#now its up to 4000 characters | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dammn-dean · 1 year ago

Text

Unexpected

Pairing: Simon Riley x Female Reader

Words: 4000

Warnings: Pregnancy, secrets, probably a bit out of character

I wanted to write a pregnant!Reader fic so here we are... I haven't written in a long time and this is my first time writing a COD character! Any and all feedback is welcome 🖤

Shout out to @babygirl-riley for helping me with this. Thank you!

“Simon?” your small voice echoes from the phone.

“Yeah?” He answers, in his typical bored voice.

Only letting the phone ring once before answering. Obviously he wouldn’t have answered if he wasn’t available at the moment, but you never know.

“Are you… busy?”

Your voice is different… raising Simon’s curiosity. He could only think of a handful of times since he met you that you had ever even tried calling him without sending a text first to check if he was in at base or not.

“A little, why?” He doesn’t mean to sound so gruff, but he does. He also wasn’t necessarily busy, but he wasn’t in the mood to chat with you. His day was especially shit today.

“I.. um well,” you hadn’t had time to come up with what to say. “I am sorry for not telling you before now and if you wish that I would have never said anything… well I’m sorry for that too.” Your words were rushed together, barely making any sense.

“Just spit it out will ya?”

You physically flinch from his rashness. Simon wasn’t always this way, but the past few months it seemed he stayed irritated at you. Just the sensitivity of the subject was already difficult enough, paired with his attitude towards you. This was going to be a rough call. “Sorry..” your heart is beating so fast you are wondering if it’s making matters worse, “I just wanted to tell you-“

Pain shoots through you, what once was a small little reminder of the state your body was in began its first real shock of what was happening. You let out a gasp and small noise of discomfort. That made him stand up from the chair he was sitting in and call your name over the phone. You almost missed it, the pain causing the phone to be pulled from your face.

“Love, what is it? Are you hurt?” Simon was actually worried now. Once the pain subsides you huff a small laugh. “Well, kind of yeah but no I’m okay.”

Simon’s brows pulled together at that, he was more confused than ever. Before waiting for a response he snagged his keys from his pants as his legs carried him to the parking lot at base. “Where are you?” He all but growled.

“No, it’s okay, you don’t need to come to me. I’m okay,” you smiled to yourself. You had convinced yourself you could do this alone. Damn your weakness for even calling him to begin with. “I am about to head to the hospital.”

“What do you mean? Tell me where you are… I’m on the way.” You could hear the door to his truck slamming and the engine cutting on.

“You may not want to once I say what I have to say,” you whispered.

“I’m pregnant.”

Simon felt his blood run cold. He didn’t speak, just continued his way out of the base. Brain not keeping up with what was happening.

“I… have been pregnant. And the baby is coming. I- Our baby is coming Simon.” Your eyes squeezed shut with the confession. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears so loud you almost missed his response.

“Where are you?” He actually growled this time.

“The apartment…” you replied meekly.

You could feel another round of contractions starting up. You dropped to the floor and before allowing yourself to scream over the phone you dropped it to your lap, and road out the contraction. Once the pain eased up some you heard your name being repeated from the speaker, his voice urgently asking for a response. You picked back up the phone, “I’m sorry…” you felt tears prickling your vision.

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

You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret. What started as something you happily found out turned into your best kept secret.

It was around the two year mark of you starting this relationship with Simon. You two had met and after many months of being friendly you had fallen for him first… it was quick for you to love him and you had fallen hard. Simon took a little more time to open up and things weren’t always easy, but you loved each other thoroughly.

Simon was gone on a month long mission when you started noticing something was up. You were getting queasy from random things that never had upset your stomach before. That was your first clue to get a test, so without much thought when you ran to the store for some things for dinner after work, you grabbed a pregnancy test. You got home, started working on dinner, making one of Simon’s favorites as a surprise. He was coming back for a short while before heading off for another mission and he was due home any moment. Since he hadn’t made it home yet so you figured you would bring the test into the bathroom and get it over with. Yet 5 minutes later the small white plastic showed you the truth - Positive.

You sat in your apartment’s bathroom, looking at the little plus sign. Mind reeling, a thousands thoughts flying through your head. Were you ready to become a mom? How would Simon take the news? Does he even want to be a dad? How would you balance having a baby with Simon’s work schedule?

He had knocked at the door, shaking you from your thoughts. “You alright love?” He had been in your apartment for about 10 minutes, waiting for you to leave the bathroom attached to the bedroom.

You hadn’t even noticed him coming into the apartment. Without much thought you grabbed the test, tossed it in the bin and quickly washed your hands before opening the door.

You grinned at him, “Yes of course. Sorry!”

Your arms wrapped around him instinctively as a greeting, but his body tensed instead of attempting to hug back like he usually did. You withdrew with a questioning face.

“I missed you,” you tried to adjust your face into a small smile. “Are you okay?” You questioned.

“Yeah.” Was all he offered, then he headed into the bathroom. Your eyes widened and followed his back until he shut door behind him. Definitely must not have been a great day at work. Simon doesn’t tell you much about what he does day to day, but you can’t imagine any of it is easy on him.

So without asking again, or following after him you went back to making dinner. Now your thoughts were muddled of the thoughts of parenthood, and this baby. Your face couldn’t help the small grin that popped up, a hand coming to gently rest on your stomach. By the end of cooking everything and getting plates ready you had decided you would tell Simon after dinner. Sure you only have taken the one pregnancy test, but you wanted to go ahead and give him the news. That’s when you realized he still hasn’t came from the bedroom, that used to be just yours and slowly has turned into both of yours. Now it was your turn to knock on the door to the bathroom.

“Dinner is ready… I made one of your favorites to celebrate you being home.” You couldn’t help the cheerful tone your voice held.

The door ripped open at that. His hair was still wet from his shower, he was dressed down in sweats and a black t-shirt. You smiled at him and reached a small hand out to him.

His eyes met yours for a moment before chancing a quick glance to your outstretched hand. “Not hungry.”

You were usually pretty receptive to his reactions and as much as it confused you, you dropped your hand back down to your side. “Oh okay… well I will put it in the oven to keep warm until you are,” you suggested. Your stomach was rolling, for many reasons. The news of the pregnancy, the actual sickness the pregnancy was bringing you and how Simon was acting had your nerves on edge.

“You go ahead,” his eyes didn’t quite meet yours “The crew and I have a lot to debrief on… we leave on the next mission in a few days. I think I’m going to head back to base for the night,” he bluntly stated. He gently walked past you into the room, collecting items into his duffel bag.

“Well I made dinner especially for you, I hoped we could enjoy it tog-“

“I said I wasn’t hungry.” He didn’t yell, but he definitely spoke louder to you than he typically did.

You couldn’t help the small breath of air you took in, and he rolled his eyes at that. “Please,” he said your name with a sigh. “I am not in the mood for this.”

“Okay,” you whispered. Eyes welling up with tears, but before they could fall in front of him, you turned to head back into the kitchen. You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes before they could fall as you made your way into the kitchen. You grabbed the food you had spent the last hour or so working on and dumped it into the trash. You flung the pot into the sink before reaching for the next dish to toss.

“What are you doing?” Simon grasped your arm before you could throw away the main entrée.

“I’m throwing out the food. What does it look like??” You couldn’t help the angry tone your voice took on. “I made all of this for you. And you don’t want it, so I’m getting rid of it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want it… I just-“

“You aren’t hungry,” You cut him off. “I get it.” Using your free hand to wipe a stray tear that was threatening to fall.

His eyes softened and he released your arm. “I’m sorry… yeah? You know I hate when I get back then immediately have to leave again.” Simon tried to comfort you, but it was too late. “I probably should have just stayed at the base as is… I just have a lot on my plate.”

“Yeah I got it,” you coldly replied as you sat the now cold entrée onto the counter. To know you spent all day thinking of things to make his day back special… and to hear him wish he wouldn’t have even came. Just breaks your will. You then felt tired to your bones, unwilling to argue as you decided to call it a night. As you head to your bedroom, over your shoulder you said “Tell the boys I said hi.”

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

That was the last time you had seen Simon in person. A little over 7 months ago since he had stepped foot into your apartment. You had given him the silent treatment for a while. Well, if he would have had access to a phone you would have definitely given him the silent treatment.

He was gone with no way to contact him. Which you didn’t mind, initially. It had been a few weeks since Simon had left and since you found out about the pregnancy. Things were beginning to catch up and take a toll on you. From the physical aspects of being pregnant, to you being lonely with Simon being gone for so long, and work was awful. Your stomach was starting to grow, everyone around you noticing the baby bump but you never acknowledged it. You hadn’t even gotten to break the news to Simon, it didn’t feel fair to talk about the baby to random co-workers. A few doctors appointments had come and gone, confirming the pregnancy. You had decided to not find out the sex of the baby or really even look at the screen during the sonogram appointment. Just letting the doctor check on the baby’s health, that was all that mattered to you.

It’s the middle of the night, your bladder waking you. You got up and made your way to the bathroom to relieve yourself. Once you were back in bed under the covers you felt sleep pulling you back in but before you could fall asleep your phone started to vibrate. Incoming call from an unknown number. Simon

You were thinking about not answering but you decided to pick up the phone anyway.

“Hello…” you answered quietly.

“Sweetheart,” Simon sighs “I’m sorry to be calling you so late. I finally had access to a phone and I, well… missed you.”

Your lip was pulled between your teeth. You were feeling all kinds of emotions. You wanted to still be upset with him, but at this point you couldn’t even feel anything except the loneliness of life without him here.

“I miss you too,” you responded as you adjusted yourself in bed to sit up right.

“Fuck love, missed your voice.” He is talking low, probably just barely out of earshot from the guys. “Hate leaving how I did, and going this long from ya.”

“Was pretty bad Si,” you spoke honestly. “Don’t get me wrong… I know your job is insanely difficult and hard on you. I just wish sometimes you would think about what it does to me too.”

Simon sighs again, “I know… I just… I’m trying.”

And he was trying, he made that obvious to you. His communication was better than it was in the beginning. Simon is a very closed off man, and he has let you in more than he ever told himself he would allow another person in. You just have that way about you, and it drives him crazy in the best way.

“I wish I was calling with better news, it looks like it’ll be a while before I’m able to come back.”

“What is ‘a while’?” You whisper back, suddenly feeling choked up. He had already been gone for longer than usual.

“Price is thinking a couple weeks here, but we have some new intel… may keep us busy for the next couple of months, love.” Simon hated breaking this to you after staying away so long. Being with him was insanely unfair to you, but you had convinced him this was the life you wanted. You wanted him.

“Okay.” You had tears falling freely now. And you brought a hand to rest on your tummy.

“I have something to tell you,” you started.

“Hang on sweetheart.” He interrupted. You heard commotion on the other end of the phone. Then Simon’s voice was back, “I’m sorry, I have to go. When I’m back at base I’ll be able to text ya, yeah?”

“Oh… okay. Yeah.” You gave yourself a sad smile. “I love you. Stay safe.” As much as Simon needed to know about the baby… how wasn’t the time.

“Always.” And with that he hung up.

That was the last time you attempted to bring up the baby to him. You realized that Simon was going through a lot and you just could never figure out the best way to say it.

He did text you here and there, letting you know he was okay. Simon let you know when they were back at base a few days ago, with an excuse as to why he couldn’t come to your apartment. You wish that you could recall the reason, but it just seemed like maybe he didn’t want to come home to you. Simon just hadn’t been able to make the time to come see you… Until now.

Simon stood in the doorway watching your frantic form gather things from around the apartment. Shoving some things into a bag, before disappearing and returning with a baby bag that seemed to be full. That’s when your eyes connected. You felt your eyes well up with tears, oh how you missed him.

“Simon,” your lips trembling with emotion.

He honestly couldn’t place what he was feeling. Seeing you for the first time in months, and here you were, a few feet away with a hand on your pregnant belly… Belly holding /his/ child. A child he would have never known existed if you didn’t bravely call him moments ago. He ripped the balaclava off his head, showing you the true emotion of his face. One of the downsides of always wearing a mask, he can’t regulate his face well.

“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice was almost unrecognizable. “I’m here… what do you need?”

You let a tear fall down your cheek and smiled. “I’m so happy you’re here.” You took the few steps left between you and reached in to hug him.

Although at the last moment you hesitated, unsure if he wanted the contact. Instead you let your hands awkwardly fall to your sides. Simon had never been so upset with himself. Watching you want nothing more than to hug him but withdrawing from him. You were always overly cautious of his needs, but had he ever shown you the same? You were pregnant with his child, yet you didn’t want to tell him the news, always scared you were a bother to him. Has he made you feel this way? All this time away from you… for what? He could have made the time to check in on you.

“I’m glad I’m here too, love…” his voice held a softness to it only held for you. His hand reaches out to brush softly against your arm. Softening you up to his presence. Unsure of what caused the next words to come out, Simon muttered “May I?” His eyes met yours before he glanced at your stomach.

Your heart was racing, blood pounding in your ears. “Of course Si…” and his hand immediately came to rest on your belly.

You let out a small gasp at the contact. Your hands gravitating to his ungloved hand resting on your protruding stomach. Stopping yourself an inch or two from making contact.

“Can you make me a promise?” Simon spoke softly, eyes meeting yours again.

“Anything, you know that,” you smiled at him.

“When you want to touch me, please just do it. When you want me to touch you, you tell me. If you have something you want to tell me… just say it. But especially when you need or want me here with you… you tell me love.” Simon felt the sensation of being choked up, he only hoped his voice didn’t crack. “I love you and I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you,” he whispered. He kept one hand on your stomach while the other came to grasp your face. “I am so sorry.”

You couldn’t even try to stop the tears from falling now. “It’s okay Simon… I am so glad you are here no-“ another contraction began. You grit your teeth, trying to remember the breathing you had practiced, but the pain was still there.

This is probably the biggest thing that Simon was not prepared for. Had he spent his life inflicting pain upon others? When needed, yes. How many people had he seen in distress and never felt one thing about it? Basically every time. Yet here he was watching you writhe in pain, wasn’t something he handled well.

“Jesus Christ…” he grasped onto you. Keeping you upright. “Let’s get to the hospital, yeah?”

You didn’t put up a fight, letting him help you to his truck. Before he could open the door you stopped him.

“What’s the matter?” He asked worriedly. “We can’t…” you took a deep breath before continuing. “We can’t drive the baby back in your truck. The car seat is in my car.” You avoided his eyes.

Simon felt a pang of something up his spine, similar to jealousy but close to disappointment in himself. You were completely and wholly ready to have this baby without him. He felt a huge sense of pride in you and your independence but he was also upset at himself for making you do all of this alone.

“Alright yeah, makes sense,” he kept his voice calm. Leading you to your car, asking for keys and guiding you in gently to the passenger side.

“I’m going to run backup for your things lovie… I’ll be back in a minute.” With that he was off and Simon was back in under the minute. Bags in hand, tossing them in the backseat before heading to the closest hospital.

Simon is as silent as ever. He was doing his best to drive safe, but he also had a huge sense of urgency to him. His mind couldn’t slow down and allow him to catch up with what was happening. Thoughts clouding his mind and taking up all his capacity to think.

“I’m sorry..” you started again. Breaking him of his thoughts. God how long had he been silent? “I know you’re busy and I ha-“

“Stop,” he said with a sigh.

Your eyes cut to him quickly, before returning to your lap.

“Please stop saying sorry to me,” eyes cutting to you. “I am the one who is sorry and who should be begging for your forgiveness. I can’t believe I haven’t made you understand what you are to me. I’m not upset about you not telling me, sweetheart. I’m just sad you have been through all of this alone.” He let out a dry chuckle. His hand reached out for your stomach again. “I have done nothing in this life to deserve you.” He let out a wet chuckle, “but fuck… am I glad you’re mine.”

You grinned between the tears. Your hand covered his easily now, without hesitation. The feeling of his warm hand softly brushing your stomach was something you had been longing for. “You deserve more than me, but I’m glad I’m yours too.” You let out a small wink when his eyes let yours briefly before they were back on the road in front of him.

You felt another surge of pain shooting through you. The contractions n were definitely getting more frequent. You started your breathing again, this time squeezing his hand to help take your mind off it. Once the pain subsided some you could hear Simon’s voice sweetly talking you through it.

After a couple breaths, you steadied yourself. “I found out I was pregnant the day you left, ya know… before.” You admitted. You heard his big inhale at the confession.

“The night with the… dinner?” You aren’t sure why you felt the need to clarify. It could have been a big moment to you and not to him, you suppose.

“Fuckin’ hell baby…” Simon sighed.

“I just wasn’t sure where we stood,” you gulped. “I couldn’t tell how you were feeling and I honestly don’t even know if you like kids.” You let out a dry laugh. “I had this whole plan, god it was a halfway thought out plan. We would eat dinner, celebrate you being home and I would tell you the news.” You hadn’t let go of his hand even as it fell to your lap. “But with the way everything happened I just didn’t know what to do or how to tell you… so I didn’t.” You finished with a shrug.

“I like kids,” he admitted. “In case you’re still wondering.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him for what felt like the 20th time since he arrived at your apartment.

“As for the rest… I don’t know how to explain how I behaved that night. Of course if I knew… I wouldn’t have acted like that. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. Fuck what’s wrong with me.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I’m glad you like kids.”

“Changing the subject, yeah?” You can hear his grin.

You turned a little to look at him better. “We will get through this. Will probably have to have a few talks about everything but for now. Let’s get this baby out of me.”

You can see the lights of the hospital casting over his features as he pulls into the emergency lane. With one deep breath that you two seemed to share, “It’s go time Si.”

I hope you all enjoyed this! If you would like a part 2 of the hospital and then the aftermath... feel free to let me know in a comment!

Thank you for reading 🖤

Part Two

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #reader insert #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #call of duty #pregnant reader #dad!simon

2K notes · View notes

lorsdelapluie · 6 months ago

Text

The doctor's diary.

Pairing: sylus x female reader

Genre: Dark shit going on. Including smut. Please read the content warning.

Word count: 4000+ words.

Content warning: mdni, explicit sexual content (but its chill for now), spoiler warning, mention of human experimentation, cult activities, my own twisted thoughts and theories are literally making this way darker than LADS already is. An oc of mine will appear more often in the next chapters, hate him guys, he is not a good guy. English is not my first language sorry for any mistakes.

Note: This chapter ended up longer than I expected somehow. And it is the first one of a three chapter fanfiction. I tend to write nasty stuff, sex wise but also everything else wise so please be prepared for anything literally. The character Castiel that you will meet in this chapter is my own oc that I made up specially for the LADS universe. I hope you will enjoy to hate him.

Chapter 1:

“You want me to go in the N109 zone ? I thought we weren’t allowed to go th-”

“We are aware you have been going back and forth between Linkon city and the N109 Zone.”

You pinched your lips at the words coming from Jenna’s mouth, your hand resting on your hunter’s watch. The times you forgot to turn off your watch comes back to light one by one in your mind. Brushing it off everytime you thought that the HQ wouldn't have the time to check on your status. Her arms were still crossed over her chest as she looked at you straight in the face with her dark gray eyes. You felt like a kid underneath this disappointed glare. You opened your lips to say something, to defend yourself but she raised her hand to stop you from doing so.

“However, you have mainly been doing this outside your working hours. So it is your private life, and you may keep it a secret if you wish. But since you have been going there multiple times, we figured you might be aware of what is going on there better than we do.” She sighed. You guessed that she wasn't the one behind this idea. Maybe some higher ups that you never had the opportunity to meet.

“So this is why we thought you might be the best suited agent for this mission.”

“Oh uhm… Thank you for entrusting me.”

“Despite this little disagreement, I am aware that you are one of our best agents. However if you think you might need help, you can still ask Xavier to accompany you. Although he has been quite busy lately.”

“No no no ! Do not bother Xavier for this. I am more than capable of handling missions on my own. As for the mission… Can I ask you what is it that I am meant to do ?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t let you go into the Lions’ den without information.” She said as she slid her hand on her desk, taking a handful of documents stored inside a pocket and handing them to you. “We need you to participate in an auction for charity.”

“For charity…” you mumbled. You never thought you would see the day of a charity auction being held in the a zone so… uncharitable. You start looking through the papers in your hand, brows furrowed in confusion.

“We are as surprised as you look. As nice as the thoughts around this event are, we are particularly interested in one of the prizes that we wish you would purchase for us.”

Your eyes land on the auction picture of a diary, its cover is made of leather and the pages look old, teared up for some of them. “A diary ?”

“This diary seemingly belonged to one of the most wanted people of our organization. A doctor who previously worked here, in Linkon city, and got too deep in his interest for protocores and their links with people’s evol.”

“He experimented on humans…” you mumbled as you read the notes next to the picture that the intel team had written for you. "On children..."

“He indeed did. And we would like to prevent this diary from falling into the wrong hands. This is where your part comes in. Buying this diary away from that zone.”

You nodded as you guessed the objective of your mission long before she started explaining the reason why they would go fetch that book in the first place. Plus, that diary might bring you answers you are seeking about yourself. And as you remember your partner's jewel like gaze, about Sylus too. You then raised yours towards Jenna, closing the file between your hands and straightening your back.

“If you will allow me. I’m going to do the best I can to fulfill this mission.”

“I know you will. The auction is in three days. I hope it gives you enough time to gather any belongings and travel to a safe place in the N109 zone… If such a place exists.”

“Do not worry about me. I will be safe.”

You smile as Jenna raises her hand slowly with a peaceful expression as she dismisses you from her office. You exit the room, slowly closing the door behind you before walking to your desk, gathering your laptop and phone on the furniture. You then put the file inside your bag as you were already leaving the building. You would take the time to analyze everything once you were safely in the N109 Zone.

Phone in hand you immediately texted Xavier to let him know that you were leaving for a mission in the outskirts of your beloved city. As your thumbs were patting the screen of your phone, it suddenly started to vibrate. Soon enough the icon of Sylus appeared on your phone, a silly picture of him you took when he dozed off while watching a musical a few weeks prior. You frowned at the VERY convenient timing that he always had and picked up, raising your phone to your ear.

“Yes ?”

“The twins are going to pick you up at 5 this afternoon. Will you have enough time to be prepared before then?”

“Don’t tell me you hacked Jenna’s computer again. How many times do I have to tell you to not do that?” You frowned, faking or maybe wanting to be angry about that breach of your private life once again.

“There is no need to get angry at me. Be angry at the twins all you want though. They are the ones who insisted on checking up on you while I was away.”

“How do they even know how to hack-” you stopped in your tracks as you heard your voice the sound of a bike motor in the background of the call. “Are you calling me while driving ?”

“Now this is a reason you can get mad at me for.” he chuckles as you let out a frustrated sound. “Do not worry, sweetie, I have my helmet on. Just checking on you through earbuds.”

“Unsafe still. Your attention should be fully on the road.” you finally started walking towards the road that leads to your apartment, going through the usual route that takes you near along a river. “I thought you said you would be the one picking me up after Luke nearly got us in a car crash last time.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, sweetie. But I do have some work meetings that need to be attended to." After a moment of quiet, he continued. “I trust Kieran will be the one driving you three back at home. I will be back before dinner.”

“Fine. Be careful on your way to your meet up… I will see you later.” you could hear a chuckle, and the picture of Sylus’ grin appeared in your mind. Before he could answer, you hung up.

You sighed as you crossed the street, pushing the door of your building entrance after entering the password on the door’s pad. Slowly you slid the phone inside your bag, totally forgetting about warning your colleague, and your friends, of the mission that will probably won’t let you have time for chit chat. Once you are inside your place, you quickly pull out a bag from the closet in the entrance, walking towards your bedroom to pack your essentials for the next few days.

An hour flew by without you realizing it before your phone rang. Luke. As you picked up you hear his cheerful voice coming from outside your building, you walked towards your opened window staring down.

“Miss ! Your carriage is waiting for you !” the masked man yells waving at you from below, catching glances from other people passing by.

“Get inside the car ! Can’t you see people are staring at you Luke ?” you frowned shooing him away with your hand.

“Heeeh. I’m hurt ! Are you embarrassed by me perhaps ?” You wondered if Sylus teasing was coming from spending too much time with them or the other way round.

You frowned not wanting to let your mind wander at that thought, hanging up and closing the window before picking your bag on your bed and leaving your apartment. Once downstairs you were greeted with no one but the black car with tinted windows that was just in front of the house, without giving it much thoughts you walked to the back of the car and climbed inside.

After exchanging proper greetings with the twins, and a short trip from Linkon city to the twins’ boss base.

It was night time now and you were settled down in one of Sylus couch in his apartments. You were going through the file once more, eyeing the clock in front of you from time to time. The meal was soon to be put down in the living room and you were definitely imagining eating alone at this rate. You sighed as you let your head roll on one of the sides of the couch, closing your eyes as you let yourself drift to the sound of the gramophone playing the music you put on earlier.

“Are you asleep ?” a whisper came above the sound of the music as a finger brushed against your cheek.

Your eyes opened and you looked up to the figure towering over you. Sylus gazed at you as he was leaning with one hand on the couch watching you slowly wake up from your nap. You slowly straight up, your files sliding from your chest and before you could react, Sylus caught it and put it down on the table next to you.

“Mmm no.”

“Sure you weren’t.” he smiled as he sat on the carpet next to the couch. “Don’t move.”

“But the dinner…” you mumbled still drowsy.

“Dinner is cold by now. I was late and you fell asleep. We are in no hurry anymore.” he says as he takes off his jacket, putting it down on the chair behind him, soon followed by his gloves. You sighed knowing that the man next you wouldn't budge.

“How did your meeting go ?” you asked as you traced every of his movements with your gaze.

“Productive. But a waste of time at the same time. We wasted 2 hours waiting for someone who never came. I honestly thought I was going to come back really early.”

“Would have been better…” you muttered.

Sylus' head turned to look at you with that same grin of his when he catches you being off guard. “Missing me I see.”

“Whatever.”

“I missed you too, sweetie.” he muttered as his face was now a few inches away from your face. And as always Sylus was the one to close that distance, his teeth started nibbling gently on your lower lip as he kissed you. His right hand comes to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "I missed you a lot."

There was always this conflict inside of you when you felt the lips of Sylus on yours. A shyness that you wished you didn’t have, pushing you to turn your face away. However the drumming of your heart everytime his lips were on yours made you feel safe. Safe and cared for. The man suddenly started pushing his tongue against your lips, deepening the kiss drawing a sound from you in a sigh.

“Knowing that you were waiting for me here. Probably lying down on that bed or on that couch…” he muttered as he kissed your lips once again then your cheek and the back of your ear. “I wished I could have just left to join you here quicker.”

“You are… so dirty Sylus.” you whispered as you felt his hand slide on your shirt to start unbuttoning it. When Sylus admitted his excitement for you it always made you shiver. Not that it was rare for him to be so blunt. But being wanted and knowing that he was thinking of you that way, in places where he shouldn’t. God, he was the devil in person and he loved playing with his favorite person.

“If you want to blame me for the tension rising in this room. Feel free to do so…” he said, lips leaving a trailing of kisses from your neck towards your chest. “I would enjoy that.”

Soon his lips were not the only thing on your skin, his tongue traveled against you with wet kisses. Teeth sometimes nibble on you, trying to mark you as his. However he knew better than to do that or he would have been met with a warning look. Instead his hand slides away the remaining of your top clothes, revealing your skin to his red eyes ravishing each corner of your body, everytime.

“Your skin is covered in goosebumps. Are you getting worked up sweetie ?” he says smiling, his lips resting against your chest. A thumb sliding against one of your nipples. “I bet that if I slide my hand in your pants, I might find it dripping with excitement.”

“You are too sure of yourself.” you said trying to keep your voice steady as his lips brushed against your other nipple.

A low chuckle vibrates through his body at your answer. “Always so feisty, kitten.” he murmured, pinching with two of his fingers the nipple he had in his hand.

“Then… Shall we take a look ?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you closed your legs, preventing his hand from sliding under your pants and between your thighs. His hand stopped mid-way, resting against your lower body. He slowly quirked up his face, arching a brow with a smile.

“Getting shy ?” he asks, fingers fondling with the zipper of your pants. He soon pulled it down. “You know I don’t particularly enjoy you playing shy. I’d rather have my feisty kitten biting and fighting me than hiding away.”

Asshole you thought.

“Should I take out the ropes like last time ? Pull your legs apart ? I thought you learnt how to behave.” he said with a smile. “Or did you enjoy this so much that you want to try again ?”

Losing control from time to time was nice. But not tonight, you needed the contrary. You need to feel in control of your body. The next few days were gonna be stressful. One of your hands dared to come rest on his cheek as your legs opened against his hand.

“Good girl..” he said, his lips coming to nuzzle against your hand. And as usual when a kiss comes first teeth soon follow. His fingers able to slide under your pants and underwear come to slide in between your folds feeling the wetness of yourself under his burning gaze.

“Just as I thought.” he smiles as one of his fingers pushes inside you and you answer with a moan. His lips nibbling on the flesh of your palm, eyelashes brushing against your fingers as he starts going back and forth with his fingers inside of you.

Your head resting against the pillow of the couch, eyes closing as another moan came from between your lips as he pushed another finger inside of you. The fingers of your hand slowly extended to grasp onto strands of the man’s hair, while the other came gripping on the back of the couch.

“That’s it. Let yourself go, kitten.” A growl soon followed when you tug at his hair when his thumb rested against your clit making small circles as he never stopped pumping his fingers in and out of you.

You arched your back, the stimulation of his fingers rubbing against that one G spot inside of you and his thumb massaging your clit made you see stars. You tug on his hair once again in another sound, coming under his watchful gaze.

“Sylus…”

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m always here.” he answered, coming to put a kiss on your forehead.

Once he pulls his fingers out of you, he slides a hand under you to carry you against him. You look up at him, arms sliding around his neck to secure yourself.

“And you ?”

“Oh ? Are you asking for more, sweetie ?”” he chuckles as you frown at him. His lips slowly come against your own to kiss you once more. “This is what I wanted. Nothing more for tonight. But I can not promise you anything just like this for tomorrow.” A devilish smile spreads on his lips.

“Did you have a shower already ?”

“I did… Earlier.” you answered as you rested your head against his shoulder. “What about food ?”

“You are hungry aren’t you.” He said as he settled you down on the bed. “Tell you what. I will come bring you some food and you can enjoy some while I take a shower. Sounds good ?”

“Sounds good. I will try to not eat everything.” You smile.

And just like that three days passed. Now you were standing in front of the door, arms crossed on your chest and Sylus blocking your way with his hands on his hips.

“I will not change my mind Sylus. I need to attend this auction alone.”

“What if I’d like to be charitable tonight?”

You scoff. “Please. You just want to keep your eyes on me.”

“I want to make sure you are safe and sound.”

“And I told you I can defend myself. If the HQ knows that I am attending an official mission with the boss of Onychinus, I could get in trouble. Because they will keep an eye on me ! Just like you do.”

Sylus sighs. You could be so stubborn. He slowly raised his hand to pinch his nose’s bridge. “Take Mephisto with you at least. He could help you in any case of an emergency.”

“That noisy little…” you were met by a glare that was telling you to not push your luck so you resigned. “Okay.”

“Good.” As soon as you agreed to his terms, he snapped his fingers and Mephisto almost appeared on your shoulder. Resting his claws against the fabric of your dress. “I will drive you there. And I will be there again to pick you up soon after Mephisto lets me know the auction has ended. Understood ?”

“Yes mom.”

He chuckles before pushing the door open, letting you leave the safe base first to get to the car parked in front of the entrance. He soon followed and got inside the car to start driving across the dark streets of the N109 Zone. Mephisto was awfully quiet, head turning around at each corner, as if the bird was already on a mission analyzing what was around him. You stared mindlessly at the street lamps barely shining some cold light on the pavement beneath them as you fondle with your bag between your fingers.

You were stressed. Stressed to not be able to bring back that diary. What if you came back in Linkon city with nothing to offer but the news that another potential monster had this fucking diary between their hands. How many children would have to suffer from experiments and be kept in the dark before they all stopped ? Without realizing it, you started clenching on your accessory. And the hand of Sylus left the gearbox to come rest on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you.

“Do not be anxious. People coming to those kinds of fake charity auctions hunt down people like you. Nice face, seemingly weak and rich.” he said. “Mephisto is a sign that you are under my watch but he can’t dissuade them from doing anything if they are crazy enough to try.”

“So I need to appear confident…”

“Exactly. I know you can do it. After all, you showed me your acting skills more than once.” he pressed his thumb against your thigh as he kept looking at the road in front of you. “I’m not here physically but Mephisto is my eyes. And I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“I know.” you sighed before taking another deep breath. It will be okay, you thought, Sylus is right. You had to have faith in yourself and in him. It will go by so quickly, you won’t even realize it.

The car slows down and you are now parked in front of an immense building, maybe even taller than some of Sylus’s ones. You look up from your seat as Mephisto mimics you. “Where are we ?”

“The place of the auction. The HQ of the Eurydike cult. Weird bunch of fuckers.”

You hummed before pushing the door open, before closing it you looked at your partner flashing him a smile. “I will be back.” He softly smiles back waving, asking you to be careful once more. And you closed the door, walking towards the entrance of the building, taking out the invitation out of your bag to show the bodyguards that you were allowed to enter the place.

As soon as you stepped foot inside, you were faced with a display of wealthiness and laughter coming from every corner of the giant hall. You were taken aback, thinking for a second that the only man you thought was this wealthy in the N109 Zone was Sylus. The hall was made of black marble with golden cracks, contrasted by high white walls that reflected the light of the candlesticks. Hanging banners here and there with an unknown insignia, and false plants hanging in green. You looked around, looking for a sign indicating the location of the meeting. But unfortunately the place was badly indicated, this auction was probably a place of regulars. However you spotted some people whispering about getting their place already to get closer to the stage, and you figured it would be the best idea to follow them around. Which you did. Everyone here was accompanied, and you were alone. Well accompanied but by a bird that started to get agitated. The sound of your heels against the marble under your steps was ringing in your mind. You stopped near a waiter, grabbing a glass of champagne. You needed to relax, you needed to look like you belonged here. Alcohol might help you settle down.

So you went to sit at the first row, crossing your legs as Mephisto left your shoulder to take place on the chandelier hanging above your head. You could see some of the objects being displayed on the stage in front of you. Vases, stuffed animals, jewelry and… Wait. Was that one of Raphayel’s painting ? You frowned while taking your phone out of your purse to take a picture. Before you could press the button, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You flinched, turning around. “Miss. Sorry to bother you but you are not allowed to take pictures in this room.” A man with green eyes gazed upon you. He was tall, his hair and lashes almost hiding the gaze that you could feel burning on your face. His face did not seem upset, nor angry. Good… The last thing you needed was to attract angry people.

You smiled. “Sorry, I just wanted to make sure that painting would interest my husband before I start bidding on it.”

“Oh ?” He looked up at the stage staring at the painting of the seashore painted with different shades of blue and orange, with the silhouette of a faceless woman dipping her feet in the water. “Hm. It is indeed a wonderful painting. From a very famous painter from Linkon City. Although it is one of his earliest works.”

“Are you familiar with this painter ?” you asked, interested in the knowledge of the person in front of you. To faint uninterest you slowly raise your glass to your lips looking away from the man.

“Familiar would not be right. We are acquaintances.” He then looks down at you smiling as he circles around the chair to finally sit next to you. “Although we haven’t seen each other for many years.”

“I see.” you nodded looking at that man dressed in white, your eyes landing on the cross shaped brooch on his tie. You swore you have seen this insignia somewhere. “And you are ?”

“Shh little miss. It’s starting soon. We will have all the leisure to chit chat after that auction is done.”

The auction began, and you drank the rest of your drink before waving to a waiter to come and get rid of you. Under your seat as under that of all the other participants was a small booklet with the passage numbers of each work or object. The one you were looking for was in last place. A sigh escaped from your lips as the first sums of money were thrown out of control.

Beside you, still stood this same man, his left leg crossed above the right and his hands clasped on his knees, looking at the scene with a satisfied smile. With the light down, you took the time to linger on her face. He had it very hard, like a man who had to face situations that those of Linkon city did not have to face. But this sweet smile on his lips came in contrast with the portrait that could be made of him. You wondered if Sylus knew the man. You slowly raised your head to look towards Mephisto who was looking straight at you under his watchful red eyes. Just like his master.

An hour and half passed, and you were starting to get numb to all the money that was being spent. The man next to you also did spend some money. He bought the painting you were eyeing earlier. And then came the mention of the diary.

As soon as you could, you raised your hand to bid. With a glimpse of mischievousness, the man next to you raised his hand. Followed by some other people in the room. After nearly a minute of bidding, you raised your hand again.

“Please stop playing sir. My husband is rather interested in this diary.” you muttered to the man next to you. “Stick to your paintings.”

A suppressed laugh came as an answer as your bid was registered as a final answer. The hand of the man next to you extended towards you as the lights turned on. “It’s a pleasure to be doing business with you, little miss.”

You frowned looking at the man’s gaze. “Business ?”

“I am the owner of this building and the organizer of this auction. My name is Castiel, pleasure meeting you.”

You gasped as you came to shake his hand. Dear god, why did you have to talk like that to the man who setted up a charity auction. This is why his brooch reminded you of something, it was literally plastered in the hall.

“I am very sorry for my-”

“No offense is taken. Should we talk privately ? I will give you this diary your husband so wishes to have.” he lets go of your hand, getting up before offering his arm.

“Yes.” you nod as you get up too, sliding your hand on the man’s arm. You were so giddy with the idea of success that you nearly didn’t realize Mephisto was cawing.

However if you didn’t notice, it was not the case of Castiel that turned his head up towards the bird with a frown. He then asked the security to take care of it, and before you could step in and prevent this from happening, you were dragged into the man’s office.

Once in his office, he let go of your hand. He headed towards the back of his desk, unlocking what sounded like a chest. In the meantime, you take the time to look around. The place was dark, but golden and green touches enhanced the place. You were basking in a warm light which contrasted with the cold atmosphere that was outside the sacred building. You did not move from the entrance, waiting patiently for you to be given what you had bought.

“This book was retrieved from a bad man’s hands.” His voice broke the silence that was installed between you two. “If your husband really is interested in this script, you should be careful of him.” He said as he got closer to you handing the overused diary.

“I will keep that in mind.” you nodded before taking the diary out of this man’s large hands.

He smiled, flashing his perfect teeth to you. This close, you could see the eyebags between his vibrant eyes. A shiver ran up your back. “I hope our paths will cross again, little miss. If charity is what you are looking for, we could always use new members.”

Charity… “Sure. I would love to stop by once again. The fate of the N109 zone is very dear to me afterall.” You smiled.

He hummed. “Smart girl.” his fingers brushed your chin before you stepped back. “We should get going, your husband will surely show up in about a few seconds .”

Before you could answer, Castiel’s hand was on your free wrist and was dragging you out of his office, back into the auction room and in the middle of it stood Sylus. A visibly displeased Sylus. Almost angry. He shouted your name as soon as you came into his vision. The man with dark brown hair let go of your hand softly, placing his hand on your naked back.

“You should go, little miss. I’d hate for your husband to scare away my guests.”

You mindlessly nodded as you felt a sensation creeping up your back, and you almost trotted back to Sylus, pushing through the bodyguards preventing him from getting closer to their leader. Once in arms reach, the white haired man pulled you under his arm, hiding you beneath his coat.

And yet as you were leaving the scene, you could feel Castiel’s gaze burning holes in your back.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus #lads #fanfic #lads fanfic #sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #sylus x you #not proofread

141 notes · View notes

abyssalaquarist00 · 1 month ago

Note

hiiiii im rly enjoying ur occultist posting :3 i have a wuastion that it seems you might be in a position to answer: does it make sense in your opinion for him to be wearing a turban or is that just orientalism? and/or do you have a headcanon for him related to that? from what i understand it rly isn't that common for arab muslim men to be wearing them at all times, and while the characters' backgrounds/worldbuilding is ofc v vague, it kinda seems to me like they just went off a bunch of stereotypes without bothering to put further thought into it and that's why he's designed to be wearing one but if there's a way to adopt that design into sth that makes sense and deepens his character a little bit i wanna hear it :3

i finally get to talk about this

thank you for the question!

the turban style is less common today but it WAS a popular style in the middle ages. its believed to have originated in mesopotamia give or take 4000 years ago.

Golden Middle Age has a good video on this! we also have some examples in historical art (check out ibn sinna, the islamic golden age and also like almost every ottoman ruler)

i personally theorize that lovecraft's abdul al-hazred was inspired by ahmed al-buni (author of shams al-ma'arif/"knowledge of the sun") and other golden age scholars considering that al-hazred canonically lived sometime during that era. i like Lets Talk Religion's video on shams al-ma'arfi.

here are some of my headcanons for DD al-hazred and how he might wear his kufiyeh. while lovecraft's al-hazred is yemeni, i headcanon DD al-hazred to be from like. a fantasy al-andalus (with fantasy yemeni and syrian ancestry). (ive kind of always seen the DD world as Not earth)

so, for history's sake it's accurate headgear! there's many ways to wear a kufiyeh, and nowadays the turban is less popular among arabs but i think thats really recent and it could be dependent on the amnt of industrialization.

here's a photo of the omani sultan's family in the 1950s

(source, this site contains historical pictures of oman and includes pictures of prisoners and slaves. worth noting for educational and informative purposes, proceed at will)

i do have some things about the rest of his fit, that i mostly chalk up to the fact he went to school in fantasy england but still prefers to wear a robe and kufiyeh (i can relate except not the england part). the things that i can say are Really Delightful for me to see personally

the dagger

the waist wrap

robes

leather braces (im not sure if this is an arab thing to be honest. i think this might be a goth thing for me)

BUT i do have some critiques also

waist wrap should be UNDER the robes, over the tunic

that tunic also looks weird to me wrt that cordage. thats kinda giving me orientalism

the necklace??????

no opinions on the pants or the shoes. again chalking up some of the design choices to him adopting things from his time in fantasy england + i think he's fairly well traveled. im sure he has a sirwal and a pair of these bad boys that he will Not be wearing into the dungeon

i wouldnt want him to be wearing these in the dungeon either but they get an honorable mention because this evolved into a historical/cultural fashion post.

i like his DD1 design!

now DD2 on the otherhand..........

idk whats happening there, thats a whole different story. he shouldnt be an egg imo. i kind of dislike his dd2 design LOL. but he's otherwise a pretty solid design even with the critiques i have.

on topic of kufiyehs, i like kufiyehs that are tassled bc theyre so fun and fashionable. that's a personal preference and i have drawn him that way before (its somewhere on my blog)

i have the nablus kufiyeh from hirbawi and it's my favorite.

i hope this covers everything!

i'll be happy to answer any more questions if you have any :-)

also some research tips if you're curious to look more into it:

i highly recommend looking up archival / antique photos of different countries to get a sense of what that particular culture's fashion looks like. these countries also often have museum pages or heritage websites available in english (machine translate is also an option)

i would avoid french and british art. you can actually filter by place and time on most digital collections like the met, the british museum, or university of chicago (UC doesnt get specific though rifp)

#darkest dungeon #alhazred dd #dd alhazred #questions designed specifically to activate my autism

68 notes · View notes

aziraphales-library · 6 months ago

Note

First of all, love your blog. As many has said, I have found some amazing fics off of here.

Second, would you happen to know any fics that have to do with discorporation? Like, through plagues or wars? I have been craving some angst recently.

Thank you if you consider this, much appreciated!

Thanks! We have a #temporary character death tag, so do check that out! Here are some angsty sics featuring discorporation to add...

now can these broken wings free me by Bentley26 (T)

Crowley and Aziraphale meet back up in Rome in 140 CE. After an enjoyable lunch, Crowley isn't ready for his time with Aziraphale to end, so he invites him to accompany him to a chariot race being held at Circus Maximus. If he's spending time with his angel, what could possibly go wrong?

Lead Us (Not) Into Temptation, But Deliver Us From Evil by OtterFi (T)

“So… that’s it? We’re just… an angel and demon, following our orders then?” Aziraphale asks quietly, dazed by how the pleasant conversation turned so contentious so quickly. Crowley turns to walk away. “‘S what we’ve always been, hasn’t it?” “So, ah, I suppose I’ll, I’ll see you out there then?” This causes them to pause as the implications sink in. Aziraphale isn’t just going to be witnessing the destruction of a city. He is going to be witnessing the how… and by whom. “Pray that you don’t…” they mutter as they go. And if they were talking to Aziraphale or to themself, it isn't clear.

In 33AD in Rome, a demon sports a new haircut and an angel (to both their surprises) invites them to lunch. But this is not that story. This story takes place a few years before, where finally after 4000 years of paths crossing, the two finally intersect. But such an event is not a small one, and takes no small event for it to happen.

at the edge of the water by viperinz (G)

“Hello, dearest. Do you mind miracling a cold pack for me? I’m afraid I can’t focus enough to do it.” Crowley swallows, his eyes wide. He does what he’s asked to do, because of course he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all. He walks to the side Aziraphale is facing, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He hands the cold pack to Aziraphale, who gratefully takes it. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Crowley watches as he puts the pack on his right thigh. Aziraphale sighs in relief, but his face still conveys how much pain he still feels. And, Crowley gets it now. The pain that needed a cold pack, the way that Aziraphale was limping. It was an injury, wasn’t it?

Crowley notices that there's something going on with Aziraphale's leg. He realizes the pain lies deeper than he first thought it would.

La Petite Mort by PanDemonicPanDemonium (E)

Crowley moves from being more allosexual through to demi/greysexual or greyace, as people can change how they feel about things over time. There’s some moderately graphic violence and temporary discorporation but no MCD. there are *minor* character deaths (eg canon Ligur and similar). The fic is canon adjacent/compliant. Detailing events not seen in book/show, but also putting those in context of the character’s feelings during some key canon events. It is largely a tale of personal growth and discovery, and what it means to love another through changing circumstances over time.

Everything Is Temporary (But Love Will Never Die) by The_Bentley (E)

Crowley found he was unable to keep from thinking about the whole situation to the east. Would Aziraphale’s sense of duty get the best of him? Lately he had been telling Crowley he didn’t feel he was performing his angelic duities the best way he could . . . And that’s exactly what he was doing wasn’t it? He overthought his partaking of the pleasures of Earthly life, and now he was going to stay in Jerusalem doing penance for not being a good little angel as he should be. It is 70 AD and the unrest between the Roman Empire and its province of Judea is going to come to a swift end with the destruction of Jerusalem. Crowley flees to Rome, seeing exactly how all this is going to turn out. Aziraphale feels compelled to aid the citizens of the Holy City despite Crowley's pleas that he abandon his cause. Angel and demon are about to get caught up in desperate events that could prove disastrous for them both.

The Beauty of a Broken Angel by Wanderingbard3 (T)

Aziraphale watches the fallen being cast out of heaven and despite the clear message that he's not supposed to feel bad about what's happening, he does. The experience teaches him to distrust his instincts and feelings, awakening the belief in him that there's something fundamentally and dangerously wrong with him. The pleasure he experiences through being embodied and interacting with the world corroborate his fears. He spends the next 6000 years fighting his "flaws", trying to be what's expected of him, and afraid that at any moment he'll be found out. The only time he feels like he can be himself is when he's around a certain demon, the Great Tempter of the Garden of Eden himself. Unfortunately, that only confirms Aziraphale's suspicions about himself. Only a bad angel would feel more comfortable on Earth with a demon than in heaven surrounded by proper angels. But through the course of those years, and the events of the cannon, Aziraphale finds the courage and understanding to be himself, learning that hiding and pretending are far more damaging in the end than facing the consequences of being himself.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #temporary character death #angst #mod d

45 notes · View notes

dufferpuffer · 5 months ago

Text

~~ Looking at Lycanthropy ~~

Part 3: Regarding the 'Full Moon'...

There is something fucky with the transformation night in POA. I'm going to fine-toothed comb it, collect the extra information we get about Lycanthropy from it – and try to make sense of it all.

Looking at Lycanthropy (all parts)

Words: Approx. 4000

Physical Symptoms (What he feels; what he does; what happens - factual.) Perceived Symptoms (How he seems to others, health focused) Social Perception (What people think of him; His social situation) Self Perception (What he thinks about himself) Timing Information Potion information

NIGHT OF THE TRANSFORMATION – Chapters 17 - 21 Note that there is adrenaline, stress, secrets, emotions whipping back and forth – dialogue is split between seven characters. Describing Lupin's symptoms takes a back-seat to exposition. For example: Lupin looking 'pale' in a quiet moment on the train is one thing... but in a high tension situation? It's more likely to be the mood of the setting rather than describing his illness. But I am listing his more erratic behaviour anyway. B^)

Chapter 17

Pg 244 + 245 The very last rays of the sun were casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. … … Light was fading fast now by the time they reached open ground, darkness was settling like a spell around them. … … But harry had just seen - slinking towards them, his body low to the ground, wide yellow eyes glinting eerily in the darkness - Crookshanks. … … Something was bounding towards them out of the dark - an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

The sun is setting – and has set – long before Remus arrives. Interesting. More on this later.

pg 252 The door of the room burst open in a shower of red sparks and Harry wheeled around as Professor Lupin came hurtling into the room, his face bloodless, his wand raised and ready. His eyes flickered over Ron, lying on the floor, over Hermione, cowering near to the door, to Harry, standing there with his wand covering Black, and then to Black himself, crumpled and bleeding at Harry's feet. 'Expelliarmus!' Lupin shouted. Harry's wand flew once more out of his hand; so did the two Hermione was holding. … … Then Lupin spoke, in an odd voice, a voice that shook with some suppressed emotion. 'Where is he, Sirius?'

Remus barges into a room with Sirius, three children and supposedly Peter. He doesn't know whether Sirius or Peter are guilty – but he puts the safety of the children last by taking their wands and speaking to Sirius when there is at least one murderer in the room.

pg 253 'Hermione, listen to me, please!' Lupin shouted. 'I can explain-' … … There was a ringing silence. Everyone's eyes were now on Lupin, who looked remarkably calm, though rather pale. … … Ron made a valiant effort to get up again, but fell back with a whimper of pain. Lupin made towards him, looking concerned, but Ron gasped, 'Get away from me, werewolf!' Lupin stopped dead. Then, with an obvious effort, he turned to Hermione and said, 'How long have you known?' 'Ages,' Hermione whispered. 'Since I did Professor Snape's essay...' 'He'll be delighted.' said Lupin cooly. 'He set that essay hoping someone would realise what my symptoms meant. Did you check the lunar chart and realise I was always ill at the full moon? Or did you realise the Boggart changed into the moon when it saw me?' 'Both,' Hermione said quietly. Lupin forced a laugh.

Remus is about to have his secret revealed – and for the first time shouts at the children. He is understandably terrified of them knowing, but as soon as its out returns right back to a forced, controlled calm... but the mask has slipped, and we can see underneath at his true feelings. Note that Ron's initial reaction is prejudice, like his mother.

pg 254 'You know how to work it?' Harry asked suspiciously. 'Of course I know how to work it,' said Lupin, waving his hand impatiently. 'I helped write it. I'm Moony - that was my friends' nickname for me at school.' … … 'How d'you know about the Cloak?' 'The number of times I saw James disappearing under it ...' said Lupin, waving an impatient hand again.

Harry is giving him a moment to explain himself, but he acts like THIS whenever asked a reasonable question...? Remus is waffling on about himself instead of Sirius, Peter – or making the kids safe. He is explaining what he feels is most important first: himself. Clawing back the trust and control he just lost instead of prioritizing the kids, or Sirius, or Peter.

Chapter 18

pg 256 'Sirius, NO!' Lupin yelled, launching himself forwards and dragging Black away from Ron again, 'WAIT! You can't do it just like that - they need to understand - we've got to explain -'

Lupin intends to commit kill on the rat – even though doing so would probably sentence him to Azkaban, or straight to a Kiss. He is ready to throw his life away but not before he makes sure the kids 'understand' him. There is a murderer in the room, one Lupin intends to kill – and yet he is prioritizing his image...? Also he is strong enough to hold a skinny, thin Sirius back. Not too surprising – so was a cat.

pg 257 Then Hermione spoke, in a trembling, would-be calm sort of voice, as though trying to will Professor Lupin to talk sensibly. 'But Professor Lupin ... Scabbers can't be Pettigrew ... it just can't be true, you know it can't...' 'Why can't it be true?' Lupin said calmly, as though they were in class, and Hermione had simply spotted a problem in an experiment with Grindylows.

Hermione I am sorry he is too far gone right now. Unreasonable.

pg 258 'The Shrieking Shack was never haunted... the screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me.'He pushed his greying hair out of his eyes, thought for a moment, then said, 'That's where all of this starts - with my becoming a werewolf. None of this could have happened if I hadn't been bitten... and if I hadn't been so foolhardy...'He looked sober and tired.

The noises a werewolf makes are more similar to ghosts than wolves. He blames himself for... everything. Peter being a rat and a nasty git. Life would be good if he wasn't a werewolf? Ok, bro. Nice self loathing you've got there.

'I was a very small boy when I received the bite. My parents tried everything, but in those days there was no cure. The Potion that Professor Snape has been making for me is a very recent discovery. It makes me safe, you see. As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform... I am able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again.' 'Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a month. It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren't likely to want their children exposed to me.'

- He was a very young boy when bitten – and survived. We know that being bitten is no small matter, that another small boy has died from it. He is lucky, too, that his parents kept/stood by him. - Wolfsbane is not a cure – but it is a cure to the lack of control from it. (More on that in part 5). By calling it a cure, it is like he values the control it gives him most of all and wants the children to think of him as cured, at least cured from being dangerous... ...despite missing his dose today. - Wolfsbane 'makes him safe'; 'keeps his mind'; 'curls up in his office' a 'harmless waiting wolf'. How safe is a 'harmless wolf'...? How much of his mind does he keep...? Something more than a 'fully fledged monster', I suppose... - He couldn't expect to come to Hogwarts because other people would not accept him. While that is true – we know there are laws. We know he is the ONLY werewolf to have attended Hogwarts despite Fenrir making a point to bite children. There is a little more going on than just 'parent mad'. I think it is safe to say he is being hyperbolic. That he is a 'monster' normally, that he is 'a harmless wolf' on the potion, he couldn't go to school for a silly little reason like 'grown-ups hate him'... it's him pleading with the kids. He isn't lying but he is playing it up/down.

One piece of information I want to point out here: he 'curls up in his office, a harmless wolf, to wait for the moon to wane again'. Whether he wants to or not, whether he closes all the curtains and hides under the desk: He WILL transform.

pg 259 'My transformations in those days were - were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits.' … … 'And they didn't desert me at all. Instead they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi.'

First of all: jesus christ... werewolves scream like ghosts, like people. Second: Best times of his life. I wanna bring this up in a post about Patronus', why his is a wolf: Being a werewolf itself, when free to wander, seems to be a positive experience.

pg 260 'They couldn't keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals,' said Lupin. 'A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James's Invisibility Cloak. ... Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so while I was with them.'

He is lying here – or oversimplifying – because he told Hagrid he didn't 'eat anything last night', as in didn't eat Buckbeak. There is something more going on that made being an Animagi safe. Something that, when running around with other 'human intelligent' animals, increased his capacity for control and intelligent thought. He no longer self-harmed when he had a 'pack'.

'Soon we were roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check.' … … 'That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you'd given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?''A thought that still haunts me,' said Lupin heavily. 'And there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless - carried away with our own cleverness.'

A stag and/or a large dog is similar in strength to a well-fed teenage werewolf... but not enough to ensure safety. The thought of losing control, of those near misses, haunts him... though he is about to have some near misses damn soon. He is being reckless again right now.

pg 261 'He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job, when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am.'

Thankful to have a job – it's unheard of to knowingly hire a werewolf.

Chapter 19

pg 263 'I found this at the base of the Whomping Willow,' said Snape, throwing the Cloak aside, careful to keep his wand pointing at directly at Lupin's chest. 'Very useful, Potter, I thank you...' 'I've just been to your office, Lupin. You forgot to take your Potion tonight, so I took a gobletful along.'

Severus has just been to Remus' office. Remus didn't enter the Willow until it was already dark - and has spent a chapter and a half yapping. Severus felt confident entering Remus' office when the sun had set. Maybe he was just that desperate to reach him in the nick of time...? But Severus didn't bring the goblet with him to the Willow, even knowing the children were there. He has been antsy about Remus' Lycanthropy all year – but isn't forcing it down his throat...? He is far more concerned with Remus' actions as a human traitor then the potential of him being a wolf tonight. The invisibility cloak likely wouldn't work against a werewolf – but even if it did, sneaking around listening to Remus blabber on for minutes on end is hardly the actions of someone who thinks a transformation is potentially imminent.

'Two more for Azkaban tonight,' said Snape, his eyes now gleaming fanatically. 'I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this... he was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin... a tame werewolf...' pg 264/265 'Come on, all of you,' he said. He clicked his fingers, and the ends of the cords that bound Lupin flew into his hands. 'I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the Dementors will have a kiss for him, too –' … … 'Dont ask me to fathom the way a werewolf's mind works,' hissed Snape.

A tame werewolf sounds like a joke to 'regular' people. They are considered, in some way, mentally unwell. Severus has bound Remus in magical cords – but I doubt that would be effective if he transformed. If they were then dealing with werewolves would be as simple as binding them. He is emotionally unstable, but being reasonable: immobilizing the threats and shepherding the children to safety. I doubt he, of anyone, would slip up so badly as to allow Remus to transform... which means he doesn't expect him to transform on the way to the castle.

pg 273 'Shall we kill him together?' 'Yes, I think so,' said Lupin grimly.

Lupin is so calm about killing Peter for revenge, even though it'll almost certainly get both him and Sirius put in Azkaban – if not Kissed, like Severus suggested. This is essentially a suicidal move. His last wish is for the children to understand him, and his motives, are more than monstrous.

pg 275 'You should have realised,' said Lupin quietly. 'If Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Goodbye, Peter.' … … 'Very well,' said Lupin. 'Stand aside, Harry.' Harry hesitated. 'I'm going to tie him up,' said Lupin. 'That's all, I swear.'

He changed his mind fast. Harry's opinion is more important to him. Honestly it's not too surprising, he is following other people... but it makes his readiness to have his life ended for revenge seem... passive. Casual. Dying for a 'good' reason? Cool. Sirius being hot-and-cold is fair, he's a prison escapee with no future, following his loyalty to James and now to Harry... Remus? Remus just had one of the best years of his life. But he never expects good times to last long, anyway. Harry and his friends know his secret now...

Chapter 20

pg 278 'A cloud shifted. There were suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Their party was bathed in moonlight. ... Harry could see Lupin's silhouette. He had gone rigid. Then his limbs began to shake.

...So it is bonkers that his transformation is working like this, considering everything we know. Full Moonlight is triggering it and was blocked by... a cloud. Walls. Severus, Remus and Hermione all would have known it was a Full Moon - and that he forgot his potion. I can understand Remus and Hermione momentarily forgetting in all the hubbub the fact he was walking out into bare night... apart from the fact that transforming isn't an option for werewolves, nor will simply hiding indoors save them. We know that they will transform no matter what.

It doesn't make much sense – but I will go through it a little later. For now: Moonlight triggers it.

pg 279 There was a terrible snarling noise. Lupin's head was lengthening. So was his body. His shoulders were hunching. Hair was sprouting visibly on his face and hands, which were curling into clawed paws. Crookshanks's fur was on end again, he was backing away - As the werewolf reared, snapping its long jaws, Sirius disappeared from Harry's side. He had transformed. The enormous, bear-like dog bounded forwards. As the werewolf wrenched itself free of the manacle binding it, the dog seized it about the neck and pulled it backwards, away from Ron and Pettigrew. They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at eachother - … … Too late. Pettigrew had transformed. Harry saw his bald tail whip through the manacle on Ron's outstretched arm, and heard a scurrying through the grass. There was a howl and a rumbling growl; Harry turned to see the werewolf taking flight; it was galloping into the Forest - 'Sirius, hes gone, Pettigrew transformed!' Harry yelled.

Werewolf Transformation: Go rigid; Limbs shake; Snarl (sharp intake/exhale of air from pain?); Head lengthens into long jaws; Body lengthens (this means werewolves are larger than humans rather wolf-sized); Shoulders hunch over; Hair (fur?) sprouts on face and hands (perhaps everywhere but his clothes are still covering him); Hands curl into paws. The transformation is working body and head first – then out to the extremities. One skinny man, turned into a large dog, is enough to battle a thin werewolf man – though the reason Remus runs isn't clear. Is it to get away from Sirius, because Sirius is hurting him? It seems a little unlikely he would be so distracted from all the humans he could bite... unless the amount of potion he has had helps keep his mind clear. Clear enough to chase after Peter, perhaps...? In any case, he didn't remain injured in the morning. - Werewolves, along with human-like screams, howl, snarl and growl.

Chapter 21

pg 295 She looked nervously over her shoulder into the depths of the Forest. The sun was setting now. … … They moved around the edge of the Forest, darkness falling thickly around them, until they were hidden behind a clump of trees through which they could make out the Willow. 'There's Ron!' said Harry suddenly.

More proof of timing – it was nighttime before Remus showed up.

pg 296 'Here comes Lupin!' said Harry, as they saw another figure sprinting down the stone steps and haring towards the Willow. Harry looked up at the sky. Clouds were obscuring the moon completely.

I wonder if he was running partially because he saw the clouds were covering the moon – and he knew as long as he got to the shack in time he would be safe while inside...?

pg 298 And then, at last, after over an hour... 'Here we come!' Hermione whispered.

They were in the long tunnel from the Willow to the Shack for a long time. It was night before they even went in, and nobody felt at all concerned while they were coming out how much time had passed.

~~~ MY THOUGHTS:

So... after the sun had already gone down, but the moon was covered by clouds, Remus ran outside and to the Willow/Shack – in order to confront a murderer hiding there with the kids. He was understandably emotional, but selfishly put himself first: over the kids, Sirius and Peter, wasting time trying to regain trust and respect... despite knowing he had missed his potion. He showed no real concern of the upcoming/current Full Moon – and neither did Hermione.

Severus only thought to bring Remus his potion after sunset and didn't think to bring it to the shack in any sort of emergency situation. He treated Remus as a traitor, not as a wolf – and was willing to drag him back to the castle, through the night. Even he didn't show much concern for the upcoming/current Full Moon, despite through the year being meticulous in his care and glancing anxiously at him when the Full Moon approaches.

However, as soon as Remus walked outside – bound to Peter and an injured child – he transformed the moment a cloud moved and moonlight hit him directly.

Maybe it is understandable to have momentarily forgotten about the danger... but then again, he didn't feel it coming at all...? They are floating Severus behind them who JUST reminded him he didn't have his potion. He has been talking about his Lycanthropy for an hour.

How could he forget? How could they all forget? How could they be so calm on the Full Moon...?

My theory: It wasn't the Full Moon.

We know being a werewolf isn't quite a binary: - You can be 'contaminated' – only showing some symptoms. - Something anyone can tell about Fenrir Greyback it's that he is a bit more 'Wolf' than 'Were' - However, nobody could tell Remus was anything but chronically ill. Most importantly: - You get sicker the closer it is to the Full Moon, even during the day.

It's like the magic from the reflected light of the moon gets more saturated in the atmosphere as the moon waxes... until your body reaches a breaking point and, no matter where you are (like in your office) you transform. But perhaps that process can be sped up – by saturating yourself in direct near-full moonlight?

A premature transformation. It is the night before the Full Moon.

'Premature transformations under direct late waxing gibbous moonlight' Theory:

As it's not the forced transformation at the peak of the Full Moon it's not talked about as often. It's rare to encounter – but not unheard of or surprising. It is still a 'Full Moon' in a way, after all: The moon looks 'Full' for three or so days and is only truly 'full' for a moment.

If werewolves transformed the MOMENT it was truly Full, then there would be months where they transformed during the day. But if they DID transform during the day, then it still doesn't make sense that nobody is worrying about the Full Moon tonight: They would know when the true Full Moon is. They're Wizards.

This can ONLY mean that werewolves don't transform at the true Full Moon, probably only transform at night (when Direct sunlight doesn't drown out reflected Moonlight) and there is a little more going on than just "Full Moon touched me :^( ick". - Most werewolves hide away, already feeling unwell. They aren't going outside pre-Full Moon... so they don't transform. - Perhaps even those eager to transform would rather save their strength for the true Full Moon...? Perhaps it is a weaker transformation (couldn't even beat up a skinny ass dog) so even violent werewolves avoid it? - Maybe they still have a second transformation – Remus did want to leave the school terribly quickly the next day... so he didn't transform there a second night? It's said multiple times they transform ONCE a month... but maybe that's just because most avoid prematurely transforming? - People misunderstand key things about werewolves anyway, like the fact they are humans and not half-breeds. Remembering only the basics, 'Full Moon forced transformation', feels accurate. - Since Wizards are so Astronomy focused, things like the 'true Full Moon' vs 'nights where it's almost full' is already on their minds. The difference between “Late Waxing Gibbous” and “Full Moon” could be the difference between a potent potion or a watery failure. There is no way they're mistaking what moon cycle it is unless drunk. - Remus' Boggart is the Full Moon – because the Boggart thinks he will be scared of transforming – but there is more merit to that if Remus could turn prematurely under strong moonlight.

If the next night was the true Full Moon – then it makes sense that: - Severus was calm about it, not even thinking to bring the potion as an emergency. If Remus was a traitor he was going to Azkaban tonight anyway – who cares about his penultimate goblet...? - Remus wasn't too worried about transforming. He was safe while in the shack, ran while there was cloud cover... he was just distracted when leaving, head full of Peter, Sirius, guilt and worry. - Hermione didn't mention it. She knows when the Full Moon is – it's not tonight. - The night be cloudy. Some planning, maybe even something as simple as covering Remus' skin with a thick cloak, could be enough to prevent his transformation. Tie him up, throw a cloak on him, make sure the moon is covered and drag him to the castle... fair plan.

Nobody was surprised that it happened, and yet nobody thought about it beforehand.

Big moon dangerous – werewolf go brr.

#hp #remus lupin #love you remus #remus my beloved #hp meta #lycanthropy #mywrite

27 notes · View notes

bob-artist · 3 months ago

Text

We met our first goal!!

The Cartoonist Co-op Halloween Horrors Comics Bundle hit its first $500 goal and is now up to $635!

Unlocked! $500: An mp3 of the theme song for Old Man Grey

Old Man Grey

by Steven Ingram

Musician Taylor Kite crashes his car in the wilderness on the way to a gig and must accept help from the strange badger-obsessed locals.

Buy the bundle before November 3rd and help unlock additional art stretch goals!

Unlocked! $500: An mp3 of the theme song for Old Man Grey

$1000: New illustration "Vampiric Opulence" for The Hue of Heaven''

$1500: Art of Emily: Behind the Scenes'' artbook for Emily

$2000: Concept sketch gallery for For Whom the Button Presses

$2500: A 4 page Sneak preview of BLAM-Marie's upcoming, vampire-themed, short story zine (The Printer Whisperer)

$3000: Bonus painting of Goddess!Ambar and The Putrid Queen from Roomie. Desktop and phone wallpaper downloadables included

$3500: Sketch/concept page of characters' designs for The Bloody Bog

$4000: A new cover for For Whom the Button Presses

You can pick up the entire bundle of 50 comics for $35 here on itch.io!

#itchio bundle #halloween #halloween comics #halloween art #folk horror #folkhorror #badger #horror

20 notes · View notes

dexdpup · 2 months ago

Text

So I often spend a lot of time dabbling into the fine art of crying uncontrollably over Music. For years these have mostly been selective songs, collected from various discographies from artists all over the World.

But Damn it holy fucking shit Sleep Token is not good for my poor tear ducts.

It started about two years ago, when I randomly overheard my then best friend talking to a friend about this song they just discovered, and how it "made them feel unholy things".

This song, was Jaws.

I didn't give much thought to it initially, but decided to check it out anyways. I was doing a lot of rp at the time, and while writing a 4000 word essay on a character stabbing another violently I had put on Jaws as background noise. Aaaand than the Chorus happened:

Show me those pretty white jaws

Show me where the delicate stops

Show me what you've lost

And why you're always taking it slow

Show me what wounds you've got show me love

So I don't know about you, but this didn't make me horny, it broke me. I am of the conviction that Trauma makes you get a perspective on life, that either elevates experiencing emotion, or completely destroys it. When I heard Vessel sing these words I straight up froze in my seat and stopped writing.

I just listened. For... An hour? The same song in a loop. To me this was a song about a person attempting to rebuild another from the trauma they experienced - most likely sexual. A song of a human being falling for the deep rooted scars left in the fragile minds of a stranger.

The person who is traumatized is coping with it in their own ways, the "eyes of a predator" not referring to lust, but the natural desire to protect oneself.

When vessel talks of "prey unattended" he is referring to the victim left behind by their abuser. But this lyrical Persona Vessel represents here is in no way a saviour in the sense of trying to heal their muse, it feels more like someone trying to capitalize on the trauma to further their own cause.

Now I do not claim that my interpretation of the song is right or better than another. But it is how I heard it, that day. That's what my ears picked up and my brain read into it.

And this... Hit. Like a truck. I was sucked into Sundowning and TPWBYT (with TMBTE not released yet) and didn't stop listening for many hours. I cried my eyes out multiple times, Atlantic, Alkaline, Bloodsport, Higher, Levitate, the Love you want. All of this was something i hadn't yet experienced.

Fast forward around half a year and its TMBTE time! The album released and my emotions were shattered by Chokehold and Are you really ok. I sobbed a bit, but I wasn't hit as hard as back when I first listened. And than, Ascencionism happened.

It broke me.

I was crying like I never had before, releasing more emotion than I thought I had in me. Another song that I instantly, deeply connected to my trauma. A hatred for my abuser I still find whenever I hear vessel scream:

You're gonna watch me ascend

A desire to payback, but most importantly the desire to disappear into nothingness. I was numb for the Title track. It was only when Euclid ended that I realised I had found the band that I would connect my mental health to all over again. Just like 2012 when I first discovered MCR and Fallout Boy. I was stumped and honestly... Happy.

Fast forward another year, I am writing this about a week after their show in Nürnberg. My second time there and I can inly say one thing.

I worship Sleep.

#sleep token #sleeptoken #metal #progressive metal #vessel #ii #mental health #rant #tw trauma #tw sex abuse #music

15 notes · View notes

seandwalsh · 1 year ago

Note

Where do the characters get the stuff they use In the Mario Kart Games from? And did the characters design the tracks that have their names?

I’m not quite sure what stuff you’re specifically referring to, but regardless, the answer is quite complicated. Assuming you’re talking about Karts and Items, the answer is “various places”.

Back in Super Mario Kart, while Mario was likely the one who organised, funded or at least initially proposed the event, Lakitu was the coordinator of the event, and ran the tracks. In the beginning they had more conservative rules surrounding the vehicles in use on the courses:

Hi everybody! Thanks for dropping by the Super Mario Kart race track. My name is Lakitu, I run this track. If you need my help, I'll be around. We race one seater, metal pipe frame go carts here. There are two engine sizes to choose from: 50cc or 100cc.

[Source: INTRODUCTION, Page 2, Instruction Booklet of Super Mario Kart, September 1992]

Mario Kart stated out a a fun recreational event with a handful of trophies. That’s the main reason the characters take part, and it has been the reason since the very beginning, in Super Mario Kart. Each one of the characters is competing due to their connection to Mario.

An adorable little kart racetrack has been built in the Mario world! Mario and his happy-go-lucky friends have gotten so enthusiastic about kart racing that they're already causing a ruckus! Even now, they're smack in the middle of a race! Let's take a quick peek at how it's going, shall we? Oh, it's just about to start! Even the usually cute characters look a little tense. Let's watch Mario and friends fight hard!

[Source: Intro, Japanese Store Promo for Super Mario Kart, August 1992]

However, in the years since it has become the Mushroom Kingdom’s premiere racing event and grown significantly. Racers from various Kingdoms take part resulting in an incredibly diverse audience. Mario Kart now has dozens of sponsors for each Grand Prix, extended tournaments, its own television network, branded tracks and inter-dimensional courses and guest racers.

Mario Kart 64 was the first major step in this direction, but Mario Kart: Double Dash!! brought things even further. From its manual:

THE MUSHROOM KINGDOM’S PREMIER RACING EVENT IS BACK! HOWEVER, THERE’S BEEN ONE MAJOR CHANGE TO THE RULES OF THE ROAD… THERE ARE NOW TWO RIDERS PER KART! NOW, RIDERS FROM THROUGHOUT THE LAND HAVE COME TOGETHER NO TEST THEIR DRIVING SKILLS. WHICH PAIR WILL PROVE THE FASTEST?

[Source: The Double Dash Grand Prix!, Page 6, Instruction Booklet of Mario Kart: Double Dash!!, November 2003]

When Mario Kart started out, standard Pipe Frames were the only legal builds for the Mario GP. These models were likely built by Mario and his friends themselves.

However, with Mario Kart: Double Dash!! the Pipe Frames were retired in favour of a variety of Karts. Many of these karts were custom-made or modified pre-existing cars. Take Luigi's kart of choice in Mario Kart DS, for example: the Poltergust 4000. This Kart is part of the Poltergust series, a line of inventions created by Professor E. Gadd.

Another pair of examples are the Wario Car, which Wario makes use of in Mario Kart: Double Dash!! and Mario Kart Arcade GP 2, and the Wario Bike, which Wario makes use of in Mario Kart Wii. These are Wario's personal car and bike, which he uses in the Wario Land and WarioWare titles, and both were built by Wario's friend Dr. Crygor:

I AM DR. CRYGOR, THE GENIUS SCHOLAR. OTHERS HAVE SAID A "DANGEROUS" SCHOLAR, BUT I PAY NO MIND TO THEIR OPINIONS. MY LABORATORY IS SET UP TO FURTHER MY EXPERIMENTS IN REALITY GAMES. FEEL FREE TO STOP BY AND CONTRIBUTE TO MY RESEARCH. IT IS QUITE FUN. DID YOU KNOW THAT I WAS THE ONE WHO CREATED WARIO'S CAR? WHAT? YOU DO NOT KNOW? DO YOUR RESEARCH!

[Source: The Laboratory Authority - Dr. Crygor, Page 21, Instruction Booklet of WarioWare, Inc.: Mega Microgame$!, May 2003]

This odd genius lives in seclusion. He built Wario’s bike. Mona’s moped, Kat’s sword, and Jimmy’s cell phone. He wears a cryogenic suit that doesn’t protect his head.

[Source: Dr. Crygor's character profile, WarioWare, Inc.: Mega Party Game$!, April 2004]

The Standard Kart series of builds was then introduced as a replacement for the Pipe Frame in Mario Kart Arcade GP 2 and carried into tournaments from Mario Kart DS onwards. As a result of this, in later tournaments, custom or pre-existing vehicles were allowed to enter the tournament upon being modified to be legal for the Grand Prix. The Pipe Frames did eventually return in tournaments from Mario Kart 7 onwards, which featured more in-depth kart customisation.

Speaking of which, the Mario Kart events are sponsored by other brands Mario owns, such as Mario Motors, Mario Star, etc. These sponsors, as well as the many others not otherwise connected to Mario, likely fund the events and even provide them with parts and supplies.

It stands to reason that Mushroom Piston Engines provides engines, Fuzzy Battery provides batteries, Bob-omb Plugs provides spark plugs, Dream Gliders provides gliders, 1-Up Fuel provides fuel, Bowser Oil provides oil, 100% Organic Antifreeze provides antifreeze, etc.

Mario Kart Arcade GP 2 makes reference to a Grand Prix Committee, which sends letters to Cup winners to invite them to the Cup’s special Challenge stage. Their letters are closed with an “M” stamped seal. This would imply Mario is at least on this committee, if not the head of it. This is presumably the committee that organises the events and decides which participants to invite, what items will be used, etc.

As mentioned previously, all of the participants either know Mario directly or have connections to people who know Mario. The Super Mario Kart manual seems to call attention to how each of the participant racers connect to Mario specifically.

MARIO & LUIGI The Mario Brothers have pretty much the same abilities in cart driving. Mario and Luigi have had a friendly rivalry that goes back to their childhood.

[Source: THE 8 CART DRIVERS, Page 21, Instruction Booklet of Super Mario Kart, September 1992]

PRINCESS & YOSHI At first, you might think that The Princess and Yoshi would have nothing in common (except their fondness for Mario).

[Source: THE 8 CART DRIVERS, Page 22, Instruction Booklet of Super Mario Kart, September 1992]

BOWSER & DONKEY KONG JR. These two drivers have long been Mario's arch enemies.

[Source: THE 8 CART DRIVERS, Page 23, Instruction Booklet of Super Mario Kart, September 1992]

While Toad and Koopa Troopa's descriptions don't specifically connect them to Mario, Toad is of course a long-time friend of Mario and servant to Peach, while Koopa Troopa is a minion of Bowser:

Usually a faithful underling of Bowser, [Koopa Troopa] shows even the big boss no mercy during a race.

[Source: Characters and Special Items, Page 20, Instruction Booklet of Mario Kart: Double Dash!!, November 2003]

Koopa Troopa, of the Turtle Tribe. Usually one of Bowser's minions, but as far as races go, it's a different story!?

[Source: Characters, Mario Kart Wii, Nintendo Co., Ltd. website]

In short, Mario is what brings them all together - and in turn they each bring their own special items. The iconic Banana Peels thrown by racers in the Mario Kart series are actually from the Kong's Banana Hoard on Donkey Kong Island, having originally been brought to the races by Donkey Kong Jr. back in Super Mario Kart:

Because of Donkey Kong Jr.! He likes bananas, and the peels are slippery, so they got the okay.

[Source: Tadashi Sugiyama, Director and C.G. Designer of Super Mario Kart, Nintendo Classic Mini: SNES developer interview – Volume 4: Super Mario Kart, September 2017]

In the original game, the only CPU-controlled character who throws banana peels is Donkey Kong Jr., which was a way to characterise the characters.

[Source: Hideki Konno, Director of Super Mario Kart, Nintendo Classic Mini: SNES developer interview – Volume 4: Super Mario Kart, September 2017]

Despite Donkey Kong Jr. not appearing in tournaments after Super Mario Kart, it seems his son, the current Donkey Kong, continued to supply Bananas from Mario Kart 64 onwards. Donkey Kong and Diddy Kong even brought along some Giant Bananas in Mario Kart: Double Dash!!, Mario Kart: Arcade GP 2 and Mario Kart Tour:

Special Item GIANT BANANA Only DK and Diddy know where these monstrous fruit can be found.

[Source: Characters and Special Items, Page 19, Instruction Booklet of Mario Kart: Double Dash!!, November 2003] From this we can speculate about the origins of other items. Shells are common clothing/armour worn by Koopas, but seeing as the shells in Mario Kart are standard Koopa Troopa Shells, it stands to reason that the Koopa Troopa racer or perhaps Bowser brought the Red Shells and Green Shells originally used in Super Mario Kart.

These shells are worn by Koopa Troopas, both within and outside of Bowser's Army. We can even see one of Bowser's Airships in Super Mario Galaxy equipped with a shell dispenser:

The Green Shells and Red Shells even function how you'd expect - with Green Shells flying straight forward and Red Shells heading towards the nearest target!

However, with the expansion of Mario Kart in later titles the shells, which are mass-produced, appear to be provided by a company, with sponsors for "Green Shell Strike Equipment" and "Red Shell Strike Equipment" making appearances:

Koopa Troopa and Koopa Paratroopa seem to have their own supply in Mario Kart: Double Dash!!:

Special Items TRIPLE SHELLS (GREEN / RED) Don't let Koopa and Paratroopa worry about not having enough shells.

[Source: Characters and Special Items, Page 20, Instruction Booklet of Mario Kart: Double Dash!!, November 2003]

Bowser also provides his own shells for the tournaments in Mario Kart: Double Dash!!, Mario Kart: Arcade GP 2 and Mario Kart Tour:

Bowser's Shell This big ol' shell on loan from Bowser will crash any karts it hits and keep on going. It can only be thrown forward.

[Source: Items, Tips and Tricks, Mario Kart Tour, September 2019]

On the topic of items, Super Mario Kart used ? Panels to dispense its items. These panels are likely made by the same people in the Mushroom Kingdom who make ? Blocks. While they weren't used in later Mario Kart tournaments, they have still made a few other appearances since, such as in Mario Party 9.

From the Mario Kart 64 Mario GP onwards the ? Panels were replaced with the iconic Item Boxes, which were likely much more convenient for transportation and addition to the racetracks. But it wasn't until Mario Kart Wii where we actually learned where these come from, through the course Toad's Factory.

This is actually the Item Box Factory, as we can see not only from the trackside banners with the Item Box logo and giant sign of Toad with an Item Box, but from the shipping containers with items ready to go into the Item Boxes:

Inside the factory, we can even see the process of how Item Boxes are made. The Items are put inside standard Brick Blocks, before the Brick Blocks are placed on a conveyor belt with stamps of some sort. These stamps appear to be filled with some sort of magical rainbow liquid, likely sourced from Power Stars, which transforms the Brick Blocks into the Item Boxes, giving them their translucent rainbow appearance and their ability to float:

Circling back to the Kongs for a moment, Funky Kong is actually the one responsible for the construction of the DK Barrel Cannons featured prominently throughout Mario Kart courses.

We learn this when Donkey Kong mentions Funky in the context of their creation in Mario Super Sluggers:

Oooook! (Looks like Funky Kong has been busy.)

[Source: Donkey Kong, Best Friend of Funky Kong, Playable Character in Mario Super Sluggers, August 2008]

This isn't all too surprising though, given Funky Kong's previous barrel-based mechanic work and his appearances in Mario Kart Wii and Mario Kart Tour, as well as the barrel-inspired Funky Stadium which he presumably also built:

Speaking of which, it's about time I discuss the stadiums, circuits and other courses and where they came from!

Mario is world-famous and incredibly wealthy from his adventures, businesses and sports stardom. Multiple of the circuits in the games are also clearly built by him or at least in honour of him. He‘s the only character with actual circuits named after him in Super Mario Kart:

State-of-the-art racetracks in the Mario world that are rich in variety. The effectiveness of the pipe obstacles is the key.

[Source: Mario Circuit's description, Japanese Store Promo for Super Mario Kart, August 1992]

Mario Circuits have also been described as the primary circuits of their respective Grand Prix:

Mario Circuit This is the main circuit in Mario Kart: Double Dash!! Familiar denizens of the Mushroom Kingdom can be spotted here and there. The road's filled with curves, so this is a good place to practice drifting.

[Source: Courses, Page 31, Instruction Booklet of Mario Kart: Double Dash!!, November 2003]

It stands to reason that most characters had a hand in designing the tracks that bear their names. In fact we know that's the case for several courses, such as N64 Wario Stadium:

That rascal Wario was in charge of the design and construction of this course. A fan of motocross races, he brought in major amounts of sand to fill this huge stadium in an attempt to build a course more suitable to bikes than Karts. Each lap's distance is extremely long, making it difficult to stay concentrated on the race.

[Source: MARIO KART 64 COURSE MAPS, Page 30, Instruction Booklet of Mario Kart 64, February 1997]

Meanwhile the Bowser's Castle courses are modified from or otherwise based on the real Bowser's Castle:

Surprisingly, the Bowser's Castle has been transformed into a race ground! Because it's inside the building, most of the corners are tricky right angles. However, the most difficult part of the course is where the Thwomps are. They will block your path, and if you run into one, you will spin out. Should you be stepped by one, you'll find yourself squished flat as a pancake.

[Source: MARIO KART 64 COURSE MAPS, Page 31, Instruction Booklet of Mario Kart 64, February 1997]

Bowser typically designs his courses with the help of his minions to be filled with traps in the hopes of beating Mario. This goes beyond the Mario Kart tracks and also applies to his Tennis Courts, Golf Courses, etc.:

Lord Bowser designed his course to defeat Mario, so it’s kinda full of lava and bombs and stuff like that.

[Source: Spiny, Minion of Bowser, Non-player Character in Mario Golf: Super Rush, June 2021]

Bowser enlisted his minions to create this course in hopes of defeating Mario with all the traps and hazards.

[Source: Koopa Troopa, Minion of Bowser, Non-player Character in Mario Golf: Super Rush, June 2021]

However, this isn't universally the case. For example, Peach Beach is merely Princess Peach's favourite beach resort in the Southern Isles, while Toad's Turnpike is on a public road in Toad City!

I could go on and on about the Mario Kart series and the depth to its worldbuilding, but I think that's quite enough for today. Thank you for reading!

#mario lore #super mario #mario kart #donkey kong

179 notes · View notes

oathkeeper-of-tarth · 8 months ago

Text

Fic Prompt #3

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm, Shar; also features Selûne, and Balthazar, that wretched walking content warning Length: ~4000 words Summary: Aylin prays in the Shadowfell, to a mother who can't hear her - and an aunt who can.

What can silence the Nightsong? @stachless prompted "nightmare" and also drew [this art]. Brainworms heavily inspired by @featherwurm's [art] and its followup [here]. Also inspired by a bunch of Aylin's Shadowfell dialogue, the extremity of what she went through, her mother, and the Jesus-Christ-Superstar-Gethsemane of it all. Then we have my own need to see her cherished and taken care of and protected, along with a bit of weird fascination with how the Calm Emotions spell is actually supposed to work.

Hurt/comfort. Warnings for canon-typical violence and references to torture.

---

Once, there would have been a steady hum, a warmth blooming eternal in her chest. An undeniable, reassuring presence, like a hand on her shoulder, and a loving murmur in her ear as if her Mother were there, but only just out of sight. Now there is nothing.

There is worse than nothing; there is a tug, a pull, a leeching so unnatural and wrong it makes bile rise in Aylin's throat. Makes her first steps into a stumble, as she pulls herself to her feet from where the latest Sharran had felled her, leading her so close to the bounds of her enclosure that the sickly glow of the grasping claws starts to manifest.

So instead she kneels, as she has done countless times before: in magnificent temples and humble shrines, in muddy battlefields before and after skirmishes, in winter storms and in bright summer showers. Privately, or as one in a crowd of worshippers. Or, a traitorous little shard of her heart pipes up, with Isobel, whose devotion was always catching like the most pleasant of flames.

"Moonmaiden, hear me," once she finally speaks, Aylin's voice is strong to her own ears, rising clear and resonant from the depths of her chest, unhampered by her predicament or by the bitter sting of grief. It is a bracing thing to note, and it makes it easier to straighten her shoulders and persist.

The odious essence that permeates the Shadowfell makes calm, comfortable meditation a distant dream, but Aylin does her utmost to shake off the worst of it. She chooses instead to focus on going through all the well-practised, familiar, reassuring motions. Hands open, relaxed, palms resting on her thighs, eyes closed but not clenched shut, chin upturned slightly, waiting for the light of an absent moon.

"Weaver of the silver loom, look upon me with mercy and pluck the threads of my fate to lead them away from this place, away from this dungeon of loss and dark and grief."

It is easy, natural, to intone the words, even as the recitation feels slightly more formal than Aylin is used to. The conspicuous absence surrounding her and blanketing her heart does nothing to deter her.

"Guide me out of the grasp of shadow. Turn the tides, so that I may vanquish Your enemies once more and shield Your faithful from the darkness in turn, under Your watchful eye."

Ketheric will bleed, a Sharran plot that was allowed to fester and grow much too far will finally be thwarted, and Reithwin salvaged, recovered, a haven for those basking in the light of the moon once more.

Surely, whatever time Aylin has spent here… surely it is enough.

Her only answer is a coward's blow; a would-be justiciar who has snuck down to her prison oh-so-quietly, who has chosen to anoint herself with the blood of an unarmed, unaware opponent knelt in prayer.

In the rush of her own lifeblood Aylin could swear she hears laughter.

"Hear me. Moonmaiden," the words are ground out this time, slowly and painstakingly. "Our Lady of Silver. Shine Your gleaming light upon me, dispel the grip of shadow and pain, bolster my heart with Your radiance…"

There is an arrow lodged in her flank, and another one near her shoulder blade, still burning with the telltale traces of poison. This one wanted to make sure - a good Sharran: thorough, prepared. Lurking in the shadows and well out of reach, even for this. Truly meant for his mistress' embrace.

"I, whose hand has ever borne Your sword against wickedness gladly and with pride…"

The third in what can't have been more than, what, a day? But how to tell, when her own body falling and rising is the only thing she can rely on to try to gauge the passage of time? In any case, Ketheric is ramping up the production of his army, that much is clear.

So much of Reithwin has paraded before her eyes. People she had lived beside, even if for a little while, coming here to kill her. Some of them acknowledge the fact, even - let her know they never trusted her, sneer about their welcome and respect being but pretence, or forced by fear of divine retribution. Others avert their eyes and pretend they weren't the ones to help her pick out flowers for a bouquet to gift Isobel early in their courtship, just as they weren't the ones to help with the delicate petal-cups of the moonflower arrangements for her funeral.

If she thinks of what has happened, what must be happening to the ones who she hasn't faced here, the rage mixed with the bitter bite of failure threatens to overwhelm her utterly. They were hers to protect. Just as Isobel was.

She can't reach the accursed arrow in her back to pull it out. The sting mounts and mounts and meets the agony driven deep in her heart.

"Moonmaiden, hear me. As You guide the lost back onto their paths, as You set before our feet roads out of darkness, I pray. For my path is winding, never-ending, yet I have ever heeded--"

How much more? How much, how much, howmuch…

The spear to the heart she would have taken for one of the quick and merciful ones - but no. Because the Sharran misses, curse them, and then stops to deliver a tirade - before being swallowed by vicious, hungry shadows.

"The tides turn, inexorably," she mutters, half-dazed with blood loss, stumbling to her knees. "The tides, they… in Your strength, as all things, they…"

Aylin's head lolls forward, proud chin meeting chest, prayer cut short. "Enough. It is enough. I have borne--" What, she cannot say. Penance? Some crucial holy burden? Instead, she ekes out syllables around the agony in her chest, where the spear is still lodged. The spear left in her in disgust, once the acolyte realised it was a mere inert replica of the artefact they sought, incapable of delivering true death, of elevating them beyond a mere ordained assassin. Before their own fate was sealed so very efficiently.

One does not become the Chosen of a goddess by choosing themselves, after all.

"Please."

In the silence, she scrabbles with bloody hands and pulls the spear out herself, inch by painfully slow inch. Throws it into the abyss with a roar of fury and disgust, for she has no use for a weapon here. She cannot fight and tear and kill her way to freedom, a sword that cannot cut itself free. The best she could achieve by destroying her captors here and now would be oblivion, to be forgotten here.

Lost.

"Mother," she whispers, and feels burning shame at prayer being reduced to pleading. "Mother, please."

Nothing.

The necromancer visits again, when she is barely recovered from the last freshly-made justiciar, still catching her breath and clutching at newly-unshattered ribs.

Aylin has goaded him before. Barked out whatever insult came to mind, every threat and vow of vengeance most bloody on both him and his coward of a general, who so adamantly refuses to come face her. But this time - she will find she cannot remember, after, what it was she said that led to this - if she even said anything.

But whatever she does or mutters or simply is right then crosses some threshold, unfathomable to her. Something that permits such aimless, gratuitous cruelty, justifies it in the mind of the truly monstrous.

Balthazar is uncharacteristically silent, the usual sick gloating absent, when he gestures for the hands to pull her to her knees, to hold her in place; when they grip her neck and claw her head back and rip her jaw open against all her mighty strain, as if she is not even trying to resist. When she tastes the rust of the blade and then the rust of her own blood.

Her mouth burns, jaw and chin and palate aflame, agony spreading from the carelessly cut lip down to her throat. She spits blood, and blood, and blood, but it will not stop, and it chokes her. Dizzying, mortifying. Hunched over after she is released, one hand clenched in the dirt of her rocky prison, barely holding her up, the other scrabbling at her neck.

She cannot speak aloud the words that old and young, great and small throughout Faerûn know will bring the Moonmaiden's keen-eyed, loving gaze to them. But then, she has never really needed to. Selûne has ever kept watch over Her daughter, Her sword.

Mother. Aylin tries to think, upwards, upwards, imagining flying up to pierce the shadowy dome. Mother, hear me, when they would silence me.

Nothing.

Balthazar shuffles into her blurred view, doing something with a jar, and silver-flecked muscle and--

And what will he do with it? What does he do with all else he steals from her? It is a horror she does not want to contemplate.

Her tongue, made for poetry, made for battle cries and striking fear into the unworthy and the wicked, into the scheming and the twisted. Made for jubilation and proclamation, made for testifying the glory of her Mother and the good, righteous cause she championed so gladly. Made to argue and philosophise. Made for joy and pleasure taken in the mortal and worldly and wondrously, preciously, divinely mundane: tasting fine wine and succulent food and the sweetest of lips and the softest of skin and most cherished of flesh, all hers, once, all of it -- all of it taken, gone.

Lost.

Instead, violation and violence. A cut throat, and spilt guts. And here comes one with a cruel mace - atypical, for Sharran clergy. She would laugh at herself, a half-mad thing, at the spark of absurd, sick excitement at being murdered slightly unusually - but what else is there? What is there, here, in the void?

Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Pain, or nothing.

Her.

Aylin does not attempt to pray when she next rises. She screams curses and barely-coherent tirades against her hated, hateful aunt, if only for there to be something, anything else.

"Silence," comes that rarely-heard voice. Despised, yet known. "My sister spawned a rabid dog, it seems."

A gleam of feeble triumph warms Aylin's heart. A response provoked. A goddess' hand forced, even if in a matter so very small. She stands, as tall and proud as she can in bloodied rags. "I was chosen to bear her light, to be her sword, to champion her cause--"

"She did not choose you," the voice cuts her off, growing louder and closer, echoing in the endless chasm of its domain, surrounding. "She made you. And what a pitiful job she did of it, too." The disdain is palpable, radiating out of every wisp of shadow swirling around the lonesome platform. "She whelped you to hunt down my faithful."

"She charged me with protecting her own." Aylin glares into the darkness, turning this way and that, trying to fathom where to best aim her fury from her perch in the eye of a growing storm.

"She who seeks always to steal from me, to supplant me, she who knows no measure, whose ambitions know no end."

The raging shadows swirl ever closer, angrier and angrier still. But Aylin refuses to be cowed, refuses to yield, faced with the one who gives her purpose. For the Sword of the Silverlight is a necessity, yes, but it is not Selûne who makes it so. It is her spiteful sister and her misguided followers, ever prowling and looking to harm.

"You lie, as always, Lady of Loss. She wishes only for peace, for her faithful to be left to make their own way, to flourish. Without your schemes, there would be no need for my service at all."

A clap of thunder behind her; Aylin turns, but not in time to see the grasping shadows that rush towards her, wind around her legs and arms, around her neck and chest. Restraints nothing like the eerie, necrotic claws, but just as cold and cruel and unmoveable.

"Ah, so my sister needs to bind her paladins with chains of bloodline to ensure they serve her?" The voice is mocking, and so very, very near. As if Shar herself is standing there, speaking in Aylin's ear as her shadows mercilessly pull her down. "Perhaps, for once, she is right. For I have claimed a prize from her already, and he has brought me you."

"I am not bound," Aylin spits out, pulling against her fetters, grinding her knuckles to dust and bone on the cold stone of her prison. "I am not bound. I choose, I serve, I am faithful--"

"You are a failure."

"I am-- I am Dame Aylin Silverblood, Sword of the Moonmaiden, Moon Daughter, Bearer of the Silverlight. When I am free, there will be a mighty reckoning. I will bring it on wings of silver, on the edge of my blessèd sword, in the name of my Mother, and in my own name."

"You are a failure," the darkness repeats, unphased, calm, certain, factual, "and so you have been discarded."

"I am," Aylin starts, barely forces out, then stops, gritting her teeth against the burning pressure, the rancid atmosphere cloaking her prison. "I am--"

"I am the Nightsinger and you are my Nightsong, and so it is mine to silence you."

The darkness becomes tangible, cloying, suffocating. Aylin tries to draw breath but finds that she cannot. Cannot see through the thickening murk even to the sickly blazing runes of her prison-circle.

"The moon does not shine its foul light here, and it never will. Here, in my perfect dark, we are gloriously free of it. Howl your foolish prayer-ditties, Nightsong - they will fall upon no ears. Your ever-whimsical, capricious mother has abandoned you to my care."

The shadows tighten and Aylin chokes on darkness like she choked on blood. Her back burns with phantom pains, spiking up and down her shoulder blades, and every wound and indignity feels visited upon her again. A scream feels like it should tear itself from her throat, but there is only silence.

"In the creation of my army, I have given you purpose. Much more than my pathetic sister ever has. And once that purpose is fulfilled, I will silence you forever."

She finds herself sprawled on the ground, suddenly free of the restraints, as the final, threatening proclamation rattles through her muscle, deep into her bones.

"The loss of a daughter," Shar sounds amused, almost, a cruel smile tainting her words, "is devastating, I hear. It will make a fine gift for my deserving kin. Now rise. One approaches who must prove their worth."

Aylin's mind is flooded with Isobel, Isobel, Isobel, and her chest feels like it will cave in on itself.

The air rushes in, finally, and Aylin tastes blood in her mouth from a bitten cheek, feels a pounding in her head - and very little else. A cool balm, a much-needed distance has been put between her and the red-hot thornvine of the past century, and it allows her to breathe.

She blinks, and knelt before her is Isobel, alive and whole, in a simple nightgown, hands aglow with the remnants of a freshly cast spell.

"Aylin?" She asks, cautiously, with the telltale downturn of the corner of her mouth that means she is concentrating. Her eyes are wide and filled to the brim with such tender concern, the restrained but clearly pained tremble in her voice more agonising than any Sharran knife. She keeps her distance, though the tension and the need to leap forward, to be close, to hold, is palpable.

"You were… I tried to wake you, but you weren't responding. It was like you were lost to me."

Lost.

"I am…"

Aylin stops, because she does not know what words could follow and not be lies.

"This will only last a minute. Please, stay with me, Aylin. Alright?"

Aylin nods.

"Breathe with me."

Aylin does.

"May I touch you?"

Aylin hesitates, where she should have roared her enthusiastic consent. But her entire body still feels raw.

"...yes," she says only when she truly feels it to be true, and Isobel seems… proud?

The lightest, gentlest hand comes to rest on her cheek and jaw. Familiar, loved, ever so slightly colder than… than before. Isobel.

She would have nuzzled into it happily, usually, pressed a kiss or two to the soft palm. It is a bit much at the moment, though, just that little bit too close, and so Aylin slowly pries it off her cheek and holds the hand between both her own instead.

Then the minute is up and the spell wears off, and the veil that was between her and what seems like the rest of the world abruptly falls away. Aylin draws air in with mounting effort, then lets it out in a hiss at the flood of sensation.

But the hand between hers serves to ground; Isobel's eyes, luminous in the moonlight that seeps into the room, hold her own and seem to encompass her entire.

"Should I cast it again?" Isobel asks softly, free hand already rising towards Aylin's temple.

She moves to decline, muster up some sort of casual air, but stops herself at the last moment. Digs down to the soldierly disposition that has been a help to her, an ingrained way to make sense of so much. It does no good to overestimate one's own capability. Her mind rattles off, almost of its own accord. A correct measure of one's strength is key to all engagements.

"Once-- once more, please, my love," Aylin asks, and is mildly surprised at the complete lack of shame and nauseating sense of inadequacy that had, for a time, become her stalwart companions.

"As many times as you need," Isobel says reassuringly, already leaning forward and reaching out with both hands. "There is no shame in accepting help."

It is a song and dance they both know well by now. The words Isobel has spoken what must be hundreds of times, in an effort to make them real and true to Aylin.

Her touch on what feels like the sides of Aylin's troubled mind accompanied by a murmured incantation take all of a second, but the coolness and numbness and the slight drowsiness ripple outward and encompass her again. The separation from herself, the distance from everything, is always mildly discomfiting and ever-so-slightly reminiscent of the Shadowfell - a reassuring fact, as Aylin takes it to mean she is in no danger of craving it, or growing to depend on it.

It is but a moment of reprieve each time. But it is just enough to buy her a chance to shore up her own defences, when they have been so cruelly torn down by the workings of her own unconscious mind. She places her hands over Isobel's own once again, breathes in time with her, and thinks, very deliberately, of little else.

This time, when the minute runs out, the shock of being plunged back into the world is barely noticeable.

There is no brand-wound placed on her by Shar, like brave Shadowheart still bears. And yet it still feels so often like her aunt's cruel grasp is lying in wait behind every shadow, waiting to snatch her up and pull her down, down, down, until her knees meet the cold rune-inscribed rock in the heart of the Shadowfell.

It makes Aylin still want to laugh at herself, sometimes. Her knees are, in fact, resting on the finest mattress of the grandest bed Waterdeep's House of the Moon could provide. Her legs are entangled with duvets filled with the softest down, with sheets of finest silk. And yet, and yet.

But she does not let out any bark of bitter, self-deprecating laugh, for even after everything, there is Isobel. The anchor. The crux of everything. The eye of a swirling storm. A beacon of light so blessedly blinding it washes out all else, all pain and sorrow and acrid, biting memory.

Isobel, whose mere presence drowns out the roaring winds of the Shadowfell, fills up the Lady of Loss' cursed silence that steals and numbs everything it touches.

Isobel, something to focus on when all else is too much, or too little. Who scuttles closer to Aylin on the bed once she sees her calmed enough, and leans in until they are pressed shoulder to shoulder.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Her thumb rubs small, delicate circles into the back of Aylin's hand.

Aylin sighs. "I cannot possibly begin to explain… to put into words…"

"Could you try? For me, my love, and for yourself?"

The only thing silencing Aylin now is she herself.

Truth and honesty, ideals to strive for - and the light that chases away any Sharran shadow. Aylin draws in a deep breath, as much as her chest that still feels cramped will allow. Squares her shoulders as if preparing for combat.

And still her words come out hesitant, almost meek. "I would not have wanted you to bear witness, then. To… to their crimes, their sins against me. To my shame. And so I do not want to make you a witness to them now, even if it is only through my telling."

She feels reluctant to expose Isobel to any of it. Even when, yes, she is an accomplished cleric and a healer and has seen and dealt with her own share of horrors, but…

"Aylin," the palpable pain in Isobel's wide eyes is already too much as she reaches out a gentle hand again, turning Aylin's face towards her. "You are the woman I love, and the chosen of my heart. Nothing will ever change that."

"It has been nigh a year." Aylin knows she sounds petulant. Knows she would have thoughtlessly blinked away the meagre span of a single year, before.

"Compared to a hundred?" Isobel shakes her head, looks at her almost pleadingly. That way she does, the way she seems to have reserved for whenever Aylin insists she should think nothing of the way she hastily exited a too-tight or too-dark space.

"Fine. Fine, my love, for you," Aylin breathes out. "But… outside. Let us first recover somewhat, in my Mother's light."

Let Her hear as well.

Isobel rises, takes her by the hand, and pulls her along, gently, out onto the balcony. Theirs is a spacious, luxurious suite situated in the prime spot of the temple complex housing wing, overlooking the luscious inner gardens in the House of the Moon. Usually, neither of them care for the pomp and circumstance their visits tend to invite in Selûnite spaces. But this time Aylin feels grateful for both the privacy and the position under the moonlight dome, as she does little but breathe in the scent of the moonflowers, freshly opened for the night, each cupping a little mote of moonlight and embracing it in blue.

For a good while, until Aylin feels ready, Isobel chatters, hums, softly fills any second of silence. She has come to understand so much, and Aylin is so grateful as she lets the sweet voice buoy her heart, carry her.

It felt near-blasphemous, at first, these calls to a goddess over things she would have once called trivial. But the joint efforts of her Mother and her beloved have convinced her they are anything but.

Mother? Aylin sends out the simplest of thoughts as she gazes upward and feels the moonlight bathe her face, fill her heart to bursting, settle around her shoulders like a blanket.

I hear you, daughter. I see you. I hold you under my gaze, safe.

This, too, is her birthright. Simple reassurance.

Under her Mother's silver eye, guarded in the circle of Isobel's arms, Aylin speaks. Once her words run dry and she is left feeling drained, scoured out, head dizzyingly feather-light, Isobel finally moves from her side. She returns within moments, wraps herself around Aylin and wraps them both in a star-embroidered coverlet.

"Never again," Isobel whispers, all moon-bathed steel, as she presses a dozen soft kisses to Aylin's face, then holds her to her chest. "I will not let anyone harm you again."

It is a heartwarming, if impossible thought. Aylin doesn't have it in herself to do anything but believe it.

The moon continues on her path across the sky, her Tears shining bright, as the night descends into a silence that is both warm and comfortable.

#dame aylin #isobel thorm #aylin x isobel #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #my fic #bg3 #oathkeeper writes things #fic prompts 2024 #sipping that hurt/comfort juice

34 notes · View notes

kylorengarbagedump · 14 days ago

Text

Playing Soldier: Chapter 18

Read on AO3. Part 17 here. Part 19 here.

Summary: You continue to be really really good at spying.

Words: 4000

Warnings: none!

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia.

Merry Christmas (and Happy Holidays to any/all who celebrate)!

Sorry for the delay - we've been traveling and this sort of plot is very important for us to try and keep logical and clean as we write it! So, there was time spent thinking very hard and also reading and researching, hehe.

Tavington will return soon, I promise - for now, hopefully, we don't land ourselves in a heap of trouble.

“Shall you open yours first, or shall I open mine?”

You stared across the table at Grace, each of you holding your letters in your hand, the remnants of breakfast discarded to the side of the dining table. She held hers like one might hold correspondence from the King, a certain reverence for what it was, a certain anxiety for what it might contain. You urged her forward with a wave of your hand.

To be honest, even if she hadn’t looked like a woman on the verge of a nervous collapse, you would’ve volunteered her to open hers. The fact your letter even existed inspired such an uncomfortable amount of rage you were terrified to address it. Holding anger toward Papa had never been something you permitted, let alone practiced, and its recent recurrence in your life made you feel like a cat awash in a white-capped river.

Grace hummed quietly, peeling the parchment open. You studied her face as she read, watched her lips tremble, her cheeks grow warm. Her eyes flicked back and forth, the silence broken by a giggle, then an outright laugh as she clapped her hand over her mouth. There was an urge, of course, to fly over the table and scour the letter for yourself, but you resisted, deciding to literally sit on your hands.

She deserved privacy. She deserved to grow up.

With a sigh, she folded it and placed it on the table like a piece of fine porcelain. The both of you stared at it. Grace folded her hands in her lap and wiggled with glee.

“Well?” you said with a slight grin. “Are you thoroughly wooed?”

She huffed playfully. “I don’t require wooing,” she replied. “But I do believe him to be quite intent on attempting.”

“Very well, then.” You eased off your hands, taking your letter and flipping it in your fingers, examining it. Grace’s eyes met yours, and she nodded toward you. “Yes?”

“Papa’s letter, of course,” she replied. “Go on, then.”

You flipped it again. You’d been so eager to read it last night. The breadth of time to consider its contents nurtured hesitation. “All right.” You slid a nail under the wax seal, and Grace gasped.

“Wait!” she said. “Papa said—um, he said to…” She paused, recounting the words in her head. “He said to read the letter inside the letter.”

“The letter inside the letter.” Your heart skipped along your stomach. This would involve some sort of subterfuge. And he’d just dropped it in Grace’s lap. “All right.”

With a sigh, you pried open the letter, and a second piece of parchment sealed with wax tumbled out to the table. Frowning, you picked that up next and peeled it apart, reading the first lines. It began with your name, and then—

I pray this correspondence meets not with that degree of cynicism which I am undoubtedly due. Our first meeting was admittedly a catastrophe of social blunder born of my own foolish apprehension. Your father had described you as intelligent and strong-willed and I was unprepared to make your acquaintance and present myself with propriety as he failed to mention your arresting beauty. Allow me to attempt an introduction once more. My name is Christopher Pearce, and

You rolled your eyes and flicked the letter away. It skidded across the table, where Grace pinned it under her palm before it could sail to the floor.

“Goodness,” she muttered. “That bad?”

With only an mm of acknowledgement, you turned your focus to the larger leaf of paper, spreading it out to begin to read.

“May I?” said Grace across from you.

Not really hearing her, you shrugged assent.

My cub,

Much joy it brings old hands to clutch a pen and write you these lines which I bid find you in good and spirited Health. Of news there is nothing worth the ink to write it but that I am as ever upon my greatest and happiest Adventure. No holes in my shoes nor want of wages can dissuade me of that Truth or sow in me a seed of wretched Doubt. But for the subject of sowing and reaping there is much to discuss and I pray you give these next lines your utmost Attention.

Across the table, Grace giggled. “Oh, sister,” she said. “Is this the gentleman I’m to assume left his brand beneath your collar?”

“What?” Your head shot up. Grace clutched Pearce’s letter in her hands, her smile utterly knavish as she skimmed the words. Heat flashed to your face. “He’s—no!”

“Ah,” she said, smirking. “Multiple suitors, then.”

“He’s not—I do not have suitors.”

Grace’s lips flattened into a skeptical line, her eyebrows waggling from over the page. Scoffing, you turned back to Papa’s letter.

… pray you give these next lines your utmost Attention.

On the matter of Turnips, Cabbage, and Carrots, take t’e foll’wing inst’uction with care – sow the f’mily of them so they may take Root before first Frost, and re’eive them most h’arty, robust and tender for Harvest. Plant the Cabbage in profusi’n so the goats and chickens may remain as Rotund as glad’ens th’m and as not to stymie that neces’ary Supply of milk and eggs.

I Conclude with the hope that you study these Measures in accordance with your eminent intellect as they will nourish our family through Winter. As I am ever a Student in life I now will practice my Numbers. These, as you know them Well, I hope you will check through for insurance of their Accuracy.

110.30.5,54.2.7,250.16.3,157.27.4…

You frowned, skimming over the continuous and nonsensical string of numbers that concluded at the end of the page. Then you re-read the letter several times over. With a huff of frustration, you plastered it out on the table and leaned over it, as if the light might glint off the ink at a new angle and uncover the true message beneath its apparent mundanity.

It had to be written in some sort of cipher. Given the fact that neither you nor Grace needed any reminder of when to plant the fall crop after so many years, that much was clear. It was surely a clever bit of concealment, but you puzzled over the logic. And then there was the strange grammar. The spelling errors. The insistence on “practicing” numbers which Papa knew perfectly well both how to write and manipulate. A simple farmer he may have been born, but your father would never suffer being mistaken for having the education of one. It was as good a place as any to start looking for clues.

The capitalized letters first, perhaps. But that only led to nonsense, no matter how many different ways you arranged them. The misspelled words, then. Each of them, you noted, was missing a letter. Humming, you spelled them out in your mind—

H-O-R-A-C-E-O-D—

Snatching the letter up, you bolted upstairs, darting to your bed and rummaging underneath it to find The Odes by Horace. The poems were ones your father had often recited to you as a girl and ones you’d never quite taken yearning to yourself as they were full of romantic whimsy and idealistic prattle for which you didn’t have time. But it was just the sort of book in which Papa would hide a message.

Letter in hand, you flopped open your copy of The Odes, studying the first several lines, then the letter, then the book again, then the letter.

These, as you know them Well, I hope you will check through for insurance of their Accuracy.

The numbers had to relate to the book. There were sets of three, separated by commas. Page, perhaps. You flipped to page 110. As your eyes skimmed the words, you realized the next countable quantity was lines. Line 30. The next sensible thing was the word. Word 5.

Daughter.

You grinned.

Breathless, you decoded the rest of the message—a halting set of instructions that, to your interpretation, informed you to find a stump where the river met the old town road. That you’d discover a dead drop accessed by a British spy, and that you’d deliver what you found to the rebel camp to the east, to whom you would identify yourself by use of a code phrase.

The code phrase, of course, was conspicuously absent. Sighing, your head fell back on your shoulders. Had he gone through all this work just to leave you without an exceptionally important detail? You ground your palms into your eyes. You’d read the letter within the letter just to—

You paused. The letter within the letter wasn’t just the numbered message. It was the stupid worthless waste of parchment that you’d discarded. The one written by Pearce.

If you ever did manage to find Papa again, you were going to kill him for this.

Grumbling, you folded up the parchment, stomped down the stairs and swept back to the dining room, dropping the paper on the table. An urgent breath rolled through you as you saw Grace, still rapt in Pearce’s words.

“What was your complaint with this one?” she said, looking up. “He seems quite sweet.”

“Give it.” You held out your hand. “Please.”

Relenting, she pushed it toward you, lips pinned shut in patience.

Your eyes raced over the useless paragraphs of platitudes, looking for something, anything that might signify a phrase—and then—

When next we meet, I do hope we may greet each other with warmth, that I may be able to recount to you with Sincerity such rousing tales as—A fine day for a fox chase.

Of course, the fineness of any day is found wanting in comparison to your

You sneered in disgust. Grace, whose fingers had been creeping across the table this entire time, slipped Papa’s letter from underneath your hand. Humming, she started to look it over.

“Ah—”

You reached over and plucked it from her fingers, then splayed both letters across the surface like they were a losing hand of cards. Chewing your lip, you glanced at her frowning face.

“We need to have a discussion.”

Grace tilted her head, sat up a bit straighter. “Oh?”

“I don’t wish to exclude you from anything that Papa and I discuss,” you said. “You were right, last night. You’re a grown woman and free to choose your own path. And you’ve mentioned wanting to be informed.”

Raising an eyebrow, she nodded. “Yes…”

“So I want you to be able to make an informed decision.”

“You are not inspiring confidence, sister.”

Nodding, you exhaled again. “Papa’s sent me instructions on how to collect and transfer intelligence to him.”

“To spy?” she replied, frowning.

“Yes,” you said, with a grimace. “And by giving you this letter, I believe he may even implicitly anticipate your involvement, as well.”

“Oh.” Her expression faltered. She stared at Ferguson’s letter. “I see.”

You swallowed. “Grace,” you said, “I know you have tender feelings toward this man. But Papa is a soldier in the Continental army. You’ve known this now for some time. And if you want to continue communicating with the major, then you should do so with the knowledge that any involvement you have with him has the possibility of endangering Papa’s life.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I’m foolish enough to do something that would actually bring harm to our family?”

“No!” you replied. “Of course I don’t—”

“Then how can you sit—”

“—think that, but it’s the truth! Even possessing this letter is dangerous,” you said, holding it up. “Having one redcoat in our home could encourage others, and you could be caught with something incriminating before you have the opportunity to dispose of it.” Returning Papa’s letter to the table, you added, “Not to mention how the major might feel about your holding that secret from him.”

Not that you cared how he felt.

Grace drew in a long breath through her nose, her attention falling to the parchment in front of her again. Folding her arms over her chest, she sighed. “Very well. I can’t deny when you’re right.”

You resisted the urge to reply with a satisfied I know. It wasn’t the time to gloat. You’d save that for when you finished the discussion. “So you need to decide what is most important to you.” With a shrug, you said, “I won’t judge you for whatever that decision is.”

Silence fell over the dining room. In actuality, you abhorred both options for her future. In your ideal reality, Grace would not be courting a redcoat, nor would she be placing herself in danger by associating herself with potentially deadly errands for your father. No, in your ideal reality, she’d be cozied at home, reading a book, Mr. Mouser curled at her feet until the war was over, and only then would she finally attract the attention of a man far less irritating than Patrick Ferguson.

But you were not omnipotent. The only one who deserved authority over her life was Grace herself.

Her fingers worried the edges of Ferguson’s letter. “I…” She sighed again. “I do want to know that Papa is safe,” she said, and her voice fell to a whisper. “I…” A tiny smile grew on her face. “I really fancy Patrick.” There was almost a sliver of embarrassment to her admission. “I hesitate to say that… well, I can potentially, perhaps, envision a future with him.”

Your throat thickened, but you nodded encouragingly. “You do.”

“Yes,” Grace replied. “That is…” She met your gaze. “I believe he feels the same way.” Now that she’d said it, her smile grew wider. “I don’t wish to place that future in jeopardy anymore than I wish to place you or our father in jeopardy,” she said. “So… exclude me.” A pause. “Please.”

A knock like a fist to wood thudded your chest. Grace was imagining her life with Patrick Ferguson. The ache it caused made you swallow the congealing wad of unease. Your fingers fiddled together, and you forced a smile. She was no longer the toddler giggling with mischief as she muddied her dress, no longer the little monster running at you with blackberry-stained fingers, no longer the girl who would bury herself in your arms, seeking safety as she cried. You could not pretend to be the barrier between her and the world. And she could not be your ward forever.

But at least for now, you could keep the war from her front door.

“I will,” you said. And then, because you meant it, “I am happy for you, you know.”

“I know you are.” She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her eyes fell from yours, lingered on your neck. Her smile twisted into something more devious. “Now. Will you tell me about these,” she said, pointing at the bruises, “or not?”

“Ah,” you said, fighting your own smile. “And here I thought I might have evaded that bloodhound nose of yours one day longer.”

Grace grinned, leaning forward across the table and sniffling toward you like a dog. You batted her face away with a laugh, making her snort as she fell back into a giggling pile in her chair. The chime of your combined laughter rang through the house. You both settled, and a strange pang lodged in your chest.

“It’s really not the gentleman from the letter?” she asked, nodding toward it.

Your lip furled in revulsion. “Good sweet Lord resting in blessed heaven, no.”

“Fine.” She sat back in her chair, grinning. “Then I demand details.”

Warmth bloomed in your face. “All right, all right. Then details you shall have.”

You curled your fingers in your petticoat. Your palms suddenly felt clammy. You didn’t want to lie, but you could not reveal the entire truth to her without entering a conversation you could not even wade into in your mind. With an exhale, you began.

“It was at the party Ferguson spoke of. He wasn’t a redcoat,” you said quickly, because technically William had green in his jacket, didn’t he? “I was feeling overwhelmed, and I missed the carriage home, and…” You hummed, hesitating on what to reveal, but found the words wanting to spill now that you had the walls of your home and ears of your sister. “He offered me a place to sleep, and one thing led to another, and, ah…” You suppressed a smile, remembering the heat of his body smothering yours, the pinch of his teeth at your throat. “I slept there.”

Grace gasped, holding her hand to her mouth. “You…” Her jaw hung open. “You mean you… you—”

You nodded. “I… did.”

“Oh. Oh my…” She clapped both hands over her face before erupting into laughter. “Well?” she squealed. “What was it like? Was it… good?”

“That…” Your eyes widened, you pulled your lips over your teeth in thought, your memory flipping through recollections of his cock plunging into your cunt, the power of your climax ripping through you, the viscous webbing of his seed on your fingers. “That is summarizing it succinctly, I’d say.” You swallowed, shaking your head. “But it was foolish.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “Oh, let God judge your foolishness,” she said. “I, for one, can’t decide if I’m thrilled or baffled.” She studied your face, a small grin on her lips. “Who was this man who so charmed you that you permitted his mouth brush your throat without ripping out his own?”

You sat, gazing at her for a moment. Who, indeed, was William Tavington? And why did you allow his mouth near your throat? Why did you even find yourself craving it?

“Well.” Your focus drifted to the wall in thought. “He’s very handsome,” you said, because it was true. When Grace only offered a raised eyebrow in return, you nodded relentingly. Plenty of handsome men had offered you their attentions, and you’d rejected them all. “He…” A smirk fought its way onto your face. “He doesn’t underestimate me. Ever.” Your cheeks grew warmer as you realized the bizarre fondness you felt for that fact. “And he’s… He makes me laugh. I think. Sometimes.”

Grace folded her arms over her chest, studying elevated to scrutinizing. “I notice, dear sister,” she said, “that you speak of him in the present tense.”

“Oh.” You averted your eyes. You hadn’t even realized you’d done so. “Well… I suppose I may see him again. I will be returning to duty, after all.”

“How? If he isn’t a soldier…”

“He may come by camp,” you replied quickly. “Those who work in the field hospital aren’t necessarily beholden to the Crown.” You grinned, pleased with yourself. “As you well know.”

She hummed suspiciously. “Of course,” she said. “Name, please.”

“I’m sorry?”

“His name?” she urged. “I anticipate future news regarding this gentleman, so I should expect to know him by a name.”

“Anticipate future news?” you replied. “Oh, please. He’s hardly—”

“He is, in fact, the only man I’ve ever seen you offer a minute of your mercy,” Grace said. “Name.”

You sighed. Well, she wasn’t going to get his real name, that was for certain. “John,” you said. “But that’s all I’ll reveal, lest you seek him out and insert your curious, meddling nose where it doesn’t belong.”

She laughed, an impish twinkle in her eye. “Am I that obvious, then?”

You snorted. “As obvious as blood in the snow.”

“Now, there would be a splendid trail to follow.” She snuffled her way across the table again, until you planted a palm on her face, turning her nose upward, and both of you collapsed anew into shrieks of laughter.

The rest of the morning was spent in comfortable conversation, each of you taking up chores, Grace ensuring you were current on the latest chatter from town. This was another part of being home you missed—even if you weren’t typically privy to idle conversation, you derived a devious thrill from knowing the private annals of your neighbors.

By the time you reached the afternoon, your mind had rolled over the message from your father enough times that you’d decided it was as good a time as any to head to the location he’d instructed to retrieve the intelligence. Whomever they’d managed to get to deliver the information, you hadn’t the faintest idea, but you supposed that wasn’t for you to know. Safer for all involved that way. Bidding Grace a brief farewell and tucking the spare pistol your father had kept under his bed into your petticoats, you trudged into the woods toward the drop point.

It was admittedly not the worst idea, having a known (or, rather, perceived) Tory civilian dip on and off the supply route highway for subterfuge. And Catawba, as a small settlement with a small population, had actually been a logical choice to stop. Though his thoughtlessness toward Grace’s safety had whittled your patience, you could at least admit Papa had committed some care to this plan.

The woods grew thicker around you, the wail of cicadas swallowing your ears. Once you had obtained whatever was waiting, all you would need to do would be to head to the location in the letter to provide him the information and then make your way to Fort Carolina. Simple, secure, swift. Yet as the Catawba river grew closer, your chest tightened with anticipation. You’d already demonstrated a lack of aptitude for sedition. An error here could easily mean Grace’s life along with yours.

You wandered along the length of the bank, focusing on your breath. A tiny whine zipped past your face. Then another. A flicker of shadow hovered through the mottled relief of sunshine dancing over your skin. You waved a hand in the air. Felt a tickle on your forearm.

A mosquito.

You slapped it, leaving a smear of blood near your wrist that you wiped away. Autumn could not arrive swiftly enough.

Yards beyond your feet, the river met the road, flowing under an old bridge long since fallen into disuse. You’d need to cross to the forest on the west side of the bank to find the drop. Heart thumping, you slipped out of the woods and skittered over the sturdiest boards left on the bridge, weaving through the edge of trees to spot a rotting, lonely stump.

You supposed it couldn’t be anywhere or anything else.

Swallowing, you sidled up to it, dropped to your knees and dug your hands into one of the crumbling splits. Nothing. Frowning, you rooted into the base of the stump, dirt and decay grating your nails, the heat of the day beading at your neck. But there was no paper, no package, no anything to be found.

There was no way this wasn’t the location. Your pulse skipped. Your palms sweat. Had your correspondent been compromised? Did the British already know? Were they on their way with nooses in hand, ready to wring your neck and drag your body all the way to Fort Carolina?

(Briefly, stupidly, irrationally: Would William even care?)

You breathed, slumping over the stump. No—your father wouldn’t have had any reason to expect you to arrive so early. It was completely reasonable that the information was still on its way. Perhaps you needed to return tomorrow. Or the next day.

Exhaling again, you gave the split one more swipe in hopes it would magically produce intelligence. Behind you, a careful, rhythmic knock of wood. Like footsteps. On the bridge.

You choked back a gasp, scrambled to stand. A claw of wood snagged your sleeve and yanked you back to your knees. Wincing, you flailed, hoping to splinter the stump or tear the fabric, whichever happened first, but you were stuck, stuck again. The footsteps left the bridge and crossed into grass. You held your breath, refused to be a rabbit with pinned paws. Swiveling, you whipped your flintlock from your skirts and aimed at the gaps in the trees.

You watched with a drumroll pulse. Shadows shifted. The understory crunched. You exhaled, and the man grew close, focused into perspective. As he did, your eyes found his own. Dark brown, stark against the halo of his curly, copper hair. Just like his sister’s.

Those eyes landed on your gun, and he stopped, heels grinding the dirt. “M—... Miss?”

“Ensign Goddard,” you replied, offering a sheepish grin. “What…” You dropped your arm, hid the pistol behind your back. “How are you liking Catawba?”

#william tavington #colonel tavington #colonel william tavington #the patriot #jason isaacs #playing soldier #fanfiction problems #champing at the bit to return to my man!!!!!

10 notes · View notes

celosiaceo · 7 months ago

Text

“You Shall Not Murder”

Characters: Leander, Hyacinth (Unnamed MC)

Word count: 3000-4000 words

Tags: blood, descriptions of violence, mild gore, death

Scratching at the muscular hand clasped over their mouth, Hyacinth tried to scream for help, knowing none would come. Dragged down the cold damp stairs by the hair, they stumbled against the grip. Once they tried to bite the strong hand that almost strangled them, Hyacinth got thrown into the opposite wall of the cellar. Leander approached slowly while they heaved for air, coughing as they tried to scrape themself off the floor.

“All bark no bite. For someone with the gall to carve all those spells on my door, you go down easily, Hyacinth.” Leander clapped the dust off his gloves, watching as flakes of dust descended from the walls and onto the fallen priest. “Much too easily. I could humor your audacity again, I had for way too fucking long, but everyone’s patience runs out eventually.” He loomed over Hyacinth’s crumpled figure, his eyes glowing in the shadow of his frame over the orange lamp.

Hyacinth was almost certain they heard a crack or two when their back and shoulder hit the wall, but they were too disoriented to know for certain or feel much pain. At the moment of the collision, their vision snapped to white, and now was blurry while they tried to scoop themself back up.

While making pitiful attempts to return the air knocked out of their lungs, Hyacinth stared up at Leander with half-open eyes. They could only discern the green glow that his eyes emitted even in the darkness, his words only being half intelligible past the ringing in their ears. Hyacinth tried to say something in return, but could only wheeze and let out a choked cough while pushing themself up by the arm.

“You seem just so insistent on fucking up my every plan, squirming in the way like a pathetic goddamn animal. Look at yourself. One kick could end you. And that’d still be overkill.” Leander growled, his expression staying void of emotion despite the clear rage in his voice and how the leather of his gloves stretched over his clenched fists. Hyacinth managed to sit, and were now taking heavy breaths with their chest and shoulders moving in wide frantic motions to cover for their greedy need for air. “Come on. Get up, you little freak. There’s no more miracles left to keep your miserable ass alive.”

Hyacinth stumbled up while leaning their side on the wall. They stared into Leander’s eyes with horrified desperation, clinging onto hope with delusional determination. “You… Blas…phemer…” Hyacinth croaked, wobbling while they tried to stand on their own.

Leander only chuckled. “Best start praying now, priest.” With a firm step forward, he crushed Hyacinth into the wall with his forearm pressing into their chest with his elbow and fist pinning the priest’s arms in place and rendering them immobile. They gasped for air just before Leander’s other hand would clasp around their neck. It’d barely take him any effort to snap Hyacinth’s neck into two if he wanted to, but no, he wanted their death to be slow. He wanted the priest to try to plead to be forgiven for everything they’ve ever done to foil his plans and destroy his ambitions. He wanted to watch life drain from their eyes. But not even this detrimental and thoroughly hopeless situation dissuaded Hyacinth from fighting for their life.

As much as they could, Hyacinth thrashed against the much stronger arms. Tears streamed down their face, the priest was getting dizzy and their limbs felt like they were being stabbed with thousands of invisible needles, their vision blurred into static with colored shapes floating across it. Leander only scrutinized their suffering as if it were an entertaining display, like a spider watching a moth thrash in its net.

“Give up now, priest. Didn’t you yourself say you deserve a slow death? Why’re you struggling?” Leander questioned with venomous amusement. His eyes hadn’t shifted from staring into Hyacinth with an overwhelming power. Hyacinth stared up at the ceiling, tears soaking their face while they kept wriggling beneath Leander’s arms.

“Not by… a sinner’s… hand…” The priest croaked, digging their nails into Leander’s forearm, since that’s as high as their hands could reach. Hyacinth could barely feel their legs while flailing them around as much as possible. Despite not believing that they’ll be saved, Hyacinth tried to fight for their life. Just so the Gods won’t judge them for sinfully becoming willing to give up their life in their last moments.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. And wouldn’t a sinner deserve to die by fellow sinners? Isn’t that what you are? Do you think you’re suddenly better than me? Don’t flatter yourself. We’re cut from the same cloth.” Leander mocked, making Hyacinth’s back sear against the wall as he raised them off the ground by the neck. They cried out, eyes squeezing shut. A tremor broke out throughout Hyacinth’s body, limbs trembling as if they were outside in the middle of a blizzard. The static clouding Hyacinth’s eyesight broke out into stars and flickering specks of white.

“I’m… so… much… weaker” They wheezed, kicking their legs in the air while feverishly gasping against the crushing pressure over their neck.

Leander laughed biliously, otherwise not moving a muscle. “So? It is what it is. The world’s unfair. Woe is you. Are those your last words? Shitty choice.”

“No… chivalry… in killing… the weak… fraud…” Hyacinth prayed to the Gods that Leander’s ego was the right button to push to keep them alive. It was the only button of his that the priest knew, since it was precisely what put Hyacinth in danger with Leander specifically. Everything was going dark, Hyacinth’s whole body felt numb, as if their soul was beginning to depart from their body.

Leander’s expression twitched with anger, his eye gave a dangerous glint. Is this where he tightens his grip and Hyacinth dies to the crunch of their vertebrae?

Suddenly, Leander pulled his hands away and Hyacinth fell back to the moist floor. They coughed for breath violently, ragged breathing desperate to come back to normalcy as their body starved for air, hot blood rushing back to frozen limbs.

“You want this to be a fair game? You know what? Fine. Go ahead. Show me what you’ve got.” He stepped away and stared Hyacinth down with infuriated amusement while parting his arms almost as if to offer an embrace. The glow in his eyes flickered like a prideful flame. Hyacinth figured that by playing with his food Leander could delude himself into feeling charitable.

Hyacinth’s body shook in resemblance of a seizure, but they tried to fight the convulsions to get up. After a minute of silence and hungry breaths, the priest pulled themself with their side leaning against the damn wall. They still couldn’t look into the green eyes, feeling like Leander could devour their soul if they dared to challenge a glance.

“I’m waiting. I have no doubt that you have what it takes to even us out.” He smirked with a smug air around him. Leander’s wide frame stood in the sickly orange light of the lamp now, blocking the only way out of the cellar. Hyacinth had no choice but to try something that’d most likely end up a pathetic display.

Suddenly, the dimming light was snuffed out, undoubtedly by Leander’s magic. Only the two cold emeralds glowed in the dark aside from a few cracks in the ceiling. The air burned through Hyacinth’s lungs while they tried to calm down their raging heartbeat and come up with anything remotely rational as their head was beginning to get swarmed with darker thoughts. The priest could barely think in the first place, frozen in place with only the thoughts of somehow running out of the dark cellar. Hyacinth couldn’t fight Leander if they tried, completely hopeless against the much more muscular man who was also tremendously more versed in the battle-adapted magic than Hyacinth could hope to be.

Was this the end of it, then..? Was this a dead end? Did Hyacinth have no way out of this except maybe making an embarrassing display of themself before embracing death? Were they just buying time for their last prayers before they’d stand before the gods’ Divine Judgement..? On second thought, maybe this was a fitting end for Hyacinth after all, no matter how much they wanted to disagree with Leander. Maybe the priest didn’t deserve a chance to cure themself and absolve their sins as much as that would be possible. Perhaps it was finally time to come to terms with their inevitable death and succumb to the cruel serpent eyes of a blasphemer. For him killing someone so weak, especially an obstacle in his hubristic plans, was nothing. Maybe if Hyacinth gave up, death would come quicker than they deserved.

But then, in a moment of clarity, Hyacinth had a realization. Alas, there was one other option. Leander seemed to fail to notice the ritual knife that was well hidden in the barely visible pockets of Hyacinth’s thick robe. And he couldn’t possibly notice it now in the darkness. Their thoughts began to immediately go to the crude blade that was their ritual knife, and immediately Hyacinth went pale. No. They couldn’t deface the very knife that was forged for them, the knife that they consecrated in extensive rituals with their own blood, the knife that signified their connection with the divine through magic… Murder in itself was one of the greatest sins one could commit, but committing such with a sacred knife? The gods would send them straight to hell for such an insult upon them. If in the past Hyacinth was possessed by rage and never directly got blood on their hands or their knife, but it would all be different this time. This time, they’d be coming to the decision themself, there’d be no one else to blame. Hyacinth gulped, their knees wobbled in terror. A whole life could be used as an incredibly powerful catalyst to a spell, which would turn the killing into an offering to the gods. But would it not be just as insulting to present them with such a rotten soul for their past blessings?

They must’ve begun to space out due to indecisiveness, eyes welling with tears of horror, as Leander angrily sighed and stepped closer. “Well? I’m waiting. Don’t test my patience. Go on or tell me you were wasting my fucking time again.” His voice was firm, his patience was clearly running thin. Hyacinth gasped for air even though they were no longer choked, torn between the priestly urge for a deservedly slow death and the human instinct of self-preservation despite the weight of unabsolved sins on their shoulders. “Useless fucking bastard. All this time you were wasting my time and money, but I kept forgiving you. I was being kind of you and this is how you fucking repay me? Wasting your second chance to make your death less pitiful?” They remained still, breathing faster while contemplating. Hyacinth could die and end up paying for all their sins in hell for the rest of eternity. Or they could persist and live, only to carry such a heavy sin if not an entire insult to the very gods they’re worshiping until they die, and end up with even more sins weighing their soul down into the nether.

“Why’re you even here, huh? You killed someone with that curse of yours and made a run for it not to face the consequences? And what for? Just to stalk and beg the doctor for forgiveness instead of praying to your gods? I bet they’re disappointed in you. One shitty priest you are, Hyacinth.” Sarcasm kept pouring past Leander’s lips with pure venom dripping from his voice. Hyacinth's hands began to shake with anger. He now stood so close that Hyacinth could hear Leander’s breathing.

The glow in his eye flared in a hubristic certainty of their failure. Leander provoked them and, in doing so, felt invincible. He was always the one in power. He always prevailed. He always got what he wanted. He always walked out of the water dry. He was immune to consequence. Immune to guilt. Immune to satiation. Immune to divine punishment.

Hyacinth’s eyes darted up to his, an eldritch rage began to rise like a flood of fire in the yellow-red eyes. Leander further opened his arms while a near demonic grin twisted his lips, the expression for once reaching his eyes.

“О Пресвятые ангелы, О великие Боги, О Богоматерь, я надеюсь ВЫ сможете простить мой грех…”

“Saying your last prayers? Good. Let’s get this shit over with, you’ve taken up enough of my precious time with your nuisance of an existence—”

The thick high-quality fabric of Leander’s shirt bloomed with blood as it got pierced by the crude, almost dull ritual knife. It blindly squirmed through the muscular with a struggle, but Hyacinth barely felt the strain on their bony arms now. Leander’s eyes for once widened with shock, a pained cry ripping its way out of his throat.

“What— what the fuck are you doing—” Leander growled and swung an arm at Hyacinth in the dark, only for them to lunge just beneath the hit and rip the knife out of his stomach. Leander inhaled sharply, staring at Hyacinth’s silhouette with disbelief and shock, except this time their eyes mirrored the prior blankness of his instead of the typical fear. Just as he stepped back and gripped at the bleeding wound, Hyacinth swung from below and into his shoulder, the momentum easing the blade in just below his collarbone. Leander keeled over as Hyacinth wriggled the blade out, his breathing choked when he began to frantically cough for air. His glowing emerald eyes acted as beacons, not letting Hyacinth lose their target. Leander made clumsy attempts to knock Hyacinth off, but the darkness aided the priest in avoiding most of his attempts even in the narrow space. “What the fuck has gotten into you?” Leander mumbled in irritation laced with fear and stumbled back, only to trip over the stairs and fall over the cold stone. Hyacinth stood over him, silent. The priest’s grip on the knife whitened their knuckles while their face was tense in blank rage. Like the day their curse was revealed, an incomprehensibly deep fury took over their whole entire conscious being.

Just as the first hints of blood sprouted onto Leander’s lips, Hyacinth fell over him, stabbing the knife into his chest. He gripped their throat again. “You can’t kill me.” He croaked, and tightened his grip over the priest’s neck. Hyacinth coughed and heaved, struggling with pulling the knife out again. Once the metal parted room his skin, Leander made a hurt bloodied wheeze, and put all their effort into stabbing his arm instead.

“Молчать, богохульник.” Hyacinth mumbled against Leander’s scream, their voice devoid of its usual stutter and quietness. Blood spilled like a fountain from his pierced arm, spraying most of their face with the crimson that matched Hyacinth’s robe. Leander, blinded with pain, writhed and attempted to punch them again or kick his legs and get them off, now dizzied with blood loss, only for Hyacinth to take the weakened punches and not reduce their violent vigour at all, the pain not registering. They stabbed into Leander’s chest, the knife nestled somewhere below his collarbone.

Leander’s eyes became hazy, the absinthe greenness infusing with death like with dissolved sugar. The spark of the emeralds began to fade out in its entirety, the ubiquitous glow of the poisonous orbs was dying out. And Leander himself felt it too. “Please… we can… talk…” Leander coughed, only more blood dripping down his chin while he tied to collect himself. Hyacinth ignored his pleas and kept stomping out the fire by planting more and more stab wounds into Leander’s chest over and over, until they couldn’t feel their arms. By then the begging and foolish self-preservation attempts and any noise from the mage had long died out, but the light of the lamp slowly came to life again, only to reveal Leander’s lifeless body.

Hyacinth stood up at long last, their posture somewhat shaky from exhaustion. Their shoulders rose and fell with ferally deep breathing. Hyacinth’s knife, robes, arms and face were all soaked with Leander’s blood. The puddle of dark red flowed over the cellar's wooden floor from under the body. The soles of the priest’s wooden sandals became submerged into it too, and yet all Hyacinth could do was stare. Observe the lifeless mangled body of the blasphemer with his eyes glassy like tumbled gems, but never truly take it in. Their yellow-red eyes seemed dull, blank, dead like Leander’s despite the seething rage that was still somewhat searing their flesh from the inside.

Reaching into their robes, Hyacinth got out a small crude wooden tablet, and carved a sigil into it — a dianthus, a baptisia, a hyacinth and a lily within an 8-pointed star. The scratches in the wood were laced with the red, an offering to the Gods. After engraving the divine forgiveness and protection spell into the wood with reddened lines, the priest dipped the tablet into the blood, the lines of the engraving soon getting filled with the vital catalyst. After wiping off the excess blood, Hyacinth stuck the tablet back into their pocket along with the knife, and stepped over the limp corpse to get out of the basement. Hyacinth’s expression didn’t even twitch all the while like it was an unpainted mask, which depicted neither the outrageous tragedy of the murder nor the gleeful comedy of the weak winning against the strong despite all odds.

The priest took off their sandals after making their way up the stairs, now they were in the back room of the Wick. The party was still loud, Hyacinth could hear the music and laughter even louder now than before. Without a second thought, they slipped out of the tavern through the back door. The priest washed the blood off the soles of their shoes in a puddle and slid the sandals on again, deciding not to do anything about the soaked robes since blood stopped dripping off of them. Hyacinth quickly wiped their face, the feeling of dried blood cracking over their skin reminding them of its presence. The small alley in front of them split off, a distant turn to the left just before the alley’s dead end, and a nearer turn to the right. Hyacinth didn’t particularly care where to go, all they knew was that the stench of alcohol was making them sick, as was the smell of rust all over them, so they needed to leave.

[Head for the closer turn]

[Head for the further turn]

#leander touchstarved #hyacinth oc #touchstarved mc #touchstarved fic #cw blood #cw death #cw mild gore #Leander’s birthday gift is getting brutally murdered by an angry religious twig<3 #leanderposting #hyacinthposting #touchstarvedgame #touchstarved game #touchstarved leander #uh yeah we’ll ignore how this is my wip from like November …#happy birthday to my bitchass girlfriend Leander<333 #this is part of a bigger project i have:333 teehee hopefully my adhd wont act up against it…#am back to posting something..!

25 notes · View notes

fishyizm · 6 months ago

Text

getting nuis and nesos from japan

from a guy that looks at listings as a hobby and owns a few nuis

this post is mostly about project sekai since i see alot about how people don't really know much about merch from japan and looking at this stuff is kinda my hobby lol

getting stuff from japan is pretty good since its wayy cheaper, especially right now since yen to usd is really low rn (unsure about other countries currency sorry) usually prsk stuff is scalped to the point where its better to get it from japan even with the proxy fee lmao (the price for wanting merch for something popular)

getting merch from japan is actually really easy through proxy services, which will order things for you in japan and then ship them to you in the country you reside. i use mercari (a secondhand market) through buyee but there are other proxy services too, you should probably do some digging to find out which ones best for shipping to your country and area. i like buyee but it only takes foreign paypals so that can be a downside

if you want to find merch for a specific character i reccomend looking up how the chracters name is spelled in kanji/however its spelled in game (the spellings are usually on the wiki in the character info panel, you can also get them in game but its easier to copy paste) you can look it up in english but you might get prices aimed at american audiences and machine translation is famously terrible with names. if youre looking for merch from a less popular thing then you can look up the thing's name but thingsll usually be listed under character names

once you have the name you can put ぬい (nui, plush) or ねそべり(nesoberi, those laying down ones.) there are probably other kinds but these are the ones i look into lol

if you want fast results you can go to the recommended tab in the top right but if you have the time i reccomend sorting by lowest price and digging through untill you find what you want, whichll probably give you the best price

for project sekai specifically if you want cheap plushes be a fan of leoni, momojan, or anhane lol popular character merch is anywhere from 1.5x to 3x more expensive than unpopular characters. even so itll be less expensive than english ebay lol. under the cut i have the usual pricing ive seen for prsk plushes but it all depends since mercari is basically japanese ebay, so this is only for old merch and crane game prizes. if you want more recent merch im sure theres people who buy lots and resell, i dont have any reccomendations for project sekai but i know @/enstarsgoods on twitter does this for enstars

(rant i did on this post's tags about nui pricing) [the chibi eye nuis r anywhere from 600¥ ($4) to 2000¥ ($14) depending on if its a guy/niigo or not (lmao) and nesos get up to 7000¥ ($45) (for guys) (i saw some of the girl ones listed around 4000¥ [$26]) and nesos arent listed (as) often. idk anything about the dot eye nuis and nuigarumis since i dont like how they look (lol)

keep in mind that these r resales so theyre a bit more expensive than if u just ordered one when they were in stock like nesos r originally only ¥2750 ($18) but r scalped to hell especially on english ebay]

on top of the price for the goods youll buy you also have to pay japan shipping (usually this is included but sometimes it isnt, it is on every listing if this is the case or not as well as the price) as well as a conversion fee per item which isnt much (i got away with 900¥ ($6) in total for 5 items) and shipping from japan to your country (for me it was ¥2300 [15] but i live in a very easy place to ship to so it may cost more for you) this is about the same as ebay shipping cost wise (for me at least)

i dont really know what people do with their project sekai nuis (except blend?? burn?? milk copypasta irl..) but with enstars people usually put cute clips in their hair and blush them which is super cute. people also make nui costumes that you can buy. you can search ぬい服 (nui clothes) and usually put the type of nui you have's origin/size (since they can be different demensions) people don't make them for project sekai nuis but im sure there are outfits available in that size/patterns around somewhere

#sorry im mentally ill about this stuff and i see so many people not know ehere to get it esp prsk fans #or they get it off of ebay or etsy and theyre so expensive.. 30 dollars for a 8cm guy holy shit #i got my chiaki enstars nui for $30.. theyre like $70 on ebay #if anything is misspelled or off please lmk #spaced out for easy(ish) reading #i cant tell if things are bold but i did it anyways incase it helps #id put images but im not buying anything currently adn i think its fine without them #i dont know how to tag this ouu #project sekai #ensemble stars #prsk #pjsk #enstars #long post #anyways if anyone has any questions im happy to answer

23 notes · View notes

handsome-john · 6 months ago

Text

Color in Your Cheeks

Hi, this is some writing I didn't feel like putting up on my ao3 because it's for all intents and purposes its OC work. (I mean both of these characters are named on the SCP wiki for one line each, and then I abstracted a bunch of stuff about them from canon adjacent material)

Uh, this is about 4000 words, under the cut.

About two hours ago Alicja’s radio stopped picking up any signals, only getting a few staticky hisses when she felt like fiddling with the dials. One hour ago the road went from concrete to dirt, and to a few barely defined tracks in the dirt. On all sides she's surrounded by dense trees and underbrush. Were she a touch more sensible, she'd be concerned putting herself so far from where anyone could reach her.

Rocks and sticks grind under her tires, sending her on a very bumpy ride. She may already be at her destination if she didn't fear exceeding ten miles per hour. She’s always been cautious about reckless driving ever since she lost her brother. If just to have something to fill the silence, she flips on her recorder to get some of her thoughts down.

“I am Alicja Kondraki, and this is week fourteen, I believe, of my road trip across the country.” She pauses to readjust the map she has laid out in the passenger’s seat. “Hopefully I'll be reaching my destination soon. I've heard tell that this place is haunted by some sort of creature. That's cool! I love hearing about local creatures.”

Finally, she spots her first sign of people. She passes a few rickety houses, with people lounging on their porches or inside. And just like that, the forest folds open to reveal a whole town tucked inside. A small podunk community she finds herself eager to explore.

Her car comes to a halt off the side of the road, it'll be easier to make her way around on foot anyway. In her bag she double checks she has all of her important items. A water bottle, a notepad, her recorder, and of course a pocket knife and bottle of mace. Not that she expects anything from what she's sure are lovely folks, but she's been doing this job long enough to plan ahead.

Slinging her bag around her shoulders and making sure to hang her camera around her neck, Alicja steps out. Her track boots dig into the dirt. It's hot out, around mid noon, the smell of wood smoke wafts through the air. She runs her fingers through her short hair and puts on her green flatback.

She feels eyes follow her. Another thing she expected. There's not a chance she'd pass as a local in these parts. Taking a moment to look herself over in her side view mirror. She wants to give herself a messier look, someone unprofessional, someone you'd feel comfortable walking up to and sharing your thoughts with.

There's a man sitting on a lawn chair outside of a grocery store. He's wearing sunglasses, but she can tell his eyes are on her. She approaches, from an angle so it doesn't look like she's walking straight towards him.

“Hello!” She says. The lights buzz, a long low drone, and little bugs tap, tap, tap against the glass. He regards her with a neutral expression. “My name is Alicja Kondraki. I'm a reporter from out of town. You may have heard of me from the news or from my radio show.”

“We don't get the radio out here,” he says, voice thick. Alicja squints, sunlight reflecting right off the window into her eyes.

“Well I heard rumors that you've had some local cryptid sightings! Made enough of a splash I heard about it from three towns over.” She laughs, hoping to come off as playful. His expression remains the same.

“This’d be the place, ‘ay,” he says with a curt nod.

“Would you care to give a statement for my report?” She pulls out a pen and pad.

All at once, he stiffens, sitting up straight with his teeth clenched. Instinctively, Alicja stiffens up too, ready to defend herself should it come to that.

“Now don't go believin’ that I'm out here believin’ in that hoodoo monster bullshit,” The chair creaks as he leans in to snap at her. “And I ain't about to let you paint me a crackpot fool!”

The store’s front door opens with a soft bell chime. Out steps an older woman with gray streaks in her hair holding a broom. She prods at the man with the bristles.

“Marion if you don’t shut yer damn trap imma hit you!” Her gaze lands on Alicja and softens. “Oh my! Now I don't think I know you!”

“I’m from out of town,” Alicja says, mouth suddenly dry.

“Well why don’t you come on in! I’ll get you some ice tea!” She holds the door open.

The mechanical buzzing is even louder inside of the store. Alicja would prefer to get out there and get a few different statements before she loses daylight, but she’s not one to deny an ice cold drink on a day like today. Marion huffs as the door closes behind her.

“Have a seat, sweetheart! I’ll be right with you!” the older woman, Henritte according to her name tag, disappears into a room labeled Employees Only. She returns moments later with a pitcher and two glasses of ice.

“Thank you so much!” Nothing like southern hospitality to make a road trip worth it.

“Now did I hear correctly that you were a reporter?”

“I am a reporter! I was hoping to do a report on your Blackwoods Beast as I’ve heard it called?”

Henritte clasps her hands together. “Oh this is so exciting! We call it that because it only shows up when the woods are pitch black,” she says in a low tone. “You know I had a run in with the beast once!”

“Is that so? Would you like to tell your story for my report?” Alicja asks, brandishing her recorder.

“Would I?!” Henritte exclaims, perhaps a little too eagerly. Alicja clicks the record button. “It was the middle of the night, when I heard this rustling in the backyard. And there I see it! Hunched over my garbage! It looked at me with the biggest glowing eyes I’ve ever seen!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a bear?”

“No! It stood up right and walked like a man! Ran off when it saw me watching too!”

A vagrant then, Alicja thinks, but decides not to say. People tend to tell better stories when you don’t try to pick too many holes in them.

“Everyone in this town has seen the beast stalking our streets or in the woods! Yet no one’s had the guts yet to confront it directly, lest it eat them!”

Alicja nods. “Do you have any reports of people getting attacked or hurt by the beast?”

“Penny next door claims she got into a fight with it! Barely escaped with her life!”

This is how Alicja finds herself practically led by the arm to every person in town with even a vague recollection of the beast. A lot of excitable folks looking to find their name in the next issue of the paper, and a lot of stories that are most certainly made up on the spot. It’s about par for the course when it comes to projects like this.

“I really appreciate how much you’ve shown me around today,” Alcija says, “but I’m looking for somewhere I can stay the night?”

“My dearest Ava will let you rent out a room for the night!” Replies Henritte, pointing towards an older looking two story house. “Let me introduce you!”

Henritte marches Alicja boldly into the old house. Past the threshold Alicja is immediately hit in the face by how cold it is in here, and by the sweet smell of tea and baked goods. In the back of her mind she recalls a horror story of a man who checks into a suspiciously cheap yet very nice hotel and is poisoned and taxidermied by the kind looking owner.

“Can I help you?” Alicja jumps, noticing now the older woman sitting in a rocking chair beside her. She opens her mouth, ready to rattle off her name, profession, why she’s here-

“This is my friend Kondraki! She’d like to rent a room for a few nights,” Henritte says, squeezing Alicja’s arm.

“Just two nights actually, I can pay upfront.”

“Go ahead and sign your name in the guestbook.” The old woman, Ava Alicja presumes, points to a gilded notebook sitting on a coffee table. Alicja, curious as she is, flips through the other pages for recognizable names before writing her own. “Twenty dollars for the two nights.”

“That’s really cheap for a place like this,” she says, pulling out a wrinkled twenty.

“Your room is on the third floor, bathroom is across the hall, try not to make too much noise,” Ava drones on, long and slow.

“Alright, well thank you very much! I’ll try to be considerate.” Alicja makes her way upstairs, leaving the two women behind. She shrugs off her bag, makes of pile of her stuff in the corner of the bedroom, and lays down on the little bed pushed up in the corner.

After gathering info from the locals, Alicja’s next step was, of course, finding this beast herself. She likes to consider herself a very prepared woman, she keeps a shotgun in the back of her truck as the ultimate just in case. Still, after getting some rest, she finds herself popping into the local hardware store for extra flashlight batteries and a box of shotgun shells, should it really come to that.

“Don’t I know yer face from somewhere?” Asks the man behind the counter as Alicja sets down her items. Freddie, the smudge on his nametag reads.

“I’m a reporter,” Alicja says.

Freddie snaps his fingers. “I seen you in the papers! Y’know it’s the darndest thing, I grab my paper every morning but it dog gone disappears before I can read it!”

Do you think the beast is stealing your papers? She wants to joke, but she has some restraint. “I hope you find where they are,” she says instead, taking and pocketing her stuff. “Have a nice night!”

“Now you stay safe out there!”

…

It’s exactly a quarter past midnight when Alicja steps out of her room and into the night. She waits until she’s outside to slip on her boots, so as to not make too much noise. She pulls her jacket tightly around herself to keep the chill away from her.

When she first explained her plans to her boss, the biggest question she got was why. She, through her own wit and determination, made a name for herself in a line of work that didn’t favor women like her. Why does she care about these stories? Why waste the time on a risky venture? Why even bother when she was doing just fine where she was? Now, she wishes she could’ve explained that this is why she had to do this, had to put herself in places no one else would.

With a thunk, her trunk pops open and she draws out her shotgun. Last resort, she reminds herself as she gets the feel for it in her hands.

“This is Alicja Kondraki,” she says into her recorder. “About to begin my field report. Should this recording be recovered and myself not, I request that this recorder and all my writings be sent back to my boss. The shipping address is-”

Something big crunches behind her. She jumps, finger slipping and ending her recording. A bit early in the night to get so jumpy…

With some tape, she fumbles from several minutes in the dark trying to tape her flashlight to her shotgun. It’s something she’s seen in her hunting TV shows and it seems useful to try tonight. Her flashlight adds too much weight to the end of her shotgun for her to hold it out comfortably, but she’s determined to stick with it.

They weren’t kidding when they called this the Blackwoods, even with her flashlight it’s hard to see what’s in front of her with how thick the trees are. A cold wind blows through the trees, it sounds like a howl. The distinct smell of an animal den wafts through the hair, telling her to change direction. Alicja twists her ankle tripping over the thick tree roots and faceplants into the ground. She tugs her jacket tighter around herself and carries on.

There’s shoe prints in the mud, she almost didn’t notice them. She lifts up her own foot to double check that these tracks aren’t her own. Nope, the pattern is different, there’s another person here in the woods with her. She could follow where the footprints are going, but she decides instead to follow where they came from.

It’s a long walk. One of those many moments where she wishes she had her brother by her side in this. Alas, she’s been by herself for quite some time now.

Without fanfare, a shack appears. There’s no way Alicja would have found this place by pure happenstance, she’s not even sure which direction she came from. She circles it a few times, noting how every window is boarded up and the sharp spikes buried in the ground around it. It’s completely pitch black, but in the quiet of the night Alicja can hear the buzz of a generator.

She gets a few pictures, once again struggling with both the flashlight and the camera. She hops over the spikes and ascends the porch steps. There’s fresh dirt on the wooden steps. She presses her ear against the door, picking up a shuffling noise inside. Taking a deep breath, she knocks on the door.

All noise stops. Alicja clears her throat.

“Hello! Sorry to bother you at this hour! I’m a reporter from out of town!”

Nothing.

“My name is Alicja K-kondraki. I’d like to ask you a few questions?”

Nothing. Had she misheard? Was she shouting at an abandoned building? Should she-

“You should go away!” Comes a muffled voice from the other side. “Don’t come back here. Forget you ever found this place!”

“I want to ask some questions for the paper. I’m writing about strange occurrences in-”

“I don’t want to answer questions! Go away!”

Alicja takes a step back and digs through her backpack. She draws out one of her old published papers, being one of those people who keeps a record of everything she’s ever made.

“I’m serious. Look, this is me.” She slides the paper under the doorway and waits.

After a few moments she hears the telltale sound of several locks clicking. The door opens a crack, still held shut by a few chains, and Alicja can see a hint of reddish orange light inside and an eye.

“Let me see your face,” says the stranger on the other end.

“Oh uh…” Alicja rips her flashlight off her gun, tossing the gun out of her reach so she won’t seem so threatening. She points the light at her face and tries to give a kind smile.

The door slams in her face, followed by several more clicks as all the chains come undone. When the door opens a hand shoots out, gripping Alicja by her jacket collar and dragging her in. In thirty seconds, the shack’s resident redoes every lock.

The shack itself is reminiscent of those homes Alicja sees in Hoarders. There’s barely any visible floor among all the newspapers and garbage. It’s surprisingly warm in here, the room is illuminated by a single lamp. Hanging on the wall is a pinboard absolutely covered in newspaper clippings and red string. Alicja takes a big step over some junk to get a better look at the wall, recognizing some of her own writings.

“You’re alone right? No one followed you?” Alicja’s host asks, pressing her back flat against the door.

She can’t be that much younger than Alicja herself. Running past her shoulders is long brown-ish hair filled with twigs and rat’s nests and tin foil is wrapped around her forehead. The coat she’s wearing is so thick Alicja sweats just from looking at it, and she wears the thickest bottlecap glasses Alicja has ever seen. There’s a single crack across the right lens.

“I’ve heard your voice on the radio, it really is you.” Alicja spots a radio on a windowsill, disorganized wires spilling out of it. The first radio she’s seen since she’s got here.

“I’m sure I’m alone. Can I ask you a few questions?” Alicja pulls out her recorder and it immediately disappears.

“You’re recording!” She shouts, holding up Alicja’s recorder. The look in this stranger’s eyes reminds Alicja of a frightened predator and she reconsiders the situation she’s put herself in.

“No! No see, it's off! Look!” She points to the little LED that lights up when it’s on. “I was going to ask if I could record. For my paper?” Alicja holds her hand out, afraid that her precious recorder is about to get destroyed.

“No recording! No one can know I’m here! No pictures either!” She says, pointing a shaky finger at Alicja’s camera. Alicja brings her arms up to cover it.

“I can remove the batteries if you want. I won’t do anything against your will.”

“I’ll remove the batteries.” She pushes past Alicja and grabs a screwdriver from her desk, crudely disassembling Alicja’s recorder. Hesitantly, she returns it to Alicja who pockets it.

“Alright. Alright,” Alicja says, feeling oddly winded. She takes out her notepad and pen. “Can I get your name?”

“No! Don’t write my name down!”

“That’s alright, hey! I can do this anonymously if you want, I don’t have to put your name on anything, okay?” Alicja raises her hands in defense. “Can I at least have your name so I can call you something?”

Alicja’s host awkwardly shifts on her heels. “Jessie.”

“Alright Jessie. Why don’t we sit down? Do you mind if I touch this?” Alicja nudges a pile of papers on a stool, on top of the stack is a plastic keychain of a UFO. Jessie shakes her head and Alicja sets it all down onto the floor.

“I’ll stand,” Jessie says, eyeing her wearily. While certainly concerned that Jessie looks like she might just fall over, Alicja doesn’t say anything.

“Alright. I’m going to ask my questions now, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Are you familiar with the Blackwoods Beast that’s said to reside around here?”

Jessie’s expression twists into what Alicja can only describe as bashful. “Yes.”

“... any elaboration on that?”

She lets out a shaky breath. “It’s not what the people of this town should be afraid of. I thought it would be enough to keep people away.”

“What is it that you think people should be afraid of?”

The floorboards creak. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Alright. How long have you been living out here alone?”

“I’ve been here for five years, but I’ve been alone for much longer.”

“How come?”

Jessie bites her lip and Alicja wonders how much useful information she’s actually going to get out of a paranoid hermit.

“I’ll tell you my story but you have to promise that none of this will be tracked back to me. I can’t risk that.”

“Oh? If you’re involved in something illegal I can promi-”

“No, no!” Jessie waves her hands in the hair, making a crossing motion. “There’s people who I know would recognize m-” her head suddenly jerks towards the window. Alicja tries to follow Jessie’s gaze, listening in for any sort of noise.

“Have you ever heard of Zach Callahan?” Jessie whispers conspiratorially, looking everywhere but Alicja.

“No? Who’s that?”

Jessie lets out the heaviest sigh of relief, resting her hand on her heart. “Alright. Thank God. I used to live with my brother, back in… we were both artists but he did most of the work keeping us… housed I guess. And while I was living with him there’s the name I kept hearing. Everyone I knew grew up with or went to school with someone named Zach Callahan!”

Jessie gestures to her pinboard, as if any of these contextless newspaper clippings mean anything to Alicja. She recognizes what looks like a few large schools, and some abandoned buildings, and the several companies that seem to have no connection. What could Spicy Crust Pizza, Sasha’s Cleaning Products, Sunny’s Cream-filled Pastries, and S&C Plastics possibly have in common?

“I was onto something! I know I was onto something because of this!” She pulls out a newspaper and pushes it into Alicja’s face. EXPLOSION IN ART GALLERY! “I was in there when this happened! Only the room I was in collapsed! Someone, he, knew I was onto him and tried to take me out!”

It feels like she should be writing something down right now, but what? She’s met her fair share and conspiracy lunatics, and she’s yet to find the perfect format to work with them.

“And then what happened?”

Jessie swallows thickly. “Well, I knew they were after me, and I knew they’d keep coming after me. I didn’t want to put my brother or my friends in danger, so I disappeared. Until I ended up here.” She makes a vague sort of gesture with her hands. “I don’t know where my brother is now, I hope he’s safe though. I’m telling you all this because I’ve read your work, I know you understand that things aren’t what they seem out here.”

Unsure how to respond, Alicja nods. Her hand trembles ever so slightly as she makes a note. “You haven’t tried to contact him?”

“Don’t know where he is. Can’t risk it either, don’t want to lead anyone to him, or to me. Especially now that I can’t move around so much.” Sadness seeps into her voice. “Besides, it’s been so long, I’d just be reopening old wounds.”

Alicja offers a gentle kind of smile. As a journalist, she tries very hard not to let too much of her personal feelings bleed into the facts, but she feels comfortable being open with Jessie.

“You know I used to have a brother. This whole thing I’ve been doing, finding stories like yours, was really his idea. He loved travel and photography, and together we had this dream of running a paper together.” Jessie gives her an odd yet intrigued look. “Then of course, during college he dropped out and I lost contact with him. Next I hear, he’s dead in a car wreck. I don’t even get a body to bury. Sometimes I think I might find him out there, somewhere in these stories I’ve been writing.”

She coughs into her fist, swallowing down her emotion.

“My point is, that your brother probably wants to hear from you, even if it’s been so long.”

Jessie shakes her head. “It’s not the same, there’s too much risk.”

“You don’t think he can help you?”

“He never did believe in what I told him. There’s nothing he can do for me, and I won’t do that to him. I’m probably putting you in danger too by telling you all of this.”

“It’s alright, none of this has to make it into my report if you don’t want.” Alicja stands up, gently placing her hand on Jessie’s shoulder.

“I wish that I knew if he’s doing alright.”

“I wish so too. Hey! You say he’s an artist, if you give me a name maybe I can look him up and report back to you!”

Confusion and hope fill Jessie’s eyes. “How would you contact me?”

“I’ll write a column on notable artists, get it published. You’ll find it in the papers.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course!” A pause. “Can I ask you one more thing? Before I leave you here.”

“What is it?”

“You’ve mentioned something else in these woods. Something you believe the people should be afraid of and prevents you from leaving. Would you mind explaining what you think that is?”

Jessie’s expression drops. She pulls off her cartoonish glasses to wipe them on her shirt. “It would be easier if I showed you.” She bends down, reaches under her cot, and pulls out what Alicja distinctly recognizes as a flamethrower. “You might want your flashlight, and your shotgun.”

A step behind her, Alicja follows Jessie around the shack. Sticks and brush crunch underfoot. Alicja keeps the light as steady as she can.

About thirty, maybe forty feet away from the shack, Jessie holds out her arm to stop Alicja. She points, and there, bright red against the blacks and browns and greens, crawling across the ground and plant life like veins, are thorny roots.

“I found this infection when I first came here, it wasn’t a fraction of this size then. It’s been growling towards the town.” Jessie pulls the trigger and flames burst out. Alicja has to cover her ears as a scream echoes through the woods. “I keep trying to push it back, but it’s faster than me. Sometimes I see groups of animals traveling in packs, all of them moving unnaturally and in unison, their eyes red.”

Alicja uncovers her face. “Why don’t you tell people about this? Warn them if you’re so worried about this.”

Jessie regards Alicja with a cold look. “Tell me, do you truly believe every word I’ve told you tonight?”

“I believe that some of what you’ve told me is true.” Alicja wants to make some sort of defense for herself, about how she’s a journalist so obviously has to take every statement with a grain of salt, like she has to explain herself like that to someone who’s still a total stranger.

“It wouldn’t do the people of this town any good. They won’t care until it’s impossible to ignore. All I can hope to do is keep it back before it has to come to that.” Her feet stay planted on the ground and Jessie starts up the fire again. She lifts up her camera, getting the perfect shot of Jessie illuminated only by the flames.

“Thank you for your statement, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“Here,” Jessie says, placing Alicja’s batteries into her hands, “My brother’s name is Joseph Tamlin, if you do actually want to look him up for me.”

“I will!”

The barest hint of sunlight is peeking over the horizon by the time Alicja makes it back to her car. She drops all her stuff in the passenger’s seat and reassembles her recorder.

She flips through her limited notes, unsure what to do with them. What is she supposed to write for her report? That the Blackwoods Beast is just a lonely woman? Is she supposed to lie and say that she found nothing in her investigation? Should she tell someone about the infection in the woods?

Joseph Tamlin. Scribbled hastily at the bottom of the page. Perhaps Jessie has offered her a better story instead.

#scp foundation #alicja kondraki #jessie tamlin #dr kondraki #<- he's mentioned I'd guess #dr hive #my writing

15 notes · View notes