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mmvalentine · 3 years ago

Note

hi!! how are you? I’m the one who sent you that dream prompt lol

I was thinking of this (way less weird) prompt: where feyre and Rhys knew each other since kids and were together, there’s a part of the books that Rhys says he and mor used to be sent to the cabin when they got into trouble (I think?) and here it is: Rhys has got himself in a fight with his dad and is sent there alone, but feyre finds a way to go to him without anyone knowing and they have the cabin all to themselves *insert smut here*

Hello little dreamer! Alright I've done so much prompt work these last couple of days and was trying to work through them chronologically because that's what seems fair but now I am tired and I just want to do one more and then take a break and this one is hands down my FAVOURITE of the ones left in my inbox right now. So you're getting bumped up!! Bit of a long one, fair warning.

A Chink in the Wall

Rhys has been alive for eighteen years, has known Feyre for seventeen, and has loved her for what feels like a thousand. He does not remember a time without Feyre, he has known she is his mate since before he knew what the word meant, and their progression from childhood best friends to lovers was something he does not remembering happening at one particular time, but gradually, the same way his legs had grown longer.

What he does remember is the first time they'd slept together, and how he'd spent so long thinking about it beforehand that he'd thought he'd go mad, only to discover the real madness was once they'd started and then couldn't stop. He'd thought he was hyper-aware of Feyre before- now the scent of her hit him like a brick any time she walked in the room, and once he'd caught her scent he needed to be touching her. Would start to shake and fall apart at the seams until he could pull her into his lap.

Over the years, Rhys's mother always told him that he was too rough with Feyre. Did it when they were kids and did it now, when Feyre would be around their house and he constantly had his hands under her hair or squeezing on her her hip or scratching at her belly.

"You can put her down for one second, for Cauldron's sake," she'd say over dinner.

And Rhys knew why. Had always known that as the High Lord's only son, he had power roiling off him in waves. He figured it was part of the reason why he was always moving, more and more as he got older. Whether it was sparring with the Illyrians or crawling thought the bedroom of Feyre's bedroom window, it felt like he leapt between extremes these days. Felt like he was always thirsty and needing to swallow down violence and pleasure and feeling like water. His father called it the "age of fighting and fucking;" his mother said this is why they couldn't have nice things.

But his mother doesn't know Feyre like he does. Feyre isn't some fragile little girl, she is the strongest person he knows. She is the only one who, when he is throwing all he has at her, can not only contain the energy flooding out of him in uncontrollable torrents, but still loves him all the same for it.

So these days, he does not like to be without her. Does not like to be too far from her, and although they both have curfews, Rhys does not often sleep alone.

Today is a exception.

Today, Rhys is fighting with his father because he stole a fine bottle of brandy from his father's shelf and snuck it between the bars of the cell where Azriel has been locked away. Again.

Rhys yells that what they are doing to Azriel is cruel and if they let it go on they are just as bad. His father yells back that it is not their place to meddle in another family's business and what does this have to do with Rhys being a sneak and a thief? Rhys says it is typical of his father to care more about alcohol than the life of a fae, and his father says and what exactly are you trying to say boy? And then he tells Rhys that he was not so old that Rhys's power is greater than his just yet, and then the fight breaks out.

Rhys does not like to reflect on what happens next too much because he wants to win so badly, wants to best his father just once, but he is eighteen and his father is nine hundred and twenty and the High Lord of the largest court in Prythian.

Suffice to say, the fight is over when Rhys has a black eye and bruised ribs, his father is holding him off the floor by his shirt front, and his mother is pleading with him to put him down.

He drops Rhys with a thud, and Rhys glowers at him.

"The cabin," his father snarls.

"Surely he's had punishment enough," his mother says, but his father does not look at her.

"You come swinging your fists at me?" he says to Rhys. His voice is quiet now, but glitters with rage. "You steal from me, you defy me, and then you come at me with your pathetic little claws out? Well. You can spend three days in isolation."

Rhys looks toward his mother, but there's nothing she can do. He opens his mouth to sling a final insult at his father, but space is already folding around him and he's being sent where no one else can winnow in or out without his father's explicit say so.

Rhys spends the next twenty minutes angrily pacing the cabin. He flings shadows aimlessly at the cabinets, curses his father eight times to sunday, and punches a hole in the wall. It is the latter that gets Feyre's attention.

Ouch, she says through the bond. I felt that one.

Rhys drops onto a couch heavily, the anger washing out of him at the sound of Feyre's voice in his mind.

I'm sorry, he says. I know you hate it when I break things.

Things. Your own knuckles. Yeah it's not my favourite.

Rhys sighs. I'm in the cabin, he tells her.

I know, she says. What did you do this time?

Got into a fight with my dad.

Well did you at least land a couple good ones?

Rhys grins, in spite of himself. I did manage to get a kick into his stomach, this time.

Good, Feyre says. Unlike his mother, she never tells him to try to get along with his father.

I miss you, Rhys says.

You saw me this morning, Feyre points out.

Yes, replied Rhys, but you had way too many clothes on. It didn't count. He can almost feel Feyre shifting in his mind.

You always think I'm wearing too many clothes, she says.

I do, Rhys agrees. Not naked is not good enough.

He slouches back on the couch and closes his eyes. Although he is not yet powerful enough to take down his father, his power is growing. Day by day it stretches and expands uncomfortably, like growing pains, and when he's not in Feyre's bed, sometimes the shadows hound him at night. They claw at him now, rake at his chest like a cat that thinks it's giving affection but leaves you in tatters.

He turns his thoughts back to more pleasant things.

Take it off, he growls at Feyre. Take it all off. I hate it when I can't see your skin.

And what makes you think I've been wearing clothes this whole time? Feyre asks. Rhys freezes, and is rock hard in an instant.

Show me, he shoots down the bond.

Ask nicely, Feyre answers.

Please, Rhys says. Runs his talons down the shields of her mind from top to bottom. Please. Sends her a memory of him kissing her every inch of skin. Please.

Feyre's shudder reaches him like a whisper, and then he's seeing through her eyes.

The interior of her bedroom. Where he spends more time than in his own. Clothes strewn on the floor- boots kicked off in the corner. Illyrian leathers dumped in a pile. Under garments hanging off the end of the bed.

Feyre's bare ankles crossed in front of her on her bed, on top of the covers.

Rhys shivers. He watches Feyre's gaze travel excruciatingly slowly upward, up her shins, past her knees, onto her lovely thighs.

More, Rhys breathes, but Feyre pauses. Her knees bend and the view shifts, as if she has been sitting up and is now laying back down. I need you like I need air, Rhys whimpers, and his hand grabs at the insistent ache in the front of his pants.

Mmm, sighs Feyre. Sometimes I need you. Sometimes I think I could just do it myself. Her gaze finally shifts and watches her own hand slide between her legs.

Oh you cruel thing! Rhys says. He is now practically panting the sight of her starting without him. He loves it. He hates it. It's nowhere near enough.

You know it's not as good by yourself, Rhys tells her.

I don't know, Feyre muses. I'm pretty sure it's faster. Rhys growls.

Who needs faster, he says, when I can be so, so slow. He shows her the image of him settling between her knees. Pressing kisses that start at her knee and travel down her inner thigh. Laying the flat of his tongue on her and licking a lazy stripe up her pussy that ends in a suckling kiss over her clit.

Feyre moans straight down the bond, and it cleaves through Rhys like a arrow shot true. Get over here, he tells her, and Feyre laughs breathlessly.

I can't, lover, she says. Your father has that place warded like a prison, remember? Rhys swears out loud and hurls more shadows uselessly against the walls of magic.

Alright, alright, Feyre says to him. You know just throwing things at it isn't going to work.

Fuck this, Rhys says savagely. You're my mate, he can't keep us apart.

Well, we just need to outsmart him, then, Feyre reasons. He might be stronger, but I've always thought you were smarter. Well, she amends. At least you were when you bothered to use your brain and before you were all... testosterone-y.

Rhys finds himself smiling. Testosterone-y?

Yeah, you know, Feyre says. The old upstairs brain. Remember that guy?

Rhys laughs. He is always in awe of how quickly Feyre calms him down. I thought you liked my downstairs brain, he says in his midnight voice.

Use your upstairs brain to get me through the wards, and I'll show you how much I like your downstairs brain.

And that is more than motivation enough.

Rhys gets up off the couch, and paces around the room again. My dad has always been lazy with spells, he says. He relies on his brute strength, and on everyone being afraid of him more than anything else.

Okay, Feyre says, picking up his train of thought. So... what if there's a weakness in his wards?

A chink in the wall, Rhys agrees.

Yes.

Rhys stands still, and reaches out his mind. Probes against the wards surrounding the cabin, and is aware of Feyre doing the same on the other side. They work their way right around the cabin, when finally, Feyre breathes, here.

And then Rhys gathers every bit of power he has in him, and pushes it all against that one spot. Reaches through it, throws everything he's got until his hand is breaking through, Feyre's grabbing a hold of him, they're folding space and he pulls.

There's a shudder that runs through the cabin, and then an extremely naked Feyre falls right into Rhys's chest and they collapse on the thick carpet together.

For a second, they just blink at each other in surprise.

"It worked," says Feyre. And then Rhys realises holy shit it worked, and smoothly rolls so that Feyre is on her back and he is all over her.

"Great work," is all he says, and then he blinks and his clothes vanish too so they are both naked and the heat of her against his bare cock is absolutely unbearable. He groans, slides his hand under one of her thighs, squeezing gently, and hooks it over his elbow before pushing straight into her, unable to stand not being inside her for one more second.

Feyre moans and lifts her hips to him, barely less eager. Rhys wonders idly if the age of fighting and fucking applies to females, and then as Feyre's nails scratch angry red lines over his shoulders he thinks it might just. He wonders how long this age will go on for, and if his desperate need for Feyre will ever abate. He hopes it doesn't.

"I thought you were going to be slow," Feyre says, breathless but with the most gorgeous light dancing in her eyes. Rhys's body screeches at him but he manages to get control of his movements. To move in and out of her languidly, lazily, tortuously slow. Feyre seems to enjoy it at first, keeps her eyes on his until they're rolling back in her head.

But the longer it goes on the more sensitive she becomes, until she is writhing in his arms seeking more friction, and every time he hits his base she jolts like she's being electrified. The fact that he is tormenting himself, too, seems absolutely worth it for the knowledge that he alone can wring this kind of pleasure from her.

"Still rather play by yourself?" he teases. "Does it feel like this when it's just your own fingers?"

Feyre snaps her eyes open at this, and between jagged breaths, teases him right back.

"Sometimes," she says. "When I'm touching myself and picturing you." A shiver runs through Rhys. "When I've got one hand between my legs and the other squeezing my breast." She demonstrates the last, and Rhys watches with hunger as her hand goes over her own chest.

"Fuck," he bites out, and picks up the pace a little.

"When I've got you curled around my mind and showing me that you're touching yourself too."

Rhys speeds up again.

"But mostly, no," she says, barely able to speak now. "No, nothing feels as good as when you're fucking me senseless."

And Rhys can't argue with that. He forgets his self-control completely and loses himself in her, in her body, in the intoxication of the sounds that she makes when he's inside her. The irony of his sentence to a remote location is that for once, they are able to make as much noise as they want and every time Feyre moans Rhys thinks he gets a little high.

By the time Rhys is close, they have started to breathe in tandem, and he locks his eyes on hers so that seconds later they are coming together. Rhys is breathless with the beauty of her, has always loved the look on her face when she climaxes, and suddenly the prospect of being locked up alone for three days seems mighty appealing.

Feyre sighs, eyes closed and chest moving deeply as she gets her breath back. Rhys draws out of her and then immediately misses her. He kisses her cheeks, her nipples, her stomach, and then without really thinking about it, closes his mouth around her clit and strokes it back and forth with his tongue.

Feyre sighs his name, and the sound of it is so sweet that he redoubles his efforts, until Feyre is rocking her hips to him and before he knows it, they're starting again.

Rhys thinks its going to be a very good three days indeed.

**** Little babies. Sigh I do love them so. Thank you my sweet anon for this lovely prompt.

Bonus: click here to see what Rhys's dark powers look like when they're still growing and trying to figure their shit out.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #smut #mine #asks #prompt fill

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hlizr50 · 3 years ago

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Thank You for Saving Me

One of my first. One of my faves.

Spoilers for From Blood and Ash and A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire

Casteel wants to address a few of Poppy's scars that they don't usually talk about

Read on AO3

The room was dark, but he wasn’t bothered. Casteel’s Atlantian heritage meant that he could see anything around him that he cared to notice. He should have been trying to sleep, as Poppy had rolled over to do. She’d said as much not long ago, before he’d successfully distracted her with his lips, his hands, his tongue… all of him.

He grinned to himself, shaking his head. He loved that she found it so difficult to resist him. Surely she knew how easily he unraveled at even the slightest thought of her. That was why he couldn’t help himself tonight. Even though they were to begin the journey across the mountains in a few hours. Even though they were aching and weary from the battle with Duchess Teerman’s regiment.

Casteel leaned his head back against the headboard and cast a sidelong glance at her – the way her hair fell across her shoulders and back, a sharp contrast to that alabaster skin. So soft. So perfect. He let his gaze drift down, eyeing the faint, thin marks that tracked back and forth across the tender flesh of her. His eyes narrowed.

He had never been anything less than completely sincere when he spoke about her scars. He needed her to understand how special she truly was, working against the years of venom that the Duke, Lord Mazeen, and the rest of the treacherous Ascended had used in an attempt to poison her soul, to dim her light. Her scars were beautiful, if only one entry in the long list of things he admired about her. But these long, thin, nearly invisible lines were not the jagged tears from Craven claws and fangs. No, these told a story of a fortitude he understood completely yet could also barely comprehend.

The two of them had rarely discussed Duke Teerman’s “lessons” since Poppy had finally admitted to him that the Duke had beaten her, likely for years. In fact, the last they’d spoken of it was during their journey from New Haven, and that was a lifetime of realizations and confessions from where they lay now.

Married.

And not for the sake of mutual benefit from the power of being Atlantian royalty, but for love. Real, true love. And he needed her to know how he felt – about all of her scars.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s creepy when you watch me sleep”

Casteel chuckled. “Well you’re obviously not asleep, so I don’t believe your question really applies.”

“Whatever,” she sighed. “It’s creepy when you stare silently at my back when I’m awake, too.”

“Alright, I’ll accept that,” he answered. And then he reached for her, trailing a calloused fingertip over where the cane had bitten her and swearing to himself when her muscles tensed. “When I realized what he had been doing to you it was all I could do not to kill everyone in that Gods-damned castle.” He moved his fingers up and down the length of her back. If his attention on those particular stripes made her uncomfortable he wouldn’t force his touch. But this conversation was important. He needed her to know.

It was quiet for a few moments, and he wondered if Poppy had somehow drifted off to sleep.

“When did you know? For sure?”

“That day with the priestess, after I prevented her from striking you. I could’ve killed her, too, honestly. But there were too many things that came together… too many signs.”

Poppy rolled over to face him, clutching the blanket over her chest. “Like what?” her emerald eyes shone with surprise.

“Please, Poppy. Did you truly think you were even remotely convincing even one of the many times I asked and you denied it?” the prince laughed humorlessly.

“You always let it go!”

“There was the first time he had me summon you. You and Tawny were both… distraught,” Casteel took a breath. If only he’d known right then, maybe he could have spared her – at least that final lesson. “Then you were holed up in your room for two days. And then there was the night I found you on the Rise. The way you winced when your back hit the wall… when I implied I might report you, and you told me I didn’t know what he’d do, before you could reign in your emotions.”

He reached for her again. Gathering the blanket around her body he pulled her into his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin.

“But it was that day with the priestess. When she said you’d grown fond of the cane. When it was painfully, heartbreakingly clear that you were accustomed to her striking you. And when I asked you point-blank if he hit you… all the color drained from your face before flushing deep red…” he pulled back so he could look her in the eye and let his fingertips caress her cheek. “My heart could have shattered in that moment. I knew what it was to be trapped, knew the shame and the fear of being helpless and not understanding how someone could take such delight simply from causing pain to someone else.”

Casteel planted a kiss on her forehead before pulling her close again. He ran his fingers idly through her wine-red locks – a favorite past-time of his. He loved her hair. It had been so unexpected the first time he saw it; red hair to match the fire within. But the fire had cooled tonight, and he might have thought she’d dozed off if it weren’t for her hand gently stroking his arm.

“Sometimes Lord Mazeen was there,” she offered quietly, and the prince stilled. Of course he knew that, but she had never been so open with this part of her. “He was there… that last time. He… he liked to watch.” Casteel’s chest rumbled with a barely-contained snarl. He had always been so glad – he would even say proud – that she’d hacked the Lord to pieces.

But Gods what he’d give to have the chance to go back and end that monster himself.

“That day… he stood in front of me. I tried to be as modest as possible, as was expected of me. But I had to brace myself on the desk, so I would lean on one arm and use my other arm to cover as much of me as I could. He bored into me with those haunting, hungry eyes as he moved my arm and held both of my hands on the desk so he could see… all of me.”

Casteel could barely breathe, and he clutched his wife tighter to his chest. Had he known that? He wasn’t sure. He knew that the Lord sometimes joined the Duke in his sadistic practice. He remembered Spessa’s End when Poppy had raged against Duchess Teerman’s insistence that the Ascended had been protecting her.

‘Is that what the Duke was doing when he took a cane to my back simply because I breathed too loudly or didn’t respond in a way he found appropriate? When he put his hands on me? Allowed others to do the same?”

He knew that they’d hurt her, but her admission had completely…

Gods, it tore him to pieces.

He felt soft fingers curl around the back of his neck and let out a breath. Her touch grounded him, pulled him back.

“Poppy… I –“

“I think Lord Mazeen was the first one that really made me realize that something was wrong – that their explanations and expectations didn’t make sense. How could my purity and isolation be so important when I saw what was in his eyes… he would have taken me if he knew he could get away with it. He leered at me for… for years!”

He pushed her shoulders back from him gently so he could grasp her face between his hands. He brought his lips to her forehead before leaning into her gaze.

“The Ascended are monsters, make no mistake. But THOSE two… There is not a word strong enough. They were EVIL, Poppy. They hurt you. They tormented you. They took pleasure in knowing that they could do anything they wanted to you for the most miniscule fucking reason and you had to sit and take it. I would burn the entirety Solis to the ground if it meant I could have saved you from that.”

Poppy smiled then. Gods, somehow she still smiled and it knocked the wind from Casteel’s lungs. Her eyes were luminous with unshed tears as she lifted her hands to cover his.

“How many times have you told me that you had hoped to sweep in dramatically and rescue me? After fighting Craven, after Lord Chaney or Duchess Teerman? But don’t you see?” The tears slid soundlessly down into her smile. “You did rescue me. You saved me from the priestess, from the Duke and Lord Chaney. You saved me from a lifetime of ignorance, of being used as a pawn to force an entire people into submission. You saved me from a life of solitude, of never knowing pleasure or love.”

She released her grip on him and reached a hand to move a stray lock of his dark curls out of his eyes, while he used his thumbs to wipe away the dampness still staining her blushing cheeks.

“You weren’t too late Casteel. You saved me. You did.” And then she pulled his head toward her and pressed her lips to his temple. “You’re my hero,” she whispered, and began to pull away. He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and held her against him, foreheads touching.

“I know that the scars he left on you are not the obvious ones. They are not many, and they are not easy to see, but they are there. And they are beautiful, all the same. You are so strong, Poppy. So brave. I cannot begin to comprehend your ferocious need to explore, to learn, to live, all in spite of them. You had every reason to cower, to slip into a meek existence, but instead you dreamed and you learned and you fought. Every day I am staggered by who you are, and I don’t think there will ever be a moment when I am not in awe of you.” He could feel burning in his throat and his eyes. His voice was hoarse. He so rarely wept, but he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. “These scars may be my favorite, the most stunning. The Craven scars are a symbol of your blood, your heritage, your survival. But these? They are a testament to your bravery and fortitude. They show the world that you have faced pure evil, looked it in the eye, laughed, and dared it to try again.”

Casteel scooped her from his lap and laid her back on the bed before sliding down under the blanket to face her. He wrapped his arm around her and let his fingers feel the velvety skin of her back, searching for those thin lines.

“I don’t want you to feel fear or shame when my fingers find them. I want you to feel strong and brave and powerful, knowing that you beat them – that they are dead and you are living your fullest life. Can you do that for me, Princess?”

His breath hitched when she smiled softly again before wiggling closer to him, burrowing as far as she could into his chest. Would he ever be able to see her smile and not come undone?

“I think I can do that,” she murmured against him. He smiled and kissed the crown of her head. He breathed her in and allowed his body to relax around hers. Contentment wasn’t something Casteel was accustomed to feeling, but this was the closest he had ever been to paradise. The silence was comfortable, wrapping around them like a cloak in winter. He sighed deeply and felt her head turn slightly against him. And then soft full lips pressed to his chest. The gesture was pure and innocent and earth-shattering.

“Thank you. For saving me,” Poppy whispered in the dark, almost too quiet even for his ears. He didn’t know if he could draw her any further into him. But he would keep her tightly cocooned in his arms, knowing that having her there is what held him together.

And he wondered, truly, if it hadn’t been she who had saved him.

#fbaa #fbaa fanfic #poppycas #poppy balfour #casteel da'neer #poppy x casteel #ao3 #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #so fluffy #from blood and ash #a kingdom of flesh and fire #akofaf

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years ago

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16. Play.

Noticing the power shift created by Joey’s new form and role in his story, the Ink demon, the Prophet, and the now much more lucid searchers are interested in playing a few games with their old pals Henry and Joey. (Or not very interested, in the prophet and searchers’ cases) (Set in the AU where by yeeting Joey into the ink machine before going through the portal-door in the kitchen, Henry is accompanied by a chatty, useless, and overall insufferable little imp.)

The novelty of Joey accompanying him as a friendly, (Henry used that term loosely considering what he knew now.) tiny, cartoon demon wore off the second the story actually kicked into play. For starters, the former animator knew that whether either of them liked it or not, Joey was going to be clinging to him whenever he felt like it and following him like a lost puppy.

At the moment, the imp was running ahead of the animator, tapping his feet impatiently as he ‘waited’ for the old man to catch up before scurrying off again and occasionally tripping, but Henry knew that by the time the Ink Demon came into play, the little devil would use him as a meat shield.

Speaking of the two devils, Henry approached the freshly boarded up ink machine room which Joey was already peering into with an uneasy expression on his pale face. The animator also peered into the room, but instead of being greeted by the Ink Demon popping out of the hole and starting the chase, he watched the Ink demon pace about the small room with an expression he’d never seen on it before: a grimace.

In addition to the demon’s seemingly much more expressive face, he seemed to have a different approach to his role as a villain now that he had no script from Joey to follow; a villain who was much more dangerous than a smart animal.

“SAMMY! JACK! JOHNNY!”

The Ink Demon shouted and called up three figures of ink.

“Alright, now listen up you three good-for-nothing, sewer-water-brained Lackeys, the creators will be here ANY second now, and if I find out YOU STUPID INK BLOTS let them get away, I’m gonna wring your necks out like wet towels! Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes, your vileness.” The swollen searcher with a bowler hat replied in a tired sounding tone.

“Clear as day, your assholiness.” The Prophet added, sounding like more of a smartass than he had ever been when he was alive.

“Y-yes… Lord Ink Demon… We’ll take good care of them all right! W-well not good, but- EEEP!” a third searcher that appeared to have teeth made out of piano keys meekly stuttered and hid from the Ink Demon’s untrusting glare from behind the safety of the Prophet’s legs.

“Good! Now listen up: they’ve started up our machine already so we don’t have much time to plan: So what do we do to stop them?”

“Uh... ...Same thing as always?”

“W-well… I’m sure that you’ll have the best plan out of all of us, your rottenness!”

“You can stick your hand out of the holes in the boards and watch them run and fall to their doom like a pair of stray sheep who don’t see the cliff.”

“NO! When Joey’s not in control, I’m calling the shots around here! And I say: We’re not going to run his stupid story through the machine any more! We’re doing something completely different, something that will really make ‘em suffer...”

“Henry!” Joey tugged on the man’s pant leg and whispered loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to grab the ink monsters’ attention. “He can think and talk! He’s not supposed to do that! Hell, aside from Sammy, none of them are supposed to be any smarter than feral animals! Not to mention, they all look different… I think that stuff on Sammy is supposed to be hair, but it’s never been THAT long before...”

The Ink Demon slapped his forehead and grumbled under his breath.

“Speak of the %*#@ing devils…” He then stared expectantly at the confused trio of searchers. “WELL?! THEY’RE HERE; RIGHT OUTSIDE THE DOOR! ARE YOU GONNA MAUL ‘EM OR ARE YOU JUST GONNA SIT AROUND WAITING FOR THE COCKROACHES IN YOUR HEADS TO CHEW UP THE GARBAGE YOU CALL BRAINS FIRST?!”

“Why not take the pleasure in offing them yourself, your dicklessness?”

“Uh, Yeah, and when you fail at that, we’ll set up traps for ‘em downstairs. It’s not like they’re gonna escape the studio.”

The searcher with piano key teeth sheepishly nodded along.

“What?! But I had this cool dramatic entrance planned out and everything- ARGH! FINE!” The Ink Demon grumbled as he started breaking the boards. “If you want a mauling done right...”

Henry held Joey like a football as he ran through the rapidly flooding studio as the Ink Demon cackled manically throughout the chase.

“READY OR NOT HEEREEE I COOOOMEEEE~”

Henry found himself having to jump and duck to avoid a lot more falling debris and had felt the demon’s claws at his back at times, the situation was not helped by Joey screaming and crying the entire time.

He felt more dread than relief as he saw the exit coming in, no matter how close it got, he never got to it, like every time before, the floorboards broke underneath his feet. He always fell, and now, someone would try to catch him.

“HA! NOT WHEN I’M IN CHARGE, CREATOR!”

And would succeed.

It happened so fast that Joey couldn’t tell if he did it intentionally or not, but he had slipped out of Henry’s grip and had fallen down to the depths of the studio with a loud ‘splash’ announcing his arrival.

Announcing that he was alone, defenseless, and weak. In a studio that Joey now knew no longer was his to control, and was filled with many, many enemies who would fully take advantage of that.

“Y-you just need to stay c-calm, Joey...” He pulled himself up on a floating piece of stray wood and started paddling towards the valve. “There’s an ax nearby, all you need to do is get to it and you’ll be fine. you’ve seen Henry do this hundreds of times, you’ll be alright, you just need to believe in yourself.”

In spite of his reassuring speech, the scared little imp felt a large pit of dread in his gut. The former Music director, former lyricist, and the former organist would probably hesitate if it was Henry instead, but those three caught him... Joey shuddered just thinking about it.

As the ink drained he took his miraculously unstained bath robe off of the floor and put it back on. He was also missing his pants now, but it wasn’t like he could go back up to get them, and even if he could, he wasn’t going to fight the Ink Demon for a pair of fucking pants that were too big for him anyway.

“Get the ax, get back with Henry, get the ax, get back with Henry, get the ax, get back with Henry...”

He repeated to himself under his breath as he repeated his task of descending and turning valves as an attempt to keep himself from jumping at every twist and turn. The imp also kept his eyes peeled for anything that looked suspicious or out of place, fearing the looming threat of the searchers’ traps.

The ax and the room was exactly how Joey had left it, not a single thing changed, which did make him feel relieved.

When he moved forward, he didn’t find any evidence that Sammy was worshiping Bendy at all when in the shrine room, there were plenty of ritualistic circles, plenty of cryptic messages, but they all had the little devil as a thing that was meant to be sacrificed, not as something worth the former musician’s worship.

“Of all the runs for Sammy to not worship Bendy...” He groaned. “It HAD to be the one where I became an imp...”

He wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or even more afraid when he didn’t see Sammy moving the cutout around.

------

When Joey got to the music department itself, he heard the sounds of laughter, pool balls clacking, cheers and glasses clinking in the distance. Following the sounds, he found the three searchers lounging around the pool table in the middle of a conversation and a game.

The upbeat atmosphere fizzled out when the three noticed him. The Swollen searcher muttered something about the game just getting good, the Piano key-toothed searcher groaned about Joey spoiling all the fun as usual, and the masked mad maestro smiled at him.

Not in a sarcastic or forced way like how his human self smiled at people, it seemed genuine enough. But it also wasn’t a warm or kind smile, it seemed more ...hungry.

“Hello little Lamb.” The prophet stood up and got into the imp’s face, “Are you interested in playing a game with us?”

‘Oh fuck, he’s still crazy.’ Joey thought to himself. “N-no thanks!” He smiled and waved hoping that he didn’t look as terrified as he felt. “I’ve got a friend of mine to get back to and I really don’t have a lot of time to play.”

The imp dashed out of the break room and slammed the door shut behind him, completely unaware that the merriment had returned to the room.

“Thank god he didn’t go for it.” Johnny sighed. “If The Ink Demon found out about this room because of that little runt...”

“I told you it would work.” The prophet took the mask back off and set it aside on a crate. “...But he’ll probably come back to pester us into trying to help him find Henry, maybe even take up the game offer.”

“Yeah...” Jack poured himself another shot. “Kinda surprised that you didn’t jump at the chance to make his life hell though.”

“Less is more.” The prophet hit the eight ball and watched the rest of them knock against each other. “If you get one big punch left to linger, it hurts like a bitch, if you get hundreds of them, you grow numb to the pain. But I don’t think that Inky understands that.”

“Well, at least he can have fun playing his game of cat and mouse with Joey...”

“Yeah.” Johnny raised his glass. “Cheers to those two being each others’ problems instead of ours!”

“Cheers!”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #joey drew #Henry Stein #ink demon #sammy lawrence #Jack Fain #johnny batim #ink demonth #fanfic

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fishmongeringstudies · 4 years ago

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scene three: every road not taken takes itself, eventually, to the bar at the end of the lane

one: losing the rings. one was a gift from a friend and another was an old convenience store gimmick but the third was my grandmother's engagement ring. 'you're going to lose that ring', said my mom, stuffing alcohol wipes into a ziploc bag two weeks before my flight. 'i won't,' i replied. less than a month into the semester, it was gone.

two: leaving my vans at home. they're extra cool too, from the van gogh collection that dropped in the fall of 2019. i ran to the sneaker store after class the day they came out, my backpack tearing at my shoulders and my hands hot with excitement and even then there were only three sizes left in the style that i wanted (sad, sad self-portrait of a man with holes for eyes), none of them mine. they're way too big for me. they're awful for walking long distances. they're my favorite.

three: filling out my dorm preference form at four o'clock in the morning. i made a less-than sign with the dots, thinking it looked funny and that i might as well fuck around and find out since none of these names meant anything to me. it was true that none of those names meant anything to me but they really should've. i really should've been more of a student by then, one semester into the year, one semester away from the rest of the world.

four: not paying enough attention to the snow. it was gone by the time i looked up from the anxious fuck of my temporary, half-baked life, melted into the ground like blood seeping into the wet earth. in the second week of the semester i remember laughing while talking to a friend from washington over the phone. 'yeah i don't have any friends but at least this campus is fucking beautiful,' i said, kicking up a flurry of white with the toe of my boot. even then, i wasn't really looking.

five: taking a month to finish inception by christopher nolan. when i finally got around to those last fifteen minutes, netflix had taken it down. bye, saito, wherever the fuck you are.

six: kissing the wrong person. then kissing another person, thinking a plus and a minus would cancel each other out, and realizing i'd kissed two wrong persons. two mistakes. two bodies outlined in white chalk on the tarmac that hadn't done a thing for me, even when they were breathing.

seven: telling someone i'd invite them to my dog shower when i adopted a dog in the future and realizing, several weeks later, that i hated them.

eight: not telling him all my poems were about him before he stopped being the you i used to talk about sometimes, delirious with soft monarch daydreams, lying sleepless in bed with my fingers on the keyboard and my heart on a stake. hey, you. all those poems are yours. come get them, i don't want them anymore.

nine: not asking for help.

ten: not asking for more kindness.

eleven: believing in the fundamentally good nature of human beings so much that when you stepped all over my face it only occurred to me to cover my eyes with my hands and get up when the old wounds had healed and scars had formed in their place. this is a different you. this is at least five different you's, carrying six different versions of sin. no one's perfect. but only some of us are bastards.

eleven: i spend the afternoon scrolling through chatlogs with friends from home and working on the puzzles i once promised i'd finish with her. we don't talk anymore, but she was there when i dug the hole in the dirt and planted the idea, so in a way some part of her will always be here. you don't have to tell me i'm being dramatic. but everyone i've met in america has been twice as dramatic as me. they're all in love with the idea of promises, rich with textual detail and lacking in faith. they either want too much or too little so it's never enough, whatever you've laid out on the kitchen table, whatever you've scrounged together from the two suitcases you brought to this country. sure, there's amazon, but jeff bezos is going to die one day by the hands of someone sadder and angrier than me, and besides, there's something about objects that follow you across three planes and two oceans, and don't go missing.

twelve: i miss the idea of hope. not hope itself, which i still have plenty of. but the idea of something so lovely it has to bring out the best in everyone, of hands held around an indigo fire, of solace.

one: someone told me that in the first few weeks of the fall semester people would sit around on the grass with their food and talk, and because it was only the beginning of their long and virtuous college lives they hadn't formed those hard metallic cliques and groups that reflect light in a sharp hyperbolic arc yet, and you could sit down with any of them and be welcomed into the group with the kind of warmth usually reserved for a favorite niece or a long lost friend. i'm imagining the scene as i type this love letter to yesterday, the sun setting behind a girl's head as she laughs at a stranger's joke which wasn't all that funny, we're just nice to each other when we're afraid; each circle a loose connection of bodies, each shape liable to a moment's change. at first there's only polite conversation, what spaceships you've been building, what monsters you want to take on when you're thirty-five, but eventually the scaffolding falls away to reveal the genuine thing underneath, and then numbers are exchanged, words scrawled on whiteboards, plans made. these images haunt me. visions of a lawn full of possibility, faces which haven't yet closed themselves to the idea of the new and the bizarre. i try to paint myself into the picture, beside the guy with the green hair and the my chemical romance shirt and the person who's talking in a loud voice about metaphysics, but it never works. already, the sun has slipped beneath the trees and the conversation has faded to a blur. it's too late for another round of authenticity. everyone is going home.

0: it's not loneliness unless you actively choose to reject yourself. after all, you are company too. you are all that has endured through the years, in spite of the regret clawing at your ankles and the girls laughing at you in the trees. when the world eats itself for a couple of dollars and all the birds lie down in a heap at your feet, you have to stop and think to yourself: maybe this is enough.

0: one day it will be. one day i will be everything i told you i'd become, and you will stand on top of the hill they built this school on, your eyes glued to the ceiling of the sky, and when i crest that writhing blue mass of hope you will whisper, like someone who's been touched by an angel:

you're fucking beautiful.

05.23.2021

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honeys-fiction · 4 years ago

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HEYY! Can I please have a pirate dabi x siren reader thank you. 💕💕💕

Hi! This one took me a bit to spin, but I hope you enjoy it!

-Honey

Warnings: Slight angst depending on how you read it, hinted soulmate au, mentions of drowning and gore

Pirate Dabi x Siren Reader

You were beginning to understand why your kind hated pirates so much. Ever since you were a small child (no larger than a cod, no less), your parents warned you about ships that reeked of blood, whose masts bore the dreaded Jolly Roger. By the time you were old enough to strike out on your own, your head had been filled with stories of sirens whose songs were somehow ineffective against the sailors, who then speared or captured their predators.

But that information did little to help you when food in most regions became scarce. Most common vessels were hesitant to travel alone, and it was much harder to lure men overboard when more than one ship was present. It wasn’t uncommon these days for ear plugs made of cork or wax to be found on board. Your prey had become wise to your kind’s tactics.

That left you starving. The ships who filled their crew’s ears were able to fish more freely without worry in large fleets. What large fish you could survive off of were harder to come across, and what smaller fish were left weren’t large enough to satiate you. If humans could get smart, you could too.

Your most successful strategy of late was to tie the fishing nets that trailed behind the vessel to tap fish as they went to the bottom of the ship. It was easy to snag the rope along the barnacles that grew on the waterlogged planks. Then, you’d wait for them to send someone down to free the nets, following them deep beneath the waves to avoid detection. Occasionally, they’d just cut the nets loose and move on. But if you did it enough times, they would be forced to free their remaining nets in hopes of returning home to make a profit. You’ve gorged yourself of plenty of individuals who were tasked with freeing the nets.

Unfortunately, that leaves you in your current predicament. You had gotten cocky with your recent successes, that you didn’t take into account the fact that eventually, they’d catch onto your trick.

You barely gave the ship a once over as soon as you saw the nets that trailed along the sides of it. Your stomach growled, leading you to hastily approach the nets. What you didn’t see was the damned black flag flying proudly atop the highest mast, and just how shallow the nets actually were. Your vibrant scales were all too visible to eyes that were already searching for you.

The moment you gripped the edge of the rope, a larger net whose opening was tied with weights was dropped on top of you. Within moments, the rough texture of the net threatened to tear your scales from your body and strangle you the moment you moved. All you could do was struggle and hiss as the net was lifted from the water.

They dropped you harshly against the wood of the deck, various sounds of triumph echoing around you at your appearance. You growled, tail thumping against the wood threateningly. If they weren’t careful, you could easily crush their fragile bones under the powerful muscles of your tail.

“My, my! I apologize, I thought I taught my crew to treat our guest better,” a deep, weathered voice crooned. A man, whose large hat and stature made it impossible to see the top half of his face, stepped out in front of you. His towering frame was intimidating, somehow dwarfing yours.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am called All For One, my real name is of no importance. I am the captain of this lovely ship. And you are?”

You hissed as he stretched a hand towards you, claws raking into the deck. He pulled his hand away with a chuckle. “I understand that we are different species, but surely you don’t treat your fellow sirens so rudely?”

He turned to a scrawny man with unruly grey hair, no doubt his second in command. "Have her taken down below deck, I bet we can make a fortune off those scales of hers."

You shrieked as men began moving closer to you, tail whipping out at their legs. However, all that did was further restrain you in the mass of tangled rope. It was all too easy for them to pin you to the deck and restrain you completely. Yet, through the mass of sadistic smiles and raggedy appearances, one pair of eyes caught your attention. You'd only caught a glimpse, but what you'd see nearly made you pause your struggles. Vibrant blue eyes gazed at you through a part in the mob of men struggling with your thrashing form. There was a strange pull that stung your chest as soon as your eyes met. They seemed solemn, a look so out of place it distracted you from resisting.

With a harsh shove of your head into the weathered wood, you were out cold.

When you came to, splintering wood replaced the sky where you lay in a heap on the floor. They had taken the liberty of laying you in a shallow dip of metal built into the flooring. It was rusted slightly from the salt water that was barely two inches deep. If the metal clasps that kept you firmly rooted to the floor were anything to go by, you weren't the first siren they'd caught.

You could barely lift yourself off the floor into a seated position. Craning your neck as far as you could, you looked over your tail for any signs of missing scales. It was a little worse for wear, a few of your scales were loose, most were covered in scratches and dirt from the deck. If they were really going to skin you, they hadn't started yet.

A door opened somewhere in the room. You winced as a bright light from the crack of the hatch blinded you momentarily. The spines on the back of your tail rose as you hissed, baring your sharp teeth to your potential assailants. But only one man entered, and the sight of him completely disarmed you.

Those same staggering blue eyes from above deck once again took your breath away. Their vibrancy reminded you of beautiful, clear tropical waters. You swore you could swim in the depths of his eyes.

With the oil lamp in his hand and the lack of humans beating you into submission, you were able to get a better look at him. His hair was black as night, yet from the crimson roots you could tell it was dyed. His face was marred with ragged, rough burns. He had a few piercings, and wore mostly black. He was a little taller than some of the humans you'd eaten, but you weren't sure if he was even worth eating. It looked as if he'd missed a few meals.

He eyed you with a seemingly bored expression.

“S’matter? Not what you were expecting?” His voice was raspy and harsh, as if he hadn’t drank water in days.

Your eyes narrowed into slits, a low hiss thrumming deep in your chest. He rolled his eyes, setting the lamp on a small nightstand near the doorway. He held a bucket in his free hand, tossing its contents over your drying form. You would have screamed if it wasn’t fresh ocean water that hydrated the portion of your skin and scales that rested above what little water lay below you. He crouched in front of you with his hands resting on his knees. You appreciated the motion, as it allowed you to watch his every move without having to fear a sleight of hand. Not like you’d be able to do anything if he did decide to harm you, the chains keeping you tightly to the deck left you defenseless.

“Listen,” his hand went to rub the back of his neck, a low sigh of frustration leaving him. “I hate this as much as you do, and since I’m nearly dead anyways, I figured we could make a deal.”

You cocked your head. That wasn’t anything close to what you were expecting from this encounter. A pirate going against his crew? Nearly dead? It was hard to believe.

“What kind of ‘deal?’” You were hesitant to accept any kind of deal from him, but if he was being sincere, it was better than getting your scales peeled off.

He hummed at your willingness. “Obviously, I haven’t had a good relationship with my employers. Since I’m out the door any day now, as soon as that sadistic bastard makes up his damn mind; I wanna make life a little harder for him.”

“You’re doing this out of spite?”

“Pretty much. I’ve been working on this for quite a bit now, helping you is the final nail in the casket. So? You interested?”

You were certainly intrigued. What kind of horrors had this man faced to turn to a siren to help get back at his own crew? For all you know, this could be a trap. Yet, something about those eyes… The clouded, dull pools of blue with a slight spark of something rippling across its surface…

You didn’t think you could’ve said no even if you tried.

“Okay,” you answered with suspicion. “I’m listening.”

From what you could tell, a day had passed since the man you came to know as Dabi told you his plan. If he could start a fire somewhere on the far side of the ship, then all you had to do once you snapped the weakened chains, courtesy of Dabi before he left you that night, was slip through the hole he’d create with one of the bombs he’d pilfered. Then, since they would be too distracted to wear earplugs, you’d sing to them, luring as many as you could into your territory. As for Dabi, he stated he didn’t care what happened to him after that. Whether he died on board or drowned or perished in the explosion, he couldn’t care less.

The strange tug in your chest from before had returned when you spoke to him the night before. It was a strange feeling you couldn’t quite place, but you thought his eyes seemed...nostalgic. That stinging feeling in your chest only intensified when he left, turning into a pang that nearly kept you up all night.

Your nails scraped the metal beneath you in anticipation. Any minute now, and you’d hear the crew begin to panic as a fire started above deck. And then, hopefully, an explosion that would release you back into the sea. You examined the link in the chain he’d pried open. He’d done it to all the chins that bound you. All you had to do was pull them, and you’d be free.

The more you were left to wait, the more you began to wonder. Were you really okay with Dabi dying? Would you really be able to leave him for dead at the hands of a furious crew, or to drown in the ocean? You didn’t have an answer to any of those questions. You’d only known him for a little over a day and already you didn’t like the thought of him leaving.

A loud shout echoed throughout the ship. Followed by a series of what sounded like gunshots and curses that trailed to the other slide of the ship. You flexed your tail, preparing to spring free from the chains. Something fell into the water on the other side of the wall to your left, and then the wood splintered with a great bang. You would have been too stunned to tug yourself free if you weren’t expecting it. Sea water began to flood the hole in the hull, making it all the more easier to slip through the side.

You felt as if you just had a breath of fresh air, sighing as salt water rejuvenated your poor skin and scales with sweet, sweet relief. Swiftly, you swam to the opposite side of the ship and lifted your head above the surface. The front half of the ship was consumed in flames, and the back half was slowly beginning to dip below the waves. The night air began to sting with smoke and ash. Pirates were screaming and shouting, shots firing in the dark. Remembering your deal, you produced a sweet gentle melody.

After a few moments, the first head leered over the gunwale. The sailor looked dazed, gaze clouded by your song as he all but fell over into the water. He was then promptly crushed by a falling mast that had caught flame, sinking him far below the surface.

The next couple managed to stay a float longer, but all that fell were eventually drowned by the water they unknowingly inhaled. If only you weren’t consumed with worry for the scared man, you would have eaten well.

Minutes went by since the last body fell into the murky depths, so you fell silent. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for, you’d done your part. There wasn’t anything left for you here, not among the accusing crew, nor amidst the final throes of a ship going down.

You then saw a familiar back hit the gunwale. Jet black hair hung ragged against his scared neck. Dabi Appeared to be talking to someone on deck, a pistol gripped loosely in one hand. You wanted to call out to him, but before his name could leave your lips-

Three shots rang out in the cold, dark night. The back of his white tunic was splashed with red and torn by three separate holes. He keeled over backwards, seemingly in slow motion, falling motionlessly into the sea.

You couldn’t help but cry out, diving down to him. Blood was already pooling in the surrounding water where he drifted. Hooking your arms under his, you tugged him a ways away from the vessel where you wouldn’t be spotted.

“Dabi?! Dabi!” You shook him, holding his cheeks between your scaled palms. He was still breathing from what you could tell, each breath growing more shallow than the next.

“H-hey doll,” he sputtered, eyes drooping open. “How nice of you to hang around…”

Tears filled your eyes, making him smile sadly.

“Come now, don’t cry on me. We both knew this would happen.”

You shook your head, sobbing as you watched the color drain from his face.

“It’s strange… but I get the feeling I knew you before.” He coughed, blood spraying into the water. “Not that it matters now, but…

“I’m glad that it was you,” he smiled weakly, “that helped me take em down…”

His eyes fell close, head slumping forward. Clutching him tightly to your chest, you began to weep, wails echoing across the sea. Despite how final his last moments felt, you couldn’t stop your mind from going a mile a minute, trying to think of some way to prevent the inevitable. But as the beat of his heart began to slow against your chest, a thought struck you.

There was a process to turn a human into a siren. It had to be willingly on both ends, but if you could just get him to that place-

You gripped him tightly to your chest, dipping back below the waves and swimming swiftly towards your destination. With any luck, you could save him from his wounds.

#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #mha #mha x reader #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #bnha mermay #mha mermay #late mermay

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draven-imani · 3 years ago

Text

Journal 4

This is a bunch of bullshit.

This is all a bunch of bullshit.

It happened again. And just like every other time, there was nothing I could do.

I…should start from the start, huh? Actually make sense for once. Some travel journal this is. Just a jumble of my useless rambling spiraling thoughts.

Right, right, I should stop with the self-pity, that’s what Melody would say. She’d have some great uplifting speech about how someone else has it harder. Or maybe I should take it the Luna route and start blaming the gods and railing against fate, even though Iomedae is the only reason I made it even as far as I have with my cursed luck? Even though what she suggests spits in the face of everything Auriel would want to be remembered for…

I need to focus. But that is so much easier said than done. I feel godawful. Like my chest was ripped open. I haven’t felt like this since the others died. Gabrielle. Sophia. Issac. Lorette. Inheritor help me I don’t even know if Leto is alive or dead. I’d rather retreat back to the oppressive numbness, although I know it will return soon enough. And as unpleasant as that is, it can’t possibly be more unpleasant than what I’m feeling in this moment.

For now—I need to focus. I need—to write what happened while it’s fresh in my mind.

We left Neatholm soon after we woke. Lann led us part of the way to the rebels’ fortress, but we parted ways as it came into sight. We could see that there were two rebel First Descendants on guard at the front. Luna thought she may be able to try to sneak closer, as she was the most light footed of the group. We offered no disagreements, and she tried to move in to get a better angle. Unfortunately, she was spotted in her approach, and the alarm was raised.

She went immediately on the offensive, attacking the nearest Descendant. Melody and Auriel joined her and cut off the second one from attacking Luna from behind, while I helped her to dispatch the first she had already injured.

Unfortunately, now the alarm was raised and there would be no taking any of the fortress by surprise. Luna burst into the next room, catching the Descendants within halfway through getting their weapons and armor for a fight, leaving them with only their claws for offense. I joined her in fighting the Descendants in this room, but when I did a large monitor lizard burst through the door across the room from me. It zeroed in on me and apparently decided half-elf looked like a tasty treat. And immediately after that an arrow shot across the room from a cracked door, just barely missing my heart in a single shot. All at once I was not doing well—lizard’s chew toy and pin cushion in one.

Auriel charged across the room, and stabbed through the crack in the door. There was a shout of pain before the door was slammed shut. Clearly, my friend had managed to hit the man who’d shot me in retribution. At the same time Melody and Luna were keeping the Descendants busy, which left only the monitor lizard on me. I knocked it away and used some of my limited healing reserves to patch myself up, the arrow wound and bite marks stitching themselves closed—more or less. At this point what’re a few more scars? Don’t know if I’d even be able to tell one apart from another.

With a bit more work we cut down the last few rebel Descendants and the vicious lizard—who was still trying to eat me the entire time.

Auriel threw open the door to run after the mysterious archer who had shot me. There was no one behind the door, just an empty hallway, a closed door, and what appeared to be a well. So Auriel checked behind the closed door.

And got immediately grabbed by a giant amoeba.

The rest of us were still in the other room when we heard the sound of the struggle and came running. Thankfully in the time it took for us to reach him, Auriel managed to pull himself free from the creature’s grasp. Luna made short work of the acidic slime. I looked down the well, and found it was actually an entrance down to a basement.

I made a foolish call, and went down first.

And was immediately shot by the archer again, an arrow just barely missing my lungs.

By Iomedae’s blessing I found a final bit of strength to pull myself back up the ladder to safety before the two Decendants that were flanking him could bear down upon me. I warned the others of the trap waiting for us, so whoever went down next would be prepared. Whoever went down would not be me this time, as it had quickly become clear this archer was particularly good at putting holes in me.

Predictably, Luna took the lead. I heard the twang of another arrow shoot as she went down, but found out later she managed to avoid the shot since she’d been ready for it. Then she’d gone after one of the archer’s minions. Melody and Auriel had followed after her to work on taking them out. I took a bit more time, using some of the potions we’d been given to deal with the aforementioned arrow hole before joining them. By the time I was down, the archer was beginning to retreat, although Luna was hurting a bit, as was Auriel. Unfortunately, once my feet touched the ground the archer turned his attention on me once more for one final parting shot before turning the corner. Spiteful man that he was. Fortunately, this time I was prepared, and it clattered against my shield.

I dispatched one of the archer’s minions, and Melody did the other, while Auriel and Luna tried to go after the archer. Unfortunately, around the corner more Descendants flooded in from further up ahead, blocking the way and allowing the archer to escape. We cut our way through them, and then Auriel threw open the door to the next chamber.

It was a sacrificial alter. There was blood on the floor. But there was no sign of the archer. Auriel moved forward cautiously towards one of the doors. Then the door flew open and a woman with a glaive entered the room. She taunted us, saying we should throw down our weapons and surrender ourselves to be sacrificed, and we could at least die at a less humiliating location. Obviously, we all had something to say to that.

It all boiled down to ‘go fuck yourself’.

Auriel’s way was most elegant, however, as he declared Iomedae’s holy judgement upon her and rushed the cultist of Baphomet. With the Inheritor’s guidance his sword struck true, and the woman was nearly felled in a single swing.

She and her tiefling servant were enraged at this. They…returned the favor. Before the rest of us could reach him, far across the room from any of us, they both stuck him down. First the woman’s glaive, then her servant’s blade, found their mark in Auriel, and he fell.

Luna went after the woman. I put myself between him and the tiefling, trying in vain to keep him from getting the killing blow while Auriel was already bleeding out on the ground. I thought I still had a chance. If I could just keep the tiefling off him for long enough to heal him, I thought that maybe I could still save him. I thought…

But then the door on the opposite side of the room opened, and the familiar fwip of an arrow being loosed met my ear. There was a sharp pain as it pierced through my back. And then…darkness.

The others had to fill me in on the rest. Luna cornered the woman, Hosilla, whose armor proved infuriatingly difficult to puncture through despite the near fatal injuries she’d sustained from Auriel. Melody killed the tiefling servant, but two more cultists came from upstairs who we’d missed from some other room that we’d failed to clear out.

Fortunately, however, Aravashnial and Anevia came up behind the reinforcements, and helped to take them out—having followed us here despite saying they were going to stay behind.

When Luna had worn Hosilla down, she tried in one final act of desperation to flee with a case she’d grabbed from the room she was cornered in. When she did, Luna cut her down. The case flew open and a sword flew out of it…and stuck into Auriel’s chest.

I think Auriel was already dead by that time.

See, that sword is Radiance, the holy sword of Yaniel, one of the great crusaders past. When Yaniel was slain, Radiance’s power was thought lost. And apparently recently Baphomet’s minions stole Radiance with the intention of corrupting it for their own purposes. But when Auriel entered the fortress, Radiance awoke from its long slumber, and its power returned.

And then Auriel died before he got a chance to ever wield it.

And…according to Radiance, Auriel’s soul vouched for me. So…now I have the holy sword Radiance, sitting in its case again, right across from me as I write this.

And let me say Radiance is not terrible pleased with this turn of events.

Also, so you know I haven’t lost my mind over the whole Auriel dying and now I’m talking to a sword: Radiance is an intelligent weapon. Like, magic intelligent. And he has made his opinion on events crystal clear.

“If Auriel hadn’t vouched for you I would have flayed your flesh from your hands for trying to wield me.” Exact words. Pleasant guy. Guy? Sword. I don’t know. I’ll ask later.

Anyways.

I think around the time Radiance stuck into Auriel I started hearing his voice while I was unconscious. I vaguely remember that? I don’t know if I dreamed that up but I feel like I remember…something. Like Radiance’s voice was calling me back from the brink.

And then Aravashnial was over me with a potion bottle and I was awake, and I fully heard Radiance calling upon me to rejoin the battle. And…I saw where Radiance had landed.

And I didn’t have time to process that.

I grabbed Radiance. I was numb. Even more than usual. There was nothing. No thought about this blade that was obviously magic from nowhere and talking to me. No thought about Auriel, or that I had brought death to someone I had just started to consider a friend yet again. Just. A deadly calm. And that archer. I pushed right past Melody. No words, no flourish, no satisfaction, I stabbed the archer who had been giving us so much trouble this entire time and with a single slash with Radiance he died.

Then…I had a bit of a breakdown, to be perfectly honest. Obviously none of us were doing well. Melody and Luna both said something to the effect of it being their fault, and I denied that, obviously. Obviously. Melody tried to say it was not mine either at which I laughed, because she had no idea. How could she? She had no idea how wrong she was. How much it was my fault, how much my ill fortune poisons everything, how everyone always ends up dead, every single blasted time. Everyone but Leto.

Maybe even Leto this time.

Dammit.

Luna said something about how fucked up fate is, about how pointless this all was, how fate and gods throw us all to the meat grinder. I want to argue. I want to say that’s not fair, that’s not how Auriel would want his faith to be remembered. I didn’t have the mental capacity to then and I don’t have the energy to now. I barely have the energy to keep myself together. I usually feel so little and then I was overwhelmed feeling so much and it…felt bad.

We left back to Neatholm afterwards. Met back up with Horgus. He…actually took the news more roughly than I expected. Between that and knowing about the secret donations it seems he has more of a heart than he lets on. I’ll admit he’s growing on me a bit.

Once we were back in town, I was going to slip off on my own. Melody was having none of that. Something something people need people. In a moment of weakness and frustration I told her a little about what happened to my family, and to my friends. Two run ins with demons, not counting Kenabres’ fall. Two times I lost virtually everything.

She turned around and asked if it was worse to lose people all at once, or see them slowly die and be unable to do anything about it while they all die one by one while you’re helpless to do anything. I don’t have an answer for that and she wasn’t looking for one.

Between her and Radiance I’m having a bundle of fun conversations tonight.

You know, I’m not even looking for pity. I don’t want pity. I wasn’t asking her to feel bad for me, or to comfort me, or even necessarily to believe me. I just want someone to maybe acknowledge that, yeah, a fucking lot of bad things happen around me. Consistently. That it’s a pattern and the only consistent piece of the puzzle is me being in the middle of it every time. Maybe just say ‘yeah that’s kind of fucked up that keeps happening’, even if none of them believe me that my luck is cursed and that I’m going to get them all killed being around me…

I don’t know. I’m tired. This is the most emotional I’ve been in a year…and of course it was the bad emotions again. But I already feel the walls coming back up. I’m sure in the morning I’ll have slipped right back into the usual façade.

#cw character death #journal entry #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wotr spoilers #draven imani #auriel answerer #RIP buddy

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scarlet-it-was · 4 years ago

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folklore for evermore: the ruby x christina edition

combining two of my favorite things: taylor swift and fandom. here are the lyrics and headcanons that are giving me life from the summer/autumn sister albums; reylo & msr editions to follow

cardigan

you drew scars around my stars

but now i’m bleeding

but i knew you

stepping on the last train

marked me like a bloodstain

i knew you

tried to change the ending

peter losing wendy

...you put me on and said I was your favorite

I’d be remiss not to include this as the first in the list considering I’m writing a fic and using specific lyrics as the fic name and chapter titles. If you’re interested, you can find it here: You Drew Stars Around My Scars

my tears ricochet

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

You turned into your worst fears

When I think of the...distinctly disappointing end of the series, these last lines come to mind. Even though I don’t really believe that Christina killed Ruby—but if she had, she definitely turned into her worst fears, which was ultimately being as much of a failure as her father.

this is me trying

I've been having a hard time adjusting

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back

I have a lot of regrets about that

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could've followed my fears all the way down

And maybe I don't quite know what to say

But I'm here in your doorway

Headcanon: Christina has been resurrected in some fashion, perhaps by the Mark of Cain, or a secondary magic trap she set just in case things went to hell. This finds her regretting her choices, contemplating her next steps, if she even wants to take them, but ultimately, ends up finding Ruby.

And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad I have a lot of regrets about that I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here Pouring out my heart to a stranger But I didn't pour the whiskey

Headcanon (cont): Ruby proved time and time again in the show that she knows exactly how to cut right to the center of a person with her words, and I’m sure over the years, she’s said some regrettable things to her sister (not that they were undeserved). Ruby also put in the effort to take the classes and make herself as an attractive candidate as possible for her ‘dream job’ and when she finally is ready—she finds a thin, light-skinned Tamara has been hired. And the rest of the story in the little bar scene—she and William didn’t stay strangers for long.

mad woman

And there's nothing like a mad woman

What a shame she went mad

No one likes a mad woman

You made her like that

And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out

And you find something to wrap your ***** around

And there's nothing like a mad woman

Really applicable to both parties who were both oppressed by patriarchy (both) and whiteness (Ruby). I censored one of the words because I’m not comfortable using that word in reference to a POC, but the Swifties know what it is. Anyway, you end up with two women who are willing to ‘go the distance’ so to speak to get what they want and not be interrupted because of the bodies and skin they were born in.

peace

But I'm a fire and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade, ocean wave blues come

All these people think love's for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Headcanon: In spite of her money and magic, there’s a certain amount of peace that she’ll never be able to give Ruby in part because she can’t (and doesn’t want, nor does Ruby want) for her to take away her blackness. The flip side is that Christina’s ambition will likely always put them in harm’s way to an extent. But at the end of the day, in spite of Leti’s accusations that Ruby is being used, Christina is the only one who is up front with her 100% of the time regardless of how it comes out. She always comes through for Ruby.

Hoax

My best laid plan

Your sleight of hand

My barren land

I am ash from your fire

Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason"

Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in

Headcanon: a sadder and more cynical take on if Ruby had betrayed Christina in the finale (which I still don’t think she would have, but it wasn’t my show and I didn’t write that ending) which did in fact wreck her best laid plans with Ruby’s bait and switch of seducing Christina in her natural body instead of William’s—leaving Christina dead at the end of the series.

willow

Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind

They count me out time and time again

Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind

But I come back stronger than a '90s trend

Including this lyrics specifically because it reminds me of one of my favorite AU fics, Leave It To The Davenports – if you haven’t checked out this WIP, it is a ride you don’t want to miss.

gold rush

Gleaming, twinkling

Eyes like sinking ships on waters

So inviting, I almost jump in

I don't like a gold rush, gold rush

I don't like anticipatin' my face in a red flush

Walk past, quick brush

I don't like slow motion, double vision in rose blush

I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush

Everybody wants you

But I don't like a gold rush

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

I see me padding across your wooden floors

With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit

Headcanon: The last line specifically reminds me of Ruby snarking at Christina about being late and in return being called demanding. But also, overall, it captures the feeling of Ruby initially being distrustful of William’s affections towards her specifically when there are any number of women he could be with.

no body no crime

Headcanon: The whole damn song is my murder wives anthem.

happiness

Past the blood and bruise Past the curses and cries Beyond the terror in the nightfall Haunted by the look in my eyes That would've loved you for a lifetime Leave it all behind And there is happiness

I can't make it go away by making you a villain

I guess it's the price I paid And I pulled your body into mine Every goddamn night

There'll be happiness after you

But there was happiness because of you Both of these things can be true There is happiness

In our history, across our great divide

There is a glorious sunrise

Dappled with the flickers of light

Headcanon: Misleading song title in a way. This is what I’m dealing with in chapter 3 of my fic in the wake of Christina’s death and the process of Ruby moving on and finding happiness on her own. The writers Lovecraft Country tried really hard to make Christina a hateable villain, and I suppose through the lens of straight up hating white people, they may have done that for some viewers. They failed to give her any real Big Bad qualities though outside of manipulation and apathy—which while those aren’t shining character traits for her, it doesn’t make her the best (worst?) option for being the overarching antagonist. We had villains literally chopping people up and sewing them together, but Christina was the bad guy? Nah, I think not

long story short

Fatefully

I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me

Misery

Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

And you passed right by

I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides

The knife cuts both ways

If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break And I fell from the pedestal

Right down the rabbit hole

Long story short, it was a bad time

Pushed from the precipice

No more keepin' score

Now I just keep you warm

No more tug of war

Now I just know there's more

And my waves meet your shore

Ever and evermore When I dropped my sword

I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door

And we live in peace

But if someone comes at us, this time, I'm ready Long story short, I survived

Headcanon: based on the idea that Christina survives, but does in fact have her magic stripped from her and is reflecting on the time period and going forward how she will protect her and Ruby’s relationship going forward by critics (like Leti) who would make Ruby choose between them.

Evermore

Hey December

Guess I'm feeling unmoored

Can't remember

What I used to fight for

I rewind thе tape but all it does is pause

On thе very moment, all was lost

Sending signals

To be double-crossed

And I was catching my breath

Barefoot in the wildest winter

Catching my death

And I couldn't be sure

I had a feeling so peculiar

That this pain would be for

Evermore

And when I was shipwrecked (Can't think of all the cost)

I thought of you (All the things that will be lost now)

In the cracks of light (Can we just get a pause?)

I dreamed of you (To be certain we'll be tall again, if you think of all the costs)

It was real enough (Whether weather be the frost)

To get me through (Or the violence of the dog days) (Or the violence of the dog days)

(Out on waves, being tossed)

(I'm on waves, out being tossed)

I swear (Is there a line that we can just go cross?)

You were there

And I was catching my breath

Floors of a cabin creaking under my step

And I couldn't be sure

I had a feeling so peculiar

This pain wouldn't be for

Evermore

Headcanon: Specific to You Drew Stars Around My Scars and Ruby’s grief in the early chapters and how she feels that the grief is impossible to move past when she thinks back about the months that the two of them spent getting to know each other as friends and lovers. She uses magic to connect with Christina even when she’s not there.

#text post #long ass text post #ruby x christina #lyrics #tswift for every occasion #all my problematic ships #we could have had it all

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randomfandomimagine · 5 years ago

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Soul of a Warrior. Chapter 13: True Love Awaits

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Jaskier x Nissa (OC)

Previous Chapter - Chapter Index - Next Chapter

AO3

Please reblog and leave a comment, it would make my day!

A/N: I hope you’re all enjoying this series so far, thank you so much to everyone that is still following it! 🥰 Also, I’ve been including a few The Amazing Devil references here and there because reasons, if you’re a fan too, see if you catch them! 😄

Hana was kind enough to retrieve Pal for me in Touissant. I had missed my beloved horse, and his company proves helpful in my loneliness. Of course, I am not quiet alone, though that weight in my chest hasn’t left me. I try to take it as a reminder, as further incentive to stay, for the quicker I accomplish my goal, the sooner I can return and let go of that ache.

Her company is indeed a delight, as always, even if our interactions are a bit tepid until we recover the time we’ve lost. She has been very supportive of me the entire time I have been here. After I suggested I could go to nearby towns to work as a medic, she has always accompanied me. Hana hasn’t ceased looking after me with the care of an older sister. I enjoy her presence every day, it being the best thing of this place as well as learning.

“Are you having any trouble?” The redhead asks over my shoulder, forcing me back to reality.

“N-No” I clear my throat, redirecting my eyes to the woman’s wound. “I’ve got it”

These days I have been quite absent and find it nearly impossible to focus. I can’t exactly explain what is causing this state, though I have a faint suspicion. The first few days I was enamored with the place, with the new people and opportunities, with all the new knowledge. I was far too distracted by this wondrous situation to miss anything. Or anyone. At the end of the first month, however, as soon as the routine set in and the magic vanished, things changed. Some absences became too noticeable, and the ache in my heart grew in intensity. No matter how much I adore Hana, or everything that I am doing here, there is something missing. A gaping hole in my heart.

“Nissa” Hana insists, and I click my tongue in annoyance with myself. This person needs my cares. All my monster knowledge proves incredibly helpful as well, even if these are claw marks this time.

“Right” I must concentrate, I am working after all.

People often came to my aid when they were in need of a healer. The first few clients weren’t as pleased with my services, but as time passed and I acquired more practice, I also found confidence in my learned skills. Now, as I observe the wound on the woman’s arm, I recognize it doesn’t require magic. It is fortunately superficial, and although nasty looking, it can be treated fairly easily. More importantly, it can be treated manually, for I have learned not to use magic at every opportunity and instead save it for deep wounds or complicated injuries.

My hands nearly work on their own as they treat the wound, firstly cleaning it now that it has stopped bleeding to then move on to carefully bandaging it.

“Change the bandage twice a day” I tell the patient as I finish. “And apply salve when you do, it will help it heal quicker”

“Thank you” The woman heaves a sigh of relief. “I was so frightened… I didn’t want to turn into a werewolf”

“That won’t happen” I patiently repeat, used to people sometimes being more concerned about non physical ailments. “If it were a bite, perhaps. Claw marks, however, are like any other wound”

“A coin?” Hana reminds her not so subtly.

“Of course” The woman produces some from her pocket and hand it to me.

“Charmed to help” I offer a polite smile as I save the payment in my pouch.

“Remember not to go out late at night” Is my friend’s goodbye as we exit the small house.

I absently count the coins in my pouch. It is hard to believe that not long ago I didn’t even own one and now it is full to the brim. In all honesty, it does bring a smile to my face.

“You didn’t use magic this once” Hana’s hand moves idly and creates a portal that sits on the ground before us. “And you haven’t fainted, what a coincidence”

“That was so long ago…” I roll my eyes, returning my pouch to its place on my belt. “Are you not going to forget about it?”

“No, you obstinate woman” She grunts in exasperation, nearing the magical portal. I grin in spite of myself, even if it only exasperates her more.

When we cross, we are once again at Aretuza. Hana's brown eyes are attentive to my every move. Surely, she must have noticed how distracted I am as of late. I pay no attention to her concern and instead begin walking, leading the way. We near the academy, bustling with the sorceresses that I have gotten to know these past years. I pay more attention to them than to Hana, who keeps lecturing me and giving me a bit of a headache. Triss is heading our direction, bearing her usual warm smile as she approaches us to fortunately put an end to my friend’s endless scolding.

“Nissa, you’re back!”

“Hello, Triss” I hug her when she opens her arms. “Long time no see”

As I found out, Triss happened to be affiliated with King Foltest. After what happened in Vizima, she had often gone back to aid the very few survivors that managed to escape the dragon fire massacre. A stark survivor herself, Hana often accompanied her to Vizima. Not lately, however, for rumor had it that these days Triss went to meet with a certain witcher instead. Even separated, their memory chases me.

“Are you alright?” Triss asks, frowning slightly. “You seem a bit absent”

“Her head is on the clouds lately”

“I’m fine, Han”

“If you are unhappy, feel free to leave at any time” The latter reminds me, even if with a resigned sigh. When I peer at her in surprise, she nods her head. “Yes, I have noticed it”

“I am not unhappy…”

“Yet you don’t quite feel at home” I detest that Hana knows me so well.

I also hate that returning to the comforting feeling that was her friendship wasn’t as ideal as I expected it to be. Of course, it has been wonderful to meet her again and spend some time together. It feels as though her magic healed internal wounds. Reconciling that part of my past and closing that chapter of my life feels like letting go of one of the many burdens that seemed to haunt me. Yet that is not quite enough, somehow.

Things have changed. I have changed. And mostly there are two people to blame, even if one takes a bigger part of it. Nonetheless, how am I to voice these thoughts? How am I to admit to Hana, my old friend, that I crave something more? That now that I know that she is alive and well, safe and more than capable, I can carry on without her? That now that I have learned healing my stay here seems pointless? I feel like a child that only desires that which she cannot have, yet my heart keeps yearning for their return. The more I think about them, the more my skepticism fades and the more destiny and true love feel real instead of a foolish fantasy as I once thought they were. This feeling in my heart tells me so.

“I… It is nothing personal, truly. I have met some amazing women here and made great friends” I fondly squeeze Triss’ arm, earning a smile from her. “Still, I…”

“They are your home” Hana completes for me, abandoning her grave tone. Now it is full of understanding and resignation.

“Am I that transparent…?” I force out a smile, even if averting my eyes.

“You speak his name on your sleep” The redhead smirks, although it is the playful glint in her eye that speaks for itself.

“Hana…” I whine. When Triss giggles, I am convinced that I am blushing.

“I am appalled that I never got to meet the bard” The latter nudges me. “Honestly, it makes me curious that you sigh for him in such a way”

“Oi, I don’t sigh for him!” I defend myself, perhaps too adamantly. “We are just friends”

“There is no need to lie” They share a look of rapport that sets my teeth on edge.

I glare at them and laugh in outrage. My embarrassment deeply amuses them.

“There, I haven’t seen you smile like that in weeks” Hana insists, pinching my burning cheeks. I scowl.

“If you could stop torturing me, that would be wonderful” I softly push her away, refusing to look into their eyes while they laugh at my expense.

“Nissa” Triss shows me her kind smile. “You better visit us”

“I haven’t even decided anything yet” I mutter, shoving behind my ear the strands of hair that escape my disheveled bun. “Stop that”

“Perhaps you should take Pal for a ride” Hana tilts her head in the direction where I left my horse. “Clear your head”

I squint at her when I recognize the meaning behind her words. Her eyes are expressive enough to speak her thoughts. ‘You may be deceiving yourself, Nissa, but you can’t deceive us’. No, I am not deceiving myself. I have not made my mind up yet.

“Hm…” I utter a mocking hum as I wrinkle my nose at her. Hana grins.

Perhaps trying to let that sink in, she takes Triss and leaves me alone. I don’t look at them over my shoulder, yet I can feel their eyes on me as I stand there deep in thought. No matter, Pal’s company will be reassuring. It might contribute to solving the conflict within me. I stare at my worn-out boots as I approach the horse, calmly sitting where I left him. He leans his head against my shoulder as soon as I approach, and I smile and caress his mane back. As soon as I climb onto the saddle and start galloping, I grin widely. It feels liberating. Last time I freely rode Pal and wandered was far too long ago.

My thoughts feel as tangled as ever. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I would blame my state on some sort of powerful sorcery. Although the source of my emotions is real, it does feel purely magical.

With Pal moving for me, I found it hard to ground myself in reality, immersed in deep thoughts which weren’t useful. Nothing has changed as a result, not my uncertainty nor my yearning. Forcing myself to actually pay attention to the direction my feet take, I have left Pal to rest for a moment while I take a stroll. I promise myself to make it brief and then return to him.

Like a wake-up call, a sound suddenly startles me. My eyes examine the area that surrounds me, scattered with trees, until I find the source. As if I needed more proof to blindly believe in destiny, my heart halts as soon as I turn to the sound of footsteps. I recognize the figure in the distance, even when he faces his back to me. His vibrant red clothes are a dead giveaway. If that wasn’t clue enough, an instrument hangs from his back. A smile creeps up to my lips as I walk closer to him. My accelerated heart betrays my excitement. For several seconds I can only watch him, still astonished that it is truly him. He clumsily steps on the soil under his feet, nearly slipping because of the mild slope. I chuckle. It is really him.

“Jaskier!” I call him, causing him to immediately turn around. His face lights up.

“Nissa!” He replies in surprise, trudging my way as well. “Ugh, a friendly face”

We meet in the middle and stand there for a moment, just peering at each other. I have the urge to lunge myself at him and hug him tight, though ultimately I don’t. I am mortified when I feel out of breath at his mere presence before me. The effect he has on me has not changed, as my feelings have not faded in the slightest. A smile slowly creeps up to his lips, as those lively blue eyes I had missed so much look me up and down. He hasn’t changed a bit in all this time.

“You… you changed your hair” He points out, lifting a finger up to push away one of the strands that frame my face. “Y-Yeah…”

I never feel his touch, for he lowers his hand and looks away from me. Time has taken a toll on our closeness, as things seem to have cooled after so long without seeing each other. I no longer know how to address him, and our once intimate connection seems gone.

“It gets in the way” I shrug, chuckling nervously. “And it’s more comfortable than a braid”

“Less laborious too, I assume” Our eyes meet once more. “You always spent so long braiding it”

The cold autumn breeze fills the silence as it caresses our skins and ruffles our hair. As usual, he doesn’t push his away when it falls over his eyes. I smile. Remaining quiet, he imitates my gesture despite not knowing the thought that conjured it.

“What… what are you doing here, Jaskier?” He pauses, apparently too busy staring at me.

“It is so good to see you, honestly” Making me realize we are still just standing there, he begins walking. I do the same, lingering by his side. “You are not going to believe what happened”

“I’m all ears” My heart unexpectedly wells up, being thankful for the company myself.

“I got lost in this… stupid place” He motions around us. “Luckily I found you, and you can be my compass”

“Gladly” I say, desperate to break through this rare stiffness in the conversation. In reality, there’s a question burning in my mind that I can’t help but to blurt out. “And… where’s Geralt?”

As we walk together to a more open area, I notice how his feet halt for a moment. Jaskier recovers quickly, though, and carries on with our brisk pace.

“I don’t know, actually” He plays with the leather strap supporting the lute to his back. “We sort of… parted ways too”

I take notice of the reluctant and saddened hint in his voice. Sensing something has happened between them, I open my mouth to ask. However, Jaskier pipes up once more.

“Never mind that, tell me about what you’ve done” He tilts his head in my direction. His voice has acquired its usual energy once more. “Have you learned a lot?”

“I have” I glance at my hands, now calloused and mildly worn-out. “Even if I haven’t quite perfected magic yet”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re fine” He waves his hand in the air. “There's nothing you can’t do”

I chuckle. His compliment flatters me. I have missed how casually he can spew lovely words. Struggling to find a proper reply, I only part my lips. The sudden rustling of nearby bushes alarms me. Forgetting about searching for a witty remark that before came so naturally, I peer in the direction of the sound.

“I suppose magic is quite a complicated subject” He is saying, still focused on the conversation. “Still, you have been here… what, nearly two years? Surely, your abilities must have greatly improved”

“Shut up” I ask him, slowly nearing the bushes. I tip toe not to be noisy, though he does not. His steps are fidgety and heavy.

“Well, that isn’t very nice” He puts a hand on his hip, mindlessly following. “Nissa, have you turned impolite?”

I recognize his attempt to rekindle our relationship, though the timing is greatly off. Thousands of possibilities fill my mind. It can be a monster behind the bush. It can be Scoia’tael. It can be Jovan. Was Jaskier followed? Was I being watched? Did I put all my friends in danger again?

“Honestly, that was quite hurtful, I-“

“Shut up!” I slap a hand against his mouth, not worrying to glance at him. Jaskier grunts against my hand, but resigns himself to his imposed silence.

The noise continues, although the rustling alone isn’t enough to properly hint to who the attacker might be. The tall bush is moving. Jaskier stiffens when he sees it too. I recognize a shadow lurking behind it and gasp. Then I act on an instinct and throw myself towards Jaskier. He yelps, clumsily holding on to me when I push him to the ground.

Landing on top of him, I hear him grunting when his back makes contact. The lute thuds against the ground, protecting him from harm. Before he can speak again, I cover him with my body and return my palm to his mouth. His eyes are wide as he watches me in astonishment. I look away from them and back to the bush. My heartbeat fills the silence. I hold my breath. The rustling then continues as a shape slowly emerges from the bushes, too slowly for my poor nerves. I breathe out when I see our ‘attacker’.

It is only a deer. The animal calmly paces near us.

“Melitele…” I utter in annoyance, heaving a deep breath.

Jaskier’s fingers meet with my hand, which he gently pushes off his mouth. When I peer down at him, there is a pronounced frown on his brow. Worried about his wellbeing, I open my mouth, though my breathing is so erratic that I can’t speak.

“Uh… Nissa?”

“False alarm…”

“I noticed… Uh, I don’t know if you realized, but… you’re straddling me”

I feel heat creeping up my entire face when I see I am in fact straddling him. Because of the lute on his back, his torso is propped up and our faces are extremely close. I can feel his breath on my nose. My body is pressing his to the ground while my free hand protectively keeps his chest in place, so I take it off.

“Sorry…” I laugh a bit, hoping he can’t hear the hammering of my heart. “Are you hurt?”

“No…” His hand squeezes my hip. “But you’re still on top of me”

“Forgive me” I hurriedly scurry off him and allow him to move.

“Oh, you are forgiven” Jaskier calmly mutters. I can feel his eyes on me.

I suddenly feel incredibly disheveled when several strands of hair fall over my face. My panting doesn’t help. Neither does my still racing heart, nor the heat in my body. Wishing the ground could just eat me whole, I focus my glance on it while my hands try to find something to occupy themselves with. They still remember the feeling of his chest hair against them, of the movement of his breathing under my palm. Instead they move to my hair and attempt to fix the mess that is my bun. Once I check it has survived the sharp movements, my fingers instinctively fall upon my dagger. I whip my head up and stare at Jaskier. I pretend not to realize how he is gawking at me.

“You should take this” I offer it to him, not wanting to leave him exposed. “Just in case”

“There was no danger” He reminds me, watching the harmless deer with the corner of his eye. “I’m alright”

“But if there is, you have no weapon”

“If I take it, I leave you with no weapon”

“I can take care of myself”

Studying magic and medicine hasn’t been the only abilities I have improved on. Every day, I have made it a mission to train a bit. Abandoning the use of my dagger, I familiarized myself with Kader’s old sword. I am nowhere near as skilled as Geralt is, but I can surely hold myself in a fight now. Furthermore, and remembering how obstinate the witcher was about it, I have tried to use my legs and fists as weapons as well.

“I appreciate the thought, Nissa, but-“

“Jaskier, take the damn dagger”

“Actually, I don’t need it… I… always carry something with me”

When he pushes his open doublet aside, I see a familiar hilt sticking out from his waistband. As my hand rests over my dagger, I recognize how similar Jaskier’s is. For a moment I wonder why he hasn’t said anything about it before. Then I remember where he got the weapon from: it was that day in the mountain, when one of Jovan’s treasure hunters dropped it and we found it. Has he kept it all this time? Why? Was it because it reminded him of me or only to arm himself? To my knowledge, he never carried weapons before we met, only his trustworthy lute. The idea that he held on to the dagger only flusters me further, as if I wasn’t very much so before.

“Don’t worry about me, love” Jaskier grins in the end, even if there is so much to him at this very moment. The way his fingers delicately hold on to his dagger. How his eyes are fondly watching me. The subtle blush in his cheeks.

“R-Right” I nod, cringing on the inside. “Good”

“Are you alright, Nissa?”

“Yes. A-Anyway, where was I?” I continue walking, flustered by his scrutiny. “Right, magic”

The subject change is rather abrupt, and I know how bizarre the moment is when Jaskier doesn’t say a word after that.

Finally forgetting about my strange moment of alarm, Jaskier has started talking again. He seems fascinated by my tale of all the things I have learned here. When he jokes and asks about the beautiful sorceresses, I feel as though the awkwardness is in the process of leaving us.

Pal has taken us back to the academy. I lightly tug on the reins and proceed to jump off. Before I can, Jaskier is already on the ground and reaching out with his arms. I grin as I lean in his direction, allowing him to hold me by the waist and carefully lower me onto the floor. I feel stupid as I wonder in the gentle touch of his hands and his surprisingly muscular biceps under my fingers.

“Thank you” I mutter, moving away from him too quickly when we stand too close.

“My pleasure, my lady” He stands still for just a second. “So, uh… why didn’t you just use a portal, if you can in fact conjure them?”

“Simple” I say as I walk away, waiting for him to follow. “I refuse to use them unless I absolutely have to. Magic comes with a price, and I dislike using portals in any way”

“Ah, just like Geralt…” His tone instantly shifts from cheery to gloomy. I anxiously glance around to distract him from whatever has happened with the witcher. As I do, I spot Hana and Triss sitting by a tree. They are having a lively conversation that I hope does not include me.

“I want you to meet Triss” Though I hesitate to touch him again, I link my arm with his and drag him in their direction. “She is the sweetest”

“Is that her, the brunette?” The grin does indeed return to his lips. “She is gorgeous”

“Oh, how I have missed your blatant adoration for other people” I mock him, averting my eyes when both the women and him watch me.

“Sarcasm can harmful a weapon, my dear Nissa” His hand pats mine over his forearm. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re jealous”

“Nissa!” Triss luckily calls attention off the subject, standing to her feet and approaching us. Hana stays behind for a bit, mouth agape as she stares at Jaskier. I can’t wait to have her tease me further, especially knowing that she was more than correct.

“Hello, lovely dame!” Jaskier offers his hand as soon as Triss is close enough. “I‘m Jaskier, and who might you be?”

She isn’t exactly subtle when her eyes widen at the mention of the name she has heard so many times. Gosh, why does he make me feel like a child with a stupid crush?

“Triss. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jaskier” Her eyes fall upon me for just a second before returning to him. “Nissa has told me all about you”

“Has she now?”

“H-Hana!” I call her over, frantically gesturing for her to save me.

I ‘accidentally’ bump my shoulder against Triss while I leave them to reunite with Hana. Triss whispers a ‘he’s cute’ before I leave her side. Hana rushes to reach me, even if her eyes won’t stop traveling from him to me. An uncharacteristically mischievous grin plays in her lips.

“How did you find him?” She blurts out, tugging at my sleeve as soon as she approaches.

“We sort of... just found each other near the woods” I chuckle, mildly distracted by the sound of his voice behind me. “Isn’t that such a coincidence?”

“Coincidence…”

“Of course”

“Are you leaving with him?”

“I…” Although I hesitate, that feeling in my heart returns to eliminate any doubts. “I think so…”

“True love awaits” She simply whispers to me as we return with them.

Tag list: @x-joie-x / @x-jodi-x / @dancingwith-thesunflowers / @golden-guide / @alwayshave-faith / @this-is-whump-dammit / @legallyblindgamer727 / @lilyevans1 / @kingniazx / @molethemollie / @a-somehow-functioning-dumbass // Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list to be notified when I post next chapter!!

#please reblog!!#jaskier x oc #jaskier x reader #soul of a warrior #soaw #witcher #witcher fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #oc #original character

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eugenesmorphine · 5 years ago

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Home Is Where My Heart Is // Eugene Sledge Imagine

Taglist: @alienoresimagines

Words: 2,842

It was late when I had another nightmare. My body jumping up, sweat covering my body whilst tears filled my eyes. My breath shaky and quick as I placed my arms behind my shivering torso to prop myself up. I looked to my side, the empty spot in the sheets laying on my bed was of course still there. Gene was still in the Pacific fighting the war, while I was still here in my bed at two forty five in the morning from another nightmare. Over and over again I kept seeing my Eugene die over in the Pacific fighting those Japs.

I would barely have any nightmares, maybe one a week, nothing bad either. The nightmares were bearable. I could sleep after those ones. But after Eugene had sent his final letter stating that he couldn't send letter to me anymore for a while, for whatever reason, I began to truly fear everything. I didn't know what was happening over in god knows where, and all I can do is pray for my boyfriend while he is gone and pray that no Marines show up on dress blues with bad news and a letter. All the worries of everyday life and now the fact that I was having more than one worry about my Eugene. The nightmares now almost happened every single night. Everyone worst than the last. I couldn't sleep after them. So that led to many restless and depressive nights. Only having my prayers and my mindfulness to keep me sane.

It was now the real morning time. The sun began to rise, I could feel the soft rays poke through my lace curtains and the warmth hit my (S/C) skin. Time to get up and get ready for work. Another morning without Eugene Sledge.

I tiredly swung my legs over the side of my bed, feeling my toes dig into the soft carpet. I pushed myself up to stand, stretching my arms up above my head. A soft and tired sigh leave my lips as I place my arms back down at my side as I began to walk down my small hallway and walk into my small kitchen. Out of spite, like every morning, I walk to my kitchen and start making myself a hot cup of coffee in the brewer. Yawning as I went to grab my favorite mug. I noticed the small stain of red lipstick stained on the place where I always drank out of it. A small smile curved onto my lips and I brought the mug to the counter and placed it next to the brewer.

As the coffee brewed, I knew it was going to take a while. Damn that old coffee pot. I walked into my bathroom and shut the door behind me. I began to peel of my night clothes, shivering as the cold morning air hit my bare skin. I turned my shower on, steam began to quickly fill the bathroom as I stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain back to its normal spot. I sighed happily as the hot water poured down my skin. I could feel my muscles relaxing. I ran my hands through my now wet hair and began to wash it. This was my morning routine before heading to work. Wash up, rap my hair in curlers, get dressed, sit down and drink my coffee as I read a bit of a book, once done with coffee I do my makeup, then I walk to the diner I work at and work my days work. Then I come home and eat a small dinner, showering once more and getting into my bed clothes and actually going to bed. Pretty simple.

Once I finished my shower, I wrapped a towel around my body. I wiped the mirror of it's fog using a cloth, looking back at my reflection. I just stood there for a moment. A quick memory flashing in front of my eyes. It was Eugene. I stood there, staring in the mirror. I watched as he stood behind me, smiling at me through the mirror. I felt tears prick back into my eyes as I smiled back. I felt his hands snake around my waist to hug me from behind. I just stood there, in shock. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest as he grip around my waist tightened. A few tears fell. I was snapping to my senses. "Genie!" I yelled, turning around to give him the biggest hug and kiss. But when I went to wrap my arms around boyfriend, there was nobody there. I gulped as I realized that it was all in my head. More tears fell. Not out of happiness this time. But out of fear thinking that I was now going crazy. I was seeing things for gods sake! I just took a deep breath, wiped my tears, and tried to ignore the thing that had just happened. Pushing it into the back of my head.

I brushed out my hair rather quickly, soon putting my curlers in just as quick. I then walked to my room, shivering once more as the cold air hit me. I walked into my room, shutting the door behind me. Then walking to my closet to grab a fresh and clean uniform out of my closet. I laid the dress down flat on my bed. Going back to my closet seconds later to retrieve my white pumps. I dropped my towel, slipping on my undergarments and began to get dressed. The thought of Eugene never leaving my mind for some reason. Oh how I missed him. It had been many months since I have last seen him. I lost track in all honestly. Our place in Mobile, Alabama was so empty and boring now the my Eugene wasn't going on anywhere with me. I sighed heavily as I slipped on my pumps and walked back out in the kitchen. My coffee was indeed done and smelt amazing.

I grabbed my mug and poured some of the fresh hot coffee into it. The steam from the hot liquid floated from the surface for a while. I put a teaspoon of sugar and a dash of cream within the drink and stirred it. I took a sip and let out a satisfied sigh. It tasted perfect. Like every morning. I checked the time. Still right on time. Not running a tad bit late, and it seems I am even a little early today. I smiled down at my clock, pleased with myself. I sat down in my dining chair, placing my mug to the right of me as I picked up the book I had been reading. Opening it's pages and went to the page with my book mark. I removed it and began reading the page. I focused on the words, feeling relaxation with every page turned. I hummed softly to myself as I read and sipped my coffee. Finishing the coffee quickly, I got through what I believe nine or ten pages in my book. I smiled as I placed my book mark back in between the pages. The book was almost finished.

I placed the book back down smiling. That was until I acknowledged the empty seat that sat in front of me. This was another thing that happened every morning. And with every morning, the feeling of loneliness and sorrow grew within my chest. I shook my head softly, pushing myself up and grabbed my empty mug. Sadly placing it in the sink and walked back to go into my room and sat at my vanity.

I pulled my chair out, sitting down and staring into my mirror. I pulled out my makeup. Lipstick, blush, mascara, the full nine yards. I had to look pretty in order to get good tips. All waitresses knew that. I began doing my makeup, keeping an eye on the time in the process. Still right on time. I pulled my curlers out of my hair as I finished up with my makeup. My bouncy curls right on point. Smiling in the mirror, feeling good about myself. I just wished Mr. Sledge was here to see me look this nice today. If only. I sprayed a small bit of hairspray in the curls, making it so I knew they would stay in for the day.

I sat and stared at a picture I had framed in my vanity. The picture of Eugene and I on our first date. His best friend Sydney Phillips had insisted to take it. I was too busy laughing in the picture. My hand slightly covering my laughing mouth, my eyes shut and closed tightly and my head was tilted back. Eugene had an arm around my waist, he was laughing too. Though, not as hard as me. His mouth was open, showing he was laughing, But his eyes were open and staring at me, with only what everyone could say was love in his eyes. His other hand was holding mine, making sure I didn't fall over from laughing. It was quite an amazing picture. It was my favorite one of the two of us. I smiled at the frame in my hand as I grazed my index finger over Gene's face. This was taken a couple days before Sydney had left for the Marines. It felt like a lifetimes ago, though I could remember that day so well. I feel as though it was the best day of my life.

Before I knew it, I was leaving my home and shutting the door, and starting to walk to the diner I work at. It wasn't far, that's why I chose to walk. I walked through the doors, all my regular customers there had a smile on their faces and a happy greeting for me as I tied my apron around my waist, took my notepad and pen out and began taking orders. That is how my day went. That is basically how everyday at my work goes. Take orders, talk to customers, give them their food and drinks, they pay and give me a tip. This repeats for usually eight to nine hours. Then I help clean the diner and then clock out. Everything about today was the same. Today was a normal day.

I finished work. And like I said before, it was completely normal. Nothing had changed. I had gotten three dollars in tips and I was walking home. It was a normal walk home. The air was cold, the sounds were normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was quite late at night when I reached my front door step. I grabbed my key out and went to place it into the key hole. Though, quickly noticing it was unlocked. Confusion and a tinge of fear shot through my body. I knew damn well that I closed and locked that door. I gulped slightly, not letting my fear getting the best of me. I placed my keys between each knuckle, making a somewhat of a claw. I pushed my door open, walking slowly into my home and slowly and quietly closing the door behind me. I took a deep breath and noticed the kitchen light was on. that is odd. I walked slowly to the kitchen, I could hear a familiar hum. Eugene? No way, it couldn't be. Sydney would've told me if my Eugene was coming home or not! I'm going crazy or I'm just hearing things. Is all I thought as I walked into the kitchen.

As I turned the corner slowly, I noticed a dark green uniform. A slim figure was in the uniform, his back turned away from me. Oh my god. It couldn't be. I heard humming coming from the man. He must've not heard me enter or walk in. I stood there, in shock, clutching my keys and my bag in the other hand. I gulped. My knees felt weak and my breath got shaky once again. Tears of joy filled my eyes. Oh god, it had to be him! Unless I was just hallucinating again. Though, I could smell his sweet cologne and really hear him. I just continued to stare silently in disbelief. My mouth slightly open.

In just moments the man turned around. The toothy smile and soft face gave it away. My Eugene Sledge was standing there in front of me. I dropped my bag and keys onto the ground, hearing the thud it caused. My arms dropped to my side in exhaustion. Like an entire building was no lifted off my shoulders. Please let this be real God. My mental prayers began to repeat that sentence over and over again.

"Gene? That you?" I asked softly, approaching the man in uniform. I reached to right in front of his feet, staring at his face. Tracing over every feature of him. Not touching him yet, trying to avoid finding out if he had just yet been another hallucination caused by my own grief of his absence. "Are you real?" I asked in a whisper. It was so quiet you could barely hear me say it. I felt a hard lump in my throat forming as I choked back tears. I heard a small chuckled leave his lips. Once again that damn smile forming on his lips. That goddamn smile. I know it isn't ladylike for me to swear but oh how I couldn't help it. I felt his now rough and calloused hand cup my cheek. I then brought my hand to touch the fabric on his jacket and blouse. Comfort and happiness ran through my body as I felt the fabric on and between my fingers. Tears slipped down my face, some landing on Eugene's hand. His eyes softened as my gaze went from his chest and back to his eyes. I could see everything within his eyes. The love, sadness, fear, horror that filled his eyes. But, happiness shown through as his smile grew wider and tears filled his eyes. I smiled as a small laugh left my lips. He was real. This is real.

"Of course I'm real, why wouldn't I be? Oh god Y/N, I missed you," it was his turn to let his emotions out. I saw a few tears slip from his eyes as his arms wrapped tightly around my torso and his head dug into my neck, his Garrison cap falling off. I quickly wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, pulling myself even closer. I took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of his cologne. I sigh of relief escaped my lips and we pulled away from the hug. The two of us stared at each other for a few moments. He then just grabbed the sides of my face and smashed his lips on mine. I melted into the feelings of his lips on mine. It had been so long since the last time we had kissed and or felt each other and held each other. I needed this more than anything.

Pulling away once more, out of breath. We laughed slightly and smiled at each other. It was like when we were fifteen again. Now we are both nineteen, going on twenty, and we still are going strong. God I missed this man. A small smirk formed on my face as I ran towards him, jumped and wrapped my legs around his waist as my arms went around his shoulders. I watched his face of shock as his hands went under my thighs to support me. I laughed, throwing my head back. I didn't care if I woke up any of my neighbors in this moment. My Marine was back and I couldn't be happier. I stopped laughing and looked down at my blushing Boyfriend.

"I missed you Eugene." I said softly, running a hand through his hair.

"I know Darling, I'm sorry I stopped writing and didn't tell you I was coming home. I wanted to surprise you," He replied. I laughed softly, forgetting the fact that he nearly gave me a heart attack.

"Promise me you won't ever leave me again Genie," I said softly, with a hint of sadness laced in my words. I felt Eugene's lips hit mine softly once more. I smiled against his lips. God I missed this.

"Trust me Y/N, I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here in Mobile, Alabama. I'm not letting you out of my sights," His voice was soft and happy. I smiled back down at him and kissed his forehead.

"I have no problem with that," I laughed softly.

That night, I had no nightmares. I didn't wake up in a cold sweat, and I was ready for anything with my boyfriend. Now everything was back to normal and perfect. I love my Eugene, and he loves me.

#the pacific imagine #the pacific #HBO Series #hbo war #hbo #eugene sledge #imagines #imagine #Merriel Shelton #Snafu Shelton

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thevoilinauttheory · 5 years ago

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Music Profile

Rules: For many of us, music is a source of inspiration for our characters, so I want to know what songs inspire and/relate to your muse! Choose between 10-15 songs, compile them into an album and tag some friends to share the beat!

As tagged by @lukawarrioroflight so very, very, very long ago. You made me do a bad thing - which was spend at least 3 hours compiling a list of 10 songs for each of the characters I roleplay the most. M’nhea’s will come first - since I haven’t thought too much about songs for him - and all the others (Maximiloix, Danny, and Amosis) will be listed under the cut. These songs aren’t in a specific order~

I’m going to pick up the tags again for once, so I’m tagging: @renofmanyalts, @jasleh, @amdapori, @prodigalsong, @spotofmummery, @journeybetweenworlds, @astralyehga, @houserosaire, @cadrenebula, @ever-searching, @munchix-home-cooking, @egrine

M’nhea Tia:

Silhouettes - Of Monsters and Men

There's nothing that I'd take back But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret Cause when I sing, you shout I breathe out loud You bleed, we crawl like animals But when it's over, I'm still awake

Coming of Age - Foster the People

When my fear pulls me out to sea And the stars are hidden by my pride and my enemies I seem to hurt the people that care the most Just like an animal, I protect my pride When I'm too bruised to fight And even when I'm wrong, I tend to think I'm right

RUNAWAY - half.alive

I hold my life out in front of me, dreams of who I want to be I'm seeing every empty page But I find that everything I am is everything I should be I don't need to run away I don't need to run away Yeah I don't need to run away

The Phoenix - Fall Out Boy

Hey young blood Doesn't it feel like our time is running out? I'm gonna change you like a remix Then I'll raise you like a phoenix Wearing our vintage misery No, I think it looked a little better on me I'm gonna change you like a remix Then I'll raise you like a phoenix

Knights of Cydonia - Muse

No one's gonna take me alive The time has come to make things right You and I must fight for our rights You and I must fight to survive

It’s Not My Fault, I’m Happy - Passion Pit

It's not right, it's not right How am I the only one who sees us fight? What are we? Who are they? Who says those bastards don't deserve to pay? Well it's enough, it's just enough 'cause we don't stand a chance So long you stay around, you're just another song and dance It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair Still I'm the only one who seems to care

Hunger - Of Monsters and Men

Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you Voices disappear when you are speaking, in somber tunes I will be the wolf and when you're starving, you'll need it too Hungry for the kill, but this hunger, it isn't you It isn't you, it isn't

The Best - AWOLNATION

I'm hardly perfect I'm barely good Just shy of greatness Ah-ah I'm heavy metal And hollow wood Just shy of patience Ah-ah

Titanium - David Guetta, ft. Sia

Cut me down, but it's you who'll have further to fall Ghost town and haunted love Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones I'm talking loud, not saying much

I Just Wanna Shine - Fitz & The Tantrums

So I wake up I get out of bed, and stay up Stay out of my head 'Cause it's dangerous And I don't wanna lose my mind, no

Maximiloix:

Warrant - Foster the People

Fear is like a fake friend It warms you up and takes you in You mouth the words but no sound comes out Fear is like your best friend Manipulates and takes you in You mouth the words No sound again

Choke - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Now shut your dirty mouth If I could burn this town I wouldn't hesitate To smile while you suffocate and die And that would be just fine What a lovely time That it would surely be So bite your tongue and choke yourself to sleep

Punching in a Dream - The Naked and Famous

All the lights go down as I crawl into the spaces Fight, flight, or the screams, life tearing at the seams Wait, I don't ever want to be here Like punching in a dream, breathing life into my nightmare

I Am a Nightmare - Brand New

So come shake your Zen out And give me pure energy My heart is glowing fluorescent, I want you to possess it I’m not a prophecy come true I’ve just been goddamn mean to you So what is this thing laced with Please, don't replace me I surrender, embrace me Whatever I'm faced with

Crystals - Of Monsters and Men

I know I'll wither so peel away the bark 'Cause nothing grows when it is dark In spite of all my fears, I can see it all so clear I see it all so clear

Crown of Love - Arcade Fire

They say it fades if you let it Love was made to forget it I carved your name across my eyelids You pray for rain, I pray for blindness

Thank God I’m Not You - Himalayas

You could call me narcissistic You could say I'm of no worth You could call me the scorn of Satan But I could be so much worse

To My Enemies - Saint Motel

You know that talk is cheap Keep talkin' as I turn my cheek You know that no one really cares (Did you know that, did you know that?) It wasn't that long ago You wanted to slit my throat To find out if my blood bleeds blue (Did you know that, did you know that?)

An Honest Mistake - The Bravery

Sometimes I forget I'm still awake I fuck up and say these things out loud My old friend... I swear I never meant for this I never meant...

Forgive Me Friend - Smith & Thell

'Cause I fell in the hole, in the hole, in the hole My heart was turning cold, turning cold, turning cold I never wanted this to end, can you forgive me friend?

Danny:

Upside Down & Inside Out - OK Go

I wish I had said the things you thought that I had said Gravity's just a habit that you're really sure you can't break So when you met the new you Were you scared? Were you cold? Were you kind? Yeah when you met the new you Did someone die inside?

Houdini - Foster the People

Got shackles on, my words are tied Fear can make you compromise With the lights turned up, it's hard to hide Sometimes I wanna disappear

Dance Dance Dance - 65daysofstatic

[Instrumental]

Cradles - Sub Urban

Tape my eyes open to force reality (Oh no, no) Why can’t you just let me eat my weight in glee? I live inside my own world of make-believe Kids screaming in their cradles, profanities Some days I feel skinnier than all the other days Sometimes I can't tell if my body belongs to me

Fire - Barnes Courtney

Oh, a thousand faces staring at me Thousand times I've fallen Thousand voices dead at my feet Now I'm gone, now I'm gone, now I'm gone

Meet Me in the Woods - Lord Huron

I have seen what the darkness does Say goodbye to who I was I ain't never been away so long Don't look back, them days are gone Follow me into the endless night I can bring your fears to life Show me yours and I'll show you mine Meet me in the woods tonight

Simmer - Hayley Williams

Control There's so many ways to give in Eyes closed Another way to make it to ten Oh, how to draw the line between wrath and mercy? Gotta simmer, simmer, simmer, simmer, simmer down

Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second - STRFKR

All my life There you go Oh please stay Just this once Anyway

Cigarette Daydreams - Cage the Elephant

Funny how it seems like yesterday As I recall you were looking out of place Gathered up your things and slipped away No time at all I followed you into the hall Cigarette daydream You were only seventeen So sweet with a mean streak Nearly brought me to my knees

In the Woods Somewhere - Hozier

The creature lunged I turned and ran To save a life I didn't have Dear, in the chase There as I flew Forgot all prayers Of joining you

Amosis:

Vy från ett luftslott - Kent

Där missilerna möts De viskar: hålen i himlen ska bli våran död Ovanför molnen Där djävulen bor De viskar: hålen i himlen är från hans klor

Where the missiles meet They whisper: the holes in the heavens will be our death Above the clouds Where the devil lives They whisper: the holes in the heavens are from his claws

Panic Station - Muse

Ooh, 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes And this chaos, it defies imagination Ooh, 5, 6, 7 minus 9 lives And I know that you will fight for the duration Ooh, 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes And you know I'm not resisting your temptations Ooh, 5, 6, 7 minus 9 lives You've arrived at panic station

Destruction - Joywave

I wanna know who you told 'til they're all laying on the floor Frozen to the core I wanna know who you told 'til it's nobody anymore Nobody anymore

Little Dark Age - MGMT

I grieve in stereo The stereo sounds strange You know that if it hides It doesn't go away If I get out of bed You'll see me standing all alone Horrified On the stage My little dark age

The Wolf - SIAMÉS

I’m out of my head Of my heart and my mind 'Cause you can run but you can’t hide I’m gonna make you mine Out of my head Of my heart and my mind 'Cause I can feel how your flesh now Is crying out for more

It Doesn’t Matter Why - Silversun Pickups

You hear us come and go, we know You wonder if we're not alone, we're alone You think about us all the time, don't Because it doesn't matter why we're known We're just known, we're just known

Sleep Alone - Two Door Cinema Club

He sleeps alone He needs no army where he's headed cause he knows That they're just ghosts And they can't hurt him if he can't see them, ohh And I may go To places I have never been to just to find The deepest desires in my mind

still.feel - half.alive

So when I lose my gravity in this sleepy womb Drifting as I dream, but I'll wake up soon To realize the hand of life is reaching out To rid me of my pride I call allegiance to myself

Iron - Woodkid

This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands I'm frozen to the bones, I am A million miles from home, I'm walking away I can't remind your eyes, your face

Content - Joywave

I'm searching for the difference between What content and content can bring Maybe they're no different 'cause they look the same (They look the same) Maybe I'm just an algorithm with a given name (A given name) But... trying to find the difference The difference, the difference, the difference

#tagged answers #character music #about: M'nhea Tia #about: Maximiloix Voilinaut #about: Danny Harold #about: Amosis #the cold truth: tagged

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hotheadhero · 5 years ago

Text

Reconcile

“Perhaps you should go to the Goddess Tower and seek her council. Oh, don’t look at me like that! Yes, rumors abound about that place, but it’s also the most private place connected to your goddess here.”

Even as he stands before the entrance of the Goddess Tower with Celica’s advice still fresh on his mind, he can’t bring himself to climb those storied steps and seek divine counsel. For everyone else the tower represents joy, bears witness to fateful promises that will last a lifetime. He has nothing of the sort to make tonight; it would be something like heresy to climb up now. And so he remains at the foot of it, blankly staring up at its peak trying to listen for something he’s never sought out in his life before... and finding, to some distress, nothing at all.

Now, as ever, it would seem he has to muddle through things on his own.

For one normally so hyper, he stands almost statuesque, hand frozen in midair mere inches from the gilded knob. Minutes pass, hours, eons, before he heaves a sigh and, clenching fingers once into a fist, turns away. Exactly what he’d hoped to find here, he doesn’t know... It was stupid of him to even try. Perhaps he’d be better served hunting Linhardt down and apologizing tomorrow. It’s getting late, anyway. Neither of them should be up much longer; and coupling his friend’s general distaste for balls with his own epic (and public) outburst midway through one, chances were just as high the mage had already fled and turned in.

But of course, the goddess still loves her games and whiles. As he trudges back down the short flight of stairs across the cathedral bridge towards his dorm room, who should he find along the way but the very person he wanted most and could least avoid. He looks up precisely when Linhardt does. Their eyes meet. His composure breaks.

Seeing Linhardt again after what feels like ages tears a fresh hole into his psyche. He finds now that all he’s done tonight is delude himself, slap band-aids over his wounds without really assessing their depth. He’s never had any aptitude for healing his physical wounds; whatever made Caspar think he could handle his emotional ones any better? He’s run away from his problems as he always has, never confronting them unless forced; and how it shows when the matter involves someone he can’t run away from, his dear best friend, his fellow student and other half on this same goddess-forsaken campus! The injury is still there, fresh as if he’d torn it now rather than hours prior. It suffocates him, chokes out his power for speech. But speak he must! for he feels the weight of those incredulous accusing eyes on his, near withers under that ocean-ice gaze. Linhardt’s stare is almost frightening when not at their usual half-mast; it pins him like a vampire to the stake. How dare you renounce everything we had? those eyes demand. How dare you go and pretend as if all of this is normal?

“Linhardt, I—”

A wave of emotion crashes over him and drags him under with those two words, as if he’s opened a dam without first seeing how much water it held back. His perfectly rehearsed apology dies in his mouth. He wants to flee but finds himself rooted to drown under the weight of all their past memories. Acceptance. Laughter. Harmless exasperation at Linhardt’s many capricious antics; countless adventures with the other boy in tow. Innumerable times escaping Gilead’s wrath or even Lord Hevring’s. All underscored by an unshakable faith that no matter what he did, Linhardt would always have his back just as Caspar did his. Because they were best friends, brothers from another mother, and they’d never have to fight it out. Because theirs was an unbreakable bond… Up until the moment Linhardt broke it, and everything burned.

(Or was it he who had broken it from the start, and thus he who deserved all the blame? For hadn’t it been Linhardt who’d always had faith in him when even his brother and father did not? Who’d always helped him get back on his feet every time a fight or argument knocked him down? Who’d convinced him he had any shot at any of this when the whole of Enbarr seemed to believe otherwise?)

And he’s my friend besides. He would never lie to me without good reason… Right?

Words fail him as they never do; and Caspar is the first to divert his gaze. His eyes writhe with equal parts anger, guilt, and sorrow. He isn’t blind to the damage he’s done tonight, not at all. He simply doesn’t know how best to make amends.

I can’t deal with this right now.

Then when?

At least you still have the ability to talk to him now. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

(It is Lloyd’s words that finally rouse him to action, his spiritual older brother with the wise haggard eyes. He can’t allow himself to go the way of Linus, to see Linhardt or himself part ways forever without ever learning the truth.)

“… Why?” he manages at last. It’s a loaded question, far weightier than its one syllable deserves. Why did you lie to me? Why did you break our promise?

Why did you go and leave me behind?

Narrow fingers clench tighter in his palms ‘til they blanche. It's a pain and atonement far too small, he thinks. Pathetic, something hisses inside. Seething with thoughts unvoiced, you dig your own grave even deeper. Did you ever think you deserved such a friend? Dare you think you deserve any at all, after what you yourself did to your best and first most faithful friend?

“I don’t understand.” Not you, not myself. He addresses the air, not his friend’s face; his words drag forth from him, quiet and ragged for what he fears he’s about to hear. ”I thought you wanted me to stay away from you. Grow up, since I haven’t with you always close by. Isn’t that why you left the Eagles for the Deer? Because I’ve done something seriously wrong?”

How it hurts to admit that aloud; but that’s the only thing that can explain all this. Why else would Linhardt dodge his questions and accuse him like that when all he’d done was listen to what he thought he wanted? Ten long years they’ve been friends; he’d thought by now he knew Linhardt’s mind like the back of his hand. Clearly he was in the wrong—and if he’d been wrong about that, what else had he been wrong about? Had he ever really known Linhardt at all?

“I…” Caspar sighs. Head unmoving, his eyes flick up towards the other’s face; but this position makes the back of his eyes ache and so he forces himself to properly meet the mage’s eyes. ”I still don’t think you gave me an honest answer back there, so tell me now. Obviously you didn’t leave the ball early like all the other ones back in Enbarr, so why are you here? Come to tell me off? Go on; I can take it.” Yet his gaze slips sideways again. ”It’s probably nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Oh, but can he? His own words conjure up all manner of past demons – just as they had with Celica, but worse. A formless beast, bearing at times his brother’s face, at others his father’s, appears in his mind’s eye, sinister, venomous. Spiteful. Even Linhardt’s face appears there once, he thinks; and that possibility terrifies him. Julian was right, you know, it whispered, words sinking into his mind like the poisoned claws sinking deep to his bones. You weak, stupid, reckless, irrational cunt. Unworthy of the peerage, let alone of your family’s coveted title. You will never make anything of yourself other than an abject mess. To convince yourself otherwise is the highest of follies. Desist, now. Everyone will be happier with you out of the way.

“If everything you’ve ever done for me was from some misguided sense of pity, then stop. I’m not worth it. Maybe I’ve never been. Not like you.” (Goddess damn it, his hands are shaking; but he can bear it all; he must!) “Just tell it to me straight whether you want me to leave or stay, because whatever we’re not telling each other definitely isn’t helping.”

Honestly, even contemplating the possibility that he could lose his decade-long friend, could already have lost him with his own foolishness, pains him terribly, but maybe things would be better that way. Even if the closure he so desires is spit in his face like his brother’s slander (and Linhardt would be justified in such after what he’s starting to think was an unjustified rant), surely it will be enough to let him move on. Caspar’s sure he can bounce back; he always has… But it will be a damn sight harder without his old friend at his side.

(He’s still not looking at him. He’s too afraid to see what's surely there.)

@linhcrdt

#toaball2020 #thread: reconcile #linhcrdt #length readmore #// here we gooo <w<#// theme song: nier automata's weight of the world #// first drafts this 4-11 waits until now to post #// delays it for your finals but also constantly nitpicks it #// opening celica blurb drafted prior to its appearance in the relevant thread and preapproved by nat

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kindoron · 4 years ago

Text

A Weed in the Forest

DISCLAIMER: Contains Violence, Rape, and Misgendering

Kindoron was out, riding along with a few of his brothers on scout duty. A boring job, lame, awful, and devoid of any action most of the time. He’d spaced out a little, having his horse lag a bit behind the others so he only had to focus on following them.

This was sparsely forested land unlike the rest of the Steppe. It was summer after all and wouldn’t be long before they moved on. They still had to make sure the land was as safe as possible for the children. Whether it be beast or man to be scared off.

It wasn’t too long before the lead rider held up his hand and brought his horse to a sudden stop. He knew to be silent and had his horse stop as well, slowly moving forward to see what it was. His tribe brother pointed and he could barely make out the colors of their robes. Borlaaq. He sneered evilly at the thought and looked at his brothers, they each had the same evil grin. They weren’t riding horses curiously or had a pack animal. Three of them, one for each. His tail swished eagerly as he tried to assess them for his pick.

They wordlessly charged in unison at the small group. Not yelling nor screaming, they probably didn’t hear until it was too late. The group of girls looked up in surprise as they charged them. Two drew their bows but Kindoron unholstered his axe and swung it easily breaking through the wood. The other suffered the same from his brother. Swinging their horses around and encircling them.

“Well, well, well…” One of his brothers started, “What do we have here?” He stopped as did Kindoron and the other.

“We are of the Borlaaq tribe and we mean no harm. Let us be and we’ll move out of your way.” One who was throwing away the remnants of her bow away.

Kindoron laughed loudly, “Ahh they want to be on their way.” He looks at the other two. “I don’t think they get it.” He licked his lips slowly looking at the one that had no bow. She seemed far more fearful than the others and he really really liked that.

“No they don’t, have you no tribute? No gifts? You should know the Qerel use this for hunting, the Tumet are here around Summer. You want to pass these lands free? That’s cute.” The third sarcastically explains.

“We have business to deal with...it doesn’t involve Tumet or Qerel.” The same girl speaks, holding herself proud. “Just leave us alone.”

The first brother snorted, “I don’t think so. The way I see it, you die or you become our next playthings.” He shrugs and looks at Kindoron and the other, “Am I right, boys?”

They all laugh in unison until it’s cut off, “Then I choose to die.” Kindoron glared hard at the one who spoke up, the one with no bow. Maybe he was wrong, or maybe he’d break her.

“As if you get to choose!” He snarled. Grabbing a coil of rope from the side of the horse, he’d almost gotten down before all three girls bolted in different directions. Laughing, “Time to pick your choice! Don’t get one then I guess you’re not but a lame yol!” He kicks his horse off after the one who spoke, the one with no bow. The others took off after theirs.

It wasn’t long before he caught up, he had a horse after all. He ran past her, causing her to change direction. Following then running past her again, making her change once more before she realized he was toying with her. She kept running though, he caught up with her, grabbing the back of her robe before jumping on top and tackling her.

She probably couldn’t scream after that, having the wind knocked out of her. He was quick to bind her hands and feet together then check her belt and boots for any knives or other weapons. Finding none he thought that a little strange but shrugged it off. She only struggled enough to test the binds.

“Foul bastard! Let me go! We’ve done nothing to deserve this. Nhaama spite you!” She growled.

Throwing her over his shoulder he slapped her rear. “Enough or I’ll gag you too. I couldn’t give a dzo’s shit about any of that.” He went over to his horse who had stopped nearby once it realized it was devoid of any rider. Patting its neck before slinging her over in front of the saddle.

He then tied a noose around her neck and attached it to the saddle. Grabbing her chin to make her look up into his orange fiery eyes, “You want death? I’ll be kind and you can have but it won’t be fast and painless.” He smirks, “You can fall off the horse any time. You’ll hit the ground first so you won’t break your neck. The rope will go slack because I won’t be stopping for you, and you’ll slowly hang yourself as I ride home. Your choice now.”

He mockingly patted her cheek before she spat in his face. Seething as he wiped off her saliva he backhanded her and tightened the noose until she began to choke. Sobbing and her bound hands clawing at the rope, he finally loosened it as she started to turn blue. She fell limp but still conscious just out of fight. Still growling he mounted his horse and trotted back to find his brothers.

They all got their marks, laughing and swapping their story on the ordeal, likely stretching it a little. Finally able to go back to the tribe and make their report and being told to mark their new servants they each went to their yurt.

Kindoron threw her into his home, where she backed away the best she could from him. He grabbed her tail and yanked her back. “What’s wrong? Scared now? Still want death?” He sneered. “I let you have that choice, remember? You didn’t seem that keen on it.”

She huffed a lot, still trying to gain any distance from him. However, she said nothing, just a few tears.

Rolling his eyes, he wanted a reaction he liked when they were angry, scared, upset. Silence and tears did nothing. He pushed her on her back and stepped on her stomach. Using the fire in the center he picked up a hot metal rod.

This made her cower, “What are you doing?!” She gasped.

“You’re in servitude to the Tumet tribe. You need to be marked, can’t have you going around thinking you’re part of the tribe.” He smirked. Then getting a hammer nearby he bent down. “Stay still or I might get something important.” He said pressing the rod into her horn.

The smell of smoldering scales filled the air along with her screams, before he brought the hammer down. Drilling into the horn and out the other side. Once done he removed the rod to inspect the hole. Ignoring the sobbing girl then putting a large metal spike in through the hole. Forcing her head to the side so he could hammer the ends to bend making it near impossible to remove easily. Once done he smirked, grabbing her face.

“There you’re marked. Now everyone knows your place. You’ve no name, Tumets don’t give names to slaves. You are just a slave girl. If you remove that spike in your horn, you die. We’ll know by the hole in your horn. I’m sure it sounds odd but you’ll get used to it.” He explains with indifference.

He takes a knife from his belt and straddles her, removing his foot to sit on her. Then beginning to cut away her clothes which brought about new wails and sobs.

“Cry all you want, it’ll just bring curious eyes. If you want to put on a show I don’t mind.” He snarled. She got quieter but still cried beneath him.

Finally peeling away the top layer of robe he slowly scanned her over. Flat chested but it was fine, he ran a rough thumb over her nipple and watched her writhe in protest. Then starting to peel off the bottom but she squirmed and protested hard.

“Don’t! Please don't! I’ll do whatever you want but just don’t look there!” She looked up with pleading eyes. It didn’t dissuade him at all,

Laughing he ripped away the clothing, “But this is what I—“ he looked down and instead of the slit of a woman he saw a man’s part. Confused, he blinked a few times, thinking maybe he was seeing things, then getting up he saw not only was this ‘girl’ with a cock, but also balls! He stumbled back in shock.

“What...but...you’re...aren’t...what?!” He tried to figure out what was going on. Taking the knife he held it against her neck. “Who and what are you?! Are you not Borlaaq?” He demanded

Sobbing and scooting away, curling into a ball the...boy shook his head. “I am! But I’m not supposed to be! I just wanted to be with my mother and I never got big and built like other men.”

Kindoron was too in shock to do anything about him moving from under his knife. “Borlaaq don’t let men in their tribe...that’s impossible.” He said as if he were telling the boy.

“I know! That’s why I disguised myself as a girl. Acted like one...I know I’m a man.” He spat.

Kindoron felt odd, he’d been attracted and felt...betrayed, teased, lied to. He started getting angry. The man started rattling off his justifications, but it fell on deaf horns. He felt denied his prize that he’d claimed.

Lounging forward and grabbing her throat, putting crushing force on it. “You want to act and be a woman? Then you’re going to serve me like one.” He snarled. Getting a rag he made it into a makeshift gag. Putting it in his mouth and making it cruelty tight. Then flipping him onto his stomach.

It was brutal, even for him. Having to spit for lube and even then it ripped. He kept going until he couldn’t. It was strangely satisfying and when the fact was done. Shoving his unwilling participant who might’ve passed out onto the floor of the yurt. Tying his hands to the main pole of the yurt and warning, “ You move too much and it brings this down on our heads. Then I get up and beat you.” He rolled over to sleep.

When he got up, his victim lay still. Weakly lifting his head to see his captor. Getting up slightly and looking very defeated.

“Good, seems like you get it.” Kindoron untied the binds and then found the cooking gear and food and shoved it at his servant. “Make us breakfast. Now.” He commanded and started getting dressed.

He wordlessly did as much, and then Kindoron left. Fetching some robes, tattered, dull black. Another sign of servitude. He purposely got ones for a girl. Then returning to his yurt and tossing it at the poor boy cooking.

“Your clothes, you still are a woman. You’ll act, like a woman. If anyone asks, you’re a woman. If you at all say you’re a man. I’ll kill you.” He growled. Kindoron was deeply afraid of what judgement his peers might have if they knew he fucked a man. So much so, after breakfast he went to seek out an actual woman.

He’d given the man some tasks but really he didn’t have anything, he’d truly intended to have him as some fun. He still could though, it wasn’t bad at all, in fact almost just as good. The whole day this plagued his thoughts. Only to return to the yurt and see him. He looked just as pretty, just as soft and small. His tail twitched but he shook his head and sat down.

The man moved about, making dinner. Every time he bent over Kindoron found himself looking at his backside. “Come here.” He commanded, which the man did without hesitation. It seemed like he was adopting the role very very quickly.

His features were feminine mostly but there were traces of a man. Before Kindoron knew it, he had pulled the man in his lap. Staring into his face, he felt him shaking in his arms. He had to see.

Kissing him gently on the lips and letting their tongues dance he indeed felt...excited. Just like with a girl, it scared him but...he felt a carnal desire that needed to be filled. This time it was much gentler though still damaging. He even found himself holding onto the man through the night.

It became an odd relationship. He spoke with him like equals only reminding him of his place if he was in a bad mood or he did something to anger him. An abusive one to say the least. To Kindoron it was nothing, someone to talk to, someone to control. He couldn’t possibly love this man, after all, he was a man himself.

Then one day, the man slid his hand to Kindoron’s crotch of his own free will. Kissing him, begging to be taken. It disturbed him, he did though, but because he wanted to. He noticed that slowly he was doing things for his slave. He couldn’t have this, it’d be different if it were a woman but no. His brothers began to prod and joke that he’d be taking her for his mate soon. Something not unheard of or frowned upon...unless they found out she was a man.

He had to be rid of him.

He had finished putting a heavy blanket under his saddle before fetching his servant from the tent and mounting the horse with him. Riding off, telling him and his tribesmen that he’d be going to the Qestir Markets.

Once they had rode half a day away he stopped. Getting off his horse and getting the man down, much to his confusion.

“We’re still a half day away from the markets.” He stated.

“I know. Hold still.” He grabbed a hammer and started tapping away at the spike in his horn. Until it was straight enough to pull out. “There I’m letting you go.” He said simply.

“What?! But...I…” He seemed distressed. “I actually like you! I don’t want to leave.” He exclaimed.

Kindoron shrugged and gave a small grin. “What can I say? So do I. I can’t keep you as a slave any longer which is why I’m letting you go.” He leans on the horse. “You can walk to the markets and I’ll just say I sold you or something.”

The man fretted and looked frantically around, “Kindoron please! I...I think I love you!” He threw himself around the taller Xaela’s waist.

Growling he shoved the man away, “I don’t! I don’t even like you that much. Disgusting, hardly a man. You were just something to pass the time. I’m being kind by not killing you. NOW. GET. AWAY.” He snarled, striking him in the face.

The man stumbled and fell, holding his face and crying. Then slowly got up and with one last longing look began to walk away. “My name is Nekhii!” He shouted, not turning around.

Kindoron snorted, watching him walk. Once he was far enough away he flipped the blanket up and took off the bow and quiver hidden underneath. Nocking an arrow and aiming it at the man’s back, “What an appropriate name, Nekhii.” He said quietly to himself.

#roleplay #ffxiv #ffxiv roleplay #xaela #tumet

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