#oc: Dust-Hare

[jockmewalking]

girl is soooo flustered becuz of xem <3

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Snowed In

Okay. Seeing as I have been spamming you guys with the new AU. I think it is time for a little treat :3

Ever wondered how the Gang and the Danielle's became such good friends?

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

edit: damnit I forgot to summon you! @spotaus

*---------------------*

Horror watches as Cross looks into the chimney "any luck so far Dust?"

Some clanks and curses "No."

That isn't good.

Horror had never been in the AU for as long as now. And never in the winter months.

He hadn't known that a blizzard could hit out of nowhere.

They had been snowed in very quickly and most electricity had shorted out.

Which honestly wouldn't have been that big of a deal if it hadn't been for their chimney getting clogged with debris. Meaning they couldn't start a fire and risk getting their house smoked out, or worse actually burned down.

Dust had climbed up it to see if he could fix it but he hadn't had much luck. aparently it was really stuck and Dust only had so much room to move around in up there. and if he used too much force it could cause damage.

Horror was fine, he is used to the cold. Same for Dust. Cross is trained and could manage as well. Killer already runs a lot hotter thanks to his strange soul situation and overwarm mana.

Nightmare however?

Horror walks over to the nest and pulls a blanket up slightly. The little made den only holds Killer nad Nightmare at the moment, Killer's soul lighting up the tiny hiding place.

Horror looks at the two as he tries to appear calm even if he feels so afraid and worried "and?"

Killer is rubbing Nightmare through the extra blanket they have him wrapped in. Killer shoots him an anxious look "He is very out of it. I didn't think the cold would be this bad for him."

Horror frowns and mutters "fragile magic." not only that but he is also a tree spirit who was originally form an AU where it was always spring or summer time, or some curious combination of the two. Nightmare was literally not made to deal with winter.

Killer frowns as he tries to share the body heat he has. Nightmare mumbles some words and opens his sockets. looking exhausted.

Killer however looks excited "Hey there tiny boss! How are you feeling?"

Nightmare frowns and looks confused before muttering an reply "tired..."

Killer frowns "Yeah i get thtat. just stay awake for a bit longer okay?"

Nightmare mutters unhappily as he shivers. Nightmare pushes himself close to Killer and Killer locks both his arms around him again as he stares at him "please tell me dust almost got it fixed?"

Horror sighs and shakes his skull. It isn't fixed. and that is the issue.

Killer looks afraid as he looks down at Nightmare "Maybe... maybe we need to make another jump? To a warmer AU at least? Get him to warm up?"

Horror agrees but also the idea of Nightmare making a dimension jump now? while he is already fragile? Horror is afraid it will just make things worse and-

Knocking on the door.

Killer looks up and stares "who the fuck visits people in a blizzard?"

horror frowns and shoots Killer a smile "I will check." he rises to his feet after tugging the blanket in again as he makes his way towards the door. Cross is by his side and looking at it with distrust.

Horror opens the door a tiny bit and stares in shock.

Dani stands on their porch. Dressed in some winter clothes but it looks more like she is dressed for a day of snow fun in the park over standing in a blizzard.

Dani notices he opened the door and grins "Snow carepackage delivery! What you needing?"

horror doens't have the words but luckily Cross does "what the fuck?"

Dani grins as she points a thumb over her shoulder towards the drive way "special snowday delivery."

Horror looks over and sees a very old off road truck standing on their porch. The tires are halfway deflated but gigantic and horror can spot the silvery chains all over them.

Dani must see the confusion and sighs something in the air and Horror can see Ellie give a sigh back.

The truck turns off and Ellie climbs out and towards the loading area of the truck and starts searching through stuff.

Dani steps into their house and clsoes the door before she frowns "fuck it is cold in here. What is wrong?"

Horror is once again all out of words as Cross mutters "chimney got something stuck in it. Dust is trying to fix it but... well... we hadn't finished isolating the whole house..."

Dani nods as she grabs a very old walky talky from her belt. she turns it on and speaks "Dani to Ellie. over."

a moment of silence before crackling "Ellie to Dani, hearing you loud and clear. over!" there are clear sounds of wind on the other side.

Dani grins "Dani to Ellie. We will need tools and blankets. any spare winter clothes is also a must. Over."

a moment before an answer "Heard you loud and clear! Getting it all ready! over and out!"

And Dani puts the walky talky back to her belt before she answers "Each year winter hits hard here. the first year we got here we noticed this and started going around to check on our neighbors. Gerson especially when he still lived here. We kept the habit up." she looks around "anything else you need?"

horror shakes his skull "Nothing really. Just too cold for Nightmare." and didn't that just feel like a failure? To not have been prepared.

Dani nods "You still got enough wood for when the chimney works fine?"

Cross nods "We should."

Dani looks relieved "okay that is good. Lets check to make sure it is all dry while Ellie grabs the stuff."

Dani lets Cross lead her to their wood storage as Horror quickly updates Dust and Killer. both voice their surprise about the sudden visit but one shiver of nightmare and neither say much more on it.

Neither likes to be in debt to others but if it is for their babybones? Yeah. Horror gets it.

Some nkocking on the door and Horror rushes to open it.

Ellie looks even less dressed for the snow as she just stands there with a warm sweater, snowpants, snowboots, a scarf and some earmuffs. She walks in but before she fully steps in she hits her boots together and against the outside doorpost to kick off the snow.

Now that he thinks about it Dani did the same.

Ellie walks in and grins "okay! Winter jacket and sweater. air tight and water proof." she holds it up "Probably a good idea for your kid. Kids always have trouble regulating their heat." she she hands it over.

Horror quickly leads her and all her stuff next to the nest where he raises the blanket again. He shows the jacket and Killer snatches it quickly to wrap Nightmare completely in it.

Ellie next holds up a very large woolen blanket and a fleece blanket. She holds up the woolen one first "This one first. all around him. Then wrap the fleece blanket around that." Horror does as told as Ellie continues to speak.

"What we are doing. As long as there is no outside heat. is trying to form an isolation for him so his own body heat can warm him up. We found that these things work very well."

They end up having nightmare all wrapped up and back in killer's arms before putting another fleece blanket on top of the blanket already covering them.

Ellie shows some thermo clothes next for them to wear and stay warm but Horror mentions they are mostly fine. As long as they stay out of the wind and snow that is. Ellie accepts it and puts it on the pile to take back to their truck.

Dani and cross reappear from their wood pile "Looks fine. you guys also still have enough fire starters so you should be golden. oh nice you brought the tools!" Dani checks the stuff and pulls out a mallet and some rope before going to go towards the chimney and start talking with dust.

Cross stares at Ellie "what?"

ellie smiles as she waits for her wife to finish "We do this yearly. Dani and I are made for the cold. She being a malamute dog monster and I am actually a snowshoe hare. Not exactly bunny but I don't mind being called a bunny monster." she shrugs with a grin. "When the first blizzard hit it meant that we were both excited and went for a walk in the snow together. it was great to be in these temperatures again."

she frowns "As we were walking we realised we didn't see smoke come from the direction of one of our neighbors. where we grew up you just kinda relied on each other in the cold months. You kept an eye on your neighbors and if they lit their fires on time. We decided to check it out and found out that one of them had gotten surprised by the cold and the the house's heating had gotten damaged."

Ellie waves off the worry "Everything was fine in the end. we helped our neighbor back to our house and let him stay while we grabbed some supplies and decided to walk around and check on the others. We made it a habit and made sure that our truck was easy to prepare for winter and rough weather." she grins.

a loud clank and they turn to see a large piece of wood and branches at the bottom of the chimney. Dani grins as she looks up into it "check the top and if the closing and opening mechanism is stillwhole! You guys will need that to keep the snow out."

a moment of silence before confirmation that it is still moving and seems whole. Dani nods and says she will test the handle and to say if anything sounds weird or seems to move weird. They get through the test and moments later dust is down with them.

Dani grins at Ellie "My lady. if you could."

Ellie grins as she walks over to the fire place and with just a few quick hadn movements the fire is ablaze.

Cross blinks "you have fire magic?"

ellie giggles "nah. just the skills to start one!"

dani nods "she is a born arsonist. sadly she is lawful good." ellie nudges her in the side.

Dani grins as Ellie giggles before she shoots them a smile "You guys good? We need to be on our way to check the others. there are always people with little wood or food or blankets and we want to check everyone."

Dani nods "We just came here first because... well it is you guys's first winter here. if you didn't expect the blizzard it can cause for issues."

Horror shakes his skull "we are good." whihc is when they hear sleepy mutters from their nest and killer actually pushes the blanket back to show nightmare rubbing his sockets with a tiny frown. clearly free from his forced half hibernation he had been almost kicked into.

Horror lets out a breath of relieve and mutters "we are good..."

Dani and ellie share a look and nod before leaving a very cheap looking phone with them "in case of you guys need anything else."

Cross frowns and points at their land line "the phone is out."

Dani nods "we know. that is an upgraded walky talky."

ellie grins "while the phone towers can be knocked out these babies are sturdy! They also are limited though. which is why you can only call us using that one but we are by far the most mobile in this weather." and she puffs her chest up proudly

Dani smiles "just give us a call if you need anything." she nudges Ellie "we need to get moving. we don't want to have to drive through a dark snowstorm."

and the two leave again. They both climb into their truck, which really is just their normal truck but with large wheels. before the drive off. huh. seems like the almost flat tires give them drip to get through the loose snow and over the icy roads.

Horror makes a mental note to find a way to thank them before acutally makign a note on their to-do list instead.

afterwards they sit in their nest and just listen to the fire crackle as the storm rages on.

*---------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

[bonefries]

Outlast Trials | Fanfiction | Mostly SFW + Depictions of gore / little bit of suggestive groping.

The Fox and the Hare | Franco Barbi x (Reagent OC) Sister Elizabeta

This picture is now the cover for this one shot I wrote about Eli and Franco! This is the story about the first time Eli reveals to Franco that she wants to cannibalize his heart. I've never really written a fic before so I gave it a try. (Please go easy on me. Writing is not my first skill.)

(Outlast Trials story, you have been warned.) Writing under the cut!

"5 AM in the Goddamn morning." Franco's voice rumbled from his bed at the less than pleasurable sound of the morning intercom. The crackling static of the Murkoff speaker as it popped on to inform him that he has 15 minutes to prepare before his first appearance of the day.

His blanket would shuffle as he struggled to slump himself forward, clearing the morning gunk from his throat and rubbing the dust from his eyes. Lifting his ring finger to his face, he delicately massaged the thin layer of his eyelid. In this gesture he would push away the pesky tears that pooled along his waterline.

"Marone." He would roll off his tongue in agitation. There are few individuals that opt to run his stage so early before sunrise.

This was, even for him, too goddamn early. However, it was all a part of the contract. On call at whatever moment of the day Murkoff desired. In exchange, Franco is given his milk and honey. The heroin operations intact, his clientele happy and paying, and his protection guaranteed from whomever senior Salvatore may still be trying to throw his way to disturb his little slice of heaven. Though, one did think about the audacity it took for him to be so inconvenienced by waking up early for work. He was, after all, complaining from his large and private bedroom that was custom fitted with all of his nice things. From his silky bed sheets to his hardwood armoire that held his finely tailored wardrobe. The things he can't help but want because of his upbringing in a luxury lifestyle. Back then, young Barbi could have whatever he wanted so long as it didn't require Daddy's love and affection. "Who the fuck wants to be in there at ass crack'a dawn." Franco would take a deep breath, the air hissing through him as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The already irritated Barbi had no intentions of getting dressed this first time around as he searched his bed for his evening robe. As he sat on the edge of his sheets, he would run his fingers over the side of his head to feel how his wound was fairing. It was a regular issue that he has long since discarded serious care for. The chemicals Murkoff pumped into him at regular check ups somehow managed to keep the infection in line just enough every time. But, it was still a chronic pain. And of course, the dressings he had gone to sleep with were off once again. He could never manage to get them to stick as he would toss and turn throughout his appointed resting periods. At his bedside of course, sat his precious Lupara. He'd grab the gun with a haste most only saw in soldiers hurried to war.

"I'll be fucked if some spunky little cunt is really lookin for a fight this early in the mornin." He spat with a jagged scowl.

If it truly was some reagent with the balls to be so punctual, he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of seeing him in his proper work attire. Hell, the only thing he truly bothered with were his socks and shoes. The small man had every intention of looking ridiculous for the poor sucker he was hoping to find. --------

"Good morning Mr. Barbi." Said the man behind the glass. Waiting for Franco at this gated entrance as always. "Up yours, scum pig." Franco would snarl, with no hesitation and no eye contact to spare. Never had he cared for the authority around him that Murkoff provided. This may be their set up, but this was his turf, as far as he was concerned. Once he was past the gate and through the doorway, he would be in the facility. With Lupara over his shoulder, he would stop to stare out into the distance of the Docks. Searching for anything out of the ordinary.

The morning silence was deafening. “So fuckin early even the rats ain’awake yet.”

Franco stated as he stepped along metal staircases and wooden hallways. The disgusting smell of sulfur, like that of rotting eggs. The fake simulated cries of seagulls and the moist sloshing of water and carnage against the cargo ship. He would make his way to the rising platform that laid beneath the hatch, expecting to find someone perhaps within the bridge. As his footsteps trebled against the metal panels of the floor, his predatory intuition made clear that his prey was not too far off. Something in the air changed, a presence, a frequency. A silent alarm, if any. And it made his trigger finger itch.

But his gut warned him to hold steady. And gently, Franco pushed open a door to the bridge control room. The red lighting in the room would make it rather easy for someone to sit still and eventually slide by quietly. Like a conniving little rat. But this wasn't the case, as the intruder made no real efforts to conceal themselves.

A figure hunched over a box of junk and trinkets. The sound of objects being picked up, inspected perhaps, and dropped back in. Though there was something odd about the way that they did, as there didn't appear to be much urgency in their gestures. At least not the kind that you would expect from most reagents.

"Who the fuck is that!?" Franco asserted. Aiming his Lupara with a ferocity that came quicker than the pull of the trigger.

It wasn't more than a second before the hunched figure rose to their full height, head turning slightly to capture a side eye view of Franco's threat posture. Their gaze presented with a very silent and eerie calmness despite the gun pointed to them.

"Thats an awful rude way to greet 'a girl so early in the morning, Mista' Bambino." A voice with a short fuse for patience spoke out to him. You could hear the small gasp that wormed it's way out of the mobster's lungs after being addressed. Franco would drop his hostile pose with Lupara still in his hand. Motioning his arms forward, he gestured the way one would when asking for a hug.

"Lizzy!" Shouted the Barbi.

The giantess gave Franco the quick up and down. Her eyes hung in a way that made them look so soft, but sad. The same way a Forget-Me-Not makes you feel by it's name.

"Doooon't you Lizzy me buster! Yous was just aimin'that goddamn Lupara at the backa' my head!" Her shoulders would jerk around, a small medicine bottle in one hand while the other put up a scolding finger.

Franco would note that she didn't look like her typical self. While she dawned her ever holy reagent bindings and gear, something was unkempt about her.

Her hair was frizzy and bedridden, her make up was fading and tacky along the features and creases of her face. Loosely fitted from her body was a hand made evening jumper. The material looked surprisingly close to the silk of his sheets back in his bedroom. Lastly her stockings were put on in a hurry. They were already full of tears and holes as they pulled against the shape of her legs. For her that had been good enough, and she had walked into the trial shuttle without any shoes.

The two would walk forward from their respective spots in the room, meeting each other half way.

"No, no, Lizzy! You know I'd never take a shot at ya! I-I ain't seen ya in a week I wasn't thinkin it was you!"

Franco's demeanor would shift ever so quickly to that of a begging pup as he put his hands together. Pleading with Lizzy that he was not out of line. That he did good hesitating before letting his trigger finger do the talking for him. "S-Sugar." He would stutter, his expression failing to show any real confidence in his display.

Lizzy would roll her eyes and shake her head. The finger that did the scolding now gently brushing through the front patch of Franco's hair.

"Yeah well, I didn't have much of a choice Barbi doll." She said.

Her nails gently pushed the strands of greasy hair into their signature swirl on his forehead. The gentleness of her motion reflected in the way it felt. A slight tickle on top of the skin, oh, it was something so minor that could make a man like Franco purr.

She could melt him like butter. His knees could turn to jelly on the spot as she stroked his hair. Like being praised for good behavior while he batted his eyelashes at her. Despite how disheveled she would consider herself in the moment, she was his Madonna. An icon he'd get on his knees to worship while he pleaded for her forgiveness and her blessings.

"One of tha'rookies in my cell block is havin a tough time with a nasty stab wound. I said I'd go get them somethin first thing in the mornin." She explained. The tone of her voice suggesting that she was, in fact, the one looking for forgiveness.

"I didn't mean to wake ya up Frankie- Honest. But yous was the first in rotation today." Lizzy tried to assure him, her fingers clenching lightly to his chin. Making him look into her eyes while she tried to reason her actions to him.

Her hands were so soft, except for her pointer finger. He could feel the callused tip of it, making it stand out against the rest. The spot where she pricked too much from sewing without a thimble or machine guard, surely.

Smitten, his mouth would curl into a dotting smile. How he wished she would give him more than just this simple restraint. Though, the thought would quickly pass as his expression changed. Resembling that of a mean and feral tom cat. Scrunched together, like there was a bad taste past his tongue and teeth.

"Wait wait. You got up at this time for some....random newbie! Lizzy. C'mon what'dya get outta helpin these people!" Franco would argue. He was more upset on her behalf than she was.

In fact, she didn't seem to protest the task at all.

"These people ain't got nothin for you. You fuckin know that. Whats'tha sense in goin through.......through this kind of bullshit! Eh?" The little man would kick his leg limply as he let his fuse run without much thought to his outburst. Lizzy offered no real response other than a puff of air. Her red painted nail would lightly poke Bambino on his nose while she uttered something.

"Look Frankie. You might get a nice cozy spot all to ya'self but I share a parlor'wit a buncha other people. Some'a them need someone to look out for them alright?" The woman didn't say much else other than to point out that it was a simple act of kindness for a wounded stranger. "They're just taking advantage of'ya Liz." He grumbled and grabbed her free hand by the wrist. Holstering Lupara for the moment, a thing he rarely did when he was out and about.

"They ain't workin hard like you do, baby. They're just lookin to get what they can outta ya, and then suck you for every last drop you got." Franco's tone would once again reach a level of irritation. He hissed in a low volume and moved to hold her hand in his palms.

"You can't just go willy fuckin nilly doin shit for these people. They're gonna stab you in the back the second they get the goddamn chance."

The way Franco said it truly reflected how often he looked over his shoulder. One could imagine that he never meant a hand shake a day in his life, or that his fingers surely ached from how often they were crossed behind his back. It takes a rat to know a rat, and he has been both rodent and thief in his day.

"Frankie, you're ova'reactin. It's just a little medicine, sourpuss." Lizzy would puff her cheeks out, unbothered by the assumptions Franco was making. She calmly slid her hand away from his grasp to gesture as she spoke.

"Besides....Gave me a reason to come see ya'didn't it?" She giggled at the statement, her fingers running down the open lining of his evening robe. Adjusting the fabric slightly, Lizzy would cup the side of Franco's face. Feeling the heat from his cheeks that she couldn't see on him now.

Franco just stared at her. His thick eyelashes flickering as he blinked in confusion and bashfulness. He didn't want to admit he had gotten a little overworked about the situation, but he had to muster up an excuse of some sort, right?

"Y-yeah. So what if it did? I ain't gonna thank'em! And now I'm all fuckin worked up and out here in my fuckin pajamas!" The man whined. A wincing pitch to his voice that made one feel like they were fighting with a child.

"Fuckin...mothafucka.." Bambino growled to himself. Massaging his eyelids softly once again to push the waterworks away.

"Aw, my poor Bambino. Always cryin, never'sad." Lizzy would bend down to kiss his temple. A faint smear of red tint from her lipstick that she'd had on since the day before. It's darkness was only visible if you really looked for it under the red light of the bridge. Franco's sad moans would cease after this short reward, but only briefly.

For Franco, especially at this time, it still wasn't enough.

"Mother...May I?" He winced and groaned. The sound he made was pathetic to say the least. Like a pained beast, begging to be put out of it's misery. He ran his hands up the woman's sides, gripping them securely much like the way he would grip his precious Lupara.

Lizzy's eyebrows would raise in surprise by his assertiveness in this moment. She scoffed and shook her head. "You'know I ain't got time't fool around wit' you Frankie." She protested. Looking into those sad puppy dog eyes of his. Lizzy had a strong will, but sometimes the break line was thin. She sighed. "C'mere Barbi Doll. Give mama some sugar." She beckoned him with her finger. "Marone...." The mobster buried his face into her belly without a moment's notice. Whispering sweet nothings into the pit of her stomach. His sweating skin sticking to the cool silk that hung loose from her figure. Nosing at it like a desperate animal in heat. Breathing in her scent like it was the last thing he’d do. "Look at what ya'do t'me..." The words crawled out of his mouth like a bum from the gutter. Desperate and yearning.He could never have what he wanted most from her. No matter how many times she appeared on his stage. A dream that was far off, but he had played in his head one hundred times over. The idea of getting warm and close to Lizzy in such a manner made his heart skip and his head spin. He couldn't even catch his breath to properly word the excitement it brought him. So instead, he tried to show it through physical affections as he tugged Lizzy closer to himself. His hands cusped just under her wide and soft curvature. Lizzy's expression would go from soft to perky and surprised at the sudden affections. “What do I do to you, Barbi Doll?” She whispered the question into the air as the tension built itself up. The musk was thick from the stage’s fake salt and morning fog that poured from machines in the walls. "You make baby crazy, Liz…” He groveled as his legs failed to hold him up any longer. Holding on to her ankles for dear life as he looked up at her face. His palms rubbing past the holes in her stockings, occasionally slipping a finger under the fabric to circle her skin tenderly. He would heave slightly as he leaned forward to kiss at the shimmering fabric. The woman stared intently at his display of affection. At the vulnerable state he was willing to subject himself to so he could hear her affirmations. And all she could do was watch him as he kissed at her feet. His lips were dry and sticky as he peppered trails up each leg. One at a time. An alarm was going off somewhere inside her head. The way Franco appeared at the floor before her made her skin hot and her stomach warm. A smirk would creep at the corners of her face, only emphasized by the red lipstick colors that stained her mouth. “Bambino…” Lizzy said. Franco’s short breaths paused as he made eye contact with her upon his title being named. “You know what you make me want to do?” She questioned.

Franco's eyes would light up at the opportunity to ask her. What did he make her want to do. How did she feel? "Mother...Please...." His voice was eager and hurried, like it was being squeezed from him.

"W-what do I make you wanna do, Mother... Tell me. Please." Franco's head was almost on the ground as he bowed it to the question.

"Mother please." The man child begged.

"Heh.." The tall woman snickered and cleared her throat. The air hissing as it sucked in past her teeth that she bared. And if it hadn't been for the lighting one could swear that she had the grin of a predator. Sharp and wanting. Drooling. Itching to snap down on bone and flesh.

Franco's eyes darted back up as he stared from below. The silence getting heavier and heavier with every second that passed. Waiting for her answer.

Before he could gather the air to speak and cut through the quiet, he was hoisted into the air. Lizzy having put down the medicine bottle to give herself more control and range to handle Barbi.

"My Little Baby Barbi Doll." She sang. She pulled his small body close to her so they were nose to nose. Holding him as if he weighed nothing more than a toy to her. Her facial features formed what could only be described as an intoxicated expression.

"If I had it my way..." She giggle-whispered. Her high pitched tone jittering as though something was very funny to her.

"If I had it my way, Barbi Doll. I'd reach my hand right through that little barrel chest'a yours." Lizzy circled her finger nail lightly over the skin above Franco's heart.

"I'd push past your ribs...until I could feel'ya heart between my fingers. And yank it right outta ya. Tubes and all." As Lizzy detailed the viscera of the scene in her head, you could hear the peak of the pleasure she took in describing it. In some twisted way, it made her heart flutter and gave her butterflies in her gut.

Franco's jaw was nearly on the floor as she hushed her desires right into his ears. They locked eyes, and as his mouth was agape, Lizzy's grin was that of a hungry....wolf. No.

He was the wolf here. Lupara, echoed in Franco's head. He still had Lupara, but he dare not grab for it. He knows how much Lizzy hated when he handled the gun around her.

No not a wolf. A vixen. And right now, Franco was the hare. The foolish hare that laid it's head in the maw of the fox. At any moment she could snap her jaws right on his little neck and do him in.

"I would take a bite outta your heart like a fuckin fruit. Frankie." The woman's lips twitched into a sadistic and hungry little grin and she leaned in close to whisper into Franco's ear. "And I bet you taste sweet. Sugar-sweet. Like milk, and honey."

The sentiment was enough to make Franco's mind go over the edge between fear and arousal. He was speechless, short circuited. Not a clue this side of hell what to say to her.

She sighed a longing sigh, as if she had just been minorly inconvenienced. "A girl can dream..." Lizzy would cut off her thoughts quite abruptly.

Putting Bambino back on the ground, his eyes widened with fear and uncertainty. Was she serious? Franco didn't actually know the answer, but his face was hot and flushed so much so that the sweat dripped from his skin. He took a deep breath and asked.

"Y-you wanna eat me?" He said with little behind the question. His teeth clenched from the anxiety. His mouth hollowed with confusion to Lizzy's true motives.

Their gazes would meet and there was a short pause. Lizzy wiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of her thumb and snickered softly.

"You heard me, Barbi Doll. I just wanna. Eat. You. Up."

She hunched over a bit, lowering herself to his level to place a deepened kiss on his lips. It caused Franco to moan lightly with relief as her touch was a comfort he had been missing for days. His temper was short because he felt ignored. Neglected even. But this was just the pick me up he needed, despite how he came about it.

But, the answer was still unclear. Although it wasn't something Franco saw any worth in dwelling over. Not after the heart skipping moment he just felt with Lizzy. Not right now.

A sickening bond that was ever growing between the two of them.

"One'a these days, Dollie. But not today,alright?" She grabbed his chin again and jerked his face lightly and playfully. His eyelashes fluttered at the motion.

"You gonna walk a little lady to the exit shuttle then?" Lizzy requested.

Franco whom already felt a lingering intimidation radiating from Ms.Lizzy, would hold no argument as he hooked his arm around her waist. He had no qualms with escorting her along with the medicine bottle she acquired.

After all he just wanted to get back to bed. He had thoughts to think over, and desires to dream of before the real trials of the day began.

-End

[ant1quarian]

anti I NEED to hear every single headcanon about the newest connected timeline dust variants.

I just imagine crimson and maroon rogue and a buncha other player OCS coming together with this this can be so much fun!

EEEEEEEEEE! *giddy screaming*

Heheheh. As you wish!

Voidface

His player got entirely fucked up and is now genuinely afraid of him.

Compared to an animal, he would be a cat of sorts (He's hunting you and you know it but you also know that he's willing to toy with you and he will catch you)

Has the third quickest speedrun

Not a big fan of knives

Always kills Grillby last. One last drink with the guy before sending a bone shattering through his SOUL

Addicted to coffee

Semi-nonverbal

Uses shorthands for text ("wyd" "hbu?" "lmao" "lol" "jk" etc)

Handwriting is pretty spaced apart, leans backwards and descends, and is actually usually pretty scratchy

Will sit in Grillby's until the reset happens and everything is rerun again

Murder

U n h i n g e d

Pretty one-track mind and it all leads back to slaughtering things

Laugh gets more manic with each LV he gets

Uses the True Knife

Knows knife tricks that he figured out himself

Has absolutely tossed himself into lethal danger mid-battle for the hell of it

Compared to an animal he's like a cornered, aggressive attack dog that is going to nearly kill itself to take you down with him

Erratic fighting style

Will do almost anything to feel things properly

Actively takes photos of his kills and sends them to the local Dusty Guys group chat to flex on how fast he's going

Current holder of the quickest genocide route speedrun

Really into photography

Cap

Chill

Mostly vibing

Listens to music mid-battle with whoever he's murdering

Seems like a soft guy. Would kill you in a heartbeat

Actively dances along to his music while he's killing people

Probably crouched down and patted his Papyrus on the head before slaughtering him

A different kind of unhinged

His air of silliness does not hide that haunted look in his eyes

If compared to an animal, it'd be a Polar Bear. He's willing to act nicely and gently with his prey, but your death will happen. You can't escape it. And you can't run for long enough to escape him, either

Demi-aroace

It's more unnerving for the monsters to be running from someone who is lazily wandering through the underground, whistling the same song on repeat

Scarf

A tad more nervous than the others (Hypervigilance go brrr)

Guilty about killing Papyrus

Wasn't sure what to do with Papyrus' dust- spread it on the stuff he loved, but not Scarf ("Let's not spread you too thin, eh?")

Justice-orientated instead of broken integrity-orientated like the others

His love language has become acts of service and all he knows how to do is kill

Will Not Hesitate.

Maybe more nervous and slightly more detached than the others but do not doubt the fact that he is a Dust for a reason.

If compared to an animal he would be a hare. He can be cute, yes, but he carries a hint of something much darker- much more unnerving

His touch is the most gentle

Specs

Kind of has a crazy scientist kind of vibe

Works mostly with poisons and explosives

Poisoned Asgore with tea and then tore out his SOUL himself

Uses his bare fucking hands

Loves art. Adores it. Does a hell of a lot of art

Unhinged but in a much smoother, more suave way

Smokes to keep himself calm

Least likely to kill you unless you've pissed him off somehow

Does not care about killing anyone

He's kind of apathetic

Compared to an animal he is a viper slipping through the terrain undetected. He's sneaking up on you and when he strikes, he's going to pack one hell of a punch

Feel free to ask more questions or how they'd react in certain scenarios or whatever!

[aylacavebear]

The Traveler - Chapter 16 - Wonderland Pt. 3

You're from a specific dimension, Solaris Eclipse. It was a dimension of magic. When your kind, the Eldrathiren, turned fifteen, your unique power would awaken within you. Most times, it was something small, levitation, teleportation, creation, elemental manipulation, and things like that. Once in a while, a fifteen-year-old would just disappear, and those were called Travelers. None of them had ever returned. Your parents had told you stories about them, and you hoped that wouldn't happen to you.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 4488

Pairing Eventually Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You & Sam Winchester x OC Reader/You

Warnings: Angst - pretty sure that's it - just some tense situations. A/N: Don't think there's anything else in this one. It's fairly relaxed.

A/N: This dimension was suggested by @snowayumi, and I absolutely LOVED how it came out. I hope you all love it as well.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 16 - Wonderland Pt. 3

The Hatter helped you return to your normal size with the mushroom pieces from Absolem. It was a little trickier than with the cake, which you had eaten first. With what was left, you only got to half your normal height. The only downside to the mushroom piece was that it made you sleepy, or perhaps it had been the tea. You weren’t entirely sure.

Although you yawned several times, trying to force yourself to stay awake, the Dormouse took pity on you, showing you inside their quaint little home. It looked just as weird as you’d figured it would, given how Wonderland seemed to be. Plus, it fit the style of the Hatter, with different hats adorning the place in the strangest of ways.

If it weren’t for being as sleepy as you were, you would have taken far longer to admire the madness within the home. Hats of every imaginable shape and size hung from the ceiling, nestled in corners, and balanced precariously on top of bookshelves. A tea set was in perpetual motion, floating from one side of the room to the other. You had barely laid down on the bed before the dreamworld of Wonderland pulled you from the waning night. Your dreams were filled with visions of the brothers that night, feeling an almost ache in your soul.

Over the next couple of days, the three of them shared so much with you about Wonderland. You learned of the Queen and her rather ruthless ruling of the world. Then there was a woman named Alice, and you noticed how they all seemed very fond of her. The Hatter told you fantastical tales of elusive creatures. Like tiny fuzzy mushrooms called Mome Raths, that only came out at night in the forest, illuminating the path and another creature that would come behind them, dusting the path away as if it were never there at all.

The Dormouse, perched on a stack of teacups, told you about a bird with a cage for its body, where it kept its young until they were old enough to be on their own. It was quite the protective creature, hiding in the treetops of the forest near the clearing. The Hare became quite animated when he told you of the creature that had shovels for faces, digging holes in search of shiny objects all throughout the forest.

You laughed so much, enjoying their stories of Wonderland and the oddities it held. The Chesire Cat had even joined The Hatter and others for tea a few times. Watching a cat drink tea was quite the site, as he seemed to levitate the cup occasionally versus using his paws. “A touch of magic and madness in every sip,” he’d say, his grin never fading.

The longer you stayed in this world, the more you thought you saw, just beyond what was there. Shadows would flicker at the corner of your vision, and whispers seemed to carry on the wind, always out of earshot. Then, they would be gone just as quickly as they appeared whenever you attempted to focus on them.

Near the end of almost a week, you felt a pull to press further into the madness that was Wonderland. The three of them made sure to give you lots of treats from the large variety that adorned the table. Then, The Hatter hugged you, his hat slightly askey as he did. “Remember, you’re always welcome here, dear Traveler,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He then handed you one of his scarves, the color of which matched your eyes, “For the road ahead,” he added with a wink.

You thanked him, then bid the three of them farewell, instead of going the way the Knave had gone, headed beyond the Hatter’s home. There were those odd signs that, of course, made no sense, but it was where you felt pulled to venture. Numerous times, you thought you saw things, but when you attempted to focus on them, they disappeared completely.

Curiouser and curiouser.

With it being daytime, you were able to see the forest in the light, what came through the canopy anyway. The trees were vibrant in color, with scattered flowers blooming along the forest floor. Ferns and short tufts of grasses dotted the sides of the path, along with mushrooms. The thorny vines had beautiful yellow blooms larger than your hand which was a stark contrast to the color of the tree it had wound itself around.

The air was filled with the scent of wildflowers and a hint of something sweet and unidentifiable. There were what you wanted to call a bird, but it had no wings. It was by far the oddest thing you’d seen, or at least, that’s what you told yourself. The odd creature had a pair of large, round eyeglasses as its body, with two small bird legs protruding from the bottom. The glasses had a nose bridge that resembled a bird’s beak, which made you look at it curiously.

There were several of them perched on branches, watching you from above, seeming just as curious about you as you were them. However, they didn’t get closer, so neither did you. This time, as you walked further into the forest, you didn’t have a destination in mind. You knew you didn’t want to go toward the Queen’s castle, so you avoided any path with that direction.

As the day wore on, illusionary things drifted in and out of view between the trunks of different trees. You remembered how you were warned to stay on the path, but your curiosity was beginning to get the better of you. The shadows also almost seemed to move on their own in the distance. 

I really should stay on the path.

It was something you kept trying to remind yourself of. Your ears twitched with the sound of whispers that you couldn’t quite make out. You attempted to focus on how no two trees were ever the same shade in color, as the forest had been vast and almost neverending. It only lasted so long, though, seeing a door standing on its own, nearly fifty feet into the forest. 

You would look over at it, trying to make out the details from a distance, but would eventually give up and continue along the path, turning down different directions when it would fork. In true Wonderland fashion, the door would appear again, the same distance away, almost as if it were following you. You were watching your surroundings less and less, and the door more and more. Finally, when your curiosity finally won out, you stopped walking forward and toward the very edge of the path, staring at the door.

Momentarily, you remembered back to the warning your parents had given you, so long ago. Don’t leave the village, especially on the day your powers were to awaken. Then there had been the warning from the creatures of this world you’d already spoken to. The one that kept your curiosity on the door was what Absolem had said: The path will reveal itself to you, as it always does in Wonderland.

The door seemed to be following you, and your resolve to stay on the path was quickly waning. It looked completely out of place, nestled amid the myriad of colored trees and tufts of grass, yet it also seemed as if it belonged there. Your eyes drifted down to the edge of the path, which your shoes were only an inch from, then back up at the door.

Damnit.

You took a deep breath and stepped off the path. The grass below your shoes felt soft the further you walked. You turned around halfway to the door and let your head hang low when you saw how the forest had completely changed. The path was gone, replaced by dense trees and undergrowth.

Looks like I’m either going to get myself into a lot of trouble or perhaps find a way out of this.

Turning back to face the door, you pressed on. The closer you got, the more details you could make out. It was an elegant, ornate structure, its base nestled into the earth below it as if it truly did belong there. The door itself was made of dark, polished wood, its surface intricately carved with patterns of roses and vines. The doorframe was equally elaborate, wrought from iron and twisted into shapes that mirrored the carvings on the door. Thorny vines wrapped around the frame, blooming with vivid white roses that seemed almost too vibrant to be real. The handle was an antique brass knob shaped like a rosebud, cool to the touch and slightly tarnished with age. 

You walked all the way around it, but both sides looked exactly the same. The white roses reminded you of the one who had helped you in the garden when your journey here had begun. A smile tugged at your lips while your ears twitched with the sounds of the forest. Whatever was on the other side of this door, it felt as though it was calling to you.

You took a deep breath and let it out with a new determination as you reached out, gripping the doorknob. Your heart pounded a little harder, knowing nothing was what it seemed in Wonderland. Upon turning the knob, it silently slid open, revealing an entirely different landscape on the other side. Hedges of vibrant green adorned both sides of a cobblestone path. The sky above was a soft blue, clear, and without clouds. There was also a sweet, beckoning scent of roses that wafted through the open door. Lamp posts dotted either side of the cobblestone path with lanterns that seemed as though they were floating just below where they’d be clipped in place.

Cautiously, you stepped through the door, only taking a few steps before looking behind you. With a sigh, you saw the door was gone, leaving a dead end in its place with another hedge. 

Looks like I’m committed to this now.

Turning back to face the path ahead, you moved forward, taking in the scents, and realizing there were no sounds. Not even of bugs. So far, you hadn’t seen the flowers that were giving off that sweet scent of roses, but the further you walked, the stronger it got. You took several turns before you came to a fork, leading in three different directions. The hedges were far too tall to see over, and due to the thorns that adorned them, there was no way to climb them either. That was when you finally noticed a contrasting color against the green of one of the hedges. A red rose?

Gingerly reaching out, you gently touched the petals, finding them velvety soft against the skin of your fingers. You were almost hypnotized by the rose's beauty, the depth of its color, and the gentle scent that drifted from it. You pulled back and shook your head, looking down the three paths and choosing the one to your far left.

Where am I?

You were clearly still in Wonderland, you just weren’t entirely sure where at the moment. This was a place that hadn’t been described to you. You did, however, remember the words of the doorknob: Stay away from the red roses. If it was only the hypnotic scent, you could understand why, but the Hatter had also warned you of the Queen. The further along you went, the more roses you saw, identical to the first. Their scent was getting stronger, seeming to pull you along the path. When it finally got too strong, you slipped your bag off your shoulder, rummaged through it for a piece of cloth, and then used your claws to cut off two pieces, which you used to plug your nose with. It mostly worked, but some of the scent got through even that.

The path twisted and turned through the hedges adorned with red roses. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by your footsteps along the cobblestone path. At least you could walk softly, having learned how to properly balance your weight on your feet with each step, quieting the sound. You also began feeling as though you were being watched but couldn’t seem to locate where someone might be able to watch you from. 

Taking yet another turn, you began hearing footsteps, although they sounded far away. They reminded you of how the card soldier boots sounded when they approached the tea party that first night. Only now, they were loud against the cobblestone path.

I have to get out of here.

You were well aware that if they found you, it wasn’t going to end well. There was a chance you could fight them if you needed to, but without your spear, you would have to get close, and you weren’t sure how many of them there were. Then you wondered how a playing card could be damaged. 

Do they bleed like other creatures? Are they just playing cards that were animated and a spell would have to take them down? Could I knock one out if I hit it hard enough?

Those and so many more questions went through your mind as you continued along the path. It was a maze of hedges and roses, or a labyrinth of them. You came across several dead ends, having to double back and choose a different fork, or a different way entirely when the place seemed to have rearranged itself. One large downside to being stuck in this labyrinth of rose hedges was that the scent you had been following wouldn’t have been strong enough to pierce through the roses' scent. Then there was the cotton you had stuffed in your nostrils, dulling the smell as much as possible. This place seemed to be one to leave someone confused or end up lost. Perhaps even frozen in place, hypnotized by the scent of the roses.

You were in no mood to get stuck here, so you continued on. The sounds of the card soldier boots could still be heard, and your ears twitched with each echo. You tried to take paths that led you away from the sound, and for a while, it seemed to work. However, the sounds got increasingly closer after only a minute or so.

Then, out of the blue, there was silence again. You stopped and looked in all directions, your ears twitching in an attempt to find some semblance of sound, but none came. Swallowing hard, you turned another corner, only to see half a dozen red card soldiers standing there, blocking your way. You turned, wanting to run in the other direction, but what was behind you now made that impossible.

Another half a dozen card soldiers stood where there had been an empty path. You wondered if they were here to possibly kill you, but you quickly shook that off. You had no intentions of getting killed, determined to find a way back to Earth, to the brothers, to those that were your new family.

“I was wondering how long it would take before I found you,” a deep voice from behind you spoke, and you recognized it instantly: the Knave. “Aren’t you an odd thing?”

Your tail flicked in agitation as you turned to face him. “I just want to leave,” you began, but three of the card soldiers grabbed you faster than you could react, and the Knave just smiled—a wicked, evil smile.

“The Queen will want to see this one,” he instructed the soldiers before turning from you and waving his arm at the hedge that was now in front of him.

As it moved out of his way, your eyes widened. It had revealed a straight path toward a castle, and you instantly knew where you were. You were on the Queen’s grounds, and all you could guess was that this was some sort of contraption to capture intruders. You also wondered how none of them seemed to be affected by the scent of the roses but weren’t about to ask.

The card soldiers held you firmly, their grip unyielding as they marched you out of the labyrinth. The Knave led the way, his figure tall and imposing against the contrasting greenery of the hedges. The walk out of the labyrinth wasn’t long, and things seemed to instantly change on the other side. The sky had grown almost dark, like twilight, in a blend of purples and blues, hinting at the waning daylight. There were more of the lamp posts with the floating lanterns, which were now lit, giving off an eerie glow on the cobblestone. Here, shadows seemed to flicker and dance just out of sight, giving the illusion of movement. Manicured rose bushes lined the strange, winding cobblestone path that was elaborate as it snaked its way toward a castle.

The castle loomed ahead, a gothic structure that combined the whimsical elements of Wonderland, with its white and red stones adorning every surface, with an almost gothic darkness that felt as though it loomed over the castle itself. The spires reached toward the sky, their silhouettes jagged and twisted. Yet, atop each one was a topper in the shape of a heart. If nothing else, it was definitely grand.

The Knave led the guards through a huge heart-shaped entrance made from the same bricks as the rest of the castle, with a guard tower on either side. If circumstances were different, you probably would have explored the place, being fascinated with its design. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air thick with anticipation and the faint, metallic scent of impending danger. Your ears twitched at the unfamiliar sounds of the place while your tail flicked with your growing concern.

The courtyard itself was well-kept. More rose bushes and floating lanterns adorned the area. You were in no position to get away or fight off this many soldiers, let alone the Knave. So, you focused on paying attention to your surroundings, planning a possible escape when the opportunity presented itself.

The soldiers tightened their grip as they ushered you forward, their expressions blank and unwavering. The Knave glanced back at you with a smug smile, his eye glinting with malice and amusement. The doors of the castle loomed large before you, intricately carved with scenes of the Queen’s reign, a reminder of her power and authority. Inside the castle was a contrast to the outside. Instead of being white and red, the stones were shades of gray, from light to almost black in places.

The grandeur of the castle's interior was overshadowed by its oppressive atmosphere. Tall, dark columns lined the hallways. In a checkered pattern, some were adorned with menacing gargoyles that seemed to watch your every move—the others were draped with red curtains that seemed to brighten the dark space.

Red velvet curtains and banners added a splash of color, but even they couldn’t dispel the gloom that pervaded the place. The chandeliers, dripping with crystals, cast a cold, harsh light. The path down the center of the columns lay a red rug with intricate patterns and designs, bordered with vining roses, a darker red than the rest of the rug.

As you were marched through the corridors, you couldn’t help but notice the portraits of the Queen in various regal poses, her stern gaze following you. Finally, you were brought to the throne room, a vast space with a black and white checkered floor and a high, vaulted ceiling. The throne itself was an elaborate creation of gold and red, sitting atop a raised dais.

Along either side of the column, adorning the walls were high, stain-glassed windows with identical designs of hears on vines, allowing the waning light of the evening to shine through. Between each window, a tall mirror bordered with a golden frame befitting her royal chamber. Behind the Queen’s throne were heavy red curtains, pulled back with golden ropes, revealing more stained glassed windows that stretched from almost the floor to just below the ceiling—each one with thin red curtains.

The Red Queen sat on her throne, her presence commanding the entire room. Her dress was a mix of crimson and black, adorned with hearts and lace, giving her an imposing and regal appearance. Her face, with its stark white makeup and exaggerated features, was a mask of both beauty and cruelty. You noticed she wasn’t wearing a crown atop her red curls, which you found odd, but so far, everything in Wonderland was odd in one way or another.

“Your Majesty,” the Knave began with a bow, his voice smooth and dripping with feigned respect, “we found this peculiar creature wandering through your labyrinth.” He explained, approaching her side before kissing the back of her hand that she’d outstretched for him.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed as she examined you, her gaze intense and unyielding, “What is it?” she demanded, her tone imperious and filled with curiosity.

“It, Your Majesty, is the intruder you sent me to find,” the Knave answered, turning his gaze to you as the Queen continued to study you.

All you had to go off of were things you’d watched on Earth when it came to royalty, as you’d never encountered it in any other dimension. Well, not to this extent, anyway. You wondered if perhaps you could outsmart her and find a way to escape.

“That doesn’t tell me what it is,” The Queen snapped, her gaze still on you, but she was clearly annoyed at the Knave for his lack of explanation.

“I am a Traveler, Your Majesty, and I would bow, but the soldiers are holding onto me very tightly,” you explained in quite a respectful tone.

The Queen raised an eyebrow, “Let her go,” she stated plainly, but there was still authority in her words, and the soldiers released you. The Knave could only watch in annoyance.

You kept the smirk of triumph from making it to your lips as you bowed before the Queen, keeping your gaze from meeting hers until you stood straight again. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” you replied with gratitude.

“Now, what exactly is a Traveler, and why do you have cat features but also look human,” she inquired quite curiously.

This just might work to my advantage.

“I come from another world, Your Majesty. All of my kind have these features, but I am a little special. Not all of my kind can travel to different worlds. Only special ones can. When I came upon your world, I was only seeking the doorway to move to the next world,” you explained to her, keeping that respectful tone and posture.

It was easy to see that the Queen was quite intrigued by you, but the Knave was getting quickly frustrated at the Queen’s lack of command to either remove your head or lock you in a dungeon. He stayed quiet, though, as he knew his place, and it was never to question the Queen, or she’d have his head removed. At the moment, you were just thankful you had the Queen’s curiosity and not her wrath.

The Queen’s gaze remained fixed on you, her curiosity piqued. “A Traveler, you say?” she mused, leaning forward slightly on her throne. “And what makes you think you can just wander into my realm and disrupt my order?”

You maintained your respectful stance, careful not to let any sign of defiance show. “I apologize for any disruption, Your Majesty. It was not my intention to intrude. I merely seek to find my way to the next world, as my journey requires it.” She really didn’t need to know the details, and it didn’t seem as though she’d understand them anyway.

Her expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained sharp. “A fascinating tale. And yet, you have found yourself in my labyrinth, a place meant to trap trespassers. Tell me, Traveler, what makes you so special that you can traverse worlds?”

Of course, she’d ask you something like that, and you’d now have to come up with some sort of explanation she’d understand. So, for a moment, you pondered all sorts of explanations before finally giving her an answer. “It has to do with something we’re born with that no one can see. It’s deep inside and can never be removed or taken away, as it is more of a yearning than anything else.”

The Knave, still standing beside the Queen, couldn’t hold back any longer. “Your Majesty, surely this… creature cannot be trusted. We should lock her up until we know more about her intentions.” The Queen shot him a withering glare, silencing him instantly. “I will decide what to do with our guest, Knave,” she said coldly. Turning her attention back to you, she asked, “And what proof do you have of this ability? Can you demonstrate it?”

You took a deep breath, knowing that showing any sign of weakness could be dangerous. “I cannot demonstrate it here, Your Majesty. Traveling between worlds requires specific conditions and a certain amount of preparation. However, I am willing to help you in any way I can to prove my intentions are sincere.” 

Her eyes narrowed, considering your words. “Help me, you say? And what exactly can you offer to the Queen of Hearts, who already has everything she desires?”

That one made you think. What could you offer her, as you had nothing you felt like parting with? It wasn’t like your senses would help her. The scent of her roses had been overpowering in the labyrinth, even if that wasn’t the case now. Then, you got an idea.

“It is true, Your Majesty, I don’t have anything to offer, not in the way of riches or items. I could offer my services, as my senses are better than your Knaves or the soldiers that guard you. I can hear things they cannot,” you explained to her, hoping she wouldn’t take it as a threat of any kind. She leaned back, a smile playing on her lips, “Intriguing indeed. Very well, Traveler. I will grant you the opportunity to prove your worth. But, be warned, any attempt to deceive me will be met with the severest of punishments.”

You bowed deeply, relief washing over you, “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will not disappoint you.”

The Queen nodded, satisfied for the moment, “Good. Now, Knave, see to it that our gues is given quarters. I will decide her fate after I have seen what she can offer.”

The Knave’s expression was a mixture of frustration and resignation, but he bowed and gestured for you to follow him. As you were led away, you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of hope. You had bought yourself some time, and now, you needed to figure out how to use it to your advantage. 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 17 - Wonderland pt. 4

Link to the series Masterlist.

A/N: If you'd like to get in on the Dimensional Traveling, go to this link and leave me with a comment, or several, with as much or as little detail about the dimension you'd like the Traveler to end up in. If you'd like to have something specific happen, share that too. I'll make sure that you get credit for the idea you shared in the chapter in which your dimension is featured. I'd love to have as many readers involved as possible. I think this could be a lot of fun.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list. If I missed anyone, please let me know.

Tag List: @littlemadamred @mxltifxnd0m @foxyjwls007 @supernaturalfreakout @roseblue373

[aspenhearrt]

oc naming difficulties

so. my clans project features basically all of my warrior cats ocs that i've ever cared about. and in particular there is one that is giving me Troubles.

traditionally, his name is harepaw. he was born in shadowclan but found out that he was half-clan and moved to windclan (his father's clan) because he yearned for the desert, but also because his mother hated him.

however. i have another oc, harepounce, who is already established as one of windclan's medicine cats in the story. i don't allow cats in the same clan to have the same prefix, so one of them needs to be changed-- and harepounce has seniority, both in the world (as he's much older) and in real life (because he's been around as an oc for longer). so i need a new name for harepaw.

however.

he has always been called harepaw in my heart.

i don't know the tumblr of the person who did this art for me, but they went by Buzz at the time. i've had it for years, but harepaw is the one on the left. traditionally he's a little paler than that, too. if anyone has any ideas for what his name should be, hit me! however i'm going to make a list of prefixes that it cannot be

Yarrow, Beetle, Brindle, Cricket, Crow, Dust, Ember, Larkspur, Hare, Night, Thistle, Smew

(i'm not going to be using the name Smew- in the story, but his boyfriend pictured here is Smewpaw. Smewpaw isn't my OC so i'm not comfortable using him in my work, but I still don't want to name Harepaw 'Smew' lol)

i also tend to subscribe to more traditional "based on the coat color" names, so nothing about his eyes or general gangliness is preferred

OH YEAH. so LOTS of different types of names are available! ShadowClan lives along the beach so there's plenty of beachy names possible, WindClan lives in a desert, SkyClan on a mountain, ThunderClan in the forest, and RiverClan mostly in/on a lake

here's my boy's headshot

[chicknstripz]

∘₊✧ Key ✧₊∘

⏳ Fic on extended Hiatus 🗣 Ask/Request (Closed) 🟣 Fluff 🟡 Shenanigans / Crack content 🟢 Angst 🔴 Smut 🔵 Fix it / AU

∘₊✧ Star Wars ✧₊∘

Long-Fics

[⏳] 🟣🟢🔵 | In Your Eyes Always -> Crosshair x Fem!Reader 🟣🟢🔴🔵 |  Aliit be ehn -> Din Djarin x Fem!Reader [⏳]🟣🔵| Across the Stars -> Tech x Fem!Reader [⏳]🟣🟢🔵 | Kindred Spirits -> Kal adopts the Batch Batch 🟢🟡🔵 | Dust Motes -> Captain Fordo x OC 

Series

 [⏳]🟣🟢🔵 | Trooper & Jedi -> Fives x OC 

One Shots

🟣🟢 | Nothing more Beautiful -> Cody x Obi-Wan 🟣🟢 | Take our leave -> Echo x GN!Reader 🟣🟢 | The Escape -> Fox x Fem!Reader [🗣] 🟣🟢 | Chronic -> Hunter x Fem!Reader [🗣] 🔴| The hare and the Wolffe -> Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Challenges

[🟣🟢🔴🔵]  CFB 2023 Masterlist

∘₊✧ Lord of the Rings ✧₊∘

Coming soon 

[redheartedtramp]

RWBY OC: Carmine Hare

Art done by @jacscorner​

Name: Carmine Hare

Age: 19

Birthday: September 1

Weapons: A pair of custom revolvers.

Testimony - A white and silver revolver with a red cloth around the handle. Testimony is a six-shot revolver. Originally built by her father, Testimony was destroyed during her father’s last mission and Carmine rebuilt her after inheriting the gun. Testimony has a secondary chamber that houses smoke pellets instead of bullets.

Blood - A red revolver built entirely by Carmine herself. It houses a secondary mode that extends the barrel and turns the revolver into a hand cannon. When activated, a secondary chamber replaces the main one. It only holds one bullet, but is loaded with combustion Dust, increasing the damage (and recoil) dramatically.

Semblance: Slow; Carmine’s green eyes turn blood red, and her perception of time slows down to a crawl. From everyone else’s perspective, Carmine has super-fast reflexes. For Carmine, the world is moving at a snail’s pace. This effect lasts as long as Carmine has her eyes open; once she blinks, the effect ends and needs to be reactivated.

Allusions: To The Tortoise & The Hare. She’s an amalgamation of the overall story; she’s the tortoise (her Semblance makes things slow down and wears a green jacket, an allusion to the tortoise’s shell) & the hare (she’s a rabbit Faunus and everyone sees her as being very fast when they don’t know how her Semblance works).

Carmine’s main color is red, a direct reference to this blog. Much like how Domino’s color is black in reference to my past blog.

Carmine and Domino are on the same team. Not sure who their other two teammates are, if any, lol.

She gave Domino her revolver for whenever she can’t reach her Mech. 

Carmine’s father was a Huntsman. His weapon was Testimony, and he was also a Priest. He was a Human from Mantle. Carmine & her father have similar fighting styles; being Quickdraw-specializing gunslingers. It’s just that Carmine uses her semblance to ‘cheat’.

Carmine’s mother was a Rabbit Faunus with rabbit ears as well. She is from Menagerie and worked as a seamstress before and after the move to Mantle for work. I like to think she sewed Carmine’s jacket.

Her favorite kind of ammo is Gravity Dust Bullets. She uses them to tag enemies and weigh them down, slowing them down and making them easier targets.

[theseventhjeremy]

DYOCDS Prompt: Wonderland

A recent prompt for a ComicFury thread was to draw our OCs with a Wonderland theme. For this prompt, I drew Venus going down the rabbit hole, after chasing after a lapine Toby.

of course if you know me, you know this is the second drawing I did because I also drew Chris and Jack as a nightmarish Mad Hatter and March Hare.

I did a lot more with this one than the second one. For starters, I didn't use the fill tool for the colors. Used brushes on white to make things rougher. Gave Chris's eyes and teeth a few special colors and warped the effects to make the teeth nastier and the eyes bloodier. Fucked around with a gradient tool to get a "fancy" background (couldn't get a spiral), threw some dust and bloodstains on it. All this for a Chris who doesn't look like herself and a Jackrabbit (hah) in the background.

[jockmewalking]

I will just say who the prominent characters MIGHT be in the sequel/spin-off:

Returning Students from Last Year (Comic Book, EG, and Perfume didn’t take part in the competition):

Digi, CM, and Comic Book are definitely important

Electric Guitar and CPU Monitor most likely

Perfume, and Ink Pen (maybe)

New Students at School:

Cronut, Collage, and Dust-Hare are key characters

Silver Bell and Proton(?) are probably minor

[yeenybeanies]

Communication Trouble

here's the full story!! reposted from my patreon ocs | callan & odessa kovalev 4,110 words warnings of unfair treatment reblogs > likes!! thanks for reading!!  patreon ✨ ko-fi

The desk before her was immaculate, every pen and datapad atop it meticulously aligned and organized with almost painful detail. There didn’t appear to be a speck of dirt or dust anywhere on its surface.

Odessa could appreciate a neat workspace, but this, to her, reeked of pretentiousness. Regardless, she kept her mouth shut and her thoughts to herself.

“Miss Kovalev.” Odessa tensed, her gaze lifting from the pristine deskspace to meet her superior officer. Commander Moyl stared down his nose at her, his eyes narrowed. She swore she could feel the contempt radiating from him.

He was of a race she was familiar with. The Lagopp were a fairly common presence within the Journeys Corps. Appearance-wise, they bore close resemblance to humans in both size and build, but they had a few key differences. Most notably, they were covered in short, greenish fur, and sported huge upright ears on top of their heads. Odessa often found that Lagopp ears looked like they’d been stolen from a hare or an antelope.

Only one of Moyl’s ears was angled in her direction. He wasn’t even giving her the courtesy of pretending that she had his full attention. She’d already been irritated about being summoned to this meeting; this only further annoyed her. Lagopp had a reputation for being, for lack of a better description, pretentious assholes. She’d never spoken to him before, but, so far, Moyl was proving to be a perfect embodiment.

“Care to tell me why I have a report of you… striking your fellow engineer Todd Garelli yesterday?” His red eyes bore into her, despite his bored expression. On his U-tool HUD, he pulled up the incident report in question, and waved it over to Odessa’s for her to see. She quickly scanned it, one brow raised, and frowned harder.

“He was being rude,” she said bitterly. “He frequently speaks very poorly of some of the other engineers down in the belly, and proceeded to insult me when I called him out. I’ve asked him to stop multiple times, but he wouldn’t relent.”

“And so… you punched him?”

“That is correct, sir.” She remembered vividly the beautiful silence that followed after her knuckles connected with his blabbering jaw. Sure, her hand was a bit sore, but the pain was plenty worth it.

Moyl rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. “You do realize this conduct is unacceptable, don’t you Miss Kovalev?”

“It’s Doctor,” she corrected, her tone sharper than before. “Sir, I’ve made multiple complaints regarding Garelli’s inappropriate comments, and, to my knowledge, nothing has been done.”

“So that justifies you taking matters into your own hands?” His ears twitched downward just a smidge, an unconscious show of his own annoyance.

“No, sir, but he was provo—”

“Let me make some things clear, Doctor Kovalev.” Odessa didn’t much appreciate his sneer as he said her proper title. It made her fingers curl into fists on her lap. Her sprained hand protested silently. Moyl continued, “I have received no complaints from any of the crew down in the belly, nor from anyone else. You are the only one who claims to have heard these… ‘inappropriate comments.’”

Odessa opened and closed her mouth a few times, flabbergasted. “And that’s not enough? Like I said–I’ve made filed multiple complaints—”

“Why would I believe anything that came from a Dysian mutt?” Moyl’s face didn’t change, but his ears reclined sharply. Odessa’s blood ran cold.

“You—what—?” She stammered over her words. “How did you—that’s private medical information! And I’m not Dysian.” Were it not for the sheer shock of his violation of her privacy, she would have been furious.

That fury would have to come later.

The commander waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not what your file says. You’ve got Dysian scum in you, and you’re a scourge to the universe. Had I known about it sooner, I wouldn’t have let you onto this ship. You may bear no physical likeness, but your blood is filthy.” He spoke in a deadpan tone, calm and collected, like he was relaying facts.

Odessa’s nails dug into the pads of her palms, cutting into the skin. She sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. It took everything she had to keep her voice even. “My species has no relevance whatsoever to my place on this ship. I worked hard, and I earned my station. Sir.” She wanted to scream, wanted to yell, tell him that she was the best damn engineer on this ship and he had no right to rummage through her medical history! But she felt like she was pushing her luck with Moyl as it was.

“You are talented,” he admitted, “but not so much so that I won’t discharge you from the Journeys Corps. You, or any of the other freaks that crawl around in the shadows of the engines.” The underlying venom in his words made Odessa flinch. “If I hear your name again, even if it’s just someone saying that you sneezed, you’re off of this ship.”

“Sir, you can’t do this. The captain won’t allow—” she started to stand, but Moyl was on his feet quicker, hands slamming down on his desk. The pristine space jolted out of place.

“The captain,” he said, tone dark, “doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of this. As long as the ship is operating, and our quotas are met, the captain could not care less about personal affairs like these.” He straightened and drew a breath in through his nose. Hands smoothed down the front of his uniform, pressing out any wrinkles. “Get out of my office. And don’t let me hear from you again. Doctor.”

Odessa dropped her gaze to the floor. “Yes sir,” she whispered. Shaken and feeling like a whipped pup, she shuffled out of the office.

How could this be happening? How did Moyl get into her personal file? Was he going to tell anyone else? Only medical staff would be able to access medical history. This was illegal.

“I’m Louvan,” she growled through gritted teeth. “Not Dysian.”

But what could she do? If word got out about her ancestry, she feared the whole ship would turn against her. No one would care that the Louvans rejected and resisted the Dysian Reign, or that the war against the Dysians had ended long before she’d been born; they would all only see her as one of those tyrants.

Dysian scum…

Arms held tightly to herself, Odessa started to walk. Aimless. Lost. Trying to keep from breaking down in the middle of the hallway.

She didn’t know how long she’d been wandering, but she eventually found herself on one of the lower decks in the belly. In the past few weeks, ever since her first trip down here, she’d made frequent visits to the belly. The folks down here were friendly. They weren’t as judgemental as the upper deck crew.

But would they shun her if they knew?

Would Callan?

Odessa shuddered at the thought.

She was comfortable calling Callan her friend. Her first real friend on this ship. He was sweet, and he made her laugh. He made her feel safe. She’d even gotten used to him unexpectedly lifting her off of her feet.

(She was sure he would have stopped had she asked him to, but, after their initial meeting, she genuinely didn’t mind too much.)

Oh, Callan. Odessa sniffed and glanced at the empty space behind her. She’d gotten into the habit of stopping by the cafeteria to grab a greenfish for Callan, first as a thank you for his assistance and an apology for her upper deck crewmates’ cruel sentiments, and now as a gift. In her research on Callan’s species, she’d read that greenfish were a favored treat. When she’d first acquired one from the commissary, she was surprised to find that the damn things were huge—at least as big as her, and heavy. Even more surprising was when Callan had taken it and swallowed it whole.

Remembering her shock at the time made Odessa giggle softly. It was a momentary relief from her current turmoil.

With a sniffle and a sigh, Odessa continued on. She found a quiet place to sequester herself into, tucked her legs up to her chest, and rested her forehead on the bend of her knees.

And she cried.

For how long, she didn’t know. It felt like hours, but it could have been only a couple of minutes.

“Dessa?”

Odessa flinched, tensing, but didn’t lift her head yet.

She hadn’t noticed his footsteps or his approach.

Putting on a fake smile, Odessa wiped her eyes and looked up, trying to hide the fact that she’d been crying. “Callan! Hey. Hi.”

The giant stared down at her, brow scales pinched together and lips tight in a frown. Slowly he lowered himself into a crouch, arms resting on his thighs. “What’s wrong?”

Right to the point. Odessa felt a stab of fear. A part of her wanted to release the floodgates and tell him everything, but another part was terrified that he would shun her if he knew the whole truth.

Callan sensed her rising heart rate. He tilted his head to the side. Normally, he more than likely would have swept Odessa off of the floor upon spotting her. This time, though, she was upset. It wasn’t the normal kind of upset, either—not the annoyed-at-my-rude-coworkers upset that she often told him about. This was different.

“It’s nothing,” Odessa said with a shrug. That was a lie. They both knew it. She pushed herself to her feet and dusted off the front of her uniform. “Just… a bad day. I’ll be okay.”

Callan stared for a long moment. Wordlessly, he reached out, not with a tentacle, but with his hand, and gently hooked his knuckle under her chin to tip her head up. She met his eyes, her own still wet with lingering tears. Her lip started to quiver. The fake smile was breaking.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said. “Just let me know what I can do for you right now, ‘kay?”

Odessa squeezed her eyes shut, pushing another bead of tears out to roll down her cheeks. She nodded, and shuffled closer, into Callan’s palm. Her arms wrapped around his thumb, and, after a moment, his fingers curled around her back.

She needed this hug.

Something brushed her cheeks—a tentacle, she assumed—and wiped away the fresh tears. “Wanna go somewhere else?” Callan asked.

She nodded.

The hand tightened around her. His other hand joined, gently scooping her legs out from under her, securing her in his hold. It was a little strange; he’d never actually held her in his hands before, but it was nice as well. It was comforting.

The giant lifted her up and started to walk. Odessa turned her face away from the hall, unwilling to face anyone else right now. Callan spoke very little, only offering quiet greetings when he passed other crewmates in the hall. Where he was taking her, she didn’t know, nor could she find it in herself to care. After a few minutes, a few turns, and a door opening and closing, Callan came to a halt. Odessa lifted her head. They were in a living quarters. Like everyone else’s, it was a simple space with a place to sleep—in this case, a hammock—a desk and chair, a closet and chest for personal belongings, and a small side room for showering and waste disposal. The walls bore no decorations, but, on the desk, there was a holograph, and a few trinkets that looked like remnants of creatures found in some alien sea. What resembled a tooth almost half as long as Odessa was tall caught her eye the most. It shined with an opalescent light.

Callan pulled out the chair with one of his tentacles and sat down. He lowered his hands to rest on the desk surface, fingers unfurling, to give Odessa the option to disembark if she so wished. She found that she didn’t—not quite yet.

“This is your room?” she asked.

“Mhmm.” He glanced around the space for a moment, but didn't let his gaze leave from Odessa for long. “Don’t really spend too much time here, though. Always out and about.”

Odessa wiped under her eyes with her sleeve. “Yeah, I get it. I’m the same way. My room’s just a place to sleep at night.” She craned her neck to look behind her, to the opalescent tooth again. “What’s that from? It’s gorgeous.”

“That?” A banded tendril snaked over and wrapped around the root of the tooth, lifting it off of its stand. Callan brought it closer for Odessa to see. Up close, she realized it was more like two thirds of her height. Its edges were jagged, like a saw blade. “Tooth from a… well, it doesn’t have a word in Standard. Big, nasty creature from back home.” An alert pinged on Odessa’s U-tool of an incoming image file of the beast in question. It in some ways resembled a seal, or a predatory whale. Its mouth glimmered with rows upon rows of the pearly teeth.

“Eugh. Creepy looking,” she said with a grimace.

“Yeah.” He turned the tooth around idly, catching different colors in its shine. “Found this one washed ashore some years ago. It was dead. Had ruptures in its skull from surfacing too fast, and burns along its tail and sides. We later found that it had tried to flee from an exploding Dysian fort.” He spoke so casually, yet, at the mention of the Dysians, Odessa stiffened. Callan noticed, but carried on. “Lucky for us, the Dysians never got a foothold on our planet. Not much land, and they couldn’t figure out how to set up usable structures in our oceans. Not worth the trouble.”

Odessa fell silent again, her eyes downcasted. Unconsciously she dug her nails into her palms again.

“Dessa?” She didn’t look up. “Did someone threaten you because you have Dysian ancestry?”

For a second time today, Odessa felt her blood freeze. She went completely rigid. Her heart pounded against her ribcage so fast that she thought it would break out at any moment. “H… how…?” She could hardly speak around the tightness forming in her throat.

Callan, to his credit, didn’t look at all angry. Maybe concerned, but there was no malice in his demeanor. “I can taste it on you. Picked up on it the first time we met, when I grabbed you on that wire.”

“W-what…?” She blinked, feeling the tears pooling in her eyes again. He’d known this whole time? And he’d never mentioned it? “You… can taste it on me?”

“Well, uh… These—” he held up a few more tentacles, each moving like they had minds of their own, “—are very sensitive. Touch, taste, smell. And I’ve fought off enough Dysians in my time with the Corps to recognize ‘em, even if it’s only a little in you.”

Odessa didn’t know what to say. She stared, wide-eyed, looking between the tentacles and Callan’s face. His expression was quite blasé, which confused her further.

“I’m not Dysian,” she finally managed to blurt out. Callan tilted his head. “I’m—I’m Louvan. My grandfather—he was Louvan. He was among those that didn’t agree with the empirical majority, so they were banished to a colony planet. They… we call ourselves Louvan.” She’d wanted to shout this to Moyl earlier, but he hadn’t let her get a word in. And now Callan… he was silent. Too silent. The longer it drew on, the more anxious Odessa grew.

And then he leaned back. His features twisted, like he was about to be sick. Odessa’s heart sank. Though they’d only known each other for a few weeks now, she wasn’t sure she could handle losing his friendship. She couldn’t handle a ship full of enemies on her own.

“Hold on.” He tipped his hands, forcing Odessa to stand, and pressed them down on the desk on either side of her. He tried to stand, but his knees wobbled and collapsed under him. The jolt of him falling shook the desk, knocking Odessa onto her rear. She blinked up at Callan with scared, tearful eyes.

“Callan?”

“S’not you. Gimme a moment. I just…” He trailed off, and fell backwards. His claws dug into the desk surface, leaving long scratches. With a heavy thud, he hit the floor, twitching, eyes glazed over. The opalescent tooth clattered on the desk next to Odessa, long forgotten.

Odessa cried out in shock. This wasn’t normal. This couldn’t be his reaction to her, right? He’d apparently already known her secret, so this had to be a nasty coincidence. Right? Panicked, she hit the emergency button on her HUD.

“Send help!” she begged, “Callan’s collapsed! Please, he—we’re in his quarters. No, I don’t know the number! He’s convulsing on the floor! Please—!”

It only took a few minutes for the medical staff to find the room and start assessing him, but those minutes were agony. Odessa watched helplessly from the desk as Callan lurched on the floor. Thankfully, the medics tending to him were all of larger (albeit still smaller than Callan) species. One of them glanced back at her and demanded to know what had happened.

She didn’t have any answers. He was fine before. She hadn’t seen him ingest anything. He hadn’t been behaving any differently. He’d seemed normal.

The medic made a call to inject Callan with a sedative. As soon as he went slack, they hauled him onto a gurney, and wheeled him out the door.

“Hey!” Odessa called, waving her hands at one of the techs, “take me with you! Please!”

The tech, a twelve-ish-foot-tall, four-armed being, glanced back at her. “Uh. Do you know him?”

“I’m in his room!” she huffed. “He’s my friend!”

With a grimace and a fair amount of apprehension, the tech backpedaled, awkwardly lifted her off the desk, and stuffed her under one of their arms. It wasn’t comfortable—especially not when they started running down the hall after the gurney—but Odessa bit back her nausea and held on as best she could.

Once they reached the medical bay, the tech sat her down just as awkwardly, and told her to hold tight in the waiting room while they tended to her friend. She stood on shaky legs, unsure if her tremors were from fear or nausea, or a mixture of both. Helplessly, her mind whirling, she stared at the ER doors, and slumped down into a size-appropriate chair to wait.

And she waited.

And waited.

After over an hour, the doors slid open again, and the same tech as before stepped out. They stared at Odessa for a moment, no doubt glancing over her file on their U-tool. “Er… Odessa Kovalev?”

It wasn’t the prettiest pronunciation, but Odessa didn’t care. She jumped up from her seat, legs still a little weak under her, and wiped at the tear stains on her eyes. “Yes? That’s me. Is Callan okay?”

The tech stepped aside and gestured for Odessa to come into the back. She quickly complied, and followed their lead. “He’s stable. He asked us to bring you in to see him.”

“What happened to him?”

“Er… I’m not at liberty to say without his permission. He’ll have to tell you himself.”

Well that was comforting. Chances are it wasn’t this guy that gave her personal information to Moyl.

The tech stopped at a door and keyed in a code with his U-tool. It slid open, revealing a simple, sterile room. Within it, Callan lied on a medical bed, hooked up to a few machines and tubes. Odessa brought her hands to her mouth, and felt fresh tears pooling in her eyes. How many times was she going to cry today?

Callan stirred as she entered. Upon spotting her, he somehow managed to pull one of his goofy, lazy grins. “Dessa. There you are.”

Relief washed over her. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but chuckle. “I wasn’t going to just leave you after you collapsed.” A tentacle slipped off of the bed. Odessa took it as an invitation and stepped closer, a hand to the leathery skin. The tentacle gently coiled around her middle and lifted her off of her feet, up onto the bed with Callan. His hand then joined, positioning itself around her back and shoulders.

“You’re shaking,” he commented, that grin still fixed in place. “And you’ve been crying some more. Ah, I’m sorry for freaking you out, Dessa. Didn’t mean for it to get so bad.”

Odessa’s brows furrowed. He didn’t mean for this to happen? “What… are you talking about? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I will be, after a couple of days.” Callan shifted a little and looked askance. He wasn’t telling her something. Odessa could feel the nervous energy in the tentacle still wrapped around her, and in how his fingers tensed.

“Callan. What happened? As soon as I told you about—” she paused, glancing over to the tech still standing in the doorway. They were scribbling something down on a holopad, and didn’t seem to be paying attention, but Odessa remained wary. “Right after I explained my piece, you got sick. I was worried I’d… I dunno… set you off.”

The giant huffed. “No, Dessa. This has nothing to do with you, I promise. Nothing you told me—nothing I already knew—triggered this. It was just unfortunate timing that I had a flare up.”

“A flare up of what? I mean…” she trailed off, feeling just a little hypocritical, given her own very recent issues with medical information. “...I mean… if you’re okay to tell me.”

“Well…” Callan pressed his lips together tightly. He looked guilty. “I’ve been, er, throwing up a lot in the past few weeks. And my kind—we have two stomachs, so we’re not really supposed to throw up. If we do too much, we lose a lot of stomach acid, and then we have trouble getting nutrients from food, and we get sicker, and…” he trailed off, waving a hand. Odessa stared blankly. “Uh… here we are.”

“A few weeks? What’s been making you so sick for a few weeks?” That was about as long as she’d known him. She’d never noticed anything sickly, but she also wouldn’t have known what to look for.

Callan’s tentacle loosened around her, then pulled away entirely, though his hand stayed in place. He was nervous, and it was making Odessa nervous. “It’s not your fault, okay? You didn’t know.”

Her eyes went wide. Realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and horror quickly followed. “The greenfish?!” Callan nodded sheepishly. Odessa threw her arms up, swatting his hand away. “So this does have something to do with me! Why wouldn’t you say something?!”

“Because it was a really nice gesture, you researching like that and bringing me gifts. I didn’t want to make you feel bad! You couldn’t have known that I have an intolerance for greenfish.” He gave her a look not unlike that of a child being scolded.

“No, I couldn’t, because you never told me! Now I feel extremely bad because I’ve put you in the damn hospital, Callan!” This was the most stressful day she’d ever had. Odessa raked her fingers through her hair, equal parts exasperated and frustrated. Her shouting drew the tech’s attention. They stowed their holopad and approached, cautious.

“Um, Miss Kovalev—”

“It’s Doctor,” she snapped, glaring up at the tech.

“Uh—sorry—Dr. Kovalev, Mr. Callan really should be resting. If you can’t calm down, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“That’s not necessary,” Callan interjected. “She’s fine. Really, I—”

“You know what? No. I should go.” Callan looked ready to protest, but Odessa held up a hand to stop him. “Look, I’ve had a really bad day. Truly, one of my worst. I know yours isn’t turning out great either, but I need to cool off.”

A dejected Callan sighed and let his gaze fall. He offered a tentacle to help her down to the floor, but she waved it away, muttering that she could manage on her own. The tech took a step back, giving her room to secure her climbing cable and descend to the floor. She glanced back over her shoulder, up to Callan, her lips bent in a sad frown.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Odessa made for the door, pace brisk. She needed to get back to her room. She needed to process this horrible, horrible day. And maybe she needed a stiff drink.

[greyias]

Companion Interview Meme

Tagged by: @a-muirehen — thank you for the tag!

Pick three companions who know your OC/muse well. Answer the questions from at least one of their companions points of view. Replace anywhere it says ‘Grey’ with your OC’s name. Name the three companions who will be answering here: 1. Theron Shan 2. Lana Beniko 3. Kira Carsen Are they ready to be candid with their responses? Don’t worry, this is totally private. Grey will never read it.

(Slight spoiler warning in one answer for Echoes of Oblivion)

1. First Impressions. What was the first impression you had of Grey?

Theron: Look, it’s complicated. Like on one hand, she just had to be hiding something, because she was just so—so—no one is that nice! Or naive. It had to be an act somehow. I was convinced of it, there had to be something wrong with her, some deep, dark dirty secret she was hiding. Because if she wasn’t then that means she was a genuinely good person who actually cared deeply about random strangers and that was just weird. And kind of wonderful. And in retrospect when I look back maybe I just... needed a few reasons to keep people at arms distance. I once told her that I loved her from the moment I saw her. Striding into the situation room like she owned the place and... yeah. That was also true. As I said, it’s complicated. And I’m kind of an idiot.

Lana: I was quite impressed by what I had assumed at the time was a great deal of pragmatism. She was a Jedi, and yet didn’t seem bothered at all by the fact that I was a Sith. In fact, sometimes I think maybe she was... fascinated by it? There was a moment or two where I wondered if... well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. She has always been a force to be reckoned with. It’s easy to follow someone like that... even if they are a Jedi (and a very impractical one at that. I really should have seen that coming in retrospect.)

Kira: She didn’t know how to take a joke. I mean, I’ve gotten better over the years, but at the start I’d had a tendency to make jokes first, assess the situation later. I’d made some comment about taking no prisoners, and you would have thought I’d just kicked a puppy instead of making a joke. Kind of felt like I had from the look on her face. Luckily, I think we both made better second impressions when we started working together on Coruscant.

2. Grey walks into a bar. No, it’s not a joke - what does she order? If you give her a credit for the jukebox, what kind of music would she put on?

Theron: Something fruity and filled with rum if you don’t stop her. Don’t let her drink the rum. And then because she has no loyalty whatsoever she’ll put on Tai-Vor Swivt on the jukebox and just share my special playlist with the whole cantina. Um. I mean. Her playlist. I don’t like Tai-Vor. I only listen to Heavy Isotope. And things like that.

Lana: The answer depends on the time of day, her mood, and several other factors. I have it all documented in this rubric here. You’ll need to give me more specifics on your inquiry if you want an accurate answer.

Kira: I mean, usually she just orders caf, which almost always gets a dramatic eyeroll from the bartender. So I usually have to order so we don’t get the stinkeye the entire time. And usually she lets me pick the music too -- I kind of suspect she didn’t really know many of the artists. Not exactly dialed into pop culture, that one.

3. How does Grey spend a day off from work?

Theron: Hmm, if I have my way it’s a nice slow morning and any message sent to her e-mail receives a cordial out-of-office message (Lana gets two for each message she sends.) Maybe later we can take a walk in the woods, go pet those stinky Exoboars running wild and ruining the Odessen countryside, maybe we get a little lost along the way. Spend the evening winding down with one of her swashbuckling holoflix. If I don’t have my way someone winds up asking her a work question and then she doesn’t get a day off. Yes. I know the irony of this coming from me.

Lana: If she is onsite at Odessen nowadays she seems to spend it in a mix between time in her quarters, leaving the base to take a walk in the woods, trying to duck surveillance to meditate in her “secret” spot. 

Kira: Back on the Defender, it was just a lot of meditating, practicing her katas, sparring. Honestly, even on her days off she usually just kept trying to make sure we were prepared for the next mission. Although if I invited her to do something normal she’d go along with it. So I may have made sure some of our off days coincided so she would actually take something resembling a break. The weirdo. She seems to have relaxed a little from that here on Odessen. I think that’s nice.

4. What silly superstitions or funny traditions does she observe?

Theron: She meditates each morning, and still observes the Jedi morning fast. Except she totally cheats on her fast and will drink a cup of caf if its hand delivered to her. She’ll warm her hands on the mug as she takes in a big whiff, and this little smile spreads across her face. It causes the freckles on her nose to wrinkle. And maybe I’m the one who hand delivers the caf because its hard to think of a better way to start the day.

Lana: We do not speak of the fruitcake, or any of her other attempted holiday traditions. If we do not encourage her, then maybe she’ll stop. Please, we must all band together, for the good of my digestive tract.

Kira: Whenever we would finish up a mission on a planet, she liked to take off her socks and boots and meditate with her feet sticking into the ground. She even wanted to do it on Quesh but Doc was loud enough on that instance to be able to talk her out of it. She tried to hide it but she looked really disappointed, so I tried to cheer her up by joining her on this weird mud hop at our next port of call. Not sure if I really felt any different but it seemed to make her happy.

5. What does Grey wear to bed? And just how do you know that?

Theron: Traditional night wear is a thin tank top and sleep pants. Let’s just say sometimes there’s less traditional night wear, or sometimes less than that -- but that’s between husband and wife.

Lana: On mission she typically wears something quick to change into her armor. On base she seems to have a standard set of pajama bottoms and sleeveless sleep shirt. How do I know this? Let’s just say I have to keep the Commander on schedule, even when certain people who should know better try and distract her from our very busy day running things.

Kira: She usually was changed and ready for the day before I ever saw her, but sometimes there’d be a late night where she couldn’t sleep, and I’d find her in the Defender’s mess. Pretty simple and spare sleepwear, sleep pants and tank top. Fashion’s not exactly her priority, you know?

6. Your favorite memory of Grey?

Theron: Why do you make me pick? Damn... that’s hard. There’s almost too many to choose, but... I guess it would be just after we got back from Nathema, and I was trying to apologize for everything and... somehow that turned into a proposal. And despite me being a stumbling awkward mess she still said yes and... look. I probably should have picked a different one, I’m not really good at the talking about feelings thing.

Lana: That moment when the broadcast across the galaxy happened after she had tamed the Eternal Fleet, she stood poised and powerful, finally setting the galaxy aright after Zakuul had torn it asunder. It was a moment more than five years in the making and I couldn’t have been prouder.

Kira: That moment when we stood, side-by-side, with everyone else in the Force and turned that creep Tenebrae, and every other of his counterparts into absolute crumbling dust. It almost made up for the fact that I wasn’t there the first two times she sent him packing.

7. A time you very nearly almost kissed Grey?

Theron: I mean, if we’re being technical, I had... thought about it for one moment on Manaan. Just a brief second, as we were saying our farewells before I went into hiding. Our eyes had met while we were shaking hands goodbye and it would have been so easy to just pull her in close and--I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. Not then at least. Now though? I don’t miss a chance.

Lana: I was angry at myself, my weakness, and taking it out on the clutter around the Gravestone. I had been surrounded out in the swamp, and only Koth’s timely intervention had saved me. She had come seeking me out to make sure that I was all right, to check on my injury. And in the low light, she just looked so concerned and guilty, and I’m fairly certain she was leaning in. I would have, you know, if Koth hadn’t been throwing around things and making a racket.

Kira: It was right after my Knighting, and I had snuck a bottle of champagne on board to celebrate. I suspect she hadn’t ever actually tasted alcohol before, judging by her reaction to the first sip. But we kept drinking, and giggling, kind of like we weren’t stuffy Jedi at all. And there was this moment where she asked me about Nar Shaddaa. Not pushy or anything, just... curious about my experiences. She never talks about it, but I don’t think she really knew much of life outside of the Order so she was always cautiously curious. And there was this moment where I was telling her about my first kiss and we kind of leaned in and--nothing happened. At the time I didn’t want to risk making things weird. I... like where we’re at. I’m fine with it.

8. Vacation time! Where do you take Grey for some R&R?

Theron: You know, I just love the sound of that word. Vay-cay-shun. Despite popular opinion I actually do take them, maybe a few more now than when I was single. We have a secret little hideaway that no one else knows about that I like to take her to when things get a little rough or we just need a break from the everything the galaxy is deciding to throw her our way.

Lana: You know, a vacation does sound nice, but someone has to keep things running here, especially when a certain nameless spy whisks our Commander away to fake locales. Seriously, I need a proper itinerary. What if I need to contact them? It’s just rude. Oh right, the question. I suppose I wouldn’t mind visiting some place quiet and out of the way, although I honestly have yet to find a place in galaxy that qualifies because if I take Grey for some reason she always finds someone in trouble that she insists on rescuing.

Kira: I’m not sure if it qualifies as a vacation per se, but I’ve been able to sneak her and one of our other Jedi buddies around base off to Nar Shaddaa for a Girl’s Night. Those are fun, even if we kept getting hit on at the bars. Although that can be entertaining in itself, especially that one time some guy pretended to be a Jedi, and then got this very detailed lecture on how bad an idea that was from Grey. I don’t think I’ve seen a man wilt so fast in my life. I would pay to see that again.

9. Grey’s sense of humor -is it dry, immature, sarcastic, self-deprecating, physical, witty, dark, or…?

Theron: I think it depends on the situation and her mood. It can be very subtle, and sometimes I can’t tell if she’s being serious when she says something ridiculous, or if she’s messing with me. Which... I suppose is fair, because sometimes I do the same to her.

Lana: She loves a good pun, which I find delightful. It’s doubly delightful just to see Theron roll his eyes and groan like he’s being tortured.

Kira: I think a lot of people don’t really get her humor, and honestly it took me a while to realize when she was joking. She likes to let others take the lead when it comes to cracking jokes, but when she does make a zinger, it takes a few seconds for it to land. They’re a lot more sly and subtle than you’d think. My favorite is when she starts to get really frustrated with someone and makes really dry, pointed comments that usually sail right over their heads. She has so many people fooled with that sweet serene Jedi act, they don’t even realize the epic burn until long after the conversation has ended.

Tagging: @confettininjabean, @thewriterandmuse. @shanfamilydrama, @storyknitter, @lumielles, @captainderyn, and @brietopia

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (eventual Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

chapter 4 - the hag’s cabin

SFW, mentions blood and mutilation, around 2K words.

It was like he had snapped out of a bad dream.

A flash of red blinded him for just a moment, hand shooting up to cover his eyes as he stood up straight, fingertips dripping with blood that wasn’t his. He opened his eyes to a much clearer view of the woods, a pressure relieved from his shoulders, and a strange yet friendly face staring down at him with avid curiosity. Blood-tinted eyes watched him closely, an amiable smile on her wrinkled face. The hag’s skin was light enough to glow in the scant moonlight, spindly silver hair wild and framing her face in the most awkward of ways. He was reminded of Mother’s little game of disguise, the unassuming crone of riddles and wisdom.

Maybe it was Mother all along, and in that case, he better be on his best behavior. She was surely capable of it all, confusing him on the path and assuming the form of some horrible abomination; but why would she bother? She did seem genuinely surprised, perhaps even wary. Was this another one of her games to keep them all on their toes? To ensure obedience, another way of displaying her powers to remind him that even at his best, he was not an omniscient near-god. In her eyes, he was a second class citizen with a thing for tinkering that she kept around. A dangerous, homicidally inclined one, but a second class failure nonetheless.

The hag’s dirty clothes fluttered in the wind, the smell of death seeming to emanate from within her bones, strong enough to choke him. For a moment, he expected her to cackle, conjure up a staff made of bones to wave at him while she spoke her nonsense, telling him to repent and surrender to the Black God. Instead she laboriously extended a frail hand to help him up, blackened fingertips offering him no comfort.

“Come closer, dear, let us have a look at you.” She spoke at last, tender, almost motherly, her voice sounding like a legion of disjointed souls pooling together to form a sentence. She took a step in his direction when he did not answer, bones cracking with effort, frame barely supporting her own weight. It looked to him as if her every movement was torture, like she had been living on borrowed time for far too long and the earth had grown tired of waiting to reclaim her to dust. “Let us bathe you, take care of you.” Her words were sweet, her tone malicious. “Everything will be fine.”

Oh, yes, naturally. She looked like she had come straight out of a fairytale book, but surely it would all end up alright. It would all be fine, surely, him being bathed in a large bubbling cauldron with herbs and salt for soap, trapped inside a cage being fattened for later use in culinary endeavors. The fat on his body would be used for tallow, the skin for the shade of some lamp, the heart to power said lamp.

“Think I’ll pass.” Was all he could say through gritted teeth, barely a whisper in the dissonance of his thoughts. Her snicker was low and delighted, form fading away in a cloud of crimson mist.

The terror that had consumed him had disappeared just as quickly as it had taken hold, his racing heart and staggered breathing giving way to the burning rage and overconfidence he usually carried with him. He looked around for the yellow flowers Donna used to trick people’s minds, for any sign that what he had witnessed was an illusion. The snow felt real as he crushed it with his fingers, the wind caressed him just so to keep him alert and awake. Heisenberg looked down at himself to look for anything that might be amiss, a misshaped piece of fabric, a hue that looked off; he counted ten fingers, pulled back his sleeve to look at his wristwatch, numbers crisp and clear. Not a dream, not a hallucination. Sheer terror, like he had not felt in years, adrenaline pumping in his veins to make him feel alive after decades of keeping his nose just above the water. Despite it all, he felt light as a feather. In a way, he felt free.

He rose to his feet to take the path ahead, ducking to miss the arch of the twisted tunnel, holding onto branches and feeling like they held onto him in return. A mere couple of meters away, a crude fence and wooden gate separated him from a clearing he had never seen. Slabs of stone marked the way towards it, visible despite the icy landscape, their surface well-worn and freshly disturbed. Had the hag come this way? Would he meet a series of monsters that made him offers he could not refuse, like the tales Miranda had concocted of him and his siblings?

He knew the mountain held a multitude of paths and clearings, nooks and crannies untouched by man and lost to time, mazes and caves and all manners of things he had only read in old books of fiction. The villagers would always say there was much that surrounded them, not altogether pleasant, older than them, older than the bones of this earth. Monsters and spirits, legends lost just beyond the village gates. Even as a child, swallowing his fear like a bitter pill, he labeled them all fools, pawns in the hands of a cruel bitch who kept them isolated, a flock of tarnished sheep that would never break free of their bonds. And yet it seemed the joke was on him, was it not? Here he was, mother’s prophecy fulfilled, standing alone in the forest deep, lost like the child who ran away to pick berries, having just witnessed something he could not explain.

Heisenberg peered into the trees in silence, breathing labored and pulse too loud in his ears. He watched for eyes in the forest, long fingers that camouflaged in the tree bark. Silver hair mistaken for spider webs, humanoid shadows that tricked the unwary. All he sees is a curious hare that stops to stare at him before going deeper into the woods to find its den, all he hears are the sounds of the night and the forest alive at last.

The smell of rotting carcasses inundated his nostrils as he walked, a series of carefully placed, crusty wooden stakes protruding from the ground like sickly trees that refused to wither. Blood dripped and congealed at its base, the decapitated heads of lycans and samcas and moroaicas neatly impaled, but looking so alive. He could almost hear it, the groaning and stretching of broken jaws as they tried to break free. 

An incredulous smile crept up to his lips as he reached out to touch a nearby lycan’s head, skin soft and clammy underneath his fingers, veins protruding on swollen flesh. Sharp teeth and exposed gums, no doubt a lycan, and he is too slow to react when the creature bites down onto his hand and all but tears the skin between his thumb and index fingers. It tries to finish the job but cannot break free, just enough movement to open and close its jaw, and Heisenberg looks down in disbelief to his bleeding hand, to the monster that should have turned to dust.

He reaches for the hammer in a half-horrified haze, swings with full strength to knock the stake to the ground, amazed when all heads spring to life and groan at him in a last breath that would never end. His morbid curiosity has him bring the hammer over his head and down onto the earth, bones cracking with the impact as the failed experiment finally crumbles to dust beneath the metal. What kind of fuckery was this? The pain in his right hand felt too real to be an illusion, the blood dripping onto his boots too viscous to be a trick of the mind. His mind spun with theories, with curiosity. Before he leaves, he should confiscate one of these for further study at the factory.

Heisenberg could hardly contain his excitement as he vaulted over the fence, anxious for the next chapter of this night full of surprises. He expected a gruesome display; an altar proudly displaying a sacrifice, the hunched over beast he had met before munching on an animal corpse. The hag kneeling by the stream, washing bloody clothes as a presage of war and death. A circle of witches chanting in tongues and cursing his entire, nonexistent bloodline for generations to come. An enchanted maiden with a delicate bosom and sinuous form inviting him to ravage her innocence, only to eat him alive liver first in a fit of madness.

Instead he was greeted by a curious chicken peeking at him from a hole in the trellis of its coop, a tiny goat grazing by his feet. There was a horse, real this time, penned in and cozy for the night, oblivious to his presence. 

The small hoofed animal doesn’t seem bothered when Heisenberg grabs it unceremoniously, inspects its fur and hoofs and horns, pinches at its flesh for any hint of supernatural. On the contrary, the goat seems to enjoy it, tiny tail wagging rapidly as Heisenberg stares it down like one would an annoying baby that is too cute for one to be angry at. It seems almost sad when it is put back down onto the snow, gives Heisenberg a tentative headbutt and walks away in defeat when he ignores it to investigate the rest of the place.

A small cabin stood just beyond, green shingles on the roof and walls covered in clay, narrow porch and swinging front door, a light bleeding out into the night through the narrow window of the attic. Suspiciously innocuous. There were no chicken legs, it was not made of sweets, and instead of decay, what he smelled made his stomach growl in response. He would eat that damn black horse the moment he saw it again, leg first as he moved up his feast.

A delicate wreath of wildflowers adorned the red door, slightly ajar to encourage his exploration. He did not recognize the symbol drawn just beneath his feet at the threshold - was it a warning? A welcome message? Heisenberg made sure to remain perfectly quiet as he stepped inside, taking care that his boots would not squeak against the wooden boards. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, the colorful woven rug a pleasant change from the bleak scenario of ice and death. He pushed the door all the way to reveal a room that was equal parts cozy and mysterious.

To his right was a wood stove, a bucket of firewood resting beside it, white ceramic kettle embellished with blue flowers whistling loudly on top. A shelf stocked with grain and spices stood just beyond, hooks with a multitude of pots and pans beneath it. The small kitchen also had a rustic counter and ceramic sink, cutting board and bone-white knife abandoned halfway through a large carrot. The small dinner table was set for two, a pair of teacups resting at the end of it. There was no sign of electricity, candles and lanterns of wrought iron working double time to ward off the dark of night.

He walked further in to to look at the rest of it, the diminutive living room that was also kitchen and dining area. The couch was a wooden skeleton covered in coarse fabric, cushions looking like they had patched a thousand times over. Somehow, they looked leagues more comfortable than any of Alcina’s fancy armchairs. Dusty tomes fought for space on a wooden stool beside it, candle wax frozen solid halfway over the edge onto the ground. A rickety ladder was almost hidden next to it, woolen socks overhanging one of the steps.

Right in front of him, on the far wall, was a sturdy brick fireplace, cast iron pot hanging over it, the tasty looking stew he had smelled from outside bubbling invitingly. A soft whimper alerted him to the presence of a furry creature curled up in front of the fire, looking compact despite its real size, oblivious to his presence and sound asleep. Heisenberg chuckled as he walked closer and bent down to pet it with a little too much force, the shaggy shepherd hound lifting its head to look at him in annoyance before busying itself with its nap once again, too tired to give a fuck about anything else. Craning his body to the left he peeked at the mezzanine, candle lit but bed empty. No one home, it seemed.

It was difficult to remain quiet when anger bubbled under the first layer of his skin; he was furious at his Mother and sister, at whoever had pulled the stupid prank earlier. He had been sent on a wild goose chase, had gotten lost in the woods, had bled his own blood and now stood inside a poor soul’s shack doubting every single thing that had happened this far. Even a man like himself had limits, however, and if he had simply stumbled upon a well-kept homestead of a peasant trying to live their life alone in the middle of the woods, he would leave just as quietly as he had entered. It was only fair, considering he, too, would do the same if given the chance. Perhaps his prey still wandered somewhere and he had gotten lost along the way, but it was time to go back to the road and hunt down the motherfucker who had almost made him piss his pants.

A couple more minutes and he would leave the forest, march up to Castle Dimitrescu and give Alcina a piece of his mind. Maybe he should climb up to the belfry, call everyone over and proudly display his limp dick as he twirled it around like a helicopter blade. Imagining the look of disgust in his sister’s face brought him some comfort.

“So this is the monster that lives in these woods, huh?” He asked the dog, half expecting an answer, with his back turned to make his way out.

“Oh, I am afraid that would be me,” said a woman’s voice somewhere behind him.

[queen-scribbles]

OC Association-- Jael

not tagged by anybody, just wanted to do this one to flesh my girl out a bit more. It’s a long one, so mostly behind a cut.

COLORS red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. cobalt blue.

ELEMENTS fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. magic.

BODY claws. long fingers. fangs. wings. tails. bare feet. freckles. bruises. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. sweat. tears. feline. scales. fur. chubby. curvy. short. tall. average height. muscular. lean. piercing. tattoos. lithe. WEAPONS fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. hammer. shield. poison. venom. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. pyre. teeth/fangs. rifles. words.

MATERIALS gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.

NATURE + WEATHER grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. lavender. sunflowers. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. ocean. river. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. poppies. galaxies. stardust. sky. rain. storm. sunny.

ANIMALS + MYTHICAL CREATURES lions. wolves. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles + tortoises. bugs. spiders. doves. robins. ducks. vultures. whales. dolphins. fish. octopus. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. rabbits. hares. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. rats. livestock. tigers. panthers. deer. foxes. bats. bears. crocodiles + alligators. coyotes. seals + sea lions

FOODS + DRINKS sugar. salt. bitter. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. soda. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. french fries.

HOBBIES music. art. watercolors. gardening/growing plants. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games.computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. comic books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. flight. climbing. running. swimming. healing/medicine.

STYLE lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. sweater. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendent. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. duster. trenchcoat. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. eye contacts. makeup. ties. uniform.

MISC balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. kisses. diary. fairy lights. mental health problems. sadness. bittersweet. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. revenge.

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter 17; Highlands Part I

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-  

Masterlist-

Trigger Warnings: No warnings in this chap- slightly naughty bits

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

                                                      ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

Everything was soft, and warm. Her whole being is snug and safe and lost. Completely lost to sleep and rest.

Mellowness spreading out through each of her limbs like warm embers of an amber fire or a splash of spicy whisky. As if she’s laying in a bath full of silk rose petals and perfectly warm water.

Best sleep she’s ever had in her life. She owes it to the influence of his being near.

Fur pelts and blankets wrapped around her as she’s slumbering on the velvet bench. Curled up in a swathe of them, Kylo smiles, she’s all bundled up, like a little burrowing bug. Her head slumped onto his strong shoulder. Fine wool of his coat scuffing her pale cheek red.

He had his arm around her back and every now and then leaned over and nuzzled his mouth and nose into her hair. Breathing in the plain perfume that he so adored. Kisses her brow. Hints of salty lavender and sage peppermint soap pouring off her. Her skin and her clothes all amalgamated into the encompassing scent of his Iris. The one that he never could resist. The one he knows so dearly by now.

He’s so glad she’s here.

She’s in his arms. It makes him smile he just can’t help it.

He slept a little - in fits and starts mostly. When she’s so warm and sweetly tempting laying her head on his shoulder how could he not? Nestles his nose into her hair and falls asleep too, with a smile on his face, and calm peace taking up his chest. Spreading through him like clouding smoke.

Every muscle in her body coaxed into that sleepy calm lull by a gently rocking motion that sent her engulfed into dreams, like a newborn being swayed in their rocking cradle.

Its the gentle pitch of the coach as it tumbles over rocky highland roads that does it. Crackles and jolts over the stony lanes that cut through the miles and stretching glory of the emerald glens and the heather strewn hills.

He flickers the curtain back from the window his side with his free hand, and milky sunshine spills gold into the scarlet cabin from a clouded heaven.

He peers out the glass, clouded sunshine snatched at his eyes. Quite a stunning vista awaited his attention. He’s used to fish filled lakes, mountain scenery and the lush impossible green of Bavarian landscape under a searing sky. He was made and formed and still sustained, all these years later, by bitter snow and cold rocky climes. Inbetween layers of sinking crushing snow and pine trees was he was formed. Moulded out of such a savage ground as that of his Nordic homeland.

Scotland has a hint of this too: a savagely beautiful terrain. A vast portion of its wilderness remained.

Hulking mountains, the glitter of a loch in the sunshine. Catching like a cascade of sapphires and diamonds in the sun. Dense forest woodlands and rolling hills crested with purple-pink heather. A native plant, as hardy as the landscape and people it sustains.

The sun chips through the clouds and dapples over the valley of the brown-tawny green mountains they’re travelling between. The loch lies spilled and landlocked in the middle. The sky is clear but the wind is howling and icy, and he can feel it’s bitter gale wrapping around the coach.

Scotland is a land he can recall very little of. His previous tours of England over the years kept him mostly in the southern regions. But he remembers some viking settlements on the coasts, in a time when his clans and kin ruled the seas. Pillagers, plunderers and warriors claiming the land for their own like a wandering pack of rabid dogs.

He remembers being at sea, seeing these shores coming into view. Cliffs clearing out of the misty horizon. Stood at the front of the langskip as it rowed him closer to a new land. Some slithers of his memory can still recall.

The woven tunic rasping his cold skin. The taste of sea salt crusted on his lips. Cruel heavy rain pelting into his braids and stinging his head like a thousand needles. The studded leather cuffs and tunic he wore cold from the exposed elements of a ruthless sea. His usual black fur wolf pelt lining his massive shoulders. He can recall how long his hair was back in those days. Braided and knotted and twined with silver ornaments. Kohl smeared on his already dark eyes. He made quite the picture of a savage.

He was on this island a mere two months before he sailed back home. And fate would set its hand on the path towards him being turned by Draegan during that portentous battle.

How different it all is now. Being here, in these very different, yet same, highlands, all these centuries later. With his perfect love of his life, under his arm. On their path towards matrimony.

However dishonourable their actions to get them here. He would’ve slaughtered the whole county if that’s what it took.

He strongly suspected her mother would be in such uproar by now, she’d send for the police or the local magistrate. He can see it now: some six-horse phaeton being governed at impressive speed, by a stony faced police duty constable, haring it down the hair pin roads after them. Mrs Ashton will have painted him the perfect black hearted villain of the peace. Seducing away her eldest daughter to ruin.

Kylo’s smirking at the thought. How correct it is. Except he will not be such a Byronic blackguard as to seduce her and then abandon her like a stray.

He will bed her with such fierce passion make her his Lady. And by god- this wedding can’t come soon enough for his liking.

He admires the scenery a moment or two longer. Before turning back to her.

He nuzzles his mouth to her forehead. Her warm creamy skin against his mouth and he takes a gentle kiss of it. “Dove?” He calls to her through her sleep. His voice a rumbling hush. Chipping through her engulfing pretty dreams.

Her eyelids flutter and she gently comes too - his mouth a loving press on her temple. His lips are a silky wisp on her skin and it makes a beautiful thrum of conscious delight run through her. He feels it pluck along every nerve in her spine. Like a knife carving and picking through stitched thread. His nearness undoes her so brutally.

Her eyes peel open and he watches the sunshine catch in them. Oakmoss and honey. “We are in the highlands?” She asks.

Voice eclipsed under a husky tone that sleep still clings to. He smiles at her. Tucks a straying curl of hair back behind her ear. Her cheek so pink and warm from her slumber.

“Take a look…” He gestured to the window with a casual nod. Smile glowing with love of her, in such an adorably mussed state.

She rubs the bleariness of sleep away and leans across him to admire the prospect.

The breath is quite snatched from her lungs.

She never knew the scenery of these British isles could differ. For years she’d been the landlocked country miss. So used to the frosted green-brown fields and flat valleys of the genteel farming countryside of the south. The unexciting stretch of her home county.

She never knew a landscape could be this vast. Such huge mountains with golden and green grass and purple heather crawling up them. So high they stabbed into the searing grey of the sky and snow dusts their tips where the icy wind blazes. She’s never seen such colour and brutality in such a vista before. It’s quite a refreshing sight to her innocent eyes.

She cranes her head to catch a glimpse of the loch sandwiched between the mountains. The severity of the grey sky fills the waters. But it still looks like a great stretch of Prussian blue ink. She feels like she’s seeing the world for the first time with wide open and educated eyes.

“Goodness…” She gasps in amazement. Kylo smiles looking at her sweet creamy profile bathed in sunlight. The clouds are roiling in temper in front of the sun, Grey and churning, interrupting the light pouring down from the heavens. Kylo suspects there will be rain soon.

She sits back and unfolds some of her cocooning blankets from her legs. She was quite warm enough when she’s holding his hand. Fingers sloped and tangled together in her lap.

“Whereabouts are we?” She enquires.

“Near Kinlochleven. That peak there…” he gestures out the window with a pointed finger. “Is called Ben Nevis. The highest peak in all of Western Scotland.”

“Without meaning to take a liberty; I thought we were intended for Gretna green?” She asks.

He chuckles and leans over to pluck a sweet kiss on the corner of her mouth. He pulls back and rests his forehead to hers. Nose nuzzled against her cheek.

“Take all the liberties you should like, my love. You won’t offend me so easily.” He tells her.

“I must confess I had considered that if your mother is hateful enough to send someone to stop our union, Gretna Green would be the first place she’d look.” He smiles cunningly.

“I thought we had better err on the side of caution.” He insists. “Not that slobbering hounds from the very bowels of hell could stop me marrying you-“ He drawls lovingly.

“But I thought it best to avoid a nasty encounter if there is one to be had.” He tells. “You don’t mind? Do you?” He seeks with a frown.

“Mind?” She repeats. She leans close and kisses his cheek.

“You could tell me our wedding is being hosted in a ditch and I’d still be delirious with joy.” She tells him.

He chuckles kindly at her sentiments. Smile crinkles up his eyes and cheeks. She wants to follow those sweet dimples with her fingertips. Like trailing well-work paths and lines and dips in a map. Skimming over roads travelled.

“I had planned for a little better than a ditch. I sought out an Inn that looked most comfortable. Rather rustic. I’m afraid it’s not going to be a grand manor house overrun with servants.” He tells her. Preferring honesty over catching her in a lie.

She’s still smiling. “I’m not a grand kind of woman. Cosy sounds wonderful.” She insists. She had no qualms about his doing or acting upon anything that could make her uncomfortable.

“I’d take a cosy wedding with you - over anything cold and grand and proper. Like my supposed wedding to Sergeant Hux would’ve been.”

She could see it all so clearly; a stifling preconception of wedded life.

A big society affair - Maratella and Mama would invite every old matron and stuffy Lord of their acquaintance within a fifty mile radius. Anything to show off the grandeur of the match. They’d be wedded under no less than a hundred pairs of eyes, and the odious, foul-breathed, Reverend Potter, watching them.

With a tepid kiss on the lips and duty done, the party would retire to a wedding breakfast hosted at Cavenham - Maratella would insist. They’d spend the wedding night there before setting off on honeymoon the next day. If there was to be one. Probably some boarding house in Brighton or something that wouldn’t remove them too far away.

Iris shudders at the merest intimation of bedding Hux.

He wasn’t repulsive but if his conjugal manner was as alike in every other cold attitude that he treated her. She was in for an uncomfortable procedure in consummating their marriage. It would be very polite, and sharp and quick. A fumble and an insulting rut and she’d be done with him.

He wouldn’t kiss her. Or lay into her with glimmering affection and wildly consuming love in his eyes. He’d do his duty and then she’s damn certain he’d have retired to his own bedchamber. Leaving her there, sore, bleeding and sticky-warm between her thighs. It completely crushed her heart to think that may have been her existence. Loveless encounters until she was beget with child.

He would never hold her. Never kiss her for pleasure. Never walk into a room she’s in, and not dream about taking her in his arms and kissing her like he won’t possibly survive if he doesn’t. He won’t take her hand and hold it the way Kylo is this very moment.

She doesn’t regret her choice. She’ll never regret her choice.

“I shall defer the grandeur until we get to Ranlor. And you will be cherished and spoiled and treated as a Lady should. As well you deserve to live.” He pledges.

Thoughts and the prospect of her new home fill her with giddy desirous joy. She blushes a little at the warm tone of his words.

“What’s Ranlor like?” She beams.

Oh, they’ve had many a courteous back-and-forth in ballrooms with every matron in the world breathing down their neck. Here there is no pretence or cautiousness;

She needn’t be worried she’ll be remarked upon for gazing at him too long. For smiling too much when he talks to her. He need not show less than what he feels for her. Here, like this, their love is unconfined.

It’s no one but the two of them and he’s absolutely full up of delight to remark upon it.

“It’s the one place I’ve had that’s ever felt like a true home to me. The downfall of an existence like mine. I’ve drifted through so many fine houses and châteaus and dwellings. Such a rootless way of spending life.” He begins.

“You would not want me should you have seen where I grew up. I was raised in a dim timber hut no bigger than ten metres square.” He chuckles lightheartedly.

“I can safely assure you. That wouldn’t deter me.” She tells to the handsome man who owns her entire heart.

She tentatively reaches up to skim her palm down his cheek. Can’t quite fathom that she can touch him like this- adore him. Admire him. All those things she never seemed able to do. Now they are all within her grasp.

He takes that dear sweet hand of hers and holds it to his lips for a second. Kisses her knuckles and a shiver of delight crosses her whole being. Rubs his fingertips along the smooth pink oval stones of her neat fingernails.

“Better finding a home at last than years of living in a place that never quite agrees with you.” She tempers softly. Her whole happy childhood spited and soured by her mothers greed for a good marriage.

He feels that comment deeply from her. “She was very wrong to take that feeling from you. Of your native land. Your centre of being.” He explains. “I should hope she is paying sorely for her mistake of you, and no less.” He observed spitefully. And he means it.

Iris doesn’t blame him for it - rather she empathises greatly. She smiles in her agreement.

“I hope Ranlor Castle will serve well. And in time that you may think of it as your home. Because I would want nothing less than your being satisfied and happy with it.” He hopes.

“The way you speak of it- I don’t see how I could not adore it already.” She tells.

“How long have you been in residence?” Fully expecting his answer to be of a shockingly long timeline.

“Since the late 1500’s.” He casually offers.

“Ranlor was an impulsive purchase of land. I admit. But I was sick of war. Of moving with army encampment from country to country. Sick of living in dirt and wet muck and fighting. I bought it because I wanted to wake up each morning and be the master of the land where I lay my head. To know the view I wake up too, is the same one I shall be greeted with at sunset.” He tells her very poetically.

“I’ve lived in attic garrets, huts made of straw and mud, and postage stamp sized rooms. But by that same token, I’ve stayed as a guest of honour at Versailles. Lived with princes and kings and queens and been a companion warrior to many number of emperors in my time.” He offers. “But in Ranlor I found I appreciated having a place to return to where everything surrounding me is entirely my own.”

Iris is blown away by the stories he must have to tell. “When we sup tonight, I absolutely insist you tell me about some of the places and the people you’ve seen. I am my fathers daughter after all. I am an unabashed glutton for history.” She chuckles.

He takes her chin and brings her face closer to his. Melts their lips into a slow bruising kiss. Passion sparks at her skin and it feels like it bruises her.

“How can I possibly deny such a request?” He drawls against her lips. Breath rasping against her scorched cheeks. Her blood simmering hot under her skin and the smell of it is beautiful-

“I want to know every intimate thing.” She begins. He bites back a groan. Good god, how she’ll have it…

“Keep kissing me like this Iris and I’ll give you anything you want…” He sighs in desiring agony into her lips and wraps his big fingers around the back of her head. Completely dwarfs her skull in his grip.

She clutched at his shoulder - otherwise she’s sure she’d simply float off up to the moon in bliss.

“Kissing you is more than enough. I am wholly satisfied by that alone.” She says when they break away. Not able to deny how alluring he is in this way-

Impassioned to the point of fever. His eyes as dark as storm clouds above them. Calls to mind things like granite, and crows feathers and black leather. Dark but light touches so deep. His lips are a raw sweet-cherry pink and he looks like the starving wolf about to gobble up a baby deer.

“We’ll be near to our Inn soon.” He comments. “We are but ten miles from it I believe.”

She smiles and lays her head on his shoulder. Happy to watch the scenery roll them by. Joining her hand with his again in their lap. He takes up a vast proportion of the velvet bench but she cuddles nicely into his side. He kisses her hair again and then turns and watch their coach rumble along the roads.

She could happily drift away again. The scent of him calmly infused into his clothes. His cologne and the soap and sandalwood oil he uses. Pine from the forest, thorny tumbling brambles full of rich, tart fruit, and an undercurrent of eucalyptus and mint. Rich delicious and earthy. And he is a man sprung from the salt of the earth. She adores how his roots are humble, and he’s come so far as to rise into a Lords title. It’s a quality she admires.

Not before long, houses to start to crop up out of this beautiful Scottish countryside. Low little stone houses and then suddenly a fine granite clad town is before them. A promenade of wooden shops socketed into grey brick buildings above. Full of wares and goods for sale.

It’s quite a bustling little town and the outcrop of the splendid mountains is it’s backdrop. The loch nearby for fishing. The land for hunting game and meat. This was a rich land in so many ways. Bursting with scenery and culture. So different from her sheltered upbringing.

The coach takes them along the centre of the road. Up the slope of a hill a little way. Past some more shops and dwellings and there it pulls onto a lane that leads them to a small brown stone building. Set back from the road with a swinging sign on a post announcing its name. A silvery depiction of an animal hangs on that signpost. The White Stag.

She smiles as the coach follows the curved road. Leading to a modest wooden porch. The place was tavern like in appearance. A small and long, squat stone building. Burrowing into the earth after many years of standing. There’s a pretty wilderness of garden surrounding it. Crumbling stone walls sprouting heather. Every window peers out across the wide plain of the glen before them. It’s an open terrain. Bare to the expanse of the elements. But when a place is so happily situated, Iris can’t think it could look anymore handsome.

The coach lumbers to a creaky stop. They gather themselves and step out. She puts on her bonnet, pulls her coat up her arms as he steps out. He turns back to offer her a hand down.

Their driver - a very obliging young lad from Hellford, Sampson was his name - was kind enough to see to their luggage. Even her meagre carpet bag.

He was a nice boy. Kylo had said he was eager to drive a coach, even in the driving snow and frost. Kylo wouldn’t want such an uncomfortable job but he seemed keen. He had a way with the horses. Had the touch with them. And Erland even likes him so that’s as high a praise as can be bestowed.

He was a beanpole lad with muddy hair and jug handle ears. Poky shoulders and a towering stature. Two reed thin legs shoved into his tall boots. Coat swathing his lanky body.

When they broke their journey to take luncheon at a roadside inn near Lancaster, and to feed and water the horses.Kylo insisted that they all seek some sustenance to keep them going.

The pair of them sit in the sunny window in the small, dim pub and share a platter of succulent honey roast leg of ham, cut into thick wonky sliced chunks of juicy meat, with golden roast potatoes and buttered leeks. Served with mugs of sweet crisp apple cider on the side.

The food was splendid and they smile and talk intimately - she found great joy in the fact that no one around them censured or took interest in them like back at home. With every pair of eyes watching permanently it seemed. They sit opposite each other, in the window alcove, around a wobbly pub table and she couldn’t be happier. Nor could he. The smiles on their faces reflect this fact.

Before they ate, Kylo excused himself and quickly went to the bar and said something to the kind serving maid. Slipped a coin into her hand. And came to sit back down next to her. She raised a brow. She knows what he’s just fixed.

Sampson seemed most grateful that they sent him a plate of meat stew, roast ham and a flagon of cider out to the mews for him. The dear boy stumbled and blushed and wrung his hat on his hands and told them it was most kind when they returned to the coach to continue their journey. He told Kylo his last employer wasn’t nearly so generous.

Iris overheard all this as she stood feeding oats to the horses - even though Kylo told her not to spoil them.

Erland was shifting with excitement that she’s fussing him. The silly old thing. Kana was still a reluctant girl. But she seemed fond of Iris all the same.

Kylo smiled at the young boy. Told him he was looking forward to what the young lad would make of the stables at Ranlor. For he was pledged to make the crossing with them.

He wouldn’t be staying in the inn with them. Kylo booked the boy comfortable rooms closer to town. Told him to have a rest whilst he and Iris get on with proceedings of marriage. But he’ll be there at the weeks end to take them to the port to make the ship.

He gathers their luggage. Manages easily even though he looked about as tensile in strength as a lanky wet rag. Kylo takes her arm and leads her into the Inn. She’s getting rather used to the dim glow of these places of late.

He holds the door for her and she ducks in first. He has to swoop low to avoid stubbing his head on the doorframe. Her boots and his clack on the clean flagstone floors. Recently swept she guesses. Every table was wiped and adorned with little vases of wildflowers. Framed pictures and etchings hang straight on the lumpy stone walls. A fire crackles gently in the open fireplace. Horse brasses pinned to the bar glimmer as if polished. Thick plum and grey tartan curtains float poker straight on the brass curtain piles above each window.

The place is clean and tidy and not full of rowdy drunks with straw and ale spewed across the floor. She simply adores that it’s a tavern that takes pride in its neat as a pin appearance.

A few men sit around some tables enjoying a drink in the cloudy milky sunshine of the window. There’s some chatter and laughter in the din of the room. It’s beautifully warm and the air smells like ginger and oats. Something delicious being baked in the kitchens no doubt.

A matronly woman, very pretty with a tumbling shock of frizzy greying red hair greets them from behind the bar. A beige wool dress and apron tied around her middle. She was very beautiful in her late age. A warm face with ruddy cheeks and a complexion that had seen just enough sun. Eyes were a healthy moss green. Her weight lay entirely in her wobbly plump hips. She carries herself proudly.

She’s wiping down the pristine oak bar surface before her. But she stops and smiles when she catches sight of them. Kylo in all his sheer dark mass was impossible to resist or ignore, after all.

“Good Morning, Sir. Miss.” She beams and nods at the both of them. Handsome scottish brogue in her voice sounds kind. Iris likes such gallantry. Most people didn’t bother greeting young ladies when men were present.

Kylo smiles at the woman. Doubtless she was the landlady. “I’m looking for Mrs McCormack, I’ve written to secure lodgings upstairs.” He asks her.

“Aye.” She smiles fondly. “You’d be Lord Ren and Miss Ashton, I presume?” She asks. Looks to the both of them.

“The very same.” He confirms. Stroking Iris’s hand where it lay resting on the crook of his arm.

“How wonderful it is to see you both. I must welcome you the highlands.” She smiles. Laying aside her cloth.

“You have a beautiful Inn, Mrs McCormack. I’ve never seen the like.” Iris smiles at her.

“You’re very kind miss. I thank ye. I take great care to keep my threshold clean and presentable as possible. Everyone here calls me Mrs M. So don’t you be afraid too. If you’d come this way I’ll show you to your rooms.” She nods. Moving behind the bar and out to the stairs set into the alcove of the wall near them.

Kylo lets Iris walk up first. Of course. Watches her smile as she eyes the frames on the wall and asks the kind Mrs M about the White Stag’s history and it’s stories as they all alight the creaky wooden stairs.

He listens to them talk as they walk along a creaky landing with cream wallpaper studded with scarlet roses smeared all over the thick walls. Candles and heavy curtains in every window. Shutters ready to block out the harshest of Scottish winter nights.

Mrs M leads them to a door with a worn gold handle and opens it for them, guiding them inside. Iris instantly sees what he meant about the rooms being cosy rathe than grand. It is cosy and she’s take this handsome room over any gilded grand manor bedchamber.

The walls are tumbling exposed gold bricks. The floors are ancient groaning oak. Worn and bleached an old grey from years of heavy treading boots. The double bed is the centre of the room. A huge soft mattress and downy pillows, foot of it laden with blue and green tartan blankets and a sheep’s skin draped across the end. The mahogany headboard cresting in waves at the foot and the head of the bed is carved and ancient and so very elegant.

There’s a ginormous fireplace at the end of the bed, across the room. Already lit. Popping sparks and blazing heat out into the sunny room. There’s an alcove of a window seat stuffed with cushions and another wool tartan rug. Juniper green cloth armchairs reside by the far wall surrounding a small end table. The room is undeniably snug and home-like. Emphasised in earthy tones of blue and grey and green. Very much like the dazzling highland hills in which it sits.

Iris is so quietly giddy with contentment. She also spies a door to a yet unseen anteroom.

“There’s a private dining room for your particular use through here. Though you’re very welcome to come down and fast in the tavern if you wish. We serve three hot meals a day if you should like. Our cook can make anything you fancy.” She promises.

Her keen eye then spots a crease in the bed linens which she frowns and steps across to smooth out. Iris can see she had a very discerning eye. Kylo lingers in the doorway behind them. Hands folded as he watches her take it in.

He observes as she walks across the room and peers through into the dining room Mrs M spoke of. It’s charming too. Red covered chairs, a long mahogany table. Candlestick of brass shines in the sun. Fire blazing by the dining table.

“Your washroom is just here too. For your convenience.” She moves towards a door opposite the head of the bed and opens onto a small chamber. Installed with a copper bath and a side table with a jug and basin and a screen. “Bessie is the chamber maid and she’ll attend ye’ with any water you’ll be needing.” She tells.

Iris loves it.

“It’s an exquisite room. Mrs M. We are very happy with it. Aren’t we, Kylo?” Iris smiles. Unlacing her bonnet.

He smiles at his intended. “We most certainly are.”

Mrs M seems fascinated with his first name. “Aye now that’s an interesting name. Your lordship.” She puts a hand on her aproned hip and surveys him with friendly curiosity. “I’d wager there’s some Scottish somewhere in your family tree wi’ a name like that.” She nods.

Kylo smiles. Iris’ slate and honey eyes glimmer warmly at him across the room in the cloudy light. Slight beams of it coming though the window are twirling lazily with dust. “There is some Norse I believe. Lingers far back with my ancient ancestors.” He tells their landlady.

“I would’na be surprised mi’lord.” She wagers with a fond grin.

“Oh. I’ll forget me own head next.” She explains. Rummaging into her apron pocket. Drawing out a heavy iron key. “Your room also has its own entrance. Though of course you may always come up through the tavern if you wish. Thats the key to door at the end of the landing there.” She points out the door. Hands the key over to Iris.

She then nods politely to them both. “It is nearly noon. Can I fetch you both a tray of tea? Cook just baked some shortbread I believe.” She smiles.

“That would be heavenly. Thank you.” Iris concludes. Setting her bonnet down on the bed.

“Might I also request you send your maid up to have the bath filled? My fiancée has had a long and tiring journey.” Kylo asks.

“I’ll send her up right away. Your lordship.” Mrs M insists. Moving to the door and shutting the latch softly after herself.

Kylo turns back to her after she leaves them. Iris has her back to him, slipping off her shabby blue coat.

He’ll have to get her another. She’ll be his Lady soon. She’ll need a finer coat than this beaten old thing. It gets stuck on her elbows. He walks across and aids her. Grips the back of her collar and helps guide it down.

She blushes when he leans down and holds her shoulders delicately as he kisses the join where he neck meets spine. A tendril of lose hair curls at his nose. He smiles against the back of her neck. Arms slipping down to draw her into an embrace. Big palms crossing at her stomach.

She places her hands over his. Savours the silence and the feeling of his solid comforting weight at her back. Enclosing her in love.

“You truly like the room?” He seeks. She conceals a blush - rather poorly - when she reflects that the bed she’s now looking at that they will be sharing. On their wedding night. He will bed her in this room and that thought makes her knees weak.

She twists in his arms. His palms rasp over her wool dress. Slides to her hips. She smiles sincerely up at him. “Truly. And I adore its surroundings. And especially its occupant at present.”

He smiles and leans down to claim her mouth in a sweet kiss. She’s so sweet. Sweeter than brown sugar and cream and tart fruit. He drinks of her lips like the greedy pillaging viking he absolutely is. He sucks and nibbles her bottom lip and holds her close when her knees wobble with it. Smiles and breaks the kiss remarking how weak his kisses make her.

“Have a nice long soak, and that cup of tea, my love. You’ll be stiff sore from sleeping in that coach on my shoulder.” He insists. “I may ride Erland into town to fetch a few things…” He tells her.

He had to take care of her, after all. He will not fail in that duty as others had. He was far too gallant. And in love-

She can’t deny how heavenly a soak will feel on her aching bones. And she did have a stiff neck- And although his coach was most comfortable, she is clad not to be in that jolting rumbling box for another night.

“To approach the subject not very delicately-” She starts. Wringing her hands for distraction. “When is the wedding ceremony?” She asks.

That makes him grin. “Four o’clock today. My love.” He smiles.

He wishes there was an artist here with a palette of oils and a bare canvas to hand; for her face is a picture.

“I had the banns read three weeks ago. Paid out a considerable sum to secure the church. All we need do is turn up to the chapel in our best, and the Reverend will wed us. Then and there.” He smirks.

Iris laughs. Smiling in disbelief. She places a hand to hold her middle. She feels almost faint with happiness.

“I think then, that I had better take to that bath.” She chuckles and blushes. He crosses back and kisses her cheek. Cups her neck and gives her a kiss that leaves her shivering long after he pulls his mouth from her.

“I won’t be long. Dove.” He promises. With one last kiss to her hand, he strides for the door and ducks out. “Drink your tea. Wallow in your bath. Make ready to marry me.” He smirks and winks.

Leaving her reeling with the force and memory of his insolently handsome smile.

The room feels doubly empty and so lifeless without him in it. There’s more oxygen without him. And she means that in a sincerely loving way.

When he’s here she’s aware of every smile, every move. Every touch he gives her is magnetic. She’s a bundle of blushes and nerves when he’s near. A giddy silly girl who trembles at the touch of his hand. Who hears the pounding of her heart hammer furiously in her chest when he’s near.

She does as he instructs. Mrs M sends the kind Bessie, the chamber maid, up with a tray of tea and then a big steel jug of hot water for her tiny copper bath.

She drinks the tea and nibbles a biscuit as she unpacks her meagre clutch of things from her luggage that Sampson brought up. As crimson appeared to be Kylo’s preferred colour; she chose accordingly. Hoping her gown wasn’t too crushed from it’s journey in the trunk.

She brought one good gown and a handful of plain cotton and wool ones. The one she would marry him in was a plain ruby-wine red. French Burgundy was the colour name.

It had a ruffle of demure lace stitched all around the scooping neckline and the brocade silk is gathered and stitched intricately at the back. Forming a beautiful slight train and cutting a severe figure. Her mother would have made a comment about it being a red dress. She couldn’t fathom the energy to care.

It makes her in such a passion she wants to pen a letter to her mother right then and there; tell her she’s marrying Lord Ren in a red dress. Like a harlot. See what she makes of that. She wants to watch her face crumble and her rage come snarling forth when Iris signs the letter as Lady Ren. See what her termagant of a mother makes of that…

She hangs it up to ready it for later. Smiles at the sight of it hung on the wardrobe door. Ready. As she should be- she hastens toward her bath.

The kind chambermaid was even so good as to leave a little organza pouch of dried heather and lavender on the side for her. With a little white pebble of honey and oat soap.

Iris catches sight of it as she unlaced her gown and rugged away her stays. She thinks it’s most kind of her to spare the expense of a little trinket. The steam of the piping hot water is muggy and sluggish in the air. Clouding up the mirror behind the jug and basin.

She sinks into the water. Lavender that she sprinkled into the tub spices up the air with its plain floral hint. She smiles gratefully as she submerged fully in the milky cloud of delicious heat. Rubbing the cake of soap along her arms and legs and sudsing up every inch. She does the same with her hair. Wets it and combs through a little oil. Scrapes her scalp with her nails and rubs the soap in and then rinses it.

She scrubs and scrubs until her skin is pink and every inch of her has been kissed and rubbed with soap. She climbs out and dries. Combs her hair out and rubs it. Repeating the process sitting by the small bath chamber fire until it feels significantly more dry. Ready for her to manage pinning into a coiffure. She could manage one on her own; Meg had taught her a few tricks over the years.

She pulls on a new chemise. A sleeveless one that would fit under the dress she’d chosen. She’s rubbing her hair with a flannel towel and takes her silver hair brush with her to go sit by the fire in their chamber. She brushes and brushes until her muddy locks look less and less like a wet soggy puddle.

She hears his treads on the cracking creaking stairs as he comes back.

The afternoon shifting later as the sun slides along behind the clouds. The door latch lifts from the other side and her handsome fiancé comes back in. Nudging the door open with his foot. For his arms are laden with boxes. His hair flounced by the wind and his cheeks pink from it too. His eyes were deviously bright with the exercise- it’s also because he’s caught her sat there in her shift with damply drying hair like some tempting forest nymph.

In all his dark coated glory, he completely fills the doorway to their chamber. His white shirt peers through the gap in his unbuttoned coat. A black cravat is knotted up his neck. Moulding into the stretch of his coat and his big polished boots peeling out where it ends at his calves.

Bessie comes after him. Carrying more boxes. Kylo gives her a coin and a smile of thanks. She bobs and scarpers quick and silent from the room.

Kylo looks across to his intended with a frown of confusion. Had he scared her? Or maybe she found their engaged state sharing a room to be shocking - some people were very strict on such matters.

“I think she is perhaps a little shy. And-“ she leaves her explanation there.

She merely gestures to how tall and big, and handsome, he is. He made Iris tremble in her skin with his smile, and she was years older than the serving maid. To an impassioned young girl prone to crushes and passing fancies, Iris imagines he’s an Achilles heel of blushes and furtive glances. She thinks of her sisters’ reaction to him. All lashes and rosy smiles. Like gardenias coming into bloom for the sun.

He makes a noise of agreement. And that’s when he brings around his arm that had previously tucked behind his back. He brings around a bouquet of flowers. Tied with a grey ribbon that reminded him of her eyes.

“I cannot allow my beautiful bride to be flower-less on her wedding day.” He explains. Setting them before her in her lap as he crouched in front of her.

She is touched beyond words. She grips the flowers and lifts the blooms up to her nose to drink in their scent. Purple thistles, pink and mauve heather, bluebells and wild violets. Harebell and myrtle and a Scottish primrose. A beautiful clutch of green, white, purple and blues.

“They’re beautiful.” She comments. Stroking her fingers along the frail petals. Their nectar and greenery spicing up the air.

“Thankyou.” She sighs onto his lips as he leans in for a slow kiss. He stays on his knees for her - the only way she could reach his lips.

“I fetched some other things for you…” he explains. Taking her hand and pulling her up. He leads her to the bed and her heart thumps a tad faster - thinking they’ll be doing this later on tonight, in a handful of hours, for entirely different reasons.

He shows her the collection of items he’d purchased.

Save for two gold wedding rings - it’s all for her. She is speechless.

There’s three new exquisite silk and lace gowns. An entirely new Scottish-wool coat. Parchment, ink and quills for any letters she wishes to write. Some ribbons and hair pins and pretty silver baubles and combs to decorate her hair coiffures. Five pairs of embroidered stockings, and some round little cakes of oat soap.

Her mouth gapes as she looks to him. He shrugs and offers an explanation - Looking deuced too smug. “You deserve trinkets aplenty to remember your wedding day by.” He explains handsomely. She holds his hand. Quite stunned and not knowing what to say.

No ones ever told her she deserves to be spoiled before. It’s quite a new sensation for her to fathom.

“It’s not a day I’ll be forgetting in any hurry. Believe me.” She tells him.

She sees his eyes dart across the room to where her wedding dress is awaiting being worn. Hung on the door. He smiles fondly at her choice. Looks back to her.

“I can help you with your gown fastenings if you’d like?” He asks. Voice uncharacteristically husky.

She rises to meet his challenge. “If you’re offering.” She smiles. Bravely looking him in the eye.

She turns away and breaks the spell his eyes cast. Walks across and fetches her dress. Steps over to him and he encloses it around her after she steps into it. The fastenings already loose.

He slides it to skim over her hips. Up past her waist. Rests it at her waist and pulls the two sides together over her shoulders.

The way she tugs her hair aside makes his mouth water. Throat bobs where he swallows.

Lovers have done that for him before- countless times and countless lovers- But her doing this, nearly undoes him.

He focuses on his task. Tugs on the hidden laces at the back of her dress. Laces her into it, closing the ties at her shoulders. Eyeing the curve of it that cut around her lovely shoulders. Ruby red against her creamy skin. It’s too tempting to even indulge that certain route of his thinking-

He works efficiently. Fingers brushing the brocade silk and her back. The scent of lavender and spicy oat soap tantalising him as he laboured in this favour for her. He gets to the last tie and he mourns being able to be this close. Parts by stroking his hands down her back, the span of his fingers meet her waist easily. He kisses into her tumble of still drying hair. Inhales her. Cherished the moment of him being pressed against her back.

He called for the bath to be refilled when he came back- and honestly the chambermaid was too damn efficient. Her knock rattled the door and kylo blinks and nods her to come in. Their lusting spell is broken again.

Iris flushed and steps away to round the side of the bed to fetch a pair of stockings. Holding her skirts aloft.

The sight of the curve of her ankle sends his mind reeling into the squalid plains of Male frustration. He swallows and lets the maid fill the bath for him. He was in need of a scrub too. Not exactly covered in the grime and dust of the road but he’d relish the chance to run some soap over his skin before his wedding ceremony.

When he looks back to his beautiful intended, she is sat in the window alcove that’s stuffed with cushions and a tartan rug. Framed by sunlight. Hair turned into spun bronze and gold. Eyes sparkling like polished moonstone. She’s looking down in her lap, with two ivory embroidered stockings in her hands. Running a thumb over the garter ribbon. It was a soft blue. He likes blue on her.

He tries not to envisage that particular part of her anatomy that the stockings will rise up to, too much. He waits for his bath to be drawn and counts down the frustrated and rife minutes as they pass, like the truly impatient Lord he is.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

2020 SU Fic Sampler - WIP Showcase

So in my continued attempts at distraction, I trawled through my SU fanfic folders, looked at the ol’ endless WIP pile. Figured I’d do a little roundup of some that are in something resembling a decent state. Maybe even see where interest lies and all that, get some attention and validation, you know, all that good stuff one craves. Of course, there’s loads more than this, and I might one day post some things I wrote but never quite managed to finish up, or that got super jossed in ways I couldn’t get myself to work around.

Now, in no particular order, here’s 8 draft snippets totaling almost 6000 words - not very polished, obviously, some quite rough around the edges, some long, some short, some that work better without context than others. But here they are anyway, with an utterly predictable array of focal characters. Any missing segments or my asides/notes in the text are [written like this], because I usually write very non-linearly. Hope you all like mood whiplash! 

P.S. I live for comments.

Like Talking To A Wall, aka Bismuth making friends with the wall, statue, and floor Gems. Early precursors to radicalisation and “I would have liberated everyone”, perhaps. Started as one of my first reactions to the Diamond Days episodes.

“Hey, thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. You’re lucky I’m so supportive,” Mica piped up from up on her arch.

Bismuth laughed. Bittersweet. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Then, with a surprisingly gentle hand pressed to the carvings she’d been so careful about, she added a soft: “I’ll miss you.”

“Chin up! It’s gonna be a lovely off-planet adventure for you,” Granite rumbled from just above her head. “A brand new colony! Think of the sights!”

“You can tell us all about it when we see you again.”

Bismuth leaned back, pressing her whole back against the wall, reluctant to leave, even if a snooty shift supervisor was bound to come around and chase her off soon. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that.”

They all knew very well that, as always, when the building was done, it was goodbye. The chances of there being a need for repairs or remodelling - and the exact same bismuths being brought in to do them - were incredibly slim.

But pretending was nice, sometimes.

-

Hey, Steven, think I could get a moment before we leave? I won’t be long.

-

They were right where she’d left them, and the years had done very little to change them. A bit of a patina there, some dust, the tiniest bit of wear on sharper corners.

“Bismuth?” Several familiar voices cried out to her in shocked recognition.

She knew she must look a sight - battle-ready and battle-worn, but armour still gleaming, and with a bearing of one who had been through much and was always ready for more. She felt her back had never been so proud and straight, her shoulders so resolutely set.

“I think,” Bismuth grinned, “you’re gonna start seeing changes around these parts.”

---

One for that favourite Pearletariat/Pearl Solidarity fic sub-genre of mine: Clever Pearls Cleverly Getting Around Badly Worded Orders. A bit of an origin for an as-of-yet unnamed pearl OC, because I sure don’t have enough of those!

In the untold thousands of years of Homeworld and Gemkind, and the hundreds of thousands of commands given to hundreds of thousands of pearls, nobody ever thought to Order a pearl not to think. That would imply a they mattered at all, and who would ever put stock in a pearl’s thoughts? Most Gems weren’t sure pearls could think, anyway. I mean, if they could, all that standing around would be intolerable, wouldn’t it? And imagine not being able to say no to anything, even crushing your own gem - shards, at least I’m not a pearl!

They were, occasionally, when dealing with an owner’s important, private, confidential business, Ordered to forget, or, a bit less esoterically, Ordered never to tell.

And [OWNER] has always been all too eager with the Orders. As if she went to bizarre lengths in her thinking that pearl couldn’t - or wouldn’t? - do anything upon merely being told, let alone by herself. Every little thing, from sweeping up the shards of a broken decorative plate to taking down the minutes of an important meeting [OWNER] was presiding over - (im)pressed upon pearl with the crushing weight of an Order.

But she could still think.

Even when Ordered to wait by the door, freezing her limbs and anchoring her legs to the ground with all the force of a starship mooring mechanism. Even when Ordered into silence for days and planetary rotations on end because [OWNER] had wanted to read an important document without being disturbed and it simply didn’t occur to her to lift it when she was done.

In the wake of the Rebellion and the Renegade Pearl, it only gets worse, and soon enough pearl can barely remember the last time a single movement she made was voluntary.

---

SU Future-era Bismuth and Steven convo I scribbled down in between some of these recent eps - after Growing Pains in particular I think - because Bismuth is the absolute pep talk queen.

“You already said you were sorry for trying to kill me in the Forge, and really, it’s okay, it was all a misunderstanding. Besides, it’s more than a lot of people have done!”

Bismuth blinked at the pinkish sheen around Steven’s cheeks, around the downturned brows - strange trick of the light, that. “Steven, come on. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“Okay,” Steven sighed, and leaned against the railing Bismuth had fixed just that morning.

“Point is, for me, the war had never ended. It wasn’t only yesterday, it was today. It was over for everyone, it seemed, except for me. And getting over that, getting used to that, really seeing that as the truth, not living every day buzzed up with that anticipation of the next battle, just waiting for Homeworld to come down hard on us with whatever new horror they’d come up with… that took a while. And it took help.”

[sudden apparent non-sequitur but It’s An Allegory, Steven.]

“When you make a sword, you can’t make it rigid and unyielding. You can’t just temper it into toughness and hardness and make it unbreakable. It needs to have some give in order to be durable, it needs to be able to bend so as not to shatter on impact. And sure, maybe the first parry or strike wouldn’t be the one to do it, but the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth? Any time you might just find yourself holding on to a hilt with the jagged remnants of everything, and shards scattered on the ground. And if you’re very lucky, that’ll happen during friendly sparring, not in the heat of battle.”

Steven shrugged without response, and seemed to be shrugging off all the words as well. Back to the direct approach it was, then.

“Now you, Steven,” that at least got a bit more attention, “Sure, you can brawl with the best of ‘em, and you put that gem to damn good use. You’ve got great technique drilled in, too - I’d expect nothing less from one of Pearl’s students. But that’s not how you won, in the end, is it? You never won because you were tough, or strong. You have a diamond in you but you’re not hard at all. Well, except on yourself.”

“In the end all of this was possible because you were soft. Just malleable and pliable enough when it was needed. And that takes guts.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Bismuth put a hand on his shoulder, and even with all the very human growing he’d done, he still seemed to almost disappear in it. “You put yourself out there for others… maybe it’s about time you let them help you.”

---

The next chapter of the His Dark Materials/Daemons AU which I am sooooo painfully late with it’s not even funny anymore. Already posted some excerpts [here] and [here].

“She’s been... away on business, but we’ve sent a zeppelin for her and she’s well on her way back. Hopefully.”

“You have a zeppelin?” Rose was rapidly failing in all her efforts to keep her voice down. 

“Of a sort. We, er, we... stole it.”

“Stole-!”

“Yes, well, stole might be a strong word,” Pearl tapped a finger against her chin. “You see, there was a small decommissioned postal craft left below the southern mail station aërodock that nobody would ever miss, all I had to do was fix it up a bit and-”

Rose blinked. “You fixed a decommissioned zeppelin.”

Pearl waved a hand almost casually. “I had some help, but yes. Svalbard, understandably, is hard to reach with other means of transport, and Bismuth needed to be able to go back and forth.”

“You,” Rose began, awed, “are utterly wasted on bringing me my slippers, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well then, maybe,” Pearl blushed, but there was nothing hesitant about her smirk and the strikingly proud tilt of her head, “maybe you could take them off with a bit more care than kicking them halfway across the room and sending them off under the cabinets and- and then I wouldn’t need to do that at all. And I could fix all the zeppelins in the world.”

-

[more from the super secret backroom rebellion meeting]

“They’re with the Consistorial Court of Discipline, no doubt. Always on the lookout for,” Bismuth grimaced, “heretics. A lot falls under that. A lot of good excuses to snatch someone off the street and do who knows what to them. And they’ve been funneling people there, people vanished by the CCD. Not lacking in test subjects lately.”

“How did you get this? Where?” It was Sapphire, this time. Ruby seemed overwhelmed, and sat clutching her hand desperately as the tiny frog and hare both whispered something to her.

“We traced the funding for all this. It was difficult and deliberately obfuscated, but we managed. A facility like this, an entire operation, cost a pretty amount, you’d assume - and you’d be right. It had to come from somewhere. And whoever was paying for it was likely to want to know what was being done with their investment.”

“So we followed the trail. And it turned out I was… ideally positioned to… to, erm, procure what evidence there was to be found. Because, well...” Pearl trailed off, and lifted one of the stolen report sheets for all to see.

It was as clear as day, the family crest right above the astronomical amount being granted. Four diamonds, neatly arranged.

Neshu’s ears were flat against his mane, and Rose found herself wishing the ground would simply open up and swallow both her and him and the chair that she sat on and he’d tried to duck under.

Bismuth spoke up, grim, every drop of earlier exuberance gone from her. “When the Diamonds look out from the windows of their mansion, they don’t see people. They see tools, toys, and weapons. Nothing else.” She sounded more tired than angry. “It’s just what they’ve always been doing, but writ large.”

---

And then, of course, the Longass PearlRose Fixit because I hate the gag order but at the same time want it gone… slowly and organically. Alternating Rose and Pearl POVs spanning throughout the rebellion era, all sorts of flashbacks and Imagining Things included. At one point they end up attempting to essentially jailbreak Pearl, because Pearl is, as we all know, absolutely the most hardcore. Also thank you SU Movie for confirming all the awful Alexa-flavour fanon/headcanons and giving me an excuse to dive into a bunch of Gems-as-AI tropey stuff, on top of everything. [another previously posted fragment here]

“I don’t want to. I never want to do that to you again.” She stops, takes a breath, reconsiders. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, the trust I just… trampled over. So I want to make sure that it’s not just that, you trusting me not to make the same mistake again, with no reassurance anywhere. I—I want to not be able to. Nobody should be able to do that to you.”

“Nobody should be able to do that to anyone,” Pearl corrects readily.

“You’re right,” Rose smiles, only a bit wry, “as always. My brilliant, brilliant Pearl. What would I do without you?”

“Never get back to the point you were trying to make, I imagine,” Pearl quips with something resembling sauciness, and Rose feels at least some of the weight starting to lift off her.

“Right,” Rose agrees, chastised, and tries to focus. “I just… I’m not sure how, or what I need to do at all. It’s not like there’s much precedent – ownerless pearls are unheard of. Even when their owners get shattered, it’s only ever temporary, and, with such high demand, very brief.”

Pearl nods in agreement, and hums. “Luckily, we’ve seen plenty of unheard of and unspeakable things here.”

[echoes of Scabbard convo]

“I want to know, I want to be certain, that you’re here because you want to be.” 

“So do I.” Pearl responds quietly, letting their fingers entwine.

  [Giving an order not to follow orders doesn’t work, failsafes exist. Then they try a sort of ownership transfer thing, and try to make the new owner Pearl. It doesn’t register, “invalid transfer target”, even when Pearl tries to hack it - some odd gem tool that scans and pokes at her gem - she gets all bummed out because she can’t even reprogram a very basic and modifiable handheld tool/device to recognise a pearl as an actual gem and person. What chance does she have against hearts and minds and an entire ingrained culture of an entire sprawling empire?

“You changed my mind,” says Rose all softly and earnestly.

Have I really? Pearl asks herself but doesn’t let it escape out loud. Still. Step by small step, she admits to herself. Incremental, slow, but persistent work. She can do that. Even as down on herself as she is, she can do that.]

“The… the override.” Pearl breathes out suddenly.

“What?”

“The administrative override - you, or, well... Pink Diamond should be able to trigger it, even without a Rejuvenator. We shouldn’t…” Pearl looks strangely scared now, swallowing small gulps before pushing onwards, hands trembling and fingers knotting together, “w-we shouldn’t need a full reset, really, but. But we can try modifying the owner identification...”

Having to… turn into Pink again (turn back into yourself, you mean, a small voice whispers, who are you trying to fool) doesn’t sit well with her, of course, but. Get a hold of yourself, Pearl certainly has it so much worse in this scenario.

[more here about how they both need to kind of “revert” a bit to try this and it sucks, because no! unpleasant poking of holes in the elaborate fantasy! For the greater good, but still.]

And oh, Pearl looks just about ready to either cry with some strange terror Rose has never seen her display, or dissipate her form on the spot - the small dam of coldly throwing around terms like administrative override activation and owner identification variable providing just enough distance for her to carry on.

“It shouldn’t be too risky if we’re… if you’re careful.”

[Pearl trusts her with everything, her literal entire self - with this thing that is such a blatant violation of her being and her person, that she now wants to turn against itself, using one of the most humiliatingly clearly objectifying aspects of her status as an instrument of her liberation. It is all A Lot.]

Rose remembers, also, with a sting, the way she grumbled and sulked over the gaping pit of guilt in her stomach and refused to even look at the glowing, floating shell Blue was so insistently pushing her towards. She wanted her Pearl back, not whatever White and the others had decided to foist upon her now. Not a pale replacement, nothing they deemed suitable.

-

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

“Come on, Pink,” Blue urges, softly but mercilessly as ever, large hands enveloping Pink almost whole from where they’re planted on her shoulders, “White had her specially made, just for you! And we helped as well - only the best for our Pink. Now it’s up to you to put your finishing touches, as is proper-”

“What for? You’ll just take her away when you feel like it anyway,” she grumbles into her arms, curling up on the floor and resolutely refusing to look even as the glow spreads from the corner of her eye, insistent.

Just as insistent as the awfully familiar little voice. “Please state preferred customisation options.”

“I. Don’t. Care!” But now with a newly noticeable, if strained restraint - not, like her usual, punctuated with a slam of her fist on the floor tiles, perfectly shiny and pink. No, she couldn’t- do something like that again-

“Default setting selected. Please stand by.”

Yellow scoffs and moves to leave. “Come on, Blue. No point to us wasting our time being here if she’s just going to throw one of her tantrums.”

But Blue refuses to leave it at that, and makes sure to cut with parting words, before slinking through the large pink doorway. “I am very disappointed in you, Pink. To act like that, and with White personally making sure you got such a lovely gift even after everything...”

“Waste of good nacre, if you ask me,” Yellow muses from somewhere up above. “At least try not to break this one.” 

The glow intensifies with a hum, and Pink screws her eyes shut and pretends not to see or hear anything. 

By the time she opens them again, the others are gone.

But then there is another presence at her side, hovering just behind, as is proper court protocol. The shuffling of tiny, soft slippers on the polished stone - weren’t pearls supposed to be endlessly, effortlessly quiet?

“Leave me alone,” she preempts quietly. The shuffling moves away.

-

“Please identify yourself.”

Calmly, now, calmly but firmly, just like we planned it. Don’t mess this up now. She’s counting on you. She trusts you. “Pearl.”

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

They’ve discussed this too, of course - extensive (over)preparation and planning down to minutiae is Pearl’s go-to at the best of times, and something she clutches at for comfort at the worst of times. And she’s always, to a sometimes comical extent, despised that ridiculous dress. To a wonderful extent, too, all things considered.

“Revert to last implemented appearance.”

“Settings selected. Please stand by.”

[Of course this doesn’t work because all it does is change the $username$ variable, not the actual identity of the person imprinted: it’s still Rose/Pink, she’s just nicknamed “Pearl” now, but she can still give orders and everything.]

[evolves into Pearl literally hacking herself… the most hardcore of modders]

---

Pearl Playing the Field aka “why not hyper-analyze that one brief shot of the notes and phone numbers in Pearl’s gem and write 9 meet-cutes”. Pearl goes out to “find herself”. Whatever that is supposed to mean. Supposed to be set pre-ASPR, but also extends past it. Ended up with some Bispearl in it too because I am predictable and can absolutely not help myself.

“Your hair is wonderful!” She feels like she almost has to shout to be heard over the din of the bar’s ill-chosen soundtrack, and she doesn’t appreciate it. Definitely not one of her favourite places she’s decided to visit recently. And the ventilation is atrocious.

But still, she’s come all this way, so she may as well make the best of it. And while the preoccupation with hairstyles during first meetings seems like a bit of an odd running theme (can it really be termed a running theme, though, if it’s happened all of two times?), it’s certainly worked in the past (recent, very recent, and hardly bursting with relevant instances, Pearl!). Oh, and this particular one is just too fascinating. Approaching a work of art, Pearl would dare say. Especially, well. Especially when paired with the lovely eyes and striking jawline and strong neck it seems to deliberately be drawing attention to.

Pearl leans on the bar, in the bit of space the woman happily makes for her, and tries to look confident and well-informed, but not smug, no, never smug. “I know... about the, uh, goop, of course. I know how one accomplishes this.”

The woman gives a bemused smile. “Thanks! Not too shabby yourself.” She leans in closer. “I'm actually in school for it.”

“School?” Pearl casts desperately back to what she's heard from Steven and Greg's often hasty instruction. That was for educating human children, wasn't it? She'd put one together for Steven that one time, with desks and a blackboard… and Connie attended one regularly...

“Yeah, kind of a late game career change.” Pearl nods along as she realises - or, rather, remembers - she is absolutely terrible at gauging human ages. “But I thought... after almost 30 years in accounting and not going anywhere I wanted to be going... it’s not like we have all the time in the world, right? So I figured, why not? Go for something I'm actually invested in and that I've always wanted to do, y'know?”

“Oh. Oh yes, yes I do.” And for once, she really does. Well, not the time-related bit, perhaps, but the very particular delight of getting to pursue one’s genuine interests after a long while of being denied? Absolutely. “I’ve done something of the sort myself, actually. Go for it! As they, uh, say.”

The dramatic gesture of almost punching the air with a closed triumphant/defiant fist might have been a tad over the top, but it wins her a smile that doesn’t seem unkind. The woman winks and tips her glass at Pearl, then finishes her drink - something sweet-smelling and almost as colourful as her hair.

“I had a classmate do this one for me, and I did hers after.” Pearl is nodding along again, leaning in to hear better as the woman’s voice dips lower. “I kind of like to experiment, push the limits, go wild with it. Hey. You interested? Promise I won’t go too wild on you.”

Pearl's mind goes blank there for a moment. The woman is… very close, and there are unignorable implications unrelated to hair styling so obvious here even she is picking up on them without issue, and the music hasn’t gotten any quieter. Interested in what, exactly, she wants to ask, but she came here for wild new experiences and exciting novelty, didn’t she, so instead comes out with a rather strangled-sounding: “Eughhhhh...uhhh.... Ye...s?”

The woman’s expression goes serious. “Hey, come on, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

---

Forge Showdown AU - aka in a twist of fate Bismuth poofs Rose during their confrontation and revelations happen that change the course of… well, pretty much everything - one of a bunch of AUs where the PD reveal happens earlier and under different circumstances (I had an idea of doing a 5+1 of those at one point).

The glow of the lava coloured the quickly dissipating smoke more orange-red than pale pink, and Bismuth stared numbly at where their revered leader, Rose Quartz herself, had been standing mere moments ago. She’d lashed out, true, but she hadn’t really been expecting the clumsy blow - more of a warning, or underlining a point in their continued argument-turned-fight - to land. In all their many sparring sessions, Rose had never succumbed to something like that, would have never so much as let it brush against her. But she’d been- frozen, distracted… by what? 

There, scraping softly against the ground as it rolled with leftover momentum...

That was not a rose quartz gem.

Bismuth raked her mind feverishly, thought back through the last few, oddly blurred seconds.

“We’re not using this, Bismuth! It’d make us just as bad as them!”

“No! You’re the one who’s as bad as them- look at you, lording over all of us, thinking it’s your right to command me, order me around, like you’re, what, my diamond?”

It… it had to be some kind of imposter, or spy. Right? Some kind of… awful Homeworld plan, trying to tear the Rebellion apart from the inside. Where was Rose, then? The real one? Captured? Being interrogated somewhere, her whereabouts kept strictly secret to minimise the chance of rescue? Shattered? Impossible, they’d never hear the end of the victorious crowing.

When could it have happened? The last few battles and meetings had been nothing out of the ordinary, and Bismuth couldn’t think of anything odd or off about Rose recently at all. Not a single hint or sign that anything was amiss. Not a single misstep. Homeworld would have trained and conditioned its agents well, but Rose- Rose was singular, and utterly one-of-a-kind, and how could they possibly capture all of it so perfectly-

Bismuth startled out of her thoughts as the beginnings of light seemed to gather in the core of the gem, and all but threw herself onto it, encasing it in a bubble.

Rose was rather special, wasn’t she? And not just in what she said or what she did or how she behaved or what she led and encouraged them to do, but… 

Her endless array of wondrous powers. Her sheer strength, overpowering ruby fusions and quartz battalions alike almost single-handedly. The healing which Bismuth herself had been on the receiving, lifesaving end of countless times. The way she called upon the organic creatures of the planet to fight for her, fighting in their name. And then, her regular absences. The way she seemed to know exactly what the Homeworld troops were up to - that wasn’t just some kind of tactical brilliance.

She dared to look at the gem again. Its hue was changed some by the bubble, but that was still in no way a rose quartz gem. No, it was an altogether different shape, but a terrifyingly familiar one.

But it made no sense!

Bismuth ran a slightly trembling hand down her face.

Pearl. Of course, Pearl would have to know, if anyone. About… whatever this was.

But if this, if she was… her, then Pearl-

Bismuth’s insides twisted in horrible ways as the implications began to flitter through her mind, each one worse than the one before it. There was the old call-and-response ringing in her ears, making her feel disoriented and sick with what had to be the beginnings of anger, could grow into a great fury, leaving her unnecessary breaths ragged: Who do you belong to? Nobody!

But-

Not Pearl, then. At least, not at first. Garnet. Garnet would know, and Garnet could See. They’d get to the bottom of this.

---

A metric ton of rebellion era ficlets, vignettes from my eeeEEeeEEeeEEE Bismuth collection mostly, which I’ve been accumulating since 2016 and have only posted some - Pearl, Rose, Garnet, Bismuth centric, occasionally with my takes on namedropped characters, some of which would now need an update to match actual canon.

Snowflake was there, held in Garnet’s arms. The familiar pattern of white speckles on black skin, the tight silver coils of hair sticking out every which way.

“We got her back. She wanted to see you.”

“Me? And you just listened to her? Are you out of your mind? How can I help? Have you taken her to Rose? If her gem- if she-”

“I’m right here!” Snowflake struggled out of Garnet’s hold, and stood up - wobbly, barely upright, but determined, on those legs that ran circles around Homeworld, and ran interference and messages faster than any Wailing Stone, in a pinch. “And I’m fine!”

“You don’t look fine, Snowy- listen, please just-”

Snowflake walked up to her, not stumbling a single time, and, gritting her teeth, looked right at her. The hairline fractures in her gem were visible from here, and Bismuth couldn’t help a wince. “Snowflake, come on-”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Bismuth wanted to clutch her to her chest and scream a thousand things at her, but You don’t have to prove anything to me and I’m proud of you and I’m going to make them pay for ever laying a finger on you all waged a war in her throat.

In the end she just settled on holding her close, very gently, until Garnet left, unheard, and came back with Rose, tears already in abundance.

[Later:] “I never properly thanked you, Garnet. For bringing Snowflake back.”

Garnet shrugged. “It was a group effort.”

-

A familiar voice sounded at the entrance to the Forge. “Now come along, it’s just here. Bismuth? Do you have a moment?”

“You know I always have time for you, Pearl,” she called back, putting her current project away. “What did you nee- oh.”

Bismuth blinked.

“Uh... wow,” was the only thing she could manage as pearl after pearl filed into her Forge, soon taking up most of the space around the anvil in impressively neat rows. “New recruits? A whole bunch of you, too.”

“Yes, well,” Pearl made her way to the front of the group, carefully avoiding brushing against the others on her way. She was fidgeting again, long fingers tangling and untangling rapidly, and that was one sure sign of mounting distress. “Garnet and I had planned out an attack on one of Blue Diamond’s supply lines. There was supposed to be a shipment of weapons coming in today, but it turns out it was… pearls.” 

There was something rather off about Pearl’s tone, too. Bismuth made a note to ask later, and do her best to catch her alone.

“Well, all the better for us. Nice to have you all on board.” Her jovial tone was only slightly forced - the pearls all looked like they clearly needed something resembling friendliness, but their skittishness was palpable. She turned towards a pale green pearl right at the front of the group. “Now, what do I call you?”

There was nothing but mild confusion, vague fear, and general quiet shuffling. “No ideas yet? Don’t worry about it! There’s plenty of time to decide and find something that fits.”

[she does indeed manage to talk to Pearl alone, later]

“What’s the real problem, Pearl? You can’t fool me. I can tell something’s wrong.” 

The rather flimsy front finally crumbled at that.

“I just… we- we took out the citrines they’d sent with the shuttle, and Garnet boosted me up so I could force the hatch open and I did, but then...” Pearl let out a distressed little half-sigh half-sob, one hand gesturing weakly. “They were all looking at me so wide-eyed and...”

She took a moment to at least attempt to collect herself.

“I don’t mind having them here, it’s not that at all. It’s just that… we were standing there, with all these newly-made pearls and… obviously I couldn’t just leave them there, in the middle of nowhere! And after what we did, whoever found them, they’d just have them shattered. Because of me. They were compromised. You’ve heard what they do now, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. They’re the monsters, Pearl, and it’s not on you. It’s not you doing that to pearls, it’s them.”

“But it is on me! It quite literally is because of me, because of what I did, and continue to do. I made myself visible and played at being important and look what it got us,” Pearl was near tears, a frustrated blue colouring her face, “a handful of runaways and the rest being treated worse than ever.” 

The tears were out in full force after that, and Bismuth put an arm around Pearl’s shaking shoulders. “Hey, hey, none of that.”

“We ended up taking them with us, but it feels like… it feels like I forced them to come here. Is it really any better than what Homeworld does? All I did was say you’re going to be rebels instead of you’re going to serve and they never got a say in anything.”

“Have you asked them?”

“They don’t know what-”

“Hey. Just ask them, okay? Ask them what they want. We can help them either way. Of course I’d love them to stay. But it’s not up to me, and if they want to go to wherever it was they were supposed to go- we can do that, too.”

-

[Rose discovers her healing tears in a dramatic fashion - they come up with the idea to make the fountain - and thanks to Save the Light we have a pretty good idea of who lovingly made all those statues]

She gently wiped away some of the chiselling dust with the flat of her thumb, just like a tear. A magnificent, healing, life-giving tear.

This was familiar work. But with none of the endless chafing, none of the hated reminders of her former station - Bismuth couldn’t find anything in herself but reverence. And… inspiration. She was a Gem, stars knew she didn’t need rest, breaks, anything of the sort, but still - this pace wasn’t something she’d felt driven to in a long, long while. All day under the burning summer sun, and every night under the light of her own gem. All alone, as the sanctuary took form under her hands.

To get the curls just right, tiny detail by tiny detail, somehow communicate the softness of those cheeks in stone… it took drawing upon the very depths of her well of skill, because how else could she ever hope to capture the likeness of someone as extraordinary as Rose Quartz?

With small, careful movements, she formed the roundness of the lips that could spit fiery words of rebellion, inspire like no other, scowl fiercely in the heat of battle, smile contagiously, bellow out an outrageous fireside guffaw, murmur comforts so softly, kiss…

And then she did it again, and again, and again.

[in the end, Rose is presented with a veritable shrine to herself]

“Rose? Is something wrong? You… don’t like it?”

“No, no, Bismuth, it’s… it’s incredible.” The smile Rose turned on her was as beautiful as anything, but it wasn’t hard to notice it didn’t quite reach her eyes.