#it’s kinda like writing a note in a library book and when you check it out again weeks later someone has written a note back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thera-daydreams · 3 months ago

Text

SCARLET & SHADOW

ᱬ The Darkling x Scarlet Witch!Reader ᱬ

[aleksander morozova x wanda maximoff!reader]

series masterlist & synopsis • thera's masterlist

chapter four.

▪︎ haunted ▪︎

You were no powerless otkazat’sya, Aleksander finds out the hard way. He’s pushed you too far, and he’s left to deal with the aftermath of the new knowledge he half-regrets he gained. On the other hand, you see something bad about this new world that wished you had never seen.

warnings: again, the big bad darkling himself is a warning, he gets kinda pushy and intimidating, aleksander hates liars but is a big one, faint spoilers about the darkling's book story, our baby wanda, her powers, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, and a whole lot of heartbreak, wanda!reader cuts her palm to prove something, a whole lotta tension between you and the general, no beta we die like wanda

word count: 6.0k

(author's note: bro even my heart broke writing this long-ass chapter, haha. shadow daddy and magic mommy super angsty slowburn!? i just wanna finish this short series and be free from the confines of my crazy fanfic ideas, guys. let me go!)

The smell of paper.

Aleksander walked through the rows of bookshelves, his eyes skimming the spines of the books, searching for the one he wanted. He continued down the row, almost reaching the end, when he stops and his eyes settle on the sight of you, reading on a small couch tucked into a dark corner of the room.

What impeccable timing he had, he thinks as his thoughts shift from the book he was looking for to the woman who’s been plaguing his thoughts as of late. Just in time to get answers to his questions.

After being in Ryevost for a week, his presence was required in Kribirsk, overseeing the status of the troops there. But no night passed when he wasn’t thinking about you, in particular. Aleksander’s eyes zoom in on the book you were reading.

History of Ravka. How unexpected.

A strange feeling stirred within him the longer he stared at you. He’s seen you before, he just doesn’t know where. He glances around the room, checking if anyone else is around to see the two of you. When he’s certain that no one is there to witness, he slowly moves closer to you, coming to stand a few feet away from the couch.

You notice eyes studying from near the shelves. But ever since you became employed in the Little Palace, you had grown accustomed to a certain Shadow Summoner’s presence. Slowly, you turn your head to the right side of the sofas to see him.

“Moi soverenyi.” You bow your head as you stand.

“Hello, Miss Maximoff," he greets, his voice low and almost teasing. Funnily enough, he finds his gardener not in the garden, but the library this time.

"I find myself surprised. I thought you prefer being in the garden." His tone was light and nearly sarcastic. Was he in a good mood today?

“It’s a Friday, sir. My day off." You smile a little.

"So it is,” Kirigan mutters, his gaze going back to studying your features, his eyes roaming over your face once again. Now, to the important topic. "Miss Maximoff… you and the children… Henrik, Dmitri, and Katyusha…”

You perk up at their names. “Yes, sir?”

“Where are you from again?”

You nearly, very nearly answered Sokovia. Thankfully, you did not. But something in you grew agitated as the Darkling stepped closer, awaiting your response.

“We came from a small town in Tsibeya. Korsov. Barely even in the maps,” you reply smoothly, fingers grazing the rough pages of the history tome you were devouring earlier.

“Ah… Korsov. Indeed, quite a small town in Tsibeya, hm?” General Kirigan hums, his eyes flitting to your hand. “... But Tsibeya is so dangerously close to the Fjerdan border, don’t you agree?”

At his words, you start to have a bad feeling. He appeared to be implying something. “... Yes, it is, moi soverenyi,” you reply quietly.

“And you did not encounter one single drüskelle in the many days you trekked from here to the Little Palace?” The Black General finally drops what he’s been intending to ask for a month now, his endlessly dark gaze piercing through your soul.

Your heart nearly dropped into your stomach. If you thought he was onto you before, this was the confirmation.

Before you could respond, he continued, slowly circling you. “Drüskelle are very unjust in their ways of imprisoning and killing Grisha, did you know that?” He adds,a faint smirk on his face.

The smug bastard knew he caught you in his trap.

“Fortunately enough, sir, we encountered no drüskelle on our journey.” Your voice was cool and calculated as you watched him stop circling you. Kirigan raises a brow.

“Aside from drüskelle, Tsibeya is also notorious for its bandits, thieves, traffickers in its vast forest,” he points out, sounding amused. “Are you sure? When almost always, my soldiers would encounter one or more of these during their assignments there?”

Fuck.

You retained your composure as you answered, “None, General. I’m forever grateful to the Saints above that we were blessed with smooth travels that time.”

“Hmmm… the Saints, hm?” The Darkling muses, smirk ever present as he flips a page on the book you were reading. The next page revealed an illustration of the Unsea. There was a glimmer in his eye as he looked at it. “That’s quite strange, Miss Maximoff.”

“Sir…?”

“Because I seem to vividly recall young Dmitri gushing over how you took down a drüskelle in your journey. Henrik also spoke of how you… bribed two Grisha slavers to be on their way.” He turns back to you expectantly. "But you'd made them close their eyes."

A spike of cold runs down your skin. You weren’t sure if the children sold you out or not—it was unlikely since the general had Heartrenders for torture and interrogation and also, they were innocent kids! Either way, the man in front of you knew about what happened in your journey to the Little Palace.

No use hiding now.

Aleksander sees your demeanor shift into something icier. Guarded. Quite different from the quiet gardener who peacefully tended to her plants or the affectionate adopted mother who gives out sweets to her children.

You were just getting more and more interesting, weren’t you? He smirks wider.

“Are you going to keep your general waiting?"

And to think this had been the man you shared your grief to just over a month ago.

“What matters is that the children are here in your palace. Safe and sound and with their people, sir,” you counter, standing your ground fearlessly.

The Black General had absolutely no idea who he was messing with right now.

“I do not tolerate lies, Miss Maximoff,” he spoke slowly—ominously, his features hardening. You watch as the flames in the lamps nearby flicker and vanish completely as shadows engulf the space around you.

Much to his surprise, you didn’t so much as react at the sight.

“I doubt drüskelle or anybody else with ill intentions would just let 3 children and a young woman escape without any trouble,” Kirigan challenges, stepping closer until he was merely an arm’s length away from you. “So, how did a little otkazat’sya gardener with no combat experience like you do it, hm?”

“...”

He scoffs. “Are you truly going to make me drag it out of you?”

Menacingly, you tilt your head at him as you dauntlessly meet his gaze above you.

The Black General suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, something that rarely occurred.

Who were you, really?

You open your mouth to speak when—

CREAK!

The heavy wooden library doors loudly open, two of his most trusted men running in. The shadows around you quickly vanish and the lamps flicker back on. A little irritated, he turns around.

“... What is it, Ivan?” He keeps his voice reserved, hiding his displeasure at the interruption. He had been so close. So damn close.

“General, the Durasts have completed the new sandskiff prototype at Kribirsk. It is ready to be launched as soon as possible,” Ivan reports, his gaze momentarily shifting to you before returning to Kirigan. “Will you be accompanying us there once more, sir?

You await his response, but you can’t help but let the tiniest hint of a smile appear on your lips. Saved by the bell. His eyes flicker down, brow slightly twitching. He sends you a glare which clearly meant that your conversation was not at all over.

Your seemingly innocent smile grows wider as you bow, “General.”

Who was so smug now?

Holding back a snarl, he swivels on his feet, fists clenched. “Come,” he sharply orders his Heartrender, quickly leaving the library.

You pick up the book you had previously been reading, examining the illustration of the Fold on the page. When you turned to the next page, there was a drawing of a heavily cloaked figure surrounded by shadows.

The Black Heretic.

You had only seen one other likeness of the man—at an almost abandoned wishing fountain not too far from the Little Palace. An engraving depicting the reign of King Anastas, the creation of the Fold, and the prophesied Sun Summoner to solve their problem.

As you reach out, fingers tracing the drawing of the Black Heretic curiously, the memory of your silhouette in the Book of the Damned suddenly coursed through your mind, Agatha’s voice echoed in your ears.

“You’re supposed to be a myth! A being capable of spontaneous creation!”

“This is Chaos Magic, Wanda. And that makes you… the Scarlet Witch.”

“Harbinger of Chaos!”

The sculpture of you in the now-destroyed Darkhold Castle flashed before your eyes.

“The Scarlet Witch is not born; she is forged. She has no coven, no need for incantation.”

“Your power exceeds that of the Sorcerer Supreme. It is your destiny to destroy the world.”

Quickly retracting your hand from the Black Heretic’s drawing, a deep frown marred your face. What was that just now? You return the history book to the shelf, disturbed.

What was crucial was that General Kirigan did not successfully interrogate you. Yet. Never, you pray. Hopefully, he’ll be off for a long time in Kribirsk for a very important Second Army job or whatever Ravkan military business he needed to do.

ᱬᗢᱬ

For once, it seems like the heavens did heed your wishes. Because apparently, they had found the infamous Sun Summoner during their last trip to Kribirsk. Not without casualties, though. There was reportedly a drüskelle attack on their way back home aside from the volcra that had attacked the passengers of the sandskiff.

From the gardens of the Little Palace, you briefly catch sight of General Kirigan on his black stallion, a woman riding on the saddle in front of him. As the Shadow Summoner helps his newfound Sun Summoner down the horse, ushering her into a secluded entrance in the palace, he stops in his tracks, looking behind him with narrowed eyes.

Aleksander swore he felt someone watching them.

But there was nobody except the oprichniki guarding the way in.

Without another thought, he follows the Sun Summoner inside. Fortunately, the new presence of the Sun Summoner—Alina Starkov—takes up the majority of his time for the coming days, especially after she was successfully presented to the Lantsov monarchs in the Grand Palace.

She will change the world, General Kirigan reportedly announced to everyone present. And the Fold can be destroyed with enough training. Somehow, it made you pity the poor girl thrown into this prophecy.

Speaking of the Grand Palace, the head servant handed you a letter of some sort. A job offer. It seemed like Queen Tatiana was quite enamored with the new, blooming flower beds in the Little Palace. The ones which you’d mainly worked hard on earlier this year, aside from the fruits, vegetables, and herbs you grew.

As you walk through the paths of the garden, reading and debating over the contents of the royal letter, someone nearly hurls past you, making you drop the letter.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” A girl’s voice cries out as she picks up the paper from the ground. The only thing you could see was her blue, Etheralki kefta until she hands it to you.

“... Miss Alina Starkov,” you acknowledge with a bow of my head as you gratefully accept the letter. “It should be me who’s apologizing. I was reading while walking.” You smile warmly at the younger woman.

“Please, you… really don’t need to bow… ma’am…” she trails off anxiously, averting her gaze. She seemed to also be cradling her sore arm. You’ve never met the old woman, but you heard from Henrik and Dmitri that Baghra was notoriously strict and kind of scary whenever Grisha trained under her.

For a moment, you wondered why it was not General Kirigan who was training Alina.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, Miss Starkov, I’ll stop.”

“T-Thank you.” She stared at the bed of moonflowers nearby. “It’s beautiful here. I haven’t been to this part of the palace before. All the flowers… the vegetables... the colors and the scents… it seems so unreal."

You chuckle, “It’s all very much real, thanks.”

“Oh! You're the palace gardener,” she realizes. “The flowers are gorgeous! You must have magical hands, ma'am.”

Funny. The general said the exact same thing just months ago.

“Just one of the gardeners here, Miss Starkov. I’m assigned to the very tedious sections to maintain, but I'm glad you’re pleased. Perhaps one day, you can help me give the plants more sunlight with your powers,” you lightly suggest. At your words, she grows hesitant—her voice full of doubts.

“That is, if I can,” she mumbles, making you give her a sympathetic look. A young girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. She reminded you of yourself when you were young—long, long ago.

ᱬᗢᱬ

Aleksander is laser-focused on Alina for a long while, working to gain her trust and persuade her to join his cause—to use her powers for Ravka. All the while, he barely has time to think about the other matters, including his unfinished conversation with you. Additionally, every time he managed to get a glimpse of you, you just seemed to get away and escape.

His frustration slowly builds. He can’t help but wonder what was going through your mind—you truly were hiding something from him. And despite his busy schedule with the Sun Summoner, the General can’t shake the feeling that the conversation you both left unfinished is important. He quietly resolves to talk to you to clear things up as it was nagging the hell out of him.

It was an unwelcome distraction from his goals with Alina. Alina was supposed to be the priority now.

Unfortunately for him, for some reason, you were incredibly good at evading his presence. The situation becomes more and more of a challenge. He almost orders Ivan to retrieve you himself and throw you into his office (or the underground cells) for interrogation. Almost. But he was not that desperate. Yet.

ᱬᗢᱬ

“Is she here?” Aleksander asks two of the oprichniki, who were standing guard over Alina at the entrance of the private palace gardens. They nod.

“Good. Keep an eye on her wherever she goes,” he orders before walking deeper into the gardens. Then, he pauses, a delighted look on his ageless features.

Look what we have here… he thinks as he finds you and Alina interacting.

Aleksander stands back for a moment, hiding within the shadows, watching the two of you talk and smiling together. He overhears part of your discussion, and a part of him is taken aback by the genuine care and reassurance you offer to the young Sun Summoner.

It seems like your kindness did not only extend to the three Grisha children you’d somehow brought into his palace.

“I don’t believe that it's power that's your problem, Miss Starkov,” he hears you welcomingly tell Alina as she walks beside you. “It must be knowledge. Knowledge can be gained, in time.”

“You really think so, Wanda?”

One dark brow of his elevates. Hmm, first name basis already with one another? How quaint.

You smiled at her. “I'm certain you will be a wonderful Sun Summoner. And although I’m no Grisha like you, you are in good hands. With Baghra and… the General, too…” you trailed off.

Aleksander’s eyes widen slightly at your words to Alina. He's a bit surprised by your confidence in his teachings, but he’s even more pleased to hear it.

"Indeed, the knowledge and guidance I can provide will help you, Miss Starkov."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

The corners of his lips curved into a slight smile as he approached. Alina gasps in surprise, while you instantly freeze as your head almost snaps to the sound of the voice behind you. Kirigan’s gaze flicks back to Alina for a moment as she clears her throat, before looking back at you. He tilts his head slightly, studying your expression.

Alina looks back and forth between you and General Kirigan, clearing her throat as she senses some… tension between you and the man who’d appeared out of nowhere.

Returning to your senses, you bow as he walks closer to you two. “General Kirigan.” Slowly, you back away from them. “My apologies. You and Miss Starkov must have important matters to discuss. Excuse me—

"No, you stay.”

The Black General raises a gloved hand, immediately stopping you from leaving. When he speaks, there is a firm command to his tone. You halt.

You briefly wondered what chaos would ensue if you simply just used your magic now to vanish into thin air.

"You may go, Alina.” He turns to the Sun Summoner briefly. “I’d like to have a word with you about the… flowers, Miss Maximoff.” The younger girl nods slowly, eyes flitting between both of you briefly, before leaving—the oprichniki following her.

Aleksander waits until Alina leaves, before returning his full attention to you. The look in his eyes is intense and serious. He’s been trying to catch you for quite a while now, and he’s not letting you leave that easily.

“Moi soverenyi.” Your voice was… just civil. Polite. Not as cordial and friendly as when he last met you.

He takes another step towards you, and in the fading light of the garden, he seems imposing with his height and black kefta. "You’ve been avoiding me, little gardener,” he grunts lowly.

“You wished to speak about the blooming flower bed, sir?” you ask in a faux clueless tone, fully aware that it was not what this conversation was about.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Wanda,” he warns. “Such an elusive mouse you are… hiding around in my palace.”

“I was not avoiding you, sir,” you placidly justify yourself, not at all scared to look him straight in the eye. “You appeared to be quite preoccupied with the Sun Summoner's arrival.” You shrugged.

"—It's hard to fool me, Miss Maximoff.” His voice was silky, mocking you gently. "But weeks and weeks of evasion from me was quite impressive, I’ll have to admit. Makes me wonder why you’re so adept at it."

“...”

The Shadow Summoner can’t help but feel a sort of satisfaction at your silence, as if he’s won an unspoken game. He watches you for a moment before he speaks again, his voice smooth.

"Tell me," he mutters. "Did you really think I’d forget about that unfinished conversation we had in the library?"

You blink almost innocently. “Everything’s just been so hectic with Miss Starkov’s arrival, sir,” you say, hands clasping behind your back. “I can’t quite recall. My sincerest apologies.”

The man scoffs at your feigned ignorance.

“You may forget, but I never forget, little mouse.” Those abysmal eyes locked on yours. He reaches out and takes a stray lock of your hair, running it between his fingers slowly. You stiffen—the leather of his horse riding gloves almost touching your face.

“I normally dislike repeating myself, but I’ll spare you some kindness, so let me rephrase.” Kirigan retracts his hand, leaning over you. "You took down a drüskelle and escaped Grisha traffickers. How?"

“Again, does it matter how? The kids are safe in the Little Palace.” Your same response in the library weeks ago. The Black General is not satisfied with your vague answer and his hand moves from to your chin, tilting it up slightly so you’re looking directly at him.

"I want to know." There was a not so subtle hint of force in his calm tone. Despite being so close to you that he could count your eyelashes, his gaze is intense and unyielding, trying to dig beneath your surface.

“... Fine. With my hands,” you almost hiss out. That wasn’t a lie… exactly. You used your hands to manipulate energy, which knocked the holy soldier unconscious before the children could see anything.

The general’s expression remains serious as he listens to your brief response.

"For the drüskelle… hmm... and the Grisha slavers? What did you do?” he murmurs, pushing you for a more detailed reply.

“I bribed them,” you say. Just like what the kids believed; you gave them gold and silver. If mind manipulation counted as bribing.

The Black General was in disbelief. He seems annoyed by your refusal to share any details, and his fingers close around your chin more, holding it in place so you can’t look away from his intense gaze.

“Liar.” He was nearly eye-to-eye with you as he leaned down. "Do you expect me to believe that you escaped the attacks of drüskelle and Grisha dealers with just your hands and a bribe?" he asks, fully skeptical of your claim and demanding a better answer from you.

“And if that is what happened?”

“Then you must be Grisha. Or an assassin, maybe, if you used your… hands to defend yourself and survived those trained, armed fighters,” he sneers. “You keep lying to me, little gardener. It makes me have second thoughts. You say you’re not Grisha. When were you tested?”

You stare at him passively, unanswering.

“Well?” he asks, waiting expectantly.

Before he could react, you grab your soil knife from the satchel you carried around to work in the garden.

And consequently slice your palm open.

“!?”

Kirigan’s eyes widened, completely dumbfounded at what you’d just done. You stare at your bleeding palm, rivulets of crimson dripping down your wrist and forearm, droplets pitter-pattering the pavers.

Then, you raise your palm to face him.

“Not. Grisha.” That’s all you whisper, hauntingly unfazed. It was true. No sunlight. No shadow. No elements or whatever manifestations of the Small Science at all.

“...”

Much to your surprise, he closes the space between you and retrieves a black handkerchief from within the pockets of his kefta, tenderly taking your bloodied hand and applying pressure on the lacerated flesh.

“I will fetch a Healer—”

“No,” you refuse, making his brows furrow.

“... No?” he echoes.

Silence engulfs both of you as the afternoon light morphed into the evening.

You withdraw your hand from his leather-clad one, pressing the cloth yourself. Your tone was uncharacteristically frigid to him. “It’s just a cut. I’m sure your Healers have more important soldiers to attend to,” you snapped, stepping farther away from the General.

“... I have a theory,” he says suddenly. His brows are still furrowed slightly, deep in contemplation as he gazes at your injured hand. "You’re not a Grisha. You’ve proven this yourself. But... what if you have powers, nonetheless? Or abilities? Skills?"

He studies you carefully, looking for any reaction to his theory. But you carefully school your face into neutrality.

“Otkazat'sya can't have powers.”

Kirigan quirks a brow, not buying your reaction. He knows you too well, by now. All those visits in the garden, those talks with you...

"You’re not telling me the whole truth again," he mutters, the hint of a smile on his lips. "I can sense when you're lying, little mouse."

It makes you want to punch his pretty face.

He knows he’s caught you in another lie—and he’s enjoying watching you try to deny it despite your failed attempts.

"Admit it. You’re not an ordinary otkazat’sya, are you?”

“But I am," you insist.

“No ordinary otkazat’sya would slice their hand that deep without so much as wincing,” he opposed. “If you were any other person, I’d throw you to my Heartenders for questioning. Maybe you are an assassin, if not Grisha.”

“And why haven’t you, General?”

“Because, my little gardener, you could always tell me the truth,” he says, his tone slightly mocking again. It’s clear that he can sense your internal struggle and is simply waiting for you to crack. “This bothersome cat and mouse game of yours will soon be over.”

“And even if there is something special with me, will you use me the same as you're using Miss Starkov, General?” You look up at him in challenge. This time, it was you who strode closer to him.

The smirk on his face is replaced by a glower.

He grunts, insulted. "What makes you think I’m using Miss Starkov?"

“She is young. Barely past nineteen. Innocent. Easily manipulated. And you are a much more powerful older man. The complete opposite, moi soverenyi.”

The title escapes your lips with suspicion.

Then, you snort. “Unless... those looks and interactions you give her are true love, feelings that have blossomed from you two being so alike. Two sides of the same coin. Light and dark. Sun and shadow.” You tilt your head at him, pressing the handkerchief tighter against your palm. “I’m not blind, General Kirigan.”

Said man lets out a small scoff, unamused and slightly insulted your insinuation that he’s taking advantage of a young and inexperienced Grisha girl.

But were your words false? Or was he hurt because it was true?

"What you call manipulation, I call training. Helping to shape and control a powerful Grisha. To make her a Saint, a savior of Ravka. And Alina...” he mutters, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder—a warning. “Alina is special. She is all that matters now. She is the future. She is the one.”

“Hmm…”

The General quirks a brow at your noncommittal response. "No arguments? No retorts?"

“You will hurt her if you do not stop,” you advise him.

He lets out a low, mocking scoff. "Since when do you care about her heart?"

“General, she is good. Pure. Bright and determined, but so young, unsure of her way in the world—”

“I do not wish to speak of Alina right now.” He returns to the previous topic, the shadows growing ever more prominent as the sun sets. “The matter at hand is you. But you haven’t been cooperating with me and don’t seem to plan on doing so.”

He removes his hand from your shoulder, dusting off imaginary dirt from his kefta.

"Hence, I shall ask the children myself. Surely, even if their eyes were covered, one of them took a peek—”

Seething from anger, you almost growl. “You will do no such thing.”

What if you just used your magic again to put this bastard in his place? That would teach him. Still, you were not that reckless. No.

Kirigan doesn’t like you speaking to him in such a hostile manner, but at the same time… he loves it. He can’t help but feel a slight thrill as he looks at the protective fire in your eyes.

He’s got you where he wants now.

"Watch your tongue, Miss Maximoff. You’re speaking to your general.”

“I'm not one of your soldiers,” you sharply rebut.

The Shadow Summoner pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing at your words. You’re right—you’re not one of his soldiers. You don’t wear a kefta, you’re not trained and raised in the Second Army, like so many of the Grisha in the Little Palace. He should be annoyed or irritated by your defiant tone, but he can’t help but feel intrigued, his interest in you ever growing.

"No, you’re certainly not. But you’re employed in the Little Palace. My palace," he replies, his tone holding a hint of wry amusement. "I will summon the children to my office. With a bit of prying and prodding plus a trusted Heartrender by my side, I'm sure one of them will squeal—"

“Don't you dare.”

And for the briefest moment, the Darkling swore he saw your irises flash red as you seize his hand with your bloodied one. The handkerchief falls to the ground. Aleksander feels your grasp on his hand, your fingers curling firmly around his wrist as you speak—so tight you might break bones. He can practically feel the heat radiating from you, your rage almost palpable. He’s never seen you so… volatile. So furious.

It’s a side of you he’s never seen before.

He wants to see more of it.

Yet, the red was gone as soon as it appeared, making him doubt his own eyes. You let go of his wrist and distance yourself immediately, taking a deep breath, closing your eyes to calm yourself. You turn around, pacing on the garden path.

The general studies you silently, watching you closely as you try to rein in your anger. What did he just see?

“I... overstepped. Forgive me, moi soverenyi,” you whisper. Your eyes were normal again, as if nothing ever happened.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, before finally speaking.

"Indeed you did." His tone returned to its usual calm and cool state. The man doesn’t seem particularly upset about your outburst, in fact, he almost looks… impressed?

"Whatever punishment you wish to—" Kirigan doesn't care about that right now, interrupting you.

"What was that, Wanda?”

“... What was what?” You were genuinely confused.

“Your eyes. Just now.” He steps closer, the darkness growing around both of you. “For a second, I swear—”

He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination.

"—They were red, Wanda. I think they were." He frowns, retracting. "No. They were. My eyes do not fail me."

Upon his words, you realized you’d slipped. He’d seen a glimpse of it. Your powers. All because you couldn’t keep your emotions in check.

It was as of someone submerged you in ice, a pit hollowing your stomach.

“... No... This... This was a mistake,” you suddenly whisper, eyes shut tight. The shadows around you vanish as Kirigan’s brows creased in confusion at your words. “Oh god, I should have just left them here... I should’ve left long ago…”

“Wanda—”

“I never should have come here.” Your voice breaks, a tear sliding down from your eyes as you endlessly whisper to yourself. “I never should have… oh god… it’s all my fault… this is all my fault.”

You’ve put the children at more danger because you remained here in the Little Palace. Why did you have to meddle so much into things? You were a danger to anyone and everyone around you. You should have stayed alone in your little cabin in Tsibeya, waiting to die.

Gritting your teeth, you pick up the bloodied handkerchief on the ground and hand it to Kirigan, who was stunned by your behavior.

“But your hand—”

“I don’t need it anymore.” Your voice was hoarse with emotion.

“What—”

Indeed, when he looked at your bloodied hand… there was no cut at all. No blood on your palm or any that he’s seen dripping to your wrist and arm. Even the droplets on the ground were gone. His eyes widen as he looks at the handkerchief. Fresh and clean.

His head snaps towards you.

Teary-eyed, lips wobbling, hands trembling as you gazed at him, face illuminated by the lamps by the garden path.

“I only wanted to make sure they were safe,” you choke out, shaking your head. “Visit them every few weeks or so while… while…”

Aleksander realizes he may have screwed up as he watches your wrecked state before him.

“... While I just nurture something instead of ruining it all the time.” You tearily glance at the majestic flower beds you’d created. The food you grew from the soil. The fruit of your hard work. Real. No witchcraft at all.

Was it worth it, though?

You clench your trembling hands, glaring at the Shadow Summoner. “You truly wish to know what happened with the drüskelle and the slavers? Fine!”

You almost sounded insane as you scoffed. The General was silent. Frozen.

“I do have certain powers, General Kirigan. Powers beyond your wildest imagination. Powers that not only topple empires, but worlds. Powers I never wanted and powers I never wished to use again,” you huff out, no longer caring about hiding secrets. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He swallows, seeing the crazed look in your eyes.

“You want the truth? I’m a damn witch. I use magic. The so-called thing you and your Grisha label as merzost? An abomination? I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and still have seconds. There you go,” you chuckled humorlessly. “And if I were any madder than I was now, I would have killed you right when you threatened to interrogate the children.”

Wiping your tears, you give him a hopeless smile, eyes glowing red. This time, it wasn’t a mere flash. Your eyes were glowing.

“But do you know why I didn't? I can’t. Because that would add one more person’s blood to the countless souls I’ve killed over so many millennia… the thousands I've tortured with my pain..." You ran your fingers through your hair.

Witch. Magic. Countless killed. Millennia.

Your jaw clenches at your own words as you scoff tiredly. The red vanished from your eyes. "Perhaps I truly am meant to be alone."

Aleksander doesn’t know how to react to your revelation. He only knows that he hates what you just said. However, as he removes his leather gloves—reaching out for you as he slowly steps forward.

You frown. “What... What are you doing—”

His bare hand cups your cheek. His thumbs—calloused, yet warm—graze your cheeks to wipe your tears. Your eyes flutter closed at the sensation.

It felt nice.

However, when your eyes close, you see it. Hear it.

All of it.

A snowy land. A frozen lake.

"I'm a human amplifier."

"I'm sorry! I need your bones!"

"If she wears my bones then you won't be able to push her or her sister around anymore!"

"You must fight. Fight!"

Water. So much water. Drowning.

The Cut. Blood. Fire.

“Aleksander!”

A woman restrained and stabbed. A man falling to his knees before vengefully killing royal soldiers with shadows. Journals. Morozova’s journals. Merzost. The creation of the Fold.

"What did you do?"

“I made something.”

The volcra. The screams.

“Aleksander is the Black Heretic.”

The night of the Winter Fete. Crows. Alina Starkov. Malyen Oretsev. Two children running in a field. The Stag. The Darkling’s true plans.

“Fine. Make me your villain.”

The expansion of the Fold.

“You cannot claim what was not given to you.”

Nichevo'ya. Scars. The fall of Ravka from the inside out.

So much death. So much screaming.

There came another Lantsov prince. A ship. The Sea Whip. The Firebird. The death of Mal.

The obliteration of the Fold. The sun vanishing. Sand… so much sand…

All of it, in just a split second.

“Without me, know that they will come for you.”

“Let them come.”

“Alina… you make sure… there is nothing left of me… please…”

A thornwood tree.

Screaming. More and more screaming.

The making at the heart of the world.

"My name is Aleksander Morozova, but I have had a hundred names and I have committed a thousand crimes. I am not sorry. I do not repent! All I did, I did for Ravka!"

Make it stop.

Make it stop!

“No!” you screamed, unconsciously pushing the Black General away—sobbing harder and falling to your knees, clutching your throbbing head and covering your ringing ears, overwhelmed by the barrage of voices and images flashing through your mind. "It hurts... it hurts!"

Then, as you open your eyes, your heart sinks.

Although it was evening—no one else around, the palace garden around you fell dead—flowers wilted, trees black and leafless, not a single form of life present. The lights of the lamps had been snuffed out.

Black and corrupted like your fake apple orchard when you read the Darkhold.

And you hear someone wheezing from beside you.

Your eyes widened—the general's shadows had mostly protected him, but red wisps of energy still coiled around his neck as he struggled to breathe, on his knees.

“No! Stop! Stop, I’m sorry!” you cry out, standing and making the wisps vanish.

You cover your mouth, feeling revolted at what you’d just done. It was Westview all over again. General Kirigan—no, Aleksander Morozova stares up at you—coughing—both of you reeling from shock.

He was speechless, as well.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” you hiccuped. The ruthless, terrorizing Darkling himself seemed horrified at you. That spoke volumes in itself. “I’ll… I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

Hands glowing with a mix of red and black mist, you revert the garden to how it used to be… before you accidentally killed it. Like nothing ever happened, just like how the cut on your palm mysteriously vanished.

The Black Heretic couldn't believe his own eyes. His little gardener was... something else entirely.

Not Grisha. Not a Shadow Summoner. Not a Sun Summoner. You were something far beyond that.

“Wanda—” Aleksander finally says, pulling himself up, approaching you cautiously.

“Don’t.” You shake your head, voice barely a whisper. He stops that instant. “Don’t… Don’t come any closer. Please. I might hurt you again. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone... I’m not a monster.”

Your words broke Aleksander’s heart.

He’s heard them before from his own lips.

You swallow, staggering from the visions you saw. A premonition. Just like when you read Ultron’s consciousness.

“I looked into your head and saw annihilation,” you remembered yourself saying to the love of your life, when he was no more than an hour old.

“Look again,” Vision replies.

Your chest heaves with the effort you need to breathe. You had to get out of here now. But you had only one wish.

“You have kept them safe, Wanda. All this time,” Aleksander whispers, tone almost pleading. "I understand now. How you protected them. Why you protected them yourself. Please—"

“... General Kirigan, please... all I ask of you is that you make sure they’re safe,” you beg the Darkling, lips wobbling. He immediately understands.

Katyusha, Henrik, and Dmitri.

You shake your head in disagreement, sadly smiling.

"There is no safe place. There is no haven." Baghra's words momentarily echo through Aleksander's head from when he was thirteen. His heart thumps faster and faster. "Not for us."

"There is no place for me here, General. Not anywhere." A tear trails down your cheekbone, your voice shaky. "Not with anyone. Not for me."

"Wanda, wait—"

You exhale. "Goodbye, General Kirigan."

In a blink of an eye, you were gone.

The only thing left of you—on the ground—were your satchel of worn-out gardening tools and a white envelope. Frowning, he picks it up. A job offer from the Grand Palace to be one of the gardeners there. He frowns, crumpling it in his hand.

Aleksander stares at the garden, in disbelief of what just happened and how you did it. Crickets sounded out from the bushes. He touches his throat, remembering the crushing feeling of those wispy, crimson streaks in the air constricting his airway. Almost like a Heartrender, but oh so different.

Wispy, crimson streaks… magic...

Aleksander then realizes why you’ve been so familiar to him all this time.

You were the woman who had been haunting his dreams not so long ago.

Yet, you did not seem to know it at all.

And now, he had driven you away because of his greed. He feels the bile creep up his throat.

That night, as he returns to his room in a daze, his strange dreams of the faceless woman with powers return.

Only this time, you weren't faceless anymore.

to be continued.

So he finds out but kinda regrets it! I wanna make this man grovel soon, hehehehe. I honestly also love how I was able to mix some of the show's, book's, and Wanda's iconic lines from her MCU movies here in this chapter. 💖

Anyways, reblogs are super super appreciated as well as comments and hearts! I love getting feedback from any of my readers! 🥺

taglist: @idohknow @robertthehoover @the-desilittle-bird

#thera.writes #the darkling #darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #shadow and bone #multiverse of madness #wandavision #grishaverse.works

144 notes · View notes

thenightfolknetwork · 1 year ago

Note

Helloooooo!!! I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been listening for a while now, but I haven’t written in before.

So! I’ve done ballet for a little over ten years. I started when I was six and a half, and I’m almost seventeen now. I probably won’t dance professionally, but I love it. A lot. The culture surrounding ballet has a… history of mistreating the liminal community—I mean, aside from the obvious body-based exclusion, there’s also the horrible appropriation in the so-called “romantic” period—but luckily, the ballet school I attend is founded and run by a fellow person of the night, and it’s very accepting of all sorts of creatures. People tend to assume that I’m Sapio when they first meet me anyway, but it’s still nice to be able to talk to the mice and cockroaches and not get strange looks, y’know?

And, two years ago, I finally convinced one of my best friends to start taking ballet classes! It’s been great. We review choreography together, help each other with different skills—I’m a jumper, she’s a turner—get enlisted by the costumers to do what we like to call “grunt work” (I am an expert at sewing buttons)—we even go to the library to check out books on stuff like "the use of physical motifs in ballet" and "creature traditions in classical repertoire." It’s really, really wonderful getting to be with someone who’s as excited about the art form as I am.

That’s not my problem. My problem is that she’s… she’s better than me now. Despite starting at 14 in something where being 9 is considered old, she has incredible turnout and gorgeous lines, never gets winded, is picking up épaulement far faster than really anyone ought to be able to—I could go on like this for a while.

You see, she’s a shapeshifter. Proud of it, too. One time when we were 12 or so, our painfully Sapio history teacher very nervously asked if anyone knew what it was like to be from “a genus with so-ma-tic var-i-a-bil-i-ty”—I swear he was looking at notes on his hand—and my friend kicked her scuffed converse up on the desk, said, “No, but I can tell you what it’s like to be a shapeshifter,” and then gave herself extra teeth while smiling. That’s the kinda control she has over it.

And she has a lot of options when it comes to which shape she wants to take on any given day. Since ballet is easier for certain bodies, she, very understandably, chooses a form for class that’s naturally flexible and strong and has exactly the required musculature and is easy to balance with and that’s fine. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her being comfortable and confident in her identity, and, by extension, her body. She doesn’t rub it in, or act like she’s better than the rest of us, or anything like that.

To be clear, she is a hard worker. I don’t want to dismiss that. She writes down notes after class and helps the teachers with the really young groups and takes the lower level’s class on Tuesdays and Thursdays to work on her technique and is generally doing everything right. But so am I! I do all of those things with her, heck, I'm the one who taught her how to seek them out! And I’ve been doing this for ten years! And when you come from a genus that rarely lives past 100, ten years isn’t something to sneeze at. It’s not fair. It’s not anybody’s fault that it’s unfair, but it’s still not right! Please help. I love my friend, and I want to be happy for her, but whenever I see her do a freaking quadruple pirouette in pointe shoes and then balance (because of course, sure, why not, it’s soooo easy) before landing, I just feel furious.

Oh, reader. This sounds extremely difficult and frustrating. You've worked very hard over the last ten years, and as you rightly say, that is not something to sneeze at – especially when you take into consideration how young you were when you started.

You talk a lot towards the end of your letter about what is and isn't “fair” or “right”. I would like you to take a moment and consider the alternatives. Would it be more fair for certain genuses to be prohibited from taking part in your classes? Would it be more right that your friend should sublimate her natural abilities in order to take part?

Or perhaps you would simply not allow anyone to participate at all if they seem to be more naturally flexible, or have better balance, or a stronger core than… Well, here is the other question. What is it we're comparing to? The national average, the average ballet dancer – or simply, you?

Did you know, in the world of professional cycling, there is one trait which is most likely to affect a cyclists chances to reach the upper echelons of their chosen sport? More than height or weight, more than time spent training, more even than their genus. This trait is: being born at high altitude.

But that's not fair, you say! It isn't right, that a simple accident of one's birth should lend such an advantage. Perhaps we should set a cap on natal altitude in such competitions. And what of the second most impactful trait – the wealth of one's birth country? Do we have different leagues for rich and poor, high and low altitude?

I hope you can see how ridiculous that sounds. Life is not a mathematics equation. You can't just add time and effort and get success. There is so much luck involved – lucky births, lucky bodies, lucky brains and lucky bank accounts.

You aren't doing anything wrong by happening to have been born into a family that supports your interests. So too, your friend isn't doing anything wrong by happening to have a body that makes ballet more accessible to her. It is simply the luck of the draw.

Furthermore, 'being good at ballet' is not a finite resource. Your friend isn't taking anything from you by doing well, and her accomplishments in no way diminish your own.

These feelings of jealousy are natural and normal. But they are not healthy emotions, or helpful ones. Acknowledge them, then let them go. Concentrate instead on what you love about ballet, what you love about your friend, and in taking pride in your own achievements. You have worked hard and accomplished a great deal in your own right, and those accomplishments deserve to be celebrated in their own right – not only in comparison to someone else.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies

36 notes · View notes

kissagii · 2 years ago

Note

here’s a request idea.. armin always checks books out from his local library then one day he sees you working the counter and all of a sudden all his afternoons are being spent in the library and at some point he doesn’t even go there to read he’s just admiring you and mustering up the courage to ask you out

so sorry this took so long for me to write this ;-;

cw: gn!reader, 0.4k words, armin is a shy baby, it's just fluff <3

Working part-time at the local library was often boring, but you found ways to entertain yourself. Mostly, you spent your time behind the counter people watching, noting down who came in when, what they liked to read, where they sat, and who they came with. Some of the regulars were particularly entertaining, like the family that came in every Friday whose three children were unbelievably unruly.

But your favorite was a blonde young man about your age, a nonfiction enthusiast whose reading speed decreased exponentially over the months. When he first turned up, he’d devour half a book before leaving. But now he’d only get through a few pages, if that. I wonder… is he okay? He seems absent-minded. But you’re just the librarian, it wasn’t your place to get involved.

Until the day when he was shaking when he came to check out a book.

As you scanned it in, you asked, “Hey, are you alright? You’ve seemed a bit off lately.”

“Oh,” he said with an awkward giggle, “You’ve noticed?”

“Well, I like to keep tabs on the regulars, and you’re easily the most regular of them all. It’s kinda weird, but you start developing a concern for them, you know?”

“I see, I see, that’s actually really sweet.”

“Good, I was worried that you’d think I was insane,” You said with a laugh, “So, for real, are you doing alright?”

The young man - Armin, if you remembered correctly - nervously fiddled with his library card, looking in just about every direction but at you. “Yeah, but, I’ve been absent-minded because… you see… I was wondering if… maybe…. I could get your number? Or maybe take you on a date? Because you’re always really nice and patient with the unruly kids and you never look at me weird when I want a book about marine biology or military history and you’re just so pretty and- ohmygod I’m sorry I should’ve rambled like that I’m so sorry you probably think I’m crazy.” He ended his ramble abruptly, pink-cheeked and grinning in embarrassment. You felt a warm flush creeping into your cheeks.

“Hey, don’t apologize. Here,” You slip him a piece of blue paper with your name and phone number on it, “I’ve been meaning to slip it into one of your books but I just never had the confidence to. I get off early today, let’s meet at the café down the road in an hour or so.”

“Yeah, definitely!” Armin smiled brightly, then darted off with his books. As you returned to checking out books and helping customers, you noticed his sparkling blue eyes trained on you, watching in admiration as you worked.

That last hour couldn’t’ve passed faster.

©king-of-dreamers 2022

#imagine ⋆｡°✩#armin #armin x reader #armin arlert #armin arlert x reader #snk armin #armin fluff #armin x reader fluff #armin aot #armin drabble #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #armin x gn reader

204 notes · View notes

bluepeachstudios · 1 year ago

Note

When the skittles get older, will they get their own rooms, or will they share one? What their rooms look like, like would it be neat, messy, what kind of stuff would they have, ect?

They get their own rooms in the penthouse once they get too big for the crib, but they regularly spend nights in each other's rooms. Only Bardi is really territorial about his room, so they won't sleep in there as much. If he feels okay with it they'll go and sit on his bed or somewhere while he works. Sanzio especially likes to sit on his bed and read while Bardi works.

Davinci's room is the cleanest, he likes things to be neat! Simoni's is clean because his brothers all help him keep it that way. He tends to get distressed easily and have trouble finding things when his room gets too messy. Sanzio keeps his moderately tidy; there's no trash or anything but he's got a lot of stuff he hasn't put away yet. He gets tired the quickest when doing physical things. Bardi's room is a godawful mess and he will not let ANYONE help. They organize it wrong, he can't find things, he gets upset. He knows where everything is. Just don't touch the scrap piles. He WILL know if you move a single screw.

Like all bedrooms, they change as their tastes do. Around their teenage years they start to really solidify what their rooms will stay as for years to come. Bardi has a lot of tech in his room, with video game posters and notes and blueprints sprawled everywhere. He likes to sleep up high so his bed is a loft bed, with a place to curl up and read or do smaller projects beneath it. He has an absolute powerhouse of a computer that puts governments to shame. He's hand-made some parts for it and also makes custom controllers, so some of his favorites are up on the walls as well. A lot of his interests revolve around accessibility in video games, as well as prosthetics, mobility aids and braces. He's got a lot of parts and pieces scattered around. He likes black and purple so his room kinda looks like. Goth with cyberpunk aspects but sleek. He has a wheelchair for when he doesn't feel like wearing his braces that is black and purple and glows way too much.

Davinci's very sporty. He does martial arts the most and does several different kinds, much to his caretakers' dismay. He still has to be very careful with his heart condition but he gets to participate in a tournament once a year! He loves plants as well. His room is FULL of plants, it's like walking into a jungle. Even his bathroom is full of them. He also keeps a betta fish, whose tank keeps getting more and more complex because he likes adding pieces to it, including tubes that lead to MORE tanks. (He takes care of the koi on the rooftop garden that Splinter started; there's a pond there now too!) He likes collecting old stuff like Cody. He's got his dad's mask in a display along with his katanas and a journal Leo made for him about his own struggles as a teenager coping with growing up.

Sanzio's room looks like one of those pinterest libraries where everything is super cozy, with lots of dark wood and natural light combined with coffee shop aesthetic but like, with more COLOR. He loves books, he loves writing, he loves cute animals, he has a million stuffies, his bed is nice and low so he has an easy time climbing in and out of it. He also has a wheelchair that was designed by Bardi for days when he doesn't feel like wearing his braces. It's decorated to be nice and pink and subtle. He likes to keep succulents, but he keeps worrying about when to water them so Davinci regularly checks in on them and just lets him know when to water them instead. He likes collecting old physical books and comics! He even does some bookbinding of some of his favorite digital-only books. He already has 5 volumes of 'Sanzio's Anthology', which are just some of his favorite short stories all put together and bound physically.

Simoni's got stars on his ceiling, and in the corner there's like a fluffy storm cloud on the ceiling that lights up like lightning is going through it. The stars twinkle and shift like the real stars, which are pretty hard to see from New York because light pollution and all that. He sleeps in a hammock most of the time, since that's cozy, but he has a gathering of pillows and blankets beneath it in case his hips are hurting bad. He also uses gutter crutches so those are in there, his are a red to orange gradient with white stars decorating them. Simoni loves to collect pictures and videos of people. He'll talk to anyone and ask them what they're up to. Just like. Imagine the Humans of New York tumblr blog but it's Simoni just getting audio recordings and video recordings of people talking about their lives or things they love. He has a lot of photos on the walls, printed out the old-fashioned way. He loves video editing as well and single-handedly brings AMVs back in the 2120s. He also enjoys carving pretty patterns into clay, or painting them with a lot of colors. Nobody knows this, but he tells secret stories with them.

They all have bits and pieces of their dads' things in their rooms as well. Sanzio has a turtle stuffy that has Raph's voice come out of it when he hugs it. Simoni has all of their old photos in photo albums, and all of his dad's action figures carefully decorating his shelves. Bardi still uses a lot of Donnie's old tools, and listens to his teaching lectures that Donnie made him like podcasts.

Their room at their dads' place looks completely different, though ;)

#asks #skittles ask

36 notes · View notes

13eyond13 · 2 months ago

Note

Do you read paper books or do you prefer to read on screens?

Hmm, it kinda depends! My preferences and methods for this have sort of changed over the years. I normally do love to own and read a physical copy of a book, but lately I've mostly been reading books on my phone.

I'll just lay this all out very methodically (I'm sure you probably already know about many of these sites and methods of gathering books and such, but just in case you don't, here you go):

What I used to do back when I didn't read a whole lot (up until my mid-twenties I'd probably normally be reading less than 10 books a year): I'd just go to the local big chain bookstore in my town and buy my books brand new/order them online. My local library didn't have that great a selection, and I was also bad at returning my borrowed library books on time, so I'd usually just pick something out that looked interesting at the store instead and buy it brand new and hope that I liked it.

I very rarely do that anymore, mainly because I am constantly reading now, and it quickly gets expensive to buy that many new books. I also own quite a few books already, and books can get pretty annoying to lug around from place-to-place when you move, so I'm trying not to hoard as many of them anymore.

Here is what I do instead nowadays (I am in two book clubs now, so constantly reading something new, and have averaged reading 50-100 new books a year for the past half a decade or so)

FOR NOVELS: -I keep a list of all the books I want to read on GoodReads and also track all the ones I've already read there -I download a free sample of a new book I'm interested in on my phone, either by searching for it on Kindle/Amazon, or just by downloading the entire book as a pdf/epub file on my phone (here is an excellent site for finding pretty much any book as a pdf/epub for free, btw: [oceanofpdf]) -I read the first few pages of the downloaded book to see if it's something that I'd actually like (I can normally tell after about 5-10 minutes of reading if I'm gonna vibe with the writing style and the premise of the book) If it's something that I'm still interested in reading after previewing it, then I'll either:

(1) try to find a physical copy of the book at a local used bookstore or a thrift store (I don't mind paying a few bucks for a used paperback, even if I might not keep it forever or ever want to read it again) or: (2) search for the ebook on the Libby/Overdrive app on my phone that is synced up with my local library. (You can link your Libby account up with multiple library cards on the app, btw. I have a friend from a much bigger city with a much better library who shares their card with me, so I have access to all the books from their city's library as well... if your local library sucks then I def recommend sharing library cards with a friend from another city, if they're down with doing that) or: (3) just continue reading the book as the pdf/epub I already downloaded on my phone, if it was one that I downloaded from that site

FOR MANGA SERIES: I always either read them online by googling until I find a good quality scan on a site to read them on, or I check out the manga volumes electronically from my library. When it comes to these super lengthy comic series I definitely prefer not to buy the entire series to read it, unless it's something that is not overly long and also is a huge fave for me that I want to own (like Death Note, for example). I also find reading manga on my computer much more enjoyable than reading it on my phone because I can see the art better that way, so I keep a folder of bookmarks on my browser of the manga series that I am currently wanting to read, like so:

I will also usually open any manga I borrow from the library in Libby on my pc's browser instead of my phone so I can read it on a bigger screen, too. ONCE I'M FINISHED READING A BOOK: I will either keep it if I really liked it and think I'll want to re-read it someday, or I'll get rid of it! If it's one I read on my phone as a pdf/epub that I end up loving and wanting to add to my personal collection, then I will keep an eye out for it in the used bookstores and thrift stores, or I'll just buy it new! But nowadays I only add a book to my permanent collection after I have already read it and already know that it's something I will someday want to read again.

I get rid of the books I bought and read and don't want to hold onto anymore in those mini free libraries that people put on my local neighborhood street corners, or else I just donate them back to a thrift store for somebody else to enjoy. AN EXCEPTION TO THIS:

I will often also preemptively buy books that I know have been sitting on my "to be read" list forever whenever I come across them at a good price in a used bookstore, even if I'm not planning on immediately reading them. This is the stuff like the classics that everybody hears about growing up, but that I have not read for myself yet, and am curious to see what all the hype is about. Once I finally read them I'll either add them to my permanent collection or get rid of them if they really weren't my taste. Here's a picture of my bookshelf that's mostly the books I've accumulated second-hand over the years but haven't fully read yet. They're the ones that haven't quite made it to my permanent collection yet (not including the stuff in the picture like the box sets and the graphic novels/manga, which I already read and then bought new). I have another couple of full bookshelves' worth of books that I've already read and liked enough to keep, but they're all packed away in storage atm:

#ask #anon #books #p #and don't mind the crooked shelf there in the picture haha #that one's always being a drama queen and falling down on me #also sorry if you arent a fan of pirating n sharing library cards n whatnot please just look away if so #life is crazy expensive these days and i just want everybody to be able to read as much as their hearts desire #whether or not they have tons of cash or access to local resources

4 notes · View notes

literaticat · 10 months ago

Note

Link to discussion about reading fee (note - this is not the only small press who does this, it's not common but there's a few others). It won't let me paste the link so I'll paste the title and google should bring you to it. (Relevant discussion takes place at bottom of Page 2, new posts, and Page 3.) The Linen Press, Absolute Write, Bewares, Recommendations & Background Check

(For those who don't know what this is about, see the previous question, re a small press whose guidelines state that you have to buy one of their books in order for them to consider your submission, which I didn't know about, so this poster has kindly given more info. Links below.)

I looked up the discussion and also took a peek at the publisher's submission guidelines.

I dunno, I mean, personally, I think it's a red flag. Kinda sketch, and yes, akin to a "reading fee" -- if the only way they will even look at your work is if you buy something, and one of the somethings is the owner's own book, it's like... welp. Money is, in all traditional publishing scenarios, meant to flow TOWARD the writer, so I do understand why someone's hackles might go up at being asked to pay for a product in order to even be considered. And how do you know you will be considered, actually? What if they just take the money, then put your submission in the bin? At least with a regular publisher, if they decline, or even just put your submission in the bin, you haven't LOST MONEY for the privilege.

From the publisher's perspective, I can understand it, though -- -[note I didn't say LIKE it, just understand it!] -- presumably they are very much a "shoestring" operation, primarily funded from the owner's pocket; it takes a lot of time and resources to consider submissions, people need to be paid for their labor, etc. And this would, as somebody says in the discussion, cut down on submissions, "weed out" people who aren't serious, and presumably insure that people who are submitting have at least an inkling of the kinds of books they publish.

They DO have a work-around where you can plead poverty and not have to buy the book, which is something at least. It would be better if they also allowed buying an e-book, given that they seem to be located in the UK and shipping costs may be prohibitive to other countries. Obviously it would be better still if they didn't have this policy at all, but, it's a free country, it's not illegal or even immoral, it's just... odd. If THEY don't mind being seen as odd, then I guess I don't mind either.

Caveat emptor: If it bothers you, there's an elegant solution, which is not to submit to them. If, on the other hand, you have done your research, read some of their books (from the library or whatever) and loved them, think they are doing a swell job and the company ethos matches your own and you think your book would be potentially just right for them, and you don't mind spending money on a book (when the book might be all you get out of it) -- well, go for it, just have your eyes wide open in case there are OTHER red flags, too.

5 notes · View notes

angstyaches · 2 years ago

Note

For a fluff request, maybe something soft where Charlie can indulge in his kink? Idk that just sounds kinda sweet.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for requesting this. There are several aspects to Charlie’s kink, so I hope you’re interested in what I decided to focus on for this!

This will be my last story of 2022, so the fact that it's disgustingly self-indulgent and niche is kind of perfect, really.

CW: kink exploration, lots of consent checking, straddling, body kissing, touch/affection starvation.

Not “typical” NS*W content, but y’know. We’re not quite typical around here, are we? So, minors, I'm especially pleading with you not to interact with this one.

Note: Shayne and Charlie take their physical relationship very slowly, and I didn’t intend for this to be “leading anywhere” other than kissing, but if you want to have different thoughts about it, I guess I can’t stop you lol

___

“Hi.” Charlie didn’t lift his head or look away from his laptop. He seemed to be in the middle of typing a breakthrough sentence. The fact that he called out at all made Shayne wince, though.

Shayne let out a little groan as he stretched across the bed. He was good at sneaking, but Charlie had gotten better at sensing when he was nearby, even with his back turned and his attention focused on something else.

“I didn’t come in here to distract you,” Shayne muttered. He lay diagonally across the bed on his back, hooking both his arms behind his head. “I swear.”

“Aw. Did you get lonely?”

Shayne winced as he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t have it in him to be defensive, or sarcastic, or tough. “Mmm.”

Charlie got up from the chair and came over to the edge of the bed. At first, Shayne thought he was going to just stand there and look down at him, maybe run his fingers through Shayne’s hair a bit, but instead, Charlie draped himself across the mattress, too. He matched the jagged angle at which Shayne had flopped down, but instead of his back, Charlie lay on his belly.

Shayne felt like he should protest; he should apologise for distracting his boyfriend from his studies. Sorry, love. I’ll go back downstairs and leave you to it. But it was like his jaw had locked up, because he couldn’t bring himself to say anything of the sort.

Charlie’s bright blue eyes still seemed a little unfocused as he examined Shayne’s face, as though he’d been concentrating on his studies for so long that he’d forgotten how to observe anything else.

“Sorry I’ve been so busy,” he said gently.

“Nah, it’s… not your fault.”

Shayne had been about to say it was okay, but he knew that this didn’t feel okay to either of them. Charlie spent all week at college, and every second weekend at his parents’; that left four days out of each month that they could properly spend together, and while Charlie’s coursework was important, it stung a bit when it ate into their time.

And on top of that, Charlie must have been starting to feel the toll of never settling in one place for longer than a couple of days at a time. The thought of Charlie overworking himself sent a shudder all the way into Shayne’s core.

“I know it’s not,” Charlie smiled, “but I’d much rather be spending my free time with you.”

Shayne tilted his head slightly, his eyes wandering back towards the desk where Charlie had set up his laptop and library books. He could at least try to keep Charlie’s mind focused on his task while they were laying there together. He seemed to have a web page full of text occupying one half of the screen, and a Word documents of bullet points open on the other.

“What are you working on?” he asked, looking at Charlie again.

“Mid-term essay.”

Shayne raised an eyebrow at the lazy answer. “On?”

“Um, it’s for my early childhood studies class. I’m still wading through the reading and deciding what I’m going to write about.”

Shayne couldn’t help but make a face similar to the one Charlie made when he ate spinach. “The reading any good?”

“You know what? Yeah,” Charlie half-laughed. “I hated studying in secondary school, but everything they give me to do in my course is interesting. Is this – am I a dork now?”

Shayne wanted to tell Charlie that he’d always been a dork, from the very first day they’d met, but he didn’t have it in him.

Shit. He must have been even more down than he’d realised, if teasing Charlie had lost its appeal.

But on the other hand, he also didn’t want to risk tainting the glistening enthusiasm that reawakened in Charlie’s eyes as he talked about childcare. There was something extremely endearing about seeing him get so passionate about something, even if it was an academic paper that would have put Shayne to sleep within the first few lines. It made Shayne want to break out into a grin as though he was the one fixating on something he thought was interesting.

He shifted his head, turning it more towards Charlie. “What – what do you like about it?”

Charlie wrinkled up his nose. “Mmm. I don’t want to bore you.”

“You mean you don’t think I’ll get it.”

“No, of course not, I –” Charlie huffed and shook his head. “Alright, well… I don’t know if this just appeals to me because of how strict my teachers were in playschool, but I’m so obsessed with the idea of self-directed learning…”

Shayne closed his eyes. The sound of Charlie’s excitement wasn’t just like music to his ears, but more like the best song that had ever been composed. It made him wish there was a blanket woven from Charlie’s thoughts and emotions, which Shayne could just bury himself in and never emerge from.

A repetitive sinking sensation started to tug at his skull, and his chest.

“… in their cognitive development,” Charlie said. “You know, I’ve never actually asked; did your parents send you to a – hey.”

Shayne felt Charlie trace the back of his finger against his cheek. He shivered at the gentle contact, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“What?” he mumbled.

“See, you’re bored. I’m putting you to sleep.”

“Mmm. No. No, you’re not. Something about… tectonic development.”

Charlie scoffed. “Don’t just say big words you know. I said cognitive development.”

“I know, I know,” Shayne half-opened his eyes, trying to shake off the sleepiness. Charlie had shifted in closer, and was lying with his face just inches away. “You said you’ll probably do your midterm essay on Montessori education because you like the independence it gives children.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

“See? I can listen.”

“Why are you so sleepy, then, huh?” Charlie smiled and lazily slid a hand over Shayne’s waist. “What’s going on here? I thought the college student was supposed to be the tired one.”

“Fuck. I know. Sorry,” Shayne said.

If he was being completely honest with Charlie, he would have told him exactly how tired he was. He would have told him how hard it was for him to get to sleep when he was in the Mulberry house all by himself, wondering how many demons lurked in the forest, or how far Madelyn would go to get him back. He would have told him about the nightmares, the constant feeling of impending doom, the cold.

But their limited time together also meant that Shayne was reluctant to be completely honest, especially when complete honesty could make Charlie doubt whether him being in college was a good idea, and reopen that whole conversation.

And the thought of upending Charlie’s life made Shayne feel like someone was standing on his chest while wearing his own Doc Marten boots.

When he snapped himself out of his thoughts, he realised that Charlie was still staring at him, cheek perched against his fist, hand still resting on Shayne’s side. The biggest, silliest grin was plastered across his face. Shayne could see the faint veins of turquoise that splayed out from the centres of his navy-blue eyes.

His bangs had been allowed to grow a little longer, so that they curled down towards his eyebrows.

Every time he blinked, his eyes seemed to glisten a little more brightly, as though they knew a secret, and for every second that Shayne didn’t share in that secret, the more delicious it became.

Shayne blinked rapidly, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that his insides felt like they were melting.

“Don’t you have to study?”

“I do.” Charlie let out a wistful little sigh. He looked like the princess in the tower from one of the movies he’d made Shayne watch a few weeks ago.

Twisted? Tumbled?

“But you’re so beautiful," Charlie gushed, devouring the length of Shayne's body with just his eyes, "all stretched out like that.”

A part of Shayne’s brain – most of it, really – wanted to pull his arms back from behind his head, folding them around his torso, and curl up on his side just out of spite. He managed to resist the urge, but something in him felt like it’d started to unravel.

“Fuck college," Charlie whispered. Somehow, he made a profanity sound like the most romantic word in existence. "I’d rather just lie here like this... forever.”

Shayne half-heartedly rolled his eyes at that, though he had to admit he was relieved to know that Charlie was just teasing him. Joking. Being an idiot; a cute one, but an idiot nonetheless.

Ugh. He was looking him right in the eyes again, gazing at him... though he wasn’t smiling anymore. What was left on Charlie’s face was far more intense, and although Shayne couldn’t read his expression, he still seemed to feel what it meant.

And what it felt like was a sudden swell of nerves, tingling in his stomach.

When he blinked again, he could feel his eyes starting to water. His lips trembled, and his voice sounded faint as he said, “Stop.”

Blonde eyebrows twitched as Charlie’s gaze faltered just slightly. “Stop what, lovely?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Charlie’s voice was so soft, so innocent, so full of gentle concern. Shayne knew his complaining had set him on edge slightly, but it somehow didn’t seem to break the spell Charlie’s eyes were casting.

Like... like that, was all he could come up with.

The inability to put the feeling into words pushed Shayne over the edge, from tentatively comfortable to mildly agonised.

His insides had been fluttering gently throughout the touching and the gazing, but now it felt like the first pangs of a swirling ache.

And it felt like it might dissolve him, from the pit of his stomach outwards.

“Are you okay?" Charlie's tone shifted a little again. "What’s wrong?”

“Mmm. Just…”

Charlie untucked his hand from under his own cheek. “Yeah?”

Shayne winced and lowered his gaze towards the zip of Charlie’s hoodie. Anything was better than continuing to view his gorgeous blue eyes, which only seemed to plunge his insides into even more indescribable agitation.

“You’re making my stomach feel weird.”

He felt Charlie’s hand move, fingertips brushing against the end of Shayne’s t-shirt. He barely touched the skin beneath the fabric, but the sensation sent warm shivers through Shayne’s muscles.

“You’ve got butterflies?”

“I guess that’s what you would call it,” Shayne mumbled.

Charlie pushed himself up a little higher, dragging himself closer to Shayne with his elbows plodding along the mattress. Shayne still couldn’t meet his gaze, which was fine, actually, because it turned out that looking at his mouth was very appealing right now.

Fingers tightening slightly at Shayne's waist, Charlie leaned down until their lips softly brushed together. Shayne shut his eyes and felt his head twitch instinctively closer to Charlie's face, deepening the contact without parting either of their lips. The hand on his side had been kind of cold at first, but now it radiated warmth through the fluttering mess in his belly.

Charlie came away from the kiss with his eyes half-lidded and a shy smile pulling at his mouth.

And then he sat up, legs still tucked to one side. He placed one hand on the bed to keep his torso up, and the other still rested gently on Shayne’s waist. His thumb rubbed tiny circles inside the side of his stomach, ruffling the fabric of his t-shirt.

Yep, Shayne thought, finally meeting his boyfriend's gaze as he straddled his legs, it's going to dissolve me from the inside out.

___

Charlie knew he was grinning more than any dignified individual should, but he couldn’t help it. He raised his eyebrows when Shayne kept giving him that same, skeptical glare.

After a second of hesitation, Shayne's expression softened.

Charlie gently crawled across him, pausing at intervals and looking at Shayne’s face. If he changed his mind, Charlie wanted to know as quickly as possible. He didn’t want to wait to be told, because Shayne didn’t always manage to get the words out.

He settled with his knees at either side of Shayne’s legs.

“Show me,” Charlie breathed. His cheeks warmed and his chest was gripped with a throbbing, all-consuming ache as Shayne’s eyelashes fluttered in confusion. “Show me where you’re feeling these butterflies.”

He watched Shayne’s hand trace lightly across the slight hollow that formed beneath his ribs when he lay on his back. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, drawing a little line back and forth across his tummy before whispering, “Here.”

Charlie wondered if, perhaps, he was about to black out and die.

He swallowed, following Shayne’s hand with his fingertips. “Here?”

“Mmm.” Shayne’s hand slipped away, and seemed about to tuck it beneath his head again, just like the other one, but stopped himself. He rested it on his chest instead. But even leaving himself vulnerable without both hands to protect himself was enough for Charlie to know he trusted him.

With his heart pounding in his ears, Charlie slid his hands up either side of Shayne’s torso, until his thumbs were adjacent the point where Shayne had guided him to. He looked at Shayne’s face one last time; his eyes were calm and, to anybody else, unreadable, but Charlie knew there was a difference between Shayne’s neutral looks and his blank looks. Blank meant he was dissociating, or about to be.

Neutral meant that he was okay.

Still, Charlie met his dark gaze and raised an eyebrow; the response was a soft exhale, almost like a chuckle. Is this still okay? – Yes, it’s fine, idiot.

Charlie drew his hands downward again, hooking his thumbs under the end of Shayne’s t-shirt. He slid his hands slowly back up Shayne’s waist, taking the fabric with them. Shayne drew a sharp breath as skin met skin, and his own hand vanished from his torso altogether, lifting to rest on the pillow next to his head.

Breaking the eye contact was difficult at first, given how intimately Charlie found himself able to read Shayne’s tiny motions and expressions.

But then Charlie looked down, and it suddenly wasn’t so difficult anymore.

He lifted Shayne’s t-shirt halfway up, stopping while his ribcage was still covered with the soft fabric.

Fuck.

No matter how many times he saw it, it always felt like it was the first time he was getting to look at the smooth surface of Shayne’s stomach.

The first thing Charlie did was draw his forehead across the soft skin, his bangs drifting along the contours of his lower ribs. He raised his head as he felt Shayne's abdominal muscles shiver, and bit his lip at the sound of a faint, strangled laugh.

"Sorry," he whispered as softly as he could. Watch the hair. Got it.

When he planted the first kiss, Shayne gasped again, but it was a deeper sound this time. His ribs rose harshly, but then fell with a little more control.

Charlie sighed in elation at the thought of fluttery, tingly feelings simmering just below the surface of his boyfriend's belly, all because of him. He wasn't sure which he liked more; the idea that his kisses were calming the butterflies down and making the fluttering feeling ease up, or the idea that his kisses were making them go even crazier.

The prospect of either made him feel like his head was going to explode.

Charlie leaned in harder for the next kiss, which blended seamlessly into the next one, and the next one, until it could hardly be called kissing anymore.

He squeezed Shayne's waist and felt a hand idly brushing through his hair.

Charlie was barely managing to resist letting his teeth get involved as his lips pressed and pulled at the smooth skin, drawing barely-audible whimpers out of his boyfriend. His breathing was getting a little shaky, Charlie noticed, by the way his chest and belly only rose and fell slightly, and shuddered as they did.

Shayne took his hand back from Charlie's hair, and although Charlie didn't look up, he could tell that he was reaching above his head to stretch slightly. The muscles and skin of his stomach tightened under Charlie's lips, holding the tension for a couple of seconds before melting into softness again.

Fu-uck. Whether these reactions were genuine, or a performance for Charlie's sake, he couldn't believe this was happening.

He lightly traced his lips downwards, leaving no inch of skin unkissed as he made a line towards Shayne’s belly button. His own breath was growing unsteady as he forgot to come up for air. His thumbs were still positioned at either side of Shayne’s stomach, the rest of his fingers tucked around his waist, and in a moment of flushed passion, he squeezed and pulled him upwards, as though he couldn’t get his face close enough.

Shayne leaned into the pull, back arched just slightly in response to Charlie’s hands.

Charlie wanted to bury his face deep in Shayne's stomach and scream until his lungs were empty.

I love him.

Shayne lowered his back again, and it felt like he easing his weight back into Charlie’s hands. Charlie wished – with an intensity so strong that he found himself gnashing his back teeth together – that he had hands big enough that could wrap all the way around him. Or that he was tiny enough that he could curl up on Shayne's tummy like it was a bed.

He sank his forehead down onto Shayne's stomach as though in defeat. He made sure not to drag his hair across Shayne's ribs this time.

“You’re... you're so beautiful," he murmured.

Shayne sighed sharply, ribs tightening. Charlie ran his hands up to rest on his chest, which was still covered with his t-shirt, just to show that he wasn’t just saying nice things because Shayne was letting him have his way.

One of Shayne's hands reached down to play with Charlie's hair again, fingers drawing slow figure-8s between the back of his skull and the nape of his neck.

Charlie turned his head and nuzzled his cheek against Shayne's belly, reveling in its warmth and its springy softness and its existence. He'd lie here for a few moments, until he inevitably felt the need to smother it in kisses again.

It deserved a little break to recover from his nonsense, as did poor Shayne.

God, Charlie felt giddy and delirious. Like he was drunk. At least three beers in.

"You’re just… so fucking lovely," he blurted.

He felt Shayne's fingers twist a little harder into his hair, and the next time he felt his stomach muscles twitch under his cheek, Charlie was almost certain that it was from a very light sob.

"Charlie," Shayne said, before Charlie had even had a chance to react.

Charlie lifted his head swiftly, his mind clearing in an instant. His muscles were preparing to launch himself off the bed and give Shayne the space he needed. His tongue was prepped to apologise and assure his boyfriend that no matter what he was uncomfortable with, his feelings were completely valid.

But Shayne's eyes, despite the tears glistening in them, were pleading with him in a different way than Charlie had expected.

"Will you kiss my stomach again?"

#StW Shayne #StW Charlie #Swallow the World #kink mention #stomach kink #kink fic #body kissing #stomach kissing #character kink #tummy kink #belly kink #light spice #butterflies in stomach

35 notes · View notes

natashxromanovf · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 3,239 times in 2022

1,488 posts created (46%)

1,751 posts reblogged (54%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@natashxromanovf

@mirclealignr

@pregnant-piggy

@velvetcloxds

@annab-nana

I tagged 2,872 of my posts in 2022

Only 11% of my posts had no tags

#ask box - 570 posts

#taja talks - 565 posts

#💎; fic rec - 235 posts

#queue our savior - 191 posts

#tw caps - 183 posts

#taja studies - 148 posts

#self reblog - 130 posts

#stranger things - 116 posts

#criminal minds - 101 posts

#ask games - 72 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#wouldn’t it just be easier if we could simply walk up to someone and say i like you and if they say no okay whatever i’m moving on with my

My Top Posts in 2022:

okay but looking after oliver and warming him up after he was practicing in the rain

is that not the cutest thing ever

i’m just imagining his wet hair and melting aw he’s so cute

jess. i can't. this- this request. just- just imagine. oh my god 😍

"oliver?" you ask as you hear somebody enter your dorm room, not expecting anybody since your roomates are studying in the library.

"yeah, it's me," he annaounces and a second later, his head appears in your line of vision. as soon as you take him all in, you see his shaking form, his drenched quidditch ropes.

"were you training in the rain again?" you ask, a little concerned but mostly amused.

"...maybe," he responds, quickly running to the bathroom so he doesn't get the whole room wet.

"did you drag your poor teammates with you too?" you ask, already feeling bad for the boys. yes, you like that oliver is so passionate about something but sometimes, he just crosses the line.

"maybe," he repeats his previous answer, you closing your eyes momentarilly.

"oh, ollie," you sigh, just as he comes out of the bathroom. without missing a beat he colapses on the bed, his head landind near your shoulder. you lightly touch his cheek, checking if he maybe, possibly caught a cold. "oh, merlin, you're freezing!" you exclaim, putting down your book and wraping your arms around him, pulling him closer. "saints, oliver, how long were you out there?" you ask, now really worried about his health.

"two hours," he quietly confesses, your eyes widening. "but i let the boys go after one!"

"yeah, but still! two hours, do you know how cold it is outside? it may not be winter anymore but spring has just begun!" you whisper-yell, quickly wrapping the sheets around him. "and your hair is still wet," you comment, getting up to get a towel. "although you look adorable with wet hair, you're going to get sick if we don't dry it at least a little," you say from the bathroom, returning back to bed right after. this boy is going to be the death of himself one day.

271 notes - Posted July 14, 2022

Magical Tea

JJ Maybank x gn!reader

Word count: 569

Warnings: mentions of liquid, mentions of being touch starved, not proofread

A/N: thank you for requesting! i apologise i'm late with this request but i hope you like it nonetheless <;33

See the full post

281 notes - Posted January 20, 2022

The Accident

Spencer Reid x paramedic!fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1677

WARNINGS: a lot of dialogue (as always), mentions of a crash, mentions of a hospital, swearing

REQUESTED: no, hurt/comfort

SUMMARY: When an accident occurs, Spencer is worried out of his mind not knowing if something bad happened to you.

A/N: finally kinda done with requests, so i can write some of my ideas. this is a crossover between the show's criminal minds and chicago fire, but it’s not very relevant to the story. it’s more leaning against criminal minds (obviously, it's spencer) and it’s not chicago fire anymore cause it’s happening in quantico😂 gif credits to @toyboxboy

See the full post

291 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

🦋 wearing spender reid’s cardigan to work <3

i love this so much oml

"Looking good, Y/N," JJ winks at you, a smirk on her lips. You thank her with a roll of your eyes, knowing damn well she was talking about your boyfriend's cardigan. You knew what wearing it to work meant but it looked so comfortable and warm, you just had to wear it.

"Damn, Y/N," Morgan whistles as you pass him, sitting down behind your desk. You ignore him, instead going straight to the files waiting on you. It's not a minute that goes by before Spencer enters the bullpen, sitting down across from you.

"Y/N? Is- is that my cardigan?" the doctor asks once he notices what you're wearing, a surprised look on his face.

"Yes, I borrowed it, I'm sorry if it bothers you," you quickly explain, just as a big grin starts to spread across Spencer's lips.

"No, I don't mind at all, darling," he mutters, same expression appearing on your face.

"Okay then," you say, turning back to the paperwork. He steals once last glance before going back to work, a smirk replacing the previpus smile.

come join my celebration <;33

322 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Exhausted

Aaron Hotchner x nanny!fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1973

WARNINGS: age gap

REQUESTED: /, kinda friends to lovers, fluff

SUMMARY: After spending a day with Jack and Aaron, you're too tired to make it home.

A/N: thank you so much for the idea @velvetcloxds! i loved it so much, I just had to write it. there’s an OC in there, named laura (based on @oliverwoodmarrymepls), just a heads up :) also Hayley didn’t die in this! gif credits to @shyhotch

See the full post

385 notes - Posted June 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

12 notes · View notes

rottenbrainstuff · 10 months ago

Text

BG3 playthrough - Gauntlet of Shar + The Nightsong

Very nearly done act 2!!

Spoilers below the cut.

Did I ever mention that as I play, because I’m a fucking nerd, I’ve been writing down short little notes and journal entries from my tav’s point of view? What they were thinking and how they reacted in certain scenes? I highly recommend it if you’re also a fucking nerd, because it’s been fun.

The last loose end to tie up before the Gauntlet was completing Halsin’s little shadow curse quest. I think I might have skimmed too much info from Halsin’s introduction back in act 1 or something, this whole plot point and Halsin’s connection to the shadow curse and what Thaniel is exactly is a little vague and strange to me. Sorry buddy. I know it’s not your fault you have so much exposition to dump all the time… you really do seem like a lovely guy with your honey and your ducks. “Little” shadow curse quest, “little”, man the fight by the docks was a pain in the ass, even with Shadowheart’s spirit guardian spell helping out.

The design of Shar’s big temple is definitely…… distinct. I am not sure if I can say I personally enjoy it, it feels weird to me, this kind of modern, minimalist, sleek almost like I dunno giving me bauhaus vibes or something, in the middle of this otherwise very medieval world. Though I do not personally prefer it, I do appreciate that they went with a bold and distinctive choice. I bought the DLC pack that includes the art book, but I haven’t gone through it yet because I didn’t want to see art for areas I hadn’t visited yet. When I’m all done the game I can’t wait to go through and check out the design work.

I know it’s a bit ironic for me, a consummate and obsessive savescummer, to say this, but once again: don’t be too afraid to fail dialogue checks, a lot of the dialogue has interesting outcomes if you fail.

Anyways, the actual Gauntlet… was I the only one who found it kinda… anticlimactic? I was disappointed the trials weren’t harder. Even the library of silence was weirdly easy (I was able to snipe that black hole thing undetected from the doorway and vaporize it before the fight even started, removing the silence condition, and then it’s just mopping up). The only really challenging encounter I’ve found in this area at all was the fight right before Balthazar’s room, because it was tricky to take out all the black hole things in one round, and everything else has been solidly myeh. I was SO excited to have to fight copies of my party, but I snuck everyone into sniping spots and basically finished everything off before they even had a chance to fight back, because the HP was so low. (I mean was that supposed to be the point? We were specifically fighting our past lives, was it supposed to make me contemplate how much more powerful I am now, or how sad it is to basically slaughter my past self?...) I mean I *am* playing the game on easy mode, maybe these challenges are more significant on higher difficulties. Or, as much as I say I was disappointed, maybe I would have been frustrated if it was harder, because at this point I kind of really just want to hurry up and finish the Nightsong stuff so I can fight Ketheric.

I read online and found people discussing the self same trial and how difficult it can be. They were even listing all these tips for how to make the fight easier, like unequipping all weapons and armour before you enter the room to make the copies weaker. Like. I dunno. I *AM* playing this game on the easy setting, so maybe it’s different, but like, yeah. The copies had a FRACTION of my hit points, they were two levels lower, and they all had lower stats. I sniped them from hiding spots, and I was able to kill every single copy before they even got a turn in battle. I dunno man. Maybe it’s an actual fight on higher difficulty levels. Maybe this is one time where playing on easy was a bad choice.

So far I have found two hidden areas that are only accessible via a featherfall jump from a higher platform, am I missing anything else?

And I finished all the Nightsong stuff. Now I’ve freed the hot aasimar lesbian, hooray! Once again, another writing issue: I read a plaque that said to the effect of “spill the blood of Selune and become a dark justiciar” or something, and my journal updated to declare that we had discovered from plaque that the Nightsong is not a relic, but a woman trapped in a cage! Em no we did not discover that. I love this game so much but it does make me just ever so slightly sad that act 2 has all these rough little edges on it. I wish they had had the time to smooth things out just a LITTTTLE bit more.

I was very surprised to see that Shadowheart will decide to spare Aylin all by herself, without you stepping in to say anything. I wanted to see the dark justiciar option first, then reload and spare Aylin, so I decided to just stand back and watch and I picked the “do nothing” dialogue options. I was surprised to see her throw away the spear. It actually took some effort to convince her to go through with it. Good for you, Shadowheart. That’s really interesting. (I wonder how it goes with Astarion’s choice with the ritual) Holy smokes that fight with Balthazar though. I almost got a TPK because I was being really fucking stupid. I forgot, stupidly, that he is undead, and it just didn’t occur to me to get Shadowheart to turn undead. So he kept casting cloudkill on our asses. Once I stopped being stupid it was a pretty standard fight. Holy smokes.

My oldest kiddo has played all the Dragon Age games and she’s been telling me about how the games are similar and how they’re different - I wish there were changes to BG3 companions when you romance them, like how she mentioned they get different outfits in Dragon Age. Maybe a romanced companion could have something added to their tents at camp. Like some flowers for Shadowheart’s camp, wine and books for Astarion, I dunno, just some little token that’s implied you put it there, something like that. Actually that makes me think too… I once played a game where you could kind of make friends with all the residents of this village, and as you made better friends with them, their houses would get decorated with greenery and lights outside as your approval went up. It would be neat if, as you gained approval even with unromanced companions, it would cause their tents to change and be improved. Or what if there were specific items you could give all the companions as gifts? Like the way you can give Shadowheart the night orchid and the shar statue. What if everyone had special items somewhere hidden in the game? It’s selfish I guess - this amazing game that already has so much detail in it, and I’m just thinking about MORE things that I want? But it WOULD be neat…..

My act 1 map is gone now so I can no longer visit the tiefling graveyard I set up at the monastery. Sigh. Next up is storming Moonrise with the harpers, and I am SO SO CLOSE to being able to free my sad old man from the dungeon.

#bg3 #bg3 playthrough #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers

0 notes

adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 10 months ago

Text

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 20

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY: ART

“I wondered where you’d gotten to.” Shay takes me somewhat by surprise as she drops onto the step a noticeable distance from me, clearly wanting to respect my boundaries right now even though she’s still sitting close enough to be friendly. Prob’ly she knows me well enough to know I ain’t gonna turn her away no matter what kinda mood I’m in, we’re too good friends for that now. And I could use the company. Maybe I been beating myself up a little too much since we got back, and more so after that interrogation …

Fuck, that didn’t go well. I mean it did, I scared the hell outta that nasty bitch in there and she gave up everything she could, even went so far as to agree to draw us a map o’ the tunnels, ‘least as much as she knows about navigating ‘em. Including the route from the Late Bone to the Playhouse, which is helpful. Although it’s still up in the air exactly what the plan actually is there, so I ain’t had much of an idea what I gotta do for prep. So I’m just taking care of everything instead.

After I left the interrogation I saw Darwyn back to the infirmary, leaving her with the healers so they could try and get her back to fighting fitness again in case we really are gonna go tonight. I still ain’t comfortable about the idea of her coming, not so soon after she took that wound, but she’s insistent, downright indignant about it really, and even Kesla found it hard to really argue too hard about it, the way she got. Although she did insist Darwyn at least catch a few hours o’ sleep after, just to give her some peace of mind. Not that I’m too confident she’ll actually do that.

Meanwhile I went back to my own room, having heard the temple’s staff had gone to our hotel to collect the remainder of our gear alongside our horses to bring here since we’re making this place our base of operations moving forward. Finding my own admittedly spartan luggage waiting for me, I sorted through it for my duffle and, having collected my gear, went in search of somewhere good and quiet for me to set up for my prep-work. I thought about going into the library, finding a quiet corner in there to work, but in the end decided against it. Didn’t feel like a clever move setting up my full armoury on one o’ the big tables in there to give my blades a good polish and sharpen, reckon it would’ve sent the wrong message.

In the end I found this nifty little spot in the endlessly surprising environs of the temple’s uncannily oversized architecture, once again baffling me with the way it’s so much bigger than it has any right to be looking at the building from outside. Like the fact there’s a whole open, grassy space somewhere in the middle of it all. Granted, it ain’t really a garden, there ain’t flowerbeds or even any bushes or little trees, just an open cloister with a stretch o’ grass surrounded by raised white-stone paving, with a pool in the middle. It’s a glorified font really, maybe ten feet across with two foot walls round it, but when I had a look in it before I set up I saw weeds and lily-pads in it, with frogs and coy fish swimming about in the surprisingly clear water. Clearly it’s intended to be a calming, tranquil place, for folk to come and unwind when they get stressed. Seemed the right place for me, then.

So I settled on the edge of the clipped lawn and laid my oilcloth out in front of me, then set the entirety of my collection out on it so I could go over all of it, seeing what might need tending to, and what I might wanna give a courtesy clean anyway, for my own peace of mind. Including the my battle armour, now I finally got it to hand again. I’d made a decent amount of headway by the time Shay found me.

She sets her own more modest pack aside and stretches her legs in front of her, giving arching her back a little as she leans on her arms, shoulders back too. I can’t help watching her as she does it, she’s an incredibly beautiful woman and this seemingly casual, mostly unconscious act is a very sexy thing to watch. Then she catches me looking and I turn back to my own work, frowning in frustration as I try to get my mind off such thoughts again. Honestly I ain’t really in the mood for it right now.

Instead I pick up my rag again and the oil bottle, upending it into the cloth before setting it aside and taking up my sword again. I pause for a beat before starting to polish the freshly honed blade, looking down its length first one side, then the other, one last check for any nicks I might’ve missed. I don’t put the rag to it until I’m entirely satisfied. Not that it’s doing my mood any more favours …

“How are you finding my old sword, by the way?”

I give her a quick sidelong glance after a beat, sat forward again now, stripped down to her under-armour again, and it’s fitted good and snug, fashioned just as well as that miraculous mail she got from Hurrig Stormshield back in Bavat. She looks as striking out of it as in, the way it’s all been put together.

But it’s her face I’m reading now, I can’t help it. It might’ve sounded like a casual, friendly off-hand query, but I’m getting to know her well enough I can read her underlying mood. She’s worried about me now, I’d have to be an idiot not to pick up on it. After what I did in that backroom I ain’t surprised.

“It’s serving real nice, all things considered.” I manage to keep my voice light and level, not clenching my teeth any, at least. “Now I got used to the difference in heft and balance, I’m getting real comfortable with it. To be honest, it’s actually better than my old one, ‘least in terms o’ reach. It’s a real nice piece of smithing. Good as Guild work, even.”

“Yeah, da insisted I have a fine set of blades when I grew old enough for them. He had them made to order, in Hocknar, one of their best forges. A nice family place, they’ve been doing it for quite a few generations, he said.”

That has me grinning, even though I can’t vouch for there being much real humour in it, not right now. “Shit … wouldn’t happen to have been the Merphin shop, would it?”

Shay raises her brows at that. “Impressive guess, how did you –”

“We go there ourselves, they’re real good friends of ours.” I turn the sword over and start on the other side, watching what I’m doing now given how sharp I like to keep my steel. “Kesla’s known ‘em all for years. She says one o’ their ancestors trained under dwarves, in their own forges, so he handed some pretty serious knowledge down the generations.”

“I can see that.” Shay nods, reaching over and picking her pack up again so she can open it in her lap. “Most of my own blades came from there, I’d say. I take good care of them, but honestly a lot of the time I don’t really have to do that much work to keep them keen, this really is almost as good as real dwarven forged steel.”

Nodding along myself, I carefully test the edge with my thumb, giving the blade a gentle flick as I do and listening to the subtle, mildly tuneful little ring it produces. “Yeah, it is. Beautiful work. You’re sure you don’t want it back?”

She watches me for a beat before answering, and I can’t really tell what she’s thinking in that moment. “What, you want to swap it for Ashsong’s blade, maybe? I can’t say I’d be entirely adverse to the idea, this damn vampire steel still makes me a little uncomfortable.”

“Thorin no. No thank you. I handled it enough for one lifetime, I reckon.” I can’t keep the edge out my voice this time, the thought of what I did with it up there in the tavern gives me chills enough to shudder.

Again, she don’t answer right away, looking at me with an even more critical eye now, and I know full well she’s seeing right through whatever flimsy façade I managed to put up before now. She can tell how much on edge I am right now, how little the usual calming process of tending to my steel has managed to dull it. I manage not to crumple the rag in my fist, instead just setting it aside on the step while I pick up the scabbard instead and guide the point into the throat before sliding her former sword home again. Then I have to take a moment to flex my paw before I can draw the long knife again, trying to work the tension out my fingers now I’m suddenly so tight again.

“That’s all right. I suppose it’s like you with my old sword. I am still getting used to it, but … it does serve very well indeed, despite the quirks.” She’s concentrating on her own business right now, at least, although it’s clear enough she’s just going out of her way to make me feel better now, help me calm down some. She starts taking things out her own pack now, producing a cleaning kit and a bundle of rags which she lays out in front before reaching back in, finally coming out with her own tightly bundled oilcloth.

Finally drawing the knife, I look it over for a few moments, trying to use the job at hand to take my mind off what’s not being said right now. I did a decent enough job earlier wiping this clean, but there’s still odd traces of gore from those I killed in the tavern, and I’d be remiss to not give the edge a few courtesy strokes with the whetstone anyway, just to be safe. So I give the weapon a little flip, not really even thinking about it when I do so, letting it spin once in the air before catching it underhand, then again the other way to catch it the right way up again. All while retrieving the dry cloth without even looking for it with my left paw. I catch Shay watching me doing this through the corner of my eye, cocking her brow a little, but she don’t say anything more, leaving me to continue.

We sit as we are for maybe two or three minutes, just getting on with our own work here, me scrubbing at the blade with the rougher cloth after spitting on the stains, while she just starts sorting through her own gear. I sort of watch her do it as I work, mostly out of curiosity, seeing her own collection of blades is more modest but still very well made, and I’m reminded about where she got ‘em all from. Finally she selects one of her longest knives and takes up her own cloth to start cleaning. Meanwhile I can sense she wants to say something again, so I just concentrate on what I’m doing while I wait.

“So, you think the tunnels are the best bet, then?”

Looking up, I find her just scrubbing away at her blade, a subtle frown tightening her brows, almost like she never spoke at all. “Better’n you an’ Kesla going in the front door at the Playhouse. Sounds proper risky, y’ask me. Didn’t she already go there earlier today? I mean if they already know what she looks like –”

“I think Lady Naru’s going to try something, some kind of spell, maybe. To make her look different. Besides, she says they’re not that likely to be looking at her anyway. She says most of those highborn types don’t really look at the Help at these kinds of events, they only have eyes for their own peers.”

That has me chuckling a little, the idea that Kesla could be anyone’s servant. “So she actually agreed to the bodyguard idea, then?”

“She’s definitely big enough. And it means she’ll be able to explain away her weapons with ease at the door. If they do ask in the first place. I mean, they didn’t say anything about that being an actual rule, having to check your arms at the door, so …”

“But you have to leave your armour behind. Both of you. Kesla can’t be happy about that.”

“She’ll still have her jack on underneath everything else. I suspect it’s better than going in naked.” She frowns a little deeper now as she puts down her cloth and takes up her whetstone. “I’m the one who’s going in there with naught but the clothes on my back.”

“Yeah, but you’re the distraction. An’ I reckon you’re gonna be real effective.”

Cocking her brow again, she gives me a look as she ponders me for a long beat. “I’m not sure if that’s really a compliment, Art. Coming from you I can never really tell.”

Grinning back, I manage a decent amount of humour, at least. More than I really feel. “Enough o’ one, I reckon. You’re real easy on the eyes, Shay. You get scrubbed up and pandered and put on one o’ them fancy rich lady dresses and you’re definitely gonna turn a big bunch o’ heads when you go in there. Which is definitely the point.”

The look she gives me as she proper glares now is even colder. “Better get that mind of yours out of the gutter, Art of Shadows. I don’t think either your old flame or your new intended would appreciate this talk about someone you consider a friend.” She points at me with her knife in punctuation.

That has me frowning, mostly just because, now I’m finally working on getting it clear in my head how I feel, I’m a little frustrated she really can read me that well. I mean I suspected, but still … “I don’t mean it like that. Promise. I mean … hey, I got eyes, and you do wear your gear real tight, Shay. I mean I get it, if it fits well it can be real helpful, but … y’know …” I try not to scowl too much as I take up my own whetstone now and spit on it, wanting to just concentrate on sharpening this blade now.

She starts her own sharpening first, but I’m joining her within a few strokes, and soon enough we’re falling into a comfortable rhythm. And now, finally, the work starts to soothe me, ‘least a little. So I go with the steady beat of what we’re doing, letting my breathing settle in time with it, and soon enough the comfortable silence growing between us seems to finally start to do its intended work on my nerves too.

“Ah, there you are.”

When I look up Tulen’s already sweeping our way across the lawn, holding a large platter before her as she navigates round the pool. I can already smell what’s on it, the mouth-watering signature of bacon, sausages, chicken and roast beef immediately setting my stomach to gurgling. To be honest, I’d entirely forgotten about food in the time since we got back from the tavern. But then I had other, much darker things on my mind …

Trying to push that down into the back of my mind, I turn the knife over and look down the line to inspect the edges, checking for any lingering nicks. Nothing major, but then, like the sword it came with, this is uncannily well forged. Merphin steel … I’ll be damned.

“Good afternoon.” Shay has a slight quizzical tone to match her expression as she watches the young wizard approach. “I would’ve thought you’d be with Sessa again, instead of … whatever it is you’re doing.” She looks down at her own knife, frowning a touch as she inspects it close, then sets down the stone so she can pick up the sheath and slot it home again.

“Kesla came to find me a little while ago, to inform me that we have …” She frowns too as she stops a little short of us. “Um … well, at least the beginning of a plan. She wasn’t particularly clear, just said that she was sorry, but she would very much appreciate if I could be of assistance. She said she understood if I wasn’t up to it, but …”

“She had a tone, right?” I venture, trying not to his with subtle second-hand frustration. “Not exactly unfriendly, just …”

“I didn’t want to disappoint her. And Sessa’s awake again, properly so. She’s still not …” She takes a breath as she must try to order her thoughts, and this just makes her frown even more. “She’s still not out of the woods yet, but … she’s well enough, at least, that she knows her own mind again. And she insisted, after Kesla left. She told me that she understood too, that I’d made a commitment, to Gael at least if not the rest of you, and because I was in a position to help, that I really should. So …” She shrugs now, ‘least as much as she can still holding that big load. Sandwiches, looks like. Not exactly a bunch of ‘em, looking at it I suspect she’s been round some o’ the others before she got here, but there’s still enough for more’n just us two.

“Put that down, Tulen.” Shay finally sighs, pointing with another knife now, the twin of the other one. She indicates the open spot on the steps between us. “Sit. Please. I think you might want some of that yourself. I’m sure Art could.”

As if it’s been listening to her as well, my stomach chooses that moment to produce a particularly prominent gurgle. Not for the first time, I’m real thankful I got fur so they can’t see my face flush in response.

Even so, I catch Shay smiling just a little, a cocked half o’ one at least, as she inspects the blade, then simply shrugs before sticking it right back into its scabbard again. Tulen seems mostly oblivious to my embarrassment, at least, but then she’s taking her up on the offer, taking the last few steps before carefully setting the platter down close to me. Then she looks down at her robes for a beat, brushing them off before hitching ‘em a little as she turns round so she can sit down on the far side of the tray from me. Immediately looking over what’s left of the selection before picking one of the substantial rolls up before turning it round a few times between her fingers, frowning again as she just looks at it.

“Y’all right there, luv?” I give her a sidelong look even as I’m reaching out, mostly trusting touch and my sense of smell now to find what I’m after as I make my own selection from the platter. One o’ the roast beef ones, turns out. With mustard, smells like. Interesting.

“Kesla said you found something when you went out again. While we went to the Playhouse, on her little ruse. The distraction.”

Shooting a look at Shay, I see she’s already watching me, wary again. Like she’s being careful reading me, checking if I’m about to break after all. Great …

Again, I take great care with how I present myself as I take a breath, keeping my teeth apart so I don’t hiss when I do it, even if part o’ me want to. “We found a bunch o’ stuff, actually. Maybe a way into that Playhouse, a secret tunnel. And some more prisoners too. One of ‘em was real helpful.” I manage to keep the edge from my voice as I say that last part. Again reminded what I did in that room.

Krakka was on the ball there, at least, but then I had enough presence o’ mind I didn’t cut her too deep, even if I kinda wanted to. She was … she made me angry, sure, and I can’t say she didn’t deserve what I gave her, but … no, Shay was right, what I did was out of order. Krakka may have healed that cut right up in a relative blink, no reason for Shul to find out and start giving me the cold shoulder well as Kesla, but even so … it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I had Gael on my mind, and I was still smarting ‘bout what I did upstairs in the tavern. She got under my skin and I just lost it.

Wanting to distract myself, I take a big bite of the sandwich, hoping I ain’t really lost my appetite just as I found it again. Thankfully the taste alone’s enough to revive what might’ve died, like everything else I had here so far this is also damn fine food. It’s particularly good mustard, not too sharp, but a good accompaniment to the rich, well-done beef, and the rolls are still kinda warm, which just enhances the flavour. I start chewing with gusto now, almost willing this food to work its trick to get my mind back on track too.

“Yes. She also mentioned that there will be a performance tonight, at the Playhouse. That new play that Hontiresk is so pleased with acquiring. She said you were thinking of using it as cover to get inside.” When I look up I see she’s watching Shay now, and that she still ain’t taken a bite of her own sandwich yet. “Apparently the two of you might be going in the front door? I’m not sure I understood that right, she wasn’t really very clear –”

Shay frowns again as she looks up from what she was doing this time, now going over her armour, it looks like. Thinking about cleaning her own blood and the caked dust from the mail, I reckon. Even though she won’t be using it for this, if she really is gonna go with Kesla’s plan. “She thought it might be clever if I were to attend the performance as a patron, with her as my bodyguard. I understand Cafi Sirsk is setting us up with some tickets, good ones. For the fancy seats, she said. I don’t know what that actually means, I don’t know much about the theatre –”

“Oh, of course …” Tulen don’t exactly put the roll down, but she still lets it settle on her lap, still clutched in her hands, as she nods, sitting back a little now. She don’t seem much reassured, even if she does understand better now. More’n me, anyway. “She means some box seats, with the nobles, I think. That must mean … oh, but that would be foolish. I mean, why would she want to get closer to Hontiresk?”

“That’s not exactly the plan.” Shay finally gets up and starts to move round to the tray now, dusting her backside off as she goes. “While you all sneak your way in, we’re going to try and find a way backstage, once the play’s begun. But Kesla wants to be up there just in case there’s any sign that they might already be onto us, that way if we do have to do anything we’ll already be close to him.”

“But …” Tulen looks up at her with clear worry now while the half-orc just leans forward to inspect the selection, finally picking what looks like one of the chicken sandwiches. She takes a bite while she’s still straightening up. “I don’t think … we can’t cause a major incident in there, the Oceanic Playhouse, it’s … even if we don’t get caught, the Order could still –”

“We’re doing this for Gael, remember?” I speak up for Shay while she’s still chewing, looking down thoughtfully at the wizard. “We know they’re there, her an’ her da, that woman good as said it already. Means those bastards have already fucked with the Order twice now, so if we’re working for ‘em then we’re within our right to do this. Besides, Hontiresk already fucked with the Authority in a major way letting Vandryss pull her shit. This could almost be called payback.”

“Retribution, more like.” Shay offers up a kinda withering look.

“Yeah, well … colour me proper unbothered.” I just shrug back at her. “He asked for it.”

“Are you in?” Shay’s turned to Tulen now, and while she’s looking more stoic now, I can pick up a little hope hiding behind her expression all the same. “Lady Naru’s on board, but we could still do with another mage, just in case things get sporty in there. Which they probably will. Especially if those mercs are there.”

Frowning now, Tulen looks from her to me, then back again, before finally just staring off across the cloister for a long beat, seeming to consider. “Yes. Of course. For Gael, of course I am. I’m just … you know, I’m saying what everyone should at least be thinking. This could cause some serious problems if it goes wrong.”

Dropping onto the step right beside her, Shay just snakes her arm round her shoulder and gives her a little crush, smiling now. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. But as long as we get them back it’ll be worth any repercussions. And frankly, I really don’t care very much about that anyway. It’s not my city, I have no stakes here. All I care about are my friends.”

Tulen looks at her now, considering, then finally lets a sigh go and manages a tentative smile. “Yes. Me too.” She looks down at the roll in her hands, turning it over again, and while she frowns again, the smile stays. “Maybe I should accompany you both. I could –”

“No, Kesla would rather you hung back with the others. She already thought about it, and she knew you would ask. Hontiresk and his people already got a look at her, so while she will be in disguise she’d rather not run any more risks with you too. You do stand out, after all.”

“I do?” She turns to look my way now, a little beseeching now.

“Yeah.” I just nod as I offer up my own opinion. “You really do.”

Turning back, Tulen looks the half-orc over now. “So do you, though.”

Giving me a sharp side-eye now, Shay looks ready to hiss now but just lets it go in a heavy sigh instead. “That’s been mentioned too, but I didn’t go to the Playhouse, so they shouldn’t know me. And I’m going to look …” She works her mouth for a beat, like she don’t really like the words. “Different too.”

“A disguise? Like Kesla? Or …” Tulen gives her one more look over, then her brows rise as realisation dawns. “Oh, right. Because –”

“She’s hot.” I almost chuckle as the words just slip out, and as it is I can’t help a wicked grin.

Tulen’s cheeks darken immediately, while Shay just glares round at me now, looking ready to spit venom but holding back instead. “Oh …” the young wizard breathes, then she cocks her brow, more thoughtful now, even in her bashfulness. “I mean … it’s true. You are. Very attractive indeed. Did Kesla not already –”

“She was a little more … diplomatic with her words.” Shay growls through gritted teeth. “It’s not something I’m used to, but … Lady Naru says she can help me out with that.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure she can.” Tulen nods now. “I could as well, of course. I mean, it’s not really my area of expertise, I’m not really …” She falters again, her bashfulness persisting. “But I do understand the concept. Before the Academy, I was born and raised in a noble household. Long enough I learned some of the expectations that might otherwise have been placed on me if …”

“You’ll be welcome, of course.” Reckon Shay might agree as much just to save her from getting any more flustered. Finally she just gives her another little squeeze, more companionable now. “And it’ll be fun, yeah? Like … I don’t know. I suspect you’d have a better idea about it even so.”

Honestly, it’s all I can do to keep a straight enough face while she gives me a rather hot look now, clearly sensing my amusement. In the end I just take another bite of my sandwich, and after a beat she does the same.

“Does that mean the rest of us are all going to be going in through the tunnels then?” Tulen wonders after finally taking a bite of her own sandwich and giving it a more thoughtful chew. “While you and Kesla forge ahead by … I don’t know, hiding in plain sight?”

I carefully set what’s left of my roll on the very edge of the closest corner of my oilcloth and take a moment to give my paws a careful wipe across my thighs. “Some of us. We’re gonna head in in two groups. Me an’ a few others’ll take the tunnels, but Zul’s gonna try an’ find a way in from the back with the rest. Reckon since you are coming it’ll be a mage with either group, but we ain’t worked out who’s who just yet, beyond the leads. You’re welcome to make your own choice there, if you want.”

Chewing on her latest mouthful, Tulen watches me for a moment, considering now. Finally she quirks a brow. “If you’ll have me I’d be happy to come with you. I should imagine going in through the tunnels makes that the most likely route for us to find where they’re keeping the prisoners, so –”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I nod along. “That’ll be where they’re keeping Gael. Be good to have a friendly face coming along for that.”

That makes her frown, looking down now as she swallows a little more ponderously than I’d like. Making the same connection I already did, no doubt. By tonight, Gael will have been gone three days straight, in the clutches o’ some damn nasty folk, Vandryss especially. I don’t wanna think about the kinda hell they been through in that time, but I can’t help it, and I know her oldest, best friend can’t either. I remember what she said before, that Gael … they ain’t soft, but there’s a fragility there all the same, ‘least enough they might be broken when we find ‘em ...

Gods … I hope that ain’t true, but I know how little that kinda hope’s worth. I didn’t get a close up look at that evil bitch like Shay did, but what I heard from her and Kesla’s enough to let me know we’re dealing with a real monster. We don’t really know what she’s actually capable of, but it’s easy enough to guess. Even though I sure wouldn’t ever want to.

So I just pick the whetstone and knife back up, looking the blade over once more before spitting so I can start honing again. Taking a deep breath as I do it, working on centring myself to regain some calm from what I’m doing. Mindful now I can feel eyes on me again.

Even so, Tulen’s a few drawn-out moments speaking again, and when she does she’s hesitant enough. “Kesla said … when we talked, she told me you found more than just what we talked about there. In the tavern. She … um … she said that …”

Letting the breath go in a long hiss, I keep stroking away at that edge, listening to the sharp little scratch and watching the subtle sparking of rough stone over already keen steel. “I killed Gran.”

Again, I hear her gulp, more pronounced now. More worried. “Yeah … that’s … what she said. Um … are you –”

“Y’know I was actually a little older than him? Maybe a few months, ‘least that’s how they reckoned it, back in the Arrowhead. I mean, they couldn’t really be sure, me an’ him, we were both relative novelties among the foundlings. I mean, Zul weren’t exactly from a common breed himself, but an orc and a bakaneko? That was something else here in Untermer.”

Nobody answers that, and I keep my eyes on what I’m doing, but I can imagine the two of ‘em exchanging a look all the same. Concern writ large on Tulen’s face, subtle but still there in Shay if you’re actually looking for it.

“So there was a time, when we were still growing, when I was actually bigger than he was. I mean, not for long, but even so. Early days, I just shot up, while he was still growing, like, a regular amount. Bigger’n all of ‘em, for a while, the ones born round the same time as us, anyway. He got strong pretty fast, orcs got that proper ropey strength when they’re kids turns into solid hardwood when they grow up, but he was awkward with it back then, hadn’t learned how to use it yet. Would’ve been easy for me to win a fight back then. But I never wanted to.”

Turning the knife over in my hand once, then twice, I inspect it one more time before I’m sure it’s good and honed, so I just put the stone down and retrieve the scabbard, sheathing it again before putting it down and selecting the next in line. I don’t even realise it’s the one I used on Sal until I’ve drawn it, catching sight of a few lingering spots of her blood now, deep in the fuller, one just outside the guard. Can’t help a slight tightening of my jaw seeing that, but I pick up the rag all the same. Still oily enough, looks like.

“Art …” Shay whispers now, her tone wary.

“Didn’t last, of course. I mean, sure, orcs only grow fast as humans, but it’s relative, really. I mean, he started getting big while he was still young, even before puberty. An’ then he just shot up. But by then, we’d already been in training for a while, so he got dangerous along with it. I mean, we all did, but with him …” I suck a harsh breath in with a hiss as I bare my teeth. “So when Yevnik got his pick from our class for prowler training, I mean, of course he grabbed the full-blooded orc. He must’ve thought Winterheart came early.”

I’m bent on cleaning the blade now, working the spit-wet rag into the tough spots the best I can to try and remove those stubborn spots, but I can feel the mood all the same, the concern in the other two. I don’t need to look up to know they’re watching me with open worry now. “It was him getting his claws in, I’m sure of it. Cuz he weren’t born like that. When I knew him, in the early days, when we were kids, Gran was a good one. I could trust him, we all did. He had my back, watched out for me, much as I did for him. I loved him, much as I did the others. Zul did too. Darwyn … well, y’know what she’s like, reckon you spent enough time round her by now. I mean sure, he was her friend, but … I guess maybe he scared her a little bit, even so. She was always a bit wary round him, once he got big, but then she’s tiny, so it tracks. I mean she was just being smart. But after Yevnik?” Another hiss, I can’t help it.

In the end I just toss the rag aside and spit right on the blade, then start working my thumb over the toughest spot. Mindful of the edge as I do it, but my frustration’s getting to me now. It ain’t coming, I just can’t seem to get it …

“Sal … that woman, she said it was Glyn. Sparkheel. Now him … he ain’t stupid, I’ll give him that, but puffed-up prick or not, ain’t no way he’s in this alone. Uh-uh. No fucking chance o’ that. Besides, him an’ Gran, they were never close, ‘least not that I ever saw. They had no real business ever working together, even after what Gran got himself mixed up in. So I don’t buy him being the way they got in. Is he the contact? Sure. But there’s gonna be somebody else behind him. I’m sure of it.” Finally I just give up, instead picking up the whetstone as I take a closer look at the edge itself. Shouldn’t need more’n a pass or two, mostly I just need to oil it.

“No other way I can look at it, really. It’s gonna be Yevnik. When we get word to Cobb and he gets his sneaky little network on it, that’s the only possibility that makes any sense to me. Cuz Glyn’s his little bitch, one of his favourites. Little shit ain’t got the balls to do this without that old man’s say-so. Except it don’t make any sense, that’s the part I can’t let go of. I mean … I don’t get it. Yevnik … he’s a fucking snake, the man has no moral backbone at all, he’d sell his own kin out to get ahead, but the Guild’s his life. It’s the only thing he cares about, besides his own skin. So why? Why the fuck would he do this?”

The first I realise that Shay’s crouched down in front o’ me is when she reaches out with tentative hands, not taking hold of my own while I’m holding the knife, I realise, just showing her open palms to make it clear she’s trying to be gentle and very careful. She speaks in a low, cautious tone, like she’s still holding her breath as she does it, and when I finally look up at her I realise how tense she actually is. “Art? I need you to chill. Can you do that for me?”

Seeing that finally checks me mid-stroke, so the stone don’t quite spark the steel this time as I run it over the blade. I’m a beat answering her, slowly realising how tense I am too … then I just let a heavy sigh out as I breathe: “Oh … shit … yeah, I guess …”

When she reaches for the knife now, I just turn my paw over to let it rest inert in my open palm so she can pick it up without resistance. She’s careful about it all the same, and doesn’t really breathe again until she’s got it, passing it into her other hand before finally settling back onto her haunches. “Good. Art, I’m …” She falters again.

“We’re worried about you.” Tulen answers for her after a beat, and her cheeks darken immediately, letting me know she mostly just blurted it out without thinking first.

Sighing, Shay takes care as she folds her wrists so she can lean onto her knees while she’s holding the knife. She looks so solemn right now, and while she can hold my eye I get the impression she’s squirming a good deal on the inside right now, but she’s muddling through it all the same. “Look, I get it. That was an impossible situation. It was fucking chaos up there in the tavern, we were all going through it, and it was just shit luck that it had to be you that killed him. If I could have spared you from that, if I hadn’t gotten myself messed up, maybe it wouldn’t have –”

“Hey, no.” I give the whetstone a little squeeze as I draw in a deep breath, but it’s just so I can focus myself, just centre myself as I sit forward, reaching out to let my empty paw settle on her wrist now. “No, that ain’t on you either. That was all his fault, but even then not really. Maybe it wasn’t anybody’s fault, it was like you said, just shit luck. I mean he was already dying, you already started that when you took his hand off. I just put him out of his misery.” I look down for a long beat, letting that sigh go now. “Shit … ‘least I got to say goodbye. He was lucid enough for that in the end. Made it hurt more, but … wasn’t his intention. It just happened that way.”

“We just don’t want you beating yourself up over this, it does none of us any good, least of all yourself, and worse there’s no reason for you to do it.” Shay sighs, and when I finally look up again she’s just regretful. “At least you got to say goodbye.”

Yeah … honestly, I can see where she’s coming from now. When we all met, when she first became one of us after that mess with Ashsong and what she helped us prevent up in the mountains, she lost three friends, close ones, all in less than an hour of each other. Every death was a swift, sudden one, they were just gone almost before she had time to register it even happened, which just made the loss hurt so much more, because she never got to tell them how much they meant to her.

I remember on the road to Bavat after, while we were first getting to know her, there were times when she would just go somewhere, just shut down for a while, close herself off and suffer for a few hours, sometimes cry but more often just soak. Wallow in the fact that death could be a cruel, heartless bitch sometimes. I dunno how much control Corvina really has in how that all works, or maybe it was Thorin, or maybe neither of ‘em actually have any real say in these things, that it’s … yeah, it’s like she said, and I ran with before. Just shit luck. Which makes death even more cruel precisely because it’s just pointless.

Giving her wrist a little squeeze, I try my best to smile, but I know it comes out real sad and completely empty of humour right now. “They knew you loved ‘em, though.”

Managing something of a smile herself, a little wobbly but still there enough to serve, Shay just shrugs. “I’d like to think so. And you’ve all been there for me since, helped me get through to where I don’t feel like shit about it all the time anymore.” She unfolds her arms now and takes hold of my paw in her empty hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of her own. “So you can be damn sure we’re going to do the same for you while you have this to work through. Have you got me?”

Tulen must reach out then, cuz I feel a hand grip my shoulder before slipping over onto my back and start to rub gently, just under the base of my neck. I take another deep breath and nod, not for anything in particular, just going along with the general mood now. “Yeah. I got you.”

“All right.” Shay frowns for a beat, like she wants to say something more, but then thinks better of it, maybe. Finally she just raises her other hand again, still careful as she opens it up to offer my knife up to me now. “Just calm down, please. I don’t want you hurting yourself because you’re getting worked up.”

Nodding again, this time with more commitment, I reach out, a little more tentatively than I’d like, maybe, and just as carefully pick the knife up again. I frown as I raise it in front of me, taking a beat to examine it again more closely, and I realise now I don’t need to sharpen it anymore right now.

“I’ll be there tonight, anyway.” Tulen’s voice is soft, her tone reassuring now, and she keeps on with that gentle, soothing rubbing motion between my shoulder-blades. “In the tunnels, I’ll be with you. If you start to feel … I don’t know, if it gets too much for you down there, or after, when we’re inside, you know you can tell me, I can help you.”

“Thanks.” I set the whetstone back down on the oilcloth and pick the oily rag back up again, turning the knife over between my fingers for a moment before starting to polish. “I’ll try to remember that, when we get down there. But I hope … I dunno, I always been pretty good at focusing when shit gets crazy. Kesla calls it my game-face, I never really got what she meant by that. Must be some kinda soldier thing she learned from her da.”

“I don’t know,” Shay speaks with a half-chuckle now as she straightens up, stepping back as she takes a moment to give her back a little stretch. “My mother used to say something similar, when she was training me. Although I suspect she got it from my da.”

“Well I still mean what I said.” Tulen stops stroking my back now, giving my shoulder one last little squeeze before taking her hand back, and when I look to her she’s sitting up again, looking down at the sandwich she must’ve been holding this whole time. Still with only a few bites out of it. It only takes a short beat for her hunger to return, making her dig back in again.

“Shay?” A familiar voice breaks our reverie, and the half-orc in question turns quickly towards the other side of the cloister, starting to frown a little.

Lady Naru’s making her way over now, skirting the edge of the lawn as she approaches. She’s already homing in, I notice. “Are you ready?”

“Am I …” That makes her frown a little tighter. “I’m sorry, I don’t –”

“If you want to be ready for tonight, we should really get started.” She looks past her at the rest of us now, then everything else. “Ah, well … perhaps I should give you a little more time, if you –”

“Oh, no.” Shay takes a step back our way, then pauses, looking down at her stuff. “Although … yeah, I don’t know. I suppose I can’t really take my sword in with me, can I?”

“No, I don’t think that would quite work, under the circumstances. Kesla will be armed, but you …” Lady Naru turns to ponder Shay’s collection as well. “That’s not to say you shouldn’t still bring a few weapons with you all the same. Anything that you could easily conceal, I mean.”

“You wanna borrow any of mine?” I pipe up now. “I got a bunch that’d suit this kinda job.”

Cocking a brow my way, Shay start to smile again, a little more of a cocked, mischievous one now. “No, I think I’m good. I have a few of my own in mind, I think.” And she takes a few quick, easy strides over with her long legs to bend down and pore over her collection.

Mindful of the sorcerer’s eyes on me now, I make a conscious effort not to watch Shay’s backside as she does this, instead turning back to find Tulen’s getting to her feet again.

“Yes, of course … I thought I might help, is that all right, my Lady?”

Lady Naru blinks as she looks to her now, then starts to smile, warm but, I notice, a little mischievous like Shay, now. “I think so, yes. You’re most welcome.”

Tempting as it might be for me to enquire if I could tag along too, mostly just to satisfy my curiosity, I hold my tongue, instead turning back to my own work as I start oiling my blade. Much as I’d like to see Shay get all gussied up, ‘specially if they’re planning on dressing her up like one o’ them highborn ladies, I got my own part to play in tonight’s plans, and I wanna be ready for it.

For Gael …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 20 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

0 notes