#t: descent of the moon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

onlyseokmins · 14 days

Text

ash and cinders • l.s.m.

Pairing: lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), angst, royalty!au, fantasy!au, gods/goddesses!au Warnings: magic, mentions of blood, war, cruelty, tyranny - all that good stuff, mentions of religion (au-specific), violence (i.e. suggestion of murder), (death) threats, and possible gaslighting 💃🏻 which just means a minor power play between them at first okay 😬 i promise it's not that bad lmao i'm just paranoid, lots of making out, oral (fem. receiving), lil bit of temp play tbh, little bit of choking, uh I wrote this so long ago and just finished it so lmk if i forgot anything?? it's just basically me attempting to write prettily uwu WC: 4.24k A/N: soooo, this has been rotting in my drafts FOREVER!!! but yeah seokmin is my most darling, favorite boy i've ever stanned anyways ofc i couldn't help but use his elle magazine photos (yes that's how long this has been ROTTING) ahhhhh - ahem anyways this goes hand-in-hand with Mischief Maker so definitely recommend checking that one out too! heheh <3

He only stayed during the night.

When the blanket of darkness covered even the moon with a hazy layer of clouds, leaving tiny twinkling stars for a traveler’s guide. The fire once dancing in the hearth dwindled down to scarlet embers barely emitting enough heat to fill the large quarters.

Not that it mattered.

Even as you lay naked amidst the silken sheets strewn upon the grand bed, the thought of your lover’s return alone was enough to engulf your body in a flame of burning anticipation that settles and simmers between your legs.

He had been gone far too long. A lengthy patrol around the surrounding territories had taken him away from your embrace. Although every morning the sun’s rays tickled your face as a sweet greeting and bathed you in a radiant light through the day, nights without him were by far the worst.

Cold.

Lonely.

Dark.

On usual accounts, it was a grievous crime to keep the queen waiting. But you would forgive him for anything, wouldn’t you? It’s exemplified in the way he bursts through the doors without so much as a courteous knock that even your most trusted servants must abide by, water droplets dripping from his auburn bangs.

Despite the eagerness to see you as soon as possible, he refused to step foot into your chambers when reeking of blood after fierce combat and soiled with dirt from travel. You always protested. The gilded throne you reigned from, the heavy crown upon your head, and even the bed you shared — all were built upon those very foundations. But your lover insisted on only showcasing the glorious side of things to you.

The gold.

The diamonds.

The luxuries.

All which adorned you by day. Glowing, glistening, and shining. Gems and jewels, fabrics woven from the highest quality quickly reduced to layers that only became a hindrance once it came time for his descent upon you. For you were absolutely beautiful clothed — this he very well knew — but when your whole body was bared naked for him and him alone? You were truly the definition of divine.

Those who dared to speak ill of you tried to foster ridiculous claims. Critical of the wealth in your possession. Mocked what they presumed was a lack of ambition. Wailed that you were a witch. A young monarch on an undeniable downfall to tyranny, one that would lead them all to hellfire and ruin.

Anything to validate that you were not worthy of the royal seal emblazoned across the lands in honor of a valiant leader with a royal bloodline still running through your veins.

Hypocrisy at its finest when you were the reason that they were bestowed or able to retain property linked to their names, money in their pockets, and a legacy to live by under your prosperous reign. Arrogant to cast down the very thing that elevated them to their current standing. But their greed would eventually come back to bite them. One day.

Even the religious sect whispered lowly, hidden in the shadows of the grand temples. Doubts that the king actually held a shred of affection for his partner — if the seldom visits seen visiting your chambers only when night falls were of any substantial evidence to go by. That he only lay with you out of duty, shackled and bound to an imposter who was never a faithful servant to the gods like they were.

Because not one of them truly believed that a god could ever favor, let alone love, a human.

You knew you were a savior to as many as you were also an enemy. A hindrance and a threat. A bold refusal to control or be controlled. There was nothing more to do other than lead your people as fairly as you judged.

All the preposterous assumptions infuriated him — your devoted knight, unorthodox husband, and scandalous lover. But he manages to temper his fiery rage out of respect for you. Behind your ruthless, steely intent is a righteous and kind heart that always calls out for him, now fully vocalized and embellished by the sweet voice he's missed hearing dearly.

“Seokmin,” you murmur, grasping his warm hand once he's within reach.

An entity of many epithets with an existence worth a millennium beyond comprehension and full of worship. Yet his favorite phonetic combination he'd ever heard was the one that fell breathlessly from your lips. The closest the human tongue could get to a god’s true name. And his second favorite would be yours, the syllables rumbling in his chest like a song and you smiled in contentment.

He was back, he was home, and he was yours.

Even in the darkness, Seokmin glowed. The ethereal radiance surrounding the broad expanse of sinewy muscles easily proved his lofty status as the great god of the sun. But it was also his eyes, flickering with the unmistakable presence as one of many deities. The kind of power that has managed to refrain from turning you into ash and cinders.

Whether it's attributed to your resilience, a ruler born to stand out and lead, or an entirely different reason — or a mixture of all — Seokmin isn't really sure. He's not the first to appear in a human vessel nor the last, with at least twelve of his known brothers wandering the mortal world for various reasons.

He wonders if he's the first to bow his head willingly, though, holding back his more devious and destructive tendencies. To pay back tenfold the worship he's received since the beginning of time all to you — a mere human — yet nonetheless, his queen.

The event of swearing his undying fealty feels like it was yesterday. For a being that persists forever, it may as well have been that short ago. Every memory he etches and sears into his mind for eternity consists of you, and only you.

How could he forget? How was he supposed to bury away the confident smirk that graced your lovely lips? Would he ever not recall the first time he bent the knee in such desperation? Not for a trick or as a dark seduction that tumbles into a dreadful demise, a conquest for carnage, and an abuse of his powers. But instead for the good of humanity — however short of an era it may be.

And maybe… for more. One that his heart fears to admit, for it does not beat within his chest, but in a plane beyond the reach of mortals.

"Would you kill for me?"

"For you, anything," the god affirms. "I have laid waste to kingdoms, countries, empires, and even continents themselves. There is nothing I'm incapable of."

"And if I asked you to behead the entire entourage that has traveled with you?"

"… If it is what you will, then it is simply my command to follow. For you, I am a lone knight at your disposal."

Silken skirts flare out as does your anger when you turn away from the large windows in the tower's tiny excuse of a throne room — hardly fit for the heir — showcasing a brief flash of the lethal dagger strapped to your thigh. "Do you wish for my downfall before I've even risen to the throne? You expect me to be a tyrant, despised by the people I am meant to save? To lead?"

"Do you think I, a god, care what thoughts others conjure up in their silly little minds? I am to act on your behalf, get my hands dirty in lieu of you. No matter how morbid your desires may be."

Stepping closer, you lift his chin with the tip of a dull sword intended to be ornamental. But it may be even deadlier than the one hung at his side, metaphorically sharpened and honed by a rebel princess's innate rage.

His little show of bowing means little with the way he stares straight at you without a shred of respect in those galaxy-filled irises. However, it is the mighty sun god who is taken aback by the hellfire burning in your gaze, hungry and powerful enough to rival his own as you scoff.

"I will show you what kind of queen this land needs, the methods we will follow, and the morals I wish to uphold. You will learn in order to understand them and enforce my will. Not only to help guide the vision I desire but to keep me accountable lest I stray. A critical misstep such as that is when I'll ask you to cut me down. Will you swear to do that for me?"

"… You dare question a god of what he can do? Your tiny, impudent human mind couldn't fathom a sliver of my capability."

"I dare to question what you can't or won't do."

"I told you, there is not a thing beyond my realm of —"

"Leave."

"… Your Highness?"

Painted lips curl in a snarl at the first address of your proper title since his arrival. "Begone, I said! Return when you feel like acting like the god you are, not simply a tool to be harnessed and used at will. Until then, I have no need for you."

Seokmin's jaw drops as you seat yourself back on the throne with a sneer and flick of your wrist for the guard to usher him out.

A challenge.

He's been abandoned many times. Discarded and tossed to the side once his usefulness has been expended. He's left before betrayal can even be thought of — for no one points a blade at a god's back — but never has he been rejected.

It was only the beginning of how you would become many of his 'firsts' and all of his 'lasts'.

Seokmin is lost deep in the memory even with the feeling of your lips curling in a gentle smile against his — a stark contrast to your initial meeting. A nail grazes his chin, digging lightly into the skin to fully bring the god back to the present.

You'd be offended by the habitual spacing out if he hadn't admitted to only getting lost in thoughts of you. Something he'd picked up during the routine patrols away. Though you strive to bring the god out of dwelling in the past when you're sitting right in front of him — the present — and deepen the kiss.

Yet he pulls away to tilt his head. "Do you remember what you offered to me?"

"Have I not offered you my all, my king?"

Charcoal lying dormant in the hearth flares back to life, emitting playful sparks when he chuckles. "After I returned to pledge my loyalty to you."

"Ah, even though I had you wait outside the gates for five days."

"Unfathomable for a god to hang around at the whim of a meager human, isn't it?"

"Meager?"

"To me? Yes."

His warm exhale of amusement feels just like the breeze that fondly brushes your cheeks every morning despite the eternal humidity. It may very well be him because no matter how far away physically from you he is, Seokmin's essence radiates in every sunray that stretches across the grand skies and below.

He is everywhere and everything all the time. But he is here with you tonight once again, kissing the palm you'd placed on his cheek. With mischief flickering like a teasing flame in his eyes, the god brings your hand to his throat, encouraging you to splay your fingers across his Adam's apple.

You free yourself from his light grasp to run them ticklishly up and down the bumps of his vocal cords. The movements of swallowing ripples beneath the light scratch of your nails until he halts you by replacing a veined hand over yours and murmurs, "Squeeze."

"Ah — but I…"

He repeats it again louder when you fail to do as asked, not even daring to move a muscle. Simply staring in almost awe-filled hesitation until he guides you to tentatively do exactly as he states, "You would have done anything to strangle me back then, what has changed?"

"… You know what."

"Tell me," he says it like it's a command, eyes brightening and swirling with an authoritative amber hue though it's all in jest. "Tell me what it is, my queen."

Never one to be deterred, only Seokmin could render you motionless for so long. You do as you're instructed, the gentle pressure applied by your hand around his throat causes auburn eyelashes to flutter. The slight restriction to an airflow that isn't all that necessary for a god's survival has his eyes rolling back before they re-focus on you, half-hidden by hooded eyelids.

"Love," you murmur. For it is the answer to everything, is it not?

"Love," is echoed with a resounding voice that doesn't fully come from the tongue of the man beneath you, but bellows out from an otherworldly essence that surrounds the entire world and beyond. And at the same time, he speaks it so fondly because ultimately, he's addressing it as a title for you.

The god of the sun, as immortal as he might be, has died before. Mortal vessels manage to persevere for a fixed number of years and a feeble human body can only endure so much wear and tear. Yet Seokmin's soul still shines steadily onwards despite the memory of death over and over again lingering… and he unsurprisingly realizes that he wouldn't mind dying like this — by your hand.

Was that love?

But the amount of power, energy, and time, along with the unpredictable wiles of the creator would never guarantee him returning to you. Preservation of this human shell was of the utmost importance, the first time he's ever handled a vessel with care before.

Perhaps that was love.

Rather than be swept up in unpleasantries, he entertains the amusing thought of how much fragility you exercise with him. Having already released your grip far too quickly and instead, fiddle with the untied laces on his loose shirt.

"Love," he repeats, this time as a call in a raspy drawl of his own voice.

"Hm. Or maybe it was… pity."

An eyebrow raises and the corners of Seokmin's mouth twitch upward. "Only my queen would dare to pity a god."

"It was for what you were. And who you weren't. I despise those uppity, repetitive displays of unwavering loyalty that either party can easily discard."

"Like the former king's imperial court."

"Yes."

Your angered hiss is exactly the same as the first time you informed him of your plans to take down your father and his cult. The disgust and rage have barely ebbed even after all the progress made for a better future and as many years that have passed.

Seokmin scans your expressions. He's always admired your spitfire that could rival his own flames. But in times when it burns long enough to possibly exhaust or hurt you, he worries. You're strong — he knows that — so many times he simply becomes the safe space where you can seethe aloud without interruption.

"Would you rather grow dull and be poisoned because someone is not even worth keeping an eye on or the thrill of unpredictability? A constant sword dance that keeps each other on their toes, never deviating gazes from one another."

He smirks. "That sounds familiar."

You think back to earlier days with him. A stubborn royal and an even more stubborn deity. When did the challenging, pointed glares at one another change to simmering looks of desire?

Instead of your swords tangling together in an angry clash over a small matter, it was your tongues after a heated sparring session. How condescension switched to respect to something more passionate… more primal… more intimate.

"Perhaps so. But look at you now — look at how you shine."

His skin indeed glows a bit brighter as he melts further into the soft touch of your palm returning to his cheek. Thumb tracing constellations between the pair of moles on his cheek while your other finger follows the nearly invisible scar below his eye.

"Little blemishes," he had once told you, "even the body of a god bears its flaws after fighting on a battlefield."

You thought they only made him all the more perfect.

"And look at how I've fallen."

As if to demonstrate his murmured words, Seokmin moves at the speed of light — his normal pace — to lie on his back, umber strands of hair spread out like flames of fire against the grandiose bed's silken sheets.

Somehow, he'd positioned you on top of him. Much accustomed to the tiny displays of omnipotence here and there, you remain unbothered. Affectionately, you brush back his bangs. Fiery wisps of hair that seemingly move on their own accord with the amount of power that ripples through their thin fibers.

He might just be the most powerful among his fellow deities and you could wield all of that as your own because he sits obediently in the palm of your hand. Lays dociley among your silken sheets. What he's trying to prove to you — the hold you have over him — immediately enthralled under your spell as you play with his locks and softly whisper, "You're Seokmin. My Seokmin."

Despite your bare chest quite literally in his face, the god waits. Fully clothed in soft linens where he can feel every tempting pulse thundering in your precious mortal body on top of his.

And still, he waits.

His hands don't even reach out as you unlace his shirt. Though he has wrecked and ruined your body in a thrillingly sensual, blistering, and passionate heat of love-making before, tonight he gives himself over to you. Vulnerable and all yours for the taking, watching with faint amusement as you impatiently urge him to shed the rest of his garments.

"My queen."

"My king."

"There is no rush. We have all of eternity."

"Do we?" you breathe out and look him in the eyes as your fingers dance along his inner thigh. "Or is it only you, divine ruler of the everlasting dawn and never-ending night?"

"My graceful moon," Seokmin sighs and distracts you from grasping his weeping shaft, urging you to straddle his legs. You follow his will despite the object of your desires lying neglected between your bodies, coating your stomach in the molten saltiness that drips from it.

"My stars, my sky, my galaxy, my universe." Each title of affection is seared into your skin with a burning kiss to brand your body. Your cheek, your ear, your neck, your shoulder, and your hand. "Without you in it, the world ceases to exist."

"My sun, my warrior, my knight, my shield, and my sword." You repeat a version of your own display of worship and what he means to you — mimicking the same actions across his lithe body. "My love, it would do you good to live in the present with me. Must you think of a dire future so soon?"

"Each inhale of life thus returns an exhale of death. I dread every moment that brings me closer to your end."

"Such morbid thoughts you carry, my darling. Where is the fearless god that took a poisoned arrow to the heart and pulled it out without so much as a flinch?"

"You think me weak when I'd take the blow of any weapon as long as it does not harm you."

The irony when you'd both been struck by invisible, non-lethal darts fired from the god of love's feathered bow. But the terrifying memory of Seokmin taking the assassination attempt in your place causes a rare, but true, fear twisting in your gut. The flash of life before your eyes changed the trajectory of your tactics and your relationship with the god. And as always he reassures you with what he knows to be the truth — for the most part.

"Nothing can hurt me as long as you're alright."

"Then make me your goddess in return so that I will be invincible enough to protect you from harm's wrath too."

"But that… you know I can't," he whimpers, "no matter how much I long to."

A tear trickles down his cheek, crystallizing when it falls. Like many before and well after, all bodily fluids of the god will be found transformed as various tiny diamonds and gems. Tangled within the bedsheets the following morning as they always are and stored away in the queen's treasury.

Seokmin cries, not just at his frustrations, but at how you gingerly hold his hot and hardened length. Heavy in your palm that rubs and strokes it lovingly before sinking down with practiced ease, having already stretched yourself out earlier while waiting. Undulating your hips in slow, controlled circles that make him dizzy with desire. Your words pierce his chest, paining him like no sword that sliced him open could ever compare.

"If fate will not let it happen, then bury me in the ground so I can thrive beneath your warm rays that whisper sweet nothings. Let me smile up at you after winter passes while I bloom brilliantly through spring and long into the heated days of summer. Weave my soul among the stars so I may greet you in the morning and kiss you goodnight every evening. Scatter my ashes into the windy gusts of the north and down the silver rivers flowing south so I may laugh and dance in the skies alongside your sunbeams."

He sobs at the poignant emotional tug of your words, every poetry waxed by your breathy voice punctuated by a tantalizing undulation of your hips. You reassuringly clench around him, foreheads and bodies pressed together, hands clasped tightly in each other's grasp.

The god's chest heaves and the mountains on the eastern border shift to the left. Sometimes the air cools when this occurs but tonight, it shimmers and glistens as if straining against his commands. A hot wave that threatens to distort the very seam of reality itself.

"I will always be yours," you kiss the corner of his trembling lips, "and you mine, my darling god."

"My sweet goddess, my everything… my love."

Seokmin's hips buck up anxiously and you let him lead the pace. Wild thrusts take over as he chases that high, wanting and needing to take you over that peak with him. Your body lays prone against him, along for the jostling ride as the god seeks his own pleasure through and with you. Praises and worship fall from his lips, never failing to be in awe of how your cunt molds and works his cock like a blacksmith shapes an iron rod yet he can bully it as he wants to fit him. Only him.

You were made for the god of the sun.

Golden ichor thrums through his veins, lighting his skin in flashes like the sparks of embers. He's beautiful. Otherworldly. Your lips capture each glowing pulse of godliness that erupts beneath his flesh with a tender peck. He's all yours.

And he was made for you.

When Seokmin plunges into your welcoming warmth that is his alone to claim before he finally succumbs, it's blinding. On the other side of the earth, the sun shines a little brighter. A harsh glint that already emits a sweltering heat from its fiery nature flares even hotter in the blue sky. A blessed priestess looks up in contemplation, waving away the worried maidens who tend to her every need.

You feel his large hands — one presses in a bruising hold between your shoulders, the other on your lower back. Keeping you flush against him, holding your body to his while you welcome inside the scorching spurts of his seed within your womb that feel like lava. Your walls flutter around him and he basks in the feeling of them pulsating as you jerk your hips

"Come," he begs out. It's loud and resounding. More of an instinctual command if anything and your body almost obeys unwittingly, unaware of his intent before he lifts you up with inhuman strength and clarifies, "Up here," and sits you on your rightful throne — his face, "where you deserve, the queen of queens. My queen. My love. My goddess."

He laps at you like a dehydrated dog. Both cleaning you up and creating an even bigger mess. Your thighs squeeze tightly around the sides of Seokmin's head, one hand tugging harshly at his hair and the other mercilessly wrinkling the silk bed sheets. His moans are sweet songs of praise but muffled as he sucks his release out of your cunt only to push it back inside with his tongue. The addition of globs of spit accompanying the still-hot, smeared mess causes your own sounds to grow much louder, writhing on top of him from the sloppy sensations.

Back and forth he repeats this a couple of times, the firm point of his nose stimulating your sore clit in his efforts. And finally, you come undone — spasming on top of Seokmin's chin and suffocating him just like he likes. Breathing and drowning in your essence, the very elixir of life.

"I shall make you mine," he whispers later, dutifully laying your deliciously aching but clean body onto freshened sheets. Your lover is ever so attentive, rarely nearly needing the same amount of aftercare he showers upon you.

For he is a god from the heavens to bestow blessings upon his desired mortal.

"I am already yours."

"But for all of eternity, it shall be so."

Satiated and content, you reach for him. He lovingly takes your hand and presses a kiss to the tip of each of your fingers. "How?"

"The Mother. She's the closest thing we have to the Creator and might be older than the universe itself. There's nothing she doesn't know so I'm sure she'll have the answers I seek."

"Must you leave so soon?"

Seokmin smiles as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. "The sun never fails to rise, my dear. I will be back before you know it bringing with me tidings of great news."

"I'll be waiting."

Your shared kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet and full of sentiment. Indeed, you always wait for him and the sun god leaves with a full heart of hope. Little does he know, and little do you suspect, the true one lying in wait was the shadowed figure holding a poisoned dagger beneath their cloak.

And so, with the death of a queen so loved by the god of the sun… the prophecy begins.

onlyseokmins: September 2024 ©

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #seokmin smut #dk smut #lee seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut

193 notes · View notes

thewriteadviceforwriters · 7 days

Text

🕯️ Shadows & Symbolism: The Gothic Writer's Grimoire 🦇

Hello writers! I hope you're all doing well. Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I'm sure many of you love it too. With Halloween just around the corner, I thought it would be nice to start getting into the spirit a bit early. For those of you working on a gothic or fiction book, I wanted to share some themes and symbols to help bring that spooky, gothic, and dark vibe to your writing. 🦇

.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆

🕸️Themes and Symbols for Gothic & Horror Stories🕯️

🌙 The Moon 🌚

Symbol of mystery, the unknown, and the supernatural

Represents the cycle of life, death, and rebirth

Can signify madness, hysteria, and the primal forces of nature

🕷️ Spiders & Webs 🕸️

Symbolize entrapment, deception, and the unseen

Represent the intricate, tangled nature of evil and darkness

Can foreshadow impending doom or the unraveling of secrets

💀 Skulls & Bones 💀

Signify mortality, the fragility of life, and the inevitability of death

Evoke a sense of the macabre, the morbid, and the occult

Can represent the lingering presence of the dead or the afterlife

🖤 Darkness & Shadows 🌑

Symbolize the unknown, the subconscious, and the mysterious

Represent the hidden, sinister forces that lurk in the corners

Can signify a descent into madness or the loss of control

🦇 Bats & Ravens 🦇

Portend ominous events, death, and misfortune

Symbolize the supernatural, the occult, and the Gothic

Can represent messengers from the underworld or harbingers of doom

🕯️ Candles & Flames 🕯️

Signify the fragility of life and the ever-present threat of extinguishment

Represent the struggle between light and dark, good and evil

Can symbolize the human soul, spirituality, and the afterlife

🧠 The Mind & Madness 🧠

Explore the depths of the psyche and the fragility of sanity

Represent the battle between reason and the irrational

Signify the descent into obsession, delusion, and the unknown

🏰 Crumbling Mansions & Castles 🏰

Symbolize the decay of the old order and the erosion of power

Represent the weight of the past and the burden of history

Can signify the collapse of the elite and the rise of the macabre

Use these evocative themes and symbols to craft your next Gothic or horror masterpiece and chill your readers to the bone! 💀 Let me know if want more post related to everything spooky!

.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆

Happy Writing! - Rin T. 🍁🎃🍂

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors.

191 notes · View notes

rosieethor · 7 months

Text

Aromantic Books Let's Go!

Dread Nation by Justina Ireland

The Reckless Kind by Carly Heath

Black Wings Beating by Alex London

This Dark Descent by Kalyn Josephson

The Siren, the Song, and the Spy by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

Fire Becomes Her by Rosiee Thor

Not Even Bones by Rebecca Schaeffer

This Golden Flame by Emily Victoria

Immoral Code by Lillian Clark

Tarnished are the Stars by Rosiee Thor

The Last 8 by Laura Pohl

Hullmetal Girls by Emily Skrutskie

Summer Bird Blue by Akemi Dawn Bowman

Loveless by Alice Oseman

Take Me To Your Nerdy Leader by Hailey Gonzales

Being Ace edited by Madeline Dyer

Queerly Loving edited by G Benson and Astrid Ohletz

Common Bonds edited by Claudie Arseneault, C T Callahan, and RoAnna Sylver

Beneath the Citadel by Destiny Soria

Godly Heathens by H. E. Edgmon

The Grimrose Girls by Laura Pohl

The Butterfly Assassin by Finn Longman

At the End of Everything by Marieke Nijkamp

Switchback by Danika Stone

Tell Me How It Ends by Quinton Li

Awakenings by Claudie Arsenault

Stake Sauce by RoAnna Sylver

The Ice Princess's Fair Illusion by Dove Cooper

The Threads That Bind by Cedar McCloud

Not Your backup by C. B. lee

Fallen Thorns by Harvey Oliver Baxter

Natural Outlaws and Fractured Sovereignty by S. M. Pearce

Wander the Night by Sydney Cobb

Stones Stay Silent by Danny Ride

The Story of the Hundred Promises by Neil Cochrane

Two Dark Moons by Avi Silver

The Bruising of Qilwa by Naseem Jamnia

An Accident of Stars by Foz Meadows

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace

Archivist Wasp by Nicole Kornher-Stace

Kaikeyi by Vaishnavi Patel

Syncopation by Anna Zabo

Dear Wendy by Ann Zhao

The Loudest Silence by Sydney Langford

Lord of the Empty Isles by Jules Arbeaux

Our Deadly Designs by Kalyn Josephson

The Final Curse of Ophelia Cray by Christine Calella

#aromantic #aromantic spectrum #aroace #aromantic awareness week #aromantic books #aroacebooks #queer books #lgbtqia books

235 notes · View notes

esotericpluto · 1 year

Text

where is your future spouse from

from left to right; intuitively choose the pile you feel more connected to. To make it easier, you can take a deep breathe, close your eyes and ask for guidance to your deities or guides. These are all general messages, so just take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This reading is timeless. If it resonates, feedback is always appreciated and motivates to keep doing pick a card readings. You can donate here.

dividers: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

pile 1

I feel like for most of you who picked this pile this person is of Asian descent. Keep in mind that Asia is a big country with many countries and ethnic groups, so I will try to break it down more.

I do feel like for some of you who chose this pile, your future spouse might be of korean origin, but I feel like they will be half white and/or live in the west, like Europe or North America. This message seems to be more true for those of you who have strong scorpio, aquarius and possibly aries influences in your chart. If your name starts with C, E or P or has a more vintage vibe to it, it can still be for you.

For another group who chose this pile, I'm sensing someone of indian origin, I'm getting they could be kashmir and, for some of you, even telugu as well. This feels especially true for those of you that have a strong sagittarius or leo influence in your charts or if your name starts by A, L or U.

I am getting for a minority of people who chose this pile, your fs might be of levantine origin, mainly lebanese and/or palestinian, living most likely in Lebanon, for some of you, or in Southern Europe as of now. I feel like this message is especially true for those of you with strong scorpio, taurus or libra placements. Especially those who get M, S or V as first names.

pile 2

For this pile, I'm specifically getting southeast asian, most likely indonesian and/or malay. I feel like they might be living in Singapore right now. If you are a capricorn, a virgo or a cancer or have strong influences from these signs, this might be the ethnicity of your fs.

I'm getting potentially someone is of sub-saharian african descent mixed with european for some people who picked this pile. I'm getting this person might have ancestors from different parts of Africa and Europe and I'm getting difficulty pinpointing some exact places. I feel like for some of you, they might be west african and partially british. For others, this person could be afrolatino from the caribbean. Signs for this one I'm only getting scorpio and pisces, but I'm also gettingthe initials C, M and D.

There is a smaller group of you that could have a fs from a eastern african country too, potentially Ethiopia or Somalia. I'm getting this is likely true for you especially if you always enjoyed cultures and foods from different african countries, if you like the color red or if your name starts by J, F or E. Potentially if you like orange or are a capricorn rising/sun/moon.

pile 3

I'm getting a strong european influence here. I feel like this person might be italian and, for some of you, of a similar background like iberian, balkan or greek. You will meet them while on a trip to their country or city, if you are from the same country. This might resonate the most with those of you who like the color green, to wear t-shirts or whose name starts with B. If you are a cancer, leo, libra or taurus, this might also be true for you.

For others of you, I'm getting this person might be mexican, likely of a mestizo background. I feel like they might be in the US living right now, although for some it could even be Canada. This might resonate more with you if you like green vegetables like spinach or broccoli, if you like coke, if you like the colors red and pink, if you like mermaids or are of strong aquarius, aries or gemini.

For some of you, although a larger minority, your fs might also be argentinian or brazillian. This can be true especially if you like soccer (I think this one are my guides joking), cinema, romance movies/books, the color white and pink, lana del rey. Alternatively, if your name starts by N, A or Z and your signs are leo, virgo or cancer.

#pac #pick a card #pick a pile #fs pac #fs pac reading #fs pick a card #future spouse readings #future spouse pac #future spouse pick a card #free readings #intuitive readings #tarot readings #love readings #love pac readings #free intuitive readings #free tarot readings

834 notes · View notes

y-rhywbeth2 · 5 months

Text

Naming Systems

For the humans and tieflings of Baldur's Gate (and half-orcs and half-elves who follow human naming systems rather than that of their non-human culture) Dwarves, elves and others will be done another time to save space.

Obviously I imagine you've all named your Tavs and Durges by now, but idk, I felt like doing this and maybe you've got random background OCs to name.

Sometimes people like to name their kids after gods. Like "Helm" and "Torm".

Chondathan

By far the most common names and surnames in Baldur's Gate (including non-human names).

Quite often people have no official surnames and use locations and vocations as surnames, like in real life (Blackgate, Cliffgate, Tumbledown, Tailor, Gardner)

Families of Cormyrean descent usually favour portmanteau surnames: Evenwood, Breakwood, Ironwinter, Summergate, Amblecrown, etc.

Residents of the Dalelands who move abroad often use the name of their Dale and shorten it. For example, Barantra from Tasseldale upon moving to Baldur's Gate would call herself "Barantra Tassel" and her descendants might continue to use that as a surname.

Dales: Archen, Scar, Tassel, Deeping, Harrow, Battle, Feather, High, Mistle, Shadow, Moon*, Sessren*, Tarkhal*, Teshen*, Dagger, Merry* *These dales have fallen to history. In the case of Merrydale, the name was changed to Daggerdale after an incident involving a brutal vampire infestation that led to a lot of violence and made everybody suspicious and hostile, so these surnames would indicate it's been a long time since your ancestors left the Dalelands.

Sembian families like to invent newer and grander surnames, in an attempt to make themselves look rich and important. This is less likely to be seen in the Western Heartlands, but I suppose it still may occur. Families often hyphenate their names so you might meet "Shandri Clarandal-Tarlroyal", or "Roakyn Dauncrown-Sardar"

Canon common given names: Masculine: Darvin, Dorn, Evendur, Gorstag, Grim, Helm, Malark, Morn, Randal, Stedd. Feminine: Arveene, Esvele, Jhessail, Kerri, Lureene, Miri, Rowan, Shandri, Tessele. (Plus a few dozen more I'm not typing out)

While the following isn't exactly canon I feel like you can get a name that "sounds about right" by breaking the syllables down and shoving on a syllable that goes on the end.

Like with the names "Lureene" and "Arveene", the ending is "eene" and you get the syllables "Lur" and "Arv". Then you could get new names by taking, idk, "Kerri" and "Miri". Ker+ri, Mi+ri = Lurri and Kereene and Arvri. Mieene doesn't really sound right, but idk.

Syllables Dar, Dor, D, Even, Gor, Gors, Gr, Mal, M, Rand, Ran, St, S, Arv, Esv, Jhes, Ker, Shand, Bev, Tes, Al, Ald, Alvae, And, Gal, Galag, Cath, Coran, Bold, Bol, Elbas, Ind, Jath, Ont, Prend, Baran, Coel, Dar, Em, Shar, Galiy, Hael, Saldv, Dal, Torv, Varan, Joy, Sar, Pip, Nan, Zor, Nok, Rorn, Far, Soor, Mi

Endings Masculine: -in, -vin, -orn, -dur, -ur, -tag, -stag, -im, -ark, -al, -dal, -edd, -arl, -rel, -rus, -us, -or, -ion, -stion, -ond, -dor, -yn, -dyn, -yk, -ryk, -ke, -il

Gorion, Darvin, Malryk, Tesor, Jathstag...

Feminine: -eene, -ele, -sail, -ri, -dra, -tra, -ra, -la, -ria, -ara, -arra, -one, -ue, -due, -syl, -ala, -ys, -ae, -naem, -ice, -e

Shandra, Miele, Darla, Arvone, Sarice, Cathtra, Bevra...

Alzhedo

The second most common group of names heard in the Gate, although early in the city's history I suspect Calishite and Illuskan names were more common. I note that "Jaheira" is likely an Alzhedo name (which makes sense, she's from Tethyr).

So, Calishite filial piety and subsequent naming standards are very detailed and specific: "A person is worthless without the identity gained by his name and that of his family."

A slave will have their given name and the name of the family that "owns" them. A large part of the population of Baldur's Gate are descended from former slaves, exiles and dissidents of the Calishite Shoon Empire, and would likely have originally borne names under that system.

In this case it's [name] adh [master's surname] So for example, Hamlil adh Tahandral. It's possible that it Hamlil had migrated northwards with her family that one of her descendants might be Miri Tahandral or something.

A freeman would list their title/s, their given name, their matronym or patronym, their family name, and their home town.

So if your name is Aseid, your father is Haseir, you're of House Dumein and you live in Baldur's Gate then: your full name, in the traditional manner, is "Aseid yn Haseir el Dumein yi Baldur's Gate," while if you have a sister, Ceidil daughter of Atala is called "Ceidil yr Atala el Dumein yi Baldur's Gate."

Adding your hometown onto the end is usually not necessary, and using it all the time is a sign of civic pride.

Diaspora, such as the Baldurians, usually drop the articles. Aseid Haseir Dumein Ceidil Atala Dumein.

Aseid may chose to use a matronym, Aseid Atala. This deliberately draws attention to her identity over her husband's which is unusual. It implies that his mother is particularly high ranking or infamous. Likewise Cidil may name herself Ceidil Haseir.

Clergy traditionally replace their family with their god, so if Aseid decides to go to the Rose Portal shrine and take up life in service to Lathander, he will be "Aseid el Lathander" or "Aseid Lathander".

Syllables As, Am, And, Bard, Has, Khem, Khe, Meh, Sud, Sudei, Zash, At, Ceid, Cei, Ha, Ham, Jah, Jas, Mei, Meil, Seip, Sei, Yash, Bash, Dum, Jas, Khal, Kha, Most, Mos, Pash, Amj, Tah, Tahan, Bhal, Mjo

Endings: M: -eid, -eir, -ed, -med, -en, -men, -man, -ad, -id, -al, -ein, -an, -ar, -ein, -san, -ir

Amen, Mehsan, Khemad, Zashein...

F: -ala, -edia, -eira, -eda, -il, -a, -ma, -al, -lil, -ida, -eina, -ana, -ara, -eina, -sana, -ira

Jaheira, Bhalil, Yashana, Tahma...

?: -sha

Canon common names: Masculine: Aseir, Bardeid, Haseid, Khemed, Mehmen, Sudeiman, Zashtir. Feminine: Atala, Сеidil, Hama, Jasmal, Meilil, Seipora, Yasheira, Zasheida. Common house names: Dumein, Jasan, Khalid, Mostana, Pashar, Rein.

Illuskan

Third most common group.

I can't find much of anything about how naming systems are supposed to work for Illuskans.

Some don't use them at all.

Some go for patronyms and matronyms: -sson and -sdottir, so you get like, Malcersson and Cefreysdottir. These do not seem to be common. Some surnames are: "Kurth", "Helder", "Rethnor", "Stornar", "Rhuul"... This is entirely headcanon/guessing, but maybe they're patronyms and matronyms with the suffix removed? Luthin Cefreysdottir -> Luthin Cefrey?

Some gain names for themselves, self-bestowed or bestowed by reputation, based on aspects of themselves or their deeds that they're proud of or that give them fame: Nimoar "the Reaver", Ornar "of the Claw".

Most have surnames of some kind, some are portmanteaus: "Tenfeather", "Hornraven", "Windrivver", "Hathwinter", "Brightwood", "Lackman", "Stormwind", "Gnarlybone." This seems to be the most common form of surname. I'm entirely hypothesising, but Illuskan cultures value bravery and strength (particularly in battle) so I'd assume those are deed-names, possibly inherited from a famous ancestor?

Syllables: And, Bla, Bl, Br, Fr, G, Lan, Land, L, Mal, Malc, Sto, Tam, Am, Ama, Be, Beth, Ce, Keth, Mar, Ol, Sili, West, Wes, Or, Alas, Aga, Jaun, Von, Oj, Ost. Uth, Nash

Endings: M: -er, -ath, -ran, -eth, -uth, -der, -or, -an, -nar, -gar

Nasher, Oruth, Landgar, Ander, Vonor, Westran...

F: -frey, -tha, -ra, -ga, -tra, -da, -in, -ya

Agatha, Ojya, Malda, Stoya, Ceda, Luthin...

Canon common names: Masculine: Ander, Blath, Bran, Frath, Geth, Lander, Luth, Maler, Stor, Taman, Urth. Feminine: Amafrey, Betha, Cefrey, Kethra, Mara, Olga, Silifrey, Westra.

Rashemi (Gur)

The Gur still speak a variant of the proto-Rashemi tongue amongst themselves in private, so depending on how much they assimilate or not I imagine at least some of the names might be similar?

I can find even less about Rashemaar surnames than I can anyone else right now.

Surnames used by Rashemi are: Chergoba, Dyernina, Itazyara, Murnyethara, Stayanoga and Ulmokina. Names like that might be Gur tribe names?

Syllables: Fyev, Bori, Bor, Faur, Hulm, Hul, Jand, Jan, Im, Kanith, Kani, Kan, Madi, Mad, Nav, Madis, Ralm, Shau, Shaum, Vladis, Vlad, Dyna, Min, Tam, Yul

Endings: M: -vik, -gar, -ik, -ar, -islak, -ak, -evik, -insk

F: -arra, -mith, -ith, -zel, -el, -dra, -ra, -heir

Canon common names: Masculine: Borivik, Faurgar, Jandar, Kanithar, Madislak, Ralmevik, Shaumar, Vladislak. Feminine: Fyevarra, Hulmarra, Immith, Imzel, Navarra, Shevarra, Tammith, Yuldra,

#Today I worked out that Jaheira's name is Alzhedo in origin #Which is a bit obvious in hindsight #...“The Dark Urge yn Bhaal el Bhaal yi Barrens of Doom and Despair” is a legit name #...“Durge Bhaal Bhaal”#Me: “Maybe today I'll talk about how the afterlife works”#Brain: “Nah research fantasy names instead.”#Me: “OK”#lore stuff

117 notes · View notes

vivaciousoceans · 4 months

Text

lovely daggers pierced my heart moons ago

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Eloise Bridgerton / Cressida Cowper

Rating: T+

Warning (s): None

Word Count: 1,538

Genre: Fluff, Mild Smut (if you squint and blink)

Eloise is different from Daphne, she has softer features, darker tresses, and she's most certainly not as poised as the ’diamond’ of two seasons ago. Yet, Eloise possesses the same captivating Bridgerton blue eyes that could melt hearts in mere moments, assuming one was foolish enough to be ensnared by their allure. Once ensnared, no man nor woman could save you from yourself or the lengths to which you’ll go to keep those eyes in your life. Cressida concludes that this must be how Penelope Featherington found herself entangled in the unexpected predicament of receiving tutelage in the art of husband-hunting from none other than Colin Bridgerton. It would be quite amusing, were it not for her own precarious position—clinging to the Bridgerton in her life by any means necessary.

She’d long regretted her behavior with Daphne, and not just because the elder Bridgerton had ascended to the esteemed rank of Duchess. Once upon a time, they had been friends, a bond that now seemed to belong to another era entirely. The transition from girlhood to womanhood had created an unbridgeable chasm between their worlds, rendering their past friendship a distant, bittersweet memory.

When she’d extended a genuine offer of friendship to Eloise last season, determined to make amends, she’d been surprised by the rejection, nevertheless she tried to appear unaffected. In reality, she had pondered that moment every night until the summer, when Eloise finally decided to embrace society. Cressida couldn’t deny that she was a little disheartened at first, Eloise's spirit seemed to have been subdued by her scandal last season. She had secretly envied the younger woman, not just for her prestigious family name and connections. She wished she didn’t care so much about the tons perception of her; she wished the thought of being a spinster didn’t make the hair on the back of her neck stand up and goosebumps rise along her arms. The idea of being forced to marry one of her father’s older friends made her stomach turn, and she would do almost anything to avoid that fate.

Except give up one of her most hard-won possessions, although she knows she can’t truly call Eloise hers. One day, Eloise would probably belong to a man too, just like Daphne, just like all the girls before Daphne. The ones who made her heart skip a beat, and her fingers linger just a little too long, hoping they felt what she felt. She was never surprised when they didn't.

Eloise is different from Daphne though, different from all the girls after Daphne. Eloise doesn’t want to talk about men and titles, she doesn’t worry herself with matters of imported fabrics and lace, or even the latest gossip. With Eloise, when they’re alone, she’s not a spinster, she doesn’t have to want to be a wife or a mother; the world around them is endless, and their voyages are vast.

Eloise doesn’t want her to be anyone besides Cressida Cowper, a lady of witty banter and immense intelligence. It’s comforting to finally be enough after being told for so long that she needed to be more.

Perhaps that is why she decided to abandon her sanity, to succumb to the temptations she had long resisted. Perhaps that’s why she’d decided to throw caution to the wind, interrupting Eloise’s speech with a kiss. In that fleeting moment of passion, she'd come to realize she was willing to embrace whatever consequences came her way, even if it meant risking her reputation and defying societal expectations.

Part of her moved as if in a dream, every moment heightened as she leaned in, her slender fingers gently cupping Eloise’s cheeks, noting the constellation of freckles marking the supple flesh. Cressida had every opportunity to halt, to retreat, but she continued her descent.

Another part of her moves with the swiftness of a heartbeat, her lips finding Eloise’s with a passionate tenderness, enveloped by the velvet warmth of Eloise’s lips. Every part of her senses seemed intensified, heightened by the forbidden intimacy. She could feel each delicate ridge on Eloise’s lips, could taste the lingering essence of the mint tea they had shared earlier, and could hear the subtle hitch in Eloise’s breath as it halted to a stop.

The younger woman remained motionless beneath her, her body still in the same position, mid-ramble about some novel or another. Eloise’s words always seemed to cascade together when she was truly excited, and though Cressida struggled to follow sometimes, she could never resist the enchantment of the way blush spread across the brunette’s cheeks and the way her eyes seemed to widen with passion.

Cressida knew such a defense would scarcely be believed—that she somehow swooned and fell upon Eloise’s lips.

Suddenly a surge of fear courses through her, a stark reminder that she is far too intelligent to be this reckless, to allow herself to let the comfort of friendship and the passion of lust lead her to this forbidden moment.

She attempted to pull back, to apologize for her behavior, salvage whatever remained of her reputation or even their friendship.

Her efforts are halted by Eloise's firm grip, anchoring the hand that Cressida had cupped against her face in place. Cressida's gaze drifted down to meet Eloise’s, witnessing the dilation of her pupils, the darkening of her irises, and the gentle graze of her teeth over her bottom lip, as if contemplating her next move.

Time seemed to freeze, suspended in an eternal moment, though Cressida knew only seconds had passed before Eloise acted. With a swiftness fueled by fervent urgency, Eloise initiated a kiss that far surpassed the confidence of Cressida’s own. There was no hesitation as Eloise delved into Cressida’s mouth with her tongue, sweeping across her bottom lip, eliciting a tiny gasp from Cressida's lips. Cressida pondered whether Eloise had experienced this before, whether she had kissed a man or even another woman, or if Eloise was just eager, a student in all areas of life. Such thoughts were swiftly brushed aside as Eloise’s hands began to explore, tracing down Cressida’s sides, skimming the fabric of her gown until Cressida found herself reclining on her family's settee, her head grazing the armrest in surrender to the intoxicating allure of the moment.

Eloise didn’t break away from her, her soft hands deftly navigating through layers of fabric to discover Cressida’s smooth, pale skin that had only known the touch of daylight within the confines of her bedchambers. As Eloise's warm fingers caressed her calf, gently kneading and coaxing forth a string of whimpers from her lips, Cressida found herself contemplating the sensation. Would it feel the same with a man? If his fingers were tracing the contours of her thighs, inching closer to her heat, his lips upon hers, would her entire being ignite, writhing under his touch as she did under Eloise’s? She doubts it. Questions whether anyone could reduce her agile mind to such a state of bliss as Eloise effortlessly did.

How could she return to the life society and her parents expected of her now that she had savored true euphoria? The mere thought threatened to send her into a fit of hysterics, but the sudden absence of Eloise’s lips on hers snaps her back to reality. She doesn’t have time to yearn for Eloise's presence, she feels those same lips resurface moments later, tracing a path from the corner of her lips to just under her chin, and then to that spot behind her ears that catches her off guard, eliciting a louder response than she ever intended.

It sobers her, reminding her of her surroundings, of the company she keeps. At any moment, one of her maids or even her parents could intrude upon the sitting room, catching her in a compromising situation.

Cressida gently pushed at Eloise’s shoulders, barely containing the whine threatening to escape her throat as Eloise withdrew from their intimate embrace, her gown swiftly falling back into place. She could sense the unspoken questions swirling behind the veil of lust in Eloise’s eyes, scrutinizing every inch of her being. Had Eloise always regarded her with such fervent intensity? Unable to bear the weight of the brunette’s gaze, Cressida averted her eyes and cleared her throat, her fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in her gown as she spoke.

“I shall instruct my maid to prepare my chambers for our deliberation on gowns for tonight's ball,” she declared, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her. Was she being presumptuous? What would Eloise think of her? What would they even do once they got to her room? So many questions, so many feelings, and yet, none of them made her want to reconsider this for even a moment.

“Very well, Miss Cowper,” Eloise murmured, her voice husky with formality and an undertone of amusement that did not escape Cressida's notice. When their eyes finally met, Cressida detected a teasing glint dancing upon Eloise’s pink lips, and in that moment, she realized that Miss Eloise Bridgerton may just be the harbinger of her downfall. Perhaps it was a hereditary trait, passed down from Bridgerton to Bridgerton—the uncanny ability to be both someone's salvation and their greatest frustration.

#teya creates #bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #eloise x cressida

48 notes · View notes

erenriu · 2 months

Text

To the beat of your hands

It’s an old post I’ve shared on Twt and cross-posted on ao3, but I HC that Ratio definitely knows sign language, and that Aventurine would be fascinated by it. I’ve written a short story about it!

Aventurine has always known Ratio is a scholar who explores various areas of knowledge. He does this to gain a deeper understanding of people, ultimately aiming to help them develop into self-sufficient and capable individuals. However, he wasn’t previously aware that Ratio knows sign language. This fact only came to light by chance when Aventurine happened to be passing by the intelligentsia guild to deliver a message to Ratio.

Aventurine’s footfalls faltered, his errand momentarily forgotten upon noticing Ratio engaged in a conversation with someone he assumes is a student. From a distance, he watches a silent concerto unfold. Though Ratio’s lips dance in silent conversation, his message flows through a different channel.

A slow descent, Aventurine’s gaze dips, captivated by the ballet of Ratio’s hands. He tunes in to how the notes play through the movement of his fingers. Each gesture builds upon the last - a rise in tempo, a fluttering phrase - composing sentences as lyrical as any aria.

Traditionally, knowledge flows through the melody of shared language. Yet, it’s the very thing that also hinders it. No doubt, with a heart as big as Ratio’s, he will always take the time to learn and understand new ways of communication so that knowledge is truly accessible to everyone. This genuine compassion is one of the things Aventurine admires most about him, though he will never admit it openly. Perhaps someday, though…

As the conversation settles into a soothing cadence, Aventurine steps forward, his message for Ratio regarding the IPC waiting. Yet, his mind remains tethered to the silent symphony just witnessed. The way Ratio’s hands dance, each movement a note in harmony with the invisible song of language. Though strong and broad, they move with a surprising grace, their gestures as light and fleeting as whispers on a breeze. The image lingers in his mind, one that refuses to fade.

At first, it starts from genuine curiosity. When Aventurine checks in for the night, dressed in silk pajamas, he stands before a mirror. In a single decisive moment, Aventurine raises his hands. Tentative at first, like a hesitant musician testing the notes, he begins to mimic Ratio’s movements, carefully recreating them from memory.

But like a young fledging, Aventurine’s attempts are clumsy. His hands fumble for the proper shapes, the sensation of air instead of brass beneath his palms. The graceful movements he’s witnessed become awkward tangles, like discordant notes struggling to form a melody. Learning the mechanics of musical language has never been easy.

A genuine curiosity turns into growing interest. In the hushed evenings, as the world outside lulls into a gentle murmur, Aventurine surrenders his hands to the rhythm of song. What begins as a hesitant scattering of half-notes coalesced into full, resounding chords. He experiments with textures, the staccato splutters giving way to legato’s smooth flow.

Two moons has waxed and waned since Aventurine’s first clumsy attempts. With each dedicated practice session, the notes Aventurine can string together grows richer and more complete. While his fluency doesn’t match that of a native speaker or Ratio’s skill level, a harmony, however simple, takes shape. He can now communicate; a bridge built fingertip by fingertip.

In the secluded corner of the IPC cafeteria, bathed in the soft glow of a nearby window, Aventurine finishes his lunch a while ago. Across from him, Ratio meticulously dissects his sirloin, his brow furrow in concentration. Is he simply deep in thought, or nearing the edge of blunt honesty regarding Aventurine’s latest business venture? Neither prospect is unwelcome; still, with this newfound skill in his repertoire, Aventurine feels compelled to put it to the test.

Taking a deep breath, Aventurine raises his hands, posture poised. He holds his gaze until Ratio finally glances up from his plate. Seizing the opportunity, in that brief intermission, Aventurine’s fingers strum the opening notes: “That’s quite an interesting look on your face, doctor. Is something on your mind?”

If Ratio isn’t surprised before, he certainly is now. Aventurine can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes this unexpected development. A low chuckle rumbles in Aventurine’s chest as he watches Ratio struggle to regain his composure, savoring the moment - Ratio, the ever-collected doctor, rendered speechless. It’s almost comical, and quite a rare sight to see.

Ratio still flounders for a response, his voice falling flat. He catches himself, his expression softening as his hands slow to a more measured pace. “Nothing particularly pressing.” He signs. “Although you’ve piqued my curiosity. When precisely did this interest in sign language arise? Given the demands of your position, I wouldn’t have necessarily categorized you as someone with the leisure for such pursuits.”

“Well, I certainly love to give credit where it’s due. Let’s just say your dedication sparked a curiosity in me to explore this avenue. Additionally, I also see this as a strategic opportunity to broaden my skill set and ultimately increase my value to the IPC. After all, versatility is a powerful card to hold. And as they say, in this game of life, it’s always good to keep your opponents guessing, my friend.”

Ratio’s fingers dance a question. “And exactly how is that going?”

Aventurine’s smile widens, and his own hands rise in response.“I think I’m sort of getting the hang of it.”

It’s as if Aventurine has transported to an auditorium, occupying the very front row at a grand symphony. Yet, it’s not the enthralling interplay of violins and cellos, nor the booming pronouncements of the brass section, that holds him captive. No, his gaze is drawn to the maestro on the podium, their hands a conduit to the manner of which music should be played. The artist who breathes life into the score, coaxing meaning from thin air. With each precise gesture, a polyphony of notes flutter out from the pages, dry ink metamorphosing into a breathtaking cascade.

There is always something intricate about the way Ratio signs. His hands move with the tempo of a silent orchestra. Yet, there’s a surprising gentleness to his movements. A raw honesty that spoken words can’t always convey. It’s transparent, a message truly spoken from the heart.

Ratio signs, his hands continuing their graceful movements until the final note fades, a slow and sustained ending. “That, you truly are, dear gambler.”

It’s quite self indulgent, but I genuinely really love sign language, and I truly find it fascinating. So I conveyed that same interest onto aventurine too. There’s a musicality in the way hands move, just like in every spoken language. I really do think there's something beautifully intricate about it.

However, it’s quite difficult to show the beauty of the language without the prose sounding flat and repetitive through fiction, so I went quite heavy on the poetic prose and metaphorical language route. Perhaps in hopes y’all see what I see. (Or at least the infatuation aventurine has for Ratios hands!)

#aventio #hsr #honkai star rail #love the idea of Aventurine having a thing for Ratio’s hands

26 notes · View notes

all-mirth-no-matter · 2 years

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Seven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Will the Delphi family have the answers you seek?

Warning: language, ethnic slur, supernatural (kind of)

ao3 Link | Catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 7: Vagabond

Go and see the sorcerer, look into a ball. You might find the answer written on the wall. The left one was a dancer, can you see the answer, oh? Put her in a mansion on top of the hill.

Please, don’t make her do things against her will. I found something special, I don’t know why. Looking into her pretty little eye, ‘cause I’ll tell you everything about being free.

— Vagabond, Wolfmother

The cool air hit your skin as your lungs took in a deep breath, a familiar mix of sea salt and flowers. The wind whipped your long hair from your shoulders, lifting through your chiton dress and twirling the fabric around you.

You leaned against the railing of the garden’s terrace and took in the view. From your height, you could see the ocean from every angle beyond the mass of the city beneath you - one of the perks of living on a peninsula, you always thought.

Your father and brothers would be quick to tell you the perks from a combative standpoint, but that was for them to worry about.

The sky grew golden with the descent of the sun and a warm feeling crept threw your chest at the anticipation of what you knew would follow.

“Please,” you whispered your prayer, closing your eyes as the light in the sky began to dim.

“Your Highness.”

The deep voice felt like a warm blanket as it wrapped around your shoulders. You turned to find the object of your selfish prayers as he stood before you.

The palace gardener. The young man with the golden eyes and the sharp cheek bones. Who you met every day at sunset as he tended to your favorite place in the whole world. The place where you’d talked for hours, days on end since he started working at the palace.

Where, as of a moment ago when your prayers betrayed your desires, you realized you’d fallen in love.

“I’m so sorry,” you felt the tears begin to well just behind your eyes, swallowing thick to try and collect yourself. “I made a vow, a promise, a fealty to another.”

“A prince?” he asked politely.

You narrowed your eyes at his reaction, expecting him to be hurt, upset, even angry. But in the light of the moon, you caught the uptick of his cheek as a smirk threatened at his full lips.

“A god,” you replied, your heartbeat increasing as he took a step toward you. “I’ve promised myself to priesthood. I didn’t expect you —“

His smirk turned into a smile as he rose his hand to your face. “My love, you prayed for me, to me.”

Your eyes searched the meaning behind his words. The gold of his irises began to shine, then burn.

“My Lord,” you whispered, realization washing over you like a vase of cold water.

“What I didn’t expect,” your gardener — your god — went on as his thumb gently ran across your cheek down to your chin before catching your bottom lip, “was to fall for you.”

The wind was stolen from your lungs at his admission before he pulled your face up to meet your lips with his own. The kiss made your body feel like it was being consumed by the sun and you poured your own love into the unspoken act.

You pulled away, eyes wet with tears and cheeks tight with a smile, your body consumed with love as you met his eyes again.

You gasped — where you’d expected to see the warm golden eyes of the man you loved, instead they were ice blue. Cold, angry, hardened of any care you thought was there.

A terrible, horrible feeling began to consume your body as you felt unable to breathe. The man before you grabbed at your arms, this time with hatred and malice.

“I curse you, Cassandra! From this day forward—”

“Y/N!”

You jerked awake, the feeling of two hands holding you caused you to panic, the feeling of impending doom still lingering over you as your heart rate beat out of control. Pushing away, you tried to fight against the hold.

“Y/N, look at me!”

You stilled long enough for the hands to turn you toward the body attached to them, your eyes finally clearing as they met another.

Cold, ice blue eyes.

You gasped in fright, your brain fog still telling you you were in danger, the face of the man from your dreams come to life before you. But the eyes were different than they’d been before. Softer, kinder, worried.

“Fuck, Y/N, it’s me! It’s Tommy — look at me!”

“Tommy,” you repeated, your breathing finally slowing as the fog began to lift.

The eyes that you’d once been afraid of brought you comfort as you searched them. Tommy seemed to recognize that you were coming back, because he breathed out a sigh of relief as he lifted his hand to your cheek. You flinched for a moment, but at the warmth of his palm you leaned your head into it, your breath finally slowing enough for you to look around.

You were still in the seat of the wagon, which was currently stopped as the horse in front of you bent forward to eat.

“You fell asleep,” Tommy spoke again softly as he kept watching you, as if knowing that you were still working your way back to him. “You were dreaming.”

Dreaming. It was a dream.

As if a dam had broken, you gasped for air as the tears began to fall. It was a strangled cry, one of defeat and emotional pain. The dream, the loss, the confusion of being in this place, of being ripped from everything and having everything ripped from you.

“Hey, hey,” you heard Tommy say softly before you felt arms wrap around you and pull you into him. You gripped his shirt in an attempt to stable yourself, pushing your face into his chest. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

He pulled you back to look at him, taking your face between his hands again, doing a sweep with his eyes across your face.

“I’m okay,” you finally said, your cheeks still wet and breathing still deep, but you were back. You looked around to see that the sun was low in the sky. “Where are we?”

Tommy watched you for a second longer, dropping his hands and straightening in the seat. “Just outside of the Delphi camp. Johnny Dogs went ahead to let them know of our arrival and make sure it was safe.”

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps pulled both of your attentions forward as Johnny emerged from the hilltop, accompanied with another.

“Tommy,” you grabbed his hand and his head snapped back to you. “You have to tell me about your dream. The one in France.”

His brow furrowed and you spied a flush at his cheeks, “Now? Is now the best time for this?”

“Please,” you whispered out in almost a pathetic plea.

Not sure why, but you were overcome with the feeling that time was running out. And despite your hesitations, you needed to know now more than ever what Tommy’s dream was about. And more urgently, if it had anything to do with the one you’d just had.

“You said you saw me. Were we in a garden? Something ancient, with long tunics and dressings?”

Tommy’s face continued to contort into confusion. “A garden? No, now look. I don’t know what just fucking happened there with you — you looked like some of the men back from war. But Johnny Dogs is about to be here. We’ll have to be on guard in this place, with these people — they’re dangerous when offended. There’s a reason why they’ve been able to survive as long as they have. Be careful what you say, what you give away.”

The part of your brain that was catching up with the present more quickly than the other wanted to scold Tommy for not telling you such information sooner. You liked to be prepared for a situation before walking in. But, whether it was because he still didn’t trust you, or because he was just so used to keeping secrets for himself, he was putting you in yet another situation where you felt you were playing catch up.

This seemed to snap your brain back to itself. You nodded, momentarily forgetting your dream and Tommy’s as the two men approached you both.

“Follow us,” said the Delphi member.

Johnny Dogs sent Tommy an unspoken look along with a nod. Tommy must have interpreted it as a sign to do as the other man said and follow, calling out for the horse to walk on as the two men walked alongside the animal to steer it.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Tommy said in a whisper, eyes still facing forward. You moved your head to look at him but saw him shake his head. Adjusting back to the front, he went on. “Or maybe it was, I’m not sure. In the tunnels we uncovered an enemy explosive, the ricochet of it sent me backwards, cut at my chest. I was layin’ in the mud when my team found me, covered in blood.”

You took a deep breath, not daring to interrupt him or react in a way that would draw you both attention.

“In the dream,” Tommy continued, his voice barely loud enough for even you to hear. “I just saw you, not us. You were wearing a shirt — it was long, stoppin’ at your…” he cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his own dream but he pushed through, “thighs. You appeared to have nothing else on. The top was an odd thing in a dark blue color with a pyramid and a rainbow on it.”

Pink Floyd, you identified, the shirt in question appearing in your memory. It was your favorite sleeping shirt — old, soft, and baggy enough for you to walk around your flat like it was a dress. It was the shirt you were wearing your last night in 2018.

He went on, his voice still low enough to not arouse the company still leading them to the campsite. “In the dream, it was like I was hoverin’ over you. You were laying, surrounded by red sheets. Then a bright light lit up behind you, surroundin’ you before your eyes opened and looked at me. I reached out for you, tried to pull you back. But the light became so bright, I couldn’t see you anymore. I woke up to Freddie poundin’ on my fucking chest to start my heart back.”

A theory began to form in your brain as you started to put the pieces together.

“I think we saw each other that night,” you whispered, mostly thinking out loud. “I saw you in the mud, sinking, with blood covering you. You saw me in my bed…”

Traveling to the past, you wanted to finish, but kept the words to yourself.

Tommy took a deep breath next to you, taking in your theory. Ahead of you, the campsite came into view.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I’m hoping this place will have some answers.”

Tommy didn’t say anything more as they pulled into the camp, parking the wagon just outside next to Johnny Dogs’. The sun was fully set now as Tommy adjusted his jacket and jumped out of the wagon.

The Delphi member who had escorted them approached the wagon and offered you his hand to help you down. Tommy appeared next to him, eyes steady at the man until he took back his arm and retreated. You felt yourself want to roll your eyes at the exchange, but there was something in Tommy’s warning that made you appreciate it instead.

After the dream you’d just had, it felt good to feel safe again as you took Tommy’s hand and he steadied you to the ground. He kept his hand to your back as you both walked forward into the camp.

Watching him from the corner of your eye, you noticed him slip into something else. His face hardened into the signature Thomas Shelby glare, as if building a wall around his thoughts as you began to walk into the camp. His eyes were nonstop, scanning everywhere as if looking for potential threats or escape exists. It reminded you of how your father used to walk into crowded places — always alert for impending danger.

You took that as your own cue to do the same, finally taking in the camp around you.

You weren’t really sure what to expect, half picturing some of the movies you’d seen depicting gypsy campsites. A couple large fires were lit throughout the grounds, each surrounded by a gang of caravans — the largest was parked at the end of the alley, almost like a head of the table. There were more people around you than you imagined there’d be, with dogs running around and barefoot children chasing them.

One thing you did expect, but still found chilling to see in person — the sigil on the caravan the Delphi escort was walking you both toward.

A painting of a tree — a near perfect resemblance to the mark on your back.

“Madam Despoina will meet you now,” the escort said, opening the door of the caravan. “She’s asked that you wait for her here.”

You took a step toward the large caravan, feeling Tommy begin to follow you.

“Just the lady.”

The man lifted his hand between you and Tommy, stopping him from moving further. Tommy’s eyes flicked down to the hand, then back at the man.

“No,” you spoke up, the Delphi man looking back toward you but Tommy’s eyes never left his. “He comes with me.”

“She said nothing of the sort—“

“I don’t care,” you shrugged.

The man held your glare for a moment before exhaling in defeat. Tommy held the door of the caravan open for you to enter before following behind.

Inside, the caravan was dark, with a handful of candles lit around the parameter and on the table in the center. Tommy moved to sit on the far side of the table, facing the entrance, while you took the seat to his right. Across from you was the empty seat.

As you waited, you began to grow nervous, but you were desperate to stay aware of everything around you. In your quest to disprove your mother’s fortune teller claim, you’d gone on your own crusade to debunk the myth. But despite your skepticism, you found yourself wrapped up in the excitement of the moment.

“Do you know what kind of divination they practice?” You found yourself asking Tommy.

He shook his head.

“Palm readings, tarot cards, crystal balls, tea readings,” you rolled your eyes, giving the caravan a once over again. You noticed some unlit candles, pointing them out. “It’s all such bullshit, see. It could be brighter in here, but they chose to keep it dark. It’s part of their trick — a dark atmosphere decreases people’s sensitivity to movement, heightens their sensitivity to noise, and causes them to be more on edge and frightened at the little things. I can’t believe we’re here.”

Tommy’s brow rose at her deduction.

“I bet you dollars to donuts that when she sits down, she’ll ask for our hands. Another part of the act — decreases the possibility of disrupting the play. A form of misdirection. Keep your eye on her hand and you don’t see her move her knee to knock against the table crying out spirits.”

You felt your temper rise as you continued, not being able to stop yourself now from just rambling out of pent up anger and nerves. Your eyes met Tommy’s, who was appraising you curiously.

“Not a fan of gypsies, I take it?”

There was a hint of defense in his tone that punched at your gut. He thought you were judging his people and suddenly you felt the need to explain yourself.

“No, I didn’t mean— it’s not that. It’s just—“ you were having a hard time backing yourself out of this corner. You took a deep breath. “My mother wasted a lot of money and sanity on fortune tellers and seances. She thought they had answers to her questions and it became an obsession. I learned a lot to try and convince her that such stuff didn’t exist. That it was all parlor tricks, unconscious muscle movement, static electricity, light trickery—”

“She never believed you.”

An older woman’s voice came from the entrance of the caravan. Madam Despoina, you assumed, climbed into the wagon and took the seat across from you.

“She always knew there was an answer out there. A truth, just outside her grasp. She searched, the same way you now search. It’s ironic, no?”

“Madam Despoina,” Tommy greeted, nodding his head down as a show of respect.

The woman nodded in return, “Thomas Shelby.”

Madam Despoina turned then to you and reached her hand out, silently asking for your own. You sent a sideways glance to Tommy, who was already smirking at the action.

Did they have donuts in 1918? You quickly found yourself wondering.

“Please,” the Madam said softly. “It has been so long since your line has had answers.”

You crossed your arms, a direct defiance of her request, “My mother was desperate. I am not. What could you possibly know about me?”

You felt Tommy inhale sharply, an uncomfortable energy radiating off him as his back straightened and he kept an eye on the woman to his left. Obviously he had a better understanding of Romani decorum than you did — you wondered if you’d gone a little too far with your disrespect, misjudging the consequences.

But Madam Despoina only hummed and smiled, her eyes nearly sparkling with a challenge.

She folded her hands together as she leaned against the table, talking directly to you as she began. “Our lineages have traveled from the same ancient roads. I am a direct descendent of the original Pythia.”

“Pythia?” You repeated, the pieces finally beginning to take shape.

Greek history and mythology had been one of your favorite subjects in school, as it seemed to be for most kids in your time. But after learning that your own history may have led back to that country, that culture, it made you hyper-fixate on learning as much as you could. You loved the idea of these stories, these grandiose themes that people of an ancient world told to explain every day occurrences or creations.

Your dream began to itch at the back of your brain as you thought back to those lessons.

“The Oracle of Delphi,” you continued, a sly smile from the woman across from you aiding your confirmation. “No wonder the name sounded so familiar.”

“Oracle?” Tommy’s brow furrowed as he looked to you for an answer.

The Madam nodded, as if encouraging you to explain.

“They were priestesses of Ancient Greece,” you replied tentatively, careful with your words.

You knew this was another tactic used by fortune tellers, to get the payee to divulge information to use back at you, making you unwittingly believe that they knew all along.

You cleared your throat. “They told prophecies and were considered the most prestigious oracles in Greece.”

Madam Despoina nodded. “The Pythia was the most powerful woman in the ancient world. We channeled our ancient god and he spoke through us.”

“You know, there’s some that believe the explanation for the prophecy inspiration came from vapors in the springs below the temple,” you interrupted.

You remembered a professor who always loved to bring reason or scientific explanation to some of these tales as a way of relating them back to real world scenarios. You’ll never forget the way he’d compared Hercules killing his wife and children because Hera spelled him to see them as demons to a fit of roid-rage. You channeled that professor at this moment to regurgitate some of his words.

“That the shift of very specific, active fault lines and earthquakes released some kind of hallucinogenic gas, giving the illusion of connecting with the divine. And as for the possessions, some thought them to be epilepsies, brought on by either the gas or from chewing and inhaling the leaves of a poisonous plant — like the way Vikings used to eat magic mushrooms and burn leaves to see visions of trolls and giants and gods.”

Madam Despoina kept her smile as you talked, chuckling as you finished. “That is a very astute observation of our history. Perhaps it’s true. I never did believe that our power was fueled solely on magic or the divine alone.”

That surprised you. You hadn’t expected her to take your reasoning seriously — part of you thought she’d kick you out on the spot. As if reading your thoughts (or your facial expression, you reasoned), she chuckled again.

“Despite how the root came to be, it does not negate the clarity of the branches. We continue the Delphi name and practices in honor of that lineage,” she went on after giving you a moment with your thoughts. “Just as it seems, your mother continued yours.”

Your brow creased, “What do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and began to speak in another language, Latin perhaps, before opening them and speaking again, this time in English.

“Know thyself and thou shalt know all the mysteries of the gods and the universe,” she said cryptically, obviously reciting something, but you didn’t know it’s origin.

“Know myself?” You repeated, your brow creasing. “That’s what I came here for,” you replied, half annoyed, half skeptic.

“I know why you came here. It’s been long predicted of your arrival.”

You took a deep breath. “I was starting to like you. Do you have anything less generic to say?”

She smirked, “You still disbelieve our power, our connection?”

“I believe you’re trying to probe me with leading questions,” you replied, leaning your elbows against your lap. “That the power of suggestion is half the battle of divinity. You know why I’m here, you wouldn’t have agreed to meet with me if you didn’t already know there was some connection. I’m here for real answers, and you either have them, or you don’t”

“Aye, you are perceptive,” you were surprised to see her smile. “Most readings are easy — love, fortune, death, these are all pieces that are simple to persuade. But not you, not the one who branded herself with the tree of knowledge, of universal balance on your back.”

You felt yourself shift in your seat, your shoulders moved at the mention of your tattoo between them.

As you said, you guessed they already knew about it. Tommy would have had to give Johnny Dogs a reason for reaching out to the family, a reason strong enough to request an audience with the woman before you.

A quick glance at Tommy, who had narrow eyes on Madam Despoina, confirmed such.

Playing it off, you shrugged. “So, tell me something I don’t know.”

The woman smiled again, leaning forward to match your stance. “You were named after the cursed one herself. The first of your matriarch. The infamous Trojan princess.”

“Cassandra,” you answered. “The unbelieved prophet.”

Your dream itched harder in the back of your mind at the sound of your middle name being said out loud for the first time in years.

“A gracious gift given by the god himself at the promise of her body, who then twisted into curse once she refused to lay with him,” the Madam explained with almost a song-like quality.

Of course you knew the story. You’d been ecstatic when you began the Iliad and found your own name amongst the pages.

You hummed, “You know, there’s another side of that story. One that paints Cassandra as a devout priestess, who had the gift bestowed to her freely. She didn’t ask for it, nor did she consent to it. And it was only after he made his advances, believing that she owed him for this gift she didn’t ask for, that he cursed her in rage of an ego blow.”

The Madam nodded, “And which do you believe? The temptress or the victim?”

“Seeing as most history is written by men, I tend to sympathize with the female viewpoints,” you stated, crossing your arms again.

“What if I told you there’s a third side to this story. One that I believe you have already begun to uncover.”

Your itch turned into a burn as you thickly swallowed.

“Yesterday was the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Some say it’s the mark of a death and rebirth of the Sun.” Madam turned then to Tommy, who’d been quietly observing during this time. “You’ve had experience with that yourself, haven’t ya, Thomas? You were dead, and now, reborn.”

“What does any of this have to do with why we’re here?” You asked, feeling a sense of protectiveness over Madam’s focus on Tommy.

“Why did you bring him?” She asked you, still looking toward Tommy. “My men told you that I’d meet with you alone.”

“I promised him no more secrets —“

“No,” she cut you off. “You wanted me to reveal your secret for you. But I cannot.”

“Because you don’t know—”

“Because it’s not time!” She shouted, pivoting back toward you quickly. The humor in her eyes had gone now. “You are a traveler, but you don’t belong here. You have been sent to this place, to this time, for a reason. A curse brought you here, but unlike the others, you have a chance to mend ancient mistakes. You have a chance to save lives with your knowledge, with your insight. You must get the right people to listen. Break the cursed chain, end the line of travel.”

Your mouth gaped as Madam Despoina had gone on, but your brain was doing everything to absorb every word, every micro-expression you could make out to understand.

The woman stood from her seat and began her retreat, taking a deep breath before turning back around.

“You will find the answers you seek, so long as you stay true to thyself. Listen to your dreams, your visions, your memories. And above all, know you are stronger than those who came before you — you are stronger than your mother.”

With that, she left the caravan, leaving you and Tommy alone.

You looked over to Tommy, who was staring at you — a look you couldn’t quite make out. You opened your mouth to say something when the caravan door opened.

Johnny Dogs stood at the open end, “We’ve been invited to stay for dinner and to rest for the night. They have a caravan for the two of yous.”

Your brow creased as you looked back to Tommy, “We can’t possibly stay the night here. Not after that —“

“We must,” he replied, his voice as even as it’d been before. “It’ll be an insult if we don’t.”

He stood up, offering you his hand to help you up as well. He pulled you close to him, his voice low enough so even Johnny Dogs couldn’t hear.

“But we leave first thing in the morning. We speak nothing of what happened here tonight. Understood?”

“How can you expect that of me?” You asked genuinely, hoping he didn’t mistake your question for childish disobedience. Your mind was swimming with everything that’d happened in the last few hours. Your eyes sought his, “How can you not have questions for me?”

He exhaled a humored breath before swallowing, pulling your head the inch it needed before his lips brushed against your temple. His hand returned to your back as he whispered into your ear.

“Oh believe me, love, I do. But there will be time for that later. Come on, we can’t keep them waiting.”

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

tag list: @cillixn @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @swordofawriter @sweetmilkshakeluminary @ttae-yong @topstory21 @cole-silas @moral-terpitude @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reallysparklychaos @enrapturedbythemoon @bat-shark-repellant @kpopslur @ilovestrngrthgs @musicsweetie21 @invisiblexcth @lovelydivs @whoisf4yryl0v3r @itscheybaby @laylasbunbunny @lordofthunderthr @luvstylesz @roseanimelover @lostgirl219 @berarenado @akemiixx01 @mulletmcghee @jasminxts @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels

hope I didn’t miss anyone in the tag list! let me know if you’d like to be added and thank you all for the kind words and amazing support!

#Tommy shelby #Thomas Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x oc #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders fanfic #Tommy Shelby fanfic #time after time #fanfic #mine #I apologize for the name discrepancies between here and ao3

554 notes · View notes

moonlight-prose · 1 month

Note

"buying matching jewelry, but it doesn't mean anything, right?" WITH FRITZ PLEASEEE

LAY ALL YOUR LOVE ON ME

a/n: so because summer is nearing it's last month and we have limited time i wanted to go full mamma mia vibes with this one. besides the friends to lovers vibes with him and this song...perfection. it was hot all week and that spurred me to finally work on this request. so i hope you enjoy babes!

summary: being best friends with fritz meant pretending you weren't hopelessly in love. it meant conversation on the beach, and friendship rings, and the utter shock of coming to the realization that...maybe he loved you too.

word count: 2.2k+

pairing: billy 'fritz' avalone x reader

warnings: fluff, a teeny bit of angst, romance, best friends to lovers, oblivious reader + obvious fritz, talk of marriage, mamma mia vibes, he's hopelessly in love it's cute, unedited + not betad.

The ring glinted in the sunlight, gold glimmering as the ocean did when the day hit the perfect hour. When the sun was slowly creeping along the sky, making a descent towards the horizon. That wouldn't come for a few more hours, but you couldn't stop yourself from sitting on the sand, eyes trained on how waves crashed to the shore.

You couldn't hear anything over the noise - the birds squawking in the distance the loudest echo along the empty coast. Somehow you managed to catch the beach during the week. When people weren't interested because they were tired from a long work day.

It rarely happened. Maybe once in a blue moon. And you soaked in the silence of humanity—nature calling you to her with a soft smile and even softer words.

"I wondered if I'd find you here."

A familiar tug pulled at your heart as you turned, seeing a familiar figure head towards you. He still wore his flight suit, his boots sinking into the sand with each step. But that didn't deter him from plopping beside you, a cold soda in his hand. An extra handed to you.

"Mav let us go early," he said, twisting the top off and gulping enough to down half the bottle.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

He shrugged. "You're always here."

"I'm not always here."

"Sure."

"I'm not–"

The smile on his lips silenced your argument—a knowing look glimmering in his brown eyes. There was no use in fighting him. He could see your different angles coming from a mile away. Giving up now would be easiest.

With a sigh, you turned back to the beach, condensation dripping onto your dress. "I needed some time away from the bar."

You didn't have to explain anything to him. Barely even had to utter a word before your discomfort was being teased out and noticed by him. That was the thing about Fritz. He could see your emotions before they even played across your face. Yet unlike others that came before, he somehow always managed to fix it before things got too bad.

"Did you want to come to my place for dinner?"

The grin played across your lips before you could even answer. "You mean your place filled with Yale and Harvard?"

"C'mon they're not that bad." He nudged you with his knee, taking another pull from his soda. "Besides, they're gone tonight. Something about free drinks at a sports bar."

You mulled it over—the small box in your jacket pocket practically burning a hole through the fabric. "Fine. Pizza, beers, and ice cream."

"Yes ma'am."

Clambering to his feet, he helped pull you up, the sun playing across his face and illuminating the grin he wore. If you could bottle up this memory and keep it close you'd open it every day. You'd take a peek of something so perfect—as if Aphrodite herself created him—just to hold this feeling in your chest. The way he looked at you left you confused, as if he saw you in a different light than just friendship.

But you never had the guts to ask him about it. So like a coward...you continued to let it go.

"I'll order in the car."

"Wait—" You gripped his arm, tugging him back a bit as you dug in your pocket. "I got you something yesterday. They had a jewelry stand in town and saw this..."

The box was brown, small and uninteresting. Until you pulled it open. A silver band etched with vines that matched yours lay in the center. You nearly left it behind—figuring he wouldn't want to wear something so dainty—but something screamed at you the second it appeared in your line of sight. The two were paired together.

Your size and his.

As if they'd been waiting for you to find them all along.

His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat, before he picked it out of the box carefully. "A ring?"

Heat spread rapidly along your cheeks, burning straight down to your chest. "You don't have to wear it. I just thought it was pretty and matched mine and..." With a cough you turned back to see another wave crash along the shore. Suddenly that's how you felt inside. "It's dumb I know."

"No it's not." Surprised etched into your chest, your gaze snapping back to him. Just in time to see how he slipped it on his left hand, smiling when it fit perfectly. Perhaps it was always meant to be there - resting along his skin, claiming his heart for yours. "I like it. Matches my dog tags."

You laughed. "I didn't get it cause of that."

"No, I know." His smile deepened. "But that's where it's going. So it'll match."

Warmth pooled in your stomach, curling around the base of your spine as he stared at his hand. A soft grin playing on his lips. And suddenly you were breathless—flutters filling your stomach as you realized what it looked like. What the others would say once they noticed him wearing a ring on his left hand. You didn't tell him where to place it, didn't offer up a certain hand.

He did it on his own without an ounce of hesitation in his body.

He wanted it there.

When you followed him to the car, you grasped the gold band on your right hand and subtly shifted it to your left. Matching him. If he noticed he didn't question you about it. And for that...you were grateful.

Turns out you were right.

Fritz was teased—rather ruthlessly—about wearing a silver band on his ring finger. Questions rose up around base. Who did he marry? Who had they not met yet? How on Earth could Fritz of all people be hiding a secret partner?

Until you served the group at the bar and Phoenix clocked the gold band on your hand. A knowing smile curving across her lips.

Thankfully she knew how to keep your mouth shut.

The same couldn't be said about Hangman.

"Where'd you get that shiny ring darlin'?" he shouted, reaching for your hand with a shit eating smile. "Lookie here gentlemen! It matches Fritz's."

"Fuck off Hangman." You yanked your hand back with a glare, twisting back to the bar.

It's not like you didn't know this was coming. The comments, the teasing. You knew someone would notice eventually, but that isn't what left you shocked and nervous. The fact that Fritz had yet to take it off sent your mind reeling. He wore it with pride. A smile gracing his plush lips whenever someone brought it up.

You'd even heard comments of it being looped around his tags as he flew—pressed close to his chest in the cockpit of his jet.

Was he wearing it to simply show you that this is how it would be? To prove that this was a silly gift. In the hopes that you would tell him he didn't have to constantly wear it.

That thought alone filled your stomach with dread. An ache forming in the pit of your body as you watched him from across the bar. You had half a mind to go over there—tell him to give it back so Hangman would get off his ass—but he looked at ease. As if nothing could bother him when the topic of conversation fell to you.

This shouldn't bother you that much, shouldn't leave you frazzled and on edge. And you didn't think it would get any worse.

Until the phone rang on a Thursday afternoon, echoing through the empty bar. You expected someone placing an order for lunch, perhaps a reservation for a table.

Hangman's voice filtering through the receiver is what floored you—his voice low and hoarse. Like he'd been shouting for far longer than he should have. And your stomach dropped.

"He's fine. Shaken up, but fine. Told me to call you."

"W–What do you mean? What happened?"

He sighed—shaky and breathless. "Engines gave out. Had to bail."

You didn't hear the rest, a shrill high pitched ring began pulsing in your ear. The words hit the ground hard and asked for you were all you could process before the phone was slamming back onto the base and you were running to the car.

Your breath was short, eyes dazed, but all that mattered was him. The image of him laying in the middle of a valley hurt tore you in half. So you slammed your foot on the gas, speeding through the streets without care.

An explanation would have to be given to Penny when she returned. You made a note to apologize later, but the airbase was in sight and you could see Hangman waiting by the front gate—a stern expression replacing his usual egotistical grin. That seemed to scare you more than what he said on the phone.

He waved you through, jogging to where you threw your car into park. Half out of the spot and crooked. None of that fucking mattered. None of it was real, because somewhere Fritz was hurt and the panic had started to eat you alive.

"Where is he?" you gasped, leaping out of the car. "What the fuck happened?"

His hands grasped your shoulders. "He's fine. Mav is making him sit on base until things level out. He's gotta see the doctor before heading home."

"Fuck," you breathed, tears pricking your eyes. "Can I–I see him? Will they let me on–"

He nodded, already leading you towards the familiar hangar. "Why do you think I'm here sweetheart? Mav had me wait for you to arrive."

On shaky legs, you did what he said when he said it. You flashed your I.D. to someone, said a monotone hello, and let Hangman take the front. A runway was to the left of you—jets lined up on the far side—but that's not what caught your attention.

The sight of a hunched over figure on a metal chair towards the front leveled the ground beneath you. The air suddenly rushed to your lungs as reality began to filter back.

He was okay.

"Avalone!" Hangman shouted. A head of dark hair snapped up, immediately setting his sights on you.

"Will?" you called.

A helmet dropped to the ground when he stood, rushing towards you quicker than he should have. And before Hangman could intervene, you started running. You sprinted with a speed you didn't know you had in you and met him halfway. Colliding against his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist tight enough to send an ache through your ribs. That didn't register, because the pain reminded you that he was still alive—still here to hug you.

"I was so scared," you gasped, digging your face into his shoulder. He breathed a sigh of relief, his eyes falling shut. "I heard your jet crashed and just got here as soon as possible."

"'M okay," he mumbled. "I'm alive."

A sob broke free, tears streaming down your face, but that only made him tighten his hold. His breath warm along the back of your neck. Suddenly all the worries from the past week, all the anxiety you endured about what a stupid piece of jewelry meant didn't matter to you. How could it? When you nearly lost him today.

Living without Fritz wasn't something you wanted to know. It wasn't a future you wanted to have.

"I love you," you breathed, fingers curling into his hair.

He stilled, pulling back slightly until his face was directly in front of yours—nose nudging against yours. "Finally."

"What–"

The words of disbelief vanished when he kissed you. Because his lips were just as soft as you imagined, his touch was warm, and suddenly...the world around you vanished. He kissed you with a tenderness that had always existed in your friendship. A reverence he hoped you might notice one day. This wasn't due to injuries or fear. This was the final tie being knotted together in your relationship.

He didn't wear the ring to tease you. He didn't want to prove he shouldn't wear it.

He wanted to show you why he should.

"Marry me," he mumbled against your lips, the cold press of metal along your cheek sparked heat down your spine. "I've already got the ring."

Your eyes flew open to see his smile—bright and wide. "Marry you?" you breathed.

"Tomorrow."

"Will–"

"I'll take you to the courthouse. Call your mom. I'll do whatever you want, baby."

You clutched at his shoulders, searching his eyes for any falsity—any humor—and found none. "You're serious."

With a nod, he stole another kiss. His tongue swiped along yours far too quickly for your liking. "I almost died today and the only thing I could think about was that the ring around my neck wasn't real." He pulled back. "So I want to change that."

"By marrying me." The words didn't feel real, but somehow there they were.

"If you'll let me." His smile faltered slightly, hand stilling on the back of your neck. "Will...you let me?"

"Yes," you rushed out in one breath. Your eyes wide and hands pulling him close for another kiss. One he leaned into. "Yes. I'll marry you."

He smiled, tangling his fingers in your shirt - his palm sliding along bare skin. "Tomorrow," he mumbled against your lips.

"Tomorrow," you gasped.

#listening to the mamma mia soundtrack and writing this made me tear up #i love this man so much it's ridiculous #billy fritz avalone x reader #billy fritz avalone x you #billy fritz avalone x y/n #billy fritz avalone #billy avalone x reader #fritz x reader #fritz x you #fritz x y/n #top gun maverick #my writing

29 notes · View notes

kanekoii · 11 months

Note

hear me out.. xsoleil one bed trope 👁

like, imagine reader and xsoleil member on a school trip, and the room they booked had to be changed to a one-bed room :3

lyra’s notes -> i will in fact hear you out on this

pairings -> xsoliel x gn! reader

genre -> fluffy scenario + silly little hotel things cuz lowkey why is staying in a hotel so much fun

song -> pink cheeks - eldon

warnings -> not established relationship, food mentions, reader wears a swimsuit in melo’s but no body types or anatomy is mentioned for reader :), why does this take place in such a fancy hotel lol

VER VERMILLION ->

due to the sudden change in arrangements with your room in particular, it left poor kaichou insanely flustered and wondering what the hell he was to do in that situation. he’d end up walking shyly back into the shared main room in his black and red pajama pants and grey t-shirt, hair taken out of its usual side-swept style and tousled, hanging slightly over his rose colored eyes. in an attempt to make it less awkward, he’d make a small divider using blankets between your bodies. but before either of you went to bed, ver heard your stomach grumble and suggested you go to the small in-hotel café downstairs in your pajamas together. the elevator ride downstairs was full of giggles and some looks from the people around you, wondering why students were at a hotel, not knowing it was for a counsel trip.

the downstairs café was very calm in atmosphere, ver ordering a pastry and a hot tea while continuing to talk and crack jokes with you. god, he was adorable. as the night went on, he quietly encouraged you to head back to your shared room to rest, and you obliged with sleepy eyes and an equally quiet voice.

you had no idea what had went on while the both of you were asleep, but you woke up in the counsel president’s arms as he slept so peacefully, as if you were simply a plushie. you were wrapped in warm blankets and so was he, ver’s warm body drawing you ever closer to him. you couldn’t help but drift into a deep sleep again with his warmth as your company.

MELOCO KYORAN ->

she figured it would be a good idea to go to the hot tub for a bit to de-stress. she invited you to go with her with a smug smile on her face as she adjusted the deep purple silk bathrobe she wore over her swimsuit. meloco was more than happy to have you accompany her, it was just an excuse to get even closer to you. seeing as her hair was very long, it was tied into a loose bun high up on her head so the chlorinated water didn’t interfere with its softness.

you sat in that hot tub with her for what might have been hours as the sun finished its descent under the horizon and the moon and stars took its place. she was so enthusiastic when talking to you, in stark contrast to her usual stern and sarcastic manner.

she would flop down on your now shared bed in her adorable and soft, lavender colored nightshirt that hung over her body like a dress. her long hair hung flat to her head since she had taken a shower after the hot tub. a glance at the clock would tell you that it was far past midnight and time to sleep. meloco wouldn’t mind holding you in her sleep, in fact she would really like it if given your consent cuz consent is hot. you’d wake up with your head on her soft chest as if it were a pillow (booba 🤤).

DOPPIO DROPSCYTHE ->

why is bro so enthusiastic about this. it’s almost like he has a crush on you or something. he’d get pizza or something of the like that you enjoy delivered to your room while you watch reality tv with him. please watch 90 day fiancé with him he will become even more infatuated with you as he munches on his pizza while making the silliest comments on the show. his hair would be tousled and messy, his pajamas would be black sweatpants and a dark pink-purple shirt with a white design on it saying “#1 cheftecfive”. you couldn’t help but giggle at his shirt and how cute he looked in it.

you’d stay up with him late into the night until you fall asleep and end up resting your head on his shoulder. piochan would gently wrap a blanket around you and turn the tv’s volume down until he was ready to go to bed. he’d wrap his strong arms around you and hold you like a little teddy bear.

ugh imagine his deep and slightly raspy morning voice as he wishes you a good morning, holding you so tightly.

KOTOKA TORAHIME ->

she’s so precious. girl will be so excited to share a room with you and watch movies long into the night, so excitedly exclaiming how happy she is to be with you for your time together. she’d eventually decide to keep the movies playing even if she’s about to fall asleep, which ended with you holding each other, fast asleep by the time the sun began riding.

kotoka would wake up first, not wanting to leave your arms or let go of you and letting herself fall asleep. her onesie was so cozy to snuggle her in, you just couldn’t help but hold her tightly in your sleep.

you’d awake so happily in the morning too, just so excited to have kotoka by your side in her adorable cat onesie. she’d get breakfast delivered to your shared room, filled with giggles on the cool morning.

HEX HAYWIRE ->

oughhh he is so teasing about it. he won’t hesitate to hold you and be your big spoon in his sleep, brushing your hair after your bath or shower at night or morning (personally i’m a night bath kinda guy but yk) and saying affirming things to you in his naturally deep and gravelly voice. he’s so. ugh.

hex will wake you up in the morning with your favorite caffeinated drink and something you’ll eat for breakfast with a gentle smile on his face as he adjusts his glasses.

the way he looks when you wake up before him though…god. his hair will be more tousled than usual, his normally sharp eyes closed in soft sleep and the most small and gentle smile on his face as he presumably dreams a happy dream. you can’t help but fall asleep to the sound of his gentle and calm breathing.

118 notes · View notes

projectnewmoon · 2 months

Text

Sonic - Project: New Moon

Chapter 7 - No Retribution for the Greaving

Summary: Exploring a base in Permafrost Plains, Sonic learns more about his new beastly acquaintance.

Warnings: Minor body horror, mentions of death, blood and violence.

Word Count: 3,041 words

The Tornado flew high in the cold night sky above Permafrost Plains, a Zone near Holoska. Snow fell upon the land and frigid wind chilled everyone in the group to the bone. Everyone shivered, save for Sonic, who was very used to traversing places like this. Not only that, but the fur of his beastly form had proven to be very warm.

Sonic would have been able to enjoy the ride more if it weren't for Specter and Phantom clinging so close to him to keep warm. Though, he couldn't exactly blame them. They came ill prepared for the weather, and though they're quite fuzzy themselves, it's likely they've never been to someplace as cold as this.

Surprisingly, out of all the others, Rue seemed to be suffering from the cold the most, despite them not only having a dense fur coat but a long cloak that covered most of their body. They were the most prepared out of all of them, and yet they were shaking like a leaf.

Sonic looks down at Rue from his spot on the Tornado's wings. “You good? You're, uh… You're shaking a lot.”

Rue huffed and grumbled, their breath turning to mist in the cold air.

“... I'll take that as a no.”

Tails points at something down below, what looks like a lone building in the endless expanse of snow and ice. A bunker, perhaps. “T-there it is!” he cried, shivering, “That’s the base! The Emeralds should be in there!”

“Alright! Let’s hurry up and find a place to land.”

Soon, the plane descended. The landing was rough and bumpy due to the snow and ice, nearly knocking Sonic and the twins off of the wings, but Sonic held onto them, and eventually the plane stopped relatively safely.

The group unboarded, and the twins left Sonic’s side to huddle close to Rue, seeking shelter under her cloak. Tails did much the same with Sonic, keeping close as the group moved on and entered the base.

Though it was much warmer inside, it was dark and dusty, hard to make out what was up ahead. The atmosphere was heavy, a weight in the air that presses down on them all, especially Sonic. Energy stirred throughout, buzzing in Sonic’s ears and making his fur stand up. It felt hard to breathe, but he continued onward.

The group takes a lift down and slowly descends into the main base. The descent is quiet.

Once off the lift, Rue sniffs the air, before walking on ahead and leaving the others behind.

“Hey, I don’t think we should split up,” Tails said as he saw Rue walk off.

Rue glared at him and Sonic. “None of you should even be here. This was never your fight. It’s mine.”

“You wouldn’t be here at all without our help,” Sonic retorted, “Why are you still–”

She growled back at him. There was something odd about her gaze, a strange magenta glow deep within her pupils shining brighter than it’s ever been. Sonic went quiet. She continues walking.

“We’re not leaving you alone,” Specter speaks up, leading them to stop once more, “You shouldn’t have to face this by yourself.”

Phantom nods in agreement. “You’re not well, Rue. You need help.”

Rue huffs. “I don’t need help. I don’t need you getting in the way…” they grumbled, then, in a softer tone, “... Don’t need you getting hurt…”

They shake their head, before continuing onward, walking off and leaving the view of the others.

The twins try to follow after them, but Sonic stops the two. “Let ‘em go,” he says, “We’ll catch up eventually, but we gotta worry about finding the Chaos Emeralds first.”

He then turns to Tails, who was holding his Miles Electric and looking at the map on its screen. “You’ve got our map, so lead the way.”

Tails nods. “Right! Follow me!” He hurries on ahead, tails wagging as he leads the others down the dark halls of the base.

The group walked on for what felt like hours, passing by rooms upon rooms filled with machines glowing in eerie purple hues. The energy extractors Sonic had seen the day this adventure started, back in that not-so-abandoned base. They whirred and buzzed, the noise sending a shiver down his spine.

“Are you guys sure this is the right way?” Phantom questioned.

“Yeah, we’ve been walking for, like, forever now, and still haven’t found anything,” Specter said.

“I can’t see an exact location with this, just the general area where Chaos Energy spikes,” Tails replied, “But we’re getting close, I know it.”

Sonic stretched. He was getting sick of walking. If only he could just run ahead… but this place was cramped, unlike the base he’d run through before, and he didn’t want to leave the others behind like Rue did. What if they got ambushed by Badniks and got hurt? What if Nox did what he’d done to him? Injected them with Dark Gaia Energy and turned them into beasts? What if they didn’t survive? Tails did say the amount of energy inside him right now would be lethal to the average person when he ran those tests…

Sonic shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. Not now. It didn’t do him any good to worry about what ifs. Besides, that just wasn't like him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots an open room. Unlike the others, which were lit up by the energy extractors within, this one was completely dark. He goes inside, leading the others to follow.

He searches the walls with his paw. “There’s gotta be a light switch or somethin’ around here…” he mumbled.

“You can’t see in the dark?” Specter asked, tilting her head slightly. Was she genuinely confused by that?

“I mean, yeah? Kind of? Not that well, to be honest.” He continued searching, until… “Aha! There–!”

The lights come on like a flashbang, leaving Sonic instantly blinded. Though it didn’t seem like the others were at all bothered, he stood there like a deer in headlights while his eyes adjusted.

He shook it off, rubbed his eyes and looked around the room, ignoring the others’ slightly worried, mostly confused and maybe a bit amused looks. There was a computer with multiple large monitors against the back wall, a rolling chair in front of it, papers and books of all kinds strewn about. Many storage cabinets lined the walls, with even more books and files stored inside, as well as vials and jars and other such containers with Dark Gaia Energy inside.

Tails picked up a book off the ground, along with some papers. “This is… This is Professor Pickle’s research. And a bunch of notes on the properties of Dark and Light Gaia energy.”

While Tails looked at the other books and notes scattered around the room, Specter, Phantom, and Sonic looked over the computer.

Specter looks at Tails as he continues to sift through the collection of books around the room. “Hey, um, Tails? Think you can turn this on? We… wanna see something.”

Sonic quirked an eyebrow.

“On it!” Tails left the books behind and hurried over to the computer, plugging in his Miles Electric into it before pressing a button on its giant keyboard. As it boots up, Tails types something into his handheld, and gets past the lock screen without having to input a password. Sonic wasn’t exactly sure what he did, but it was impressive nonetheless.

“What’re you guys looking for?” Sonic asked the twins as the group looked over the computer’s home screen. A blank wallpaper, multiple programs he couldn't recognize, and a series of folders. “Modified Badnik Plans,” “Gaia Manuscripts,” “Gaia Manuscripts Translation,” “Dark Gaia Energy Properties,” “Light Gaia Energy Properties,” and…

One of them caught Sonic’s eye. “Subject Profiles.”

Phantom stared that folder down. “I think that’s it.”

“Rue’s told us about what Nox did to them, about how he turned them into… that,” Specter explained, “But they never gave us all the details.”

“We’ve known them for a while, but they never opened up about it,” Phantom continued, “We could tell there was more to it, and it weighed heavily on their soul. So… we wanna know everything. So we can help her.”

“Right…” That made sense to Sonic. Rue never gave him any details when they first met either. Not like he expected her to- they were totally strangers at that time. They still kind of are, if he’s honest. They haven’t had much time to really talk, and Rue was… reserved, to put it lightly.

It felt weird, finding this while she’s not in the room. Invasive, even. But this could give some more insight into Nox’s plans, and tell them a bit more as to why Rue is like this, even give them some idea on how they could all help, so he took the mouse and guided the cursor to that folder.

A double-click, and the folder opens up, revealing a list of names extending past the end of the screen. He scrolled down. Sonic didn’t count exactly how many, but there had to be at least 30 or so names in that list.

A name calls to him. “Rubí Rosario.” He opens the file.

There is an image of a young canine mobian. They have long light blue and white fur, and wear a pink dress, with a red flower hairpin.

They look just like the child in that nightmare.

They are smiling.

He reads further.

“Subject name: Rubí Rosario

Age: 10

Sex: Female

Species: Mobian (Wolf/Husky Hybrid)

Subject was administered 10 mL of liquid concentrated Dark Gaia Energy through injection. Subject suffered physical mutations far beyond anything recorded thus far, gained exponential muscle mass and experienced rapid fur and nail growth, as well as sudden growth of teeth, particularly canines. Subject showed signs of severe confusion, heightened aggression, and an inability to speak. Subject attacked, and I was forced to defend myself.

Subject escaped before further examination could be performed, with severe injuries to lower back. Whereabouts currently unknown. Presumed dead.

Addendum: Subject has been found. Or, rather, she has found me. This makes her the only one to survive thus far. Unable to recapture for further examination.”

Below are images from what looks to be security footage. Snippets of the young pup transforming, turning into a large beast with dark fur and claws. Blue and fur became midnight, markings glowing on their body. Like that of a Dark Gaia Beast.

“That’s… that’s her,” Specter muttered, a hand over her mouth.

Everyone stared at the file. The air grew cold and heavy around them.

Sonic closed the file, leaving the screen back on the list of names. He realized the two files before it shared the same last name as Rubí's. “Esmeralda Rosario” and “Alejandro Rosario.”

He clicked on Esmeralda’s file. There was a picture of a tall canine mobian with curled minty green and gray fur, wearing a white and red dress. She was accompanied by the pup from earlier, as well as a husky with dark blue and white fur.

“Subject name: Esmeralda Rosario

Age: 36

Sex: Female

Species: Mobian (Wolf)

Subject was administered 10 mL of liquid concentrated Dark Gaia Energy through injection. Subject became confused and experienced minor mutations, including slight fur growth, a minor increase in muscle mass, and minor bone fractures throughout her body.

Dose proved lethal. Subject died of cardiac arrest minutes after administration of Dark Gaia Energy.”

Sonic felt anger bubbling inside of him. He closed that file without looking at the images below, and moved on to Alejandro’s. The same picture from before appeared on the screen again.

“Name: Alejandro Rosario

Age: 34

Sex: Male

Species: Mobian (Husky)

Subject was administered 5 mL of liquid concentrated Dark Gaia Energy through injection. Subject suffered no visible mutations, but became violent, showed signs of confusion, and had difficulty speaking. Subject attempted to attack me before I left the room, then began to harm himself via scratching and biting.

Dose proved lethal. Subject died of cardiac arrest hours after administration of Dark Gaia Energy.”

Sonic closed that file, then closed the whole list. He didn’t want to read any more. He couldn’t. His blood boiled.

“Those… were Rue’s parents, weren’t they?” Tails uttered.

Phantom continued to stare at the screen. “So they weren’t the only one. He used their family, too. And many others.”

Specter gripped her own arm tightly, gritting her teeth. “He killed them… and he wrote about it like it was nothing. Sick bastard.”

Sonic took a deep breath and walked away from the monitors. He wanted to find out more about Nox’s plans specifically, but, frankly, he didn’t care how or why he was going to destroy the world. He’s hurt enough people as it is, and he’s going to stop him before he can hurt any more. He promised Rue, and he’s going to keep that promise.

He takes another deep breath to collect himself, then sighs. Purple smoke slips through his teeth. “Come on. The Chaos Emeralds aren’t here, so let’s keep–”

A loud roar shakes the base’s walls, reverberating from deeper down the hallway. There’s a bang, then a thud, then the sound of rapid footsteps hurrying down the hall.

Sonic and the others exit the room to see Nox running as fast as he could, past the group and towards the lift. He carried the white Chaos Emerald in one of his many hands, but no others.

There’s another bang as something big crashes into the wall. A dark figure charges after Nox on all fours, snarling wildly. The magenta eyes of a Nightmare pierce the darkness, wide and unfocused and filled with nothing but rage. Specter and Phantom stare at the beast in horror as it runs past them, purple smoke spewing out of its mouth.

It’s Rue. The beast rampaging down the hall was Rue.

Sonic immediately gives chase. He sees Nox hold onto a small Spinner as it carries him up the shaft faster than the lift could have. Rue viciously climbs the wall of the shaft with their bare claws, keeping pace with him as they chase him down.

Sonic climbs after them as best he could as the others follow below on the lift. He reaches the top of the shaft soon after Nox and Rue, and sees them run out the door, into the snow outside. He hurries after them.

“Stay away from me, you foul beast!” Nox yells.

Rue roars, slashing at him as he’s carried off into the air by the small Badnik. She barely manages to scratch his arm, making him drop the white, glimmering gem in the snow. He winces in pain, red blood dripping from his wound.

“You really are nothing but a monster, Rubí, and no amount of playing hero will make that untrue. Your heart is blackened by a thirst for violence, I can see it in your eyes.”

Rue roars at him once more as he begins to fly off.

“You cannot stop me, not even with the help of your friends,” he taunted, “You all, along with this dirty world will come to an end, just as it should have years ago.”

Rue tried to give chase once more, but Sonic tackled them to the ground. Their tail, now much longer with a blade-like tip, thrashed about as they pushed him off and pinned him down on the cold snow. They snarled, baring their teeth. Strange markings glow across their midnight fur, on their arms and paws and around their face, false eyes staring at him from nearly every angle. They held him down, their paws pinning his arms and keeping him from fighting back.

“Rue! What are you doing! Snap out of it!” Sonic cried.

Rue could only growl in response.

She raised a paw, brandishing claws glowing cyan as she prepared to strike. There, Sonic took the opening to push her off of him, getting back onto his feet and building distance between them.

But it’s not enough to keep her away. She charges, biting down on his arm with a force he’d never imagined possible from a living being. Her teeth pierce his skin, tear his flesh. There’s a sickening crunch, and green blood spills, staining the snow under them.

Sonic’s mind starts to fog.

NO! Focus! She needs help! You can’t lose it now! You can’t!

He punches them straight in the gut with as much strength as he could muster in that moment, causing them to release his arm and stumble back. Green blood dripped from their mouth as they continued to snarl at him.

Now’s his chance to stop this.

“Rubí! Listen to me!”

They froze as their real name left Sonic’s mouth.

He charged towards them, and wrapped his arms around their shoulders, knocking them back onto the snow. He hugged them tight as they both lay on the ground. Time seems to stop moving at that moment.

“Easy. It’s over. You’ve already chased him off. We’ll catch up to him when we can,” he spoke into their ear in as soft and gentle of a tone as he could, “I promised you, didn’t I? I promised that we’d stop him before he could hurt anyone else. And we will. But we can’t do that if you’re like this.”

He heard footsteps in the snow. Tails, Specter, and Phantom calling their names. But they seemed distant, muffled by the pounding of his own heart, and Rue’s.

“I know you don’t really want to hurt me. You’re just angry. You’re lashing out because you couldn’t catch him.” He looked up at their face, and they stared back with an unreadable expression. “You let him get to your head. That’s okay. But let’s take a breather and figure out where to go from here, ‘kay?”

They whimper and whine, returning his embrace as their fur slowly turns back to its usual dark teal. He feels their tears, warm and wet, falling onto his skin, and they begin to sob into his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the searing pain of his wounded arm, and just let them cry for as long as they needed.

#project: new moon #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the werehog #miles tails prower #sonic oc #sonic au #sonic fanfic #sonic fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

12 notes · View notes