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uzumaki-rebellion · 26 days ago

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A.N.: Content Warning, violence, slave lynchings, blood, sex.

"Know that you are loved

Even if you don't love yourself

Know that you are loved

Even if you don't love yourself…"

Cleo Soul – "Know That You Are Loved"

Celeste washed away blood, tissue, and pieces of teeth from her hair that once belonged to three men she tried to help get home.

Sitting in her tub, she let the showerhead rain warm water down on her, creating steam that enveloped her in warmth. The last trickles of blood that soaked her locs ran down the drain in pink rivulets. She raised her knees to her chest and hugged her legs.

She couldn't stay in Marigny anymore.

Vampires, ghouls, and gargoyles knew where she stayed, and she felt like a lighthouse for supernatural entities to fuck up her life even more. She couldn't take a chance staying with her parents, grandparents, or older brothers and their families. Bringing danger to them had to be avoided at all costs.

She wiped her face of tears and let the shower water wash it away. Celeste needed to activate a new state of mind. One that moved in the world with intention.

Celeste scrubbed blood from the side of her car and used carpet cleaner to clear away the dark splashes that stained her passenger seat. Afterward she dropped her car off at a dealership to replace the busted window. She slept most of the day and returned to work at the chicken processing plant using an Uber. The news of the disappearance spread around fast, and she feigned shock at the news that Hector, Shorty, and Quentin disappeared with everyone else. Police detectives wandered about the facility interviewing workers that shared the same shift the previous day. She answered questions concisely and never gave up info that she was with them during their last hour. Celeste kept her head down and pushed through her work. She clocked out and used the turn of events as fodder to get a few days off from the elder care facility.

It was time to dig into Miss Irma's boxes.

Celeste fixed herself a turkey and bacon sandwich and hunkered down, opening every box she brought home. Miss Irma's meticulous organization of her private papers and photos helped her separate the records into neat piles. At the bottom of a box filled with several thick books on history, the occult, and supernatural symbolism, she found a small plastic case filled with flash drives loaded with archival images, more family photos, and copies of folders with Miss Irma's travel photography for over the last five decades. Personal correspondence, postcards, and holiday cards shared by her friends and former work colleagues were tucked inside clear plastic bags.

She spent half a day piecing together the story of Terrence Richmond Guidry, a former enslaved human and leader of a little known Black and Indigenous uprising in the swamps of Opelousas, Louisiana.

Celeste had to stop almost every twenty minutes to get up from her sewing room desk to absorb the incredible story of the man who knocked her up.

Terry had been descended from enslaved Creoles way back, the kind that negotiated plaçages and attended quadroon balls to link wealthy white men with femmes de couleur to create free-born octoroons like his mother. His family upheld the caste system and pretended to be white for years until Terry's birth threatened to expose them. Considered too dark, too curly-haired, and too full-featured to pass as white with his unwanted throwback genes, even with green eyes, his land-owning white-passing Black father didn't send him off to Paris to be educated like his fairer male siblings. His father sent him to New Orleans at fourteen to learn a respectable trade as a shipbuilder, but slave catchers captured and sold him to a sugarcane plantation. News reached Terry two years later that his own father sold him to pay off a gambling debt and to amend back taxes due on their plot of land. His mother died of grief over it. None of his older brothers tried to save him. They married white women and diluted the bloodline back to unsullied whiteness and never returned to America. Celeste closed her eyes and wept for him. Family betrayal cut the deepest.

His owner was a strict Catholic who took a liking to Terry. Allowed him to marry an enslaved woman named Delilah. They had three children. Two boys and a girl born in bondage. The daughter died of smallpox when she was three. The conditions on the sugar plantation were harsh, yet somehow Terry and his wife survived with their two sons.

Celeste jumped up from her seat and paced in her sewing room. He lied to her about having children because they came before he turned into a vampire. She drank tea and snacked on some fruit, letting her mind sit with the man's past as an abused slave. What other atrocities had he endured? She entertained the idea that it may have been a relief to become non-human in order to get away from the banality of white evil. There were more than a few times she stopped reading and cried for him.

After writing about smallpox passing through his plantation like a deadly wildfire killing one third of the enslaved population, Miss Irma's historical biography veered off the rails and entered the domain of what would be considered speculative fiction in the real world. Terry blended in with a group of newly arrived Haitian captives and saltwater Africans who had been illegally brought into the south to replace the lost human property. It was against the law to import slaves into the United States after 1808, and the influx of Black people from the Caribbean and the Western Coast of Africa secretly continued on Terry's plantation during his time there in the 1850s. Slaves were bred as Black gold for the small farmer and large plantations, often sold in lots to turn profits quickly as cotton became king of the southern economy. The devastating loss of so many able-bodied field hands made it impossible for wealthy planters to wait around twelve to fifteen years for a new crop of humans to be bred and physically capable of picking cotton. Illegal importations saved them with a fresh influx of free Black labor immediately without a long-term profit loss.

Terry learned Haitian Creole and taught his diaspora brethren the Franglais he grew up with mixed in with the Cajun dialect of the overseers who beat him constantly. Under Miss Irmas's pen, Celeste became intimate with the fierce mindset of Terry in the past.

Somehow Terry convinced the handful of Haitians, Chitimatcha Native people trapped on their own stolen land, and his own mixed African population of homegrown pre-Black Americans to rise up and kill the masters on their plantation and two others nearby. Seventy-five enslaved men and women used machetes, pickaxes, and shovels to bash in the brains and slice the bodies of white men, white women, and their white babies. Slaves who tried to snitch were slaughtered right beside their masters.

Miss Irma copied an archival photo of Terry's former plantation, and Celeste gasped at another startling photo of Terry among other unnamed slaves. The look in his fiery eyes showed how ready he was to kill if given the chance to take retribution.

On a final chapter of Terry's pre-vampire life, Miss Irma documented how Delilah and his sons were spirited away to safety by free Black abolitionists in another parish. The uprising ended when a militia used firearms, attack dogs, and horses to outrun and overpower the enslaved rebels on their defiant march toward another parish.

The militia caught Terry fleeing with five other slaves, two of them Native, who escaped capture toward the end. Days later, the militia surrounded them in a hot, mosquito-infested swamp, where they evaded gators and poisonous water moccasins that slithered on top of the brackish swamp water.

All six slaves were lynched from giant oak trees covered in drooping Spanish moss on a sweltering summer night. Celeste's eyes stayed riveted to the typewriter ink on yellowing sheets of paper. She cross-referenced the lynchings with a Google search and also looked it up in one of the old books Miss Irma kept on slave rebellions in the southeast. The event was known as the Opelousas Rebellion.

Celeste's fingers shook while reading.

The authorities buried five of the slaves' recovered bodies in a mass grave, and the lynch mob that cornered Terry and his cohorts met mysterious circumstances, resulting in their murder. Their bodies were found stacked neatly, showing ripped throats and shredded wrists. Every drop of blood in them drained. Only one witness escaped to alert others and he eventually went insane after sharing a chilling tale of night demons attacking them. Miss Irma's historical recollection of the official record switched over into what had to be Terry's personal statement as a firsthand witness and survivor.

A roaming pack of vampires came upon the lynching and slaughtered everyone they could find…except for Terry. He had been the last one hung from the tree, his body jerking in the throes of approaching death, dangling like strange fruit until a vampire turned him into one of their own, saving what insignificant life he had left.

Miss Irma had no further details other than Terry finding his way back to his family a year later and living through centuries, reinventing himself as a son, grandson, great-grandson, and so on with each generational loss. At the bottom of the last page, Miss Irma wrote a handwritten note to herself: Check on the background of T'ewati Kobebi, the Aksumite Empire, and look up biblical notes on why the mention of tattoos only occurs once in the bible from Jesus.

Scribbled below the word 'tattoos' was a hand-drawn depiction of Terry's tattoo with a complete circle. Miss Irma drew the bottom half in black ink and shaded the top half with pencil lead. Between the typed manuscript, she had inserted two folded sheets of white copy paper. Celeste unfolded the sheets to find over fifty mystical symbols of chakras, magic circles, and pentagrams. She recognized a rudimentary ankh symbol, and several Christian Coptic crosses. Most of the magic circle images were underlined or had an asterisk next to it. Several had some configuration of an eight-pointed star symbol in the center. One looked eerily similar to Terry's tattoo that she circled in red ink.

Celeste spent the rest of her time in bed looking at the gargoyle pictures from Miss Irma's various flash drives on her laptop. She smiled at how young Miss Irma was in the fifties and sixties, traveling around the world, snapping photos of ugly relics. Her looks back then reminded Celeste of Lena Horne with the silky hair and button nose. A tattered journal explained the differences in gargoyles based on their country of origin and mapped out their locations worldwide. There was a lot of biblical scholarship research on Satan and the Book of Revelations, angels, demons, and the decline of the American church. Miss Irma had a keen interest in proving that ancient myths and folklore were real. Celeste shivered in her bed. Miss Irma listed many fantastical creatures that existed alongside the few Celeste had encountered in person. It would take months, maybe even a year, to read and decipher all the written research from that brilliant mind.

With her eyes exhausted from reading and scrolling images, Celeste fell into a deep sleep. Nightmare visions of the vampire attack caused her to toss, turn, and shout in her sleep. Dark dreams of holding a brown baby with fangs woke her up with a pounding headache…and a pounding on her door. Her cell phone vibrated on her nightstand. She answered it.

"Hello?"

"Duchess, I'm outside your front door," Micah said.

His voice sounded stressed with worry. She climbed out of bed and let him inside her home.

"I've been calling you all day. Why aren't you answering your phone?" he asked.

Celeste plopped down on her sectional and covered her eyes with her hand. Micah sat next to her.

"My life is fucked up, Micah."

She glanced at her cousin. His handsome face openly conveyed how much he loved her and cared about her well-being.

"I'm pregnant. Terry is the father."

Micah squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together in a disappointed line.

"I told you not to—"

"Stop! Please! I don't need you making me feel worse than I do."

"How far along are you?"

"I'll be ten weeks in a couple of days."

"Okay…okay…what are you going to do? Are you keeping it?"

"I don't think I can because…."

Celeste looked at her cousin. She chewed on her bottom lip, stopping herself from saying the word vampire out loud.

"I'm thinking of going to California to have an abortion."

Her stomach muscles cramped, and she rubbed it, letting out a breath as the pain went away.

"I can go with you. My job owes me some extra off days for covering people."

She nodded.

"I haven't told anyone except you, and I don't want others to know."

"Will you tell him?"

"I don't know where he is. We haven't spoken in person or over the phone since he left here."

"Decisions like this are hard…especially a second time. I think you should go talk to Father Mbenga."

"Confession? Why would I tell Father Mbenga about this? He'd see it as a sin and talk me out of it."

"I didn't say do a confessional…I meant seek counsel from a spiritual advisor you trust. I can see in your eyes that this is painful, and spiritual counsel always helps you, Duchess. Your voice is saying get rid of it, but your eyes…bay-buh…your eyes are full of doubt. When we were teenagers, the thought of you having a baby so young hurt me, because I knew that nigga who did it to you was bad news. We rushed you through it because it was the right thing to do for you at that time."

"What about this time?"

"You're a grown woman who wants children…a family. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise."

"I never wanted to be a single mother, Micah."

"Well…if we find that green-eyed pussy bandit, maybe you won't have to be."

"I thought you were pissed about that man."

"I am, and he needs to face his responsibilities either way."

"There'd be no point telling him about it if I don't keep it."

"You want to keep it."

"I can't."

"Listen, we can go over to the church, and you can just talk about the stress you're under…nothing about being pregnant. God always has a way of showing the way when you really need it."

Celeste teared up and wiped at her eyes.

"I'll get dressed," she said.

Micah waited for Celeste outside of the church.

She walked inside, crossed herself in the vestibule and made her way toward the space worshippers were in while the church was still being worked on. She genuflected in front of a pew and then sat down. The stillness within the sanctuary humbled the anxiety in her chest. She folded her hands across her stomach and pondered her situation quietly. As a little girl, she often imagined herself having a baby to carry inside of St. Augustine's for a christening with all of her family around, celebrating her own little bundle of joy wrapped in a soft, white lace Christening gown.

Sadly, Celeste could only see herself carrying a baby that would probably sizzle in pain if Father Mbenga poured baptismal holy water over her head. It wouldn't be right to bring a child into the world that would only face the horrors of a lonely vampire existence like her father.

She stood up quickly.

"Sister Celeste?"

Father Mbenga approached her from the back of the pew.

"Did we have an appointment?" he asked.

"No, Father Mbenga, I just…"

Celeste's lip trembled, and she closed her eyes. A tear rolled down her face.

"Sit…sit…oh, what troubles you?" he asked.

Father Mbenga slipped in next to her on the pew and Celeste choked out her words.

"I find myself in a situation that was avoidable, but I think maybe I wanted it too, and I don't know how to move forward."

She wiped a dangling teardrop from her nose.

"I came to talk to you about it, but I don't think I'm ready to do that yet."

"God is with you, no matter the problem you face. When you are ready, come back. The church is your spiritual backbone for whatever storms you may have to weather."

"Thank you," she said.

He stood with her and walked her to the exit.

Outside, the bright sun and muggy heat greeted her. Micah jumped out of his car.

"You're done already?" he asked.

"No. I changed my mind. I'll come back another time when I feel stronger…braver. I want to walk around."

"I'll come with you."

They took a slow trip around memory lane and Micah pointed out spots where they played as children or snuck out to meet boys and girls for street fights, or smoke out sessions. Her cousin made her laugh and remember what it was like to be young and carefree. An hour later, they strolled to their grandparents' home so Celeste could urinate and hear the comforting sounds of Big Chief and Grand-mère enjoying their Saturday afternoon. They ate leftover beef stew with white rice and Big Chief showed them sketches for his new Indian suit.

She left her grandparents' house with a full belly and sprinkles of love cast over her.

"You look better," Micah said.

"I feel a little better. Still a lot to think about, though."

"I'll take you home. You can think some more and call me when you want to talk it out. I would hang with you longer, but I gotta get ready for work later."

She linked her arm around his.

"Thank you for supporting me…as always," she said.

They ambled back around to his car and he drove toward her house. Her phone chirped and the auto dealership mechanic left a text stating that they had to order a new window for her and the Charger wouldn't be ready until Monday or Tuesday at the latest. Celeste sighed and didn't worry too much. She had time off from work and hadn't planned on working Sunday either. Her little fetish side hustle videos covered the elder care facility income for the Lord's day.

"Well, I'll be damned," Micah stated loudly.

Celeste's heart swelled in her chest and she gripped the door handle of Micah's sporty Lexus coupe.

Seated at the top step of her stoop was Terry. Clothed in a simple orange T-shirt and comfortable tan cargo pants, he raised his head and stood immediately the moment he noticed Celeste.

"You want me to stay?" Micah asked.

"No, I need to talk to him alone."

"Call me if it goes south, okay?"

"I will," she said.

She stepped out of the Lexus and Micah watched the both of them without leaving, making sure she was truly okay.

"Hey," Terry said.

"Hi."

"It's been a while, and I wanted to see you. Sorry for not giving you a heads up that I was coming back down."

"You stopped communicating with me. I thought maybe…maybe it was for the best since we're living in two different places."

In the sunlight, his eyes held the color of balmy Caribbean waters. No blinking meant his gaze pierced into the deepest part of her. All she could think of standing there in front of her house was that his Black father had sold him into slavery. Terrible white men strung him up in a tree…all because he wanted to free his people. Did it matter if a strange vampire pack saved his life so he could watch over his loved ones for centuries? He didn't act like a feral beast. The man loved his family. Loved her.

Her chest shuddered. Tears sprang out too fast to cover up her emotions. Terry wrapped his muscular arms around her.

"I'm sorry I had to leave. It's been difficult being away from you, Duchess."

She buried her face in his shoulder, unable to express openly everything she'd experienced since his absence. It made no sense to be terrified of him and in love equally. She pushed back from him and averted eye contact.

In the daylight, they were safe. However, she didn't think it was wise for him to know that she was aware of his lineage. She had to play it close to the vest.

"How long are you here for?"

"A couple of days and then I have to get back. I got a room at a hotel…I just needed to see you again. Baby, I miss you."

Celeste's stomach flip-flopped and she climbed the steps to her front door. Glancing around, she noticed Micah still parked in front of her place. She nodded her head for him to leave and he made a 'call me' hand motion before he pulled away from the curb.

Terry followed her inside the house.

"I'll make us some tea," she said, needing an excuse not to look at him directly.

In the kitchen she fumbled with the tea-making, spilling sugar cubes everywhere and nearly breaking a saucer for the cups. She focused on keeping her hands steady as she carried the cups and saucers out into the living room.

They sipped together in silence, the tension between them thick like the roux in her grandmother's cooking pot.

"This place still feels cozy," he said.

He put his drink down and reached for her hand. She pulled back, keeping a polite distance.

"You have every right to be mad at me for not keeping in touch, or at least telling you I couldn't see you again right away."

"Things happen. We had fun. I was upset for a minute, but I'm over it."

So many questions ran races around in her brain. What did he do while he was gone? Did he hunt people and just stay low key, hiding in trees or stalking victims near clubs? Were there others like him? Daywalkers who other vampires depended on? The Deacon said Terry was an apex predator, and yet she never picked up on anything violent about him except for when he punched those white men two months ago on her behalf.

The Deacon and his pack wanted Terry. Once the night time came, they would probably know he was there with her. What if they pretended to be nice to her just to lure him back for nefarious reasons?

Celeste didn't know what to do.

"Duchess? Why won't you look at me?"

She played it off.

"I'm still upset with you, so I don't even want to look at you. I think you should leave. What we had is over, and it's best if we both move on."

The words sounded corny and cliché flowing out of her mouth, but it was the best she could come up with. She didn't know for sure if she was protecting him or herself. Maybe both.

"If you want me to go, I will. But I want you to look me in my eyes and say it…so I'll know it's real."

Don'tdoitDon'tdoitDon'tdoit…don't…

She squeezed her eyes shut and refused to look at him.

"Be mad, but please…don't shut me out. You're all I have left," he pleaded.

Celeste rocked forward in her seat and fell apart. The pain of being alone wafted off of him and she couldn't resist touching him again. She threw her arms around him and he rested his chin on top of her head. His body trembled against her and she was so close to spilling her secret and his. She clamped her mouth shut.

He cradled her chin with his hand, and she still refused to look at him. Celeste didn't want him to read her mind or do any of the things vampires could do to break her will.

"Why won't you look at me?"

"I can't…I don't wanna fall for you again."

He pressed his forehead against hers.

"I still love you," he said. "Being away hasn't changed my feelings. Tell me you don't love me anymore and I'll go away…never to bother you again. Je t'aime tellement, j'ai besoin de toi dans ma vie. Je veux être avec toi… all your life, Duchess."

Celeste gasped. He loved and needed her in his life. Wanted to be with her for as long as she lived. She glanced at the clock on her living room wall. They had a little over five hours before the sun went down.

Celeste looked directly into Terry's eyes. If he was brazen enough to read her thoughts in the past, would he do it now?

He only sighed in relief and kissed her lips gently once.

"Your eyes tell me you still feel the same about me," he said.

She balked for a second. He didn't invade her thoughts. Terry lifted her right hand and kissed her palm.

"I want to take you somewhere special to me."

"Where?"

"Mémé's house. You can think of it as a vacation."

"Why didn't you take me there before?" she asked.

"I thought it might've been too soon, especially after her death. Time away from here has given me a chance to think."

"I've done a lot of thinking too…and we need to talk…about a bunch of things. My life is different now—"

He kissed her.

His lips covered her mouth completely, and she gave in to the passion he conveyed for her.

She loved him.

Felt sorry for him.

Feared him.

Every emotion within her became tossed about, muddying the waters of discernment. Clarity. Down…down…down she went, drowning in his kisses and his tongue sliding in her mouth. She gave back hungry kisses, too. No human could understand what it felt like to be kissed and touched by a vampire. The man knew every spot on her body to break her down further, from licking the side of her neck to plunging his tongue in her ear.

He groaned her name into her skin. She folded like a losing poker hand.

She wanted him. He wanted her. Was that so wrong? A human and a vampire feeling desire for one another? Miss Irma said he loved her, and would a ghost lie?

Terry made her feel things that she'd never experienced with a human man before. Cherished and protected. Love overflowed from him and poured into her and she was willing to be damned by it if it meant she could have that feeling forever in his arms.

He lifted her from the sectional and carried her into the bedroom. She let him undress her. It didn't take long to unbutton her summer blouse and pull down her skirt. She kicked off her sandals and watched him take off his clothes, his eyes never leaving hers.

He kissed every part of her and took his time fondling her breasts. Her nipples were sensitive and a simple flick of his fingers had them stiff. He sucked on them far longer than she expected, and she gazed at the ceiling. The light of day looked even more magical with him in her arms. His fingers slid across her locs and he played with them like they were just as sexy as her breasts. The full arousal of his dick slapped against her legs and she ignored it, knowing it would have her laid out soon enough. Once Terry put that hammer on her, wasn't no sane reason on earth to try and keep a rational mind.

He rested on his side, hugging her close to his naked warmth. His thick fingers stroked her cheek. She luxuriated in the shivers running across her skin.

"I want us to stay like this for days and days on end," he said.

She traced an index finger around his right nipple, and it hardened. Puckering her lips, she forced him to lower his head to kiss her again. He shifted his position even lower and kissed her vulva, paying close attention to the arc above her clit. She felt the thumping under her clitoral hood and moaned his name when he licked all over her inner labia. After a time, he rose with shiny, wet lips. Celeste made minimum effort to respond in kind. She remained a pillow princess and let him put forth all the effort in lovemaking. Her goal was to remain alert and experience his affections without losing herself to the lust.

He gave more effort to engage her, going so far as to place her hand on his erection, forcing her to please him. She slid her hand up and down with his hand covering hers, helping her keep on task, never going further than the thick ridge under his tip. Pre-cum spilled out, and he reached for a bottle of lube on the side table. He squeezed the dark blue plastic bottle and the odor of vanilla became strong to her nose as the sticky lubricant coated his dick, helping her hand slide with a slick pressure on his length. Rubbing some around her opening, he stared at her face, drinking in the intoxicating way he made her feel with his lovemaking prowess. Love shined in his eyes and glowed all around his face. Her heart wanted to confess about the pregnancy, but her mind fought back to keep that hidden from him. She still wasn't sure what to do, and telling him wouldn't help her. It would just add more pressure and cloud her judgement.

Terry repositioned Celeste on her side. He lifted her leg and pushed the tip of his dick against her opening.

"Terry," she murmured.

He kissed her and penetrated in two places, her mouth with his tongue, and her pussy with his dick at the same time. She gripped the sheet on her bed and braced her back against his chest. Terry made that dick move in her pussy. He dug deep in her walls and the lube had her pussy slippery to accommodate his size. She stretched around him well enough, but her lips twisted up, letting out little yelps and squeals, unable to process how good it felt to have that dick back where it belonged.

He squeezed and played with her tits, enjoying the way they bounced on the bed as he rocked into her with a steady pounding. A minute later, he lifted her right leg and kept it suspended in the air, using it to balance the thrusts he gave.

"Goddamn, this shit stays so tight around me," he moaned. "You missed me, huh?" he teased.

She smiled and reached back to touch his hair.

"Pussy gonna have me making a mess all in it…keep squeezing this dick like that and you'll have a problem on your hands."

She laughed, and he kissed her, still pumping that thick dick into her depths. Her passive energy excited him more, perhaps making him feel like he had to prove himself to her again. He grunted, kept her leg up, and complimented her sugary walls with each slap of his balls on her ass. Between thrusts, he stroked her clit, edging her so good she started getting blurry vision.

He fucked in the same way that got her pregnant and that excited Celeste, causing her pussy to spasm before she was ready, her orgasm rippling all across that heavy dick.

"Cum on my dick…keep cumming on my…dick…yessss…just like that…taking this dick like the good girl you are…ooh shit, you're still cumming…you want me to nut, don't you? Make a big mess all in this pussy…that's what you want…I can feel it…look how you're doing all this dick…all this dick…fuck all this dick…"

His mouth slammed down on her neck, and this time, Celeste was aware of everything, the initial pain, the deep sucking to snatch away her blood, the pressure of teeth that became unnatural inside her throat. She could even feel her heartbeat thrum in time to his sucking—

Terry froze.

His thrusts abruptly stopped. He dropped her leg onto the bed. His tongue and lips no longer stole her lifeblood.

Slowly…ever so slowly…he pulled his teeth out of her neck. His dick pulsed inside her pussy and she had no control over the final contractions of her orgasm. He pushed her chin, making her look at him.

She nearly screamed.

His eyes glowed with the inhuman reflection that he shared with The Deacon. His canine teeth and premolars were long, sharp, and dripping with her blood. Even with the feral gleam in his eye and the vicious, sharp teeth exposed, Terry's beauty became enhanced in his full vampire glory.

How dumb and blind she had been!

This was his true self.

"You can't be," he whispered under his breath.

He licked her blood from his teeth and around his dripping lips.

"Impossible!" he yelled.

He pulled his dick out and they both could see how close he was to cumming. His pre-cum still spilled out.

Celeste shrank into herself and stayed in a tight ball on a corner of the bed, pulling the sheet over her breasts.

"A girl…" he whispered, his eyes staring off into space.

Celeste nodded and he jumped off the bed as if she had the plague.

"Vampires can't breed with humans."

There.

He said it out loud. Naming what he was to her face.

"I know what you are," she said. "But you got me pregnant."

His eyes watered, and he bared his teeth at her threateningly.

"He called her a dhampir. Told me she was priceless," she said, rising to her knees on the bed.

"He?" Terry said, his eyes narrowing.

"The Deacon—"

Terry had her by the throat and pinned against the wall above the headboard before she could finish another word. She tried prying his hand away from her throat.

"I can't breathe…Terry…"

"When did you see him?!"

His harsh tone scared her. She burst into tears.

He dropped her back on the bed and stepped away from her, staring down at her like she was a cursed thing. She rubbed her throat and left the room. Padding into her sewing room, she grabbed a manilla folder. She returned to the bedroom and tossed Miss Irma's biography about him on the bed.

"I know all about you, Terry. How you became a slave. Your lynching. Your re-birth as a vampire."

Terry touched Miss Irma's tome and shut his eyes. He opened them back up and looked at her naked body.

"When did you see Abai?"

"Abai?"

"That's his real name. The Deacon is just something I used to call him as a joke between us."

Terry's voice sounded tired. Celeste folded her arms across her breasts.

"He came here looking for you with four other female vampires a week ago. They saved my life the other day. Another group of vampires attacked my co-workers when I helped change their tire. Abai, he knew I was pregnant. He cut my hand and tasted my blood, told me I was having a girl."

"You let him feed from you?"

Terry's nostrils flared, and his sharp teeth looked more menacing.

"I didn't let him…it happened during the attack, and I was…protecting myself…protecting what's inside me. Miss Irma…Mémé…she came to me as a ghost while I was at work and told me I was pregnant first. She knew it was a girl…she told me to look in her papers to know your story."

"Dhampirs are not real. None have ever existed. It's a myth. Humans and vampires are two different species incapable of reproducing anything."

"Nigga, I didn't think you were real either, but I've seen two different types of vampires and a ghost. Go fucking figure!"

She stomped out of the bedroom and locked herself in the bathroom. Angry and full of tears, Celeste ran the shower and cleaned herself off. She pulled on her bathrobe from the hook on the bathroom door.

"You don't have to worry about me keeping this mythical fetus. I'm going to fly out-of-state to get it taken out of me!" she shouted.

A fiery pain burned in her chest. This was the outcome she expected from him finding out. Denial. Negative behavior. The typical lame male response of not wanting to take responsibility for his part in the mess. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her face looked wet and her eyes were red and puffy from crying in the shower.

"You can leave, Terry. I'll take care of everything. Let's just act like we never met. No one would believe me about vampires anyway, so don't trip about your secret."

She flung open the bathroom door, and he was right there, bigger than life, waiting for her to come out.

"I don't want you to take care of anything," he said.

"What?"

His eyes were wet with tears and full of longing.

"Maybe…maybe this is a miracle for us, Duchess…maybe this was meant to be. I have endured the loss of so much for so long. Do you think the god you love so much took pity on me?"

"What are you saying?"

"I want to have this baby with you.

Chapter 13 HERE.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl17

@4pfsukuna

@yamst3rdamctrl

@sweettea-and-honeybutter

@comfortzonequeen

@theereina

@brattyfics

@prettyisasprettydoes1306

@megane96

@honeytoffee

@taurusqueen83

@mightbeher

@melaninpov

@carlakeks

@woahthatshitfat

@hrlzy

@theglamclosetsl

@liquorlaughslove

@teeresaresa

#terry richmond #rebel ridge #terry richmond fanfiction #rebel ridge fanfiction #scary terry #aaron pierre #Black vampires #black supernatural #halloween 2024 #Terry Richmond Vampire AU #Uzumaki Rebellion #Terry Richmond x Black OC

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blackhistorystoryteller · 1 year ago

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AFRICAN PROVERBS AND THEIR MEANINGS

This is a message to my black brothers and sisters

Learn about African proverbs and know your culture is filled with poetry

1) Only a fool tests the depth of a river with both feet.

Meaning: You don’t jump straight into a situation without thinking about it first.

2) Knowledge is like a garden: If it is not cultivated, it cannot be harvested.

Meaning: If you don’t make efforts to acquire knowledge then you would not expect to have it and if you do not put the knowledge you have to use, you cannot expect to gain anything from it.

3) Sugarcane is sweetest at its joint.

Meaning: Good and sweet things of life may appear difficult to achieve but in the end, it is worth it.

4) If you offend, ask for a pardon; if offended forgive.

Meaning: This is as simple as it sounds: If you upset someone, apologise to him or her. If someone upsets you, forgive him or her because what goes around, comes around.

5) Don’t set sail using someone else’s star.

Meaning: Avoid copying someone else. Just because someone has been successful in what he/she does should not be what will make you to do the same thing and expect to be successful.

6) The best way to eat an elephant in your path, is to cut him up into little pieces.

Meaning: The best approach to solving a problem is to take it bit by bit; one at a time.

7) A restless feet may walk into a snake pit.

Meaning: If someone is busy doing nothing or is involved in what he does not know about, it is easy for him/her to get into trouble.

8) A chick that will grow into a cock can be spotted the very day it hatches.

Meaning: You can easily foresee the future of something through the character and tell-tale signs it exhibits today.

9) After a foolish deed comes remorse.

Meaning: Feeling sorry always follows a foolish act.

10) A man who pays respect to the great paves the way for his own greatness.

Meaning: What goes around, comes around so whatever you sow, you shall reap.

11) He who does not know one thing knows another.

Meaning: No one knows everything, but everyone knows something.

12) A roaring lion kills no one.

Meaning: You cannot achieve or gain anything by mere sitting around and just talking about it.

13) Do not call the forest that shelters you a jungle.

Meaning: Do not insult someone who is taking care of your responsibility or taking care of you.

14) When a king has good counsellors, his reign is peaceful.

Meaning: What defines a man is the circumstances and people around him and if they are good, he turns out good.

15) It takes a whole village to raise a child.

Meaning: The society is responsible for the moral characters it creates and everyone in a community should be responsible for helping to train a child irrespective of who the parents are; offering correction where they are needed.

16) If a child washes his hands he could eat with kings.

Meaning: If you prepare and allow yourself to be well trained when you have the opportunity, you will achieve a lot and be favoured in due course.

17) The Rain does not fall on one roof.

Meaning: Trouble comes to everyone at one time or another.

18) Life is like a mist or a shadow; it quickly passes by.

Meaning: Life is too short, and you only live it once.

19) Wherever a man goes to dwell, his character goes with him.

Meaning: What defines a man is his character which is, inseparable from him and follows him everywhere he goes.

20) Do not look where you fell, but where you slipped.

Meaning: Don’t look at your mistakes; look at what caused your mistakes, otherwise you may repeat the same mistake again.

He who sees an old hag squatting should leave her alone; who knows how she breathes?

Meaning: You should never interfere in someone's issues, particularly when you do not know anything about them.

Anger against a brother is felt on the flesh, not in the bone. Meaning: You should forget and forgive anything your relatives did to you.

Maize bears fruits once and dies because it is not rooted in the ground. Meaning: You will never get to the top and stay prosperous without a good foundation.

He who will swallow the 'udala' seed must consider the size of his stomach. Meaning: 'Udala' seed is an apple seed. It is never digested in the stomach

#life #animals #culture #aesthetic #black history #history #blm blacklivesmatter #anime and manga #architecture #black community #black heritage #heritage

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joifee · 1 year ago

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"xB", M.C. Joifee, 2023, Digital Drawing with Medibang Paint Pro, 30.2 x 19.9cm, uploaded on the artists tumblr-blog

This artpiece was drawn during @shepscapades hermit character-design event all through june. The artist M.C. Joifee was inspired by the painting "Ophelia" by the british artist Sir John Everett Millais, drawn 1851-1852.

The imagine depicts xBcrafted lying inside a shallow river in a similar pose to Ophelia in the original painting. Other than Ophelia his eyes are closed, making him appear more peaceful than Ophelia. He is surrounded by floating cherry-blossom, choosen by the artist due to the current 1.20 update of minecraft, which introduced the cherry-grove biome.

The river is surrounded by minecraft-typical fauna. On the shore of xB's right side is an azalea tree is growing from the ground. On the left side sugarcane is growing next to a sandy beach. On the left side of the picture, parts of a stone bridge is visible. Possible a bridge build by xB himself or another unknown to us hermit.

Floating particals let us assume that theres a sporeblossom and a cherry tree nearby.

#xbcrafted #xb fanart #hermitcraft #hermitcraft s9 #shepshermitdesign23 #ophelia #sorry thats such an xb picture #because i headcanon him sleeping inside a river #also can you tell i studied arthistory #i am out of practise tho #also its harder to write an description in english #anyways hope you like it #somehow i keep drawing the prompts i didnt suspected i will draw #queue #yes this is sheduled #joifeeart

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asktheritochampion · 5 hours ago

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I’ve noticed that lots of your recent questions have been… quite violent. Either that or entirely nonsensical(*cough* Tulin *cough*). While those questions are quite interesting, and provide fascinating insight into many facets of your personality, I can’t imagine they’re easy to go through all day. As a return to the more mundane questions, what are your preferences towards baked goods? And are you aware of the other champion’s preferences?

I'll admit, it is a refreshing change to be asked something reltively mundane.

I personally don't eat a lot of baked goods, my diet is very protien and vegtable based to maintain by sleek and muscular form. However, I can appreciate Rito baking for special occations such as festivals and holidays.

My personal favourites of our traditional bakes are hot pepper windmills. They're a fairly simple butter pastry containing pepper jam and glazed in honey. Because Rito lack the heat/pain response from capsaicin, 'hot' peppers taste...well, just rather sweet and floral to us. Thus these pasteries are a sweet treat for Rito but almost inedible to most other races.

A few other worthy mentions would be bakes such as wildberry towers, which are small circles of fluffy vanilla cake filled with wildberries and jam. We grow a lot of wildberries in Hebra so wildberry cakes are fairly traditional at celebrations. We make them into thin, tall towers because Rito swalow our food whole and that's an easy shape for it.

There's also some fairly acceptable savoury bakes. A warrior pie is a pouch of shortcrust pastry filled with baked and spiced chicaloo nuts and acorns. Nuts are a very large part of the Rito diet and good for our digestion, and are a good sorce of protien in the winter when the meat is scarse. They're called warrior pies because they are sturdy for travel, keep for a long time, and are very dense to fill you up; so traditionally they're a food that warriors take with them into battle.

Then there's a baked good we Rito rather enjoy frightening Hylians with called a baked rat. Contrary to the name, it is not, in fact, a baked rodent. It's a sort of pancake-esq batter filled with finely chopped bird meat and potatos, usually coloured red with hot pepper juices, and glazed with a sugarcane shell and sprinkled with herbs. The gimick is that they 'burst' when you break them in half and look like the vicera of a dead animal, which is appealing to the preditor instincts of a Rito. The reason they became called baked rats is because during the harsh winters, sometimes bird meat would be scarce, and in times of famine when the Village has been unable to get meat, we've turned to other sorces of protien such as insects. For a long time it was traditional to add earth worms in replacement of meat, which people would tell their fledglings were 'rat tails' to make them seem less unapealing. It amuses me greatly that whenever a Hylian visits the village and see's a treat being consumed with the name 'baked rat' that the featherless blights tend to lose all color in their faces and make a hasty exit.

As for the other Champions, I'm unfamiliar with their preferences. Zora have a hard time processing a large amount of glutenous foods, thus most of their diet tends to avoid tabantha wheat. However I know Mipha has made cookies before using flour made from rice. I can't imagine Daruk eating many baked goods, as the Gorons typically consume mostly rocks. Due to my inability to enter Gerudo Town, I'm unaware of what foods are popular amongst the Gerudo, however I have seen Urbosa enjoy a variety of Hyllian bakes at the Castle.

Both the Princess and her little shadow practically gorge themselves on an enormous variety of baked treats when at the castle. There's forever servants rushing around, setting up lengthy tables with huge amounts of facinating foods - more than any one princess could ever eat. I couldn't name them all if I tried.

#revali #breath of the wild #age of calamity #legends of zelda #tears of the kingdom #rito #rito village #link #mipha #zelda #daruk #urbosa

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synergysilhouette · 2 months ago

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Plotting out "Yaksha" (Disney movie)

If you haven't checked out my post on my original Disney era, please check it out here.

Background: Disney revives the idea for a "Jack and the Beanstalk" story, though they've no interest of making it take place in Spain like originally planned, citing the recent "Wish" film still burned in people's recent memory. Fawn Veerasuthorn (Co-director and co-screenwriter of "Wish," head of story for "Raya and the Last Dragon," and a story artist/storyboard artist/visual development artist for other recent Disney films) suggests a Thai setting, since there are many stories that revolve around Yakshas there. Though Disney is nervous about the idea due to RATLD's middling box office performance and polarized reviews on their SEA representation, Fawn points out that the former issue was COVID-related, and the latter issue can be solved by specifically focusing on Thailand. Eventually, they come around to the idea, citing how "The Princess and the Frog" was based a European tale with a fresh twist from another culture. Early on that they would gamble further by not only making the film a musical AND keeping a male lead, something they hadn't done since "Hercules" (AKA 1997). They aren't totally being risky, though; they bring over the Anderson-Lopez team, who was originally going to be used to be used for "Gigantic" (the original title for the adaptation) to write songs for it, as well as bringing in James Newton Howard in after his experience orchestrating the score for Raya. Opting to lean into potential "Avatar: The Last Airebender" parallels, Disney hires Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko as directors (and I'll be using some ATLA and TLOK pics for reference), with Matt Braly and Jared Bush creating the script. It was never established if they were going for a specific time period's influence, but the Sukhothai and Ayutthaya kingdoms were the most spoken about. Scott Watanabe does the concept art, and after a severe internal argument, they take another risk: to make it a 2D film. This is only done due to points being brought up how desires for 2D have increased (and TBATH winning "Best Animated Film" in 2024) as well as it working best in the film's favor being based on Thai art. Needless to say, Studio Ghibli plays a big influence on the art style, and the change to 2D makes production take longer to reacquaint the animation team with it, as well as getting the style they want.

Plot:

(Used this picture for visual aid; courtesy of Scott Watanabe's concept art for "Raya and the Last Dragon")

A poor family made up of a man, his wife, her father, and their two children, is blessed with another child. Unable to support him, the family falls into anguish, but his grandfather has dreams of buying and planting sugarcane seeds outside the kingdom and placing the baby there overnight, and is told that the child will be cared for. He tells the family, and the boy disappears the next day, being raised by the Yaksha in a sky kingdom above. For many years, the boy--named "Cloud"--believes he belongs there, until his adoptive mother informs him of his true heritage and guides him to the stalk from which she descended to retrieve him. As he grows, Cloud descends the beanstalk to learn more about the place he would've called home, but when a jealous giant follows him and accidentally kills the crown prince of the kingdom, the King vows revenge on the Yaksha, wanting to destroy them and conquer their plentiful kingdom in the process. Cloud, as a human, must know act as a bridge between both worlds in order to prevent an all-out war from occuring.

Characters:

"Cloud"--His main color is definitely blue, which references the world above that he lives in close to the sky. His nickname is a pun on his head sometimes being stuck in the clouds, as well as his easygoing and often gentle nature and the fact that he now lives in the kingdom above the clouds. He draws influences from several people (fictional or real, Thai or not) to craft a young man with a passion for peace and keeping the order between giants and humans. While he's spent most of his life in the world above, he will sometimes sneak down the sugarcane to a little village outside the human Kingdom of Khruth where he only goes by his nickname. For many years, he has befriended an elderly man, unaware that this is his grandfather. On Earth, he's known only by his nickname, with only a handful of people who know his real name, something he hardly uses (but still answers to).

Suvana--One of the princesses of Khruth, who catches Cloud napping under the mango tree outside the palace. When she discovers he is the ambassador of the Yaksha, she's surprised, having expected him to be a brutish and reckless warrior, and she is pleased to find that he is respectful, pious, and compassionate. Somewhat of a black sheep in the royal family, she often tries to find time to herself, when she can be more playful and goofy without embarrassing her family or disrupting the royal status quo. However, despite her unique personality, she's also quite clever and mysterious, being underestimated often due to being seen as incompetent.

Note: her name is taken from Suvannamaccha, a mermaid princess from the Thai version of the Ramayana.

Ngein--A mother figure to Cloud and a leader of the Yakshas who reside in the sky, she's weary of the impending war with humans, who, in their hubris, desire to conquer the sky upon hearing of even more majestic lands and priceless gems and minerals there. On top of this, one of the Yaksha's kills the crown prince in a rage, fueling the friction between both parties.

(IDK if I'd use their "Genshin Impact" designs, but it is a nice visual aid.)

Sirichai--The King of Khruth who grew up with stories of giants who housed outstanding treasure and magic in the world above. When one of his sons is killed by a Yaksha, he follows it to the sugar cane and investigates the world above, and comes to the conclusion that while above him, it is still part of his kingdom, and his craving for revenge drives him to want to dominate the giants--or slaughter them for their wealth. Either or.

Songs:

Sent to Heaven--The opening song about the dreams and hopes of commoners, it focuses on Cloud's family leaving him below a sugarcane stalk after dreaming that he will live better if they do so rather than living with them. They ponder the drawbacks of this, however, as they may never see him again.

What Else is There?--After being told that he's the child of humans when he's young, Cloud begs Ngein to show him the sugarcane that peeks above the clouds, and as the years pass, he makes his way down to the human world, learning about the life he missed, with Ngein always satisfied because he always returns and because she watches him from Yaksha statues outside of temples

Underneath--Cloud rests beneath the mango tree, contemplating how large the world beneath the clouds is, and how he isn't ready to go back home. Meanwhile, Suvana talks about who she is underneath her decorum, and is simultaneously embarrassed by how she fails to live up to royal standards and sad that it alienates herself from her siblings.

Worth the Price--Sirichai makes an impassioned speech to his army to climb the sugar cane to the land above and make the giants above subservient to them. Suvana notes that despite her father's ill intentions, he does not recognize what he's doing as wrong, truly believing that his the skies above are part of his kingdom and thus his dominion.

What Else is There? (Reprise)--When Cloud is imprisoned and Suvana must go alone to persuade the giants not to kill the incoming warriors, they ponder if their desire to live and explore was always meant to end poorly, if they were better off living the lives played out for them. But then, they realize they wouldn't have met each other, and they'd always wonder "what if?"

Only Me--Having managed to avoid war and catastrophe, Cloud and Suvana marry, and they reflect on their journeys. Despite their kind hearts, they made hasty decisions that could have hurt so many people, and as they marry, they vow to each other and both kingdoms that the ceremony was not only a marriage of people, but a marriage of worlds. (Note: if I made the lyrics, it'd be "It's NOT only me")

Lemme know what you think and if you have any questions! Obviously I don't know the inns and outs of Thai culture, but lemme know if it sounds like it could work with these ideas. I may make minor changes to this. Perhaps I'll make more posts related to the rest of my fanmade Reinvention era.

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mindblowingscience · 1 year ago

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Scientists from NTU Singapore have developed a sustainable and more effective technique for making lactic acid by using discarded jackfruit seeds. Lactic acid plays an indispensable part in the industrial production and preservation of nearly all the food we consume, being used in various stages of the manufacturing of food staples such as bread, yogurt, cheese, kimchi, sauerkraut, and pickles. In 2022, approximately 1.5 million metric tons of lactic acid were manufactured worldwide. Lactic acid is added to dairy products for a tangy taste, controls acidity in jams and canned fruits, and extends the shelf life of packaged meat products. In baking, lactic acid conditions dough for better texture and volume. Additionally, lactic acid helps in emulsification of dressings and sauces and maintains vibrant colors in fruits and vegetables. Developed by Professor William Chen, Director of NTU's Food Science and Technology (FST) program, the method is cheaper and more sustainable than existing industrial methods as it requires fewer chemicals and processes, produces negligible amounts of by-products, and reduces food waste by using unwanted jackfruit seeds. Current industrial methods to produce lactic acid are costly as they typically involve fermenting raw materials such as sugarcane, corn starch and beetroot sugar, which have become more expensive due to the increasing scarcity of farmland, natural disasters, and rising inflation.

#Science #Chemistry #Jackfruit #Biology #Biochemistry #Jack Fruit #stem #Green Chemistry

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batterymaster01 · 11 months ago

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Shovelfolk Agriculture & Cuisine

Some common dishes in the cultures of the Shovelfolk (Astutocentaurus alluvium).

The Shovelfolk are sometimes regarded as the "inventors of agriculture" by the other native sapients. In addition to their surprisingly advanced metallurgic techniques and masonry, they have been farming for over 3 million years, countless eons before most of the other currently extant native sapients even came to be. Quite a few of the planet's most widely used crops, such as the wheat-like réhä used to make bread, are believed to have originally been invented by their people.

Shovelfolk are similar to the more cosmopolitan Fauns in that they are omnivores, eating mostly starchy vegetation supplemented by some quantity of meat, eggs, and fruit. Due to the ample supply of water and minerals offered by the Takaran River, most Shovelfolk cultures are almost obligately agricultural, relying on both the running water of the river and the fertile land on the riverbank to grow their own food. Like many Astutocentaurine cultures, there is a conspicuous lack of dairy in the diets of Shovelfolk, since none of the known animals on Athyrmagaia lactate in a mammalian fashion.

To disrupt the local ecosystem as little as possible, the majority of the crops they grow are derived from species native to the area. The most common crops in their daily regimen are réhä and hetūt, the former a grain-like species of star grass and the latter an edible root. Réhä is used in a similar manner as wheat, often being ground up and then baked to make bread, whereas hetūt is more akin to a potato or turnip and can be eaten either raw or cooked. They also use zhėgel, a more primitive, water-intensive plant vaguely similar to sugarcane, to make various simple sweet treats. In addition to terrestrial crops, they also use the mineral-rich waters of the Takara to cultivate various freshwater aquatic plants as a food source. The leaves of zhattrekekc aquaphytes are used in much the same way as the leaves of lettuce, and the seeds of secondarily aquatic hehhel plants are used as a peppercorn-like seasoning.

Although mainly farmers of locally grown produce, Shovelfolk have also been known to forage for food both near and beyond the riverbank, as well as engage in occasional trade with other cultures for more exotic ingredients. During their annual pilgrimages in search of resources, namely the metals found near volcanoes, they often either harvest (or purchase) foreign spices and herbs to bring home, including those used for medicines that cannot be found in their homeland. Those who live near the coasts often travel closer to shore to harvest sea salt as a condiment and a food preservative. When harvesting fruit, which is relatively rare in the Western Weave, they will rely on the help of allied Oliphaunts, since the only plants that bear palatable fruit in the region are enormous umbrynoids that are often too tall for the tiny Shovelfolk to scale on their own.

Unlike many other agricultural peoples, Shovelfolk do not raise livestock for meat. Their primary source of carnal cuisine is a selectively bred species of tumeofauna known locally as "mėbé." Although it is technically an animal, mėbé grows and behaves more like sessile fungi, which means it is considered a "crop" rather than a form of livestock. Mėbé is farmed underground within the warren in a special higher-humidity chamber, where it is kept fed by organic refuse. Mėbé nodes are usually either eaten raw or cooked, and are a common ingredient of more savory Shovelfolk meals. That being said, they do still make ample use of other animal products as food and resources. Their sole livestock animal, the crawpig, regularly lays infertile eggs that are often eaten as a delicacy and used to make dough, and some of their more unusual dishes are given flavor by being boiled in the animal's urine. Shovelfolk are also known to eat fish and insects, and they will often sun-dry worms to eat as a snack.

#speculative biology #athyrmagaia #sophont #xenobiology #Astutocentaurini #Shovelfolk

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maya-chirps · 3 months ago

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Leonora

by Sugarcane

youtube

New translation! This time I just felt like translating and talking about this song because I genuinely love talking about the little nuances here. It's one of the more recent videos that really pulled me back into OPM. I explain a lot of the nuances and the historical background below + some personal stories related to it too.

Leonora

This serenade I'm offering, for the maiden with unparalleled beauty, with the scent of roses If tricky fate would wish it I won't let it disappear

This letter I'm hoping your eyes would read I'm ready to do everything, I'll even court your family I've only now felt such eternal awe All I wish for is

The two of us be together at the end and at the beginning Proving that first love does last

How many poems has it been, why is it getting unnoticed? My only wish, at the end you'll be with me If it's possible, until the end of time I will never let you go forever

Our sweet past relationship, where'd it go? (I keep looking for you, whoa) How come between us, I'm the only one left? (I wish I could still see you) Your beautiful voice, would I still hear it? Ready to go through life[1] even if you're not here anymore

Wherever you are, may you be happy now (let you go free, whoa) Even if we won't be together anymore (I still love you) Just please listen to my wish that you would take care Oh, Leonora my love, ah

Alternative Translations and Additional Context

Ready to go through - this is just the literal translation of the line but contextually it's closer to the lyric I used or something close to "Ready to go through everything".

The song is based on the real-life historical figure Leonor Rivera-Kipping, one of the many lovers of the Philippine National hero José Rizal. The two were childhood sweethearts, however, due to Rizal traveling to Europe to study and Leonor's mother Silvestra Bauzon not liking how political he was while favoring an Englishman named Henry Charles Kipping so Silvestra and Kipping kept the letters that Rizal sent to Leonor. This made her think that she was abandoned and later on married Kipping instead (Quirino, 2015).

On the night of her wedding, she found the letters and in her frustration tore them apart sewing some of them on the hem of her wedding dress and burnt the others. After her marriage to Kipping, she vowed to never play the piano again. She died at 26 in childbirth alongside her newborn daughter, after which Kipping abandoned their only living son and traveled back to England just to die three years later, no mention of Leonor ever being his wife (Quirino, 2015).

Her final wish before her death was to be buried with the silver box that contained the ashes of Rizal's letters (Martinez-Clemente, 2011). Sadly, her grave was a casualty during the war and her remains and her grave site has been lost forever (Quirino, 2015).

Leonor serves as the inspiration for the character of Maria Clara in Rizal's acclaimed novels that Filipinos are mandated to learn at school Noli Me Tangere and its sequel El Filibusterismo. Maria Clara is the female love interest of the series protagonist Crisostomo Ibarra and the two have a severely tragic love story due to the politics surrounding Ibarra and both of their relationships.

From my understanding of the books, Leonor may also have been the inspiration for the El Filibusterismo character Paulita Gomez who abandons her relationship with her lover, one of the leading characters named Isagani, after he was accused of being an insurrectionist despite being innocent. At the end of the story, Paulita marries someone else and Isagani watches the reception from outside her house.

Random Trivia

The place this music video was shot is actually a historical house of another one of Rizal's many lovers Segunda Katigbak! The place is called Casa Segunda and is located in Lipa City, Batangas. My classmates and I visited the place and rented it out for a project a couple of years back.

Another fun fact is that the group most likely didn't actually play the piano in the house because they weren't allowed to considering how old it is. It's an antique and it was already falling apart when we went there way before this video was probably shot. That's the reason for them keeping the camera away from the keys.

They're also not allowed to sit on the antique seat in front of the piano because of how fragile it was and it already was falling apart too when we went there. We ignored this for one of our shoots and did it quickly before anyone could notice, but they may have just positioned the camera so they don't have to show them sitting down on the chair.

We found a random kitten in the house? I don't know what happened to it. It wasn't outside either, it was like inside one of the bedrooms. I don't know if the staff or family owned it but it did look like a stray.

Some of my classmates still hasn't paid me back for the rent we were supposed to split. It isn't a fun fact, I'm just a little salty.

Original Lyrics

'Tong alay kong harana, para sa dalagang Walang kasingganda, amoy-rosas ang halimuyak Kung nanaisin ng tadhanang mapanlinlang 'Di hahayaang mawala pa

'Tong liham na umaasang mata mo ang makabasa Handang gawin lahat, maging pamilya'y liligawan Ngayon lang nakadama ng wagas na pagkamangha Hiling ko lang naman na

Tayo na sanang dalawa ang siyang huli at ang umpisa Papatunayang ang unang pag-ibig ay 'di mawawala

Nakailang tula na, ba't tila 'di napupuna? Ang tangi kong hiling, hanggang dulo ikaw ang kapiling Kung puwede lang, hanggang pangmagpakailanman Hinding-hindi na papakawalan kailanman

Ang dating tamis ng pagsasama, nasa'n na? (Hinahanap-hanap ka, whoa) Ba't sa 'ting dal'wa, ako na lang ang natira? (Sana'y magkita pa) Tinig mong kay ganda, maririnig pa ba? Handang tahaking mag-isa kahit wala ka na

Kung nasa'n ka man, nawa ay masaya ka na (palalayain ka, whoa) Kahit na 'di na tayo magsasama pa (mahal pa rin kita) Dinggin mo lang ang hiling na mag-iingat ka Oh, Leonora kong sinta, ah

References

Martinez-Clemente, J. (2011, June 20). Keeping up with legacy of Rizal’s ‘true love’. Inquirer.net. Retrieved on 5 September 2024, from https://newsinfo.inquirer.net/16626/keeping-up-with-legacy-of-rizal%E2%80%99s-%E2%80%98true-love%E2%80%99

Quirino, E. (2015, February 17). Leonor Rivera, a Hero’s Sweetheart. Positively Filipino. Retrieved on 5 September 2024, from https://www.positivelyfilipino.com/magazine/leonor-rivera-a-heros-sweetheart

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jojotier · 2 years ago

Text

the station looks like a tin can the more you drift; each blinking porthole window decorating the label as the space between you and the SS Atlantic turns the only home you have left into just another star in the sky.

the snap of the tether breaking in half is still the only thing you can hear.

you had your moment of panic, though. you clawed and struggled and tried to orient yourself in the vast emptiness of space and turned up nothing. there's still static somewhere in the back of your head and helmet as someone- shit, has to be Macy, there's no one else on board who shares your accent, your food, your history- frantically calls. you can't make out a single word.

you wish you could make a joke, here. put the poor girl at ease. she's young; still doesn't believe you when you say the old Terran dustball used to hold oceans of bioluminescent water and sugarcane fields far as the eye could see. you've been alive long enough to learn that being an astronaut and being a sailor aren't too terribly different, when it comes down to it. different equipment, yes; different tide, different gravity. same work songs. same dangers. same prayers.

you know prayers don't get answered out here in the black. the sea almost ate you whole when you were a child and now the void will finish the job.

they're probably mounting a rescue now. this is the first time someone unmoored has gotten so far, and the ship is full of young people and bravado. you wonder how the fresh-faced lieutenant's doing- never caught their name, but they have a kinda swagger to them under the color-changing twists and a voice to beat out the last chanteyman who led the songs. capable, sure. well-read, sure- but twenty-five is practically still a child's age, on your new home where nothing ever changes but the artificial seasons.

now, here's something new. it's a new problem. and truth be told, you don't got much oxygen left.

you've been out here for a long while. so you can't offer a joke or a condolence, or even an apology, as a girl's cries start making the static over the radio peak. if you could, though, what could you say? you lived longer than you thought you ever would. the dimming at the corners of your eyes and the itch in your throat remind you that you know what it's like to drown. you were always bound to die.

that doesn't stop the tightness in your chest as your shallow breaths, your sips of air, feel heavy on your tongue. your lungs are starting to notice what you've been putting to the back of your mind. coming to terms with your death isn't the same thing as accepting it. not really.

you don't move, even though conservation of energy doesn't make a difference. there's nothing around you but void and the fractionation of stars reflected off your helmet's glass. and the further you drift, the more they seem to wink out, one by one, as the distant station begins to disappear into the stasis of the cosmos.

over the comms you think you hear the lieutenant, maybe. it's hard to catch the actual pitch of the voice. just stops and starts, saying "come- we- are incom- stay tight-!"

it almost makes hope well up. you crush it the same way you did when you dreamed granddaddy being knocked off the mast and into the storm, the night before he went overboard just the same way. if you don't heed omens then you can't feel grief before it's due. if you don't hope then it means you can focus on passing on.

but it means you have to think. you have to think and hold still and ignore the way your skin itches under your gloves- ignore the static buzzing against your eardrums- ignore the

maybe you should give the last of your belongings? you don't even know where to start. give Macy the cowrie shells, because your grandma told you beading them in your rows would protect you and your granddaddy said they could tell the future. give the lieutenant your locket? it'd go good with their uniform, same as it did with yours, when captains cared for that sort of thing, back in the Atlantic seas your mother and your mother's mother and your grandmother's family had sailed.

you wanted to tell those stories. your granddaddy told you his daddy was a baker with one hand and made you memorize your great-granddaddy's name, so you wouldn't forget. you want to tell someone that name. you wanted to bring the memories of Earth with you.

so maybe those are your final words. maybe not.

you feel your heart trembling at a different rate than your ribs; your meat trying to squirm away from the bones keeping you hostage in this deep-space suit, waiting for the little gauge at the corner of your vision to hit zero. your lips open and they're cracking, splitting along the seams, and you say- what in the hell...

"---?" the static buzzes, "who-" but you're not listening, and the oxygen deprivation must be getting to you, because there's a dog floating in front of you.

you're in the deepest reaches of the ether. you can barely even see the light in front of you, because the stars are so much farther apart than you would ever think, and the earth you knew is currently being swallowed up by the sun so many billions of lightyears away, and there is a dog floating in front of you. and not just any dog, but Laika- and you know it's Laika, because your childhood dog looked just like her.

you remember because when you were seven you were crowded around the sole tv with five of your cousins and grandma darting, ducking in and out of the kitchen- offering guayaba here, tembleque there, eat a sandwich, have a coffee- and everyone was talking over each other because yelling is a love language when thirty close family members do it at once while trying to speak over the squawk of all the birds in their cages and the ticking knickknacks on the shelves on the yellow-painted walls- and because the tv was saying that the Russians killed a dog, the same Red-Scare tactic shit you didn't know you'd see a million more times, you were hugging Nena so tight that she was whining to be let go of. and you remember just holding on tighter because Nena was your personal Laika- looked just the same- and you could never imagine letting her go.

as you grew, you began to understand why humans forced the old girl to make the sacrifice. progress can only be done in increments. space, sea, frontier- all are unforgiving and yet so beautiful that humans can't help but reach. so you mourned her, as did the rest of humanity.

she floats in front of you now, her fur alight with stardust, bright eyes wide and locked on the lights reflected off your helmet's glass. the static burns brighter in your brain and her head cocks to the side, one ear perking up. you can't move more than the heaving of your chest as you've shifted to panting to try and gather back the oxygen you wasted by continuing to live even still.

you always wondered what the old girl thought, being left out here in the nothing. whether she was sad to see the world change so much without her being able to chase a single other squirrel. whether she missed getting her belly rubbed and treats and sleeping in the sunshine. whether she waited.

and maybe you're right about the last thing, because Laika's tail is wagging, and she pushes her head into one of your frozen, outstretched hands. even through the thick fabric you feel the softness of her halo-sewn fur, and it feels so much like your Nena that through the tears in your eyes you half expect to see your grandma walking into the room to tell everyone that dinner's ready.

and Laika yaps, bumping her silver-shining head against your palm and closing her eyes in delight, and you wish you could move. you wish the ice wasn't already settling in your joints. you want to pet her as much as she wants to be pet.

it's almost enough to make you forget this is an illusion for a dead man.

when Laika drifts slowly back you try to open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. it's no use speaking. you know this. you are drifting farther than the radars can reach and even when they do reach you, it will have been too late. more than that, what right do you, another creature lost to the void, have to ask her to remain longer in this frozen abyss?

your eyes start to drift closed.

you may have come to terms with your death, and you may just be coming around to accepting it. maybe now you are discovering that they really are the same thing.

there will be no more stories. there will be no more memories. there will only be you, at eternal rest, until the universe finally rips under its own weight.

there isn't anything more for you to do than wait for the end.

until you feel a tug.

eyelids unstick painfully as you stare ahead into the dark, and Laika is still there. you blink heavily, but each time your eyes open again, she remains floating outside. the mirage doesn't go away.

as you finally realize it, you notice the snapped tether she holds within her jaws. she tugs. in the vast range of the ether, you move a minuscule nanometer, and there's ice clinging to your bottom lashes as you try to tell her, that's enough now.

she tugs again. you move, but the distance is still too little. it's okay, you try to tell her, but she doesn't seem to hear.

she pulls and pulls with all her spectral might and you try to tell her you're so good- you're such a good girl- but please stop because it's not doing anything, really. you're still running low on air. you've already accepted your death, and now there's a pesky ember of hope burning at the bottom of your stomach.

humans have already done so much to her. you've already done so much to her, in an abstract way. you don't want to make a spirit cart around your damned corpse into eternity. but she still continues to pull.

the voices over the static are still shouting coordinates and asking questions, but you're distracted by the impossible creature trying to pull you back and the way the ice seems to retreat from your veins and the way, miraculously, the meter showing your oxygen levels begins to rise.

there's a sparking at Laika's heels like metal on the grindstone. she growls her frustration through teeth of platinum and her ears cock back as her muscles strain. and then, she runs.

the distance between stars suddenly shrinks into the size of a pin's head. you see constellations you haven't seen in years- Orion's belt, the Big Dipper, the Eagle. The stars fly by in a flash and yet you can chart the exact course as Laika's tail, more comet than dog, blazes through the night.

you remember now, why the jump from sailing to aerospace was so intuitive. navigating by the stars is in your blood.

and you can't help it. you laugh. because what else is there to do when relief balloons your chest out and makes your numb fingertips light? what do you do when you finally realize you're not going to die after all?

what do you do when you hear the young Lieutenant over the comms, comforting Macy, telling her you'll be found soon? when Macy says "Bayo, please-" and you realize you knew the kid's name after all?

what do you do when Bayo goes silent for a moment. when they finally ask, "is that- is that a dog...?"

what do you do when you're being saved by a ghost dog?

it's so beautiful, so ludicrously brilliant, that you can't help but laugh through the tears running hot on your cheeks.

and the way back isn't as long as you thought, but you sing regardless, and Laika's singing along with you, howling through the rope in her mouth with yips and starts as she runs you home.

#my writing #laika the space dog #laika #original fiction #science fiction #near death experience #happy ending #though so dw lol #god it's been a bit since i had the energy to sit down and Do This yknow #just write #that felt really good ngl

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listenheresweaty · 5 months ago

Note

anything pogbur. im desperate for that stupid emo man

sorry this is so late!

NOTES AND WARNINGS:

These follow the scenario that Wilbur and Reader are Currently in relationship

THIS IS C! NOT CC!

Pogbur called Wilbur and Pogbur interchangeably

Reader referred to in second person (you/yours) in some cases, in third person (they/them) in others.

Wilbur is aware of and planning his upcoming death, so: SUICIDAL IDEATION TW

Poor self care tw (is that a thing?)

Non-sexual intimacy/nudity (bathing).

Some info may be repetitive

I have not proofread this but I probably will in the coming days.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Pogbur isn’t very affectionate, due to all his internal and external struggles. At one point, you get him to open up a little, and that marks some of the first actual affection he displays during your time in the ravine. He’s always a little distant, mentally, but if you sit next to him by the fireplace during one of those rare times he’s not busy, he’ll take your hand and trace random shapes into the back of it with his thumb, maybe wrap an arm around your shoulder to tug you closer and kiss the side of your head.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

N/A, would be in L’manburg

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Pogbur has a love-hate relationship with cuddling. On one hand, he craves the physical contact and short-circuits every time you put your arms around him. On the other hand, the intimacy reminds him of his L’manburg era, and tends to lead him down another rabbit hole of agonizing over how much he’s changed, how much everything has changed and how there’s no way to get it back. There’s no other option. He has to destroy it all.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Settling down is the last thing on Wilbur’s mind.

Even in L’manburg, neither of you had ever planned to have kids. Wilbur had intended to remain President until the end of his days— maybe, when things settled down with the war and setting up a new country, the two of you could have built a house together, maybe gotten a few cats. You had picked out the plot of land, too; a nice field next to a river, right across the sugarcane plantation.

When sneaking into L’manburg for the Red Festival, you caught Wilbur staring at that same plot of land.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d let them come to the conclusion on their own as he distances himself and makes himself as unpleasant as possible. Avoiding them, giving clipped answers when forced to talk to them, sometimes outright ignoring them. When they eventually confront him about how they no longer feel like they’re in a relationship, he shrugs and goes “guess we aren’t.”

And that’ll be that.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Up until the very end of his third life, Pogbur lives in fear of commitment. He tries his absolute best to distance himself, in hopes of making his… final plan hurt less for the both of you. But the night before it all goes to hell, he’s lying awake in bed— next to you, for once— and feels like he’s drowning as your hand finds his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Before Wilbur knows what he’s doing, he rolls over and wraps his arms around you. After a few heartbeats, you return the hug and he speaks.

“Will you marry me?”

It’s a manipulative, selfish move and he knows it. But he’s a manipulative, selfish man, and so when you agree, he slips a stone ring— a gift from his father, many years ago— off his hand and onto yours. He apologizes for the lack of a real wedding ring.

He promises that he’ll get a proper one when this is all over.

Wilbur seals the lie with a kiss to your forehead, basking in one last moment where this person— this lovely, supportive person who chooses to stay with him even though they deserve so, so much better— is his.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Physically, ridiculously so. Wilbur is afraid to touch you. He will hover around you, never curling his hands to actually hold your arm: Choosing to ghost brushes against your shoulders to redirect you or grab your attention.

If you need his help getting up after a fall, he’ll offer a hand/arm to you but will wait for you to take it and use it as a crutch.

Emotionally, he’s quite absent. But he still tries his best to spare your feelings when he does talk to you about how he’s doing (by downplaying his struggles).

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Pre-opening up to you, Wilbur hesitantly accepts any offer of a hug as long as it’s in private. He melts every time, even though he would never admit it. His mind goes blank, unable to process the affection after extended periods of time convincing himself that he was despised by everyone around him.

After opening up to you, he’s more comfortable saying no when he feels like he’s spiraling too much for physical contact. A strained smile, a subtle shake of the head, and you leave him alone. He’s thankful.

However, he also starts using it in more self-destructive ways, denying affection because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

I = I love you (How often do they say the L-word?)

On his own, Wilbur doesn’t say “I love you” explicitly— it holds too much weight, reminds him too much of the connection he’s trying to sever before he dies. He does, however, murmur sweet things in passing like “you’re my light”, telling you that he loves you without ever actually saying the words.

When you say “I love you” first, though, he almost always follows with a soft “I love you too.” Maybe only a few times he finds himself too choked up to respond, and simply turns away from you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Ohh this guy is the most jealous of the burs.

He is constantly on edge about you betraying him and Pogtopia, of course he’d also worry about you just.. growing tired of him. He’s terrified that you’ll finally realize that he’s not worth the effort, that the facade of the strong, confident leader was just that— a facade.

He rarely has good days anymore, and stresses both of you out. So of course you’d look happier talking to anyone else. Doesn’t mean that you would happier with someone else, but Wilbur can’t bring himself to accept that.

He doesn’t deserve you. So he’ll watch you laugh with another Pogtopian from afar, stomach twisting at the knowledge that it had been weeks since you had laughed like that with him.

He’s bitterly jealous. But he tells himself that, for a brief moment, he would stop being selfish if he would just let you go.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Most of Pogbur’s kisses are distracted brushes of his lips against your cheek or the side of your head, done as a quick greeting or goodbye.

Sometimes, when you’re both sitting in front of the fire and there’s no one else around, he presses his lips to your hand or head and just— keeps them there. Breathing you in, staring at the flames.

As for receiving kisses, he ends to avoid any on the mouth because they remind him of his currently poor hygiene.

Similarly to cuddling, he has a complicated view on temple/eyelid kisses. He craves them, but at the same time hates how emotional they make him feel.

Pogbur prefers kisses on the head or cheek because they’re quick, affectionate, and don’t make him want to cry.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Nope.

There’s no little kids in pogtopia, and even if he did come across one, he’d hand the responsibility over to someone else.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Most days, you wake up alone. Sometimes you wake up to the sound of him getting out of bed and leaving at 2, maybe 3 in the morning, never having even noticed he had gone to bed.

On the rare occasions that you wake up first and/or that he sleeps until a more reasonable hour, it’s more pleasant. He hums in his sleep as you play with his hair, curling closer to you with a sigh as he basks in the affection he cannot bring himself to accept when awake.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

When you happen to sleep in the same intervals, he’s usually curled away from you, facing the wall. Sometimes he’s facing towards you, allowing you to hold him while he traces shapes into your arm.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

At one point, you put your foot down. Somehow, you manage to get him to come to be early, whether that be through incessant nagging or begging or guilting.

You notice that he’s hesitant to hold your hand or even be seen walking next to you where others could see you. You don’t take offense, you know it’s not because he’s ashamed of you. You simply ask him if he’d like to walk to your rooms separately, and offer to go first so he doesn’t have to have his back towards you. You let him search the room for any weapons, staying with your hands in full view the entire time.

Wilbur feels awful, treating you like this— like you’d stab him in the back as soon as you got the chance. He expects to see your brows furrow with hurt, your jaw clench with barely concealed frustration as he checks the thin mattress for anything suspicious.

But you don’t.

You wait patiently at the mouth of the cave until he’s done, and gesture to your clothes. “No pockets.” You tell him. “Nowhere to hide weapons.”

He nods, watching as you get into bed and place your hands flat on top of the covers.

“I’m sorry.” Wilbur rasps.

“Don’t be.” You lift the covers and he crawls in, laying down next to you as your hands interlock with his. If your hands stay in his, you can’t reach for a weapon. “What can I do to make you feel safe?”

Safe.

Wilbur stared at your conjoined hands.

Safe.

Safe, lying in a cave tens of blocks below the surface of the earth, a bounty on his head after losing everything, after having been betrayed by half the people he knew. He wanted to laugh, but you had been so kind to him— he wanted to repay you somehow.

Wilbur closed his eyes, still holding onto you. “Just stay here.”

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He’s more prone to frustration rather than anger.

No, you don’t understand. He’s dangerous, hopeless— why can’t you understand??

Perhaps in the beginning he would raise his voice a little. After one fight where he actually yelled at you, he took one look at your stunned expression before faltering, clearing his throat with a strained “…excuse me” and stumbling out of the room.

Wilbur didn’t yell at you after that. He couldn’t stand to see that expression on you again. Whenever he gets angry now, he just turns and walks away, even if you’re mid-conversation.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He forgets things like celebrating your birthday or anniversary or the things you tell him duringPogtopia but remembers all the little quirks about you. How the very corners of your lips tilt upwards when you purse your lips in irritation, how you pivot on your heel when you pace, how you lift your shoulders when you laugh as if trying to curl into a ball.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Wilbur’s favorite moment in your entire relationship would never be in Pogtopia. It would be either in L’manburg or after he is revived.

However, his favorite memory from that specific time period would either have to be from before the Red Festival. After he opens up to you, you find it a lot easier to get him to take care of himself, or at least let you do it for him.

At one point, you could get him to take a bath. There’s a spring somewhere in the ravine (is that what you call cave ponds? Idk). It’s not the best place for a bath since the water drips straight from the stalagmites and is full of sediments/minerals, but it’s the best Pogtopia has.

Helping someone bathe already requires incredible trust between the involved individuals, so you can imagine how much trust Wilbur would have to give you in order to have his back towards you for an extended period of time without the slightest defense. Especially if you’re cutting his hair— he’d be letting you approach him, from behind, with a sharp object.

Despite all that trust, Wilbur’s still a little afraid, probably needing a moment every once in a while to calm himself. But when you start washing his hair—Head empty. No thoughts, eyes drifting shut as you rub the shampoo in his hair. You help him lay back until his hair is underwater and rinse it out. You do this several times since his hair is so greasy, and by the time you’re done he’s on cloud nine.

You almost do a double take when you look at him during the last rinse. He looks calmer, more content than he has been for months, the line between his eyebrows gone and his lips parted, so relaxed he’s almost meditating.

He doesn’t even notice you’ve stopped until you touch his face, tracing your index finger across his cheeks and biting the tip of his nose playfully.

Wilbur wrinkles his nose, and for the first time in months, he laughs. Just a little.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Wilbur is usually concerned over his own safety, constantly looking over his shoulder as if expecting a knife to the back. But sometimes, he’s hit with the deep fear that someone is out to get you too. If you or any of your allies get injured, you’ll see a shift in his behavior. Suddenly stopping in the middle of the ravine as you’re going about your day, staring at you for a few seconds as if realizing that you’re there. Wilbur walks up to you, hesitating. He nervously wets his lips and tells you that he’s switched your morning task to helping Technoblade out with the potato farms instead of going out for supplies.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

None. In between the whole “preparing-for-war” thing and actively trying to distance himself, your relationship has basically taken an unofficial hiatus. Sure, you exchange hugs and forehead/cheek kisses sometimes, but besides that, you’ve become very affectionate friends.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Unfortunately, at this stage of his life, Wilbur is not putting any effort into the relationship. It’s unhealthy, and both of you know that. But in addition to being your lover, Wilbur is your friend, and you aren’t going to let him go through this alone.

So you stick by him.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Wilbur barely eats and drinks enough to get by without risking organ failure. He doesn’t give much thought into his appearance. However, on the occasion that he lets you hold him, he does feel hyperaware about how his shirt is stained, how he hasn’t shaved in weeks, and how his hair is greasy as all hell.

He doesn’t do much about it , though.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Mm, depends.

Wilbur already feels incomplete without L’manburg, and already spends most days alone. If you were to die, however, he would absolutely feel more hopeless, but not necessarily incomplete.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

If you hand Pogbur anything— any gift, whether it’s a lovingly-handcrafted scarf or a cool feather you found off the ground— he will take it. Stare at it for a few seconds, sure, but he will carefully take it from your hands with a muttered ‘thank you’.

He keeps everything you (and his other friends) give him. What he can’t sew to the insides of his coat, he keeps in his pockets.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Coddling him too much. He loves being taken care of, even though it’s difficult for him to accept the affection most days, but he does NOT want to feel infantilized. Don’t overdo it. He’s an adult man.

He also wouldn’t like a partner who breaches his boundaries when he doesn’t feel like initiating physical contact due to paranoia/etc. If your desire to have a boyfriend to cuddle with is stronger than your desire to allow him to feel safe, then he’s avoiding you like the plague. Don’t guilt trip him into giving or receiving affection. It’ll work—- but he’ll resent you for it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

On the rare occasion that he does sleep, he sleeps on his side, curled up facing the wall. On a select few days, he holds you so tightly that a tornado couldn’t separate you two.

#c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur soot #pogbur x reader

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