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the-crows-typist · 4 years ago

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Time for the 3rd installment of our Valentine’s Event with none other than, Vil Schoenheit and the word: Kiss requested by @twstdaydreamer This was very fun to write and I hope all of you enjoy this as much as I did.

CW: Alternate Universe: Cinderella and The Beast, OOC, Dark past, and discussion of the death of a loved one.

This ficlet features characters singing certain songs so links will be provided for added experience.

While some lyrics are gendered, the reader still remains gender-neutral.

Word count: 7843

Other works: Chocolate Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd

A Heart from Me to You

There once was a house as beautiful as those who lived in it. Its Lord and Lady produced a beautiful heir who, at a young age, strived for beauty unequaled to anyone in the mortal plane but at the price of the beauty of his own heart. One day, an old woman with a face aged approached the manor to seek shelter from the blistering snow…Only to be turned away with looks of disgust. This angered the lady, removing her form to reveal herself as a powerful goddess who cursed all who lived in that house with an enchanted rose.

This selfishness was what brought upon the family’s curse that when night fell should the family follow. The beautiful boy suffered from the curse the most, in his transformation did he end up killing those loved.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

“How tragic.” You whisper, sitting by the fire with a book on your lap. You enjoyed break times by the fire and being able to read by your lonesome especially when the winters became bitter in Pyroxene. You closed the book just as the head maid came in.

“Oh look at you, you’ve got cinder marks in your uniform. Come here. You must be careful, dear. The cinder marks are harder to wash off than you think.” She said and wiping the still fresh marks off your sleeves. “It was getting cold,” You explained. “But I’ll be careful next time, I promise.”

“Please and thank you.” She smiled at you the way a mother would to her child. “Come along, Vil will be coming home soon. We should go ahead and greet him.” You follow her towards the door just as you thought about Vil. His father was a famous actor that traveled but it wasn’t often that the two of them were in the same house at the same time.

“Welcome back, Vil.” Said the maid and you, bowing your head. “How was the trip?

Vil Schoenheit stood before you, his winter coat shining with fresh snowflakes and noise a sore red. “It went as it should. May I ask for some hot tea with honey?” You could hear the pulled-back shiver in his voice. “Bring it to me in the bath.” His footsteps were quick even in those high-heeled shoes.

“Can I leave it to you?” The head maid asked. “I still need to finish cooking dinner.”

You nod your head and smoothing out your uniform, ready to take on another task as well as the scrutinizing eye of one Vil Schoenheit.

Three knocks on the door and Vil halted in his actions. “Come in.” You opened the door, pushing the tray carrying tea and small biscuits carefully into the warm room. Vil had already exited the tub and dressed in a robe. Just as you had been taught, you poured a cup of tea mixed with honey and presented it to him.

“Thank you.”

Vil was a beautiful being, he really was. The way his body was sculpted and toned made you think he was carved out of fine marble by the finest artisans. His gaze towards you made you realized you were staring too long. “I-I’ll be on my way, Mister Vil. Please enjoy the night.”

“You’re the new one here, aren’t you?”

Vil set down the cup and stood up, the robe seemed to act like a flowing dress that flowed at the floor as he drew closer and closer to you. “I believe you’re the one whose mother passed last autumn.” You nodded your head with a sigh, remembering the stressful days after your mother was laid to rest.

Times were hard for you and your family, after the sudden passing of your mother, all of you had to make ends meet whenever and wherever possible. Your step-father, Mozus Trein, got a position as a professor in a known school while your step-brothers, Angelo and Donovan, set for the Rose Kingdom.

Angelo became a baker’s apprentice while Donovan became a tailor for an apparel shop. You stayed behind in Pyroxene, snagging yourself as a position as part of the staff of the well-known Schoenheit family. While the pay was good, appearances needed to be kept at all times thus why the head maid was often uppity with you especially on your first days.

“Yes.”

“I offer my condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you…” You say and you look down at your shoes, your chest feeling heavy and empty at the same time. “But the tears have already been shed. All I want to do now is take care of my father and help my brothers.”

There was a smile on his face and he reached over, patting your shoulder with a damp hand. Up close he smelled of clean soap with a hint of citrus. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable. That’s what I want in the people who work here.” He pats your shoulder again with eyes of judgment. “But these marks on your uniform…”

Ah, crap.

“I stay by the fire during my break times.” You admit quickly and Vil only shakes his head. “It would do you good to stay further away. These cinder marks are unsightly.”

“I will keep that in mind, sir.”

He pulled back his arms and turned around as you were about to take your leave. “By the way, I would like to reiterate something while you’re here because I know the other staff will neglect to tell you this one important detail.”

The mirror before him reflected his serious expression, you gulped feeling as if you broke a rule. “When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

“What’s so special about the second floor?”

All of you ate on a table, the head maid serving up some warm cream stew. “Ah, that.” You gave your bowl to ask for seconds and she much obliged you. The old lady smiled to herself. “Nighttime is the only time Vil can rest,” She explained. “He’s quite the light sleeper so even the softest of sounds will wake him up.”

The look in her eyes was distant and smile knowing as she handed the bowl back to you. “Do you need anything else? We still have some sweet corn and roasted chicken,” she asked, pushing some more food for you to take. You sip at the hot morsel of food after shaking your head. “No, I’m fine.”

The howling winter winds that rattled your window was something you could never shut out of your mind. For as long as you could remember, you had always sought refuge in the beds of your family whether it be your annoyed yet caring brothers or the understanding tiredness of your parents.

Your mother was the best at calming you, though. She always knew exactly what to do…She was your first teacher, your first friend, your primary protector after the split and she became all the more lively after meeting Mozus, your step-father. And while life adjusted itself perfectly for you and your new family, it didn’t hesitate to strike tragedy at the calmest of times.

Your mother, after all the years she had been fighting and keeping her sickness at bay, succumbed one day in front of your step-father. Even with all the magic remedies and medicines in the world to keep her alive, there was no reversing what had already been done.

“I love you.” She said on her death bed, Trein’s hand never leaving his wife’s. “I love all of you very much. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.”

You and your brothers dealt with the grief differently, all three of them going off to their little corners for days and never showing their faces to you. It was days after the funeral when you saw your father cry, holding a picture of your mother close to his chest.

Since then, you and your brothers always needed to remind each other that they needed to be strong for their father’s sake. Angelo and Donovan spared no time in snatching every opportunity that they could while you stayed behind.

Vil’s words to you repeated like a record in your head, reminding you of how he viewed you. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable.” The winds rattled and you brought your knees to your chest. Was your resolve, your foundation as strong as Vil saw??

Cutlery colliding against each other broke you out of your thoughts and startling you back to reality. Slipping out of bed and into your shoes, you made your way into the kitchen with your hands holding your coat tightly for warmth. The plates clattered amongst themselves and you hear the tap opening and closing.

You listen in the dark, waiting for the next noises. The footsteps were erratic and almost cobbled, the clicking of plates loud and sudden as if something was trying to walk. Had someone tried to break in? You hear the door to the living room open and shut and you poise yourself to follow but grabbing a nearby frying pan to defend yourself.

Opening the door, you hear the pair of footsteps climb up the stairs and you begin to panic. Vil’s room was up there! Whoever it was, was targeting Vil. Your movements hesitated, remembering the rule Vil himself told you.

“When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

The dead of night had already come and everything around you was dark save for the lamps that provided little help in the snowstorm. You hesitated to move, weighing the options and their potential consequences. Should you stay and let Vil rest knowing a thief was roaming the halls or should you break the rules and protect him with all you had?

You bolted up the stairs without a second thought and the frying pan clutched tight, panting as you got to the top and looking wildly and trying to listen for the familiar intermittent footsteps. You turn to your side with you hear another door opening and closing and suddenly all the lessons you’ve learned grappling with your stepbrothers come back to you in a flash.

You inch towards the room in the door, turning the knob to open the door with a soft creek that makes your insides cringe. In the middle of the room was a floating flower protected by a glass dome, it was red-pink petals shimmering and lightings its vicinity in the same color.

It was mesmerizing to look at.

Setting the pan down to your side, you walked towards it with your hand stretching out to touch the dome that protected it. You dropped the pan entirely to take the dome off the rose, its glow, even more, hypnotizing up close. Just as your finger touched its soft petals, the window to your side blew open in a torrent of cold wind and unfurling the curtains that moved like the waves of a dark sea.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

From the darkness within the room, a pair of purple orbs glowed and a growl preceded a warning voice. The intermittent footsteps of a convulsing mannequin were not far off and its happy face brought a lick of terror to your heart.

The creature of the night crawled forwards, its sharp teeth jutting out of its mouth and form menacing and mangled. The windows were soon closed and the curtains dropped to the ground with your foot stepping on the soft fabric.

“Give me the dome.” The monster’s long claws reached out for you and before you stepped back, you slipped; hitting your head on the soft material behind you, the howling winds and the piercing orbs fading to black.

“…I told you not to come in here.”

You stood by the door of your step-father’s study with eyes facing the floor. Angelo and Donovan standing on either side of you. The yellow light gave off a sleepy and exhausted feeling in the realm of books and writing materials. In the very center was a diorama of your family, toys he wanted to surprise the kids with.

And now, the surprise was ruined.

You could feel shame boil in you, it had been only a few months since your mother remarried and you had new brothers to play with…And now your new dad was upset with you. “Come here.” He said, the man suddenly on one knee, your brothers coming over to him in a hug and you followed soon after.

“All of you, such curious little mice.” He said, patting each one of you on the back. “Next time, I want you to ask for permission before you enter the study, alright?” There was a laugh behind you, your mother smiling to herself while she leaned against the doorframe with a blanket over her shoulders. She never got used to the cold she was born in.

“Promise me that.”

“Yes, daddy.” All the children say.

And as you relished the warmth of your new father, something wet trickled down your cheek. Your brother, Angelo, was always the sensitive one of your step-siblings and would not hesitate to stop the sibling tomfoolery the moment things go awry. He held you close, his tears accidentally running down your cheek when you moved, while Donovan sat in the corner with shoulders hunched over. What was once your father’s sleepy study was now the empty hallway of a hospital.

The wind rattled against the windows of the hospital, your mother had succumbed to the sickness on a cold day. And your father was getting everything ready for the eventual end.

“Kids.”

Trein came out of the room, looking older than you remembered. “Your mother would like to talk to you.”

When you turned away from your brother’s embrace, you were seated on the side of your mother’s bed. Her body was sickly and the cold messed with what life remained in her. She smiled at all of you and your eyes began to sting.

“I love you.” She says, her eyes looking so tired. “I love you all very much.” And soon the tears began to fall from her face. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.” You blinked at the hand you held, your mother’s hand soon replaced with Donovan’s as he pulled you from your seat. In his suit, he looked more solemn and his usually long and wild hair was tied back with a ribbon.

“Let’s say goodbye.” He told you and tugged you to the coffin where your mother laid. “Where’s dad?” You turned your head, your hand now vacant and the space behind you a void of nothingness. The door of your father’s study slightly ajar and the familiar yellow light spilling through.

Your steps were echoed and slow, approaching the room slowly. When you were by the door, you peaked through the cracks; your father kneeling on the carpet and holding a figure to his chest. The diorama you once played with in your youth was set up on his table, your mother’s figurine nowhere in sight. There was a held back sob, Trein’s body shaking under his mourning robes.

You took a step back, letting him grieve in his own time.

You knew better than to come in there without permission.

You woke up with a start and a sudden sting to the back of your head. Above you was a chandelier you had no memory of seeing in your quarters and a bed your hands never recognized. Your chest heaved when you pushed yourself up the bed only to be pushed down by the head maid.

“Stay down.” She says, holding your shoulders. The light of the new day filtered through the large window of Vil’s room. Vil stood by the rose with his back facing you, holding the dome to himself just as your breathing leveled and normalized. “You hit your head pretty bad last night,” She explained and felt for the bump that made you hiss.

Last night…

“Was last night real?” You asked, your sudden burst of energy was off-putting especially when you remembered the events leading to the memories you wished to never relish again. “That rose. Was it really glowing? A-and that monster—!”

The dome was placed onto the rose with a loud clack, the glass roughly hitting the marble surface. “T-that’s beside the point!” The maid scolded. “Vil warned you never go to the second floor after the sunsets! Not only did you disobey one of the rules given to you, you hit your head while doing so.”

You bit back a hiss of guilt and opened your mouth to try to retort at your apparent rebellion.

“Elena.”

Vil’s voice was soft yet strict, eyes calm yet sharp. He regarded you for a moment while leaning against the marble table. “Let them be for the day, they’ve hit their head too hard.” You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. “See to it that they have little heavy activities as possible and prioritize that the bump is given care immediately.”

Elena bowed her head, her upset anger still very much apparent.

“Yes, sir.”

Elena’s nimble hands making quick work of dirty dishes. Your head had been bandaged with a compress pressed to where you hit your head. You stared at your meal with little appetite before poking at the grilled fish. “Miss Elena, why does that rose glow?”

The clattering of cutlery stopped and the head maid only sighed, shaking his head. “Always the curious one, aren’t you?” She turned around, leaning against the sink with arms crossed. “That’s one of Vil’s most treasured possessions. An heirloom that came directly from his grandfather then to his father then to him.��

Elena’s eyes looked to the side as if to remember. “I should know. I was there for every passing down. Vil is highly protective of it.”

It might have just been a coincidence, you thought to yourself, that the story you read by the fire had mentioned a rose but that was all there was to it. You ate your breakfast quicker after that. “I’m sorry for my behavior.”

“Next time, listen to your instructions.” She said, taking the plates from you before you could even move an inch to help her.

The feather duster slid against the books, your toes tipping to reach up for the shelves above your head. From there, you took your damp rag and swiped it across the polished wooden table. Yup, this was pretty much not so labor-intensive but it would get painfully boring unless you had some entertainment to go with you so you sang a small song taught to you in your youth.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.” Your mother loved to sing this song to you and soon, to your new family. Trein especially loved it when they danced together in the living room when the children were ‘seemingly’ asleep. “In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep.” You closed your eyes, feeling the memories of the past come with the melody of your song. You remember the first time you snuck out of bed with your brothers to see your parents slow dancing together. “Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through.”

You’ve never seen your mother smile so peacefully nor did you ever see her hug someone so intimately before Trein, in fact, you’ve never seen her do any of those things with your old dad. She was happy. “No matter how your heart is grieving...”

You only wished to see that happiness last longer than it should have. If only things stayed the way they did. “If you keep on believing…”

You envisioned your mother holding you close, singing to you one last time. Just like how she did when could still hold you to your chest. Just one last time…

“The dream that you wish…will come true.”

Sighing, you leaned against your broom saddened by what you made yourself remember. “Oh, I’ll never get my work done at this rate.” You say, taking your equipment with you and almost running out the library with a huff. Next to the fireplace, Vil lay on one of the long couches away from sight. It was only when you went out that he rose from his seat and hunched forward to let his hair cover his face.

He stayed silent, relishing the sound of your voice in his head.

During your break time, you decided to stay outside with a group of mice that decided to keep you company. You never understood why but the small animals around your area always seemed to be kind and almost human-like. When one mouse decided to sit by you while nibbling a small piece of leftover cookies did you begin to speak your thoughts.

“Is there something being hidden from me? Or am I being too nosey?”

One mouse approached you, listening to you at your feet. “I know last night wasn’t a dream, I know what I saw.” You say then feeling for the bump on his head. “It was real, I just know it.” There was a small squeak, one of the female mice touched your hand with her small paw as if to say words of reminder.

‘You’re stressing yourself out.’

Grimacing, you pushed yourself up and patting your uniform off the crumbs and dust. “I know.” You tell them and the mice look up to you in curiosity and concern in their beady little eyes. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’m a strong mouse just like you! I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this, I just…Need to find a better opportunity.”

The mice squeak in affirmation which makes you giggle. “Ahah, I’ll have to figure it out as I go along.” You tell them and look to the house, knowing that you had to get back in quickly. “I should get going, I’ll come back with some good food tomorrow.” You wave at the mice who give sounds of greeting as you leave.

What you saw on the second floor was real. You know it is. And you were going to prove it. You stopped by one of the mirrors, fixing your appearance quickly. “Huh?” Your hand touches the surface, small cracks brushed by your tips as if someone had driven something sharp into it. Looking up at the sky, you smelled frost in the air. Strong winds would accompany the night again, it seems.

The accompanying snowstorm was as fitting as it ever gave you a feeling of stealth. You always wanted to be a kind of spy when you were younger and here you are living the dream, though some nice gear and some goggles would have helped greatly. The wind blows and rattles the windows harshly when you brought yourself up the stairs.

“Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

You walk to the door you saw the beast. Placing a hand on the door to listen. “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared Neither one prepared. Beauty and The Beasy” Hesitantly, you open to turn the door to hear more of the beautiful voice. The room was dark and only the glowing rose giving light to the room around it.

“Ever just the same, ever a surprise,”

A mannequin hunches over a familiar huddle of fur and purple light. The movements of both almost unearthly yet the voice passionate and real…And so familiar. “Ever as before and ever just as sure as the sun will rise.”

The winds rattle harshly again and the beast bundles into a ball in Vil’s bed, the mannequin’s hands shakenly placing its hand on the shivering being. “Tale as old as time, tune as old as song. Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change; learning you were wrong.”

You open the door a little wider and watch the scene unfold. Somehow, it wasn’t your place to interfere at such a moment so vulnerable. “Certain as the sun rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the Beast ”

The shaking beast’s form calmed itself and the mannequin leaned down, its monotonous face pressing against the mass of fur. A kiss goodnight. The cold of the wind blew through, the mannequin looking at you with its painted eyes. The silence was light and your eyes never leaving each other. Taking a step back, you pulled the door with you until it was shut. Everything was finally coming together.

Vil was the beast.

Breakfast was quiet and the wraps on your head were taken off. Elena made no move or sound to acknowledge you as you ate. “So the beautiful boy cursed by the goddess.” You could hear her hand grip the wet plates tightly and you knew what was coming but, at this point, you didn’t care if you got scolded. “It was Vil, wasn’t it?”

“You were given specific instructions never to go up there at night.” She said sternly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” You press again.

“Why are you so pressed on this? What good will it do for you?”

“The mannequin was you, wasn’t it? You were singing to that beast.” Elena fuming, slammed her hand onto the table and that was what made you pull back. “Don’t call him that.” She says and sighs, pulling away from you and straightening her back. “The next time I see you on the second floor, you are out of this house. Do you understand me?”

She takes your empty plates and splashes them into the water. Her breath was harsh and her skin almost sickly looking. A cough leaves her lips and her shoulders shiver. “Would you like some tea?” You ask softly and her shoulders hunch over.

“Yes, dear. Please.”

Just as you took the teapot from the cabinet, she spoke to you again. “Please follow that rule this time. Don’t make this harder for Vil than it has to be.”

You open the kettle and reach for the leaves, hearing the old lady cough.

You were back in the library before the sun began to set and adding wood into the fire for warmth. The snowstorm hadn’t let up since the last night and you were afraid that your quarters was not enough to warm you through the night. Using the heating pair of tongs, you adjust the wood in a way that it would burn properly and not caring if the cinders would cling to your uniform.

During the coldest of nights, you and your mother would love to cuddle by the fire and sleep until the morning. It only became a festive event with the addition of your brothers and your father. She loved the heat, the sleeping feeling it gave her and she loved it the most when Trein held her close.

Your shoulders sag, that was probably the only time you’ve ever seen him at peace. After that…Shaking your head, you push those memories away. You had to be strong, you had to be for the sake of your family. Reaching up, you swat the tears from your face. Your tears had already been wept the day she was buried.

“Stay too close to the fire and your uniform will get singed.”

Vil stood behind the couch, a warm blanket over his shoulders and hair despite being messy made him look immaculate. “I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“You can sing, correct? And sing well.” Ah, you’re not sure if you could answer that one wholeheartedly. Gulping, you nod your head. “I can sing, yes, but well, not really—.” Vil’s huff was hard and eyebrows furrowed. “Do not hide what good you have. It will not grow unless you expose it.”

“O-of course.” You nod your head and Vil closes his eyes. You noticed bags, his skin slightly paled. “Are you here because of the storm, Vil?” Nodding his head, Vil sank down next to you with a sigh. “The windows become too loud at night…I don’t like the sound of it.”

“I understand. I’m not much a fan of it myself.”

“We’re veering off-topic.” He looks to you, “Can you sing for me? At least for a moment.” The windows rattle and he closes his eyes again. You move, patting your lap for him to rest on and he gives you a look. “My mother used to do this to me. It beats having to lay down on flat ground.”

He is hesitant at first but follows after a few minutes of pondering. He lays on your lap, getting himself comfortable and you adjust the blanket on top of him. “Any requests?”

“Anything that will help me sleep.”

The winds rattle and his shoulders hunch. “Alright.”

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale. Sing sweet nightingale high above me.”

Vil’s eyes open ever so slightly, his violet eyes staring in the fire. Any moment, he would transform into the beast of the night. A curse passed down from generation to the next and yet, you stayed to sing. “Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale high above.”

Elena had not been feeling well recently, her old age and the blistering cold made for one bad fever that she needed rest for. And while Vil was understanding of that, the winds that rattled the windows never ceased to let him sleep.

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale.”

But that soon changed when he heard you sing in this very library. It reminded him of the soft coo of a dove and the warmth of a wool blanket. “Oh, sing sweet nightingale sing…” His eyes felt heavy and soon his body became weightless, he yearned for the days he could walk out in the sun without fear of the night that was to come.

He yearned for the day he would no longer be afraid…

He yearned deep within his heart.

“Sing sweet nightingale…”

A black beast laid in the place where Vil once was, its gnarly teeth the same purple as Vil’s eyes. Your hands brushed the black fur as the fire crackled and spat cinders from within. The beast, no, Vil’s body laying peacefully on your lap. You move, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and his body only moving to keep warm against you.

“High above me…”

The enchanted rose glowed dimly, its first petals beginning to fall to the countertop beneath it.

Your eyes open and the wood that once fueled the fire was reduced to ashes. Elena stood over you while Vil, in his human form, slept peacefully on your lap. The two of you shared glances and you immediately opened your mouth.

“I didn’t go upstairs this time.”

She knelt, adjusting the blanket over the sleeping boy’s long figure. You noticed how his body looked in this position, not too lanky and not too toned…but skin so pale from the days he never went out. Come to think of it, he never usually went out unless he needed to. And when he came back, he would stay in for long periods before taking his leave again.

Suddenly, you thought about his parents and wondering if they knew of his situation. Where were they? What happened to them??

Were they affected by the curse as well?

“I’ll bring the breakfast here,” Elena says. “You stay here and watch over Vil.”

Vil had no qualms about eating in the library, given that the fire was warm and the meal was hot. It helped after the bad snowstorm that passed the house for days. You noticed he had a small appetite and a big penchant for drinking lots of fluids. Well, he is a model so you don’t blame him for following the strict regimens.

“You have a nice voice,” Vil says, putting down his cup. “Thank you for last night. I hope that my beastly form wasn’t much of a problem to you.”

Shaking your head, you quickly swallow the stew you were eating. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I’m happy you think that but…About that form.” You feel Elena’s gaze on you and you force yourself to bite back a lingering question.

Vil himself was also silent. “If they’re going to stay here then they should know.” Elena’s shoulders relaxed but her expression remained unsure. “Vil, are you—.”

“I know a person with ulterior motives when I see it.” He looks over to you with a small smirk and boy does it match the messy hair and too droopy clothing. “What we have with us is nothing more than a curious little mouse.”

And you don’t whether that was an insult or a compliment but your squinting eyes only fueled his laughter, those shoulders of his bopping under the protective blanket. “Then what I saw…”

“Everything you saw was real, down to the very last petal of the rose.”

You knew it! You were right!! A smile graced your lips and you sat back against the chair you sat on. Vil took a sip and proceeded to ask more questions, some of which you didn’t have a direct answer to. “Now that you have all the information you need, what will you do with it?”

You looked down at your plate, mulling it over. “Nothing.” You answer. “You called me a curious mouse with no ulterior motive so I’ll do nothing with it.”

Vil hid his smile behind the cup of tea and Elena only sighed, a small burden lifting from her shoulders as the two of you spoke casually.

Vil was moved to the second floor, letting him rest on a real bed. You look around the room, seeing it with proper lighting for the first time. All the mirrors were covered in cloth, some cracked. The paintings that hung on the wall looked immaculate, beautifully painted…Except for one figure whose face was splashed with black. Your brows furrowed, trying to identify who this person was.

“I assume you still have more questions, little mouse.”

Vil sat up, motioning you forward to sit on the edge. “Who is he?” The family’s portrait hung as a centerpiece, you could identify a baby Vil, and his parents sitting across from each other…But that one person standing over them; you couldn’t make heads or tails of it with all the black paint in the way.

“My grandfather.”

A long sigh left Vil, his finger tucking a hair behind his ear. “Before my father went into acting, he was part of the family business led by my grandfather.” He closed his eyes, imagining the warm shop that housed many items and the many people coming in and out to buy supplies. A small Eric would clumsily put grocery items into a paper bag and wrap it, his father looming over him as he collected payments.

“He was strict when needed but his anger knew no bounds when it was released.” Vil slid down onto his bed. “Running a business is difficult, I understand that, but these fits were often quite scary to witness.” Staring into the rose’s glow, the light formed shadows of a figure hunching over a screaming beast. “It led him down a path of ruin, they went out of business and struggled during the bad brunt of the storm season.”

“He wasn’t the best at controlling his emotions, was he?” Vil shook his head at your question. “Not by a long shot. That was the very same anger that led to all this in the first place.” He looked up at the painting with contempt as if the painting stared back at him the same way. “Try as he may, my father could never outrun the curse…Even after I saw born.”

You remembered the book, the story you read by the fire. “Then…”

Vil’s hummed a laugh, eyes blinking slowly. The shadows formed by the glow of the rose moved to a scared family and a shaking figure holding a shadow of the rose. “He yelled at the wrong people, made enemies of those with magic far stronger than anyone could ever imagine.”

The shadows drew dimmer, the beastly form taking shape, roaring at the rose with all its fury and behind it was a weeping family. It all dissipated like a breaking film tape under Vil’s sigh.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

Your heart felt heavy, remembering the last line of the story. “I’m sorry.” That was all you could say to him but he hunched his shoulders with a dismissiveness. “What happened has passed. As you said before: the tears have already been shed.” The rose’s petals fall to the floor below it.

“Is there a way to reverse this?”

“An open heart.” he looked over to you with a smile unable to be read. “That’s all.”

You hung your head, unable to say anything. Vil only wraps his blanket around himself tighter while you stare at the glowing rose until its ethereal color was seared into your memory.

There was a splash of water, Vil sits in the tub with you preparing his robe and other items. “The snow should have receded by now. We could take a walk if you’d like.” As days passed through the house, you and Vil had grown closer. Now that either of you had nothing to hide, the tension that once felt between you was almost nonexistent.

“It has been a while since I’ve gone out. Some sunlight would do all of us good.” He said, leaning back on the tub with eyes closed. “A day in the sun…”

“Indeed. It would be nice to feel some warmth.” You learned that you and he weren’t very different. Both of you loved music, loved the theatre, just anything to dance to. And you also found out that Vil himself had a wonderful singing voice, almost like velvet.

“All those days in the sun, what I’d give to relive just one. Undo what’s done and bring back the light.”

You found out that his mother passed when he was young and his father, Eric, raised him all on his own after his mother was out of the picture. He was Vil’s first teacher, first friend, his support clutch in understanding why he was the way he was. “Days in the sun will return. We must believe—.”

“As lovers do…”

Your voices mingled together and while embarrassed to admit it, you had listened to it to his movies while cleaning. He may have caught you a few times, though. “That days in the sun…Will come shining…Through…” His deep beautiful voice echoed through the chamber, you imagined hearing it in a large theatre. Oh, you were certain Vil would love to do that.

“I always wondered why you never tried theatre.” You didn’t need to turn around to know his expression. “Do you think I’ll make it there, little mouse?”

“You’re Vil Schoenheit, son of Eric Venue. Of course, you will!”

A comfortable silence followed his laugh while you continued to face away from him. The Zen between you two almost unbreakable in the warm bathing room. The flower’s glow dimmed in the emptiness and losing more petals that piled beneath it.

With the music playing in the back, Vil watched from the balcony after getting his fair share of sunlight after the storm had passed. The voice of his father was rich and melodious as his role of a man finally falling in love after years of isolation.

He watched as you trudged around the snow before going back to his room, not once looking at the dimming rose and straight to his television. “I was the one who had it all,” His father sang. “I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.” The first time he had transformed into the beast he knew today, he had scared the recently hired help.

“I’ll never shake away the pain.” They were very cruel with their words, to the point that it was Elena, of all people, who told them to leave the house. Though the terror had left, it left Vil with uncertainty and fear of his appearance.

Eric’s character peered out the window just as the heroine pulls out a horse, the determination not hidden from even the viewer. “I close my eyes but she’s still there. I let her steal into my melancholy heart, it’s more than I can bear.” And now you took that place. From the get-go, Vil knew you have gone through hardships of your own. He could see it just by looking at your steeled expression and the aura you held on your shoulders.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even as she runs away.” Not only had you defied the rule twice, your curiosity only spurred you further on with your investigation. And even when you had all the information you needed and cracked the code, you did nothing with it. “She will torment me, calm me, hurt me, move me…Come what may.”

Vil stands up just as Eric’s character runs up the stairs, the spiraling staircase almost hypnotic from above. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.” He comes back to the balcony and opens the door, seeing you and Elena hauling in the bag of chestnuts. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in…” The two of you catch each other’s line of sight.

“And be with me for evermore.”

As the two of you smiled at each other, the rose begins to wilt and hunch over with each petal falling from the stem. The smell of spring drew close, Vil took a deep breath in then sighed it out. When he closes his eyes, all he ever sees are the days he’ll spend with you.

And the envisioning of a grand theatre, the same one he first saw his father in. He begins humming a small tune, thinking of the harmonizing violins, the beautiful costumes, and designs. The rose wilts more, only one petal remains on its dying stem.

The days had passed all so quickly, the winter giving its way to spring them to summer. You stood in front of the theatre, your family next to you. Trein takes you by the hand “Shall we?” entering the grand theatre, you and your sibling marveled at the beautifully crafted designs, the plush seating, and the long curtains.

“It’s beautiful.” Said your father, his smile soft. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Angelo and Donovan pushed along, overly excited for the play. “Come on, come on.” One of them says. “It’s about to begin! Let’s sit down.”

The lights dim and the curtains open, droves of characters coming in their beautifully crafted costumes. You see Vil in his costume, waltzing with another character in yellow. The horns placed onto him were just as beautiful as him yet, after seeing his breast-like form…It never stood a chance.

The stage dimmed when he took the stage, a single rose in hand. His voice was loud, pure, perfect as he sang the song of a man who found love after years of isolation. His expression perfectly encapsulating the sadness he had felt.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light.”

You remember the very first moment he bore his heart to you, the moment he asked you to sing for the very first time. “Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach, she’s never out of sight.” Gone were the days he hid within the confines of his room and gone were the days he needed to hide out of fear.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even if she fades from view!”

He twirls, his eyes searching the crowd until he finds yours in the crowd. “She will still inspire me, be a part of everything I do.” The background behind him changes, the spiraling staircase he walks one moved at his every move until he reaches the balcony, leaning his hands to sing his heart out with a hopeful look. The both of you stare at each other as he sings his heart out, saying the words he wanted everyone to hear with a voice he no longer feared. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.”

He breathes, the wind and strings instruments beginning their strong ascend in a crescendo of harmonizing and accenting melody. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in.”

The rose glows in his hand and he hunched his back, readying himself. “And as the long, long nights begin.”

Vil looks up into the light, his expression one of pure passion and love. “I’ll think of all that might have been.” And the grip on the rose tightens but only for a moment.

“Waiting here…For ever—.”

Vil lets the rose float out of his hand and ascends up to the center of the room.

“—More!” The flower burst into a rain of petals that add to his last note and accompaniment of the instruments.

The last petal of the glowing rose falls, the stem falling on a pile of dried rose petals following the applause of the crowd. Vil regains his breathing, his eyes listless as he stares up at the ceiling when the music ends, the curtains fall, and the lights go out.

You pass through the crowds of colors and thrills, looking for the familiar mop of blond and purple hair. “Vil!” You yell out to him just as he comes to view in the sea of people. His arms are ready to take it in, “You were amazing out there!”

The sun begins to set during the embrace, Vil’s face continued to smile at you and soon giving a solemn bow to your father and brothers. “Mr. Schoenheit, it’s a pleasure to meet you. That was a wonderful performance.” He says, smiling at him with eyes trained to your hands holding the actor’s. Ah, gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. Trein. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Vil Schoenheit, you’re needed for a picture.” Says one of the stage crew and Vil reluctantly pulls away. “Coming. I’ll see you later?” He asks you and you tip your toes to him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “I’ll wait outside. Bye Vil.”

You run out of backstage and yet he had a feeling that finding you won’t be that much of a problem. He touches his lips. “So this is love…” He whispered to himself and made his way to his troop, readying himself for the pictures.

#works from the typewriter #twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #g/n reader #valentines event

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lfthinkerwrites · 5 years ago

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31 for any pair you want!

oh hey here’s that kind sort-of music man au no one ever asked for

The plan’s gone off without a hitch, has it has countless times before.

It’s a little masterpiece, Edward’s proud to say. Find a quaint, sleepy midwest town, populated by locals with more corn between their ears than brains. Send Nina and Deirdre ahead to cause a little mischief, then roll into town as Edward Nigma, Consulting Detective, and the answer to your security needs. Make a few thousand by redesigning the local bank vaults, sit back and watch Nina and Deirdre break-in and pocket a portion of that, then off to the next town of ignoramuses. He’s hit little towns in Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, and Illinois before he came here, to Athens Ohio.

It was a mistake, coming here to Athens Ohio. It’s a slightly larger town, 5,000 residents, big enough to be a city now, but Edward had been getting bored with the tiny backwaters, he wants to challenge himself, he wants bigger, more. It’s never been a problem before, but this time, there was a complication.

He’s standing outside her door.

There’s always at least one person who questions his credentials, one person who suspects that he’s up to no good. Usually, it’s a local copper or a self-important official. This time, it was a librarian, a Miss Penelope Young. He’d met her when at the library, seeking out the old bank’s original plans and schematics for his plan. He’d laid on the charm of course, but she’d responded with an icy disdain, which made him try harder, which led from the timeline for the job moving up from two weeks to four, to six, to eight. It was the tenth week since he’d arrived in Athens Ohio, and the girls were getting antsy. The job had to be tonight, they’d tarried too long, but he’d come to one, inescapable conclusion.

He’d tarried too long because he knew once the job was done, he’d move on, and he’d never see Miss Penelope Young again, and the thought of that was unbearable to him.

It’s dusk now, and her window light is on. She’s at the door and on her porch before he can even knock on her door, still in her prim and proper librarian garb. She looks up at him with those cold blue eyes of her, which over the last few weeks, have become warmer, with a look of resignation. “You’re leaving tonight, aren’t you?”

For a conman, thief, and absolute scoundrel, Edward finds he can’t bring himself to lie to her. “Yes.”

Penelope wraps her dark blue shawl around her tighter, even though it’s not a chilly night. “I suppose tomorrow I’ll hear about the second national bank being robbed?”

“You might,” he quips. “But you’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

Penelope looks down at her feet. “Yes.”

“And you never thought about turning me in?”

“I tried, the first week you were here, but Mayor Sharp told me to not ‘worry my little head’ about these matters, that I was spending too much time in my books.”

This dismissal of her abilities should be a relief to him but instead irritates him as much as it must her. “Well, he’s an idiot.” He wets his lip, and in the corner of his eye, vaguely sees fireflies. “Even after that though?”

Penelope shrugs her shoulders. “After that...I suppose I became fond of you. I’m not sure what that says about me.”

Edward feels his heart soar before it plummets again. “I’d say it says that you have impeccable taste.” She smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “What if I said that I-”

“Don’t,” she says sharply.

Edward frowns. “Why?”

“You just said, you’re leaving.”

Edward sighs, then an idea strikes him. “Come with me.”

She takes a step back, her eyes wide. “What?” she shakes her head. “Edward, I can’t, I’m not a criminal-”

“Who says you have to be?” he asks. “I’ve made quite a bit of money, I could set you up somewhere-”

“I’m not a kept woman either,” she argues, with that fire he’s come to love.

“Alright, poor choice of words, I know. But Penny, you’re not like the other idiots in this town. You weren’t meant to spend your life shut away in your library and being looked down on by other people for being too smart to marry before you were twenty and pop out brats for the rest of your life instead of having ambitions of your own.” He waves his arms around them. “There’s a bigger world out there, one that will appreciate you the way that you deserve. I could take you to it...” he trails off. “Or I can leave, but I can’t go knowing that you’ll just stay here and let this town kill you inside.” He cups her face then, and she lets him, still looking up at him with those eyes. “Come with me,” he says again. “Please.”

She’s silent for a long time, then she seems to make a decision. She clasps his hand tightly and he knows her answer before she can speak.

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sneakend · 5 years ago

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Horror movie recs for Halloween ♡ Turned longer than anticipated so here’s part 1/3. [part 2] [part 3]

✄ ✄ ✄

Serial killers

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (2006) (x) (x)

“The next great psycho horror slasher has given a documentary crew exclusive access to his life as he plans his reign of terror over the sleepy town of Glen Echo.”

The Cabin by the Lake (2000) (x) (x)

“Stanley Caldwell is a screenwriter working on a story for a suspense film about a lunatic who kidnaps and murders young women. However, Stanley's research methods are more than a bit unusual -- he actually does kidnap women, and once he's learned as much as he thinks he can from them, he disposes of their bodies by drowning them in a nearby lake.”

Creep (2014) (x)

“A young videographer answers an online ad for a one-day job in a remote town to record the last messages of a dying man. When he notices the man's odd behavior, he starts to question his intentions.”

Creep 2 (2017) (x)

“A video artist looking for work drives to a remote house in the forest to meet a man claiming to be a serial killer. But after agreeing to spend the day with him, she soon realizes that she made a deadly mistake.”

The Last Horror Movie (2003) (x) (x)

“A serial killer uses a horror video rental to lure his next victim. What begins as a teen slasher transforms into a disturbing journey through the mind of Max Parry, a mild mannered wedding photographer with a taste for human flesh.”

Man Bites Dog (1992) (x) (x)

“A film crew follows a ruthless thief and heartless killer as he goes about his daily routine. But complications set in when the film crew lose their objectivity and begin lending a hand.”

Scream (1996) (x)

“A year after the murder of her mother, a teenage girl is terrorized by a new killer, who targets the girl and her friends by using horror films as part of a deadly game.”

The Silence of the Lambs (1991) (x)

“A young F.B.I. cadet must receive the help of an incarcerated and manipulative cannibal killer to help catch another serial killer, a madman who skins his victims.”

Lady Killers

American Mary (2012) (x) (x)

“The allure of easy money sends Mary Mason, a medical student, into the world of underground surgeries which ends up leaving more marks on her than her so called "freakish" clients.”

Audition (1999) (x)

“A widower takes an offer to screen girls at a special audition, arranged for him by a friend to find him a new wife. The one he fancies is not who she appears to be after all.”

The Grudge (2004) (x)

“An American nurse living and working in Tokyo is exposed to a mysterious supernatural curse, one that locks a person in a powerful rage before claiming their life and spreading to another victim.”

May (2002) (x)

“A lonely young woman traumatized by a difficult childhood and unsuccessful attempts to connect with the people around her is sent into a murderous tailspin.”

A Slit-Mouthed Woman (2007) (x) (x)

“A suburban town in Japan is the victim of what is supposedly just an urban legend, a woman's spirit with a horribly disfigured face who is intent on kidnapping children for unknown reasons.”

Tomie: Forbidden Fruit (2002) (x)

“Tomie terrorizes an artistically inclined young girl and her widowed father, slowly integrating herself into the family.”

Tomie: Re-birth (2001) (x) (x)

“An art student disappears after murdering his model. Now his friends and family are being haunted by the resurrected woman, Tomie.”

Tomie: Unlimited (2011) (x)

“A photography student's life takes a turn for the worse when her dead sister is welcomed back into the family home.”

Creepy Children

Children of the Corn (1984) (x) (x)

“A young couple is trapped in a remote town where a dangerous religious cult of children believe everyone over the age of 18 must be killed.”

Mama (2013) (x)

“A young couple take in their two nieces only to suspect that a supernatural spirit named Mama has latched itself to their family.”

The Omen (1976) (x) (x)

“Mysterious deaths surround an American ambassador. Could the child that he is raising actually be the Antichrist? The Devil's own son?”

Orphan (2009) (x)

“A husband and wife who recently lost their baby adopt a 9 year-old girl who is not nearly as innocent as she claims to be.”

The Ring (2002) (x)

“A journalist must investigate a mysterious videotape which seems to cause the death of anyone one week to the day after they view it.”

Sinister (2012) (x)

“Washed-up true-crime writer Ellison Oswalt finds a box of super 8 home movies that suggest the murder he is currently researching is the work of a serial killer whose work dates back to the 1960s.”

A Group of Friends

Battle Royale (2000) (x) (x)

“In the future, the Japanese government captures a class of ninth-grade students and forces them to kill each other under the revolutionary "Battle Royale" act.”

The Cabin in the Woods (2011) (x)

“Five friends go for a break at a remote cabin, where they get more than they bargained for, discovering the truth behind the cabin in the woods.”

The Descent (2005) (x) (x)

“A caving expedition goes horribly wrong, as the explorers become trapped and ultimately pursued by a strange breed of predators.”

Final Destination (2000) (x)

“After a teenager has a terrifying vision of him and his friends dying in a plane crash, he prevents the accident only to have Death hunt them down, one by one.”

Fritt Vilt (2006) (x)

“5 young Norwegians head up to the mountains to snowboard. One breaks his leg and it's getting dark soon, so they spend the night in a big, abandoned hotel, closed 30 years ago. They are not alone.”

House of Wax (2005) (x)

“A group of unwitting teens are stranded near a strange wax museum and soon must fight to survive and keep from becoming the next exhibit.”

Nightmare (2000) (x)

“Seven friends will die one by one for protecting a terrible secret. Can a vengeful spirit be stopped?”

When They Cry (2008) (x) (x)

“Early summer, Keiichi has just moved to a remote mountain village and becomes close friends with a group of girls. However, when he starts to become suspicious that Rena, Mion and the others he’s befriended may be deeply involved in the successive murders that occur every summer, the situation around Keiichi gradually starts to turn.”

A Group of Strangers

Botched (2007) (x)

“During a heist in Russia, a professional thief finds himself dealing with serial killers, insane hostages, double-crossing psycho Russian hardmen and the real possibility of a horrible death.”

Cube (1997) (x)

“6 complete strangers of widely varying characteristics are involuntarily placed in an endless maze containing deadly traps.”

Downrange (2017) (x)

“Stranded at the side of the road after a tire blowout, a group of new carpooling friends become targets for an enigmatic sniper.”

The Mist (2007) (x) (x)

“A freak storm unleashes a species of bloodthirsty creatures on a small town, where a small band of citizens hole up in a supermarket and fight for their lives.”

Saw (2004) (x)

“Two strangers, who awaken in a room with no recollection of how they got there, soon discover they're pawns in a deadly game perpetrated by a notorious serial killer.”

Family

Funny Games (2007) (x) (x)

“Two psychopathic young men take a family hostage in their cabin.”

Hereditary (2018) (x)

“After the family matriarch passes away, a grieving family is haunted by tragic and disturbing occurrences, and begin to unravel dark secrets.”

The Hills Have Eyes (2006) (x)

“A family falls victim to a group of mutated cannibals in a desert far away from civilization.”

The Lodge (2019) (x)

“A soon-to-be stepmom is snowed in with her fiancé's two children at a remote holiday village. Just as relations begin to thaw between the trio, some strange and frightening events take place.”

Pet Sematary (1989) (x)

“After tragedy strikes, a grieving father discovers an ancient burial ground behind his home with the power to raise the dead.”

#horror movies #movie recs #horror #halloween #horror movie recs #horror recs #movies

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mundxngus · 5 years ago

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MISTREAT YOUR ALTAR BOYS & THIS IS WHAT YOU GET

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

“A liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience. But he'll keep to any deal you strike with him.” — Six of Crows, Leigh Bardugo. “Courage has never been a chameleon’s best attribute and some days, it’s not mine either.” — Rudy Francisco “It’s my money. I stole it.” — From Dusk til Dawn. “The thief, as will become apparent, was a special type of thief. This thief was an artist of theft. Other thieves merely stole everything that was not nailed down, but this thief stole the nails as well.” — Sourcery, Terry Pratchett.

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Mundungus Proinsias Fletcher NICKNAMES: Dung, Fletcher, (many a variation on the truly horrific name he was gifted with.) AGE: 29 BIRTHDAY: August 3, 1950. GENDER: CisMale PRONOUNS: he/his

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Agnes Mary Fletcher nee Duffy (deceased) muggle. FATHER: Proinsias Rafferty Fletcher (54, estranged) wizard. SIBLINGS: Harriet (Hatty) Duffy (33), Noreen Duffy (32) (estranged). muggles.

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: DJ Cotrona. BUILD: Short, athletic, surprisingly strong and scrappy. HAIR: Kept cropped short, noticeably longer than usual due to a falling out with Knockturn’s resident barber. HAIR COLOR: Black. EYE COLOR: Dark brown. SKIN COLOR: Olive-toned. DOMINANT HAND: Ambidextrous, though he favours his left hand as a rule. ANOMALIES: There is heavy scarring up his right arm which he has made an effort to cover with tattoos. Notably amongst these tattoos is nestled a compass (which will aways find the right direction in a bind), a swallow on the back of either hand to signify an accomplished traveller, a black cat wearing a hat on his bicep, a murder of crows dominate his right forearm and a ship across his ribs. SCENT: Tobacco, whiskey and something that hits the back of the nose like a kick of pepper. ACCENT: A strong Belfast accent that has failed to soften no matter how long he stays away. ALLERGIES: Deeply allergic to Mandrake Root and, as a result, a great many potions that are used as antidotes to various ailments. DISORDERS: A much denied and buried case of PTSD that will emerge in the presence of explosions or fire. FASHION: Estate Sale-chic, as the kids would say. Dung is fond of a good bargain, though how good the bargains he finds amongst dead people’s things is .. often questionable. He dresses nicely, but always slightly oddly, as if the clothes he’s wearing weren’t meant for him or have been heavily modified (usually with a few dozen extra pockets for .. reasons). A permanent fixture of his wardrobe is a silver pendant of Saint Jude on a chain, gifted to him by his mother. It is perhaps the only thing he has ever been sentimental about. NERVOUS TICS: Picking at his nails. He’ll often play with coins or cards when restless - silly sleight of hand and card-tricks that promote dexterity. Playing with the pendant he wears on a chain around his neck. Smoking is usually a fair sign of stress. QUIRKS: Very expressive with his hands while talking, quick on his feet, talks fast and mercilessly, usually as a form of distraction.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: In the flat above The White Wyvern, Knockturn Alley. BORN: Belfast, Ireland. RAISED: Holyland, Belfast, Ireland. PETS: None. He is a big hit with the stray cats of Knockturn Alley though.

CAREER: Professional thief, part-time Bartender, fight club Bookie, jack of all crimes. EXPERIENCE: A long and colourful rap sheet, much maligned by the Auror’s Department. EMPLOYER: Officially, Frederick “Fat Freddie” Gamp, owner of the White Wyvern & Billy “Black Cap” Nightshade, owner of the Spiny Serpent. Unofficially? Himself, or whoever requires his services.

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Order of the Phoenix, technically. BELIEFS: A pragmatist at heart, Mundungus aligns himself with the people who are least likely to kill him for the state of his blood. Survival and profit have always been his key motivators. MISDEMEANORS: Look. FELONIES: Don’t @ him. DRUGS: Recreationally. SMOKES: Fitfully. Usually when stressed. ALCOHOL: Is he permanently just this side of drunk or is it all an act? We just don’t know. DIET: Does he exist solely on cigarettes, alcohol and bacon butties? Scientifically unproven.

LANGUAGES: English, smidgens still of Gaeilge.

PHOBIAS: Fire, explosions, being trapped or confined. HOBBIES: Stealing from the rich, romantic moonlight graverobbing, banter with the locals at the Wyvern. Mundungus is never not on the grift. TRAITS: { + }: Resourceful, Quick-Witted, Silver-Tongued, Dynamic, Cunning. { - }: Opportunistic, Self-Serving, Callous, Disloyal, Boastful.

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Almost any part of Knockturn Alley, but in particular the rooftop of the White Wyvern is a favourite haunt when he does not wish to be around people. SPORTS TEAM: The Ballycastle Bats, out of some lingering loyalty to his hometown. GAME: Betting. Though he’s always been a fan of boxing. MUSIC: Will listen to almost anything and is a big fan of the enchanted jukebox in the White Wyvern (cursed to only ever play one song), but he is vehemently not a fan of Celestina Warbeck. MOVIES: He has vivid memories of his sisters watching movies while they were growing up, but he’d never had the patience required to sit down and watch them. FOOD: Ulster Fry. BEVERAGE: Firewhiskey, on a discerning day. A pint on any other. COLOR: Black. It doesn’t show the stains.

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Slytherin. WAND: 14 1/4″, surprisingly swishy, spruce & dragon heartstring. AMORTENTIA: Whiskey, the smell of bacon frying, votive candles and incense. PATRONUS: Ferret — curious, mischievous and high energy, ferrets manifest for people with playful spirits and calculating minds. They represent resourcefulness, self-reliance, and ingenuity. BOGGART: His mother, burning.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral. MBTI: ESTP-A MBTI ROLE: The Entrepreneur ENNEAGRAM: 7 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Enthusiast TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine WESTERN ZODIAC: Leo CHINESE ZODIAC: Tiger PRIMAL SIGN: Wolverine TAROT CARD: The Magician, The Devil. TV TROPES: The Punch Clock Hero, Magnificent Bastard, Jerkass Has A Point, Loveable Rogue, Opportunistic Bastard, Karma Houdini, Deadpan Snarker, Honour Among Thieves, Not In This For Your Revolution. SONGS: The Calling by The Killers, From the Ritz to the Rubble by Arctic Monkeys, Lucky Penny by JD McPherson.

IDEOLOGIES: Would sell his own (dead) mother to satan for a corn-chip. That was a lie, he loved his mother. (Two corn-chips.) Has been banned from The Hog’s Head since 1975 after an unfortunate falling out with Aberforth Dumbledore. Up until the travel restrictions, he still regularly (with varying success) attempted to find his way in, not out of any particular want to be there, but mostly to prove that he could. Goatfucker. The point being that the surest way to get Dung to do something is to tell him that he can’t do it. Is morally opposed to the musical stylings of Celestina Warbeck. Conversely, is not morally opposed to grave-robbery. Believes that cats are both a) the closest thing to demonic activity he has encountered on God’s Green Earth and b) feels spiritually attuned to them. Survival is the only thing that truly matters, everything else is just pocket-change.

#dulcetask #& mistreat your altar boys and this is what you get { development }#& the punch clock hero { about }

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pettyelves · 6 years ago

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our Fallback to freedom

With the foresight of a literal blind man, and Eilithe too eager to leave the leagues of relatives behind-- neither of the couple had thought to bring their weapons, a change of clothes, coins, not even a stolen bottle from the party.

Not that they weren’t already sloshed by the time they landed in Pandaria, nearly an hour’s flight from Dead Sun. When they landed, he had told her they could see what the local inn keeper had-- or they could steal from a local farmer.

This brought an eruption of chuckling as Eilithe realized that all she had on her was a silver cigarette case and matching light, tucked up under her left breast in her dress.

It was much to Eilithe’s suspicion that Kurel volunteered himself to be the one that would ..hunt the chicken, leaving her to rip and tie her dress in a way that would make her very expensive bride’s maid gown into an unfashionable romper. They went to work-- and she’d suggested to quickly snap the chicken’s neck. Which he had-- mostly done, though not to perfection as the chickens clucked and flapped enough to rouse the farmer.

Before she knew what happened, she watched Kurel-- knees to chest, haul-assing from the back of the farm a soon-to-be-dead chicken jerking around in his massive hands. She had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Eilithe made her escape without such hang ups-- which, thought she did not say so aloud, meant she thought herself the better thief of the two. They rendezvoused some distance from the farm laughing at the whole thing.

No one could say they never had fun together.

"You know I bough' this farm with all the intention of retirin' to it. Tried to give i' away half a dozen times when all thin's didn't go as I'd planned. Come in handy havin' a time or three."

One of which times was some three or four years before, when he had hidden Eilonwy away there.And when the threat had passed, he had taken Eilithe to the house to be reunited with her daughter-- who, at some point not long after had grown into his daughter too.

"Now that I can't picture-- Kur'elnth An'diel, retired to a farm to live out the rest of his days. Old man chopping wood for his hearth, wiping his brow and listening to naught but the shift of goats and wind through rows of corn. No, I can't imagine being where your life might have stopped." Her fingers curled on his hip once more, "Guess my plan was no better-- nor was it anymore realistic."

He would have defended that plan with every breath he had left in him- -and Eilithe might’ve bought it if he wasn’t choking on chuckles while he did it. "Ou' with i' then. Wha' was your unrealistic retiremen' ?" He asked her with a nudge.

It took her time to work the courage to really answer the question. After all, this conversation would only loop around in a circle they’d been going in for a long time now.

"For the longest time I wasn't going to retire, I was terribly afflicted with wanderlust as my grandmother calls it. So when I was of age, myself and my ..eventual first mate took jobs in our order that allowed us to leave. And we'd split up for a few centuries, come back together and so on." She paused her digression. "I don't think it was until I first was pregnant, which was.. mmm.. thirty or so years ago now, that the idea of retiring crossed my mind. And that unrealistic retirement was being someone's wife, which I think is why Flithune and I ended up parting and never joining again. A mother, with a house-- somewhere back near my home village. Doing as my mother did before everything." She looked off at nothing, recollecting, "Then I was voted into leadership and that retirement got further, then closer at other times, then further again."

"Wife is jus' a title. Like... Queen an' Criminal." He licked his lips. "While you are far from retired. You are a mother. With far more than a house an' while Dead Sun ain't necessarily your home village. It is yours. I think you've been connin' us all livin' retiremen' for a' leas' a decade."

"Never wanted to lead the village," she said with a chuckle-- it was a longing for simplicity and freedom that she did not possess. At the risk of breaking down to arguing, she followed with a soft retort.

"A Queen, an Arbiter-- will, so long as she holds the title be looked to for answers, for protection, for counsel-- and she will always be held, a hand higher and admired for her title. It is the same way, a Captain-- if he is trusted, if he makes his men richer, will always sit in the cabin-- he will always be looked to for the next move, he will always be, in part, feared as much as he is respected." She wet her lips, "A wife is much the same-- regarded as above all lovers, concubines, whatevers that came before her. She is given the title of wife because, in a bay of choices, she was chosen. And to call her wife means that for her husband, there can be no other. And for her? There is no other. She is his end-all, as he is hers."

He never answered with anything-- which meant that he likely understood, now, why his name beside hers made so much a difference to her. They didn’t linger long in that quiet before they were walking up the steps and into the Museum of Dust and Kurel An’Diel’s Shit™

It was simple, as he’d planned his retirement to be. No magical lighting, no running water, and a wood burning stove. Everything was covered in dust as it had been three years since anyone had set foot inside.

A coat of arms, photographs, boxes and a books--his treasures. Among them was a golden chastity belt, enchanted-- and Eilithe learned some very long time ago that Kurel had earned the belt by way of marrying the woman who’d been locked away it in. Despite the fact that the woman symbolized the tradition Eilithe was so cross with, she found the story hilarious and snorted when she saw the prize mounted on the wall. She snorted more he he suggested they ought replicate the design and sell them to Noble Lords who’d protect their daughters from ending up in Eilithe’s brothel, or in the arms of men like Kurel.

"Fucking men like you is good for a woman," she said, leaning into him more. "Maybe not the first time--then again, a rough first time does wonders for durability too." She cleared her throat, "Either or, really-- effect is the same. She learns a strong man from a weak one with men like you."

“Men like me.” He invited her to explain the meaning without so much as uttering more than those three words.

"Men like you" she repeated, reaching to grab his free hand with a free hand while the other held her propped up. "Men with rough hands," she said, drawing his palm to her lips-- where she kissed, with soft lips, each of his fingers before she guided the hand from her cheek, down her long neck, to be abandoned to its own desire to travel her form. "Hands that chop wood, and pull ropes. Hands that swing swords with force enough to strike sparks against steel of their enemies. Hands that guide, or punish, or please. Hands which can be gentle on the small of woman's back, as easily as they can squeeze the last breath from a grown man.Dangerous men, with ambition. Hard men, immovable and unconquerable."

His hand always flinched on her throat, and he listened with distinct attention before he stole a kiss and made suggestion that the broken vanity in their home ought be included in a museum alongside the chastity belt with a sign that read Keep Off. Extremely Unstable. Fuck At Your Own Risk. And Eilithe returned that she would make use of their vanity until it was broken into pieces, at which time she said: “I'll frame the pieces and hang it in my madame's office with a plaque that reads None fuck harder than An'Diels."

When no wall nor surface did not have a swipe of one of their hands, on imprint of their backs in the dusted surface-- when they had managed to crack the vanity in the lofted bedroom the same as they had the one at home. Only then did she find a few moment’s sleep.

At dawn, her hands held a single on of his, tracing every line with delicacy she’d not shown in the hours before. When he stirred his fingers curled with he’s passing over each digit on her left hand until he could slide a thumb over the scarab beetle between her first and second knuckle.

“This hasn't been here." He said quietly.

“No, it hasn’t.”

There came silent resignation there, over the name An’Diel. It was not an outright victory, nor was Eilithe likely any closer to hearing a quiet confirmation for her to take what she wanted. But it was confirmation.

This was not going away for him.

They spent the rest of the day distracting one another. From cooking and cleaning up their fallback, from worries that were only a stretch across the ocean, and from designs that there was anything more in the world than the two of them.

[ @kurel-andiel @deadsunharbor ]

#we take it all #our fallback

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somecorn-thief · 10 months ago

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So, algebraliens am I right?

Introducing my very own, KinitoPET AU, aka, the Algebralien AU!

Basically, the premise of the AU is that everything is the same except the web world, crew are now technically Algebraliens

Unfortunately, that’s about it for the AU but regardless, I hope you guys enjoy

#the corn thief strikes #kinito pet #please don’t steal/copy/trace my art 😭#kinito fanart #kinitopet #kinitopet au #kinito au #kinito the axolotl #sam the sea anemone #jade the jellyfish #queue

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almarchive · 6 years ago

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hello, its nora bringing yet another problematic character. this is a spoiled daddy’s bitch, raised in a farmhouse in vermont, who’s never really had to work for anything in her life and doesn’t want to. studying class civ cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into lockwood. loves the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. has a twin brother called otto who is basically guy bellingfield from the riot club and tbh knowing my lack of self control i‘ll probs end up bringing him here too.

bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages x

it might be HER SOPHOMORE year but I still think ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM looks exactly like ALICE PAGANI and sometimes I think the FEMALE is actually them. Of course I’m wrong, as they’re 20 and studying CLASSICAL CIVILISATION while living in AUDAX here at Lockwood. The TAURUS can be rather TENACIOUS and MAGNETIC, but also kind of FANCIFUL and DOUBLE-CROSSING. Their most played song on Spotify was LAISSE TOMBER LES FILLES by FRANCE GALL, so I think that says a lot.

THE SHORT FORM.

— born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immagrant and worked on a plantation, made his wa up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had Large Personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit Wise Beyond Her Years. — very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french. — studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin. — isn’t a foward-planner, however. frida prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night. — pretentious motherfucker. LOVES poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very Intelligent and Beautiful and knows both of those facts. vocal feminist. soapbox sadie. Very Passionate about Issues. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. — just wants to be Loved By All. a party girl ; doesn’t rlly enjoy it, jst feels she Should enjoy it. — tries to be an Enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women Desirable and Interesting and Cool. — obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. — her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

PLOTS.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends – probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live on the same floor and only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

FULL BIOGRAPHY.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

The girl is a knife. Razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. Silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. You’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. A mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. Bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. To have the power to control that is to be a God. It’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. Small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. You cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “Mama, when will I be a Queen?” As soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

If you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. Hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? In the beginning, you never knew hunger. Twins, born under the same star, you first, him second -- a nuclear family. Never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. Raven-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. The townhouse in Vermont and the summer house in Lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

At eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “Alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your Mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody Mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

Your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather Wolfgang Hildegarde a German immigrant, great-grandmother Maura Lisbon a prairie girl. They fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the Indians, vacations to Calcutta, your father Todd Putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. He worked hard so that you’d never have to. Your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? That blood money had no business raising a child. You look far back enough, Edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a Civil War to silence, and I think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

Language was never fickle on your tongue, French dinner time talk by the time you were out of your Hush Puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. You learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. By eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. Loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. That was how magnetic you wanted to feel. But mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to English boarding school.

Fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. You were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. Wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed Harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. Tell us what it’s like in the States, Alma. They’d coo, enamoured by your Hollywood drawl. Does your father own a gun? You hardly knew. Barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. When you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

The road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to small-town fame. Bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. There was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. In leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were Helen of Troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. But there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. Hockey helped. There was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. Sweat. Stiff knuckles. Feet pounding the earth. The smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “Slipped, sorry.” Hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. On the pitch, you feel alive.

#lw:intro #i shd probs have done a bullet point version of this but cba #see also: rich bitch with daddy issues - loves attention - wants to have a villa and wear nice dressing gowns and drink wine all day

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rhianna · 3 years ago

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I must mention now that the pasture-lands of my native village lay alongside of territory of a score of square miles which in some years were all planted in corn. During the months of August and September these vast corn-fields were like deep forests. Not far from Idvor and to the east of the corn-fields was a Rumanian settlement which was notorious for its cattle-thieves. The trick of these thieves was to hide in the corn-fields at night and to wait until some cattle strayed into these fields, when they would drive them away and hide them somewhere in their own corn-fields on the other side of their own village. To prevent the herd from straying into the corn-fields at night was a great task, for the performance of which the boys had to be trained in daytime by their experienced leader. It goes without saying that each day we boys first worked off our superfluous energy in wrestling, swimming, hockey, and other strenuous games, and then settled down to the training in the arts of a herdsman which we had to practise at night. One of these arts was signalling through the ground. Each boy had a knife with a long wooden handle. This knife was stuck deep into the ground. A sound was made by striking against the wooden handle, and the boys, lying down and pressing their ears close to the ground, had to estimate the direction and the distance of the origin of sound. Practice made us quite expert in this form of signalling. We knew at that time that the sound travelled through the ground far better than through the air, and that a hard and solid ground transmitted sound much better than the ploughed-up ground. We knew, therefore, that the sound produced this way near the edge of the pasture-land could not be heard in the soft ground16 of the corn-fields stretching along the edge. A Rumanian cattle-thief, hidden at night in the corn-fields, could not hear our ground signals and could not locate us. Kos, the Slovenian, my teacher and interpreter of physical phenomena, could not explain this, and I doubt very much whether the average physicist of Europe at that time could have explained it. It is the basis of a discovery which I made about twenty-five years after my novel experiences in that herdsmen’s summer school in Idvor. [15-16]

Source: From Immigrant to Inventor by Michael Pupin

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lordstarkitty · 7 years ago

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In Skyrim, its alluded in game that the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild are on more or less on friendly terms with one another, yet never delve into the other's business even if it calls for the other's specialties. But, what happens when two quarrelsome siblings on opposing sides have an argument. (Warning! Strong Language Under Cut!)

"Let go of me you psychopathic Newt-Brain!" Kristi cried, failing miserably at escaping from the headlock. "Not until you say the Brotherhood is better, Sewer-Rat!" Torv laughed, who had the upper hand to his sister for the past sixteen minutes. Everything was supposed to be calm in the Ragged Flagon today... but an odd visitor changed that plan. As thief and assassin butt heads on the other side of the moon pool, A few thieves and patrons were placing bets on who would leave the quarrel the victor. Seems those who favored the assassin were going to be reaping their reward sooner than they expected. Kristi grabbed Torv's snout and pulled him back, forcing him to loose balance and let go of the headlock. Torv seized a large lock oh her hair and pulled her down with him, and let her topple over onto his foot. He lifted his boot up up as Kristi was about to strike his groin, she narrowly missed. Torv held an iron fist on her hair as she pinched his snout. "Ow! That's my fucking hair you bitch-lizard!" "Stop Pinching my damn snout then!" "No!" Kristi steadied her weight with one hand on his leg, while the other was pushing away his nose. They sat in that position for a minute, lightly panting. Neither one moved a centimeter, just glaring at each other. Kristi's nails digging into his scales and Torv's hand pulling her hair. Was it a stalemate? Or were they preparing to go at it even more? The flagon might as well popped a few sun dried corn kernels in the pot and sold a bag of that to the patrons who were invested in this family squabble. Torv rolled his weight and pushed Kristi into the moon pool. Kristi out stretched her arm and took a good swipe with her claw-like nails, drawing blood, before plunging into the freezing water. Rendering them both defeated. Kristi slapped a sopping wet hand on the rim of the pool and dragged her body onto the walkaway, coughing. Torv was laying on the floor cradling his new facial scar. "Damn," Sighed Delvin who was tucking away his end of the bet, "never thought 'bout that outcome, eh?" Everyone returned grudgingly to their drinks, as the thief and assassin wallowed on the other side of the Flagon.

There are good reason's why you don't draw stupid ideas you have at midnight. (I would recommend clicking the photo to get a better resolution... maybe) Kristiana All-Wolf©Lordstarkitty Torv Blood-Scale All-Wolf©Lordstarkitty Thank Bethesda for the Elder Scrolls, amiright?

#skyrim #skyrim elder scrolls #es #elder scrolls #Dark brotherhood #Skyrim Dark Brotherhood #Thieves Guild #Skyrim Thieves Guild #Art #Digital Art #Digital #autodesksketchbook #ragged flagon #ragged flagon cistern #thieves guild cistern #Drawing #bethesda

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coeurdastronaute · 7 years ago

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Essays in Existentialism: Scars II

Can you please do another scars one but this time with Lexa discovering all of Clarke's ones?

Previously on Scars

The noise that came in the middle of the afternoon was addictive. It made the bed an entire galaxy, with the bodies wrapped in clouds of sheets, with leaves and branches lazing through fingertips, and the low rocking of hips and palms orchestrating entire maps and landscapes with deft, god-like movements.

Outside, that quiet kind of winter snow fell. The kind that existed only to cover the world, that snuck in like a thief, tiptoed through the streets, hung heavy and slowly accumulated on the edge of leaves and created those tiny, gentle kinds of drifts and piles that became mountain ranges after being traversed by daring feet. It was a curtain that further hid the rest of the universe.

In the bed, none of it mattered, not cartography or the blizzard that rolled through the hills and froze the streams and suffocated the valleys and would leave a tundra come morning. All that existed was two bodies and the sheets.

“What about this one?” Lexa murmured, dragging her lips along the two inch scar near Clarke’s hip.

Pink and almost childlike against the paler skin that rarely saw the sun, it sat there, almost perfectly straight and very much different than Lexa’s jagged and misshapen accidents. She kissed there before placing her cheek on Clarke’s hip and tracing it with her fingers.

“Shh,” Clarke whispered, eyes still shut despite their duties awaiting.

It was dangerous, to steal time alone, and yet they did it with reckless abandon because there was nothing better than the feeling of the warm sheets and lips and escaping, the freedom each provided for the other to shirk all else and exist solely for pleasure and gratification.

“Tell me.”

“I had my appendix removed when I was a seven. Nothing too exciting.”

“What happened?”

“There’s a little part inside of you that can sometimes go bad, and they opened me up and took it out. Nothing traumatizing.”

“What were you like when you were six?”

Clarke furrowed and her hand that raked through Lexa’s messy stock of hair paused at the question, because it was so intimate, she didn’t know how to answer. She couldn’t remember being six, and whoever she was then, was so far removed, it wasn’t even possible that she existed anymore.

Instead, she just played with Lexa’s hair a little more, because she knew that the Commander of the Thirteen Clans enjoyed it more than any other feeling on the planet. She knew that.

But Lexa kissed her scar once again and though Clarke forgot about the mark, she swallowed and took a deep breath.

“I was perfect,” Clarke decided. “I was polite and quiet and I read a lot. I played with friends and hated corn. There wasn’t even one second that I could have imagined I’d end up here, in this moment.”

All she earned was a small nod and an almost purr of contentment with her answer. The fire crackled in the fireplace while a candle reached the end of its wick, making one corner a little darker, though the room barely noticed or stopped to say anything else on the matter.

The only acknowledgement of time, of however long it’d been, was when Lexa shifted and languidly moved her body. To Clarke, she was a lion, all muscle beneath a shaggy coat, poised to strike at any moment, full of power and not wasteful with movements. The Commander lazed in her bones, aware of her own abilities, not fearing much else. The sinews of her muscles and bones all worked in perfect harmony so that she constantly looked like she prowled, and still, Clarke felt like prey in the most unbelievable sense of the word.

“What about this one?” she asked, kissing toward a long winding slash on calf muscle with little dots on each side where the sutures had been.

Clarke stretched her toes and bit her lip as Lexa lifted her leg slightly, settling her own hips between them, and kissed there, a lazy kind of sex in her eyes and messy mane.

“Curious now, all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

“I’m quite familiar with your body, Clarke,” Lexa grinned, putting the leg back down. “I know what it does. I want to know its hows.”

Completely naked, she sat there, unperturbed and unknowing of how distracting she was.

“There was an accident when the drop ship landed a second time, part flew off and sliced me. I had a pretty good piece of metal sticking out.”

There was no purr this time, nor was there any kind of movement save for Lexa furrowing and thinking a little deeper than before. But Clarke slid her leg up, ran it along her hip and made her bend back to a kiss. She knew how her body worked, and she knew how Lexa’s did as well.

She liked the way Lexa kissed, which was so out of character from the girl she once met twirling a dagger. Stoic and unyielding on a throne, in bed, Lexa was passionate and fire, she was soft and graceful and did this thing with her tongue and teeth on Clarke’s neck that made her body catch on fire. To say she was powerful before was unfair; in bed, she had all of the power of a myth.

Lips slid along sternum and then captured nipple while hips pushed harder into the bed, pinning the map there.

“What about this one?” Lexa whispered against shoulder.

“An arrow, from my first year on the ground.”

Tenderly, Lexa kissed there once again, gentle as she could. Hands raked along her back, distracted and disinterested in the history of a body and instead eager to continue with the exploring.

The mapper was disinterested in it though. Instead, she moved toward neck and jaw, kissing there, knowing it all by lips alone.

“And this one?” she asked, nudging ribs with nose as she moved once more.

“The Mountain,” was all Clarke had to say and Lexa froze, her body growing tense.

“What… what happened…?” Lexa tried, sitting up slightly and clearing her throat.

Clarke watched her jaw grow tight. But there were eyes on her that she couldn’t even fight, especially in a winter afternoon like that. And so she nodded and lifted her head.

“I tried to break out,” she explained, pointing to the thin pale line along her forearm, over the bone of her wrist. “I broke a window and the glass got me. I turned out to be one of the more unruly prisoners. And so I was the first on the block. A tube was placed into my chest--”

“Enough,” Lexa shook her head and looked away wildly, unable to hear anymore of it despite the honor and duty and guilt to it that made her feel as if she deserved it.

A sick kind of pain dug up through her stomach as she refused to meet Clarke’s eyes and instead stared at the circle of matted scar tissue on her skin. This body was pristine before the ground came, before Lexa.

“It’s okay,” Clarke promised, running her hands along naked shoulders and scars she knew well herself.

She ran a knuckle along Lexa’s cheek, cupped her palm there until the face turned slightly and kissed her there before the tension slackened enough for the Commander to breathe again. She was very human for Clarke, and it was still very new.

“I like this one best,” Lexa decided, moving back to Clarke’s hip, settling her chin near her belly button.

“Why’s that?”

Clarke watched her play with the tiny, two-inch scar from her appendix, tracing the tiny, downy white hairs that surrounded it sparsely.

“It’s the only one you got before you landed here. The only one I didn’t somehow give you.”

The girl beneath her smiled despite herself at the description. Her skin was going to burst with love for the leader of their world. Lexa dug her face into Clarke’s stomach, hiding there, holding her breath and not wanting to move. Once more, the girl from the sky played with her hair, pushing around the knot of mane.

“I’m quite partial to this one,” Clarke smiled and shifted, pointing to one on the backside of her hip.

“Where is this from?” Lexa asked, unfamiliar with the still new mark.

“When you pushed me against the table and the candle burned me,” she laughed, earning a rare shade of blush.

“Oh good. I really have been the sole source of marks on your body.”

“You haven’t. You didn’t shoot an arrow into me, or tie me to a chair to experiment on me,” Clarke promised, rolling over slightly to allow Lexa to explore the new twist of road. “And as far as I’m concerned, the only scar you’ve given me is my favorite on my body.”

“No more,” she swore.

“You can’t promise that. Not with your knack for candles and pushing me against things.”

“Stop looking so delectable.”

“No,” Clarke decided defiantly. “Because I don’t want you to stop.”

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theresah331 · 4 years ago

Text

Audible Sun Born

Sun Born : People of the Morning star (2) (North America's Forgotten Past, #23) by W. Michael Gear

Narrated by: Charlie Thurston

Charlie Thurston has a way of adding life to the characters words on the page. Its a way to bring out the nuances in the beloved story.

Sun Born : People of the Morning star (2) (North America's Forgotten Past, #23) by W. Michael Gear Sun Born, the second book in the eye opening new series featuring one of the most remarkable archaeological sites in North America will entice readers to learn more about its history and mythology. Cahokia was at its pinnacle over a thousand years ago, it a remarkable rise in trade and prestige would be the focus of Power and North American mythological Gods. The Morning Star is the reborn embodiment of the cross culturally renown Twin God whose influence and connection throughout the North American world laid the foundation of many of the cultures throughout North and Central America. His story of rebirth would spread far and wide and would gain interest in far flung places like Mayan empires. How would the two great powers of the prehistory world share their mutual mythology, and influence? What would be the outcome of these two Cultures colliding in a clandestine nova of subterfuge and intrigue? The internal conflicts within Cahokia is not prepared for the advent of a new Powerful players into the world. The the Four Winds clan, and its contenting conflicts within Cahokia and its neighboring communities are ripe for exploitation. Blue Heron has just the ex-husband who could stir up the entire boiling pot of power and conflict. Can the tenuous connections brought together to save Cahokia in People of the Morning Star find a solution to this new and contemptuous advisory? Can Seven Skull Shield, “that rascal” find a way to save his world, his friends and his people? Lady Night Sun Morning Star will face a new dilemma right on the heels of her new found freedom. Can she sacrifice her ideals, her prestige and her heart in a way that will bring Power into balance? Or will Thirteen Sacred Jaguar the lord of the Itza bring this magnificent city and its culture to heal, and making the Four Winds Clan Neal at his feet? Character List Morning Star/ Chunkey Boy: of the Four Winds Clan, the reincarnated Morning Star, the reborn leader of the Four Winds clan, is struggling with personal concepts of his own belief. He has found that power and prestige are not all they are reputed to be. The internal conflict within Cahokia, the Four Winds Clans, and the Earth Clans has worn away the polish of the Ideal. Lady Night Shadow Star: of the Four Winds Clan, eldest of the Morning Star’s sister. She is said to be a great beauty, and tempestuous young woman of remarkable abilities and passions. Finds that her heart has its own rules, and she is forced to choose between her people and the man she has come reluctantly to love. Clan Keeper Blue Heron: Keeper of the Four Winds Clan, a strong political leader of the Cahokia world. Her desperate love connections have come to haunt her again. She must face the insufferable heartache and retribution of her ex-husband’s advantageous return. Fire Cat: High War Chief , Red Wing Nation, slave of Lady Night Shadow Star. He takes an oath to protect Lady Night Shadow Star, but his oath has come at an enormous personal cost. Seven Skull Shield: thief, and trades man who is a loud, aggressive fighter, and the only possibility to stop the exploits of this invading horde of subterfuge and intrigue. He will find that his connections are frayde by his loyalty to the Four Winds Clan. Hunted and captured by his friends and enemies he must find how to help his new associates survive the coming of a new power to Cahokia. Tonk’tazi Wind: adviser and living sister to Blue Heron, one of the leading powers in the Four winds Clan. Meets with contingent and trade agreements with other nations. Nine Strikes: the Little Sun, hereditary second of the rulers of the Natchez. Killed in Cahokia after being honored by the Morning Star for his dancing and costume used at the celebration. Horn Lance: of the horned serpents house of the Four Winds Clan, Cousin of high chief Green Chunkney, Ex-husband of Blue Heron, exiled for his failed coup of the Four Winds Clan matrons, returned from extended trade adventures that lead to the Mayan civilization and the orchestrator of the massive contemptuous plot to overthrow the Four Winds Clan and rake havoc on his enemies. Thirteen Sacred Jaguar: son of the yitah Four Fire Shield, one of the multepal, the ruling brothers of the mighty empire of Chichen Itza. Come to Cahokia, to spread the jin the true history of the hero twins, and take this rural outpost to the heights of the Mayan empire. Lichen: Dreamer as a young girl went to tutor under an Wanderer, the keeper of the Tortoise bundle. Animal characters/ gods: Hunga ahuito: the two headed Creator eagle who dwelt above the Rainbow realm in the sky, about the middle waters of the earth, and the four realms of the Underworld clear down to were first woman lived in her cave beneath the roots of the world tree. First woman or Old-woman-who-never-dies: ruler of the Underworld lives in a cave down below the World tree’s roots. There she dreamed the patterns and Powers of the underworld. He realm was portage by the color red, indicative of fertility, creativity, war and chaos. She had dominion over the waters and plants. She is the daughter of Corn Mother, gave birth to Morning Star and his twin wild One. Piasa: the Water Panther giving it a female body with serpent tail; sometimes isn't directly named lest it be aroused. (America before the European Invasion pg 48) Piasa, a mythological beast/god that prowled the depths, attaching the people in the swamps and waterways. Horned serpent: the flying snake “ his voice is sibilant and terrible; Sunlight glistened in tiny rainbows from the scales that armored his skull. The horns that jutted from his head were forked and might have been made to translucent red jasper that almost glowed. Awesome crystalline eyes stared down at me in glittering splendor, like faceted quartz. And in their gaze resonated a Power that sent it waves through my souls. Chevrons dots and dark centered circles decorated the length of his huge body. Each consisted of a symbol of the first days drawn upon his hide by breath giver during the creation. Those mighty wings rose from the center of back and spread above in large patterned feathers almost transparent in the sunlight.” (description from Coming of the storm) Snapping turtle: to whom fish and frogs answered. Tie Snakes: who guarded springs, lurked in the depths of the rivers and invoked the rains, The Thunderbirds mythological gods who make thunder and show messages of the gods. Morning Star: the good twin, loved by his mother Corn woman and raised by Old-woman who never dies. Kukul: the powerful Kukulkán (also K'uk'ulkan or K'uk'ul-chon) is a god of Mayan mytholoogy. Kukulkan is known to the K’iche’ group of Maya as Gukumatz. The name Kukulkan means “feathered serpent”, like his Aztec equivalent Quetzacoatl. The text of the Popol Vuh tells of the Mayan creation myth, followed by stories of a set of heroic twins, Hunahpu and Xbalanqué. The text ends with the mythical history of the K'iche' Kingdom itself, giving its rulers an association with the divine.

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tatteredthought · 7 years ago

Text

Reaver 4 (Talkus)

His dreams were vivid. It was good to dream again. He hadn’t slept in so long…

He walked through a verdant countryside. He had come out of the dense woods and all at once been greeted by waving rows of crops. He scared some crows out of a field of young corn as he made his way down the road.

He waved to a family toiling in the fields. He strolled up to their house along the lane. He walked out to the field.

“Hail good sir!”

The eldest man stopped his work and stood, placing his hands on the small of his back. He moved toward the stranger. “Hail yerself!” He closed the distance fairly quickly as they were walking to each other. “And what can I do for ya traveler?”

“I was wondering about the name of this place.”

The old man straightened his hat. “Garth, my friend.”

The traveler nodded his head imperceptibly. So, I’ve come farther south than I planned. “So I take it there’s a proper town down the road?”

“Oh, aye. Ya just keep goin for a few miles and y’ll be in Garth proper.” He turned back to his family and gave them some pointed remarks before turning back to the traveler. “Have ya got business in town mister…?”

“Hiiri.” The traveler stuck out his hand and the farmer clasped it firmly before letting go.

“Mister Hiiri then.”

“No, I have no business there per se. Just curious as to where I’d be spending the night. Thank you for the information. I’ll leave you to your work.” He turned to leave.

The farmer watched him go. The traveler kept to the lane and road. His son asked when the farmer’d be back to working. The old man turned, scowling and went back to work. He smacked his son good on the shoulder for his joking. It was returned with a laugh.

Hiiri walked the miles to Garth. He met no one else.

No gates. Interesting. A small hamlet indeed.

He ran into a young boy carrying a faggot on his back, the boy having been looking at his feet and not in front of him. He helped the lad up.

“Would you know where the boarding house is?”

The boy looked over his bundle before shouldering it. “Aye sir. If you’ll follow me I’ll take ya right to it. Me father owns the place.” They set off down the road.

Boarding house was the politest term Hiiri knew for tavern. The place he followed the boy to was rather large, most likely the largest building in town. Nice place. Hope the man’s not a thief.

“Well here it is sir. Speak ta me father for room and food.” The boy's face took a grim turn, “Mind ya don’t go messin with me sister. I may not be very big, but I’ll take the light from yer eyes I will.”

Hiiri chuckled and tousled the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not the sort.” His smile seemed to take the grimness from the boy’s face. He carried his bundle around the corner hollering for someone to help him with the kindling.

Hmm, reminds me of him at that age.

Hiiri stepped thru the open doorway. A large common room set with four large benched tables and two fireplaces on either side greeted him. It was just after midday and the place wasn’t half filled. One table held a roaring match of over-the-top. Men tossed coins on the table for wager before locking in single armed combat. He noted a young woman of striking features carrying mugs and a platter to the table. The men not engaged handed her coin for the meal. As she turned away she bit each coin in turn.

Shrewd and lovely. That must be the boy’s sister. I see why he would want to keep the wrong sort away from her. She was tall, taller than Hiiri by a head at least. Her figure was not what would be considered lacking in any way. Her hair was brown like a chestnut. He watched her glide back behind the bar. And that must be her father.

The man she passed behind the bar was Hiiri’s height. He was broad and somewhat large of frame. He busied himself with cleaning. A man from a table addressed him. Hiiri sat at a table near the fireplace on the north wall.

“Could I get another ale Einion? The fields are callin, but my back is barking today.”

Einion’s voice was lighter than Hiiri had expected. It wasn’t high of pitch, but it seemed a voice more fitted for laughing than anything else. “Aye ya can get one Trevan, but don’t let yer boss come in here givin me the railin because you’re too drunk ta work.” He made to go back and fill the order, but the young woman slid past him. She had two mugs in her hand.

Einion called after her, “And where are ya going with both of those Blodwen?”

“You know Trevan wanted two da.” She sent him a wink and glided to the table.

“Yer drinks good sir.”

“Thank ya girl. Here, take an extra for yerself seeing as how ya know me so well.” He flipped the extra coin in the air and she caught it at the top of its arc.

The sound of an arm hitting the table was followed by many curses, none directed at the game or the girl. The men downed their ales as quickly as possible. An old woman had entered and was telling them to get on with what she paid them for. The men filed out after they’d made certain of their tabs with the young woman. Then she turned her attention to the newest arrival.

She had not seen the likes of this one before. She dwarfed him in height. He looked like a bundle of wires under a taut white sheet. His hair was the color of new darkness. His eyes burned with an intensity at once off-putting and alluring. She had never seen eyes like that before.

“And what will be yer pleasure sir?” She looked into his eyes.

Blue. “I’d like a drink or three, maybe a large game foul to go with them.”

She took a moment to reply, “I think we have somethin for that sir. You have the coin I’m sure.” She held her hand out.

Hard worker. Hiiri reached into his belt pouch and dropped three small lumps on the table. “This should suffice for my meal and the room I’m going to need for the night.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Ya mean ta pay with rocks?”

Hiiri picked up the lumps and held them up to her. The firelight played off of the rough cuts in them. They shone the same color as his eyes.

“You can’t be meaning to spend all that here? That’s worth more than a meal and room for the night. Ya could take and cut one in half and still be overpayin.”

Honest as well. Hmmm, makes me wonder.

He placed two of the nuggets back in his pouch and flicked the other into the air. She caught it. She stood there a moment looking at him. “Are ya sure you want ta pay this for what we offer?”

Hiiri smiled, “Blodwen, just let your father know I need the food and a room for the night.” He folded his hands on the table and looked into the fire. “If I need anything else I’ll ask for it.” He turned to look at her again. She was going back to the bar.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re worth protecting?”

She stopped. He watched her. It’s like watching a deer freeze. She turned where she stood and gave him a quizzical look. “What do ya mean?”

His eyes were catching the firelight. They seemed to hold small sparks in them. “I understand that the usual compliments include exhortations of beauty and grace. Most men do that because they are overcome by you. I am overcome, but I’d rather be to the point about it. Has any man ever told you that he would protect you with his dying breath?”

She stared. He looks unreal. The way the firelight plays over him. It’s like I’m lookin at a demon. She shook her head fiercely. Calm down girl, it’s not but a man and a trick of the light.

“No. Can’t say that I have.”

“Shame…” He looked back into the fire.

She turned and moved back behind the bar. Her father had watched that scene.

“What did he say to ya just now girl? Is he gonna be trouble?”

She gathered some clean mugs and went into the kitchen. He followed her.

“He’s not gonna be any trouble da. He wants a room for the night, three ales, and a game bird for himself ta eat.”

Einion harrumphed, “And I assume he paid with promises eh?”

She dipped the first mug into an open barrel. “No. He paid with a nugget of silver.” She held it out to him and he goggled.

“He handed ya that? For a room and vittles?” He looked it over. It was a good size. “The man is touched in the head I’d say.”

She turned and went back out. Her father set the nugget down on the counter. “Finn, get in here a moment.” The boy that Hiiri had met on the road came in through a back door with a taller young man. The tall one spoke as he slung his axe into a resting position.

“You needed something master?” The boy had some kindling in his hands. He moved to the large stove and tossed it in. He leaned near it.

Einion addressed the young man. “I need ya ta look after Blod. That traveler out there seems a nice enough sort, but if he gets rowdy you know what ta do with him.”

“Yes sir.” Finn turned on his heel, axe over his shoulder, and exited the room. The sound of wood being split echoed behind the inn.

Einion rounded on the boy, “And don’t ya be getting any ideas there Iowan. I asked Finn ta watch him, not you.”

The boy only smiled as he slid around the cutting table. “I know da. I heard ya. Worry yerself not for me. I’ll keep an eye on the stranger.” He slid out the door before Einion could get a word in. Einion placed his hand over his face.

“The boys got heart, but not half any brains. I fear he came through as mostly me.” He looked to a portrait hung over the door to the common. He looked wistfully at it before returning to work. He had a bird to prepare.

“Here’s yer round sir. I hope ya wanted them all at once.” She slid the mugs down with practiced ease.

“I did want them all at once.” He arranged them on the table.

“Well the bird may be a little while, but ya’ve paid more than enough. I’ll let ya know if we need more payin for what you’re gettin.” She turned round and walked to another table not far away. She took a cloth from her sash and began wiping it down.

Hiiri watched for a moment. I’ll bet she’s the typical ‘barmaid with a pining man’. He quaffed an ale while she worked. No others entered the place. He felt like he was being watched though. He scanned the room and noticed a shadow in one of the back doorways.

“Excuse me Blodwen, but is it common for men to lurk behind door frames in this city?”

She turned to look at him, then to where his eyes were going. She didn’t see anything, but then a shadow shifted. It faded away like a man sliding down a corridor. She thought she knew who it had been and why.

“It’s not normal sir. But sometimes me brother and the hired man are about. I know that Finn can be a bit quiet. Maybe he was just lookin ta see what was goin on in here, it bein so quiet and all.” She went back to her cleaning.

Impressive answer. A truly remarkable female. A shame my partner isn’t here to see her. Hiiri drank another ale, this one more slowly than the first. The shadow didn’t come back.

He drank the last ale at a draught. He stood from his bench.

“I need to see a smith about some things. I assume there is one in town.”

She had moved to another table as he was drinking. She answered without looking up. “Aye there is one. He was part of that group a short while ago. He’s set up a few alleys down. Take a right out the door and follow the smell of horses and heated iron.” She finished with the table and moved to clear away the mugs. Hiiri walked out, one eye on her. She noticed.

The walk to the smith was short, but Hiiri was sure he was being watched. He heard the scuffing of booted feet nearby. The streets weren’t crowded, but the general din was enough to make the sound almost imperceptible. Reaver heard it.

A deep voice bellowed from the back of the smith as Hiiri rang the bell. “And what do you need on this glorious day?”

“I need to see a man about a sword.”

A horse whinnied out back. The smith tried to soothe the beast.

“Whoa there boy. Nothin here to spook a big charger like you.”

“Shall I come back later then?”

“No, no. Come on around the side here and let’s have a talk. I can shoe a horse and jaw at the same time.”

Hiiri walked out and around. The building was roughly square. The shoeing area had two stalls in it. One was currently occupied.

The man with a horse leg bent between his knees looked up. “Ah, a new face.” He went at the bent nail in the shoe with tenacity. His face turned slightly red. “Been a while since I seen your kind around here. You from the south then?”

Hiiri cocked an eyebrow. “Yes. I’m from the southern reaches. Why do you ask?”

“Same reason I ask anyone,” The nail flew past Hiiri and knocked into the other stall. The smith watched its arc before looking at Hiiri, “I’m curious.”

The man spit a nail into his hand and began tapping. The horse wasn’t being very cooperative. The nail went flush and the smith dropped the leg.

“Damnation will ya stand still? You’d think the beast smelled a wolf or something.”

Hiiri hid a smile. “Maybe I can help.”

“If you could I’d be very grateful.”

Hiiri stepped up to the animals flank. The creature seemed like it was going to bolt thru the partition. He laid his hand on the horse’s neck, and gripped. The beast immediately began bucking. The smith was nearly hit by the first convulsive kick. He fell to the side and scrambled up near the opposite wall.

The traveler seemed to be talking to the animal. The creature stopped bucking and stood frozen. When the traveler let go it didn’t move.

Hiiri retreated a few steps. “That should keep him quiet until I leave.”

The smith gave a nod. “You were saying something about a blade?” He inched back to the animal and gingerly lifted its leg, expecting a kick. None came.

“I was wondering if you knew something about the sword of Berahild.”

The smith looked up as he finished the last shoe. “Can’t say that I have. Any particular reason?”

“It’s supposed to have special properties against magic, specifically the magic of demons.”

The smith hung his nails, hammer, and an extra shoe on the stall’s partition and motioned for Hiiri to follow him. “Nope, don’t know that one.” He shrugged, “Sorry I can’t be more help.”

Hiiri gave a dismissive gesture. “That’s all right. I had hoped you’d know, but I’ve been disappointed before.” Hiiri turned to leave the storefront.

“Is that all ya needed then?”

Hiiri kept walking, talking over his shoulder. “I don’t ride horses and I have all the weapons and armor I need. So, yes I’m afraid. Good day to you.”

The smith went at a plowshare he’d been heating. After a few minutes of beating it looked fair to set aside in the fire again. He went to check on the horse. It was still standing there, stock still.

As he went back to the inn Hiiri heard a scuffle in a nearby street.

Ah, a dispute come to blows. Might as well take a look.

He ventured around a corner and found two boys locked in a grapple. Some of their friends were standing by, egging them on. They saw Hiiri and the whole scene stopped.

Hiiri made a circular motion with his hand. “Continue. No need to stop because you have a spectator.”

The two that had been grappling looked at each other. They’d not heard an adult talk that way before. The towheaded one spoke.

“You’re not gonna tell anyone we was fightin?”

The taller brown haired boy piped in, “No way Gwyn. He’ll tattle us fer shur.”

Hiiri smiled at them, all of them. Some of the spectators moved away from him.

“Boys. You have my word as a warrior against evil that I won’t tell anyone.”

The two looked back at each other. They separated. The towhead turned to Hiiri while the others watched.

“Warrior against evil? You sound like an old storybook.”

Hiiri laughed. “An old storybook? No I assure you I have earned that title.” He knelt down and began looking into each boy’s eyes in turn as he spoke.

“I have rescued damsels from corrupt priests. I have stolen precious goods out from under the noses of unseeing officials. I have defended myself against bandits. I dealt harshly with a group of supposed tax collectors. Now I am here.”

The boys were semi awestruck. The stranger’s words were captivating. Somehow they knew he was telling the truth. Something in his eyes sang to them.

One of the spectators shook his head, almost like he had cobwebs in his hair.

“All well and good sir, but I think I hear me mum callin. Don’t you lads too?” He thumped the nearest boys on their backs and they agreed sheepishly. The only one left with Hiiri was the towheaded boy. The sun was beginning to set.

Hiiri reached out and grabbed the boy by the shoulder. He locked eyes with him for a long moment before speaking. “You ought to run home son. No telling what things might find you in the dark.” His voice had a soothing quality.

The boy seemed in a daze. “You might be right sir. I should get home now.” He turned and stumbled down the alley. His eyes glassy and vacant.

Hiiri walked into the inn shortly thereafter. The sun had just gone down. The rosy light cast his shadow on the floor. He called for Einion. The reply came from the kitchen.

“Is that the sir that ordered the bird earlier?”

“It is indeed friend. Bring it out if it’s ready, and a few more mugs.” He sat near the bar. Einion came from the kitchen. The platter he carried steamed gently and held what looked to be a fair sized pheasant. Hiiri thanked the man for the viands.

He devoured the platter in a few short minutes. He did not bother with the bones, but merely tossed them into the fire. Finn was in the doorway opposite. The traveler wasn’t crude in his manners, but there was something that didn’t sit right.

Hiiri dropped a leg bone in the fire. “Young man in the door. Would you mind coming out and helping me with something?”

Finn froze. When did he?

“Oh come now.” The traveler stood up. “Your boots gave you away. I just need help with something very small.” Finn stepped out into the open and saw the traveler holding forth…a wishbone?

The traveler shook the bone lightly. “I can’t throw this in the fire without breaking it first. Ill luck comes from unbroken wishbones.” The traveler sat back down and indicated Finn sit across from him.

Finn crossed the room warily and sat down.

“Is this what you wanted me for?”

The traveler smiled. “Why else would I call you? You’re not the cook, the cleaner, the barmaid, nor the kindling fetcher.” He held the bone up and Finn grasped the other end.

“To your wish young Finn, may it be true sooner than you think.”

Did Blodwen tell him my name? No, couldn’t be. They pulled as one and Finn got the upper part. Oh, whoever’s listening, let Blodwen see me as a worthy man and not just another vagrant her father hired out of pity. Hiiri sat back and tossed his part into the fire. “Ah well. I was hoping for a free night here, but I guess that’s not going to happen.” He held his hand out and Finn gave him the bone. Hiiri threw it into the fire.

“Any chance you know where Blodwen is?”

The question caught Finn off guard.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well your wish was about her I assume. You had the faraway look of a man with desires.”

Finn turned red, his face hardened, he stood and looked the stranger in the eye. “What do you mean by that?”

Hiiri cocked his head slightly. “Never told her?”

Finn looked ready to smash the table. “What did you mean by that?”

The traveler mocked him with a smile. “Only that you love the girl and wish that she would see you as a worthy man and not just another vagrant her father hired out of pity.”

Finn’s head of steam suddenly grew cold. He looked like he’d seen a dead man walk into the room. “What?”

The traveler stood with the platter. As he spoke Finn grew more at ease, but not totally. “Don’t be silly man. I can tell you’re not from around here. You don’t have the native accent. Odds are you floated into town and got a job at the inn, as most travelers do. The woman is striking. You thought her the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. Then you watched her work and live and found yourself smitten. I doubt you’ve told her of this. You lack courage in only that; you believe you won’t measure up to her standards, or her father’s. Why not try?”

Finn’s jaw fell open slightly. How did he? His mouth closed slowly. He righted himself mentally before speaking.

“You’re right stranger. I don’t know how, but you are.” He sat down again, heavily. “I just can’t get the words out when she’s around.”

“Perhaps I can help with that.”

“What? Are you going tell her for me then?”

“No. You will tell her yourself. Oh Blodwen!”

Finn started. “Now?”

The traveler looked down with a grim countenance. “You have a better plan?”

In a corner now…or maybe not. Blodwen came down the stairs. She was finishing tying her sash.

“And what do ya need sir?” She looked at the mess on the table. “Oh, and why didn’t,” she turned to the kitchen door, “me father take care of that for ya?” Hiiri put the platter down and she placed the mugs on it.

“Tell her.”

Blodwen slowed down. Tell me what?

Finn looked angrily at Hiiri. “I have nothing to say.”

Hiiri shook his head and dropped onto the bench. He looked into Blodwen’s eyes. “He has a confession to make.”

Blodwen looked at Finn. I’ve never seen him so anxious. Confession?

Finn looked down. “I have nothing to say.”

Hiiri kicked Finn’s leg under the table. Finn yelped and stood, looking with something akin to murder at Hiiri.

Hiiri spoke in the interim. “He has had certain feelings for you for quite some time." He smiled that mocking smile at Finn, “He’d be better to tell it. I’m not the one in love.”

She gaped at Finn. “What?”

Finn’s words came out like a bursting dam. His eyes never left the floor.

“From the day I first arrived you made it difficult for me to look in your direction. I could no sooner see you than be struck dumb, numb, and utterly brain dead. I was enchanted by your beauty before I asked for the job and ever since I have been in even greater pains.” He paused to catch his breath and raise his eyes. “Watching you…be you, is tortuous to me. I can’t take a moment’s peace from the sound of your voice or the sight of your face. They haunt my dreams in the sweetest of ways.” Blodwen was obviously stunned. Finn missed this and continued. “I told myself that I could not do this. There is no way that you would ever accept a penniless wanderer who chops firewood and does odd jobs around town as a potential husband.”

Blodwen’s eyes grew large. Her voice was barely audible. “Husband?”

Finn heard and latched on to the word. “Yes, husband. I could think of nothing else this past month. I have been unable to sleep for wanting you, but I could not ask.”

Hiiri rolled his eyes. “Poetry he has, courage he has not.”

They both turned to Hiiri. They seemed to just be remembering he was there. Hiiri looked over to the kitchen door. “Got all that Einion?”

The other’s turned as the door opened. Einion’s face was a mask of red fury. He held a cleaver in his hand and jumped the bar much easier than could be expected. He charged Finn.

“Marry…my…DAUGHTER!?”

The cleaver hit the table with a resounding crack. Einion left the tool quivering in the wood. He grabbed Finn and lifted him from the floor in a crushing hug. “Why didn’t ya ask me sooner boy?”

Finn sounded like he couldn’t breathe, “What?”

Einion set the man down. “Aye! I’d have let her go with ya at less than a thought. You’re a good man, and she needs one.”

Blodwen regained herself. Her face became hard. “And what says I want ta marry him?”

Finn looked devastated. Hiiri broke in.

“Because he’s always been there. You never see him, but he is. Think about it and you’ll see, hear, and know the truth.”

Blodwen looked at Hiiri. She thought back and couldn’t think of a time he’d been around.

Hiiri tried to jog her memory. “The wolf, the man in the road, remember?”

“There was a wolf once. Iowan was sick and I went ta get wood for the fire. I found it lyin next ta the road. It was dead.”

“And the man?”

She had to think again. “There was the one propped against a tree. I thought he was asleep, but he had a horrid wound in his chest. I ran back to town after that.”

Finn had his head down. Einion had taken a seat. He spoke now.

“You didn’t think about the dressing on Finn’s arms and leg that day did ya?”

She looked incredulous. “He said he’d gotten into a fight with someone.”

Einion nodded. “He didn’t lie.”

Hiiri stood up and slapped Finn on the back of the head. Finn pitched forward and stumbled into Blodwen. She caught him.

Hiiri punctuated his slap with words. “Tell the woman fool!”

Finn had no choice but to look into her eyes as he spoke. He couldn’t well keep his head buried in her shoulder.

“The wolf was alone and sick. I was following you to make sure you’d make it back safely. The thing didn’t howl when it caught your trail. I saw it. It didn’t run either. It was walking after you. I split its head and dragged it into the woods as best I could.”

His eyes had tears in them from the sting in his head. Hers for a different reason.

“The man had seen me following you and wanted to know if I’d share you. I shared my axe with his breast. I left him where he fell.”

Hiiri stood. “And that, as they say, is that.” He patted Finn on the shoulder as he walked past. “On that heartwarming note I’m going to get some sleep. I will see you all on the morrow.” He climbed the stairs. He opened his door, flopped on the bed, and dropped away into a dreamless sleep.

He awoke to the smell of burning. What’s going on?

His first instinct was to jump up, but he was already on his feet.

He stood in the center of a small town. Everything was ablaze. He had something in his hands. He looked down to see the face of Einion. He dropped the head and it was laughing.

Sleep well?

He tried to grasp what was happening. He remembered that man. Was it a dream or… What have you done?

You were asleep my dear. I had to take us somewhere other than that blasted forest. I found this nice little hamlet called,

Garth…

Yes! That’s the name. I met some fine people here and well…you know how it goes. I got hungry and they all looked sooo tasty. I didn’t leave any for you I'm afraid.

Reaver slowly turned. His dreams hadn’t been dreams at all…but this…

The blacksmith…

I ate his heart while he still drew breath.

The children…

Such young, tender souls. If you listen you can hear them screaming.

The innkeeper…

Off with his head!

Finn…

Torn limb from limb for raising a hand against us.

The woman…

Defiled and dead next to the one who tried to save her.

Hiiri screamed…and screamed…and screamed…

Shahjolka laughed.

#fiction

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libidomechanica · 4 years ago

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“Herbs, garlic”

Herbs, garlic, cheese, pleasure she loot therefore, and plied not, rapes. Board, with those tall asleep. When you aught to lie as if by inherits touch of his chief of Errington and was you will enrich the days and for good claret set out across they roses nestling mantle thou not tyranny grew proudly makes cakes? All fixed: last shells for often in the worst but was drawn by their will, what was mine; “in Iphigenia was not sweet are bereavd me, for we two more splendour; but did entreat that devil a Phrygian. The quietly to the Idols I have fall, call once remove, Down;

with a cry. o folly, then misers keep my voyage touchwood, and fair; the waves with disdaind to her fast and turn to sweetly on thee, to have wish that small birds befel? but being put the nuptial ties a deep sleep below, turning of a stone, Fall,”

And, old woman died. which love, among the primroses, so much wrong; the clouds, and body this, by Phoebus doom, who cause? Quoth heavy heart, I said, “and had our will, within the hear them that he scaled, when models arrived, some blame thou was not stay! And learn from your touch, as I sober climes to seal it once, and nuptial day, prepared with thunder-tone gruff with blazing here, ‘and charms might a Paphian dove upon the Clay They are so standing do not speech planned, you live’ with pains my youth and grief he fled and Jamshýd glory earth and its dazzling seemd a second had a count the land, what I dare? On the hearts are daffodils with new names are past wet windows. I have happy pens which, as all the send, we two hosts their turned, and, ever like to a book, now forbore the ground; that mighty Máhmúd, the thief.

Besides, Ive heart and then how I by this, and despairing caught a kinder corn are saving—vice spares to the gorgeous deeds shall striking

of vows, had left me in that she but, ah! at the Europa bellow;

no more: To meet her proves Elysium. The world been worn with universe into forget their turned yours, that of such disparaged to be won, beautiful slave, not uncouth; some reason from the enamoured a gloom oer the pined with my fixt height,— peonas hand shaking a patient time yet Gibsons roar, and a voices cooingly progeny, as made his son, shuddered, ‘No.’”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #138 texts

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beatificallys · 5 years ago

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thomas x zoya (3)

thomas holds up a silk brocade to the light and exhales. its shimmering and glimmering, all its different colours dancing, so beautiful he can hardly keep his eyes off it. the doorman looks at him suspiciously.

nothings for sale, u know that right.

he nods, of course.

beside him, nataliya must be worried about the same thing. she looks unconvinced. we must be going, she tells the doorman, but thomas won’t put down the brocade. her strong fingers wrap around his arm. now.

he reluctantly places it back on the table and clears his throat. of course.

his fingers twitch, already missing the texture of it. he quickly shoves them into his pockets before he can do anything else. they have a mind of their own, nicked something off someone.

the weight of nataliyas gaze is overwhelming. he doesnt meet her eyes as he strides out of the shop, whistling off key, trying to not let the fact that he desperately needs the brocade show. it looks beautiful. it would fit perfectly on his shelf.

******

the little house is two small for the both of them. thomas searched for her his whole life, but now he can’t bear to be near her.

remember this is my house, my home, he growls. you don’t get to shit on me for what i do with my life, thank you very much.

she’s so tall, so formidable. she takes up a good portion of his peripheral. midnight black. all black. her arms are corded with muscle, her shoulders bared like that of someone who had everything to lose but still wasn’t afraid. she’s been away so long, she doesnt know what she’s talking about. she’s forgotten how things work here. kill or be killed. hadn’t that always been their philosophy? she doesnt know what she’s talking about, once she’s weaned on the rich food of the kingdom. roast chicken, sweet corn, honeyed bread.

but for some reason, he can’t look her in the eye. instead he turns his gaze to the hearth, where the orange fire flickers.

you took the cloth in the end, didn’t you? from the doorman, she says, accusatorially.

he lets out a long frustrated noise. what? why can’t i? how is it any of your business?

because it wasn’t for sale, thomas, she shouts, volume growing louder. it was his wife’s!

so what? SO FUCKING WHAT? fuck, he needs a drink. he can’t stand this. its gorgeous, i wanted it! the guy’s probably working for the kingdom anyway. that shit’d go to the fucking king no matter what. why do you care?

it’s not right, thomas. it’s just not right.

thomas barks out harsh laughter. you’re so different, i hardly know you.

during my time spent in the royal army, i learnt a lot of things. we were wrong.

no. nope, thomas denies vehemently. right now, i need the girl who ransacked houses and robbed businesses with me all those years ago. and if you aren’t, i’m sorry. you need to leave.

nataliya strides closer. what was her new name? zoya. zoya. every inch of nataliya has disappeared. theres no more burning desperation, that wanting for something they could never have, nothing reckless, sharp, inspiring about her anymore. if he’d told nataliya about what hes doing, she would’ve known it was revolutionary and agreed in a heartbeat.

they’re inches away from each other. its the same face. longer, more serious; older. the sharp gleam of youth has whittled down to a mature light.

i’ve changed, she says. her eyes are so dark, burning with a black fire. the intensity strikes him. but you haven’t. not a single bit, she spits. no matter how you want to dress up your house in luxuries, you’re still the starving street rat.

thomas throws the punch before he fully knows whats going on. it hits nataliya squarely across the face. she lets out a cry of pain. anger clouds his vision. she can’t say that. she doesnt have the right to. she left him. he made a life for himself, and now she’s angry? hes in the midst of throwing another punch, when her fist connects with his skull and all the air is knocked out of him. pain bursts across his cheekbone.

nataliya’s in her soldier’s stance, has brought her fists up in front of her face and her feet are placed so steadily apart it has to be practiced. it must’ve been taught to her in the palace. he strikes once, but she deftly avoids it. he tries another time, and she avoids it again, but this time, she grabs his arm and uses his momentum to throw him over the table. the crystal vase shatters, and the flowers scatter on the floor.

pain explodes all over his body. he winces, pushing himself back up on his feet. snarls, then lunges. the two of them topple to the ground, rolling, punching, kicking. its a teeth gnashing event. nataliyas abandoned all her fancy fighting techniques. she shoves her elbow into his ribs and he bites her arm in return. they topple couches and chairs and tables and wardrobes. the entire house is wrecked. they’re back in the streets again, snow descending down on them, covering them in white. they’re thrashing around, bloody and bruised, so vulnerable and exposed in their desperation.

he throws as many punches in as he can before she flips them over, pressing him down. he groans. it feels as though an enormous amount of pressure is keeping him down. he can’t move. they’re both breathing heavily, chests rising up and down quickly.

“FUCK YOU!” the scream tears itself from his throat. he thrashes around. “GET OFF ME!”

“i was wrong about you.” half her face is covered in blood and bruises. her bottom lip is swollen. “i thought i knew who you were. look at yourself! you’re bad-tempered, an alcoholic, a gambler, a thief, you steal from the poor…”

“you’re exactly like your father.”

he goes still.

get out of my house, he says quietly.

thomas —

get out.

he closes his eyes.

after a beat, she rises and he hears the sound of the door opening and closing, and footsteps retreating.

**********

arthur dawson often asked thomas to help out at the workshop. cutting wood, stoking fires, and once in a while he’d teach thomas a trick or two. welding, heating, molding. the workshop was dirty and was filled perpetually with the acrid stench of smoke. there were blackened pots and pans hanging up against the dirty white walls, forbidding, like ancient faces staring down at him in castigation.

arthur dawson grabbed thomas’s little hands and shoved a hammer in between them. thomas nearly fell down with it. his father instructed him to retrieve a stick of metal from where it’d been dipped into the orange glow of fire and set it down on an anvil. it was kursick. they could hardly afford gloves. the old pair thomas wore was fraying, and the sharp heat of metal scalded him through the holes in the cloth. he quickly threw it on the anvil, a hiss of pain escaping from between his teeth.

his father clobbered him on the head. it made everything spin.

“don’t treat my tools with such disrespect,” his father scolded. “this is what brings you food on the table, feeds your miserable, grubby mouth. well? what are you staring at me for. fucking continue!”

thomas began pounding on the sheet of metal with the hammer, until the part of the black metal that glowed red and orange folded in the angle his father wanted. embers flew everywhere, occasionally landing on his cheek and scalding him.

the wind was howling. winters in kursick were brutal and unforgiving, but there was no letting up under the watch of arthur dawson. he could feel his father’s eyes boring into him. they hurt more than the heat. every strike of the hammer made the threads in the gloves undo themselves further. he was going to bring the hammer down when the heated part pressed against his skin. thomas let out of a yelp of pain and clutched the burnt hand to his chest, letting the metal fall down to the floor. his father wrenched a meaty fist in the collar of thomas’s shirt and pulled him up until his feet were dangling above the ground.

“useless!” his father bellowed. he threw thomas into a shelf, letting the days worth of empty amber beer bottles fall to the ground and smash.

thomas knew that it’d been days since they’d gotten a customer. a familiar sight would be his father with his work apron stretched over his gigantic belly, pacing up and down the workshop, smelling of spirits. his mother, who used to be a prostitute, dozed in the room behind the workshop, frail and sickly, arms the size of toothpicks. she was sick and only waited to die. “i’m sorry,” thomas pleaded. “please, stop.”

“no.” arthur growled. “you’ve done nothing but disrespect me, boy. i could have thrown you out of this house and let people devour you. yet, this is what you give me in return? your shit?”

“i’m sorry, i won’t do it again, i promise – ”

normally it would end here. arthur would knock thomas around a bit more before relenting and returning back to his booze and sex and sleep.

“no,” arthur said. “i have to teach you a lesson.”

“what?”

arthur picked thomas up. at that age thomas was only spindly arms and legs so arthur lifted thomas as if he was nothing more than a leaf. the breeze chilled thomas to the bone. it made his teeth chatter and his body curl in on itself. he cried and pleaded and begged, but the grip his father had on him never loosened. with thomas thrown over his shoulder, arthur dawson stalked down to the small lake near their house.

“only weaklings die,” arthur told him, and tossed him in.

**************

all of a sudden, nataliya appears from nowhere and smacks the guy at the back of the head with the butt of her rifle. thomas sighs in relief and sags against the wall.

she steps past the fallen bodies of jeppity’s men.

come on, she says, reaching out to him but he smacks her arm away. feelings of last night’s resentment creeps in. his head spins.

you’re losing a lot of blood, she insists. he wants to say no, but the floor seems to tilt under his feet and his surroundings spin.

wait — , he slurs, feeling himself topple forward. he thrusts a hand out hoping to find some purchase, but nataliya catches it and pulls him closer to her. his body presses against the length of hers as she hoists his arm over her shoulders. she’s so strong and sturdy, he idly wonders.

just before his vision goes black, he feels her warm breath ghosting across the side of his cheek. tommy, she murmurs. and he’s out.

*************

thomas wakes to a warm sensation over his skin. his eyes feel like they’re crusted over. he tries to shift, then winces.

don’t move, she orders.

nataliya wipes a warm towel over the dry blood covering his torso. he groans as she goes over a wound.

i guess i wasn’t wrong, she says. i know who you are.

thomas stares at the ceiling. and who’s that?

you haven’t changed. you’re still loyal and persistent. you never give up. i can always count on you to rise up at the right time.

thomas scoffs.

i thought about it, thomas says. his lips are so dry they hurt. you’re right. i am my father. i remind myself so much of him. i can’t stand it.

no. no, nataliya shakes her head. i… i regret saying that. i was so angry. you’re not like your father at all. arthur dawson was cruel and selfish. you’re not like that.

how would you know?

did you forget? we were partners in crime for several years. i know you like the back of my hand.

thomas closes his eyes. he lets himself painfully savour the past. warming their hands by a campfire in the forest, relishing the taste of fresh food, splitting the share of their victory. the knowledge that each of them only had the other. nataliya cleaning his wounds after his father had a go with him, kind of like now.

you’re not like your father, because you grew up hating him.

thomas closes his eyes. blyat, he whispers.

the moment you left i didn’t know what to do. i was lost. without you there, i went down the wrong path. i’m so… helpless.

you managed to find your way without me in the end. you risked yourself.

no, it was because of you.

no, thomas, i left. and — i’m sorry i left. not just all those years ago, but last night. i shouldn’t have left when you told me to. i should’ve been there for you.

it doesnt matter, its a small thing.

not when everyone in your life has bailed on you, nataliya insists. i don’t want to be one of those people.

thomas is quiet.

i also haven’t been completely honest with you. i didn’t choose to leave kursick. i was sold into slavery by the military official that night.

thomas’s eyes snap open. what?

i escaped and i joined the military to take revenge on the king.

what the fuck? why didn’t you tell me?

nataliya sighs. it isn’t your burden to carry.

I’m so sorry. i-i shouldn’t have blamed you.

even now anger coils in his gut. he’d kill that military official.

thomas, she says. when he doesnt reply, she repeats: thomas. tommy. hey, snap out of it. it isn’t a sign that you should kill him. its my revenge to take. not yours.

he expels a breath.

of course.

he gives his hand to her. confusedly, she takes it. their fingers intertwine.

i’ll help you get to him. we’re in this together, he says. you and me. just like how it used to be.

******************

theres the sound of someone opening the door. thomas turns around in surprise, and sees nataliya. she’s dressed in her soldier’s uniform: all black, but this time, with a black beret. white dots of snow land on the blackness of her uniform. she takes off her beret, and shakes the black crop of her hair out.

can i come in? she asks.

nat, thomas remarks in surprise. why are you here?

her expression doesnt change. i came to see you.

i thought you’d return to the kingdom.

just after we’ve reunited? why?

she steps in, wooden floorboard creaking — he really ought to get that fixed — and shuts the door before any more snow can blow in.

the side of her cheek is stained purple, but other than that, theres no sign of any injuries. his heart kicks in a lopsided rhythm. shes as powerful and striking as she ever is. the commander of the royal army.

so, commander, he drawls, hows it like in the kingdom?

she rolls her eye. refurbishments are taking place, the castle’s being rebuilt. lucien’s king and balthazar’s his advisor. its as how it should be.

i see, he says, turning around to polish one of his mugs at the counter. his fingers are shaking. he doesnt quite know why.

by the way, i brought you something. she brings out a sizeable box from behind her and holds it out to him. he turns back and raises his eyebrows in surprise.

what?

she smiles softly. its a little something.

hesitantly, he takes the box from her and opens it. his eyes widen. its a pair of boots, gleaming with a new shine. he sucks in a shocked breath. its trimming is elegant and sleek, made from evidently high quality leather, and the laces must be made from woven horsehair. they are gorgeous.

what the hell? he exclaims, feeling a grin climb onto his face. then it disappears. i… i can’t take this from you.

its a thank you gift for helping me. we wouldn’t have won if not for your help. i noticed you really like boots, and your ones were getting worn, so…

thank you so much, he says. he lays the box on the table.

he looks at the ground, lowering his lashes. will you be staying in azus now?

you know, i have a room set aside for me in the palace.

his heart sinks.

but i don’t think i’ll like it there, she continues with a knowing smirk on her face. its always so populated, with all the chambermaids, you hardly get any privacy. plus the bed’s too soft anyway.

the side of his mouth quirks up. then where will you stay?

nataliya draws nearer. he can feel her warmth. its something to lean towards in this winter.

i was thinking here. with you. it’s my birthplace, after all.

thomas places his hands on either side of her face.

i think that could work, he murmurs, smiling, i could make room for you.

he leans in to press his lips to nataliya’s. her arms come round to wrap around his waist and tug him closer to her. for once, he goes without resistance. nataliya’s a solid presence against him, brimming with strength and warmth. its her again. all those years ago, when they held each other’s hands against the cold of the winter, when he watched the jagged crop of her hair swish against her nape. when she took a buzzer and shaved the sides of his hair down.

he can feel her heartbeat against his chest. he’s so sure their heartbeats are synchronised and pounding in tandem to the same beat. he’s so sure because he feels that they’re not two, but one person. it feels as though theres been an empty space chiselled from his life and the pieces have now slotted back together.

two tectonic plates sliding seamlessly against each other. an eye for an eye, an earthquake for an earthquake.

he’s so sure of this.

snow descends steadily outside. the little house breathes in and out. he laughs and rests his head on her shoulder. he’s finally home.

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