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damienthepious · 4 years ago

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time 2 be emotionally fraught baybeeeeee happy LKT!

Going Through Changes, Ripping Out Pages (chapter 10)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, (uhhhhh sorta), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (WE WILL GET THERE…… EVENTUALLY)

Summary: Lord Arum wakes to discover that some things have changed while he slept. Namely, there is a human in his bed.

Chapter Summary: Damien tests his theory.

Chapter Notes: inconsistent chapter length be damned!!! i do what i want! [kicks desk] anyway happy LKT, i love youu

They make poor progress with their research, that morning. Arum is-

He is clearly acting grumpier than he feels, a defensive layer of prickliness that Rilla really isn't surprised by, but she suspects that the lizard slept far less than he implied, too. He looks shadowed and tense in a way that reminds her distinctly and unpleasantly of how he looked the first time she stayed here in the Keep, and she doesn't think that's just because that's basically the mindset that he's in. She knows how his tail coils when he's far too tired, by now.

A lot of the problem with their research is that monsters seem to keep their methods of creating curses pretty damn close to the chest, and Arum himself isn't really in the business. His creations have always been a lot more physical. "Practical," in his words, though Rilla quietly disagrees that a decent chunk of his nonsense projects are practical.

Arum knows a few ways to get rid of hexes and jinxes- ritual words, ceremonies of cleansing, magic potions, the sorts of things that usually frustrate Rilla out of her mind with their inconsistency. Rilla's frustration doesn't much matter, though, because Arum is convinced that none of the above would be effective against a curse like this anyway. A magical-herb-infused bath might knock out some minor blight, but this? It's too deep.

... They do test a few smaller ideas anyway, if only to see if they might weaken whatever it is that's locking Arum's memories away (none of them say, out loud, the possibility that the memories are gone, not just inaccessible), but after each minor test Arum only sags further and shakes his head.

By midday they're all... disheartened, to use a Damien word. Arum more than her and Damien, if Rilla's read is correct. Again- it really doesn't help that he's so obviously exhausted. Damien meets Rilla's eyes over the small lunch the Keep brings for them (it's been picking out meals that it knows are each of their favorites, Rilla is sure that it's deliberate- she thinks she oughta take an aside with the Keep later today, thank it a bit more directly, check in to make sure it's doing alright, considering-), and Rilla knows he's thinking of their conversation this morning. Rilla still isn't enthusiastic about the idea, it seems dangerous, for a number of reasons, but-

Arum pulled Damien back to them with a duel, didn't he?

And, frankly, it's not like Rilla has any better ideas. None that don't involve a near-impossible infiltration and- well. Murder, theoretically.

She catches Damien's eye again as they clean up their bowls, and she gives him a nod, and as much of a smile as she can manage.

Damien nods in return, his expression nervous but steady, and then he takes a deep breath.

"I may have an idea," Damien says, and Rilla's heart thuds at the way Arum's face flashes with hope before he buries it in a frown. "Would you mind," he continues, "if we were to retreat to the greenhouse, to discuss it?"

Arum's frown deepens, clearly unhappy not to just out with it right now, but he turns and gestures with a hand for the Keep to open the way.

"A duel," Arum drawls, and the little knight does a poor job of hiding the way Arum's tone makes him wince. Or, perhaps he did not intend to hide it at all. "So you wish to do precisely what the Senate wanted us to, then?"

"By no means," the knight says, jerking his head sharply. "It may be a foolish idea-"

"The reasoning is sound," Amaryllis interrupts, firm, and the knight glances towards her with a grateful smile.

"Well- I hope so. I thought, perhaps- we duel often, you see, to keep our skills sharp, to settle inconsequential matters, to-" he cuts himself off, his cheeks darkening, and then he shakes his head. "So- so I thought, perhaps, that if we cannot strike upon a magical means of weakening this affliction, then maybe there could be a more physical method. If your body remembers- remembers warmth enough to trouble your sleep when you are lacking, then... perhaps your body may remember the strain of our physical activities together as well."

Arum frowns, both grateful and furious with the poet for avoiding the mention of what precise heat his body remembers. It is embarrassing in the extreme, of course, but it is almost more embarrassing that Damien seems to know to avoid specificity in the matter. "So you believe that we may... knock some sense into me, as it were."

Amaryllis chokes a laugh, which is oddly gratifying. Damien, for his part, looks mournful again, wide-eyed and worried.

"I have no desire to hurt you," he insists.

"And yet you wish to fight."

"To duel," Damien says. "To spar, if that phrasing is more... acceptable."

"We do this often?" Arum says, doing nothing to hide his skepticism, and then he eyes Damien, unarmed as he is. Arum, on the other hand, is armed. Excepting his time in their room the night before, his knives have been carefully strapped to his person since the Keep allowed Damien to leave, the first morning they woke together. He... believes that they are earnest, now, yes, but he is not so foolish as to leave himself without defense.

"Like, kind of annoyingly often," Amaryllis says, leaning against a thick tree trunk and crossing her arms over her chest, and the poet's lips press together in something of a pout. "I don't really get it, but yeah."

"It-" Damien furrows his brow, and then he sighs. "If you think the idea ridiculous, or if- if you do not trust that I will not hurt you- if you do not agree, Arum, then obviously we will not try it. We can find another thread to pull, for the afternoon. I only thought-"

"I am unconcerned that you will harm me, little poet," Arum says, halfway to a snarl, and Damien stills, his lips pressing together in an expression that Arum cannot quite read. "And I do think the idea is ridiculous. However..." he growls, looking away for a moment. However. The story they and the Keep have told him piecemeal over the last day-and-half still spins uncertainly in Arum's mind, the idea that he and this slight, soft-eyed little human have clashed steel before and matched evenly-

Arum still cannot quite accept it. He believes them, trusts the pain in their eyes if nothing else, but the idea that he would have lost to so gentle a creature- it simply does not make sense. A duel, a contest of skill, now- Arum cannot say if he is at all convinced it may do anything to loosen the grip of this curse, but nevertheless Arum is tempted. If only, he thinks, for the chance to prove himself.

"However?" Sir Damien echoes, softly, and Arum snaps back to himself.

"If the both of you think it may have a chance..." he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "It is worth exploring, I suppose."

"Again," Amaryllis says, lifting a pointed hand, "it makes sense, but I don't think we should-"

"Get our hopes up," Arum finishes. "Obviously."

Amaryllis' lip curls up, not quite a smile, and then she shoots a look towards Damien. "Be careful, remember," she says sternly, and the poet presses a hand over his heart.

"I swear," he says. "Always."

The look on Amaryllis' face at that leads Arum to suspect that the poet is not, in fact, always careful. Arum frowns.

"How shall we begin, then? I imagine you suggested that we come to the greenhouse because it will give us ample space, correct?"

"Yes." Damien gives a small sort of smile. "The game is to try to pin each other. Despite Rilla's- frequent suggestions, we have... not yet transitioned to sparring with practice weaponry. Bladed combat is your preferred, and I am rather flexible, so typically we duel with knives." He pauses. "Yours, if you would be willing to allow me the use of one. Otherwise- well, I could ask the Keep to allow me to step into Rilla's hut for a moment to retrieve-"

"We may as well do this properly," Arum says, shrugging, and then he draws one of his knives and, on a strange sort of whim, whips it out to sink into the bark of the tree beside Damien's head. The knight does not flinch, surprisingly, though he does blink as the Keep warbles a chastising note. "Oh be quiet," Arum mutters. "The bark is thick, it will be fine."

Damien turns, carefully pulling the blade back out, his fingers curling around the hilt with a reverent sort of delicacy.

Arum unstraps one set of hilts, hanging them from another tree nearby, then draws his remaining blade, holding it unthreateningly at his side as he spares a look towards Amaryllis.

"Your priorities fascinate me, just so you are aware," he mutters. "Though you did not deign to ask, I will assure you as well that I will exercise caution. I will not cause the poet any undue harm."

Amaryllis presses her lips together, nearly smiling. "Appreciate that," she says after a moment, her tone very strange, and then she shoots Damien a look.

The poet shakes his head. "Keep, if you would?"

Arum blinks, but the Keep sings a note of acknowledgment and shutters the skylights slightly, dimming the greenhouse to a more muted palette.

"So no one may claim that the sun were in his eyes," Damien explains with a wry smile, and Arum wonders briefly which of them that particular amendment were made in deference to. "Is there anything else you need? A moment to collect yourself, or-"

"I am fully prepared to best you," Arum snaps, unsettled by the gentle concern in the poet's voice. "Are you ready?"

The poet inhales very slowly, exhales tranquility, my Saint in a breath, and then his lips tilt into a crooked smile.

"I am," he says.

"You are remarkably amenable to the situation," Arum says slowly, stalking closer, "considering that I did, in fact, nearly kill you yesterday morning. I feel I should give you another guarantee, for the sake of your comfort. I will not hurt you beyond what is necessary to beat you. You need not fear for your life."

"You sound so utterly certain," Damien says, a grin flashing across his face despite the pain in his eyes. "So confident that you will be the one of us who needs show mercy."

"I've never lost, little poet," Arum growls, stiff, and Damien glances for half a moment towards Rilla, and then he laughs.

"Ah, I am terribly sorry to disabuse you of that notion," he says, and Arum's scales prickle at the indulgent tone in his voice, "but that is no longer quite true, I should say."

Arum pauses, stewing in that assertion for a moment before he retorts. "He may have," he rumbles, attempting to smooth over his discomfort with cool, patient anger. "I have not."

"Hm," Damien says. "Yes, not to your memory, I suppose. I am sorry as well that we shall be so unevenly matched in this endeavor, friend monster."

"I will not tie two hands behind my back if you think that will make us more even, littl-"

"Oh," Damien laughs, "no, rather the opposite, in fact. It might be rather more fair if we gave you all the rest of your knives to match my one, I think, but I imagine that may injure your pride rather more than you would allow."

Arum pulls his head back, his lip curling over his teeth in a shocked sort of fury. "What?"

"I've a rather distinct advantage, I'm afraid."

Arum's eyes scrape down Damien's body, his lithe frame, his loose, unprepared stance, the knife held so casually in one delicate hand, and then raise up again to his smug smile. Arrogant thing, he thinks, hissing disdainfully. In need of a lesson. Arum should end this foolish little duel before it begins.

Arum darts forward, faster than a human should be able to see, but-

But Damien moves, a breath before Arum does, backstepping around Arum's lunge without even raising his knife.

"Ah," he says calmly as Arum exhales in shock. "So, we have begun, then? Very well, Lord Arum."

In the heartbeat it takes for Arum to regain his senses, the knight shifts his stance and raises his arm, scraping the length of his blade along Arum's own in a fluid motion, and as Arum flinches back Damien takes a calmer step away and assumes a stance-

A stance that tickles familiar in the back of Arum's mind.

A distraction, whether intentional or not, and Arum raises his blade again just in time to block Damien's first quick, testing strike. Arum growls instinctively, and the knight's mouth curves into a small, strange smile as he swings his knife again, an elegant practiced arc, and Arum blocks, catching the blades together.

"I've had quite a bit of practice," Damien says evenly, over the light scraping of metal on metal, "dueling with you, friend lizard." He angles his body, moving his wrist in such a way that he uses their clashing blades to draw Arum's face closer to his own, a molten heat in his eyes that Arum cannot seem to look away from. "Perhaps I should go easy on you, let you warm up a little."

Damien disengages, spinning as he steps away again, his footwork light as the wind, and it is not until he is no longer so close, until he is no longer invading Arum's space with his heat and his musical voice, it is not until he is out of reach that Arum realizes what the poet actually said. He snarls, sputtering as he brandishes his knife between them.

"Go easy on me? Arrogant- absurd, I do not need such practice to simply skewer such a foolish creature-"

"Go on and prove it, then," Damien says, his voice warm and unbothered.

Arum snarls again, crouching lower and watching the human step carefully, edging in an arc around Arum, and then Arum spins, whipping with his tail-

Sir Damien jumps over the tail with ample time, and he does not pause in the descent, swinging his arm down, the blade flashing, and Arum barely deflects the blow, and he needs to roll away to avoid Damien's next two quick strikes.

"Ah, yes," Damien grins wide as he continues to flash his wrist out, relentless as Arum blocks and parries and skips back, trying to get out of range. "It took some time to learn to anticipate that one, I will admit. You've certainly put me on my back more than once with that trick- though you've since needed to find means a bit more clever-"

"Must you-" Arum hisses, ducking, spinning, this little knight is quick, not as fast as Arum in technicality but with each movement Arum makes, Damien aims a blow towards whatever new opening Arum makes. "Must you chatter so, even-" another gasp, and then Arum leaps aside, putting enough space between Sir Damien and himself that he can catch his breath, can manage a sneer. "Not even in this do you cease prattling?"

"If I have breath enough to speak," Damien says, twirling Arum's knife absently between his fingers, "why should I not? I'm quite enjoying my time."

The knight's cheeks are flushed, just barely dark, but his aforementioned breath is even and easy and Arum hisses to hide his own gasping. "Are you?" Arum growls, and something in his stomach twists at Damien's warm smile.

"I always do," he says with a shrug, and then he darts forward, his next set of strikes less swift, but more forceful, more precise. "The exhilaration, the adrenaline of combat, but with the assurance of safety, the knowledge that it will end in laughter, rather than blood- oh, yes, I always take a rather great deal of pleasure in our time together, Lord Arum."

Arum tries to focus on his movements, on holding his ground enough that Damien cannot begin to crowd him backwards again. His words are- distracting, however.

"Is this- your tactic, then? Chattering away, sapping focus-"

"If you cannot focus on your blade and my words at the same time, Lord Arum-"

Arum swings his knife out viciously at that, and Damien grins hard as he spins out of the way. "Ah, there you are-"

His words are distracting- Arum steps back, steps back again, knows that he is losing ground. Damien lashes out, a strike Arum realizes he will not be able to counter, and the lizard throws himself backwards instead, unaware enough of his surroundings that he does not notice the tree behind him until his shoulder collides with it painfully.

"Ah-"

"Oh," Damien pauses, his eyes widening in concern, "oh- are you alright? I didn't mean-"

"Don't patronize me," Arum snaps, ignoring the bruising sting and darting forward. He swings his arm, their blades ringing against each other once, twice, and then on the third blow Damien pushes back enough that they are pressed close, their metal meeting between them with the edges of their blades scraping in a discordant song.

Damien twists his blade oddly against Arum's own, catching the hilts together and wrenching Arum's wrist at an odd enough angle that the lizard needs to lean his body forward to avoid dropping the hilt in pain.

Damien is too close, suddenly, pressing forward at the same time that Arum does, and then he maneuvers his leg just as Arum tries to step away, hooking his ankle behind Arum's and simply allowing Arum's own attempted movement to unsteady him, making his tail swing in a wild arc as he raises his arms to attempt to rebalance, but then-

Damien places his free hand, palm open, directly over Arum's heart, and pushes.

Arum's back hits the dirt before he fully knows what happened, breath escaping in a rush and his knife flying aside with a dull bouncing thud against the ground, and then Damien drops over him, knees on either side of his waist, pinning his lower arms against him as the knight presses his free arm over Arum's sternum like the trunk of a tree, holding him down.

Arum can hardly breathe, not from the pressure but from the surprise, from the rush, from the heat of Sir Damien crowding so exquisitely close, and the knight's eyes are bright and focused and intense. Then, Sir Damien raises his other hand.

The one with which he holds Lord Arum's knife.

Damien swings the blade down, and Arum remembers with self-loathing viciousness the burnt letter from the Senate, remembers the hateful whispery certainty of the hand which wrote the human infection will destroy you-

Arum closes his eyes.

He feels the rush of air on the scales of his face, hears a dull thunk, but-

No pain. No bloom of heat, no pulse of awareness of the blade plunging into his shoulder, his chest, his neck, and his eyes flutter back open in confusion to see how in the name of the Universe the human managed to miss-

The knife is planted in the dirt beside Arum's head; he can see the reflection of his own wide eye in the sheen of the blade. Damien is much closer now- necessary, of course, considering his grip on the hilt, but- but Arum can feel the way his chest moves with his panting breaths, can taste the adrenaline and sweat on the air, can hear Damien's heart, pounding steady, a sturdier beat than the frantic race of his own. The poet stares down at him, his eyes hot and hypnotic, and whatever biting comment Arum intended to make about Damien's aim dies on his tongue before he manages to open his mouth.

"Well, well," the poet says, and his voice is a low, sonorous, strange drawl as he leans heavy over Arum, one hand planted palm-flat to the dirt next to his face, the other (the hand that planted the knife on the other side) trailing up his shoulder, towards his neck. "It looks like the smallest trap is the one you finally fell for."

"I-" Arum blinks. "What?"

"And now," Damien continues, his sharp eyes flicking between Arum's own, "here you are, pinned beneath my claws..."

Damien's hand trails up his neck, his expression far more focused, now, than it had been during the fight, and then he grips Arum's throat, firm and possessive but not hard, not impeding his breath, and Arum- Arum's heart rushes prey-quick even as he understands what Damien is doing.

The words- the nonsense words, not nonsense at all- they must be what Arum himself had said, during one of their duels. Coming from this fierce, surprisingly skillful little creature, they make Arum feel flushed with heat that seems to pulse out from every single inch of his body where Damien touches him.

"A-ah," Arum manages, but not much besides. He cannot even convince himself to struggle against Damien's weight, Damien's hands.

Damien's expression shifts when he realizes that Arum has caught on. He leans closer, his grip on Arum's throat pressing gently to tilt his head to the side, letting him lean closer to murmur in Arum's ear.

"I love to make you panic," he breathes, and Arum flexes all his claws at once. "The sound of your pounding heart makes my stomach growl."

Arum-

Laughs. He cannot quite help himself, despite the fact that his heart is, in fact, pounding, and Damien blinks in surprise.

"Did I- did I really- I said that to you?" he manages, still feeling too hot, too crowded. Sir Damien is... very close.

The poet manages something like a smile, then, though he does not look happy. Arum imagines that he had been hoping... well, hoping that his words would trigger what the physicality of their duel did not. "You did," he says quietly, and his grip on Arum's neck softens, his thumb brushing along Arum's jaw in a way that makes his scales tingle with electricity. "Before you decided not to kill me."

Arum... is not quite certain, about that. Arum knows himself- likes to think he knows himself, at the very least, knows the layers of his lies, and if Damien's words are truly an echo of Arum's in the past, then Arum does not think he could have more obviously begged the knight to acknowledge him, to banter back, if he had outright said so. Could not have said that he preferred Damien alive more blatantly if he had presented his own neck for the blade instead. Perhaps he had not admitted it even to himself, yet, but-

"Ridiculous," he mutters, low and less biting than he would prefer.

Damien leans back, just slightly, his tawny eyes flicking between Arum's own, and his expression softens from his strained smile, going earnest and mournful and strange. He hesitates, biting his lip, and then he lifts his hand from Arum's jaw, drifting his fingers up the scales of Arum's cheek. His touch still feels- hot, sparking, as if the contact were prompting a small fissure of magic at the point they meet, and Arum holds his breath so that he does not gasp, instead.

Damien swallows, his heart beating a little faster, and then his lips part.

"Do you want... to try this?" Damien murmurs, his voice thick with sorrow and desire. "To try... us?"

Arum's breath catches in his throat, and he cannot seem to tear his eyes from Damien's-

He realizes, after a heartbeat, that he does not want to.

"I..." Arum swallows, tries to feel anything besides desperate and wanting. He tries, but- but their eyes, their voices and their tears and their hands- the sound of their hearts- the way the keep reaching for him- "I- I do. I do, Damien, I-"

Arum leans up. He feels- cracked through, his defenses tattered beyond salvage, if they want him- if they truly want him- Arum wants to try, to see if he is capable of earning the loyalty and affection these creatures continue to offer, again and again despite how viciously Arum pushes their hands aside. He wants to. He leans up, because he wants Damien to lean down.

Damien's eyes widen, his breath hitching, his muscles tensing, and Arum realizes with a sensation akin to his stomach falling through the floor that Damien's words were not the true question he assumed they were, not now, not in this moment, they were only-

Another echo. Another attempt to trigger a memory that Arum simply does not have. He was not asking- he does not want-

He does not want me, Arum thinks. He wants back only what he once had.

Arum drops his head, his horns pressing indents into the dirt beneath him, and he closes his eyes. Foolishness- foolishness he cannot even deny, now, and for what? For Damien to flinch away from him, to furrow his brow and pull back-

"Off," Arum manages through his teeth. "You've won."

"Arum, I'm-"

"Get off," he snarls, and when he feels Damien flinch above him he adds, quietly, "please."

The knight pulls away. Arum feels cold, and he hears Damien's feet scuffing in the dirt as he moves to stand again, and Arum forces himself to open his eyes again. He curls up, rolling to sit so he can rub at his shoulder for a moment, pretending to test the bruise to give himself a moment to breathe. His eyes flick up despite himself, just as Amaryllis reaches to grip Damien's wrist, squeezing with her lip twitching in a small, comforting smile, and some of the churning despair on Damien's face eases, and then they both look towards him, and Arum drops his eyes back to the dirt with his insides burning, and he hates-

He wants-

He digs his claws into the dirt and then shoves himself to stand. He brushes off his cape, and reaches down to retrieve his blades to slip back into their sheaths.

"Well," Arum says. "I suppose we should be grateful that none of us got our hopes up."

[End Notes: I really don't know very much about How Fighting Works, forgive me <3 ]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #going through changes ripping out pages #aaaaaAAAaaaAAAA DUEL TIME

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thesimpanions · 4 years ago

Photo

⭐️ N E W V I D E O ⭐️ The Sims 4 | SONGWRITER 🎶| CAS & Lookbook + CC Links

Hey there! Today we're creating a beautiful sim who inherited her love for music from her dad. ♥

▶️https://youtu.be/LgV58GrhwJY

CC Links

GENERAL Ear Preset: https://luumiasims.com/post/174006296684/introducing-custom-sliders-and-presets-for-the Lip Preset: https://sammmi-xox.tumblr.com/post/177741866142/puffy-lippreset-pack-stuff-all-ages-and-genders Nose Preset: https://vibrantpixels.tumblr.com/post/187502400117/lookbook-nose-preset-weird-combination-i Teeth: https://mellouwsim.wixsite.com/mellouwsim/post/highbeam-3d-teeth Eyes: https://baieyu.tumblr.com/post/179216040640/still-feel-eyes-previews-heavily-insp-by Catchlight: https://simulationcowboy.tumblr.com/post/183759640852/inspired-by-okyio-and-the-eyes-in-her-edits Skinblend: https://glimersims.tumblr.com/post/621809917258596352/froggy-skinblend-heres-my-first-skinblend Freckles: https://maxismatchccworld.tumblr.com/post/186600666900/maple-freckles?is_related_post=1 Face Shine: https://nesurii.tumblr.com/post/182508085171/amaryllis Dimples: http://sims4nexus.com/?p=3906 Tattoo: https://cowplant-pizza.tumblr.com/post/189437039385/flower-fairy-a-tattoo-set-this-set-comes-with-10 Edges: https://setsuki.tumblr.com/post/178360831744/full-scalp-with-edges-100-followers-gift-7-8 Nose Shader: https://simfileshare.net/download/977930/

MAKE UP Eyebrows: https://stretchskeleton.tumblr.com/post/186988284013/12-maxis-match-y-eyebrows-18-ea-like-swatches Lashes: http://kijiko-catfood.com/3d-lashes-version2-for-skin-detail-experimental/ Eyeshadow: https://crypticsim.tumblr.com/post/613974349191561216/the-blossom-collection-this-collection-is-a-collab Eyeliner: https://crypticsim.tumblr.com/post/190594545470/the-lotus-collection-inspired-by-the-lotus-flower Eyeliner: https://simandy.tumblr.com/post/171605780781/made-an-eyeliner-actually-4-but-yea Lipstick: https://sagittariahx.tumblr.com/post/178538243045/50-shades-of-nude-lipstick-download-sfs-buy-me Lipgloss: https://alhajero.tumblr.com/post/185072913035/nice-gloss-ugly-gif-or-at-least-i-think Lipgloss: https://maxismatchccworld.tumblr.com/post/611190364141944832/sunlitcrys-a-gift-bundle-just-for-you-my-1000 Lipgloss: https://alhajero.tumblr.com/post/183977915480/this-are-lazy-previews-yes-but-even-though Blush: https://love4sims4.tumblr.com/post/178639316953/voidboredom-%EF%BE%9Fprecious-blush-a-full-body Blush: https://www.patreon.com/posts/36800164 Nails: https://simlaughlove.tumblr.com/post/163327412088/sll-rainbownails

EVERYDAY Hair & Scrunchie: https://glumbut.tumblr.com/post/621650033342906368/winslow-simple-sleek-hair-in-three-variants-comes Top: https://www.patreon.com/posts/38346150 Skirt: https://aharris00britney.tumblr.com/post/620123767733141504/eco-lifestyle-add-ons Shoes: https://sims4nexus.tumblr.com/post/184857327879/caroline-sandals-for-ladies-of-all-ages-go-to Earrings: https://www.thesimsresource.com/downloads/details/category/sims4-accessories-female-earrings/title/rina-earrings--christopher067/id/1487790/

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ACTIVE Hair: https://glumbut.tumblr.com/post/621650033342906368/winslow-simple-sleek-hair-in-three-variants-comes Top: https://dear-solar.tumblr.com/post/187077139650/dear-solar-the-chuuuuu-collab-this-is-a-korean Bottom: https://grimcookies.com/post/186093894930/its-here-this-cc-set-is-the-conclusion-of-months Shoes: https://tunayegit.tumblr.com/post/616484713367060480/chonk-sneakers-so-i-didnt-like-how-the-sneakers

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mercurryblack · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4: Sardion

As LLAC prepares for their first day on the job, Headmaster Lionheart pays the team a visit.

❃❃❃

“Come on, already! They said ‘bright and early’!”

The next morning had dawned, and Team LLAC had decided to start it early— involuntarily, for the most part. Lillian had woken up the rest of her team just as the first rays of sun had come across the horizon, before the skies had even started to turn blue.

Amaryllis was in the dorm’s bathroom combing her red mess of bed-head out of her eyes, while Cait stood by her side at the sink, slowly brushing their teeth. Hattie, the worst morning person of the team, was blearily attempting to open a can of flash-brewed coffee, still clad in her pajamas and lopsided nightcap. She would have met with more success had she actually been holding the aluminum container upright; instead, she continued to scrabble around the bottom of the can, entirely unaware of the conspicuous lack of a pop-tab in her drowsy state.

Lillian, on the other hand, had already thrown on her outfit and was leaning against the doorframe of the dorm’s entrance by her elbow, lazily tapping her finger to her skull as she waited on her teammates. Before she could badger them again, however, her train of thought was interrupted by three knocks on the door.

“Who could be calling on us THIS early?” Amaryllis asked bemusedly, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“I’ll have a look.” Lillian said, turning around to open the door.

Her eyes widened when she saw who the visitor was. Standing on the other side of the door was Leonardo Lionheart, the headmaster of Haven Academy. He was in full uniform and appeared wakeful— evidently, he had risen well before LLAC. Seeing him in the mirror, Cait and Amaryllis stopped their personal ministrations and turned around.

Hattie, unaware in her morning delirium, continued to hopelessly fiddle with the can.

“Oh! And just where might you be preparing to go, Miss Armilde?” he inquired in a pleasant tone, his lion tail gently swaying from side to side. “The breakfast hall won’t open until an hour from now.”

“Uh… Uhm…” Lillian hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Admittedly, while she knew that they would have had to meet soon regarding the assignment, she was quite surprised that he had come down to speak to them personally. She had assumed he would have sooner called LLAC to his own office.

Lionheart gently chortled. “A rhetorical question, Miss Armilde. I’m already well aware where you’re going.” The headmaster tilted his head, glancing over Lillian’s shoulder through the doorway. “May I come in for a moment?”

“Gllmmbbhhllbb.” Cait attempted to reply from across the room, but their mouth was still full of toothpaste.

“…Please do, Professor.” Lillian said, opening the door wider for him as she stepped to the side.

“Thank you.” Lionheart walked in and gently sat down on the foot of the bed closest to the door. “Good morning, you four. I’m very sorry to drop by so early in the morning. I know you’re supposed to have your rest today, but I was approached yesterday evening by Sardion Sarikaya and Rudyard Millard, and they proposed something to me that concerned you.”

Finally alerted by the headmaster’s distinct voice, Hattie rubbed her eyes as she tried to wake herself. “Th— gghhhh— th’ mrrdrr caze?” she asked, her voice slurred.

“Precisely, Miss Lazuli,” Lionheart continued as he clasped his hands in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees. “You all have been officially recommended to aid in a confidential criminal case that the Mistral Police are handling.” He paused to draw in a long breath, as if contemplating his decision. “Now, I’m not usually the one to let my students go on dangerous missions like this before they graduate, but Sardion and Rudyard made some strong arguments on your behalf— especially so for the latter. And given that, along with his reputation at Haven… well, I have decided to make an exception in this case for your team.”

“You’re saying…?” Lillian asked hopefully.

Lionheart nodded pensively. “I’m here to hear it come from yourselves that you want to undertake this mission. However, before you answer, I will ask you to remember that a large part of a Huntsman’s life is comprised of uncertainty. I don’t want to cause you any undue alarm, but there is the chance that you may not come back from this.”

His eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly. “I know that you four are well-regarded here at the Academy, but the world outside the Kingdoms can be unpredictably harsh. Trust is not an easy thing to build, and it is even harder to maintain.”

“Believe me when I say that I speak from experience— Humans and Faunus alike can be just as bad, if not worse, than the Creatures of Grimm.” His expression turned melancholic, and he let out a long breath, as if the statement brought up certain memories best left forgotten.

The four of them fell quiet, unsure of how to respond. It was true that they’d never considered what an official mission would be like— Lillian was the only one with prior experience, having helped Rudyard over the past summer with a Village Security mission, and even that had only been fighting a few low-level Grimm. It was a comfort to know he’d be at their side this time around, but if trained killers were involved…

Lillian was the first of them to speak up, taking it as her duty as a leader to do so. “Headmaster, we’re more than ready to help Detective Yuen—” She began.

Lionheart raised a hand to halt her response. “That may be so, Miss Armilde. But are you prepared?” he asked. “After all, you’ll be graduating next year. Why not just wait to go on a mission like this until then, as qualified Huntresses?” he continued, though not for the sake of argument.

Lillian hesitated for a moment before answering. “…That’s true, Professor. But Rudyard Millard is like a father to me, and I know how much his teammates meant to him. I can’t let this pass me by, and neither can you.” She turned to the rest of her team, who all nodded in affirmation. “Plus… we’re already in our third year, and I doubt we’re going to learn how to handle missions like these any other way. Sure, there’s danger, but we’ve got two of Mistral’s best at our sides. We can do this. Not alone, but as a team.”

Cait puffed their chest out in an exaggerated manner. “And even then, I think our skills speak for ourselves. I’ve seen the odds that those underground Vytal bookies were placing on us, and they were very flattering indeed.” They chimed in, grinning.

Amaryllis gave a curt, confident nod. “Plus, as far as leaders go… well, we could do a whole lot worse, but there’s nobody else I’d rather have than my sister.” She said.

“Yeah!” Hattie exclaimed. “We’ll get to the bottom of this case without dying for our country!”

Chuckling gently, Lionheart felt a small feeling of pride swelling inside him. Lillian was right— with a case like this, would receive training from reality, not just from the academy textbook that described a Huntsman’s life.

In a way, seeing LLAC prepare stirred up vague recollections of SYBR, back in the halcyon days when he had served as Haven faculty, long before taking up the role of headmaster.

Before…

He recognized he hadn’t responded to her. “Ah, good answer, Miss Armilde. And fine spirit, you four.” He said, standing up from the foot of the bed. “Now, I suggest you all eat your fill when the cafeteria opens. You’ll need it for today.”

“Thank you for letting us go, Professor Lionheart.” Lillian remarked.

The headmaster reciprocated with a smile. “I wish you good fortune, Miss Armilde. Make Haven proud.” Lionheart waved goodbye before heading back down the hall.

Lillian gave a wave back, before seeing him out and beginning to close the door. Just as she had her hand on the doorknob, however, something caught the corner of her eye and she looked out once more to see Lionheart.

From what she could see as he turned the bend in the hall, his head was bent in sorrow, and his expression was falling.

She quietly assumed it was related to the news of SYBR, and gently closed the door.

***

After spending a full night in her office, Detective Yuen had finally finished the corkboard full of the potential clues related to the killings of Yaara Dailan and Berilo Gaspar. Red yarns adorned the board as they hung onto pins and thumbtacks of varying colors; connecting each point but hardly bringing forth a clear answer.

Yuen was good at her job— damn good, in her own opinion, but she’d never encountered a case quite like this. She was used to her cases unfolding themselves with questions and answers through investigation, but there wasn’t a single witness to question nor an item out of place at either scene. Plenty of questions, no answers whatsoever.

She was about to take a sip of her third coffee for the day when Sardion opened the door and made his way inside.

“Detective. Good morning.” he greeted.

Yuen quickly began to fix her uniform and hair before greeting him, in a haphazard attempt at professionalism. “Uh, good morning, Sir Sarikaya. Sorry about the mess, I’ve been working on the board.”

“S’ fine.” He replied. “Are you okay? If you didn’t get enough sleep last night, it might affect your day.” Sardion worried.

“Fine and dandy, Sir, thank you for asking. I managed to get a bit of sleep last night.” What she chose not to mention was that ‘a bit’ was little more than a half-hour power nap. Nevertheless, it was all she felt she needed for the day ahead.

“Have you made any advances in the case since yesterday?” inquired Sardion. While he was better off than Yuen, he hadn’t had much sleep either. He had lain awake, with the terrible thought of how his friends died echoing in his head. Yet he had not succumbed to despair— he could grieve later. Here and now, he had to be a leader to Rudyard and LLAC both.

“So far, not so much. I got a call last night from the coroner’s lab— the autopsy results came back. They confirmed the burn marks on Yaara were from some sort of unrecognized chemical, they said a ‘caustic peptide’. On the other hand, Berilo only had the slash wound, no burns.”

Yuen tapped a group of several photographs on the corkboard— closeups of the wounds the two had suffered. Sardion felt his breath hitch as he brought himself to look at the photos; it was horrible to imagine it, but seeing what had killed his teammates was ten times worse.

“What I find unusual about it is how anyone could enter Yaara’s home. All the possible entryways were closed, no signs of forced entry or tampering. There weren’t any fingerprints inside or outside the house except for her own.” Yuen continued.

“How about Berilo?” Sardion asked.

“His case was a forced entry. Whoever did it kicked the door right off its hinges, so they must have reached him quickly, since he was in the living room. We found a few bits of dirt that must’ve come from the killer’s footwear, but no prints.”

Sardion kept his hand rested on his chin, looking closely at other pictures of the crime scene. He didn’t see anything unusual either, but he knew that was only the case in the pictures. It would be a lot different when he got there.

The sound of the office door opening took his attention off the corkboard— Rudyard had just arrived. Sardion noticed that the man looked more like his usual self; the initial anger and pain appeared to have faded from his eyes.

“Hey, Rudyard… uh, feeling any better?” Sardion spoke cautiously, unsure how his teammate would respond.

The Huntsman nodded. “A bit. I had some time to process my thoughts after we spoke to Lionheart.” Slowly shifting into a chair beside Sardion, he continued, “I’m sorry that I acted the way I did yesterday. Right now, all that matters is justice for our teammates.”

Sardion gave him a soft clap on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Rudd. I wasn’t far from doing the same myself.” Turning back to Yuen, he asked, “Can you continue with the plan, Detective?”

Yuen nodded. “Well, as I was saying, there were new reports given to me by the autopsy lab. If you would look at the board I made over there, there are pictures of Yaara’s burn marks and the bloodstain analysis from Berilo’s home.” she said, pointing Rudyard to the corkboard where Sardion was looking.

“For now, we should go to the two crime scenes and give them a once-over. Maybe we’ll see something that the first investigators didn’t. The kids can take Berilo’s house, we’ll look over Yaara’s.” she continued. “We’ll be heading out in a few minutes. I just have to finish up some reports. You gentlemen can grab some food from the canteen downstairs. Also, aren’t we waiting for your proteges, Sir Rudyard?”

The mere mention of the word ‘proteges’ triggered Rudyard’s mind to go back to what had happened yesterday. He felt ashamed at his rash decision-making, spurred on in an irrational, emotional moment.

What the hell was I thinking, roping them into this so abruptly? He thought to himself

“Actually, it’s just—ah, never mind. They’ll be here soon. We talked to Lionheart last night, and he said he’d catch them before they left.” answered Rudyard.

It was too late to change his mind now, as he knew how much Lillian looked up to him, and that was enough to know that she wasn’t going to accept another change of plans.

He’d have to make it up to her for this— to the lot of them, really.

#team llac #team llac fic #lillian armilde #amaryllis armilde #cait miya #harriet lazuli #leonardo lionheart #agave yuen #team sybr #sardion sarikaya #rudyard millard #fanfic #fan fiction #rwby fan fiction #rwby oc #rwbyoc #rwby

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ernmark · 6 years ago

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A prompter who asked to remain anonymous requested:

If your prompts are still open I would ADORE a continuation of Damien on Mars with human Arum. I'd love to see a continuation of that world! I'm really enjoying Damien's internal struggles that are now more modern. I'm so curious how this would resolve into his romances.

I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing again, and this one in particular called out to me.

It’s a continuation of this snippet here.

For maybe the hundredth time that hour, the Keep reminds Arum to be careful.

He scowls at the confines of his hiding place. If it’s going to insist on micromanaging every step of this endeavor, it should have found itself a mechanical puppet so it could the job itself. But it didn’t-- supposedly it trusts him to take care of it and to send him out to do these tasks on its behalf, and supposedly that means it should trust him to do it without all this incessant prodding.

What does the Keep know, anyway?

It tells him to be careful and to take his time and all the while it can’t even hide the undercurrents of pain that fill its every thought. It might pretend to be all strong and noble, but he can feel that constant ache as if it was his own, his muscles calcifying and his skin turning hard and cold and his nerves freezing in the last signal they sent before sputtering out. It’s awful. It’s distracting. And it’s a mere phantom of what the Keep is feeling at this moment, and he can’t stand the thought of letting it continue a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

And that calls for drastic measures.

His research brings him to a small laboratory at the edge of the city’s dome, its walls reinforced with homemade fortifications to compensate where the aging shields fall short. A shiny, state-of-the-art lock stands out against the dented steel and carbon fiber of the door and the surrounding wood.

He almost snorts. That lock probably cost the scientist a fortune, and it still can’t keep him out for more than a few seconds against the Keep’s portal protocols.

Almost everything about the little laboratory seems cobbled together from spare parts, with only a few bits of shiny new equipment that seem out of place among the weathered resin and dented metal. For all its ramshackle quality, though, there’s an obvious order to it all. He would consider it more carefully, but the Keep sings a warning: someone’s coming.

He flicks off the light and hides behind a corner just as the door opens.

The door slides open, and the neon lights outside cast three long shadows across the floor: one in a wheelchair, one standing, the third obviously canine.

“So... maybe go stay with Damien for a little while?” says the first, almost wheedling.

The second scoffs. “I’m not going to stop my experiments--”

“Just for a little while,” the first says quickly. “Until Talfryn and I figure it out and save the day and...”

Arum stops listening. What that one thinks isn’t his concern. All that matters is that he doesn’t call for help.

He stays in the shadows, silent and still, until the scientist all but slams the door in the man’s face and says her last goodbyes through the crack.

There’s a long, low moment as she watches him leave through the monitor by the door frame.

“Finally,” she sighs, and for a moment her exhaustion is palpable. She flicks a switch, and one by one the outdated halogen lights flicker on, illuminating the laboratory in an unnatural yellow-blue glow. She steps past the corner where he’s hiding, too tired to notice him in her peripheral vision. Her long dark curls, once piled into a bun on her head, coil around her face like vines. Her clothes are covered in glitter and shine and flowing fabric, entirely too impractical for a controlled environment, but perfectly suited for the parties and parades that filled the city streets last night. That would certainly explain her exhaustion. Her comms sits in her ear, still alight with a dying charge.

Be careful, the Keep warns again.

He doesn’t need the reminder. He only has one chance at this.

She stops. Blinks. Turns.

“Who’s--”

He doesn’t let her finish the thought before he lunges at her. She twists out of his way, but not fast enough to save her comms from his grip.

She backs away, cowering as he rights himself.

“Get out of here,” she says, her voice shaking. “Now. I have a gun, and I’ll--”

“Do you mean this gun?” Slowly he draws her blaster from his pocket, a cold-blooded smile crossing his lips. It was easy enough to find among such meticulous organization.

The scientist stumbles, her back colliding with a filing cabinet-- and then her expression changes. “Actually, I meant this one.”

There’s no time to fumble with the stolen blaster. Just move: get out of the way, knock her down, disarm her--

But no matter how fast he is, the laser bolt is faster.

Arum wakes up with a flood of sensation: the burn of his overworked synapses around his implant, the ache of a fresh bruise where he hit a counter on his way down, the secondhand pain and fretting from the Keep, the taste of ozone in his mouth from the blaster, the smell of disinfectant, the discomfort of limbs twisted in ways they shouldn’t be and held in place by steel handcuffs.

His captor paces in front of him, cradling her comms to her ear.

“Hey babe,” she says with more chagrin than he would have expected for her triumph. “I wanted to give you a chance to say ‘I told you so’. It happened again.” The cry on the other end is so loud even Arum can hear it, though he can’t make out words.

“No, I’m not-- hey-- hey, take a second and breathe. I’m not hurt, okay? I’m fine. The backup blaster was right where you left it, charged and everything. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah, he’s still here. No, I don’t want to file a police report. What do you mean, why? Because the last time I did, the whole precinct showed up and confiscated half my stock as ‘evidence’, that’s why. But I would feel better if you were around. Okay? Okay. Thanks. I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

She ends the call, and he shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back against his chest.

“You can quit that already,” she says. “The stun will have worn off by now. I know you’re awake.”

He keeps pretending, just to spite her.

She huffs and rummages around in one of her cabinets. When she speaks again, her voice is immediately in front of him. “Look this way.”

She grabs him by the chin and lifts his head, and he can’t quite stop himself from opening his eyes, just in time to be blinded by a flashlight aimed directly into his cornea. He hisses and pulls back, blinking away the afterimage of the light.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums and proceeds to check his pulse. “How does your neck feel right now?”

“That’s no business of yours,” he snaps.

“You sure about that?” Two fingers under his jaw check his lymph nodes. “Because even legitimate cybernetics will malfunction after a stun blast, and the black market varieties tend to cut corners on the fail-safes. Depending on how deep it’s wired into your nervous system, it could be doing a lot of damage right now.”

As if the Keep would ever be so careless with his safety.

Arum sneers. “If you were so concerned, you shouldn’t have shot me.”

“If you hadn’t broken into my house, I wouldn’t have had to.”

“Well, if you hadn’t--” A renewed wave of pain pulses through the Keep, and Arum gasps under the force of it.

The scientist stands, her jaw set decisively. “Your cybernetic is going to keep doing that, and it’s going to keep getting worse.” She grabs some kind of mechanical device and reaches for his neck.

He jerks his head wildly to the side. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She’s patient, but impassive. “I get it. You’re in pain. The best thing we can do right now is shut down your cybernetic so we can degauss it and reboot it safely.” Her voice is so calm, so clinical, and it somehow makes the savagery of her words even worse. “I promise, it won’t hurt.”

Hurt?! Of what consequence is a little pain compared to severing his connection to his Keep? He’s never been without it, not even for a moment, not since he was a child-- what if it can’t be restored once the connection is broken?-- what if he loses it forever-- what if he can’t find his way back to it and it dies without him?--

The scientist leans in again, and he’s already planning his defense. She’s cuffed his hands, but his legs are still free. He’ll kick her legs out from under her. He’ll headbutt her if she gets too close. He’ll bite her fingers off. He’ll do anything-- everything-- whatever it takes.

But before she can make the attempt, a pounding comes on the door, followed by a muffled, frantic shout.

The scientist sighs. “Hold on.”

Before she can rise, the door slides open and a uniformed man rushes inside and descends on the scientist in a flurry of fluttering hands and babbling lips.

“Rilla!” he cries at ear-splitting volume. “My love, my light, my forever-flower-- are you hurt? I’m so sorry it took me so long to reach you, I came as fast as I could, but--”

“I told you, Damien, I’m fine.” She sets her hands on his shoulders and puts a healthier distance between the two of them. “Honestly, I’m a bit more worried about this guy. He’s got some kind of back-alley subcutaneous cybernetic, and that laser did a real number on him.”

Arum sincerely doubts that Damien heard a word of that. The moment their eyes met over the scientist’s shoulder, the police officer went pale and his eyes went wide.

“You,” Damien breathes, low and rough and far closer to the sounds he made during their fight the night before. “You-- you villain! You fiend! I let you go and this is what you do with your freedom?”

“I won that fight,” Arum grumbles.

Rilla looks from one to the other. “You two know each other?”

“We’ve met,” Arum says, in the same moment that Damien starts on another tearful tirade: “Rilla, my Amaryllis, my love, if I’d known he would come after you I never would have let him go, I swear it on my life, on my soul--”

She blinks. “Wait. So this was... what? Some kind of revenge?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Arum tells the officer. “I had no idea the two of you knew each other.” Maybe if he had, he might have looked harder for another scientist who fit Dr. Amaryllis Of-Exile’s qualifications. Bad enough when he had the memory of an impassioned knife-fight nagging at his focus; now he knows that the beautiful police officer who let him go is in a relationship, and with the woman he tried to kidnap, no less. All of this is a distraction that he doesn’t need.

His train of thought is derailed by another wave of pain from the Keep.

He doesn’t have time for this.

“Okay, then,” Amaryllis says, turning to face him again. “Then why are you here?”

“It hardly matters now, does it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Damien asks. “He came to rob you, like the last brigand who broke in here.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Amaryllis says. “The last one went in and out with as much as they could carry. This guy had time to find one of the blasters you left, but he didn’t take anything else. He was waiting for me.”

“You think he was after you?” Damien says something else, but Arum can’t hear the words over another wave of agony. When his eyes refocus, Damien is immediately in front of him, looking ill. “--swear, I didn’t touch him--”

“It’s the cybernetic,” Amaryllis kneels beside him, that infernal device in her hand once again. “Damien, I need you to hold him steady.”

Arum tries to squirm away, but callused hands close on the side of his head and keep him still.

“No!” he hisses, but it’s lost in another cry of pain. The Keep is dying, and he can feel it-- and if he doesn’t act now, that pain will be the last impression of it he’ll ever feel. “The implant isn’t broken-- the Keep is.”

Amaryllis hesitates. “The what?”

“That’s why I came here. That’s why I--” He shudders through another wave. It’s getting worse. “I need your help, or it’s going to die.”

#the penumbra podcast #second citadel #fanfiction #writing prompt

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fandorkofeverything · 5 years ago

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RdR2- Doubts And Scars Chapter Ten

/Katherine's P.O.V/

"Kat!"

"Katherine!"

I ignored the calls from Javier and Lenny and just kept riding. I didn't know where I was going, all I knew was I had to get out of there. My Father saw Mary Linton. Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

He's my father. She's his ex-fiancé. NOT his wife. I have no reason to meet her.

"Katherine! Wait." I pulled up as Lenny pulled Maggie in front of me, forcing me to stop. "Wait."

"Kat. Did he really see her?" Javier asked, trotting Boaz up beside me. I nodded, confirming his theory.

"Come back, Katherine. You shouldn't ride angry." Lenny told me, walking Maggie up next to me. I sighed and shook my head.

"Am I given a choice?" I asked, receiving a smile from Javier.

"Not really." He responded and I gave a small smile.

"Fine. I guess it can't be any worse than when I kissed Lenny." I quickly covered my mouth, realizing what I just said.

"YOU WHAT?!"

"WHEN'D YOU KISS ME?!"

I coughed a few times and moved my hair outta my face.

"When Dad, Lenny and I were drunk in Valentine…" I chuckled nervously, as Javier gave Lenny the death stare, and Lenny movie Maggie closer towards me, genuinely scared for his life.

"Oh! Look! There's camp! See you there!" Lenny exclaimed, running Maggie to camp.

"Do you have to scare the shit out of him?" I questioned Javier who shrugged, chuckling a bit.

"It's more of a hobby of mine." I rolled my eyes, but they widened when they save a certain black horse with a bald face marking. Micah. Micah Bell was back. Fucking hell.

I sighed, getting off of Black Rose and petting Baylock. I looked over and did see Micah's stuff by his tent. Double fucking hell.

"Katherine." Kieran's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, he walked over to me. "Are you alright?" Before I could say anything, he interrupted me. "And don't lie to me."

Accepting defeat, I nodded. "No. I'm not. My Dad saw my biological mother. And I'm not okay with it. She abandoned me. He doesn't know how that feels, to be left by your own mother."

"He didn't even tell you?" He asked and I shook my head. "That's a new low." I sighed, shaking my head.

"What's done is done. I just hope he doesn't see her again, if she's still around." I looked around, to see if anyone was listening. "A word of advice…. Keep a eye on Raine with Micah around. He's bad news." I told him and he narrowed his eyes.

"How so?" He asked and I sighed.

"Just take my word for it. He's a bad—"

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!" Raine's scream brought both of us to our senses, we ran to around the campfire, where the scream came from. Bubba was there, along with Raine and Micah. I can only imagine what happened. And it infuriated me.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind, Micah Bell?!" Bubba yelled; his arms wrapped protectively around Raine. Bubba Hosea isn't like everyone else in camp when it comes to Kieran and Raine. For one, he's very protective of his children. That's Arthur, John, Sean, Lenny, and the girls. Especially over me, since I'm his grandchild, but he knows I can take care of myself. If I ever turned evil, the whole world would be screwed. But Raine…. She's the youngest, only fourteen. A minor. Hosea was going to kill him. Kieran walked past me, gabbing his sister gently and wrapping her in a protective hug.

"What the hell is going on?!" He exclaimed, more directed at Micah than Hosea.

"Nothing! That girl is lying!" Micah scoffed and I crossed my arms, rolling my eyes.

"Mr. Bell, my sister ain't no liar." Kieran got down on his knees, so Raine would look him in the eye. "Did he touch you?" At those words, Raine nodded slowly, still sniffing from crying. "Where?" Raine motioned between her thigh and groin, and then to her chest area. Kieran's eyes were like fire. He lightly pushed Raine to the side, her setting herself beside Hosea.

Kieran walked up to Micah. It was the first time I realized just how tall he was. Micah, who was around 5"9 looked small compared to Kieran, who was maybe 6"4. If Micah was afraid, he didn't show it.

"I'll tell you this once. If you ever, touch my baby sister again. There's going to be one less person in this camp. Understand?" Kieran then started to walk away, Raine holding his hand.

"It's a pity big brother was there! You couldn't been mine tonight!" Kieran's face turned to rage. He let go of Raine's hand, and marched over to Micah. He then punched him square in the jaw! Nice!

"I asked twice." Kieran told him, walking over towards Raine again and taking her hand.

I smirked and looked at Micah.

"You got what you deserved. Hitting on a fourteen-year-old. What the fuck is wrong with you?" I growled, not showing any fear. As far as he knows, I have none.

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Miss Morgan!" He exclaimed, getting up from when Kieran punched him and walked away.

"Yeah, serves you right." I scoffed, not believing anything that douchebag said.

"You need to keep an eye of the three of them, Katherine." Bubba told me and I nodded.

"Right." I agreed, not taking my eyes off where the siblings left. "It's by job now. Nothing is going to happen to Raine. Or Kieran." I made my hands into fists, narrowing my eyebrows. "Not while I'm here."

"Good. That's what I'm counting on." Bubba put an arm around me, to whisper. "I'll tell Miss Grimshaw and Dutch that your solo task will be to watch Kieran and Raine." I nodded at that. good cover-up.

"You got it." I told him, walking away.

I saw my Dad by Aunt Abigail's tent and sighed. What's he doing now?

"You can take Katherine with you too." I paused at that. What am I doing?

"Okay, fine. Let's go, Kat." I froze and sighed. I have no idea what I'm doing. "We're going fishing with Jack. I gave a small smile. I did like Jack. He was technically my cousin, and I quite liked him.

Aunt Abigail thanked Dad, and walked back to her tent.

We went and got Splash and Black Rose, leading them to where Jack was.

"Whatcha up to?" Dad asked, as Jack was drawing with a stick in the ground.

"Playing."

"Anything fun?"

"I guess….." The kid looked bored out of his mind.

"You wanna come fishing with me and Katherine?"

"Fishing?"

"Shoah! You're- It's about time you've started to earn your keep." Really nice wording, Dad. Real nice.

"Okay."

"Let's go then! Let's go get your pole, you do have a fishing pole, don't you?"

"I sure do! Grandpa Hosea made me one."

"Good! Let's go get it then! Go catch us some fish!"

Jack ran off to get his fishing pole, and Dad turned towards me.

"I need to talk to you when we get back." I turned around and mounted Black Rose.

"I have nothing to say to you." I told him, ignoring what he did.

"Katherine, we need to discuss what happened."

"Well, guess what? I don't care. You want to fuck around with Mary Linton, go right ahead. That's probably how I got here in the first place anyways." I growled, glaring at him.

"Don't take that tone with me, missy! We need to talk about this, do you understand?"

"I understand plenty. I'm just not gonna do it. I'm an adult. I can make these decisions for myself." I clucked Rose on, walking her on. "And I'm NOT meeting her!"

I rode off towards the lake that I knew Dad liked to fish at. I sat down next to Black Rose and buried my head in my knees. He didn't understand. He didn't understand the pain it brought me. in my head, in my heart, in my life. Aunt Abigail and Aunt Susan are more mothers to me than Mary Linton will ever be. He doesn't realize that I already have a family within the gang. I don't need Mary Linton in this mess.

Dad and Jack had arrived after a while. Dad was teaching Jack to fish. He's not a very good fisherman, despite Bubba being the one who taught him. He taught me, and I'm pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.

After a while, Jack got kinda bored, and walked over towards me. he got down on his knees and began to make a flower crown out of amaryllis. I sat next to him, helping him out.

"I used to make these all the time when I was your age." I told him, sewing two flowers together.

"Really?" Jack asked and I nodded.

"Yes. I made them for Arthur, Hosea, Susan, your Mom, even your father." I told him, earning his attention.

"Did they wear them?" He asked and I chuckled.

"I can be very persuasive. Aunt Susan, Hosea and your mom were no problem. It was Arthur and your father I had to convince. Luckily, I have 'the look' mastered." I told him and he giggled, as he finished his flower crown.

"Hey, look at this!" Jack called out to my Dad, holding up his flower crown.

"Look at what?"

"This necklace I made." I smiled as Dad kneeled down towards us.

"Necklace? Sure, looks like the ones you used to make, Katherine." I smiled at that but hid it quickly. I know he's just trying to get on my good side.

"For Mama." He told him and Dad smiled.

"What a fine young man." I was on my feet quickly as I heard a strange voice. I saw two men, both in uniform. I grasped my knife-holder just in case. They started to walk towards us. "And it such complex circumstances. Arthur, isn't it? Arthur and Katherine Morgan?" I placed Jack behind me, not letting go of his hand.

"Who are you?" Dad asked, stepping in front of Jack and I.

"Yes, Arthur Morgan and his beloved daughter. Van Der Linde's most trusted associate. You've read the files. Typical case. Orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac silver tongue and matures into a degenerate murderer" I didn't like the way this guy talked. Or walked, for that matter. He doesn't know what he's talking about. "Agent Milton. Agent Ross. Pinkerton detective agency seconded to the united states government. Nice to finally meet. We know a lot about you." Milton sure talked a lot of shit.

"Do you?" Dad asked, I could tell he was scared for Jack and I though.

"You're a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. Five thousand dollars for your head alone." Milton told us and I shook my head, looking to the side. That's a lotta cash.

"Five THOUSAND dollars? For me?" Dad looked back at us and smirked. "Can I turn myself in?" I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing.

"We want Van Der Linde." Of course they do.

"Old Dutch? I haven't seen him for months." Dad lied. That's all he seems to do, nowadays.

"Is that so? Because I heard, a guy fitting his description robbed a train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass." Shit.

"Well, ain't that a little… Old fashioned nowadays?"

"Apparently not. Listen," Milton walked forwards, his hands up, showing no weapons. "This is my offer, Mr. Morgan. Bring in Van Der Linde. And you have my word, you won't swing."

"Well, I ain't gonna swing anyways, Agent, uh…"

"Milton."

"You see, I haven't done anything wrong. Aside from not playing the games to your rules!"

"Spare me the philosophy lesson, I've already heard it. From Mac Callander." Uncle Mac? Please don't tell me….

"Mac Callander?"

"He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him. So, really…. It was more of a mercy killing." No…. They already took Davey, Jenny, Bessie and Annabelle. They couldn't have taken Mac too! "Slow. But merciful." Dad threw his fishing pole down, scaring Jack.

"You enjoy being a Rich Man's toy, do you?!"

"I enjoy society, flaws and all! You people venerate savagery, and you will die! Savagely, all of you!"

"Oh, we're all gonna die, Agent."

"Some of us, sooner than others." Milton turned around and started to walk away. "Good day, Mr. Morgan."

"Enjoy your fishing, kid. While you still can." Ross told Jack and I growled; I was thankful when they left. jack asked Dad something, but I wasn't focused on that. Pinkertons were about. O'Driscolls were about. We're not safe here. We have to leave.

Sooner rather than later.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 #kieran duffy #micah bell #arthur morgan #abigail roberts #hosea matthews #sophia raine morgan #katherine morgan

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rafaelina-casillas · 6 years ago

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Flower Asks

@december-girl06 Thank you so much for asking me! *sending a bear hug*

Alisons: Sexuality? - Heterosexual.

Amaranth: Pronouns/Gender? - Sher/Her. Female

Amaryllis: Birthday? - 29th august

Anemone: Favorite flower? - Cala lily and white rose.

Angelonia: Favorite t.v. show? - BBC Sherlock, Hawaii Five-0, MacGyver, Hannibal

Arum-Lily: What’s the farthest you’d go for a stranger? - I don’t trust people so pointing the right direction 😁

Aster: What’s one of your favorite quotes?

Aubrieta: Favorite drink? - Coke, sparkling water.

Baby’s Breath: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? - Umm, I’ve probably kissed Mom so yes.

Balsam Fir: Have you ever been in love? - I had crushes but nothing more than that.

Baneberries: Favorite song? - The Point of No Return from The Phantom of The Opera

Basket of Gold: Describe your family. - Pretty ordinary with the occasional dosage of drama.

Beebalm: Do you have a best friend? Who is it? - That’s classified.

Begonia: Favorite color? - Black.

Bellflower: Favorite animal? - Wolves.

Bergenia: Are you a morning or night person? - Definetly a morning person.

Black-Eyed Susan: If you could be any animal for a day, what would it be? - A raven so I would what flying feels like.

Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up? - (That’s embarrasing) Michael Schumacher or Batman or an astronaut.

Bluemink: What are your thoughts on children? - Little monsters, I don’t like them.

Blazing Stars: What are you afraid of? Is there a reason why? - I’m afraid of snakes. Just look at them! Do I need a reason?

Borage: Give a random fact about your childhood. - I made plans with best friend to run away from my parents. He was suppossed to get a job as a cooker. And, yes, we were 10 years old then.

Bugleherb: How would you spend your last day on Earth? - Reading, I guess.

Buttercup: Relationship Status? - Forever single.

Camelia: If you could visit anywhere, where would you want to go? - Hogwarts or the set of Hawaii Five-0

Candytufts: When do you feel most loved? - When people show me that they trust me.

Canna: Do you have any tattoos? - No, I don’t like tattoos.

Canterbury Bells: Do you have any piercings? - No, I don’t like piercing either.

California Poppy: Height? - 158 cm or 5′2

Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts? - That’s complicated. Let’s say I can’t simply ignore all the stories about people seeing ghosts.

Carnation: What are you currently wearing? - My home clothes: a track suit.

Catnip: Have you ever slept with a nightlight? - I can’t remember for sure but I don’t think I have.

Chives: Who was the last person you hugged? - Mom.

Chrysanthemum: Who’s the last person you kissed? - Mom.

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font? - All the academia made me like Times New Roman. I also like Gothic fonts.

Columbine: Are you tired? - Yes.

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to? - The next semester.

Coneflower: Dream job? - University professor, editor and writer.

Crane’s-Bill: Introvert or extrovert? - MAJOR introvert.

Crocus: Have you ever been in love? - Nope.

Crown Imperial: What’s the farthest you would go for someone you care about? - Protecting them at all costs.

Cyclamen: Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? What was it? - I still have that animal! A small pink monkey, I love it too much.

Daffodil: What’s your zodiac sign? - Virgo.

Dahlia: Have you done anything worth remembering? - I don’t think I’ve done something that special.

Daisy: What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment? - Getting a place in a PhD programme.

Daylily: What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner(s)? - I’ll answer this when (if) I have a partner because I honestly don’t know how to answer this.

Dendrobium: Who is the last person that you said “I love you” to? - Don’t know.

False Goat’s Beard: What is something you are good at? - Trapping over my own feet 😁😄

Foxgloves: What’s something you’re bad at? - Singing, drawing.

Freesia: What are three good things that have happened in the past month? - Getting the news about my lecturing, seeing Venom and Bohemian Rhapsody, starting learning basic linguistics.

Garden Cosmos: How was your day today? - It’s 11 in the morning!

Gardenia: Are you happy with where you’re at in your life? - Not so much.

Gladiolus: What is something you hope to do in the next year or two? - Writing the first two chapters of my PhD thesis and feeling more confident in academia.

Glory-of-the-Snow: What are ten things that make you happy/you’re grateful to have in your life? - Mom Friends My supervisor Books Movies TV Shows The pigeons on my balcony Music ... I can’t think of more

Heliotropium: What helps you calm down when you feel stressed? - Reading.

Hellebore: How do you show affection? - I’m very clumsy at this. Taking extra care. Telling stupid jokes.

Hoary Stock: What are you proudest of? - Winning my supervisor’s trust.

Hollyhock: Describe your ideal day. - Meeting with friends, going to the cinema, reading.

Hyacinth: What do you like to do in your free time? - Reading or watching a movie/a TV show.

Hydrangea: How long have you known your best friend? How did you meet them? - I met her 15 years ago when she was transfered to my class in 5th grade.

Irises: Who can you talk to about (almost) everything? - Mom and my friends.

Laceleaf: How many friends do you have? - Few but I love them very much.

Lantanas: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? - That people liked my writing.

Larkspur: What do you think of yourself? - *censoring self hate* Not much actually. I know I could do better.

Lavender: What’s your favorite thing about yourself? - My kindness and intelligence (if such a thing exists).

Leather Flower: What’s your least favorite thing about yourself? - My looks.

Lilac: What’s something you liked to do as a child? - Colouring books!

Lily: Who was your best friend when you were a kid? - A boy with whom I’m still friends though we are not that close.

Lily of the Incas: What is something you still feel guilty for? - That I never got the courage to talk to my biggest crush at high school.

Lily of the Nile: What is something you feel guilty for that you shouldn’t feel guilty about? - Being rude to toxic friends.

Lupine: What does your name mean? Why is that your name? - It comes from the word for flower in Bulgarian. I was named after one of my grandmothers.

Marigold: Where did you grow up? Tell us about it. - I grow up in the same city I’m still living - Sofia.

Morning Glory: What was your bedroom like growing up? - Full with stuffed toys.

Mugworts: What was it like for you as a teenager? Did you enjoy your teenage years? - Not at all. I don’t like my teenage self, I cared too much about people’s opinion.

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom. - She’s the greatest person inhabiting this world, my best friend. I love her sooo much!

Onions: Tell about your dad. - A normal person.

Orchid: Tell about your grandparents. - I only know one of my grandmothers, unfortunately. But she was great when I was a kid, now she’s too old to have normal relationship with her.

Pansy: What was your most memorable birthday? What made it be so memorable? - Going to the cinema with all my school friends on my 15th birthday. Before the group feel apart.

Peony: What was your first job? - I was an intern at the Ministry Of Foreign Affairs

Petunia: If you’re in a relationship, how did you meet your partner(s)? If you’re not in a relationship, how did you meet your crush/how do you hope to meet your future partner(s), if you want any? - I want to meet him suddenly, just starting to talk about different things.

Pincushion: How do you deal with pain? - I try to distract my mind.

Pink: Where is home? - Where the heart is.

Plantain Lilies: If you could go back in time, what is one thing you would stop/change? - World War II

Prairie Gentian: Who is someone you look up to? Describe them. - Scientists like Alan Turing, Albert Einstein. Shakesperare, too.

Primrose: Describe your ideal life. - Having a stable partner whom I love and who loves me and who doesn’t want children. Being a professor with major works in her field who travels the world to read lectures.

Rhodendron: What is something you used to believe in as a child? - The kindness of people.

Ricinus: Who’s the most important in your life? - Mom.

Rose: What’s your favorite sound? - The atmosphere of a library. Quietude with the occassional hushed talks.

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory? - Every time when I’m with my best friend.

Sage: What’s your least favorite memory? - Visiting the Museum of Natural History and and all the snakes surrounding me.

Snapdragon: At this moment, what do you want? - To finish my PhD successfully

St. John’s Wort: Is it easy or difficult for you to express how you feel about things? - Rather difficult.

Sunflower: What is something you don’t want to imagine life without? - My favourite people.

Sweet Pea: How much sleep did you get last night? - 7 or 8 hours.

Tickseed: What’s your main reason to get up every morning? - Achieving my goals.

Touch-Me-Not: How do you feel about your current job? - I don’t have a job.

Transvaal Daisy: What’s your favorite item of clothing? - T-shirts.

Tropical White Morning Glory: Describe your aesthetic. - Books, autumn, quietude, stationary, dim light.

Tulip: What would be the best present to get you? - A rare book.

Vervain: What’s stressing you out most right now? - The upcoming conference at which I had to make a presentation about a report I’ve written.

Wisteria: How many books have you read in the past few months? What were they called? - Too many, I can’t count them. But there are two kinds: 1) Literature that I enjoy and read for pleasure (I’ve read mostly Joanne Harris books during this time); 2) Literature for my thesis which includes many books on psychoanlysis, feminist thought and linguistics.

Wolf’s Bane: Where do you want to be in life this time next year? - Having a job and a confident lecturer.

Yarrow: Do you know what vore is? - No, I don’t.

Zinnia: Give a random fact about yourself. - I hate to be the center of attention.

#me #persona #answered

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perditaalottachocolate-blog · 7 years ago

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Blue, Red and Lavender

ML Rare Pair March 2018, Pair: Gabriel Agreste x Mrs. Agreste, Day 24: First Date, for Remasa

AO3 / fanfiction.net

(Other days: 6 | 8 | 20 | 24 | 27 |)

|This is also a sequel to my Gabriel Appreciation Week story - Doomsday, and Day 27 is Part 3 of this series.

‘Boatline or jewel? Both would look good…’

The most promising of Reboux designers was seated at the employees’ cafe at the company’s headquarters, a stack of papers piling up on his table, next to three empty cups and a half eaten sandwich.

‘A-line skirt, yes, but it needs to end below the knee,’ he was sketching furiously and murmuring under his breath, earning sideway glances from the staff and any of his coworkers who happened to pass by him.

‘Empire waist is a bit too much…’ he tore one of the half finished sketches, absently made a ball out of it and dropped it on the floor, absolutely unaware of the annoyed stare the barista sent his way.

‘Maybe I should try a v-neck? For a summer dress this would be more appropriate…’ the mumbling continued to the scribbling of pencil on paper, and yet another design emerged from the depths of his imagination, fleshing up thanks to a little bit of carbon and cellulose into a slender figure of a young woman. If anyone bothered to inspect any of the bits of paper on and around Gabriel’s table, they would discover that she was present on each and every one of them - long, wavy hair, large eyes, full lips, hourglass figure and cosmic legs of a model. Any random passerby would probably just shrug, assuming this was Monsieur Agreste’s standard design fill-in model. It would take a fellow fashionista, subscriber of La Mode, to spot the cunning resemblance to their top journalist, one Emilie Launder, aka every designers’ nightmare with deceitful looks of a daydream.

And daydreaming Gabriel was.

‘V-neck would show more cleavage which is good in summer… ekhm, ekhm-’

He felt the blood rushing to his cheeks at the thought of Mademoiselle Launder’s chest exposed in the flowing v-neckline dress he was currently drawing, and a coughing fit followed making him even more red. Gabriel tried to dismiss this vision. He was a professional, for heaven’s sake. He dealt with cleavages and hips and legs on a daily basis. It was his job to make them look attractive. How on earth was he suddenly blushing like a schoolgirl, and at his own design nonetheless.

‘Well, this is a really promising dress,’ he was startled by a pleasantly low rumble at his ear and choked on his own saliva when a perfectly manicured red nail tapped at the waistline of the drawing, ‘but I look better in a ¾ length,’ Mlle Launder murmured winking at him.

Gabriel spluttered something incoherent in reply, feeling his cheeks warming up dangerously close to self-combust. He shook his head. This wouldn’t do. He just needed a moment to get his treacherous body under control and to reboot his brain after the woman of his dreams and drawings suddenly materialized in the cafe.

She watched with open amusement as he held up a finger and took a deep breath.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Monsieur Agreste,’ she pursed her lips in vain attempt to hold back the satisfied smirk.

Gabriel’s neurons finally reconnected. ‘Um, I work here?’ he ventured, not quite trusting his voice yet.

‘Oh, a second gig as a barista?’ she chuckled. ‘I already got that you were a man full of surprises. And here I thought Reboux paid his designers a decent salary.’

Her suggestion rendered him speechless once again, until his two remaining brain cells prompted that this might have been a joke. He cleared his throat. ‘Your presence, however pleasant, is a surprise, mademoiselle,’ he said finally rising from his seat and taking her hand.

‘Is it? I think I’ve told you I would hunt you down, haven’t I?’ she firmly shook his palm, not allowing for a hand kiss this time.

Gabriel tried to suppress his disappointment. ‘Indeed,’ he nodded gravely, putting on the neutral face of a professional. It would look much better without the fiercely stinging blush.

Emilie raised a perfect brow at him. ‘And you never called,’ she reminded.

‘I’ve been…’ his gaze flickered to the sketchbook and the piles of papers in the neighborhood, ‘busy,’ he ended lamely. What was he supposed to tell her? That he couldn’t get her out of his mind since their meeting at the Fashion Week? That every time he took his pencil, the only thing he could think of was another design for her? That his superiors didn’t mind when instead of his entries for men’s autumn line he presented them with a complete collection of smart dresses and gowns worthy of a princess and he was given a free pass to work wherever and on whatever he wanted as long as the results would match these first drawings? At this rate he would single-handedly fill the next few seasons of Reboux womenswear before the midyear evaluation.

‘Indeed,’ she repeated his own words, eyeing the sketches at the same time. ‘And not only with the designs,’ she added. ‘All I asked was a phone call.’

Gabriel’s face fell from carefully impassive to worried. ‘I have sent you some… messages. Didn’t you get them?’

‘Oh, I did,’ a Cheshire cat grin appeared on her face. ‘Our office ran out of vases by Wednesday. My desk looks like I’ve robbed a flower shop,’ she paused mid sentence and cast him a questioning look. ‘You didn’t rob a flower shop, did you?’

Despite his debilitating state he somehow managed to scowl in indignation.

‘I asked you to call, not to arrange a garden in La Mode’s office,’ Emilie sighed.

‘I’m sorry?’ Gabriel squeaked. Apparently he misread her signals and acting purely on his infatuation might have overdone in wooing Mlle Launder with romantic gestures. Just a little bit. Okay, maybe more than a bit. So sue him. … Would she though? He gulped.

‘Let’s see,’ the woman tapped her red lips with a slender finger. ‘On Thursday I found daffodils. I obviously felt flattered that you remembered what I said about French gentlemen going extinct.’

Regard and chivalry. That had been his first idea.

‘Then the yellow tulips on Friday got a good giggle out of me and a few sour smiles from my coworkers,’ she continued, for now choosing to look around the cafe.

Sunshine in your smile. Gabriel thought it would be a good follow-up. Not too invasive but sustaining the interest.

‘I admit I was a bit surprised to find that stunning amaryllis waiting on my desk on Monday when I got back from lunch,’ she still wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t miss the delicate coat of pink that colored her cheeks at the mention of amaryllis.

Splendid beauty. But that was hardly news. Surely she must have known what a gorgeous woman she was? He had some reservations about the amaryllis, but over the weekend he somehow convinced himself that he might have already lost her attention. When he found it on the flower market that Monday morning he bought it without really thinking it through. Unlike the tulips and the daffodils, he had to sit on this idea for a bit, and hadn’t decided to call for the office-boy until lunch.

‘Now you will probably be glad to hear that my coworkers lasted until Tuesday, before they started with their sarcastic comments, dubbing me the Sunflower Girl,’ she sent him a sweet smile. ‘Because sunflowers are my favorite.’

Adoration and dedication. Also bingo! He knew she’d like them.

‘We ran out of vases at the red carnations on Wednesday,’ Emilie mentioned casually. ‘And I could no longer evade questions about my secret admirer. Since by then at least some people in the office had done their homework on flower symbolism.’

Uh-oh. Were the red carnations for admiration already too much? But in that case today’s bouquet-

His train of thought was interrupted as Reboux’s office boy stuck his head into the cafe. He spotted the designer and strode in their direction with a broad grin, that was undoubtedly a result of the handsome pay Gabriel offered for the extra delivery for the last few days.

‘Monsieur Agreste,’ his smile broadened as he halted at the table. ‘I’m on my break so I can drop these beauties at La Mode now, if you want to,’ he carefully lifted the bouquet in question. A perfect arrangement of roses appeared in their vision and Gabriel noted with no small amount of satisfaction that his companion gasped at the display. Red, lavender and blue combined into one ample bunch.

He could almost hear the cogs in Mlle Launder’s brain spinning as she worked out the meaning behind the flowers and their colors. And when her delicate blush deepened, he knew he chose well.

‘Thank you, Jean-Luc, that won’t be necessary today,’ Gabriel passed the boy a 200 franc bill. After carefully depositing his cargo in the designer’s hands he left with a grin dangerously close to ripping his face in half.

Monsieur Agreste turned to the journalist. She was still staring at the roses, stunned into silence for the very first time. It was very satisfying, if he said so himself. His daily visits at the flower market and then the time it took to arrange the flowers personally had definitely paid off, if it had such an effect on her, even temporarily.

‘I see you have done your homework on plant symbolism too, mademoiselle,’ Gabriel murmured.

‘Blue for unattainable or mysterious,’ Emilie started weakly, ‘red for longing and desire. And lavender...,’ she reached to touch the delicate petals.

‘For love at first sight,’ he finished for her as he put his hand over hers.

She stilled and cleared her throat, apparently ready to take the initiative again. ‘Well, well, Monsieur Agreste,’ she drawled locking her emerald eyes with his aquamarine ones. ‘Now tell me, are you planning to propose with another bouquet before I finally ask you out on the first date?’

#mlrarepair2018 #day 24: first date #gabrielie #perdita writes #Gabriel Agreste #Mama Agreste #Emilie Agreste #younger characters #miraculous ladybug #flower symbolism

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coconut-milktea · 7 years ago

Photo

The flowers in this room, what do you think they are? I know this is just a drawing, but if Saeran designed this room for MC, each flower here would mean something special.

I have a few guesses based on how they appear. Here’s my thought process as I stare at this screenshot. The purple flowers stand out here. I could only think of two possible flowers.

Violet Roses.

Or, maybe lisianthus. Now, violet roses mean admiration, magic, and love at first sight while Lisianthus means, outgoing nature. Out of these two possibles, violet roses make more sense. There are other flowers are, a dark pinkish or coral color. They don’t stand out as much as the enchanting purple ones and they have a rose appearance too. They could be roses.

The meaning for pink roses are: admiration, confidence, desire, energy, friendship, grace, everlasting joy, happiness, ‘Please believe me’, secret love, thank you, trust, youth, ‘Thank you for being in my life’

Still, that shade of pink seems too light, what about a coral rose? That fits the color nicely... Coral roses mean desire, enthusiasm, fascination, appreciation, congratulations. But, what if they’re not coral or pink roses. What if they’re camellias instead. They almost look like roses.

Camellias mean, admiration, deep longing, a desire. That still doesn’t seem right. As I look at the petals, they seem to have a more pointed appearance. So then, what if they’re dahlias?

Dahlias mean: ’Warning of Change’, forever yours, anxiety/instability. Though I’m unsure of dahlias as they’re typically larger than roses. Along with the purple and dark pink flowers, there is a darker color flower underneath them. Based on what they look like, they look like snowdrops, but I’ve only seen snowdrops in purple, blue, and white. Can’t be it, and they’re a bit big to be those, so what about amaryllis?

These flowers mean pride, splendid beauty, beautiful but timid, shyness, innocence, success won after a struggle. Now, this room was set up before MC arrived. We know Saeran wasn’t told by Rika to specifically get MC. It could’ve been anyone, but Saeran grew attached to MC very quickly, so he probably chose her because he saw her at least once before. This is my feeling. This MC doesn’t download the app, it’s downloaded for her when ‘Ray’ borrows her phone. So the app isn’t even on MC’s device, but she was still contacted by Ray and he knew her name. So I imagine, again, Ray knew who MC was, at least enough to want to invite her into. So the flowers in this room are meant to tell her something: I’m enchanted by you, this must be love at first sight, but it’s secret as I feel shy. What do you guys think?

Now the flowers at the back can be one of two flowers, tulips or hyacinth. They’re not well-defined, but I feel it’s one of those two.

Tulips mean an absolute romance, a declaration of love, spring. Pink tulips specifically mean ‘my perfect lover’ and showing feelings of love, well wishes, and feelings of caring.

Hyacinth, specifically pink ones mean: harmless mischief, play, joy

If you have any ideas relating to the meanings of these flowers (I’ve compared them from 3 books I bought about the meaning and language the flowers represent).

Please let me know!

#mystic messenger #saeran choi #I'm a mystic mess #mystic mess #how my brain works

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

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oh boy. oh boy. oh fuck. oh boy. SCATTERED RETURNS????? y’know that reckoning chapter that tried to kill me? it happened again. also we ain’t done quite yet, darlins

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 16)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [ao3] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum & The Keep

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol), Mutual Pining, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: A confrontation, of sorts.

Chapter Notes: This chapter took a long time, huh? I'd say I'm sorry but I don't want to make my friends sad by being overly critical of myself. It's rough right now, not gonna lie. We're all doing our best. I hope this chapter will do at least a little bit to make up a little bit of softness. Be safe. I love you.

On the balcony outside his workshop, Arum draws his claws through the air, plucking invisible threads, his intent aligning with that of his Keep to play the swamp beneath them like a harp.

Unweaving the new border surrounding his home is not a difficult task. In fact, it is of an appropriate delicacy that Arum can utilize it as a sort of test, as a way to measure how much he has fallen out of practice.

The boundary softens slowly beneath them, each branch and vine relaxing, relenting, returning to its former growth, and Arum can feel the Keep relaxing as well, as the reality of Arum's homecoming settles within them both.

When they have managed perhaps a third of the border, the Keep tugs at the edges of his mind, and Arum could argue, perhaps, could try to push the Keep to continue the work for a little while longer-

But he is tired, in truth. The journey, the quickened healing, the- the depth of emotion he felt to be reunited with his Keep, all have left him feeling shaky and faded. The borders have been like this for some time now, he reasons. He need not rush.

Besides, he thinks, his lip curling wryly, Amaryllis would surely give him that narrowed-eye look if she knew he tried to push himself so soon after coming home. He cannot risk the force of her stubbornness combining with that of the Keep. Arum buries a laugh at the thought, sighs instead, and steps back in from the balcony to his workshop.

The Keep sings softly as he reaches to pull down a familiar set of knives, as he straps the hilts on again, feeling them more as a talisman than a defense.

"I know," he murmurs, drawing his palms over the hilts by turns, sighing. "I would apologize, but-"

The Keep sings less softly, then. Arum laughs.

"Precisely. I did not think you would." He pauses, feeling the safety and familiarity surrounding him. "Keep," he says, very softly, and then he closes his eyes and tries to pour out the affection that is coiling within him, how deeply he missed his Keep, how warm and relieved his love. It is easier, this way, to let the Keep know how he feels. Words- between the two of them words do not always feel right. He is the Keep's Lord, its Creation, and he may brush their minds together as easily as reaching out to take a hand. He knows his Keep can feel it, his pulse of love, and he feels it brighten before he is twined again in vines, before the rush of love and contentment the Keep sends him in return nearly folds his legs with its fierceness.

It sings, closer to a lullaby than a message, cradling him close, and Arum pretends not to rub his eyes again, allowing himself to be held for a minute or so more before he squeezes one of the vines around him, silently signaling to be let back down.

"Yes, well," he mutters, tail flicking as the Keep gives a vague hum. "There is still much to be done, I imagine. Bring me down to the kitchens; I expect they will be hungry soon."

The Keep pauses, then, and lilts an alternative.

He chokes a laugh. "Oh, fine. Do as you will, then. I expect they will be grateful, anyway." He tilts his head, worrying the edge of his mended cape in one hand as the Keep hums an affirmative, slowly coiling a different doorway out of the floor. "I- yes. If they are waiting, then. Go ahead."

The Keep lets him out into the greenhouse, drifting its attention away to prepare a proper meal for its Lord and his guests, and Arum-

Arum sees them, Amaryllis and Damien seated close together on the mossy bark of a fallen tree, their hands clasped together in their laps, their heads ducked close together as they murmur something unknowable to each other, and when Amaryllis' jaw clenches, Damien lifts a hand, cups her cheek, and then gently brushes an errant curl back behind her ear as her expression softens again.

Arum's own hands tremble, but he shakes his head hard, ensuring that his footsteps are too loud to miss, even for their limited human hearing as he forces himself to approach.

The both of them startle as they hear him, leaning back to watch him, though they do not untangle their hands.

"I hope you have been amusing yourselves well enough in my absence," he says, feigning mildness, but his attempt at levity does not seem to work. Amaryllis glances to Damien, something silent passing between them before she stands, Damien standing a moment later.

"Arum," Amaryllis begins, gently, and Arum's scales shiver with nerves automatically. Her tone is… serious, which is both unusual and concerning.

He forces himself not to flinch in a visible way as he meets her eyes, noting the gentle curve of her frown, the tension in the way she is still holding one of Sir Damien's hands, and he narrows his eyes in concern, ducking his head slightly. "What… what is it, Amaryllis?"

He can feel it already. They've decided to leave tonight. Decided that staying in a monster's den is too much. He should have expected-

"I have a- a question, actually," she says, and then she bites her lip. "And I need to know- I wanna know that you're gonna be- that you'll answer honestly."

"What call would I have to lie to you?" Arum says, more surprised than insulted. "You have already seen me at my lowest, Amaryllis." He pauses, then snorts. "And Sir Damien has rather helpfully pointed out that he is perfectly able to discern when I attempt deception."

Damien's lip turns into a wry sort of frown, but he does not interrupt. Clearly, it is Amaryllis leading this charge. She worries her lip between her blunt white teeth for a moment, her frame radiating strange tension. More concerning still. He is unsure if he has ever seen Amaryllis display this sort of- nervousness, before.

"Well?" Arum says when the pause draws long. "Ask, doctor. You won't get your answer in silence, I can assure you of that. I have many talents, but reading human minds is not among them."

"How do you- feel about me," she blurts, her tone going breathless and weak on the latter half, and Arum chokes on his own breath in surprise.

"Wh-what?"

"I know we said- we talked about what happens after. And about trust and about- about we and- and how we're going to miss each other, but- but I still don't know if…" she sucks in a breath, wincing and glancing away, and Arum sees Sir Damien's hand squeeze her own, and after a moment her shoulders settle slightly from their tension, and she meets his terrified eyes again. "I don't know if you feel like I do. Mind reading isn't in my wheelhouse either, Arum, and- and I just want to know. Before we- before we leave. I need to know if we feel the same way about each other, or if-"

"Amaryllis, I- don't be absurd." Arum can feel himself panicking, can feel a distant buzz of confusion from the Keep as it feels his spiking distress, and he skips back an awkward half step as Amaryllis reaches a hand towards him. "You know that I am- am impossibly grateful for all you've done-"

She winces at that, too. She draws her hand back to cover her mouth for a moment, and then she shakes her head. "Is that- is it just that you feel- grateful? Just- still the same way it was when you tried to leave that last time- just- thank you for services rendered, such as they were? Is that all that it is? Is that all that you feel about me?"

Arum looks away. "I think you know perfectly well that that is not even remotely the extent of- of-" he breaks off, not knowing any safe way to complete that thought. "I think you know."

"That's-" her face splits into something that is not a smile, if only because of the way her eyes are wide and strange and sad. "I don't know, Arum. That's kind of the whole problem. I need to know how you feel about me because if I don't know then I can't do anything about it."

Arum goes still, panic easing into something calmer, more cruel.

"Do anything about it," he echoes. "You feel you would need to do something about it, were our feelings misaligned? If I do not feel as you hope I do? If I have- overstepped, if the depth of my emotion has infringed on his claim?"

Amaryllis blinks, and then she glances where Arum has pointed, towards a Damien who appears equally puzzled by Arum's words. "Wait, what?"

"Have no fear, little human," Arum growls, his tail coiling behind him in a threat. "I have no misapprehensions about what we are. I have no delusions about what has passed between us. A kindness and a mercy, both, but nothing more."

"What?" she says again, and then she releases Sir Damien's hand and tries, again, to step closer. "Wait, no, that's not-"

Arum snarls, and Rilla pauses, her hand outstretched in the air between them.

"I will be forever indebted to you, Amaryllis of Exile," he says, forcing his voice low and steady. "Indebted to your knight as well, as infuriating as that detail remains. But I will not be mocked in my own home. You have shown me kindness and mercy beyond what I deserve, certainly, but that does not free you to treat me cruelly in turn."

"Cruel-"

"In the morning, the both of you will leave, and if the Universe is kind we will never need see each other again. Do you not think it cruel, then, to draw that grief out? To force our focus upon it?"

"But if we just talk about it, we might not n-"

"I know I have made myself a fool," Arum spits, and then- he wilts, his shoulders sagging. "I would do so again, I think. But I will not abide you holding my foolishness to the light."

"Arum-"

He turns, the softness in her eyes too utterly unbearable. "I am… I am tired, Amaryllis. The Keep will bring the both of you food in short time. When you are tired, ask for a place to rest and it will provide one. In the morning it will open a way back to the edge of the swamp. Farewell."

"No- wait," Amaryllis says behind him, her tone sharp, almost scared. "No. Wait- I am not saying goodbye to you yet-"

"Keep," Arum says, voice flat and toneless. "Back to the workshop. Now."

There is a pause before the Keep obeys, but it is short. Arum relents to the pain behind his ribcage only barely, only enough to glance over his shoulder one more time. Amaryllis looks caught between misery and fury, looks half tempted to bolt after him, and Sir Damien- Sir Damien looks stiff, unreadable.

"Farewell," he says again, more quietly, and then he turns away.

He is only a step from the doorway when Sir Damien's voice rings out behind him.

"Lord Arum!"

Arum clenches his teeth. He should ignore the knight entirely. He has said his goodbyes. He has closed this chapter with his own hands. He has reshelved the book.

"Lord Arum, I demand you face me, now. I will not condone so cowardly a retreat."

Arum spins on his heel, exhaling a sharp shocked laugh. "Cowardly - how you dare is beyond-

"I see you are armed, now, Lord Arum," Damien says, his voice rather carefully even. "Armed, and healed, and there is still a duel you owe me. I would see that challenge fulfilled."

"The duel?" Arum wrinkles his snout, bares his teeth. "I should laugh. I am an artist with my blades, but even I could not best an archer with weapons meant for closer quarters than these."

"I still carry the weapon you sharpened for me; I imagine it should prove a reasonable match to your own steel. I would see our duel fulfilled," he says again, "blade to blade."

Arum scoffs. "A meager tool you use, but it would suffice. Do you wish to die, knight? Or have you finally remembered your duty?"

"You will you duel me, then?" Damien asks, insistent, ignoring Arum's questions.

"Oh," Arum says, something between a snarl and a bitter laugh in his tone. "Oh, so now the little honeysuckle means to kill me? Now you are amenable to-"

"I have no intentions of the sort," Damien says smoothly. "But you said yourself that you did not prefer to leave matters unsettled, and this matter remains so, between us. I believe you need be reminded of that."

"Ha," Arum snarls. "Unsettled. It would not be unsettled if you did your duty-"

"You conceded to my skill in wordplay, friend lizard," Damien says, his cheeks dark and his smile soft. "I am curious to see who will triumph in swordplay."

Arum narrows his eyes, and it is some combination of reckless despair and curiosity that compels him to draw his own blade, at last, in response.

"Very well, little fool. Keep," Arum snarls, though his eyes are still fixed on Damien. "Close the door, and then back as you were. I command that you do not interfere. This duel will be mine and mine alone, no matter which fate the Universe intends for me."

"Thank you," Damien says as the Keep closes the way again with visible reluctance, and Arum growls low, tail coiling as he brandishes the blade.

"Okay this is stupid," Amaryllis says, stern though her voice is still wavering, but Damien is smiling now, and he lifts a hand in her direction.

"Trust, my love. I will beg you to trust me. You know my heart, do you not?"

Rilla presses her lips together tight, her eyes meeting Damien's for a long, torturous moment, and then she gives a small grim smile and nods. "I do."

"How precious," Arum drawls, dancing his knife between his fingers. "You wanted this duel, Damien. Now fight me."

"As you say, Lord Arum," Damien says, closing his eyes for a with an utterly strange smile. "I am Tranquil, and I am ready. Face me as you will."

Arum coils, tense, for a long moment, feeling out Damien's steady, waiting stance, but the knight is more patient than he. Arum strikes first, a wild lunge meant to unsettle Damien's footing, but Damien in unmoved as their blades clash, and then he deftly steps sideways as Arum lunges again.

"A fine opening," the knight says mildly, as if they were discussing something so simple as the day's meal. "I was correct to think that your reverence for the blade would translate to a certain deftness with this sort of comba-"

Arum lashes out, interrupting with a snarl, but Damien's smile flashes brighter as he parries.

"Even in this you lilt, little songbird?" Arum complains. He is already beginning to feel warm, breathless- he has not exerted himself in this way in ages. Even with his body healing properly under the Keep's influence, Arum is stretching muscles he has not had cause to use in quite some time.

Arum struggles not to find the feeling exhilarating.

"I have a talent for prattling, Lord Arum, as I have been told again and again." Damien grins wide, flicking his wrist out to clash against Arum's next strike. "If you compel me to silence it will be a feat indeed."

"We shall see, little knight."

"So we shall," Damien murmurs, and they are- close, but Arum shoves and Damien spins away, stance defensive to await the next attack. "There is another matter still unsettled, however, more important than my own lilting tongue."

Arum struggles not to roll his eyes. "It is always something with you creatures, isn't it?"

"You failed to answer Rilla's question. Perhaps you thought your deflection sufficient-" he pauses to leap as Arum strikes with his tail, his footwork elegant enough to be repurposed for a dance. "Sufficient," he continues, "to distract from that fact, but I would have you answer, before you give your farewells."

"They have already been given, knight-"

"And yet," Damien says. His cheeks are dark, but Arum can hear that his breaths are still steady. He has barely begun to exert himself. "Prematurely removing yourself from us will not change how you feel, Lord Arum. Nor will it change how we feel."

Arum manages not to stumble, but only barely. He flicks his blade up just in time to keep the knight from pinning him, ducking low and rolling beneath Damien's arm. "I am- perfectly aware that I am incapable of changing your feelings, knight," he snarls, keeping low and defensive as Damien circles him.

Damien's expression softens, oddly. "You cannot change how we feel now," he says. "I am unsure if you understand, however, the degree to which you already have."

Arum leaps, nearly catching Damien's arm with the tip of his blade, but the knight sidesteps with a sliver of space between his skin and the edge.

"Arum, you cannot-"

Arum snarls, striking before Damien fully manages his footing again, but he cannot seem to unbalance the knight.

"Arum, you cannot conceal how you look at her, and I know you must- you must be able to see how she looks at you-"

Arum's scales shiver with a flash of cold, these words more than the risk to his life filling him with terror. "I see," he spits, tail thrashing and frill flared. "Of course. Insulted on behalf of your lover, of course, I remember- I remember quite early on I implied your Amaryllis might have grown some ill-placed fondness for me and you nearly killed me for that alone. Of course this- yes. Little knight, you must, of course, defend your Rilla's honor against so foul a beast as I."

Damien laughs, bright and oddly keening as he dodges another blow. "I should hate to contradict a Lord, but I am afraid you are as far from the mark as you could hope to be. She is radiant, Rilla is light and love herself, she is brilliance and glory and she is made to be adored, of course you would feel that glow, of course you would." He smiles, shocking and full of heat, and Arum hates himself for the way his ribs seem to clench around his heart like sharp cold fingers. "And you, Lord Arum, you-"

"And I am a monster," Arum hisses, and his next strike is sloppy with despair, and the edge of Damien's blade catches against the curved base of his own, and the knight flicks his wrist so deftly, so easily-

The knife flies aside, gleaming steel painting the air in flashes before it thuds to rest on the mossy floor of the greenhouse, and the blade Sir Damien wields is cool and close against Arum's throat in the same instant.

They pant, for a long moment, and Damien is so close that Arum can nearly taste the heat of him, his gentle eyes bright and focused on Arum's own.

"Well?" he breathes after the pause has drawn long. "Do it, then."

"Do you still believe, truly, that I have any desire to harm you?" Damien says, his tone lilting like song, and Arum's heart clenches again.

"Your knife certainly seems to say so," he growls.

"I told you, Arum. I only wished to remind you. Once, yes, I swore I would slay you, when we finally dueled. This I admit. But I am not the same man I was, so short a time ago."

Arum laughs, choking and desperate, the steel still tickling his neck.

"I have won this duel," Damien says gently. "I would have you answer me honestly, now."

Arum swallows, clenches his teeth. "Ask, then. Ask, and be done with it."

"Do you-" Damien pauses, a layer of his smooth confidence shifting aside, a hint of nerves showing through. "Would you- want us to stay? If we could, if- if we were not pressed by responsibility, would you have us stay?"

Arum would have expected nearly any other question, before the one Sir Damien has posed. He expected one particular question, first. He cannot remember how to breathe, for a moment, and the nervous tilt to Damien's smile makes him wish to lean forward, despite the knife, and-

And Arum's lips are parted, but there are no words upon his tongue.

Damien waits, though. In his periphery, Arum can see Amaryllis waiting as well, a hand pressed to her mouth.

"If-" Arum pauses, swallows, flicks his tongue. "If it were possible. If you could."

Damien's eyes are so bright they are nearly hypnotic, and his own lips are parted, now, though he does not interrupt.

"I only wish to see you gone," Arum admits, helpless and hopeless and keening, "because it feels like breaking again, to know you cannot stay. The faster the break-" he chokes, and looks away, and he knows his voice is breaking too, "the cleaner it will be."

"If we offered you anything you desired from us, what would you ask?" Damien asks, his voice low and steady, though Arum can feel his heart still thudding hard.

"I- I have answered one question already, honeysuckle, I do not-"

"You conceded to me in two contests, Lord Arum. I believe two questions is a fair exchange."

Arum snorts. "Fair-"

"What would you ask of us," Damien repeats, firm, "if we offered to grant you anything that was in our power to give?"

Arum presses his lips together tight, his throat thick and his eyes hot. "Anything?" he asks, his voice catching ragged, snarling, monstrous, but Damien only smiles even more gently.

"Anything."

"If… if I could have anything," Arum whispers, claws clenching, and then he closes his eyes. His pride is such a small thing to lose, in the end. "A place at your table," he says, soft and full of too much undeniable longing. "A place for me, seated at your sides, for as long as you would have me."

Damien's grip loosens, and when Arum blinks his eyes back open Damien's own eyes are wide and shocked, his cheeks darkening as his heart stumbles. Arum can hear that heart, can hear the way Damien swallows, then, as well.

"Oh," Damien says, too soft. "Oh, Saint Damien, your Tranquility, now when most I need-" he inhales, exhales with a smile, and then he drops the knife away from Arum's throat.

"Wh-what are you-"

Damien holds the blade out, hilt first, and presses it into Arum's palm.

"There is one more question before you," Damien murmurs as Arum's fingers curl around the metal, and though he is no longer pinning the monster against the trunk of the tree behind him, the poet is still close, is still crowding Arum with his heat and his scent and the rhythm of his heart. "I would hear your answer under no duress, if you choose to do so."

Damien seems so utterly unafraid of the blade that Arum now holds, the gleaming, newly sharpened edge that he holds close against Damien's collarbone. He is looking up into Arum's eyes, something in his expression nearly shy, and Arum-

Arum-

Arum drops his hand, slipping the knife back into the sheath at Sir Damien's hip. Damien's breath catches again, his dark cheeks going even darker, but Arum can only spare a hint of attention to that while he steels himself, while he clenches his teeth and inhales and lifts his head to look over Sir Damien's shoulder, to see Amaryllis where she stands.

Amaryllis stares both of them, her dark eyes wide, her hands clasped over her mouth, and-

Arum is not brave. He has never been. But Arum remembers every single time this creature before him has reached out her hand to him despite every reason not to.

... and Arum thinks that perhaps he can pretend to share even an ounce of the bravery she has shown him.

"I love you," he says, and there is a lightness that comes as the syllables escape him, a freedom that makes him feel reckless, and as Amaryllis' stares at him with something like awe shining on her face, he thinks he might have begun to smile. "I have for some time, now," he murmurs. "I love you, and meeting eyes with death was a small price to pay for the honor of knowing you."

Arum is certain he is smiling, now. He is just as certain that there are tears in his eyes.

He manages to pull his gaze from Amaryllis', after a moment, with no small degree of effort. "And you, little songbird," he says, glancing down, "as for you-"

Arum is interrupted.

Sir Damien's lips press to his own, muffling him to a humming gasp, and the poet's hands are upon him, one on his cheek and the other twisting in his cape, pulling him down. It arcs through him like magic, like- like poetry. Certain lines of which he cannot help but remember, just now.

"I love you," Damien breathes against him when he breaks the kiss, soft and sure as birdsong.

"Damien," Arum says, too shocked to say anything else, and the shyness slips back into Damien's eyes again.

"I understand if our former conflicts are- too much to move beyond, for you, if you do not feel about me as you do about Rilla, if-"

Arum pulls Damien closer, arms wrapping snug around him, slipping the claws of one hand into the poet's hair now that he can do away with pretense, now that he no longer needs to bury that temptation. Damien gasps against his mouth, and on instinct Arum catches his bottom lip with his teeth, careful and testing. "Ridiculous- ridiculous little bird-" he presses his lips against Damien's again, and his own words- they are insufficient. "So ascended I," he growls, pulling Damien closer, closer, "alight- and burning-"

Damien gasps again when he recognizes his own verse, something like a sob in his voice. "Arum-"

"I love you, honeysuckle," Arum whispers, and Damien chokes, folding against him, allowing Arum to hold him.

Just to hold him. So simple, and so much, all at once. Damien's hair is soft against the scales of Arum's palm, as soft as Arum imagined that it would be.

"Saints," Rilla breathes, and Arum blinks, glancing towards her again as she presses a hand against her chest and shakes her head. "I swear the two of you are trying to kill me."

"Amaryllis," he says softly, but he cannot think what to say beyond that.

She comes closer, her lip pulling like she's burying a laugh as Arum holds Damien more snugly against his chest, and when she is close enough he reaches out and she- she smiles wider, cupping his cheek and slotting herself in beside the poet.

"Amaryllis," he murmurs again, and she wraps her other arm around Damien, the palm on Arum's cheek slipping further to cup the back of his skull, making him shiver, making his chest rumble deeper.

"I love you too," she says, and Arum realizes- he realizes that he knew, already. Somewhere deep and hidden, somewhere he did not allow himself to look, before. "Can I kiss you?"

Arum chokes on a laugh. "I- of course you- ridiculous, Amaryllis-"

She rolls her eyes, and as the laugh bubbles from her lips he leans down, nuzzling against her lips and reveling in the brightness of her mirth.

"I love you," he says again, his scales tickling Amaryllis' skin, his hands holding Damien close. "I love you." He pauses, holds them both even closer for a moment. "I… I do not know what we are meant to do. What this will mean, for all of us-"

"Big questions, Arum," Amaryllis says gently. "Good questions, too, and we're gonna have to talk about them sooner rather than later, I think, but-" she wets her lips, giving him a cautious sort of smile. "But maybe that can wait until tomorrow? I- I just kind of- I just want to be like this, for a little while. Okay?"

Okay, as if he would possibly object. There is no possible way for him to hold her closer. Instead he presses his face into her neck, burying himself in the softness of her skin. "Of course," he whispers there. "It will keep, Amaryllis."

"It will keep," Damien echoes in his arms, and then his voice goes a little higher, a little more frightened as he fists his hands in Arum's cape. "I apologize for- I am sorry to have drawn upon you, I only-"

"Thank you," Arum says, before Damien can lose himself to the panic, "for making me stay."

Arum feels the tug in his mind only a moment before the Keep sings, bemused and uncertain, and and Arum reluctantly loosens his grip on the humans.

"Ah," he says. "Right. Er- I don't suppose… the pair of you are hungry?"

Amaryllis laughs, and Arum struggles against the desire to press their mouths together again. "Yeah, actually. Long, long day." She shakes her head as they disentangle from the embrace, still smiling, and then she- reaches out again, and tangles her fingers together with his own. Damien smiles, and on his other side the poet echoes her, slipping his warm palm against Arum's, and Arum's hands flex, his chest rumbling with something like joy. "Lead the way, then."

Dining together is familiar and strange and wonderful, all at once. He has shared so many meals with the both of them already, but never at this table, never with his Keep humming its additions to their conversation. Never with Amaryllis leaning against his side, the edges of the space between them softened to nothing at all. Never with Damien refusing to release his gentle grip on one of his hands for the entirety of the meal, his expression soft and adoring, his lips tumbling with new poetry, hopeful and loving verse. Never with the knowledge that he can reach for them, when he wishes to.

He spends most of the meal wishing to.

They do not seem to mind.

Eventually the meal is done, the conversation dripping off to quiet contentment. One human leans on each of Arum's shoulders, speaking slow and drowsy, Amaryllis playing with his hand, pressing the pads of her fingers against his palm, turning his wrist in her hands with fond curiosity as Damien murmurs something rhythmic and quiet against Arum's neck between kisses that are so gentle they make his scales feel electric. Eventually Rilla's grip upon him goes slack, her breaths evening out, and honeysuckle follows not long after.

When they have drifted into unconsciousness still beside the table, the Keep reaches out with vines, draping a blanket it has pulled from Arum's bedroom around all three of them, tucking it around their shoulders and then leaving soft new runners twining around Arum's shoulders, his horns, adding to the embrace.

Arum has never felt quite so warm, before. He has never felt quite so- so certain, so fierce.

He loves his Keep. He would go to war for it. He would fight and scrape and claw his way through anything for the sake of his home, his counterpart. He would die for the Keep. He would.

He would die for the creatures in his arms, now, too.

He shifts very slightly, brushing the backs of his knuckles down Amaryllis' arm, feeling Damien's heart beating soft against the hand that is pinned between his chest and Arum's side.

Yes. He would die for them.

But… Amaryllis wants him to live. She and Damien both. They want him to live. They want- they want more from him than that, even. They-

He cannot think it. His mind shies from it. He is not unsure, not at all, he knows, now, how they feel, but- it seems too fragile a thing, still. Too new and delicate to bear the scrutiny of his mind. He sets their words aside for the moment. He refocuses. They want him to live; that is enough. They, and the Keep, as well. It wishes him alive, it loves him, it is not mere duty that binds them.

“The Senate thinks I am replaceable,” he whispers above the sleeping humans, his memory of the attack still bright in his mind as he shares it with the Keep. The way the representative had shrugged and grinned with sharp white fangs and implied they had found someone better, to make use of the Hermit. “They think I am disposable.” The bright pain of the attack from behind, the further pain and rage that followed during his frantic attempt to defend himself, the bittersweet satisfaction of lifting the Hermit towards the light, the blow that cracked his horn and made his head spin, the choice in less than a breath of further claws or the fall, the water-

Not like his swamp. Not the familiar, still, life-filled water of his home. Water rushing and cool, the bite of sharp rocks until he whited out to almost blissful nothing for immeasurable time, and then the strange, strange stillness that came before the mud, before warm hands and voice and-

Amaryllis’ face, in the darkness. All concern and determination, framed by hair that looked as if the night sky were pouring down around her, before he lost himself to blissful nothing again.

The rest of it the Keep will learn in time. It knows the most important part, now. Arum feels the heat of affection bloom through his counterpart, sees the curling growth of small sprigs of white and orange flowers the Keep is blooming above his doctor.

“They think they can use me and discard me and I will simply die,” Arum murmurs. “Perhaps. Perhaps I may have simply accepted that, once. Perhaps.”

The Keep's vines around his shoulders tighten, secure, and when it sings of comfort and home and life life life, Arum feels it in his mind and in his bones.

“They were wrong,” Arum says, quite simply. “On all accounts.” He pauses, inhaling, feeling the strength he has been missing slowly returning to him, the gentle care of his doctor given new expediency by his home. “We will live, and we will not be used again.”

[->]

#scattered on my shore #elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #the keep

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

Text

ahh, lizard kissin’ tuesday. my constant. my north star. i wrote fuckign absurdly gentle smut.

Soft, And I Ache

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla mentioned but not featured

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Making Love,Gentle Sex, (like just fuck me up basically), Emotions, (this is a mess), i'm not a scalie but i'm also not a coward, Established Relationship, yet again: SO MUCH TALKING, also also again, Poetry

Summary: Semantic distinctions matter, when one of your lovers happens to be a poet.

Notes: flksdf;laskd;fs;ldfksjakldsfasd... how is this 5k... of literally fluff and sex and schmoop... oh god... i am a Mess(tm)... either i hate this or i very love it and i can't figure out which right now... but I’m posting this at nearly one in the a m and i have to work in the morning so!!! fuckit, babes. Title from the frickin song Strawberry Blond by Mitski... thank you Mitski.

Damien is… creative about his phrasings, when it comes to having sex with Arum.

Metaphorical, mostly. He enjoys talk of tasting, of dueling, of tumbling and tangling together, of lying together, of simply sleeping together. Arum thinks that the little knight might catch fire if he ever tries to say the word fuck as casually as their herbalist. The crassness sits very delightfully on Amaryllis’ tongue, but for Damien it would not suit.

With all of that in mind… if Arum goes by the words that Sir Damien has chosen, he and his poet have not, as of yet, made love.

He wonders about that. Why Damien is unwilling to call what he and Arum do in the sheets (and on Arum’s worktable, and against the wall, and occasionally out on a blanket in the swamp after a vigorous session of sparring) making love. He nearly always refers to it in that way at least once during every act with Amaryllis, though he does drift into poetics there as well, all sorts of give myself to yous and sharing the pleasures of the flesh dancing on his tongue.

Arum would not even think about it at all, of course, if Damien were not so deliberate in his choice of word in all instances. It always means something, with Damien. The words he plucks, the phrasings he weaves. So why, then?

It isn’t as if the poet is less delicate with Arum than he is with their Amaryllis. He is just as attentive and gentle and adoring with the monster as with her. There does not seem to be any reason to call their sex by different terms.

It is a meaningless distinction.

Of course it is.

… he cannot attempt to discuss the concern with Amaryllis. She will ask questions, of course, and obviously it is not so important that he is willing to face the look she will give him, that smirk, that raised eyebrow and fond laugh. No, he cannot ask. Not that it is important enough to ask about, anyway.

He knows that Damien loves him. That is… inarguable. The poet is quite willing to say so. It is a consequence of his need to speak his heart when it so moves him, and Arum- Arum has slowly, by steps, become more adept at giving the poet his words in return. There is safety in it, even. He trusts, he knows the knot they weave between them, all three in this burgeoning love, this unpredictable but gleeful magic. He knows Damien loves him; that is not the issue.

I love you, Damien, and his honeysuckle will smile so surprised and warm, will bloom with the bliss of that love, will speak his love in return.

So why not make love to, then? Why leave Arum relegated to metaphor and coyness?

He does not ask. He attempts not to consider the matter at all. He is certain that Amaryllis suspects him of some worry, but she does not press. Not even when they come together in bed, when they- when they sleep together, and Arum holds the question tight to himself and does his best to focus on what is, instead of on words as yet unspoken.

He is still considering it, however. Despite his efforts. Damien’s voice is in his head, Damien’s musical tone, rhymes like spells that slip into his mind and stick there, and Arum cannot help but wonder. Damien will sleep with him. Will tangle together with him and take his taste and allow Arum to fill him with pleasure and with adoration, but-

Damien does not make love to him. Or- Arum does not make love to Damien. Or perhaps, it is that they do not make love together.

The question unburies itself when they are alone together. They have been teasing out the act of sex for time that feels immeasurable, tongues and hands, and teeth- all slow and patient on a rare day of unfettered leisure, and Arum’s desire is underpinned with softness, is interwoven with adoration, and all he wishes is to treat this creature with every ounce of the love that springs bright within him, and Arum wants it, wants not only to sleep with Damien, not only to have sex with him, but wants it stated, wants Damien to know, wants him to say-

Limbs tangle together, they roll on Arum’s large soft bed until Damien is on all fours above Arum, with Arum’s arms wrapped around his back to drag careful claws down his shoulder blades, two others gripping Damien’s hips, his tail twined around one of his legs, both panting and hard and eager and Damien leans close to press his hot mouth against the scales of Arum’s lips, and they have been leading slow to this for so very long, this day, and Arum is desperate for Damien, knows that Damien is desperate for him in return, is eager and pliant and Arum has Damien’s taste already on his tongue and his cocks are already slicked and waiting for Damien to sink himself down, the poet is already teased to eagerness and desperation, and Arum feels-

He feels just brave enough, perhaps.

Damien hangs over him, hot and soft like sunlight, kissing a heavy trail down his neck, and Arum’s grip on his poet tightens, just enough that Damien lifts his head to meet the monster’s eyes.

“Honeysuckle…” he barely manages the full word before he hesitates, still holding Damien steady with hands on his sides, on his thighs. “May… may I…”

“Arum,” Damien breathes, lifting a warm hand to caress Arum’s jaw, smiling so softly that Arum’s heart stumbles. “Oh, my lily, you may do anything to me that you like, anything at all, any way you touch me will only fill me with joy, oh darling creature-”

“May I make love to you?” Arum asks, and his heart thuds hard in his throat when Damien’s eyes go wide.

“Ah- Arum?”

Arum ducks his head, looking aside, but Damien’s hand is still on his jaw, and after a breath the poet’s gentle fingers draw him back, tilting his face up until Arum meets his eyes again. Arum’s tail lashes beneath him, coiling anxious around Damien’s ankle, but the breathless wonder on Damien’s face softens the worry within him.

“You… my lily-”

“A- a semantic distinction only, I know,” Arum quickly deflects. “Nothing of consequence, of course, I only- I only-”

“You wish to- to make love to me?” Damien asks, so terribly breathless, and Arum needs to avert his eyes again.

“Of course I do, don’t be ridiculous.”

He’s growling low, tongue darting in rapid, aimless flicks, and suddenly Arum tastes salt on the air. He braves another look upward, and-

There are tears in Damien’s eyes.

“Honeysuckle-”

“You are so- oh, Arum, oh, my most magnificent monster, you-”

Damien peppers Arum’s snout with kisses, chaste and affectionate as if he were not only moments ago preparing to pierce himself upon Arum, as if he were not still hot and ready and hanging above his equally ready lover.

“Is that-” Arum’s breath slips from him in a purring rush. “You would- you desire that, then?”

“Of course, of course I do, I always do-”

Arum feels something in his ribs constrict at the certainty in Damien’s voice. He feels a little bit foolish, as well.

“Then- then why-”

He cuts himself off.

“Why…” Damien blinks, tilting his head and looking down at the monster with still-shining eyes. “Why, what?”

Arum stares up at his knight, at the strong easy whole of him, and he clenches his jaw tight. “If- if you wish for me… if you wish for us to make love, in those terms, why have you- why have you not said-” he pauses. “You speak your heart so easily, honeysuckle, so I- I thought, perhaps, if you avoided such terminology-”

“No, no that isn’t- oh Arum I- with all of my heart I wish to make love with you. I do.”

“Why not… why not say so, then?”

“I thought- well, I worried that you would be unhappy with that phrasing,” Damien says with a nervous sort of smile. “I was concerned that it would embarrass you, that you would think… that you would consider my inclination towards such softness to be- to be laughable.”

“Laughable,” Arum breathes. “Honeysuckle, never-”

“Of course I consider our lovemaking as such. I simply know- I know my intensity is- potentially overwhelming, unwelcome-”

“Never,” Arum repeats, the growl caught somewhere in his throat.

“I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

“Loving you could never make me uncomfortable, honeysuckle.”

Damien shakes his head, leaning down to press a kiss to Arum’s cheek. “No, I know. I know. But- at times it is clear that you- you are made uncomfortable by overtly affectionate displays, by- sentimentality. I was attempting to- to respect that.”

“Overtly affectionate…” Arum snaps his teeth together, his frill pressing flat to his neck in embarrassment. Which- proves his honeysuckle’s point, somewhat, he realizes. “I- well-” He pauses again, a low keening noise whirring unbidden at the back of his throat. “Have I not… have I not, perhaps, shown you well enough how I… how I love you?” Arum asks, quiet. “Have I not shown you how I love your affection? Your sentiment, and softness?”

“Arum,” Damien says, heat rushing to his cheeks, and now it is the poet’s turn to duck his head, to avert his gaze.

“No, honeysuckle,” he lifts a hand, knuckles brushing Damien’s jaw. “Clearly, clearly if you would think that I would be off-put to hear you say make love, I have not proven well enough the way I love you. I have allowed my own pride to interfere.”

“Arum it isn’t-” his eyes flick away again with a half a breath of nervous laughter. “It is not so serious as all that, it was not a- a judgment of your love for me-”

“I know. I know, little honeysuckle.” He leans up, nuzzling his snout against Damien’s cheek, and then he flicks his tongue soft up his jaw, tickling lightly at the curve of his ear. “Even so. I would be honored to make love to you, Damien. If you will allow me.”

“I- I- Arum, I would say with certainty that we have made love before, I may not have said it, but I certainly felt- we have, we have-”

“I know that as well, little love. And still, even so. Tonight I desire to be… to give to you as I should always have. To match your softness. I love you, honeysuckle, and I wish to make love to you, if you would desire this too. I would hear you say it.”

“I… I…” Damien chokes out a breath, and then he folds, his body draping over Arum’s and his hands clinging to Arum’s shoulders, his forehead pressed close to Arum’s own as he whispers, “oh, oh please, of course I- Arum, I- I love you so-”

Arum presses his mouth to Damien’s. It does not feel like a choice, really. It is simply inevitable. As inevitable as the little moan that slips from the poet’s lips when he kisses back.

Arum smiles when Damien pulls away (that feels inevitable, too), and then he readjusts his grip on the poet above him. He rolls himself up, until he is sitting, positioning Damien so he is sitting in his lap, their heat pressed together again and making the both of them gasp. This only lasts a moment, though, before Arum moves again, his hands in concert, two slipping beneath Damien’s knees and two holding his waist, gentle and firm, and he lowers Damien back to the bed, the hands under his legs lifting and another arm wrapping around his waist and the last so, so carefully cupping the back of Damien’s head, claws tangling with his curls, and Damien breathes a surprised laugh against Arum’s shoulder as the monster presses his body down over him.

“Arum,” he says, a smile in his voice, and Arum nuzzles against his cheek with a helpless purr.

“You said, earlier, that you trusted that any way I touch you will only fill you with joy. I would love nothing more than to earn those words.” He drifts his palms light down Damien’s thighs, claws only ever gentle on his skin as his coolness meets Damien’s heat. “Honeysuckle, allow me to take care of you. Please.”

“I love you so much, Arum,” Damien manages, his voice full and wild with trembling, and he cups Arum’s face in soft hands and strokes his thumbs across scales.

“I love you, Damien.” He nuzzles another kiss to Damien’s lips, and then another, and then another. “May I? Are you ready?”

“Oh, oh yes, yes-” Damien’s body arches in Arum’s arms, his lips parting in a gasp, that elegant curved bow revealing the pink of his tongue and the blunt white of his teeth, and Arum’s body thrums. “Please-”

“Would you- would you say it, for me?” Arum whispers, somehow managing the words while still meeting Damien’s eye. “Would you ask?”

Damien’s cheeks go so hot, so quickly, and Arum is helpless against the urge to press his mouth into another kiss.

When their mouths part, Damien exhales a shaking breath and takes Arum’s face in both hands again. “My lily… my Arum…” he smiles, his eyes gone bright again. “Make love to me?”

Arum asked, for this. He has no excuse for the way the words knock the breath from his lungs in one sharp, sweet blow. He presses his forehead to Damien’s, presses his mouth into yet one more soft kiss, and nods just enough that Damien can feel it.

He moves himself into Damien so, so slowly. Each inch, each breath a gentle forward shift, so terribly careful, and Arum watches Damien’s face the entire time. He observes Damien’s shaking breaths, observes the way Damien bites his lip, observes Damien observing him in return, eyes fixed and and adoring. When when he has filled Damien as deeply as he can, when he is settled flush between Damien’s legs with the poet still held secure in his arms, his upper cock pressing against Damien’s, Arum watches him still, listening to his heart and his breath and drinking in the nuance of his responses. When Arum is satisfied that Damien has been given enough time to adjust, he pulls himself back again, equally slowly, until he has nearly pulled away entirely, and then- he pauses.

“Oh… look at you, honeysuckle,” he murmurs, and then he begins to press himself forward again, drawing his hand through Damien’s hair as he thrusts. “So beautiful, full of such passion,” he says, and Damien’s sweet-drumming heart drums faster. “So clever and bright and sweet-”

“Arum,” Damien murmurs, his tone fluttering between flattered and nervous as he clutches tight to Arum’s body, letting Arum take him slow. “Wh- what are you-”

“I am giving you such sweetness as you deserve, honeysuckle.” He rolls his hips, nuzzling his snout against Damien’s cheek. “If I have been neglecting to show the softness you spur in me, I think it would only be best-” his voice gets lost in a hiss for a moment, pleasure and love coiling together inside him. He takes the opportunity to flick his tongue to taste Damien’s throat as he thrusts, an even and determined rhythm. “It would only be best,” he tries again, “to tell you how I feel. To show you.”

“Love, oh love I know how you feel-”

“I am easily embarrassed, honeysuckle, that much is true. But that embarrassment is not grown from any ill feeling.” Arum speaks through his movements, purring low into Damien’s ear as he holds him, as he thrusts into him. “I am… overwhelmed, at times. I am unaccustomed to feeling so strongly. When you speak your heart, you so often mention how it aches in you, that depth of feeling that causes your breath to catch-”

Damien’s breath catches just then, as well, his lips pressing soft against Arum’s jaw as he gasps there, as he clings with hot hands to Arum’s back.

“I did not know that feeling, before. Before yourself, before Amaryllis.” Arum swallows, but he will not stop, now. He has begun this, and he will not retreat from the size of these feelings. Damien is worth that, Damien deserves-

“Arum-”

“That is why I shy from your poetry, at times,” he admits in a murmur. “You weave such honest tapestries, and there are moments and lines of verse that you may as well have plucked from my own mind. It is… difficult, for me, to be seen so plainly after so long alone.”

Damien moans light and lovely, and his gaze has gone a little vague, a little fuzzy with distraction at the slow-building pleasure they are creating between them. Arum understands; he is stretching the limits of his own focus, trying to speak so softly and honestly while he… while he makes love to Damien. It is nearly impossible to pull any fraction of his mind from the feeling, from the sheer sensation of Damien beneath him and around him. Damien keeps his slightly muddled gaze fixed on Arum, though, while his fingertips press into Arum’s back with an earnest sort of desperation, and Arum, in turn, speaks.

“Amaryllis always states her love quite plainly,” he says, “and that may be overwhelming in its own way. But you, honeysuckle- when you speak, it is not merely that you say what is in my heart as if you can see through to it. No, you- you capture the feeling with the phrase. You take the tangle of adoration within me and put it to your tongue- you speak it into the open air so beautifully-”

“I- I-” Damien bites his lip, gasping, and Arum holds him so, so carefully, drawing soothing claws through his hair. “I speak only- only my own heart, my lily,” he breathes, his body rolling to meet each thrust.

Arum smiles and closes his eyes a moment, pressing their foreheads together with a purr rumbling rough in his throat. “That should tell you, little honeysuckle, how our hearts have grown together, that you speak ours as well, when you speak your own.”

“Arum,” Damien murmurs, his expression raw and open. Arum flicks his tongue to draw up his throat in response, reveling in his gasps. “Oh, oh Arum-”

“I may not be accustomed to speaking so, little love,” he says softly. “I may not have much practice expressing my affection, but there is much that we have learned from each other. You speak your heart, and I know mine all the better. It is only right that I speak as I am able, that I give you what gentle words I can. I know how you adore them.”

“Adore- adore you, Arum, love you so, so-” Damien manages, and Arum can feel the way his poet is trembling now, the way he is circling closer to the center of his pleasure as Arum fills him. Arum holds him all the more securely through that trembling, scaled fingers and ever-so-careful claws caressing where they can, soothing and light.

“And I love you,” Arum murmurs, his own voice catching breathless on the words. “And you know how I love to hear you speak that love, honeysuckle, to hear you call my name. Particularly when I am- when we-” He pauses, breathes a joyful laugh, then nuzzles even closer to murmur in Damien’s ear. “Particularly when we make love.”

Damien moans, then presses his lips to Arum’s cheek, the line of his jaw, and Arum has been purring for long enough that he has stopped noticing, but the tenderness of the gesture makes the rumbling in his throat grow louder still. Arum feels that he is himself careening towards overwhelmed; Damien is too- too much, too much altogether beneath him. Too sweet, too earnest, pleasure like a rainstorm that touches his every scale. Arum holds the poet close, a hand still scratching through his hair, an arm wrapped around his waist, one hand gently curled around his thigh, and the last he pulls from Damien’s other leg and slips between their bodies, instead. He wraps his hand around Damien’s hardness, stroking along with the movement of his hips, the movement of his second cock against Damien as well, gratified when the added pleasure makes the poet’s muscles tense, when it makes him moan again.

“Yes,” Arum hisses. “Oh, your noises, honeysuckle. My poet, my poet- even such noises as these sound like verse from your lips. Even in this you sound like music and beauty.”

“Arum,” Damien murmurs again, and the way his name falls from Damien’s lips is- like jewels, like honey.

“I know you’re close, little love,” he manages to say in a breathless waver. “You do not know how- how it delights me, each time I am lucky enough to carry you through to your deepest pleasure. Let me take you there again.”

Damien clings to him, his hips stuttering to meet Arum, giving little gasps into the crook of Arum’s neck. “Please, please- oh oh love, I-”

“I love you, Damien,” Arum says, soft and close, and Damien’s entire body trembles, his breath hitching in something near a sob, and Arum’s hand and Arum’s words and Arum filling him deep and rhythmic and steady are pressing Damien closer, and closer still. “Precious honeysuckle- we love you so fervently- I cannot find the proper words. I never worry, though, because you- you, honeysuckle- you speak our love with such clarity and reverence- you have more than enough words for all of us, enough beauty to share.”

He slips his hand out of Damien’s hair and cups his face instead, thumb brushing soft over his cheeks, and Damien gasps and looks up at him and there is such wild warmth in those tawny eyes that it makes Arum feel nearly burned.

“I have no mind for composition as you do, my honeysuckle,” he breathes, “but I certainly remember the compositions that have been so generously given to me. At times, I wish to pull a mirror close, to let you see yourself so enraptured, to hear what beauty you would compose when confronted with your own.”

Damien is shaking beneath him, around him, and Arum is compelled, he needs to pull him closer somehow, needs Damien to know how safe and held and loved he is- he slips his other hand beneath the poet, wrapping two arms securely around Damien’s back, and then without upsetting the rhythm of their movements together he lifts. He readjusts them so Damien is carefully held in his lap, aloft in the gentle grip of all four arms as Arum thrusts up into him.

“Once,” Arum murmurs close against Damien’s ear, “once, I remember, you said- you recited-” he pauses, drawing in a breath and attempting to match that lilting tone his honeysuckle can slip into with such ease, and then he opens his mouth again.

“Softest petals among sharpest

thorns, storm-fierce passions enmeshed

in sapling-supple grace, and I fall

enthralled, by your susurrated song-”

Damien moans soft, clings tightly to Arum as he is filled and serenaded with his own poetry, and Arum’s heart could overflow altogether, because he knows perfectly well how it feels to be so showered in such words.

“You composed that beauty, you spoke those words to me, do you remember-” Damien gasps again, nodding sharply against Arum’s shoulder, and Arum can’t help his soft smile. “I thought, even then- I slipped away afterward because you were speaking of me but I could not understand how you- how you knew- you knew precisely how I felt, looking at you. My honeysuckle, soft and sharp and fierce and graceful- you spoke as if you looked into the mirror of my eyes and saw yourself, and- and I- honeysuckle, oh honeysuckle I love you, I love you-”

Damien gasps again, sharp and out of control, and he tries to speak and Arum can see the shape of his lips echo Arum’s words but he is too overwhelmed to put them to voice, and then Damien closes his eyes and clings even more tightly to Arum and he shudders out a breath that turns into a helpless shout and-

Damien is-

When Damien comes-

He glows like sunrise, all promise and joy and birdsong, and his glow fills Arum too, until he cannot help but follow in Damien’s wake, drawn as he ever is by the force of his love as his mind goes blank and white with bliss.

For a long moment in the after, Arum holds Damien just as tightly, holds him steady and suspended and safe, holds him until Damien murmurs his name against Arum’s scales, and then Arum gently, so so gently, lowers him back to the bed, nuzzling close against his lips and pulling his hips away so he may slip from Damien's near-overwhelming heat.

They lay panting together, and Arum buries his claws in Damien’s hair again, drawing his fingers through the curls as Damien’s hands lift to cup his face, as the poet leans up to kiss him again, and again, and Damien bites his lip and smiles shyly.

“I- that is to say- that was-” he pauses to laugh, apparently at his own incoherence, and then he kisses the tip of Arum’s snout. “That was lovely, my lily. You- I do not know what possessed you to spoil me so, but I hope you will allow me to return the favor, some night.”

“You spoil me always, honeysuckle,” Arum murmurs, closing his eyes. “Even this, indulging me so-”

“It was a mutual indulgence, then,” Damien says warmly. “There is an elegance in that, each of our pleasures feeding the other, building together.”

Arum nips lightly at Damien’s jaw, delighting in the way it makes the poet laugh, and his chest feels tight with love.

“I… I apologize, honeysuckle, if I made you feel as if… as if I would not welcome your affection. That was never my intent.”

“I know, Arum. I do not feel neglected, or- I know, now, how you felt. I only wish…” Damien hesitates for a moment, his lip curling into a wry sort of smile as he delicately runs his hands over Arum’s horns, down the soft webbing of his frill. “I wish I had known, earlier. I wish I knew, so we could have done this long ago, could have shared such words-”

Arum’s frill flares, just slightly, as he remembers the particular words he has given to his honeysuckle, today. “Y-yes. Words- the- I am aware, of course, that the- the poetry, as it were, I am aware that- that is to say, I hope it did not feel as if I were… as if I were returning a gift to you that I had been given-”

“Oh, Arum-” Damien nuzzles closer, kissing Arum’s cheek with a light laugh. “I- I have rarely been more flattered, my love. I cannot believe… I am shocked that you remembered my words so exactly.”

“I always remember your words,” Arum says, close against Damien’s neck. “Your verse dances in my head, I could not possibly forget.” He pauses, swallowing awkwardly for a moment. “Amaryllis- Amaryllis would surely mock me for such- such sentimentality,” Arum mutters, claws still drawing careful through Damien’s hair, but at that the poet pulls back enough to meet Arum’s eye with an expression of fondness laced with exasperation.

“She very well would not,” he says firmly. “My love, my lily, you know the both of us better than that. Rilla may tease, yes, but she- she loves you. If we are pulling at these semantic distinctions, as you so called them, then I would argue that you have made love with her just as you have with me. She would not mock you for loving her, and wanting to share that love with her. She does not mock me for just the same.”

Arum presses his lips more tightly together, his frill flaring more fully. “I… I suppose you are… I suppose that is correct,” he mumbles, and then he winces. “This- this is precisely why you were hesitant, isn’t it? This- this is why you had not called it- this is why.”

Damien takes Arum’s face in his hands, gentle and warm. “It is difficult for you, to ease into any sort of gentleness. I understand that, my lily, and I do not judge you for this either. I merely hope, by degrees, that you will come to know that you may trust us with your vulnerable places.”

“I-” Arum exhales, soft, pressing his face into Damien’s hands. “I do trust you. Of course I do. With my life, with every inch of me. I love you.”

“I know. I know you do.” Damien smiles, warm and fond, and he leans up to press his lips to Arum’s mouth with the sort of delicacy that makes Arum feel almost worthy of the creature in his arms. “Just as we love you.”

#fjjfjfjjdkfkkdfkjsldfkjaldsf #elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #lizard kissin' tuesday #rad bouquet #lord arum #sir damien #probably the softedst smut i've ever penned #byeeeeeeeee

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

Note

["So you mended my cape," he repeats, still looking at the cloth instead of her.] to [He jerks his shoulders stiffly so the blanket falls from them, and he still keeps his eyes aimed carefully aside as he lifts the cape towards her again.] from chapter nine. because. because *cape*

[Pick a short passage from any fanfic I’ve written specifically Scattered On My Shore today I’m being picky, and send it to me, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet]

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh HEY TIME FOR LONG CHATTIN

[“So you mended my cape,” he repeats, still looking at the cloth instead of her.] arum be like wHaT tH e FUCK????? He’s repeating himself. he’s. completely fucking blindsided by this.

1) he figured the cape was a loss. fell off in the river, probably. sad, but pretty low on the list of priorities, really.

2) he’s been coping with the lack of cloth around his shoulders mostly because his scales are still very fucking bandage covered, and also the blankets, now. It’s not like Rilla would happen to have some clothes big enough for his broad lizardy shoulders, anyway.

3) she saved it. that’s one thing. that’s already so fucking much. but,

4) she… fixed it? she fixed him, he’s almost getting used to that. But the cape? it’s…. he can’t understand her rationale. it’s just… a kind thing to do. a kind thing, and Arum is entirely unused to kindness. Even despite all of this. She keeps saying that treating him is her job. She’s a doctor. But this is effort for his sake that she had no reason to do.

[“Well,” she says, looking away. “I did the best I could, at least.”] She deflects immediately, and continuously throughout. She… she knows this is beyond treating him. She minimizes it. she pushes it down. because she can’t… tell him that she wants to do nice things for him. That’s… that’s too much to say. Too much to admit, just now.

[“really all I could do was pull together the uh… slashes. Sorry.”] and then she apologizes, because… she does want to do nice things for him, and this still doesn’t feel like enough. she just wants… she wants him to be happy. and right now? Holding the cape and looking at it like he can’t possibly understand it? he doesn’t look happy. she’s getting a little flighty, because this is emotionally risky and he doesn’t look happy about it.

[“What are you apologizing for? You- you did not- you did not need to do this, Amaryllis,”] yet again, Arum be like WHAT THE FUCK?!?! He’s too shocked to really feel pleased about it just yet, but he… he’s grateful, automatically. He already feels like he owes her, so fucking deeply, and she just keeps adding to the pile, besides the fact that he was literally already trying to cope with the… like… specific feelings that he was feeling when he saw her playing and singing. He was having a rather emotionally raw day, over there. Her apologizing- that’s senseless, to him.

[“You barely had anything on you at all,” she says quietly. “Just that and the satchels on your belt, and those were empty.”] pro-tip: they weren’t empty before he went in the river. they were full of dirt, before that. but y’know, when you have a choice between being slashed to death and tossing yourself into a river and probably dying but losing the dirt that could get you home, you react in the moment!

[“But you mended it-” /// “I tried,” she corrects. “I’m-”] He’s still trying to understand why. Because she did it, and she gave it back to him, and there’s nothing she could be trying to get out of him. There’s nothing for her to gain, in fixing this for him. And she’s still deflecting. He’s drawing too much attention to it, making it seem like such a big action. She doesn’t want to think about what it means.

[He reaches out.] ……… boy he sure does……..

[“Thank you,” he says, and even though his voice is half lost in a growl his eyes are shining with gratitude. “I… I do not- certainly I don’t des- thank you.”] CERTAINLY I DON’T DESERVE. kindness. care. affection. not from her, not from a human, not after… here, look here, look right here and you can see the precise moment where Arum’s guilt complex starts to crystalize. This will be a fun thread, as we continue.

[“Arum it’s- it’s not-” She pauses, inhales, and quirks her lip into an odd little smile as she squeezes his hands lightly. “I’m just… happy that I could do this for you.”] The deflecting isn’t working. Now she’s just trying to get past it. It’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s just a thing she did and she’s happy that he’s happy and she’s trying not to think about his scales against her skin either and she just wants to move past this-

[“Saving my life was not enough? You felt you needed to do more, Amaryllis?”] what even IS this human??? what kind of creature would not only look out for him enough to keep him from death, but go out of their WAY for him like this?

[“Well, that- I mean, it’s my- my job to- to heal people-” /// “But I am not huma-”] O O F. oofa doofa. That’s the whole thing, aint it. the lines between human and monster and person, or the lack thereof. Rilla’s been having some off-screen soul-searching about this, honestly. It comes up in a later scene. You know the one.

[“This, though- the cape- it… I don’t know. It’s different. I’m glad I could do that for you.”] That ��i don’t know” is the best she can do, at the moment. She’s got a lot on her plate right now, really. Self-examination is hard when you’re babysitting a monster and an anxious knight, too.

[Arum stares at her, his eyes flicking between her own in a shocked sort of way, and then he drops his gaze and her hands, a strange rattle rumbling his chest. He jerks his shoulders stiffly so the blanket falls from them, and he still keeps his eyes aimed carefully aside as he lifts the cape towards her again.] He believes her. That’s the difficult part. He’s starting to believe her. What part of this would be a trick? How could fixing his cape be part of any strategy? it just… it’s impossible to fit into the fabric of his denial. And he’s… he doesn’t want to be comfortable with it. Getting comfortable is risky, and Arum is NOT a risk-taker.

however

She did this for him. She mended the cape. She keeps reaching for him. She keeps treating him so gently. He can call this a test, in his head. He can barely manage to make himself ask, but- it’s just a test. So it’s okay. Will she help him put the cape on, too? The answer is obviously yes, but if he frames it that way, it’s not just him asking her for something he wants and trusting that she’ll help. It’s just another test. And the fact that he can’t keep from purring when he is finally finally wearing his own cape again, and when Rilla’s hands are gentle, fixing it around his shoulders, touching his arms-

it doesn’t have to mean anything.

#Scattered meta #lord this got long #hey sky hope this ain't too much!!#shorter-than-her-tbr-pile #asks #elle's fanfic meta

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

Text

it’s lizard kissin’ tuesday.... and we have done a Mean Thing. Sky @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile is responsible for the initial concept and a LOT of this besides.

No More Changes (I’ll Still Love You The Same)

[ao3] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, (tho not THIS chapter certainly), Curses, human!arum, (but not... because he WANTS to be), (it ain't good y'all), Panic Attacks, Overstimulation, Rilla Is Queen Of Comfort, Damien Does Not Consider The Consequences Of His Words, (tho that's not relevant until next chapter...)

Summary: Lord Arum and his Keep have fought off curses before, but they have never dealt with one quite like this. They have never dealt with a curse while having a couple of humans around to help them, either... though it remains to be seen exactly how helpful Arum's lovers will be, in the effort of restoring him.

Notes: We made ourselves sad. Now we are subjecting y'all to the sad. Am I sorry? ..... a little actually, yeah. I promise we'll make it better eventually tho. @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile, thank you SO much for throwing this concept at me and letting me just go berserk about it. I love you!!! Thank you for writing this with me!!! <3 Work title from the song Pristine, by Snail Mail. Chapter title from the song Human, by Dodie.

Chapter 1 - Paint Me In Trust

It is instantaneous. Like a bolt of lightning.

Arum doesn't scream, not exactly. He inhales, sharp and shocked, and when he exhales it sounds as if he's being punched in the stomach, and he collapses to the ground, half-buried in his cape.

"Arum-" Rilla drops her recorder. Doesn't even notice it fall to the floor of the greenhouse as she sprints to the side of the lizard, going to her knees when she's close enough, but when she reaches to turn him onto his side to get a better look-

He feels wrong.

Soft. He feels soft. She pushes the cape aside, and when she rolls Arum onto his back, she finds a panting, glassy-eyed human groaning softly into the folds of the cloth.

"What-" Rilla says blankly, and the human winces, curling into a tighter ball and making a choking sort of noise. "Who-"

"A-Ama-" he chokes, a hand lifting clumsily to press at his throat. "Amaryllis-" he manages, and Rilla loses her own breath.

"Oh Saints," Rilla says faintly. "Arum?"

"What-" he tries again, and his voice is pitched so low that she almost doesn't hear how horribly ordinary it sounds. Soft. No rattle, no roughness to speak of. "Amaryllis, I- I can't-" he presses up on one arm (Rilla can only see two), but he slips, and she only barely catches him before he smacks his face into the dirt.

"Arum, I need you to breathe," she says, halfway on automatic. First steps. Baseline, while her brain races to try to understand exactly what just happened. "Keep," Rilla calls, voice understandably strained. "Keep, do you know what just- what that was?"

There is a pause, and Arum-the-human breathes short strained breaths in her arms, his muscles twitching and jerking. The Keep- sings vaguely, a song that sounds off key with itself. Uncertain, confused.

That song, that wavering, it seems to startle Arum to some sort of coherency, and he tilts his head back, squinting at the ceiling, and Rilla realizes with a sick jolt that his eyes, his human eyes, they aren't purple. They are without color entirely, pale and gray, set in a face that looks vaguely familiar but wrong, like a building remembered from childhood, with walls torn down and reconstructed past the point of recognition.

"Keep?" he asks, his new smooth-soft voice wavering uncertainly, and the Keep fails to answer right away a second time. It sings, after a long moment, and Arum's new unscaled brow furrows, his breath hitching. "Keep. Keep, I can't- speak again. I command you to-"

It sings again, and Rilla recognizes the lilt of desperation in the notes.

"Keep, I can't-" he pauses, snapping his jaw shut, and then he winces at that and presses his hand to his jaw for a clumsy moment before he lifts the hand further, his palm flexing in front of his horrified face. "What- what-"

"Breathe," Rilla says again, and Arum sucks in a breath as he lifts his other hand, and then he twists against her, his back arching just slightly, and she realizes that he's trying to move his other arms. The ones that aren't there, anymore.

"I-" he says, and then he looks up at her, pale gray eyes wide and damp at the corners. "I can't-" he lifts his hands, clumsy as they try to grip her shoulders, and she pulls him to sitting so he isn't entirely on the cold dirt, and his breaths come faster and sharper as he says, "Amaryllis I can't hear your heart-"

He's incoherent after that, for a while. Rilla nearly screams in the effort of getting the Keep to understand her, to get it to focus for long enough to open a portal to Arum's room so she can carry him (easily, Saints but this human body is slight), lift him into her arms while he just clings and hyperventilates until she can set him down in familiar sheets.

Arum keeps brushing his hands over his own skin and wincing, keeps twisting and flinching away from the sheets when he touches them, and Rilla knows overstimulation when she sees it and honestly there's a logic to that, isn't there? Arum has spent his entire life in scales, and he’s nowhere close to unfeeling, his scales are plenty sensitive in their own right but it's different from human skin and now he's- he's human, and-

She keeps trying to make her mind wrap around that. Trying to make it make sense. It doesn't, obviously.

Regardless of sense, it's true. Arum is, currently and uncomfortably, human. With smooth dark skin and grey eyes and dark hair that falls down around his shoulders in unkempt waves, with nearly a full foot of height stolen from him somewhere.

She shakes her head. Situation at hand, Rilla. One problem at a time. He's overstimulated, terrified if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. She climbs up onto the bed beside him, and when he turns his panicked eyes towards her she tries a grim, sturdy little smile, and then she carefully, gently pulls him into an embrace, arranging him so that his head is resting on her collarbone.

"Just breathe," she whispers. "Try to breathe with me, okay? I know you're scared, and that's- honestly that's totally fair, but right now you have to calm down or you're gonna make yourself ill or make yourself pass out. Just- focus on my breathing, and try to make yourself slow down enough to breathe with me."

His body presses into hers, his hands alternately squeezing her and fluttering away when the contact gets too much, but after a moment he goes still, and his breathing hitches instead of slowing.

"Hey," she says softly. "Hey, please Arum, you've gotta-"

"I can- I can hear your heart now. I- you need be this close? Amaryllis I feel- my ears and tongue and eyes and nose have been dulled by half and half again, how- how-"

"Oh," Rilla says, and she wonders if he can hear the way that makes her heart stumble with sympathy, with fear. "Oh sweetheart I'm sorry, but you have to- oh Arum-"

He clenches his jaw, clinging tighter against her, pressing his ear over her heart and pressing his eyes defiantly closed, but she can feel his shoulders shaking, can see the tracks of tears running down his face.

"Even this," he hisses miserably. "I don't- is it- is this why the poet is always-" he stops to shake for a moment. "I can't make this stop-"

"I know, sweetheart," she says in a whisper, and she tries not to follow right behind him into shaking, into weeping. "I've got you, I've got you." She doesn't tell him to breathe again. She merely rubs her hands as softly as she can on his back, holds him against her and lets him hear her steady, steady heart. She hums, and holds him, and lets his tears play out.

It takes a little while. That makes sense, too; it’s not as if Arum has much practice holding back tears like this.

“I- I’m- I apologize, Amaryllis," Arum mutters eventually, when he has managed at last to match his breathing to Rilla's, murmuring the words into the skin of her throat. "That was-” his mouth twists miserably, mortification clear on his face.

“Don’t. Arum, this is- I mean, as far as I know this is fairly unprecedented,” she says with a wry frown. “It’s a perfectly reasonable response to have.”

“Nevertheless,” he mutters, and then he pulls himself reluctantly away from her skin, sitting with a wince. He lifts his arms again, scowling as he looks down on overly soft, clear skin, on stubby fingers with blunt nails.

“So,” Rilla says, matter-of-fact. “This is magic, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he grumbles.

“And obviously, you know more about that than I do,” she says, a long-suffering sort of admission. “So, do you have any idea what could cause something like this? Any clues, any suspicions, any suspects?”

“Punishment.”

Rilla blinks. “Punishment?”

He sighs, winces, reaches a hand up to touch his own cheek. “Working for the Senate- I never should have put myself into that position. They have- they have safeguards to prevent betrayal.”

“And you didn’t think this was worth mentioning before now?” Rilla asks incredulously.

“I have been… since the Terminus, since us, the Keep and I have been layering defenses, magical and otherwise. While the Senate scrambled to recover after the loss of their weapon- I thought- I hoped I would have enough time. I hoped that I would be unimportant enough to them to slip through the cracks, but-” he winces, his hand pressing against his throat for a moment and his eyes going distant and uncertain, and then he works his jaw awkwardly before he mutters, “I sound… so strange.”

“You were layering defenses,” Rilla redirects gently, softly touching his shoulder, hoping she can draw him back before the distress overwhelms him again. “How do you think this- whatever this is. How did it get through?”

Arum ducks his head. “I… the Keep and I… we focused our efforts mainly upon the swamp itself, and the Keep.”

“What,” Rilla says, voice blank with horror. “What about you, you idiot?”

“The Keep is more important,” he hisses, his eyes slipping closed. “Protecting it is my purpose, Amaryllis. If it dies, so too does this entire swamp. And so too would I, as well. It is not entirely unselfish. If the Keep dies, everything here dies with it. If I die…” he shrugs. “I would rather not, obviously, but if I die, the Keep survives. It produces another familiar, and it continues to create and nurture life and magic in this place.”

“Rather not,” Rilla says faintly. “Arum-”

“It is not a choice I enjoy making, but it is an easy choice, in the end.”

Rilla hates that a part of her understands his logic. Most of her, though, is furious that he would discount himself that way. “Next time maybe try protecting both, jackass,” she says, her voice wavering.

He smiles, grim and strange. “Next time,” he echoes.

“So,” Rilla says, shaking her head and clearing her throat. “So. It’s probably the Senate, or someone working for them,” she says. “That’s a good theory, and I think it’s safe to run with it. So, why this? Why turn you into a human? Why not just-”

“Kill me?” He laughs. “I am certain some would have preferred that. But there is a certain… rationale to this. A clear message in the execution. I have aligned myself with humans, yes? This is all to say that if I would join them, I may do it properly.”

Rilla feels her stomach twist. “You think they know about us?” she asks, her voice low.

“Doubtful,” he says with a sigh. “Not the two of you specifically, at least. But they are aware that I was responsible for the destruction of the Hermit, they are aware that I was not cast off the edge of the world, and they are aware of… rumors.”

“Rumors.”

He glances to her, his entire expression gone soft and open. “Of a human claiming, quite publicly, to love me.”

Her heart plummets. It must show on her face, because Arum blinks in surprise and reaches a clumsy hand up to touch her shoulder.

“Amaryllis-”

“This is because- because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut? Saints I’m so-” she clenches her teeth, “stupid, Arum I’m-”

“Hush,” Arum says, frowning. “Don’t be foolish. This is not your fault, no more than it is the fault of a certain knight for failing to kill me. There are rumors of that, as well, you know. The fault lies solely with whoever concocted this spiteful little scheme.”

“Still,” Rilla says, her brow furrowed. “Still. If it contributed-”

“Hush,” he says again, the hand on her shoulder squeezing gently. “You did not do this to me.”

“No,” she says with a sigh, and then she straightens, her eyes taking on a determined glint as she pulls Arum’s hand into her own. “No, but I’m gonna be the one who helps you fix it.”

Arum’s expression falls again, open and raw, and Rilla’s heart clenches for all the ways he clearly does not know how to hide his feelings in this body.

“Y-yes,” he says, his voice wavering.

“If someone did this,” Rilla says with a scowl, “we can undo it.”

He stares at her for a moment, grateful, surprised, hopeful, and then tears roll over Arum’s cheeks again, and he swipes at his face with his jaw clenched hard as Rilla makes a small noise, pulling him close.

"The lot of you creatures can't possibly feel this way at every moment,” he mutters viciously, struggling in the effort to push back the tears, to control the shaking in his voice. “As if- as if every touch is scalding and sharp, as if you can only half interpret the world, all sense sliced to unsatisfactory fractions. As if you are but a breath from breaking at all moments. You cannot possibly feel this way."

“No,” Rilla says softly. “No, I think that’s- that’s just by comparison. Your senses are a hell of a lot keener than ours, and your scales provide a lot more natural protection. If I got suddenly put in a body like yours, I bet I’d be overwhelmed by all the new noises and smells and sights, and I’d feel like my sense of touch got all wrapped up in cotton or dipped in wax. It’d be distressing in just the opposite way.”

That makes… a certain amount of sense. Arum grumbles under his breath and winces when the noise is not accompanied by the usual growl. It feels as if someone reached into his throat and replaced his own vocal chords with some foreign flute. Not that that particular point is the worst of this, but it is distracting.

“Shit,” Rilla says softly, and Arum blinks and focuses back on her.

“What?”

“I was supposed to-” she sighs. “I have to go send an entire frickin’ flock of pigeons, now. I don’t have time to deal with my regular appointments while we’re busy fixing this.”

Arum’s heart lurches in two completely different directions at once, both grateful that she would put her work, her healing aside temporarily for him, and simultaneously wracked with nerves at the idea that she is going to leave him alone in this state, even for a little while. He swallows roughly.

She’s too perceptive for his own good, though. She notices the look on his face, and when she smiles softly he wishes he could growl at the sympathy in her eyes. He frowns instead, hoping it carries some measure of his ire.

“I won’t be long,” she says softly. “I just need to send some messages and gather some materials and notes that might be handy. Tell you what, though- Damien should be getting out of his meeting soon and he was already planning on springing a surprise visit today-” she pauses to grin a little more playfully. “Ruined the surprise on that one, but I’m sure the both of you will forgive me. Anyway, he’s free for the rest of the day, so I’ll give him the rundown and he can come through and help you out for a bit while I’m taking care of the unavoidable stuff. Sound fair?”

Arum wrinkles his strange short nose, seething that she would imply he requires help-

But he does need some measure of help, actually. Loathe as he is to admit it. He can barely manage to stand without his tail, with his legs so short and oddly bent. And Amaryllis has done very much in their time together, to help him understand that she and Damien will not judge him for this. That they want to help, when he so needs. And it is still... difficult, but Arum is trying. If ever he had no choice but to be vulnerable, now is that time. At least the universe is kind enough to bring him so low while he has such bright creatures to hold him and help him. Small miracles within such a nightmare.

He sighs, curling his arms awkwardly around his knees. “Very well, Amaryllis.”

“I won’t be long,” she says again as she slips from the bed, and then she leans back down and presses a kiss to his brow. It feels so much more vivid, the pressure more intense but less warm, on skin rather than scales. “Try to rest in the meantime, though, okay?”

“Rest,” Arum mutters derisively. “As if I can go cavorting with these malformed limbs-”

“Your body went through one hell of a shock,” she barrels on, pretending as if she didn’t even hear him. “I don’t want you to strain yourself any more than strictly necessary. Okay?”

He grumbles again, but she looks down at him sternly, her hands on her hips.

“Okay, Arum?”

He narrows his eyes at her, and his face feels hot. “Yes, doctor,” he mutters, but then he leans towards her in the familiar way, an unspoken request.

Her frown softens, and she bends to embrace him gently and press another kiss to his cheek, and before she pulls away she murmurs, “We’ll fix this. Whatever it takes.”

His throat is tight and hot and horrible for a moment, but he nods. “Whatever it takes,” he echoes, and then he allows her to settle the blankets around his shoulders before she calls for a portal to her hut.

The Keep takes a few extra moments to listen, but it does listen, and when Rilla is gone and the portal is closed and Arum is alone, and human, and alone, he finally pinpoints a feeling that has been squirming at the back of his mind since he collapsed in the greenhouse.

He feels half deafened, with these strange human ears. It is less dramatic than the weakness of his vision, or the utter travesty of his olfactory capabilities.

But his limited hearing is not the reason that all around him feels so… muffled.

Arum realizes, at last, the final strangeness of this transformation. The final cruelty. It is quiet, now that Amaryllis has left him. More than that, though. It is silent, in a foreign way. The Keep creaks around him as always, but Arum finally realizes what has been missing.

He cannot hear the Keep. Not really. He cannot feel it. He cannot sense it, steady at the edges of his mind, where its presence has always before been, sturdy and safe. Even when it slept after its illness, Arum could still feel that it was there, even if it was not aware or present. Now, though.

Now, Arum is alone.

Alone in his own mind, wearing skin that does not fit him, helpless as a hatchling without even his closest kin for comfort.

Arum closes his eyes. He does not have the strength for anything else, just now. He curls into as tight a ball as he can manage, his cape and his blankets an overwhelming pressure he cannot stand to remove, and he settles in to wait for one of his lovers to return.

#elle's fanfic #shorter-than-her-tbr-pile #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #the keep #hhhhh *anxiety spike*#yes. yes i know i already have ten thousand wips. i know. i know and i'm sorry

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