehow I don't think you remember -every- Kaldorei who you fancy as strange that comes through Ashenvale."

"No. I do not. And I was not wrong to give you that regard, Saeros."

"Would you have killed us had you known for certain?"

"A possible outcome. I have been told by my sisters that there have been Highborne who roamed the world without desire to draw attention and without ill intent. I have had yet to meet such Highborne."

"The most likely. See--that too is something we knew of, Warden. We knew that your kind would circle around us and pick us off as a pack had you known we left Eldre'Thalas at all during the Long Vigil. Deception and redirection are necessary to live. I'd even venture that you shaped us into.. dysfunctional members of Kaldorei society."

"I cannot speak for that. I merely maintain vigil and be sent where my sisters have need of me."

"Ah, yes. Entirely guiltless aren't you? How about you tell me why you're here if it's not to.. take advantage of my charms or muscle your way through an intimidation." All the while Saeros continued to stroke his length, drawing back the foreskin to flick an index finger over the bright flash of silver pierced through the head of his shaft.

Her gaze drifted back to his working hand and the corner of her mouth twitched again. "It most certainly is not the former. And there's less point to the latter." She looks back up to him. "And you are not wrong. If I wanted to merely check on you I'd have remained hidden. I suppose I wanted to hear what you had to say for yourself if anything."

"I should have known you liked it better when they beg."

"... Your implicit teasing is unwarranted, Saeros."

"Elune forbid the day when a Warden incarcerates someone for the mistake of flirtation."

"If only," with extra drollness. Bout as close of a joke as she'll crack at the moment it seems.

"Do you find my unrepentant attitude over the manner of my birth to be in poor taste?"

She pauses a moment before responding. "... No. If I am to be fair, I suppose not. Pride is not exclusive to Highborne."

"And neither is bigotry."

A slight curl of her lip. "Neither is bigotry, if one is to call it bigotry."

"Racism then, if my heritage so offends you."

"I prefer simple intolerance."

"A light word for genocide."

"Of which there has been precedence time and time again, we both know this."

"With that logic, I'm surprised the entire Kaldorei population hasn't been put away. They just might.. make wrong choices and all become Demon Hunters."

"Our sense of self-preservation is a touch higher than that."

"Ah, so if you -could- you would. I understand now." His tone had become increasingly thick with edged humor.

Her eyes lift upward for a moment. "Warden reach is limited, and even if it weren't, no, we would not seek genocide on the Kaldorei."

"And I am not Kaldorei."

"Ostensibly, you are now."

"Then why the need to check up on me if I am Kaldorei?"

"Because doubts remain if Highborne do, in fact, desire to be Kaldorei."

"Unfortunately, Warden, you can't call a spade a shovel and then a spade again when its more convenient. Either we are or we are not. The middle ground is over-used and pointless."

"That is true of shovels and spades, but it appears in these times our roles and titles are not so set in stone. Regardless, if I were so swift in judgement as you say then we would not be having this conversation."

"Is that what this is?" Saeros muses aloud, releasing his grip on himself as he turns to face her more fully. "Now it seems to me that this is motivated by loneliness. When was the last time you were more Kaldorei than Warden, Lanath?"

"Apparently a conversation is what this is now as this is far more dialogue than is necessary. Loneliness is a non-factor and non-existent." She lifts her chin slightly. "And how would you define a Kaldorei in itself, Saeros?"

"In relation to you?"

"I suppose that would be most applicable here."

"Don't suppose. Tell me what you mean." His own tone had turned droning as he slowly wades through the knee-high water in her direction.

"You're the one I asked to define a what a Kaldorei is with the presumption that I am less of one." She doesn't appear threatened by his approaching closer.

"There we go. That's what I wanted. Tell me how its in any sense of the word 'healthy' that an individual sacrifices their time and talent to imprison countless individuals to maintain a constant watch over them, or wanders the lands in search of more to drag away to your vaults?"

"It can't always be about each and every individual. My 'sacrifice' of my time and talent as you call it differs little from the sacrifice of time and talent towards any societal need."

Saeros waves a loose hand as he steps entirely out of the water on his way over to her. "The last thing I want to do is get into a debate about the functions of society. If you're like any other of your kind you've accepted it on what morals you carry and won't see things any other way."

In a non-threatening but steady gesture she lifts her ring blade from her side and sets it in the dirt as a thin barrier between the two. "And you consider such morals flawed and lacking in basis?"

He doesn't seem to mind the gesture and he continues his pace till he's just about a yard from her, still fully naked and unarmed. Not a terribly smart idea given the size of her own weapon. "I believe every moral should be given as much thought as we give to our monetary investments--with every angle and advantage considered."

"I do not find the balancing of morality equatable to the checks and balances of monetary investments. If morals were to be scrutinized for advantages and disadvantages their purpose and point becomes lost over time."

"At my age, everything is simply varying shades of gray."

"If everything were but a shade of grey, everything would be permissible and nothing would be true."

"Then tell me something 'true'."

"Foremost, we are mortal. Even with extended lives, we're going to die."

"Correction. The Kaldorei are going to die."

"The Highborne are no less mortal. Unless this is a mistaken notion?"

"It would be, yes."

"What makes it a mistaken notion?"

"Do you understand the means behind why the Priestesses of Elune always establish moonwells at Kaldorei encampments first?"

"They are a foundation of our material and magical society, if not the primary one. Their presence is a necessity where Kaldorei reside in numbers. What of it?"

"Why is it a necessity? What purpose do the moonwells actually serve?"

"They empower and nourish us, regardless of magical talent."

"They are the means to which the Kaldorei have enjoyed their immortality. Tiny reflections of the Well of Eternity your Nordrassil has capped. Unless I missed something.. Where was the Moonwell for the Highborne in Eldre'Thalas?"

"I was not aware there was one in Eldre'Thalas, but that is a place I am not well informed on."

"There wasn't, Warden. That's the point I'm making."

She considers his words and offers only a cold, "I see. A compelling if unwelcome point, that you Highborne would do just as well without."

"Don't be so cross, Warden. It's unbecoming."

"Don't feign concern over my disposition, Saeros, it's unseemly from where I stand."

"You've made me care by forcing yourself onto my tolerance."

"You're the one so open to engaging. I did not need stay."

"And yet you are." Is his pointed response.

"Don't you have a bath to finish? Clothes to get dressed back in?" She says with a pointed glance down at him before looking back up impassive.

"I didn't think you were finished with me just yet."

"You look done and my curiosity has been adequately sated for the time being."

"Am I to be at your beck and call?"

"You need not be at my beck and call for me to be present."

"I meant it in the sense that your comment implied you'd be returning to me once your curisoity has been piqued once more."

"Who's to say if it will or not. It is part of my duties to give all those passing through a cursory glance. You may or may not give me reason the next time you pass through, if you do."

"I'd be wary about the why and who you focus upon in days like these with Maiev tarnishing that credibility."

"There may be others who think so, but those of us in the Wardens know better than to think our role and need is in any way diminished."

"Also not the implication. A little to focused on convincing me of that fact."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean, as there is nothing else to be concerned with."

"Then continue on in your blissful ignorance."

"If that is what you insist on calling where I stand." She lifts and brings her blade back to her side. "May Elune look on you with some kindness, Saeros."

"I lost faith with her around the time when her Priestesses were bought. Often."

"During your time perhaps. But it is not your views and experience that are my purview as a Warden. Simply actions."

"Please, Warden. You make this too easy."

"Do not call me easy, Saeros."

"Then try to act your part. I do believe you were leaving."

She hmphs but cants her head regardless before turning away with a loose sweep of her bladed cape. "Goodbye, Saeros."

He doesn't bother with a farewell, turning around to collect his things.

Nothing will interrupt his bath further, though once he returns to camp he'll find an Elru that is straighter, curious and a touch on edge. "It was harder to tell from here, but did you have a visitor?"

Saeros was fully dressed by the time he returned to her, wringing out the worst of the water from his long hair. "Only our neighborhood Warden."

She was briefly confused but caught on quick as the memory returned, her expression souring. "Oh. Warden Lanath. What did she want?"

"I'm not certain even she knew."

"Maybe she was trying to scare you. It's not like we've done anything wrong by their standard."

"No. I prefer to give her a little more credit than her trying that against a Highborne."

"Mmm. Making her presence clear like that. Will you be seeing her again?"

"If she decides to press me again, yes."

"Are you going to kill her if that happens?"

"Perhaps."

"Good. She discomforts me greatly."

"Why is that?"

She thinks a moment. "I'm not sure how I can best describe it." She looks to Saeros. "She's like... less a Kaldorei, more a weapon. A tool fully and utterly embracing her role as a tool."

"On top of being a half-trained Arcanist."

"Half trained Arcanist, you say?"

"Think of them on the level as a Human Mage."

"Ahh. It is a rather broad and complementary skillset they carry, these Wardens."

"They hunt cunning prey."

She hums at that. "Do you think it's safe for me to take my turn at bathing now?"

"Should be safe enough."

She nods and moves to do so, going back the way Saeros came, though working more to maintain area awareness than Saeros needed to.

#world of warcraft #roleplay #highborne #warden #moon guard

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