#wonder if I can make a river out the liquid dripping down my nose?

[zznsthetic]

I'm telling y'all. This cold's fucking me up badly.

[deepperplexity]

Title: Your Pain Is Valid

Request: Hi! I love how you write about Snape❤️ I don't know if requests are open but I was wondering if you could write a fic where the reader has awful period cramps and faints in the bathroom where Severus finds her and he is very worried because the reader never told him how bad the pain was so he gives her lots of cuddles. If you don't feel like writing it, don't worry❤️ p.s. sorry if there are grammatical errors but English is not my native tongue❤️ - Nonny (Anon Ask)

A/N: Thank you lovely Nonny for this request! I rather enjoyed writing this as I’ve been so ensnared with R&R lately - this was quite natural for me to write as I myself suffer from horrendous period cramps and fainting is not uncommon. *sigh on that* A topic that really should be more openly discussed; periods and period cramps that is. So again, thank you for requesting! ❤️

~This fic is split in both Your POV and Third POV for Severus!~

Setting: Spinner’s End, Mid June

Pairing: Snape x Girlfriend!Reader

ABBR.:│(y/n) - Your Name│ (y/l/n) - Your Last Name │

Word Count: 2974

Warnings: Period Pain/Blood, Fainting, Fluff, Angst, Cuddling, Swear Words

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3 

~You~

You stumbled out of bed. Sweat soaked your skin and you shivered as another sharp pain shot through you, at its strongest in your belly only to radiate outward. It felt as if someone had taken a blunt knife and stabbed you repeatedly. You groaned as you hugged your aching stomach. Why now? He doesn’t-, fuck-! You hunched over and panted as the pain shot through you once more. 

Blood ran down your leg. Menstrual blood. As you had risen it felt as if it just flowed from you, like a damn river. Along with the sticky sweat as well, you were a total mess. I can’t, can’t let him see me like this, you thought as you walked towards the bathroom on the other side of the hall; you used all your strength to stay upright and not make any sound as you could hear him downstairs. 

You had been with Severus for nearly a year but you had always timed yours and his visits when you were not on your period as the pain was so intense and you feared he would see you as weak, or a nuisance, for your - well, illness to be frank. It was out of your control yet many seemed to be under the impression you could just ignore it, or deal with it. Honestly, the number of people who had no true understanding of periods were ridiculous.  

You gritted your teeth as you tried to close the bathroom door as silently as possible. The pain stabbed your gut again and your knees nearly bent from the pain. “Fuck-” you hissed through clenched teeth. You held on to the sink with one hand and splayed the other over your stomach with hard pressure. You tried to focus on your breathing, in through the nose, hold for three seconds, out through the mouth - over and over. 

But it didn’t help. You bit your lip as tears slinked down your cheeks and dripped from your chin. You looked towards your left, your foggy view made it hard to see but your toiletry bag was there and you started to rummage through it for your painkillers. You had tried a multitude of pills, potions and brews. None had helped enough for you to function normally but the once you had now at least took the worst edge of the pain. Turned the blunt knife into a hammer that pounded rather than stabbed. It was more bearable. 

You were shaking as you heard Severus call out your name. Not now, not now, go away- you moaned in a panic in your head. “(Y/n), breakfast is ready,” Severus said with that rumbling voice of his. You knew he was still downstairs as his voice was ever so slightly raised. “Comming!” you called out with as normal a voice as you could muster. A second later the pain stabbed you again and you dropped the bottle of pills as your hands shook violently. 

They scattered all over the floor and you couldn’t see the tiny little pills that blended perfectly with the off-white tiles that made up the floor as your tears made your vision blurry. You took a shuddering breath and held back a moaning scream as the pain intensified. It felt as if you were breaking in two, were torn apart. You gripped the sink with both hands just to remain upright. 

“Not now, not now-,” you muttered under your breath as you tried to control your breathing once more as the stabbing refused to ebb away. Your skin was now soaked with sweat, it mixed with the blood that had run down your legs in two long streaks. Your feet were wet with the red liquid and you tried not to think of what a mess you might have done of the bed. Some had surely leaked out before you rose. He’s going to see, I don’t want him to- you thought and your knuckles turned white as you gripped the sink harder. 

I, can’t do this, you thought as you turned towards the door. You wanted to call for him to help you as the pain just kept rising. But you couldn’t find your voice through your clenched jaw and the throbbing that seemed to occupy every inch of your shivering body. The shirt you had borrowed from Severus was now as soaked as your skin and you feared you had stained the white material. I need, need help- 

You let go of the sink and reached for the closed and locked bathroom door. But you never made it to the handle. Your vision blurred more, a black mist came in and limited your view as you got dizzy, so very dizzy. You heard the thud of your body against the harsh floor as you were already in such pain from your cramps the hits didn’t register despite the harsh thuds you somehow knew would leave ugly bruises. Then, you were gone. 

 ~Severus~

He was pouring his coffee, black as the darkest night with a tinge of brown closest to the edge of the cup. The smell filled his hooked nose and he raised the cup to take the first sip. His movement halted mid-air as a loud thud was heard from upstairs. He froze. What on earth- but his thought was cut short as fear seared him. “(Y/n),” he breathed out and the cup crashed against the floor, the dark liquid covered it but Severus was already halfway to the stairs by then. 

He leapt up the stairs, his thoughts ran rampant at what had happened. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw bloody footprints and drops on the floor. From the bedroom where the door stood ajar to the bathroom where the door was closed. His heart pounded and he reached for the handle as he had instantly taken the last few steps needed to reach the door. It was locked and he tugged as he called your name, his voice laced with worry. 

“Alohomora!” he shouted as he pointed his wand towards the lock and it clicked open. He pulled the door open and his heart skipped a beat as he saw you sprawled half-naked on the floor in a sweaty mess with bloody legs and feet. “(Y/n)?!” he rumbled out as he threw himself down beside your unconscious body. 

You were breathing and some of the fear eased, but the panic still held him. He reached out to wipe away a few tendrils of moist hair from your face. “(Y/n)? (Y/n), wake up,” he said. His voice low and dark, deeply rumbling but it dripped with worry. But you did not stir. You just laid there. His mind was frantic, his pulls raced and he felt, for a moment, as if the world was swallowing him. 

Severus pulled you into his embrace, he checked you all over for cuts as he searched for the source of the blood but he found none. Internal bleeding? She, she needs to go to a hospital. He thought in a panic as he scooped you up in his arms. You were heavy in your unconscious state and he held you tighter, not a care in the world regarding the sweat or the blood as it seeped into his clothes and made his hands slick. All he could focus on was getting you help as he feared the worst. 

 ~You~

You felt weirdly elevated and cradled. You groaned as the stabbing in your stomach recommenced. You tensed and the swaying movement that you had been in stopped. The smell of sage, peppermint and husky perfection penetrated your sense of smell. You felt safe in an instant. 

His chest vibrated as his deep rumble of a voice pronounced your name with worry. Your eyelids fluttered and a moment later you were looking up at him. Severus. Your beloved. You were in his arms. Cradled and held tightly. “Sev-Severus?” you stuttered out and his dark eyes shined with worry as he looked down at you. Oh no, no, no, no-, your mind raced as you understood he had found you in the bathroom. Fear of what he would think filled you with dread. 

But he looked more worried than anything. His harsh face ravaged by lines and streaks of the unpleasant emotion. His dark onyx eyes seemed to sway with concern. “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he stated and his voice really shook ever so slightly with the worry that was so evident in his eyes. “Don’t,” you whispered, “there is nothing, nothing they can do.” You tensed again as another stabbing sensation crawled through you with that blunt knife as its clawing paws. You moaned in pain and Severus tensed. 

“You need help,” he stated and his voice was so concerned you felt like an asshole for not warning him of your, predicament, once a month. “Severus, don’t-, they can’t, can’t-” but you were unable to finish the sentence as you gripped his shirt and pressed your legs up and in towards your stomach to quell the pain that washed over you again. It was truly horrendous. And to know, to know it would happen every month was just as horrendous. 

He held you tightly in the middle of the hallway on the upper floor. “(Y/n), what, what is the matter?” he asked and guilt washed over you at his sad tone of voice. “It’s, nothing, just-” “You’re hurting, bleeding, do not say it is nothing.” You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes as you bit your lower lip. His worry for you made your heart flutter ever so slightly despite the pain. “Period,” you said. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly and a blush crept over your cheeks. “Period?” You nodded at his questioned word. 

For a moment he was silent but then you heard how he blew out a breath and his tense arms seemed to relax ever so slightly while they still embraced you firmly. “I’m sorry,” you whispered as you tried not to scream or cry. “What in the world for?” You looked up at him and his brows were knitted together. “You, love, have nothing to apologies for. You are a woman, periods are natural. I just, are they always-” You bit your lip and curled together again as another wave of pain shot through you and he went silent as he carried you back into the bathroom. 

A crunching sound was heard as he stepped on some of the scattered pills and he stopped. “Painkillers? Really?” You nodded. “I’ve, tried everything,” you breathed out as you clung to him. Desperate for the comfort he provided. The stability, the warmth. “Not everything,” he said and you felt - yes felt - the sneer on his face as your own face was pressed against his chest. 

A few moments later you were placed gently in the tub that Severus had filled with warm water and some of the bath oils he had in the room. You hummed in the softening feel the water provided but you still had your legs tugged up and in towards you. The pain was still unbearable and you felt yourself sway as another wave crashed over you. You bit your lip and nearly snarled. 

Severus placed his sturdy hand on your back and you smiled through the tears. His comfort was more than welcome. You heard him mutter something and in the next moment, he held a yellow vial in front of you - no label. You glanced up at him and he arched a brow. You took the vial and tipped all the content into your mouth before you swallowed. Your trust in him was unwavering and wholehearted. 

It tasted like sweet orange juice with a tinge of honey. It was a quite pleasant taste. He took the empty vial and then his hands were on you again. He stroked soothing circles over your back with one and gently held you upright with the other. You swayed a little with his movements as a warmth started to spread within you. You felt a bit fuzzy actually. No, not again-! You didn’t want to pass out again, and not in front of Severus. You gripped the sides of the tub in a panic to keep yourself upright.

“Sch, it’s just the potion, just relax,” he whispered gently and his words instantly soothed you. You allowed the fuzzy feeling to take over and it felt, quite wonderful. The stabbing pain became a dull ache and you felt as if you were being lulled to sleep. “Severus,” you whispered and you heard him move as his hands left you for a moment. “Let’s get you cleaned and dried,” he said in the next and then you felt his gentle hands with rough skin wipe your legs down. The water turned a little red from your blood but he didn’t seem to mind. Even if you were thoroughly embarrassed. You couldn’t help it; it was just ingrained in you. Ingrained in society in general...

He had left you alone to insert a tampon but other than that he had been by your side constantly. He had dried you off, had done your hair, dressed you in clean pyjamas clothes that were way too big but so comfortable you felt as if you were wrapped in a cloud that smelled like Severus. As if you were bundled up in your own private heaven.

He had perched you on the couch with pillows, blankets and a warm bag of wheat over your stomach. The potion still made you feel fuzzy and kept the pain at bay. It was, without a doubt, the least amount of pain you had experienced during your period for as long as you could remember. You hummed ever so slightly and Severus came in with a plate of delicious-looking sandwiches and a cup that steam rose from. It was tea, it smelled of honey and something more acidic. 

“Thank you,” you breathed out and he smiled ever so slightly at you. A Severus smile. The best kind of smile there was in the world. He looked as you ate one of the triangle-shaped sandwiches and sipped the tea before he sat down beside you. He took your legs over his own, gently, and scooted closer so that you could still keep your knees high. He fussed with the blanket and your heart swelled at his care for you. 

“Why did you not tell me?” You looked up from the teacup that was nearly empty. He gazed into your eyes as his hand stroked your leg in a slow and gentle motion.  “I, it’s not, well, it’s not something I talk about. People tend to-” “I, am not, people,” he growled out through nearly closed lips. You smiled softly at him as you placed your cup on the table. 

“No, no you are not. I’m, sorry honey,” you said as a blush crept over your cheeks again while you gave his arm a small stroking pet to ease him. “Don’t. Just, tell me of such things. I could have helped you,” he huffed and you allowed your hand to reach up towards his cheek. “You are helping me.” He blushed ever so slightly at your touch and words. It made your heart flutter once again as the stoic man was so swayed by your affection. 

You crawled over to hug him. But he just gently grabbed you and placed you on his lap as his arms encircled you under your knees and around your shoulders. You were sat snuggly in a V and it did wonders for the dull ache that still persisted. 

“I love you,” you whispered and you hoped that he would still feel such feelings for you as well. “And I love you,” he murmured as his nose nuzzled your temple as his lips kissed your cheek. You smiled and felt a relief flood you. “I am sorry,” you said though. “What ever for?” “For-, well, my-” “Illness? That’s preposterous. It would be as if you apologized for having an allergy or suffered from lycanthropy. That is not your fault and your pain is valid. Utter nonsense to say otherwise,” he muttered as he glared at the air before him and held you tighter. 

You leaned into him as he gently rocked you while you felt wholeheartedly loved and cared for. As his soft yet firm embrace cradled you, as he made sure you were as comfortable as possible, that you had everything you needed and then some - you felt happy. Truly happy. He accepted, understood and validated something that had plagued you in so many ways for several years. 

It was somewhat shocking, yet at the same time, it was so him that you felt silly for all the excuses you had made up not to meet with him during your time of the month. Felt silly for not asking him for help, for not trusting in his love for you completely to let him see you in such a state. But now he had and he still loved you without a doubt. Took care of you and made sure you were as content as possible. 

I think I’m in heaven. The thought made you sigh and you sank deeper into his chest, his steady heartbeat paired with the potion lulled you into a deep slumber. You could escape the physical ache altogether for a while. Safely enveloped in his strong arms with a gentle smile over your lips as you felt him kiss your forehead even in your sleeping state. That was your love for each other. Endless and accepting. Understanding and caring. That he was only that man for you, well, it made it all the better in all honesty...

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

I hope you enjoyed this, well, a bit more messy fic ^^ I am still open for requests! I am currently working on chapter 8 of Ruled & Ravaged and another request - but feel free to send in your wishes and wants in my ASK box - Nonny or not! ^^ 

Tags:  @lizlil @snapefiction​ @darkthought15​ @monstreviolet @flowerdementia​ @marvelschriss​  @morphineisouthoney​ @setsuna-meiou31​ @meteoritewolf69​ @bionic-otp​ @elizabeth-baelish​ 

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[Jan:2021]

[cherrywoes]

< entry 001:// prometheus in flesh >

                                        < 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 .𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎...>

[The following is a recorded conversation between Senior Geneticist Ukai Keishin and Senior Biologist Takeda Ittetsu. It is narrated through a personal AI belonging to Takeda Ittetsu. After further review, this conversation has been classified for rank seven priority persons and has been archived.]

UKAI: This is… (He takes a puff of a cigarette. He sounds angry, petulant, and in a state of disbelief.) This is ridiculous. Who decided that this passed legislation? What need do we have for these—these things?

TAKEDA: (He coughs, perhaps out of nerves or anxiety. The shuffling of clothing and the scrape of a chair indicate that he has sat down beside Ukai.) You know what they said, just like I did, Keishin. Once it’s over, it’s done—we need to play cleanup crew afterwards.

UKAI: No one said anything about… (His finger slams into the table as he angrily points at something on the table near him. He doesn’t say the words aloud, fearing that someone will overhear him, perhaps his AI.) That. That is—I’ve spent years of my life with these things and—I can’t do that, Ittetsu. You know I can’t.

TAKEDA: I know. (He sounds sad.) But look on the bright side. Once this is done… (Previous interactions indicate that the slight swallowing sound prefaces nausea and purging.) We can leave this place and never come back. Right?

UKAI: (Hesitantly.) ...Right.

NECTAR CLUNG TO YOUR fingertips in crystal clear strings of sticky sweet euphoria. It spilled from the artificially enhanced flowers clustered in your lap and around your feet, the large, palm sized petals capturing globules of the precious liquid within their curved centers. It tasted sweet, flowery, and, above all, smelled divine; like camellias on the wind, or goldenrods in the spring. It ran down your arms and elbows and dripped down onto your thighs, running rivers down your calves to sluice between your toes, creating a crystal clear lake within your shadow and the chair you sat upon.

“Diet’s good.” The scientist standing outside your cage scribbled something on a bleach white piece of paper. It smelled acrid, a sting to your sensitive nose, and the ink was a bizarre scent, smelling almost like the oil that the older scientists rubbed into their skin to keep it from cracking and drying. “Though her metabolism is through the roof—I’m concerned something may have been missed in her genetic scan during incubation.”

You ignored the scientist, dropping the empty flower to your feet. Like it had been produced to do, it shriveled up and decomposed into a fine brown dust instantaneously, seeping into the biodegradable concrete to be absorbed as nutrients for the life system that kept your cage comfortable and at the right temperature for your body. You watched it shrink and wrinkle and disappear, rubbing your toe through the dust when it was done.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” another scientist said, this one writing down something about your bone structure. “They’ve gotten so lazy in the gestation wing that you could probably slip a bomb in there and no one would notice until it had gone off. I’ll see what I can dig up about her records and genetic material.”

“You do that.” A fast scrawl again, the ink smell stronger this time. “At the rate she’s going, she’ll have eaten through an entire greenhouse before she’s through; let’s add some insects to her diet. Worms, maybe? Or crickets?”

You scrunched your nose and sighed. You hated worms, and crickets too. That didn’t stop them from trying to shove it down your throat every chance they got. They were adamant that it would help with your protein intake, but so far you’d only felt miserable and disgusted when you ate them, slurping them into your mouth obediently like the rest of your flock did. Perhaps with less enthusiasm, but your obedience couldn’t be questioned.

The lab you lived in was a kind of protective facility deep within the ground. They had taught you that the world above was scorched, hot and burnt by the sun and greenhouse gases; that the facility was the safest place to be while they planned to restructure the atmosphere and filter out the toxic fumes with specially made Morphlings—you wouldn’t even call them Morphlings, really, just a hybrid of humans and machines.

Morphlings—the real, true ones—were splices of human and a kind of animal. From birds, to insects, to carnivores, omnivores, or vegetarians, they had spliced them all; some in small amounts, or others, like yours, in large group spawnings that made it difficult to assert yourself over the crowd. You were one of the few who didn’t fit in with your group; the scientists assured you it was because hummingbirds were generally loners by nature, except for their mates, of which you were too young to have—in Morphling standards, you understood, anyway. In human terms, you were old enough; even in bird terms, you were old enough. But Morphlings didn’t reach full maturity until they were twenty-three, supposedly, and you were only two years shy of that goal.

Not that you cared, not really. You had a belly full of nectar at all times, insects to snack on whenever you wished, a few Hummingbird friends you could barely call your ‘friends’, and three humans analyzing you at all times, monitoring your vital signs to make sure you weren’t getting ill or growing some unnatural mutation like so many of the other Morphlings. The last one to have a mutation, you’d heard, had been a little crow Morphling, but any more than that was muddy, usually by default. Any information you heard was from the pieces you gathered from the scientists’ whispers, bland conversations really, and the idle chatter in the canteen in the carnivore’s circle where you weren’t privy.

“Ah, no, no insects for the rest of the week,” the scientist corrected. You looked over curiously, fingers fisting in the petals of a new flower and puncturing the membrane that held the globules of nectar within. You were already full, but you regretted the waste almost immediately when you dropped it to the floor. “They’re putting her through the Trials today.”

Dread crept into your belly. 

The Trials were almost like torture sessions keyed in onto prey surviving predators; for Morphlings, it was much more extreme. You’d heard from several survivors that they were forced to push themselves past the limit to survive whatever carnivorous or omnivorous Morphling they’d put in with them, even being forced to watch their friends get eaten when they got caught. It was supposedly to test their resilience and stamina, but all it really was—at least to you—was a way to cull the flock.

And you were next.

The scientist noticed you staring and smiled, tapping his pen against the frame of your cage mockingly. “Heard me, did you? It won’t change anything. You might as well prepare yourself before you go in. It’s likely you won’t make it out. None of the hummingbird morphs do.”

You wondered how easy it would be to shove your hands through the gaps in the bars and break his neck against the metal. It couldn’t be that difficult; you’d seen some carnivores do it before when they were getting ready for euthanization. Those were the more genetically anomalous ones, but you could probably do it; morphling genes allowed for unusual strength, even for a hummingbird. Despite your hollow bones, you could probably at least get to his eyes if you tried hard enough.

But that wasn’t typical of a Hummingbird morphling. You chalked it up to the human genes in your genome sequence; they always had said you had more ‘human’ in you than the rest, usually spitefully. Other than the two nice men who monitored your changes and such, the rest of them were foul creatures, miserable being stuck in an underground bunker. Humans typically were violent when they were cooped up in small places for extended periods of time, and you, well, you didn’t like being in a cage very much, unlike your fellow hummingbird morphs.

“Whatever you say,” you laughed, rolling your eyes, and got up off the stool. You sauntered your way back into the depths of your cell, vanishing behind a thick curtain of synthetic silk dyed a deep sea green.

The scientist cleared his throat when he spoke to the other man. “Did you know hummingbird morphs could talk?”

Oh. You frowned, bringing your fingers to your mouth, your previous anger forgotten. Experimentally, you flexed the vocal cords in your throat, capable of only chirps of affirmatives and negatives, and felt more—different. They were different.

Interesting... Interesting indeed.

                   < 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐 / 𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚢 / 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝟶𝟶𝟸 >

                    𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚕: status: open.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the unseen one - 18

Pairing: Hades!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none

A/N: (fun fact i wrote this listening to beautiful ghosts which i have now formally induced into the fanfic’s playlist bc im a nerd who rly likes soft music) this is probably my longest chapter, yay me for writing a long one. hope you guys enjoy it xx

Next Chapter >>

Y/N looked at her reflection on the golden mirror standing in front of her. She studied the features she always saw in her own mirrors, the same face, the same eyes, same nose and same lips, however the reflection staring back at her was somehow different, similar to those renaissance paintings of mythical female sirens, goddesses, princesses and other deities. She had her once free flowing hair in a hellenic up-do filled with various flowers and a gold like chain intertwined with one of her brains. A few perfectly curled ringlets fell to frame her face which was still makeup free from last night, with a blossoming red tint on her upper cheeks. 

She was dressed in a garment made of two parts, a linen white tunic and a clock held together by an ornamental claps with Hecate’s torch insignia at the shoulders and a light pink sash at the waist. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what her mother would think of her clothing. When she was younger, she would religiously dress as a Greek Goddess for Halloween yet nothing she’d worn compared to what she looked right now. 

Minthe had been silent throughout most of it, sometimes even giving her judgmental looks whenever she questioned about the fabrics and flowers being used to adorn her. She didn’t completely blame her for doing such things, deities were only found of mortals for two things: war and procreation. It didn’t take long for her to return to the gardens, being placed in front of Hecate who was commanding her maidens like a captain on a ship. 

      - Do you know anything about gardening? - she looked down on the mortal dressed in deity clothing, which she had to admit, seemed to fit her better than the cheap satin piece she was wearing. 

       - I can manage. - Y/N rubbed her hands out of anxiety when talking to one of the goddesses of the Underworld. 

       - Well, pick something and get to work. - Hecate pointed aimlessly towards the groves and their dying flora. Y/N heart tightened at seeing the muddy green colour that the plants had beginning to take, a stark contrast to the lively, colourful flora of its surroundings. Her eyes locked on a particular rose bush whose roses were brownish white, some of its petals constantly falling to the ground whenever the slight summer breeze hit it. She took it upon herself to tend to it, walking over the to wilting bush and sitting gracefully on the grace, hands softly touching the dead flowers which she once imagined to have been the most beautiful flowers.

Y/N decided to take care of the flowers the way she took care of her little plants back in her flat. She started by getting rid of the dead leaves, carefully pulling them from the branches and onto the floor, trimming it to the best she could possible manage. Y/N kept on trimming, eventually reading the thorny white roses, some which were just in desperate need of water and others which were past the point of no return. She directed her attention to those, pulling a few out and onto her robes until a specific one found itself a challenge. The young girl extended her hand deeper into the rose bush, pulling the flower at its base, finding it rather hard to pull it from the branch. She kept on pulling and the flower eventually gave up, detaching from its base and sticking one of its thrones deep into her thumb. She let go of a tiny wince, not wanting to bother the other maidens. 

Carefully, Y/N removed the thorn from the flower, throwing it forcefully on the ground before turning her thumb so she could face it. It had a tiny wound, so tiny that if she hadn’t known it was there, she would’ve never realised it was there. However, it was bleeding heavily, the scarlet liquid dripping and running from her skin to the green grass nearby the bush, staining it the same colour as the liquid. 

She sucked on her thumb, mindlessly dabbing it against her clothing and returning to get rid of everything that did not belong to a healthy plant. Y/N was so into her craft she didn’t notice James returning to the Elysium. He watched her from afar, her lips and nose crunched as she inspected the rose bush with a might which in his mind was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. 

      - Did you discover anything? - Hecate walked up to the God of the Underworld, curious for any developments. 

      - We are not entirely sure of who stole the pomegranate but we did discover her friend is an oracle. - Hecate rolled her eyes, if there was any type of witchcraft she hated the most it was prophecy telling. The prophecies were always unnecessarily over-detailed and more like riddles than actual pieces of helpful information. She already couldn’t stand the Fates and their seeing eye, but mortal oracles? They were the worse. 

      - Tell me you turned her into a fish ... or a plant. - Hecate was particularly found of permanent punishments. She thought curses and death were much too simple, however James was one to dabble in cursing rather than metamorphism. 

       - Y/N wouldn’t be very happy with that.

       - Y/N is not the Goddess of the Underworld is she? 

       - You have absolutely no reason to despise her that much, Hecate. It is out of character for you to judge before meeting. 

       - I know how this ends, Hades. You are not the first god to take liking to a mortal and trust me it never ends well. - she sighed, arms crossed in front of her white gown. James had to agree with her, he knew way too many myths of when a mortal relationship went wrong but he couldn’t help it, she was just so magnetic and entrancing. Besides, part of him wanted to be next to her all the time and make sure no harm came to her which harshly differed from other deity/mortal relationships which were normally based on lust or petty jealousy between other deities. - You’re a King before you are a man. Remember that. 

Y/N got up from her crutching state, standing on her legs as she patted the dirt and petals off her garments and onto the floor, a proud look on her face as she looked at the relatively healthy looking plant. She let out a little happy sound, hands clasped in front of her collarbones as she turned on her heel to go and find something else to do. Instead, her eye caught James’ figure who was standing next to Hecate in what looked like a innocent conversation. 

She wanted to wave at him, maybe even give him an innocent kiss but Hecates’ words were still very much present in her mind “You are not to be intimate with the god of the Underworld” so were Minthe’s remarks about how he was expected to be seen with someone of higher blood. She wouldn’t want to get him in trouble and perhaps they could speak some other time when they weren’t surrounded by other people. 

      - What are you doing standing up there? - Minthe came up from behind her, a condescending tone present. - Ogling the god of the Underworld?

      - What? No. - her cheeks turned into a colour that matched her pink sash, as she tried to hide her face in her hands. Somehow, the fact that he was, well, he was who he was, made her feel like she needed to keep everything shrouded in secrecy. - Is there something else needed?

     - You know what? - her face contorted into a calm expression she couldn’t really figure out. - We could use some help from some new maidens.

     - New maidens? - Y/N felt like a child, questioning everything and everyone around her. 

     - Yes, you see if you go straight ahead until you reach the river and ask the Charon to take you South you’ll be able to find them. Tell him it’s for Hecate.

     - Oh, alright. - she nodded her head and wandered off into the groves, looking around at the decay. It looked like that particular piece of land of the Elysium was doomed to disappear. She kept on walking as instructed by Minthe until she reached the river where a boat was awaiting her with the same faceless figure. She had to admit that it freaked her out that someone without a face could speak but she tried her best to stay climb as she climbed on the boat, putting on her best courageous face. - Hecate asked for you to take me to the South. 

     - The South? - his voice was rather warm for such a menacing figure. - Are you sure?

     - Yes. 

She couldn’t see him do anything, however, she understood he had accepted her request once the boat started to move. Y/N remained silent, repeating Minthe’s words in her mind. How hard could it possibly be to lead a few maidens back to the Elysium? It was easy, she kept telling that to herself even as the boat reached shore. The sky had turned into a dark scarlet and the chirping of birdies could be heard no more. She looked around but all she could see was darkness.

    - Are you sure about this, miss? - the Charon questioned, noticing the uneasiness of her step as she disembarked. - I’m sure Hecate can arrange for someone else.

    - No. - she shook a forced smile out of her worried expression. - It’s fine. Thank you.

    - Of course, m’am. 

You can do this, she told herself as she stepped onto the darkness. There was no sound, the once dark scarlet sky had faded into pure darkness and it was cold, so cold. Her hands went to her own arms, rubbing them in order to keep warm as she dwelled deeper into the unknown, the only sound heard being that of her shoes clicking against the pavement. 

    - Hmm ... Hello? - she spoke up, gathering every bit of courage. She was in the Underworld after all and this was no longer the Elysium.

She kept on walking until she hit something, a blue and reddish tint coloured the dark room but once she saw what she had hit, her heart stopped beating for a second. She was standing in front of a skeleton. As she place her hand over her chest to regain her breathe the bony arm grabbed her cloth, forcefully pushing her and ripping her tunic. 

    - STOP! - she pushed her hand against the skull, trying to get away from the grasp, eventually gathering enough force to walk back. Screw this task. However, once she tried to find her way back she found herself surrounded by more skeletons and translucent figures all coming towards her. - HELP!

James and Hecate were still in their friendly debate with the goddess being of the opinion that all of this was madness and mainly caused by both of them being ignorants, something he had already heard before. As he was about to shut her to go and tell Y/N of the developments, a bunch of water nymphs came running their way with worry written all over their faces. 

    - My Lady, there’s been a security breach in the Tartarus. - they all said at different speeds and different pitches, which made James’ head hurt at all of that. Hecate took a defensive stand, turning to look at James who just moved his head is disbelief. 

    - How is that even possible? It’s probably just a false ala ... - he was about to dismiss their claims until he noticed a very missing Y/N from her once beloved spot. His eyes scanned the crowd of maidens looking anywhere for her but she was nowhere to be found. - Y/N!

Once he heard no one calling back, his mind immediately rushed to the Tartarus. She couldn’t be there, she had barely been in the Underworld besides no one would take her there, she was a mortal. However, in a snap of his figure he’d been transported to the Tartarus, staff in hand as he strutted down the halls of the Tartarus. He hit one of the walls with his staff, which turned dark blue, giving light to the constantly dark Tartarus. With the new founded light, he could see a bunch of condemned souls surrounding a particular spot. 

    - THAT’S ENOUGH!  - he screamed in a tone that could scare even the biggest of deities, even Gaia herself. The souls, noticing their leader was amongst them, broke their surrounding, returning all to him. - NOW DON’T MOVE IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU. 

James strutted further into the Tartarus, finding bits and pieces of white linen which could belong to her along with several fresh white roses. Maybe she had been picking them prior, he did not know. His heart clenched as he called out for her name but heard no answer, maybe it wasn’t her, maybe she wasn’t ...

    - B...Bucky? - James heard her faint voice and as fast as he could followed it until he found one of the souls pressing her against one of the walls, boney hands around her neck. He hit the staff against the ground, the once pressure around her neck vanishing as she slide to the ground, hand coming to touch what he guessed was a very sore spot now. She lifted her head to stare at him, a look of regret and fear in her beautiful eyes. - Bucky, I’m so sorry.

    - Y/N. - he rushed over to her side, leaning so he was standing at the same height as her, hands coming to hold her jaw. - Are you hurt? 

    - I’m okay, I’m okay. - she leaned her head onto his shoulder. It didn’t take long for him to feel his clothes had begun to dampen. - I messed up ... I messed up. 

    - Hey, look at me. - he tried to move his shoulder so that she would look at him, but she refused, maintaining her face buried them. - Y/N, c’mon, sweetness.

    - I don’t want you to see me cry. - she sobbed through her speech, arms coming to wrap around his body. Bucky pulled the pin that was barely keeping the now very messy hairstyle up, throwing it onto the floor as her hair descended from the once tight hellenic hairstyle before proceeded to card his fingers through it, every once in a while kissing the top of her head. Y/N eventually stopped her crying, removing her head from his shoulder to stare at him, the look of uttermost regret slowly breaking his heart even more as he saw it on her expression. - I’m so sorry.

   - This is not your fault. - he helped her get up, holding her hands in his as if something returned to dare and harm her. Not that they would, they’d have to be crazy to mess with the King of the Underworld. - I should’ve never taken my eyes off you. 

   - Bucky. - she wrapped her arms around him and for a second it felt like things were back to normal. It felt like things were normal again that she didn’t know he was the God of the Underworld and that she wasn’t doomed to remain in the Underworld. He melted and relished into her hug but couldn’t help but feel how cold she was. She was still a mortal and remaining in the Tartarus would do her no good.

   - Let’s go before you freeze to death. - he joked, not expecting to get a laugh out of her after the current events, however she showed him a small smile. 

He held her hand as he guided her through the Tartarus, her eyes scanning the souls that once were harming her now stood without moving, not even daring to make a sound in front of their King. Something in that made her courage swell up, seeing them helpless standing around her without being able to touch her again. Her head held up high however once she noticed the fresh white roses on the ground, she couldn’t help but stop her step. 

   - They’re beautiful. - she mumbled under her breathe.

   - Are they not yours? - he questioned at her astonishment with the flowers. 

   - No, I wish I could have such beautiful roses. I thought flowers only grew within the Elysium. 

    - Don’t bother your head with it. - he reassured her, although the question was still very much puzzling to him. - C’mon, let’s go. 

tag list: @philogrobizedvee​​​​​  @keithseabrook27​​​​ @inlovewith3​​​​19

[writinginthedarkwood]

Oni! Katsuki Bakugo x Reader: More than Meets the Eye.

You shouldn’t be walking around in his territory... the Oni of the mountains has a lesson for you. 

Another edition to my yokai au! All parts are listed in my masterlist which you can find here, if you enjoy this part and want similar content! -> Master List

Warning: NSFW

You took a deep breath and smiled. The air up here is so crisp and clean, the scent of flowers hit your nostrils as you sat down, you noticed you can see where the river disappears into the forest from up here. The tree’s look like one big bush, you thought to yourself and smiled. This was always worth the hike, just to get away for awhile.

“Off to waste your time up in the mountains again are you?” Fathers wife had hissed over her shoulder, not even turning from the vegetables she was chopping. You stood awkwardly for a few moments before stepping towards the door again. “Such an air head of a girl...” She muttered. “What kind of wife would you make, wasting time in the outdoors like a young boy?” She smirked, tossing the cut vegetables into a pot of boiling water. “I’ll tell you what kind of wife. A bad one.” She stirred the hot liquid with a large wooden spoon.

“Yes Madam Mirabelle.” I silently slipped my shoes on. My hand reached behind me for the door knob. “Are you giving me attitude little wench?” She whipped around, you flung the door open and quickly shut it behind you, hearing the thud of the spoon hit the back of the thick door just in time. She was yelling, rattling the window.

You let your feet carry you down the stone pathway out of your little village. By sun down, your father should be home from the market and a false sense of peace will blanket over the house again. You tell yourself you don’t mind, she makes father happy. She even speaks differently when he’s home, her voice a completely different tone.

The breeze brushed your hair over the blush on your cheeks, the sun kissing the exposed skin on my legs. The grass tickled your wrists, the long blades wrapping around your hands as you leaned back on them.

In the distance a beautiful red crowned crane preened it’s feathers by the bank of the river, just down the hill. It’s a bit far, but you pull the leather bound journal from your rucksack and start to sketch the details of it. “I wonder if I could find red ink in the next town overs market, it shouldn’t be too long of a walk...” You spoke softly to yourself, almost humming a little tune.

The beautiful bird spread its wings, taking off suddenly, along with smaller song birds scrambling from the trees. The leaves trembled, and a large oak suddenly toppled over. You quickly stood up to get a better look at what’s causing all the commotion.

A terrible sound, a sound louder than the boom that followed after a tree on your fathers property was struck by lightning. The crashing sound echoed through the entire valley.

 It sounds like an army, how can something be so loud? More tree’s fell, whatever it is, it’s coming this way. Your heart slammed against your rib cage and your flight instincts kick in.

The muscles in your legs stung as the incline steepened, the mountain terrain is getting quite a bit more difficult to navigate the further you run up.

I need somewhere to hide, now!

The cliff ahead had an opening under the overhang, like an entrance to a cave? It doesn’t look like it goes back very far, but it should have a place for you to crouch down and try to hide. You dodged large puddles of mud and used your hands to help sturdy yourself on the ground, practically crawling on all fours. It’s taking every bit of your strength to pull yourself over the lip of the rock and onto the flat surface at the mouth of the cave. Your scurried inside the cool damp space and hid behind a boulder. 

You heard another terrible sound, the crashing thunder before two feet hit the ground with a loud smack, followed by a deep snarl. Whatever it was, it was dragging something large behind it, a sickening dragging sound across the wet rocks. You sat completely frozen, a sharp part of the stone was digging into your back, you didn’t dare move away. 

You heard the light clinking of two flint stones coming together with a small spark, after what felt like an eternity the moving of a pile of wood into a pit, quickly followed by the smell of smoke.

You’d heard stories of great warriors living way up in the hills, their battle cries able to freeze the bravest of soldiers. They posses immense strength, and have a dangerous temper, but nobody really lived up here, wouldn’t we have heard from them before? 

Your legs felt tired from holding your position so long, if whoever is in here is building a fire, surely they would be distracted now, you could slip away.

You shifted your feet just a bit and moved as slowly as possible, working your way to the edge of your hiding place. With a sudden rush of bravery you peered around the edge quickly, only to be met with a pair of blazing red eyes. You screamed and fell onto your back, staring up at a fuming, peculiar looking man with crossed arms. His hair was very vibrant, almost white and stuck out in a lot of directions. His face was angular, and his jaw jut out in a vicious under-bite, his eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth curled up into a mischievous smirk.

“So you think you can hide in my territory and hit me with a surprise attack?” The man rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You would never stand a chance, just look at your puny arms! And where is your weapon human? Stand up and fight me like a man!” He shouted, his voice bouncing off of the cave walls. 

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle, you quickly covered your mouth with wide eyes. “You dare laugh at me?!” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to your feet. “I’m the greatest Oni to ever walk this disgusting Earth and you will respect me!” 

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “You don’t seem very scary... and you’re burning your deer meat by not rotating it.” You pointed to the carcass he had placed over the fire. It was sizzling on one side, the other completely raw. You pushed past the angry man and turned the deer on the spit, keeping the meat from being burnt. “Hey I know how to cook just fine! You distracted me!” He was yelling still, the echo of his voice in the cave run in your ears. “Well YOU scared me! I was having a pleasant afternoon before you tore through the forest!” You sat down by the warm fire and brush the wrinkles out of your skirt. He stomped over to you and stared daggers into the top of your head. “It’s MY forest and I can tear through it whenever I want!” 

He leaned down and sniffed you, taking a deep breath. He narrowed his eyes and leaned down to look you in the eye. “You smell like the lillies in the river, but I can also smell something...” He scowled. “Disgusting.” 

Your jaw dropped open and you looked away from him. “How rude!” He sat down beside you and you turned your face away from him. “What kind of fowl monster do you live with?” He covered his nose after taking another deep breath. Your face paled, the blood draining from your cheeks. You didn’t move your mouth, or even begin to speak but the Oni knew.

He stood up again and crossed his arms, this time his face was just slightly softer. He didn’t shout but his voice was commanding. “Your trespassing can’t go unpunished, but I do see now that your not a threat, just look at you! Covered in bruises.” He stuck out a hand and set it on top of your head. “I could use another warrior, I’m looking to expand my clan further into the north.” He smirked. “You’d have to stay here and train with me. I’d expect nothing but complete loyalty to your leader!” 

“You want me to fight for you?” You raised an eyebrow at him with a smile. You looked down at your dress and soft hands. Women aren’t supposed to fight, they’re supposed to bare children for their husbands and take care of the home. “But I’m a girl.” You said softly. 

“Some of my finest warriors are females! That means nothing to me.” 

You smiled and nodded, standing to look at him. “Yes sir!”

“Close your eyes. Tell me what you hear, Lilly.” His voice was low and raspy in your ear. Your new name always came as a pleasant surprise when you heard it, almost like you were expecting him to call you by your birth name, but he always refused. The cold winter air was frigid against your cheeks, the sensation of being freezing was almost clouding your thoughts, but you took a deep breath and listened to his instructions. 

“I hear the water under the ice, it’s moving quickly.”

He said nothing, you continued. “Something is trying to cross... It’s too heavy... I can hear the ice cracking.” 

“Good, what is it Lilly? Can you smell it?” You took a deep breath through your nose, the air burned as it traveled through your head. “No I just smell...” He growled, not pleased. 

“Wait it’s... the smell of a deer?” 

You opened your eyes and looked around the tree. A beautiful buck tapped tentatively on the frozen rivers edge, looking unsure of itself. “Should we shoot it?” You reached for the arrow in it’s quiver. Bakugo covered your hand and pushed the arrow back down. “No, this buck taught you a lesson. Out of respect we’ll leave him be.” You nodded in agreement. You caught his eye, the two of you sharing a brief moment of intimacy, just to quickly look away.

That’s how it always was, the touch of your hands brushing against each other when reaching for the same thing, your breath catching in your chest with a simple catch of his gaze. 

But it always sparked for only a moment, then back to normal.

“Are you hungry Katsuki?” You were the only one who could call him that. The rest of the clan hardly dared to call him anything but sir. “I brought bread and cheese along with us. We could take a break for supper.” He leaned against the tree trunk and took a swig from his canteen. The liquid dripped messily down his chin. “I suppose we could just head back to camp, I don’t want to travel without the sun.” The daylight is so short this time of year. The Oni could travel with limited clothing covering them, they’re built much better to withstand the cold. Bakugo never said it, but he never took you hunting at night to keep you from freezing. He didn’t have too, you knew he treated you different than the others. 

You are different, so very different.  

You walked in comfortable silence, taking your time walking toward the line of smoke that signaled you home. The forest felt very sleepy, no birds chirping, no bugs singing. Just the occasional rabbit running through the leafless brambles. “Could you tell me a story about your village Lilly?” Bakugo asked with his stern voice. “Of course Katsuki, what do you want to hear about?” He thought for a moment and stopped walking, turning to you with a familiar grin. “Tell me about that place with the drinks and the music again!” You turned to him with your own smile and a small laugh. “The pub?” He nodded jumping on a snowy rock and crossing his legs. The wolf fur around his shoulders slipped slightly, and he pulled the snout of the animal over his head like a hood, fixing it. This was the Katsuki you knew better than everyone else. A selfish, terrible fighter with countless deaths on his hands.

And a curious and often sweet yokai. 

“Well during the day, you could walk to the pub and order home cooked food for pieces of silver. A beautiful woman would bring it to your table, and you could eat with your friends.” You paced back and forth, telling your story with long drawn out words, the way he liked to hear it. “And then at night, they would light a fire in lamps to keep the building lit, and musicians would play the lute and drums for you to dance too.” You twirled around, your layers of fur spun with your body, your feet gliding across the frozen ground. “Won’t you join me for a dance Katsuki?” You bowed to him, sticking out your hand. The Oni’s cheeks blushed profusely, he shook his head and grunted. “A-absolutely not! I don’t dance!” He twisted his face in irritation. “Oh come on! It’s just the two of us. Don’t you want to pretend you’re in a pub?”

“I have you tell me about the human world so that I can laugh! Not because I would ever want to go there.” He muttered and you rolled your eyes. “Fine I guess I’ll just dance by myself!” You hummed a tune and spun on your heels, you held your arms out like you were dancing with a partner and smiled. Katsuki gazed at you dreamily, your beauty always warming him. He watched you without you knowing, your eyes closed enjoying your fantasy. He longed to rush to you, grabbing you in his strong arms and holding you tightly, but he could never.

To love a human is to die, Bakugo thought. Such fragile, breakable creatures. One push and they could break their bones, some wake up with ailments nobody can explain and they perish within days. To be a human is to be at the bottom of the food chain he thought.

But you, every part of you was hypnotizing to him. Your gorgeous eyes, your bravery. Your wonderful and gentle heart. You were to always sleep in his tent because it was the warmest, you never were sent on raids, he would rather cut off his own leg and beat his enemies with it than ever truly use you as a weapon. But you are strong in your own ways, in just a few short months you’ve turned to the way of the Oni. Traveling with him across the lands, learning to use a bow and gaining skills other humans could never achieve by just spending time with the yokai. 

Bakugo couldn’t just be in love with you, you consume him. Every breath he takes he breathes for you.

You laughed, a sound like twinkling bells, but your giggle cut short with a yelp as you lost your footing on a patch of snow. 

Katsuki burst from his seat, a small explosion rocketing him to you in a flash. He caught you in both arms around the waist, pulling you to him before you could hit the ground. Your body pressed against his chest, your faces just a small space apart. “K-katsuki...” You whispered close to his jaw. 

The Oni panicked and dropped you on your bottom to the ground. You hit the ground with a clumsy thud and you groaned. “Hey what did you do that for!” 

“You need to learn to watch your step! You could have cracked open that tiny skull!” He shouted as he stuck out his hand to help you up. “You still didn’t have to drop me! You can be a real bastard you know.” You rejected his hand and helped yourself to your feet, brushing the snow off of your clothes. “Being a bastard has gotten me far in life! I’m the chief of my own clan, I have plenty of gold and mead. I have everything I want and it’s all thanks to being a cold monster.” He stepped ahead of you, tired of wasting daylight and trudging on. You stepped after him, jogging to stay close to his side. “You can say all that you want that you’re some kind of wicked and evil commander but I know the truth Katsuki!” You teased. He growled and balled his fists, walking faster. “You’re really a big sweet heart!” You poked his arm with a grin. He stopped in his tracks again. “It’s Chief Bakugo.” He said quietly.

“What?” You asked confused. He didn’t look you in the eye, but spoke louder. “I said it’s Chief Bakugo! I’ve been soft on you too long!” He was yelling. You stepped away from him and put a hand to your chest. Not used to him lashing out at you. You’d seen him treat the others that way, but never you. “What are you saying?” You asked quietly, the shock overwhelming your emotions. “I’m saying you need to toughen up! You’re practically useless to the clan at this point and I can’t take it anymore!” 

If someone was there in that small patch of forest, they would have heard both of your hearts shattering like broken glass.

You were silent for a moment. Your brain rushed a thousand scenario's in your head, playing each one out quickly. You could run, use your knew skills to find a new town, never looking back. You could scream in his face, telling him that you wish you had never met him. Bakugo waited for you to do one of these things, he hoped you would, but you chose to do nothing of the sort. 

“What is this really about, Katsuki?” You spoke softly and put your hand on his stiff shoulder. Subconsciously he eased at your touch, your loving hand shooting warmth through his entire body. 

Bakugo felt the anger boil up inside of him and then disappear, he could be angry for days, but something about you pulled out all of his irrational thoughts. He spoke to you honestly. 

“Why do you have to be a human?” His voice cracked. “A tiny, fragile mortal!” He spoke frantically, his voice laced with something you had never heard from him before.

Fear.

“If something ever happened to you, beautiful Lilly.” He touched your hand. It was soft and warm. “I would die.” His eyes glistened with the hint of tears. You smiled softly and touched his face, kissing him gently on his cheek. “You love me Katsuki, don’t you?” His face eased, he closed his eyes and relaxed into your touch. “With every bone in my body, I love you Lilly.” He smirked. “It’s annoying.”

You burst into a fit of laughter and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you too, and if you love me as much as you say, I know you will never let something happen to me.” 

The drum circle played loud and energetically. For one night, the Oni danced with glee under the stars. The warriors had held their weapons to the sky with guttural cries just a few short hours ago, cheering at the ceremony of a life time. Their chief had taken a wife under the full moon, the wolves howling a mile away on the cliff sides in respect. For one of the most feared yokai to ever life, a true master of battle was retiring from war to start a family. 

You sat happily adorned in red paint, and shells strung on fishing line as jewelry around your neck. You were sitting by your new husband, watching your clan mates dance proudly with drinks in their hand. “Who is that over their, Katsuki?” You pointed to a different kind of yokai, one you had never seen before. He wasn’t dancing, rather smiling proudly while displaying his muscles for a few pretty sprites who had joined the party. You were used to the Oni, but so many new magical beings had been appearing lately. “Ah, an old friend of mine. It’s rare he leaves his shrine.” The man had long red hair, it stuck out of his head in a point, and flowed down his back. He had sharp teeth like a dog, or maybe a lion. “Is he Oni?” 

“No my love, he’s a guardian. A Koma Inu.” He tilted his head in the red haired yokai’s direction. “A Lion Dog.” The Koma Inu smiled brightly at him with a wave.

As the night dwindled away, the Oni showed no signs of stopping their dance. 

You yawned as you saw the peak of the sunrise, and leaned your head against Bakugo’s shoulder. He enveloped you in his arms and picked you up, cradling you to his chest. He carried you away from the noise, to a familiar place.

The cave where you first met, just a few short minutes away from camp. He set you at the entrance and you took his hand, walking inside. It was warm in here, a fire already started. He guided you to a plush looking pile of furs, it looked much more comfortable than the straw piles you’ve been sleeping in while camping. You laid down and closed your eyes nestling deep into the pile with a smile. You waited nervously for him to lay down beside you, picturing the deep and passionate kiss you were about to receive.

Your eyes shot open as you heard Katsuki’s steps start to walk away. “Hey! Where are you going?” You asked with a frown. “Aren’t you tired?” He asked with a straight face. “Yes but...” You tried to choose your next words carefully. “It’s our... wedding night...?” You pushed your hair back exposing your collar bones and batting your eyelashes. “Is something in your eye?” He asked. 

You sighed and laid back down, rolling away from him. “What’s wrong?” He touched your back with his foot, giving you a light push. “You’re supposed to join me! We’re married now?” You looked up at him, his face burning crimson. You sat up and giggled, pulling his hands down so he would sit with you. “Katsuki have you ever... I mean, are you nervous?” 

“I don’t get nervous!” He started to spit out, before you pushed him down by his chest. The two of you hit the soft furs with a light thud, your lips crashing down onto his. You tangled your fingers into his hair and he gasped into your mouth. His hands ran along your body, removing pieces of clothing with tearing fever. The shells around your neck were ripped off, scattering across the cave floor. Your breath caught in your throat as he let out a growl into your mouth, his excitement growing and grinding against you. He flipped you onto your back, dragging his teeth across your skin, his sharpened canines trailing a small amount of blood in little nicks on your sensitive neck. You cried out, he gripped your hips harshly and pulled you into the position he wanted. You clawed at his shoulders, egging him on. He was happy to oblige by pushing his length inside of you without a lot of warning. You couldn’t help but moan in shock, your body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. He gave you a moment to breathe, just moving himself slightly, feeling your walls loosen and slick, you relaxed and took a deep breath, blowing the air out in a small o shape. He softly kissed your forehead and began picking up pace. He leaned on his elbow while looking down at you. You held his shoulders and your eyes rolled back into your head as he thrust into your hips hard, pulling himself out of your body almost completely before slamming back into you over and over again. You couldn’t do anything but catch your breath, gasping and moaning in his ear. Bakugo let out small groans, he tried to muffle them by clamping his mouth shut. He started to move faster, his movements becoming unhinged and wild. Your moaning encouraged him. Your climax built, you felt it burning inside of you. With his left hand Bakugo gripped your chin, holding you by your throat lightly. He grinned as your walls tightened around him, he felt your orgasm boil over and explode with a few more pumps. You clawed down his body, squirming and crying out. His mouth slacked and he let out a quiet groan as he finished ropes inside of you, still moving harshly against your throbbing slit. 

The cave was very dark when you woke up, the morning light not quite reaching this end of the cave and the fire had burned to nothing but cinders. You rolled over and happily placed a hand over your soul mates face, he was sleeping soundly, his breath whistling through his bottom teeth. He sleepily threw an arm around you, pulling you close to him and beckoning you back to sleep. You snuggled deep into his chest and thought for just a moment about your old life?

“What kind of wife would you make, wasting time in the outdoors like a young boy?”

A perfect one for an Oni, you suppose.

Did you catch who’s going to be added next to this AU?? He made a guest appearance... I hope enjoyed another fantasy fic! This one has been half done in my drafts for ages... -Bambi

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #9 Friable

Working in the Greenhouse was a mixed affair on most suns. During the winter, it could be a nice, warm getaway from the harsh cold that permeated even The Shroud. On summer suns though, like this one, it just added to the heat that was constantly pressing down on you. Since mid-morning Charlette had been sweating into her clothes, but by the time she had reached the Greenhouse, she already had wet shadows in her pits. Gods above, she hated suns like this. And now she was staring down several bells in the purposefully hot and humid enclosure, where Bobocufu and the other botanists grew their more exotic flora. Plants from all kinds of far-off, warmer climates sat in different sections of the glass house, each one given the exact setting they needed to feel as home as possible. From Ala Mhigan oasis plants, to Thanalan river plants and even a few exotic pieces that apparently can only be found in the jungles of Gelmorra. All of them precious to the specific botanist that had brought them here and painstakingly raised them to the blossoming health they had now. All of them now in the sweaty palms of one Duskwight novice who had to make sure they all got what they needed.

She swiped a hand across her brow, slipped her arm through one suspender of her overalls, the other hang loose, the cropped tank-top she wore underneath already proving too much despite the scandalous, in her opinion, amount of skin it showed off. But that was enough whining inside her own head, it was time to get to her first bit of work. The lush, Thanalan bush that sat before her was covered in pink flowers, just about ready to start to wilt and form into the real prize it had to offer: Desert Saffron. Maxim swears by the flavour it can provide, and upon hearing it might be available, A’nidreah and her other Sun Seeker sisters had practically drooled all over Charlette’s sleeves. She would be lying if she said she was not looking forward to testing out this fabled spice. But first, she would need to not mess this up. The bush itself sat in the driest corner of the Greenhouse, in a box filled with soil so barren it looked almost like the desiccated bed of a salt lake. However, beneath was moist, clay-like earth that gave the bush the sustenance it needed. And Charlette had to add just the right amount of water to keep it moist, but not wet. She checked the instructions scrawled in chalk on the board next to the planter box, courtesy of Maxim. “Three pumps of water. Sprinkle top soil just over the base. Do not tamp it down. Do not touch the flowers. Do not, for goodness sake, kill my Safforn Charlette or I will spit in your ear!” -  ♥ Maxim A strange threat, but not one Charlette was willing to test. She pulled a level out of a copper drum of water, pressed down and watched as the liquid started to bubble-up between those cracks in the soil. It was being flooded directly into it through piping that ran underneath the packed earth. Bobocufu has spared no expenses, and effort, to make this Greenhouse near perfect. No more than three presses! Then she took out a little garden spade, scooped up Thanalan topsoil from a sack and scattered it around the base of each bush. The planter resembled something you might see out in the Thanalan grasslands, just after a mild rain that had awoken a small river for a bell or two. “How anyone can live in such a dry place, I don’t know. But apparently you do.” she spoke directly to the plant, reaching a hand out, coming very, very close to one of the friable, dry petals. But she pulled just short of touching. She did not break rules, even ones set out by that class clown Maxim. On to the next one. La Noscean Dragon Peppers that needed a little salt water spritzed on their leaves and to have their roots soaked to the point of almost coming out of the soil itself. Bobocufu’s corpse flowers that, really, just needed to be checked to make sure they weren't rotting away, or if that was just the slight, musky scent that permeated the soon-to-bloom horrors. That sweltering heat even started to disappear into the back of her mind, the focus needed to make sure she did it all at the right time, in the right order, to the right amount was wonderful in that respect. It left room for no other thoughts, not even about the drips that keep burning her eyes. Bells passed quickly, and before she had time to really step back and take stock of her hard work, Charlette had reached the final piece. It was her own plot, and she had picked a rather unusual kind of creature to fill it with: fungi. Yes, Charlette had decided that mushrooms were going to be her focus, and the dark little hovels that had been built over the plot she had earned with her moons in service to the Botanist Guild were only just now starting to see their very first spores. Tiny little caps, only just beginning to burst from the bracken laid underneath the humidity-soaked logs promised, at the very least, her first crop was going to arrive soon. Cave Chanterelle, hardly as big as they can get in the caverns below, but then Charlette didn’t have that kind of space, now did she? Still, it had been a long, long time since her family had enjoyed the taste of them in the one dish her mother knew best how to cook. A face she often held over her husband’s head. It was going to be a special thing, Charlette hoped, when she presented them to her mother. She always wanted to take on the cooking, when her father’s nameday comes around, and every nameday it was the same dish. Which he claimed was his favourite, and Charlette saw no reason to doubt him. So it was with an extra careful hand that she moved the stiffening leaves and twigs away and added new, freshly dropped leaves she had picked from the forest this morning. Water trickled across them from the spout of a watering can, not directly atop the shrooms, but over the log. It cascaded down, just as rainfall may have, and eventually soaked into the soil, wetted the leaves, and made everything humid and muddy. Just how they liked it, well, to a point. Charlette wrote the instructions down on her own board, it was Maxim’s turn next and now she finally had time to think of a good threat of her own. A kick in the groin? Threatening, yes, but also so common. Two kicks and a punch in the nose? Maybe, if a bit basic. She pulled up a stool, sat herself down, and set about the task. The sweat dripping down her grey-blue skin all but forgotten, that focus coming back once more.

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Better Together

Harry collapses onstage during a concert due to an advanced case of appendicitis, and while he is in surgery, Jazzmine reminisces about her life with him.

MASTERLIST

OC Used:  Jazzmine 

Word Count:  2,432

~~~~

I looked around at the bare white walls of the hospital, which seemed to burn my eyes with their brightness.  Everything was moving so quickly; I couldn’t keep up.  The phone call, the emotions, Harry’s life…  Tears stung my blue eyes that Harry had always called ‘angelic’.  

I tried to hold them back, to be strong like Harry would want me to be, but it was too hard; too difficult.  I didn’t have any strength left to try and hold my crumbling life together after this catastrophe.  

White walls blurred with the oncoming tears, and slowly swirled into a softer cream.  I was standing in the hallway of a house I had almost called home for many years.  

“Harry!  Harry, wait!”  A familiar voice called; a tall, willowy girl, (whom I recognized as my younger self), turning around a corner to follow after a dark-haired teenage boy whose head was bowed in discouragement.

Her bare feet made soft pattering noises on the worn wooden flooring of the house.  As she called after the boy, he stopped, waiting for her.  

In moments, the girl caught up to him and wrapped him up in a hug, her arms looping around his waist.  The boy was a few inches taller than her, causing the girl to have to tilt her neck back a bit to look into his face.  

“Harry don’t put yourself down.  You sing so beautifully!”  She said softly, her lips curving up into a slow smile as she looked up at Harry.

He was silent for a moment, his green eyes flickering across her face.  Then he grinned down at her, shaking his head.  “Jazzmine,” he murmured, “what would I do without you, Love?”

A dull ache began to gnaw at my heart with those words, Harry’s face burning itself into my mind’s eye as I wondered if I would ever see his twinkling green eyes again.  

The scene slowly fading away, only to be replaced with the busy hallways of a school.  I was still beside my younger self, this time surrounded by a crowd of girls that wore angry scowls.

‘’You’re not that pretty.  I mean, I don’t see what he sees on you honestly.”  One girl said, rolling her eyes.  “How do even live with yourself?  Knowing that you’re not good enough for him?”  She asked, voice practically dripping with venom.

Jazzmine lowered her gaze to the dark tiling of the floor.  Tears threatened to spill over, and she fought to keep control.  

“I am good enough for him.  He’s told me so.”  She whispered, making the crowd of girls laugh.  

“Really?  You actually believe him?  Wow,” the leader said, playing with a strand of her hair.  She opened her mouth again, making Jazzmine brace herself for more hurtful words.

But none came.  The girls began whispering among themselves and quickly moved away.  Jazzmine breathed a sigh of relief, but the words still echoed through her head.

You’re not good enough for him.  You actually believed what he told you?  

She didn’t notice Harry walking quickly towards her, a worried expression on his face.  Reaching her side, he grabbed her hand, leaning down to search her face.  

“What did they tell you?”  He asked gently, waking Jazzmine from her thoughts.  She glanced up at him, then looked away quickly, trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

“Nothing.  It was nothing, Harry.”  She mumbled through the lump in her throat, trying to pass it off.  

Harry stared hard at her, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back.  “It wasn’t ‘nothing’, Angel.  What did those girls say to you?” He asked again, voice hardening.

His words and the affectionate nickname had the dam breaking, and a tear fell from Jazzmine’s eye, sliding down her sun-kissed cheek.  She took a shuddering breath, swallowing hard.

“Love?”  Harry called softly; his voice laced with concern.  

Jazzmine looked up at him, lashes wet with the tears that were now streaming down her face.  “They told me I’m not good enough to be your girlfriend; that I’m not pretty enough.”  She whispered, voice breaking.

Harry let out a long breath, locking eyes with Jazzmine.  “Angel, you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.  Don’t you believe a word those girls say, alright?”  He said fiercely, grabbing both of Jazzmine’s hands in his, squeezing them tight.

I watched this scene from the sidelines.  I could still remember the emotions I had wrestled with in my youth when I struggled with my self-worth.  Harry had been a defining factor then, giving me the confidence boost I needed to genuinely believe I was beautiful; and he still was, always swearing to an insecure me after a night out on the red carpet that I was the only woman he ever saw, that I was the most beautiful woman there.

As Harry squeezed my hands, the noises of the hallway began to change, turning from the excited teenage chatter to a low murmur as the scene rippled.  It looked as though someone had thrown a stone into a river, creating tiny ripples.

The hallway was replaced with a busy coffee shop and one specific table inside.

Jazzmine wore a radiant smile, the fingers of one hand curled around the elegantly curving handle of a china mug.  

The other hand was resting on the table, clasped in one belonging to Harry, who sat opposite her.  He wore a toothy grin as he watched her laugh over something he had just said.

Still laughing, Jazzmine absentmindedly raised the mug to her lips, her blue eyes twinkling at Harry over the rim as she took a sip.

As soon as the liquid touched her tongue, she choked and spit it back into the mug.  Grimacing, she quickly set the mug down.

Harry watched this anxiously, wondering what he had done wrong, bringing Jazzmine to a coffeeshop for her sixteenth birthday.  

“Is there something wrong with the coffee?”  He asked, brow furrowing with worry as he looked at her.

Jazzmine shook her head, smiling apologetically at him.  “No, I just don’t like coffee,” she said, chuckling softly at his expression.  

“Oh, Jazz, if I had known I wouldn’t have gotten you any.  I’m so sorry, Love…”  Harry began hurriedly, beginning to stand up.  

Jazzmine quickly cut him off, still laughing.  “It’s alright, Harry.  You don’t need to get me anything else either.”  She said, grabbing onto his hand and pulling him back down.  “Let’s just talk, yeah?”  

I couldn’t help laughing at the memory of that disastrous lunch date, where everything had seemed to go wrong.  But the scene changed much too soon for my liking, transporting me to a crowded concert arena full of screaming girls.

“ ‘ow are we all doing tonight?!”  Harry called out loudly from the stage, beaming.  The crowd of girls answered with loud screams of happiness, almost deafening Jazzmine from her spot right next to the stage.  

One of his bandmates, Louis, stepped up next to him, raising the mic to his lips.  “Awesome!  Glad you’re all ‘aving fun out there!  Our next song is ‘Story of My Life’.”  He said, grinning as the crowd responded with more screams of delight.

Swaying along with the music, Jazzmine closed her eyes, singing the lyrics softly to herself.  Out of all the songs on the album, this was her favourite.  Harry had written it, and within it, he had woven little bits of him and her.  

“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain.”

As Harry sang, he looked out over the crowd, spotting Jazzmine.  A smile lit up his face, and he gave her a little wave, his green eyes never leaving her face.  All this was for her, every single concert and song.

I wasn’t ready for it to end, but the moment slipped away from me even as I clung to it desperately, sounds and sights blurring and fading away.  But what came next, I was unprepared for. The moment it came into focus, I recognized the setting, but I didn’t feel like I could survive this particular memory; not now.

“Now, before we continue with the concert, I’d like to say something to someone very special to me,” Harry said, striding across the stage to stand on the edge.  “Jazzmine, would you look up at that big screen there?”  He asked, pointing above him to a large screen.  

Doing as he requested, Jazzmine looked up at it, watching as a video began to play.

It was of Harry, sitting at a table with his hands folded.  He grinned at the camera nervously, fiddling with his hands.  “Hey Jazzy,” he said, “I’ve been thinking, and there’s something I’ve really been meaning to ask you for a while now.”  He continued, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck.

He chuckled nervously before continuing.  “I’m sure you can tell I’m a bit nervous by now, Love.  Will you marry me?”  

The video cut off after the question, leaving Jazzmine stunned.  She looked away from the screen, back to Harry, who was on one knee on the stage.  In his hands, he held a little box.  

“Will you come up onto the stage, Jazz?”  Louis called, motioning at her.  She obeyed his call, hurrying quickly through the crowd and up the stairs of the stage.  

Harry was still kneeling, watching her anxiously as she stopped in front of him.  “Well, Jazzy?”  He asked softly, green eyes questioning.  “Will you marry me?”

Jazzmine’s hands fluttered up to cover her nose and mouth as she stared at him, unable to believe that this was happening.  The silence continued for a long time, and Harry began to fidget.  

Then she nodded.  “Yes, Harry.”  She whispered, and Harry’s face broke into a huge grin, all traces of nervousness vanishing into the air.

Jumping to his feet, he pulled her into a hug, holding her tight in his arms.

All too early, the scene faded away from view, leaving me teary-eyed.  I could still remember the feeling of pure astonishment as I’d watched that video.  It was one of the best days of my life, but today the memory carried just a tinge of heartbreak.

It made me wonder if Harry would ever stand on a stage again; if his deep, clear voice would ever ring out through a packed stadium ever again.

The scene moved on to a silent room, decorated with flowers and sashes.

The sweet smell of fresh lilies filled the air, and the view focused on a young woman who stood tall in a beautiful white dress, the lilies held in her hands.  

“Are you ready, Jazz?”  An older man asked her, prompting Jazzmine to look up from her bouquet and smile radiantly at him.

“As ready as I’m ever going to be, Daddy.”  She whispered, blue eyes shining with happiness.  “I still can’t believe that today I’m going to marry the love of my life.”  

Her words prompted a sad smile from her father.  “Neither can I, honey.  It’s kind of a bittersweet moment.  My baby girl is all grown up, and I’m so proud of her.  But at the same time, I don’t want to let you go yet.”  He said, voice slowly becoming choked.

Jazzmine sniffed, blinking rapidly.  “Don’t cry, Daddy.  I’m going to start crying then.”  She murmured, laughing slightly at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Her father smiled, wiping at his eyes.  “I’m not, Jazz,” he said, offering her his arm.  She slipped her tanned arm through his black-sleeved one and allowed him to lead her towards the double-doors.

Behind those doors, she would begin her life again, this time as the wife of the man she had loved since she was fourteen.  The years had been long, the troubles many, but the joys far more.

As the doors opened, she caught sight of the tall man with dark curls cascading down onto his shoulders.  Green eyes widened as they caught sight of her, lips curving into a beaming smile.

The walk down the aisle seemed like an eternity, but then her father was moving away from her, leaving her alone there with Harry.

All she could see was him, eyes sparkling, lips parted in a smile.  She said the vows automatically, lost in her thoughts.  

Once they were pronounced husband and wife, Harry’s grin grew wider as he leaned in.

But to my disappointment, the scene ended there.  Another began in its stead; one more happy moment in my life; before everything had suddenly fallen apart in the blink of an eye.

The tiny crying bundle was laid on Jazzmine’s chest and her arms automatically curled around it, rocking it gently.  

“Here’s your little Princess, Mum!”  The midwife said, beaming at the trio.  

Tears streamed down Jazzmine’s face as she took in the miniature features of the baby in her arms.  Tiny little lashes fluttered as blue eyes opened, gazing up at this new world with wonder; dark wisps of hair decorating her head.

A little hand reached out, grabbing at air until Harry extended his own, letting the tiny fingers curl around his.  

“She’s perfect.”  He choked out, green eyes brimming with tears as he watched his firstborn.  “Just like her Mummy.”

Jazzmine looked over at him, a smile decorating her exhausted features.  “But with her Daddy’s curls.”  She teased, making Harry grin.

“Yeah, she’s got my curls.”  He chuckled, blinking back the tears as he looked straight at Jazzmine.  “I love you Jazzy.”

With that, Harry’s face blurred and faded, only to be replaced with the glaring white of the hospital waiting room.  

I was back in the hard, stiff-backed plastic chair, but upon glancing at my watch, I noted that

over an hour had gone by while I was lost in my reminiscences.  It was strange to have time moving slowly again; everything had blurred together since I had received the phone call telling me that Harry had collapsed on stage during a concert and was being rushed to the hospital.

“Mrs. Styles?”  A male voice called, and my head snapped up to look at the doctor that had appeared in the doorway.  

“Yes?”  I asked anxiously, standing up and hurrying over to him.  “Is everything alright?”  

The doctor’s solemn face broke into a small smile, and I felt relief wash over me like an ocean wave.  “The surgery went well.  The appendix had burst, but we were able to get everything cleaned up.  It is fortunate that your husband was transported here so quickly, and that he is so young.”  He said, and I breathed out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding.

“Thank God,” I whispered, letting my face fall into my hands.  Even though Harry was only twenty-one, I had still been afraid he wouldn’t have made it out of surgery.  Untreated appendicitis was extremely dangerous, even more so if the appendix burst.  

“When can I see him?”  I asked, and the doctor hesitated for a moment.  

“He’s still waking up from the anesthesia, but perhaps in a few hours he’ll be alert enough for visitors.”  The doctor replied, turning to walk away through the doorway.  

Once he had disappeared, I walked back to my seat, peeking into the infant car seat I had placed on the floor beside it.  

Inside, Harry and I’s three-month-old daughter slept peacefully, unknowing of the fact that her father had just come out of a life-or-death surgery.  

Sitting back down, I leaned my head back to rest on the wall.  That had been the longest hour of my life, and one of the longest trips down memory lane I’d had in many, many years.

[forged-through-trials]

I had a package to deliver back in Skingrad, so I paid it one last visit before continuing further East. On the way back, guess who we ran into? M’aiq The Liar: “M’aiq wishes he had a stick made out of fishies to give to you. Sadly, he does not.” Trials: Realization dawned. “Like, I see what you’re saying. The ‘fishy-sticks’ are symbolic of the violence inherent in the system. It grinds down the worker just like the meat of delicious fish is ground down into an inedible stick.” M’aiq The Liar: “...” Trials: “And like a school of fishes rising from the deeps, we need to unite and rise up against the ruling class! Before they crush us into indigestible bricks of processed foodstuffs.” M’aiq The Liar: He was visibly confused. “...lady, I’m just a meme-guy!” Trials: “No, no, you’re right, it’s time for the revolution to begin! We’ll cast down the false-leaders of the empire, as I certainly didn’t vote for them! Dismantle White Gold Tower brick by brick! And when they asked who inspired this uprising, I’ll be sure to tell them it was ‘M’aiq The Liar’.” M’aiq The Liar: “Please don--” Trials: “And when they cut your head off and put your it on a pike, I will be there to salute you, sir, for your sacrif--” I look up to realize I’m speaking to a vaguely M’aiq-shaped dust cloud, as the real M’aiq had already raced down the road. Trials: “...huh. Poor guy. Couldn’t handle the burden of leading the revolution.” [ M’aiq Count: 6 ]

After a while of hiking, we spotted the dig-site in the distance. A few tents, surrounded by trees, on a small island just inside of the river that feeds Niben Bay. Ruin and I drew in closer, and inspected the site. Up close the place was a marvel to behold; the huge trilobite fossil in particular was quite eye-catching. Surely it’s... thousands of years old? Uh, how old is our world? Like, I don’t have the most extensive history background, but the First era was only about three-thousand years long, and the Second Era was only about nine-hundred, and now we’re in the Third Era, and we’re only up to the year 433... I don’t know for sure how long the Dawn and Merithic Eras were, but if the pattern holds true, they were only a few thousand years long at most. Is that even enough time for something to turn into a fossil? Besides the huge “fossil”, the other sight of note was this... cocoon in a tent, dripping some very pungent slime. The smell was enough to make one gag, and I really wondered how the Archie-Guild assistants could stand to be around it. Whatever this stuff is, the guildies seemed to be collecting it. I wonder whatever for? Well, now that we’re here, step one was to speak to the Assistants and see what they had to say.

Assistant Azim: “Don’t you just love field work? The fresh open air... the camping under the starry sky...?” Trials: “The burning smell of whatever that slime is corroding your nose.” Assistant Azim: “Now if you ask me, there’re two reasons why Tumyr is out in the sticks--” Trials: “Is one of them; ‘He’s ducking Teav’s flirtatious advances’?” Assistant Azim: “...okay, three reasons. “But also, because he is a congenital practical joker. One who happens to like pranking his boss, Rythor. Tumyr’s got something against stuffy desk-work, so he used a soul gem on Rythor’s library, which somehow got them to talk in their authors’ voices. He claimed that he’d intended to use it as a tool so that they could provide a sort of commentary to the texts, but what they actually did was to moan constantly about anything that had bothered them in life. Bad backs, pet hates, personal insults, anything.” Trials: “Huh. I wonder what would happen if someone used a soul gem on my Tumble-Scroll?” Assistant Azim: “I think it would start complaining about the glacial pace you’ve been posting at, lately.” Trials: I pouted. “Hey, I get busy sometimes!” Assistant Azim: “And the other reason is that Tumyr is a Khajiit, and he just loves big, green open space.” Trials: I frowned at him. “Hey, that sounds like Profiling. Would you just go and assume that because I’m Argonian I like walking in the rain?” Ruin: “...Trials, you do like walking the rain.” Trials: “...okay, but he shouldn’t go assuming it! “But, hey, you seem to know all the gossip, so what’s the story with your founder, Solan? You all seem to speak about him with such reverence, but I haven’t heard much in the way of details.” Assistant Azim: “You want me to tell you about Solan? Okay, but I don’t know any more than the rest of us about our great founder and pioneer. “Solan originally came from Hammerfell, where his family had been embroiled in the war of Betonys--” Trials: “Zzzzzz...!” Muttering in my sleep. “M-metal gear... grumble-grunt...” Ruin: “Uh, try to go easy on the politics. It puts her to sleep.” Assistant Azim: “...” He sighed slapped me to wake me up. Trials: My face still stinging. “L-Liquid!” Assistant Azim: He rolled his eyes before continuing. “Solan regards people as the keepers of sacred knowledge, and felt that everyone held some special part of Tamriels history in their souls. Trials: “I think my soul holds all of Cyrodiil’s memes!” Assistant Azim: “As such, he was a fanatical humanist, whose sense of charity and reverence of the people earned him the nickname of ‘Solan the Baptist’.” Trials: “...what the heck is a ‘baptist’?” Assistant Azim: “They dunk your head under water while saying prayers and blessings to the divines.” Trials: “I see! Well, next time I’ll be sure to threaten to ‘baptize’ Sova when she gets sassy.” Assistant Azim: “I don’t think she would appreciate that.” Trials: “I’ll just throw in some ancient Alyeid gods and she could call it ‘research’.”

The other assistant on duty here was “Assistant Quovi.” I spoke to her next, as she dusted grit and minerals off of the trilobite fossil. She didn’t have much to say, save to gossip about her superiors at the Archeology Guild. Did you know that Aster Cei is married to a Khajiit? Not one of the Southern city-dwellers, either, but a well-connected and hot-tempered lass from one of the nomadic tribes. Sova, meanwhile, was Born with a Silver Spoon in her mouth, as her snooty attitude might have suggested. Hailing from Skywatch in the Summnerset isles, she enraptured the court there from an early age. She saw the digs over here in Cyrodiil as beneath her, and took time to adjust to it. And she’s not too keen on Nords, Orcs, or... hired goons. Trials: “Hired Goons?” Assistant Quovi: “Don’t pay her too much mind. I hear that Rythor actually prefers the personal touch you only get with Hired Goons.” “Anyway, Sova’s not so bad. Once you get used to bowing to her every morning.”

Finally it was time to enter the big tent, and speak to the Khajiit himself. Gotta say, for someone who loves the great outdoors, his tent sure has a lot of hard-to-transport amenities. I understand that books on paleontology might be important for his work, but the mental image of him carefully arranging his bookshelf every time they make a new camp amused me. Tumyr: “Hello? And who might you be?” Trials: “Hey, I’m ‘Forged-Through-Trials,’ and he’s ‘Ruined-Tail.’ We’re new hires.” Ruin: “A pleasure.” Tumyr: “Really? So nice to meet you. I’m ‘Tumry,’ resident paleontologist.” Trials: “Anyway, we swung by because Teav needs a vial of your famous Dissolving Agent.” Tumyr: “Ah, poor timing, I’m afraid. I’ve run dry of the stuff, for the moment. Used it all to dig out that Ampryx out there.” Trials: “Oh, you mean, the trilobite?” Tumyr: “Yes. It’s a new species I just discovered, so I get to name it. I’ve dubbed it ‘Ampyx Adapsys’.” Trials: “Fascinating stuff, really, but--” Tumyr: “Slithering along the coastline, filter feeding on sand, their chitin exoskeleton and long spines helped protect them from ambush predators.” Trials: I rolled my eyes. “Listen, Tumyr The Science-Guy, we’re here about the Dissolving Agent. If you’re all out, where or when can we get more?” Tumyr: “Oh, making more? That’s easily done, so long as you’ve got the sliiiiiiiime.” Trials: I made a face at him. “Eww, I don’t like how you said ‘slime’. You make it sound vaguely carnal.” Ruin: He visibly paled. “...well, there’s a mental imagine I’m going to be trying to flush for the rest of the day.” Trials: “You and me both, bruh.” Tumyr: He pouted. “I’m just talking about the stuff that leaks from the cocoon I have outside. It’s the active ingredient in my Dissolving Agent. You just mix it with five Green Stain Cup Caps and you have one vial of the agent.” Trials: “...what a coincidence! I happen have five Green Stain Cup Caps right here.” I passed him the Cup Caps. “It’s almost like... there is someone outside of the Aubris who has experienced all of this before and is guiding my actions, or something.”

Tumyr: He blinked in confusion. “...what... is she looking at?” Ruin: He simply shrugged. Tumry: “...” He shook his head, and passed the finished Dissolving Agent to Ruin. “I think I’d better trust this to you.”

Fast forward past a short hike back toward the Archie-Guild castle, and Ruin and I were back and speaking to Teav. Ruin passed him the Dissolving Agent, which delighted Teav, who assured us that after some careful preparation, he could begin to carefully remove the contamination and corrosion obscuring the Metallic Shard’s Inner Matrix to further study the artifact. Teav: “I’ve also got some good news for you. Rythor, our Headmaster, has returned from his expedition. I’ve already put in a good word for you.” Trials: “Aww, thanks! I appreciate your doing that for me.” Teav: “You deserve it. Weird as you are sometimes, you do get the job done. Rythor has told me he’d like to meet you in person. You can find him in the Library.”

A hop, skip and jump later, and we’d found the Library. As you might imagine for the library owned by a bunch of nerds, the place was huge, and filled wall to wall with books... and a giant dragon skull. Gotta say, it’s an effective conversation-starter. Which, given the story Assistant Azim told me about Tumyr’s prank, getting a conversation started isn’t the problem. It’s getting the books to shut up! Book Written by Pelagius III: “And I’ll go into people’s houses at night and wreck up the place!” Dragon Skull: “Well, he’s lost my vote.” Rythor: Obviously irate. “Shut up, both of you! I’m going to kill Tumyr the next time I see him.” He finally noticed Ruin and I, and offered a wave, his demeanor changing immediately. “Greetings. You must be the new recruit I’ve heard so much about.” Trials: “IDidn’tDoEet! Except for the cool stuff. That I did the hell out of!” Rhythor: “...” He straightened his robes anxiously. “Well, I’ve mostly heard only the cool stuff. “I’m ‘Kal Rythor,’ Archeology Guild Headmaster. Teav tells me you’ve done a fine job clearing out that Spire. Given the decent job you did there, and our clear, dire need for some muscle, I’m making you the guild’s official ‘Enforcer.’ You’re now a permanent member, responsible for clearing any hurdles we may run into.” Trials: “Huh. ‘Enforcer’? Makes me sound like a bouncers, or like one of those Made Mer from the Camonna Tong. You’re not gonna send me to go make offers people can’t refuse, are ya?” Rythor: “...” He smiled knowingly. “Funny you should mention that...” Ruin: He frowned thoughtfully. “Oh, here we go.” Rythor: “On the expedition I just returned from, we’d found another Spire, similar to the one you just cleared. There’s more than just one!” Trials: “Well, need me to go in and clear that one out, too?” Rythor: “Not unless you’re into lawn-care. The problem there isn’t monsters, it’s that it’s overgrown with nearly impenetrable vines. There is, however, a nearby mine that burrows deep into the same mountain. “This is where you come in. I need you to speak with the Mine Foreman down there, help him see the virtue of our cause, and convince him to dig a tunnel into the Antechamber.” Trials: “...I feel like cutting through vines would be a lot easier than tunneling through solid rock.” Rythor: “You’d think that, but Cyrodiilic vines are so tough it takes a literal act of god to move them. “Now, go convince those minders to dig that tunnel for us.” Trials: “And what if they refuse?” Rythor: “Then convince your fist to make friends with their noses until they agree.” Trials: Flabbergasted. “...wow! Is that really necessary? I mean, they’re not Sova.” Rythor: “If it comes to it. Meanwhile, I’m going to lead an excavation effort at the Spire you’ve just cleared. “Godspeed, my Enforcer.”

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 54: The Deepest, Brightest Blue

Keith asks a probing question.

First  Previous  Next

Dragging Lance away from his datapad proves challenging, but after spending a whole quintant doing nothing but sleeping, eating, and curling up in a ball of pain, Keith’s had enough. Whatever his spouse is so focused on can wait.

The walk to the springs is a quiet one, their first full quintant on Daibazaal to be spent away from the people. Keith can tell that Lance is on edge, and wants this to be a good experience for them both. If everything goes well, they’ll be more likely to return, and returning won’t put as much strain on their relationship.

Toward that end, he slips his hand into Lance’s, mirrors Lance’s resulting smile. The Altean bumps their heads together, a new sign of affection to add to their repertoire. Keith still hates how reserved Alteans are in public. They’ll talk openly about their sexual prowess, but do little more than hold their partner’s hand. Lance says his people see it as undignified. Keith says physical affection is more valuable than words or gifts.

They've taken to treasuring their moments alone.

At any rate, it’s good to take some time for themselves, so Keith shows him the springs, a place where clean, clear water bubbles up to the surface in cheerful burbles and flows down the lower slopes of the mountain.

“Oh, Ancients! There’s so much!” Lance dips a bare toe into the water, eyes and grin wide like the river. He squeals. “It’s cold!”

“It comes from underground. There’s a lot of water on Daibazaal. Be careful if you’re going in. There’s a lot of pull the closer you get to the middle.”

“Sure, whatever you say!” And Lance is gone, chasing small fish and mammals at the edge, wading into the water, swimming down to see the springs. Keith is content to watch from the shoreline, snacking on some cured meats. When he’s done with that, he finds a patch of sun to lie in, passively observing his spouse playing in the water. He hopes it rains while they’re here. He wants to see the look on Lance’s face when it does.

After a little while, Lance seems to get lonely, wading back through the water to settle on a sunny rock next to Keith. The Altean definitely needed this break. He looks looser already and it’s still morning. Keith shifts to rest his head within ear-rubbing distance. Lance is happy to oblige, eliciting an easy purr from his throat.

“Lance?” Keith’s eyelids flutter at Lance’s hum. He loves that sound, the way Lance shows Keith’s been heard without shattering the peace. The Galra eyes the blue scales glittering beneath his soaked linen shirt. “What are your scales for?”

“On the surface level, our scales are a form of communication. Their appearance shifts depending on our mood. They’re also an indication of our quintessence base and any other forms we might possess an affinity for.” Lance’s hand runs through Keith’s hair, unbraiding it so it flutters in the breeze. Keith nuzzles against his hip, lets his future mate do as he likes.

“But there’s more to it than that. Our bodies do not function as yours do. Our scales are tied directly to our lifeforce. Every Altean has scales on the cheeks, and typically some others. The more scales we have, the more alchemical potential, and also, the more vulnerability.”

“Vulnerability?”

“If too many scales get damaged, especially scales central to our ability and lifeforce, then our bodies may not be able to produce quintessence or channel it correctly, and we die. According to one story, that’s how the first war between us started: A Galra found an Altean, and they got into a quarrel. The Altean, fearing for her life and safety, slew the Galra. Later, the Galra’s littermate found her, and ripped the scales from her face one by one, and she died. Outraged at the cruelty of her slow and painful death, the Alteans took up arms, slaughtering the entire village. Supposedly, the Altean was one of my royal ancestors’ lovers or blood relatives. It varies depending on which version you get.”

“I’ve never heard that story.”

“It’s probably made up. Like most of our stories.”

“Ah.” Keith shifts, resting his head properly in Lance’s lap. “We have our own story, though. An Altean was caught robbing the Sil’val’nyme Sepulcher.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the tomb of our first empress, Trija. She brought peace and unity to the many tribes of Daibazaal, and under her reign, the people prospered and were never hungry. It's said that her tomb houses unimaginable treasures unlike anything else in the universe. Whether that’s true or not, the Sil’val’nyme Sepulcher is the most beautiful and sacred place on Daibazaal.”

“I assume the Galra took offense to an Altean trying to rob it?”

“Yes. Yes, they did.” Keith rolls onto his back to look up at his spouse, tail flicking back and forth in curiosity. “Lance?”

“Yes, beloved?”

“Can I- Can I touch your scales?” Keith asks, getting the feeling he might be slightly out of line. “I- I know I’ve touched them before, but can I, like-”

“Explore? Of course.” Lance closes his eyes.

Keith reaches up, brushing his fingertips against the royal blue scales on Lance’s cheek. His eyes widen. “They’re so soft! I thought they’d feel like the shreika, only smaller...”

They’re like flower petals, almost frighteningly thin, delicate- they feel like they could crumble under his touch. These tiny, fragile scales are all that separates Lance from death?

Lance chuckles. “Yeah, they are pretty soft. More like a fluttermural.”

“It hurts if I go the other way, doesn’t it? I was there when Pidge did it one time.”

“Yes, please don’t do that. It does hurt. These scales are quite delicate.”

“Right.” Keith gently brushes the scales with his fingertips, admiring how, with slight pressure, he can get the red iridescence to come more or less into prominence. Lance leans into the touch, and Keith suspects that this is somehow far more intimate than the simple brush of a thumb.

“You once said you have a lot of alchemical power. Does that mean you have a lot of scales?” Keith brushes over the soft scales again. His. This life was his, to care for and protect. He couldn’t believe how easily, how willingly Lance was letting him do this. That trust made his heart swell.

“I do…”

“Can I see?”

“You can see some of them. Others will have to wait.” Lance peels off his wet shirt, letting it drop beside them. He stands, Keith rising with him, eyes roving over lean muscle and sun-kissed skin. Lance glitters in the sun. “We’re alone here, so it’s probably safe, but I don’t want somebody walking by and getting the wrong idea.”

Lance has blue scales curling over his ribs and disappearing beneath his pants in liquid patterns, glittering red, flowing, shifting, stretching as he breathes. They crash against his chest and splash over his shoulders like ocean spray. It’s beautiful to watch, like he’s in motion even as he’s standing still. Like fire and water.

He notices Lance’ belly button. It’s bare skin, surrounded by scales. The Altean shifts, awkward. “That’s, uh-”

“I know what it is.” It’s a piercing, gold, with a diamond on top and five fine, gold chains dangling from the bottom, each ending in a sapphire. “It’s pretty.”

“I felt it looked odd, a naked belly button surrounded by scales. It made me self-conscious, hence the piercing. Of course, if you don’t like it-”

Keith’s hands find Lance’s waist, settling over the ever-so-slight curve of his hips. “I like it. I’m glad you found something to make you feel better about yourself.”

Lance smiles, kisses him. “The sapphires are for my family: my mother, my fathers, my sister, and me.”

“That’s so sweet. Can I be the diamond?”

“Sure,” Lance chuckles. “You can be the diamond.”

Keith grins, moving to see Lance’s back, fingers trailing as he goes. Claws ever so slightly extended, he lets them catch lightly on the scales, listens to the sounds they make. The Altean stays very still, letting Keith do as he likes.

The ocean spray splashes against his shoulders and rolls down his back in shimmering, sunlit blue. He’s nearly covered. “Can I-”

“Of course you can. These scales are yours as well as mine.” Keith’s ears twitch, curious at that sentiment, wondering if that’s some Altean philosophy or if it’s meaningful just to Lance. He doesn’t believe for an instant it’s some meaningless line, but he’s afraid to ask just yet.

Instead, he gently runs the bare pads of his fingers over the smooth scales. He pushes aside Lance’s white hair to see the way the scales splash against the back of his neck. “You can go the other way with these. They’re bigger, so it won’t hurt.”

Keith immediately does, feeling the slight resistance as his fingertips catch on the edges of the scales. Curiosity mostly satisfied, Keith rests his cheek on Lance’s shoulder, feeling the coolness of the scales even through his fur.

“They’re so beautiful. Do a lot of Alteans have this many?”

“No. Most don’t actually. I have more on my legs.” Keith runs a hand down one of Lance's arms, traces the scales dripping down to his hands, slips back up to wrap his own arms around Lance’s middle. Lance’s hands rest over his, a tender embrace. “Coran has hardly any, but he's happy with that. Says he prefers things he can see, but likes being able to pry his nose into Alfor's business.”

“Did you inherit this talent from Alfor?” Keith presses a kiss to a patch of scales, learning the feel of them in every way he can.

“Presumably, yes, but some just have it.”

Keith drops his hands, takes a step back. Now that his curiosity is satisfied, he’s aware of the physical intimacy. He knows what he’s doing, knows he feels safe here in a way he might not have a movement ago. Still, a passerby might think otherwise, might move to protect him from his own spouse. He won’t put Lance in any more danger than he’s already in.

Lance doesn’t let it stand, turns, laces their fingers together. “Come swimming with me?”

Keith presses a grinning kiss to Lance’s lips. “Sure. Let’s go swimming.”

After another kiss.

[witcherdoaks]

Spring Day: Brief Reunion

Word Count: 4,879

Warnings: blood, violence, some gore and the after math of that.

Previous Post in the series: Prologue

Masterlist: Spring Day

“When was the last time you bathed, you heathen?” Yennefer scrunched up her face and brought her sleeve to her nose in disgust. The herbal scent that clung to her clothing served to chase the stench away. Even so, death and despair were hard to get rid of. 

“Nice to see you too, Yen.” Geralt greeted her, unperturbed and rather used to the way he started to reek in recent days. He didn’t bother moving from where he was laying on his back, head on a log, looking up at the clouds. It would downpour heavily after this blasted heat was through. 

“Does it mean anything to you that your trusted stead isn’t willing to come near you?”

“Hmm.” The man glanced at her then in the direction that Roach wandered off after he had dismounted. Maybe he should have found a river earlier. 

The sorceress rolled her eyes, lightly kicking his side to have his gaze back on her. “The next town is only a couple of hours walk. Let’s go.”

Geralt sighed. He was heading there anyway, so he had no reason to object. It was best to get up before Yen started to seriously kick him, he decided. He whistled for Roach, and the mare dutifully trotted in his direction but neighed when he moved closer to her. Yennefer hid her laugh as she walked ahead of them, but otherwise didn’t strike up conversation as they walked. A companionable silence surrounded them. 

The three of them reached a tavern at the heart of the town at which point Geralt told Yennefer he didn’t have the coin to even afford a bath at such a place and was about to turn around to go to one of the smaller establishments in the outskirts of town when Yen snatched the reins from his hands. She continued to ignore him as she took Roach to the horse stable and promptly walked into the building. Those unfortunate enough to be sitting close to their path gagged and scurried away. Witch and Witcher reached the bar counter where the tavern owner was. Like the other humans, he was revolted by the odor rolling off the man, but he worried more about the loss of revenue from having rumors of letting foul smelling people like them into his tavern. 

“Do you have coin?” The man skeptically asked, stopping from cleaning the countertop. 

“No.” Geralt ground out, glaring at the woman beside him. 

“Then I really must ask you two to leave now.”

“My, it seems you don’t recognize my companion despite the many songs composed in his honor.” Yennefer leaned against the counter, looking at the man with predatory amusement dancing in her expression. She was clearly enjoying the exchange. 

The older man frowned and stared at Geralt until he put the pieces together. He gasped and hurriedly shook his head, negating her statement. “By gods, I didn’t realize.”

“Evidently,” The woman flicked an imaginary lint ball from the counter surface.

“Is there anything I could do for you?” The tavern owner nervously wrung the cloth in his hands. 

“Well,” Yennefer drawled, “we were looking for lodging—

“The white wolf can stay here free of charge,” the tavern owner readily agreed. He glanced at Geralt once again, looking him up and down before adding, “We’ll draw up a bath for you immediately!” 

Geralt warily looked at Yennefer’s triumphant gaze. Despite his bettered reputation, not many were keen on giving away handouts, especially not tavern owners that normally charged ridiculous lodging prices. They were offered drinks and food while they waited for his bath to be drawn. Yennefer was all too happy to accept the free service. 

It wasn’t long before they were shown to their room and Yennefer was ordering him to strip and get in the water immediately. The grime which served as second skin reluctantly washed off eventually. In the meantime, Geralt asked the mage why she was doing any of this. Something was happening, and he wanted to know what. 

“This town is plagued by a rampaging bruxa, the poor souls.” She responded, her voice dripping with too much sympathy to be sincere. “Seems like they want you to get rid of them.”

He looked up at her unimpressed, “And you couldn’t deal with it?”

“Of course I could, silly Witcher,” Yen said, dumping another pitcher of water onto his head unceremoniously, “I just didn’t want to. Besides, your bard is in town, sniffing for a new adventure surely.”

Geralt groaned and tried sinking further into the bath. An impossible action given his size. 

“Oh stop that,” she admonished, batting him with a washcloth, “Jaskier is looking forward to it just as much as you.” 

The Witcher raised an eyebrow in question while reaching over for his drink. 

At this she grinned, “We traveled here together.”

“You set this up,” he accused, narrowing his eyes at her as he took a swig of the burning liquid. 

“For free room and board at a decent establishment, how could I not?” The sorceress laughed while she redirected the water Geralt had thrown her way. “I suggest you find Jaskier before going to talk to the town lord. You’ll be interested to know he made a new friend. I believe he’s called Greg.”

Geralt hummed noncomittingly, but wondered who this new person was. Yennefer rolled her eyes at him and dropped the washcloth on his head, standing up and walking toward the door. She grinned at him just before she left the room and said, “Do let me know how it goes.” 

The door closed quietly behind her, leaving Geralt in tepid water. He tipped his head back to chig the rest of his drink. The cloth fell to the ground, soaking up the spilled water around the tub. Deciding he didn't want to prune any further, the witcher stood up out of the bath, water sloshed and dripped everywhere as he reached for a nearby bath towel. Outside of the washroom he found that Yennefer had rummaged through his travel bags and set aside a change of clothes, draping them over the chair near the bed. It was his Manticore ensemble sans the armor. He rifled through the bags and around the room, but the woman had taken his armor and any other alternative, leaving him only the bare essentials when it came to his weaponry. Geralt supposed he didn’t need the other gear until he confirmed the contract and hunted the vampire, yet he would make sure to get Yennefer back for this. 

Once he was dressed and putting on his boots, he thought about whether or not to fetch Jaskier like the sorceress suggested.  If it was a bruxa, Jaskier would either be in the way or in danger. Both were equally likely that they may as well be the same. Knowing the bard, he would be too easily swayed by the charms of the bruxa to even put up a decent fight. That train of thought solidified his decision not to seek Jaskier out until he fulfilled this particular contract; he could always give the man the details, as few as Jaskier complained he was given, later. Geralt doubted he would see him along the way anyway considering the bard would more than likely be in the busiest place in town, drawing up a crowd with his new pal Greg. That or the nearest monastery library, doing extensive reading on anything and everything under the sun for the sake of his music. Geral fastened his weapon scabbards and made his way out of the tavern after asking someone in what direction the lord’s house was located. 

Walking through the town’s cobblestone streets drew whispers and the eyes of the townsfolk. Those that recognized him quickly alerted the others. Children were peeking at him from behind the skirts of their mothers, staring at him with wide saucer eyes, able to tell he was different but not able to pinpoint why. It was their innocent curiosity that was unsettling to Geralt, yet they reminded him of a younger Ciri so he tried not to come off as menacing. He was about to reach the long path leading to the lord’s house when he heard his name being called in the distance. 

Fuck. He had wanted to avoid Jaskier until the contract was over. How the hell did he get discovered so fast? Then again, news travels fast by word of mouth, especially news of a Witcher staying in town. Geralt stopped and turned around to see Jaskier jogging toward him, arm extended above his head to wave. He was wearing a forest green attire with white and gold details, doublet unlaced and revealing his white chemise. 

“Geralt!” The bard smiled once he stood in front, looking over him appreciatively. “Moving away from the all black, I see.” 

Warmth spread up Geralt’s neck, and he did his best to avoid it going on his face, remembering how Lambert used to tease him about the facility with which one could notice his embarrassment given how pale he was. 

“Well, enough of that,” Jaskier motioned, “we have a plump little man to see.”

The walk to the lord’s house was filled with idle chatter, what with Jaskier talking enough for the two of them. Geralt didn’t mind, at some point he went from wanting his companion to shut up for longer than five seconds to considering him a comforting constant during his travels. Geralt only realized this change occurred when Jaskier stopped traveling with him after he yelled at the bard unnecessarily on the mountain that time. He still regretted his words, and Jaskier did eventually forgive him, citing that he needed new material for composing all the while delightfully stroking Roach’s mane. Geralt wouldn’t admit how relieved he had been when Jaskier had agreed to travel with him again. 

“Hmm, a lot bigger than I thought it would be,” Jaskier observed as they neared the gates. 

Armed guards were posted on the outside, though they seemed to be recent hires as they were idly lounging about the entrance with their weapons strewn carelessly on the ground before them. Still, Geralt stopped Jaskier from walking into their striking range should they foolishly decide to attack. 

 “Evening, gentlemen!”

“Whatta ya want, you overgrown shrub?” The man cackled at his own joke while his companion looked to be done with life. 

Jaskier made a discontented sound in his throat, glancing at Geralt before returning his attention to the two men. “We are here to speak with your good lord.”

“Oh, ya mean tha’ fat bas’ard hidin’ in his house while the res’ of us are slaugh’ered,” the man interrupted. 

“Yes?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “Either you let us through or we’ll let ourselves through.”

“Don’ get your pan’ies in a twist, Witcher. We know who ya are,” The same man responded. “Tom, show ‘em in will ya?” 

Tom, a rather lanky man dressed in threadbare clothes, lost some of his despondent expression and stood up. Dusting himself off, he motioned for the two men to follow him. He led them through the gardens to the front entrance, where he called for the bailiff. An adequately dressed man came to the door and greeted them. He was average height and build but did not have that ruggedness of someone that plowed the fields or worked arduously. The new man gave them both a once over, seemingly skeptical of their ability. 

“Welcome,” he finally said, giving Tom instructions not to allow anyone else inside the gates before turning around to walk into the manor. 

Both men took this as their cue to follow through the marble hall and into the drawing room where the bailiff announced their presence. Among the opulence sat he who was the lord of the manor if the gaudy dress was any indication. 

“Ah, Witcher, welcome!” The rotund man spoke, beefy arms opening wide. “I was just about to send word to you.” 

Geralt grunted while Jaskier proceeded to bolster the man’s ego in an attempt to get the best rate out of him. The  gluttonous lord was basking in the compliments with the same gusto he reserved for the feasts he regularly held for himself. When Geralt couldn’t take more of it, he brusquely interrupted, “And the bruxa?”

“Oh, is that what that thing is called?” The lord was clearly put out at the change of subject, face contorting with disdain making him look even more unflattering than he was. “It’s been terrorizing the village peasants for a while now. It’s bad for business when your workers just die, you see.”

Jaskier tensed at the derogatory tone used for both monster and townsfolk while Geralt kept his face impassive, only the clench of his jaw revealed his mounting annoyance. Dealing with Lords and noblemen was infinitely worse than dealing with town folks; they thought they could throw their weight in gold around and everything would be fine. 

“I’ll pay you handsomely if you are able to kill it.”

There was no if about it, Geralt thought. The bruxa was going about killing innocents, not keeping any balance whatsoever if even this pompous lord was concerned enough to pay him to get rid of it. But he would determine that on his own later when he faced the bruxa. 

“That’s what we’re here for!” Jaskier chimed in, throwing his hands in the air in a grand gesture, “Worry not, your vampire infestation will be gone by sunrise. If you’ll excuse us.” 

“Oh, how about you stay here, bard?” The lord quickly suggested, “I doubt you’d be able to do anything against that vile monster anyway.”

“Well, you see —

“He’ll gladly stay,” Gerald interjected, fully expecting the bard to look over at him incredulously. 

“Geralt! —

“Splendid! I’ll throw in a few extra coins if you sing at dinner.” The lord clapped his hands and motioned them out, “You may leave now. The bailiff will show you to the guest rooms.”

Jaskier inclined his head and walked out with Geralt. The bailiff was waiting just outside the drawing room. “What the hell, Geralt? I would much rather have stayed at the town if you were going to ditch me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to survive the night without your adoring fans’ attention,” Geralt replied, rolling his eyes. 

“We’ll see,” Jaskier tsked and proceeded to walk ahead to start a conversation with their guide. 

The three reached the guest quarters, and the bailiff gave Jaskier a rundown of the Manor’s meal schedule and areas where he could explore in the meantime unless he was summoned by the lord. The witcher only half listened; he wouldn’t need to know any of this information anyway. His plans were to return to the tavern and collect his armor from Yennefer in order to start the hunt. He tuned back into the conversation as the bailiff was excusing himself. 

“What’s the real reason I have to stay here?” Jaskier demanded as soon as the bailiff was out of earshot, “And don’t give me that bygone excuse of me getting in the way.”

“It’s dangerous, Jaskier.”

“Pish posh.” The brunette crossed his arms in front of himself, “Life’s dangerous.”

“Well, I would rather you stay alive,” Geralt countered back honestly. “And not die”

This threw Jaskier off his groove, rendering him unable to reply as Geralt continued. “So if you could just stay put for once. I’ll answer all your questions when you get back.”

At that, Jaskier looked at him disbelieving. “You mean answers that are one word or  clipped sentences?”

Geralt sighed, “No Jaskier, you can pester me all you want as soon as I get back.”

Jaskier looked at him suspiciously but nodded regardless. “If you don't, you’ll let me ride on Roach for an entire month.”

“Deal.”

***

A couple of hours later found Jaskier pacing about the chamber room he was to sleep in. Geralt had left shortly after they made their pact and he was going to hunt the bruxa and come back in one piece hopefully. Dinner had been the hassle he thought it would be. Despite the delicious spread before him, he was hardly able to enjoy it as the Lord would request song after song, essentially demanding to be entertained constantly. The bard very nearly tossed the platter of boiled potatoes at the lord. He would have rather been fighting that bruxa himself with how done with the whole evening he was. Damn Geralt for having him stay here; he should've just stayed at the tavern with Yennefer. At least he had a coin purse filled to the brim for his troubles. Still, it was time to get ready for bed and await the witcher’s return in more comfortable clothing.

“Bard!”

Jaskier blearily opened his eyes, making a face at whoever was shaking him awake. He glanced out the room’s window. It was still dark out. “What’s going on?”

“The witcher is waiting for you outside the gates,” the man pushed his belongings at him, hovering over him. “This is terribly rude, but the lord wants you out immediately. I think the witcher insulted him when collecting his bounty.”

“Sounds like him.” Jaskier hurriedly put on his clothing and collected his lute and other items. He bade the bailiff well and quickly walked out of the room to the front entrance, hoping he wouldn't have to interact with the lord any further. The cold night made itself known, biting at him as he stepped out of the manor. Jaskier shivered and held his doublet closed, longing for the warmth of the bedchamber.

The gates squealed open reluctantly when he pushed at them. When he was on the other side of the gates, he couldn’t see Geralt anywhere.

“That arsehole,” Jaskier cursed, thinking the witcher had started walking to town without him, already planning on unleashing his wrath on him. “He deserves what’s coming to him.” 

The more he walked, the more confused he was. The path was fairly straight and unobstructed by trees, so he should have been able to see someone walking in front of him. His vision was top notch too, despite however many times Yennefer teased him about his humanness. 

Jaskier glanced back, no longer able to see the Manor having made a turn. The silence was broken by the sounds of twigs snapping in the forest further in front. The bard turned around, cursing that in his rush he had put his dagger in his lute bag. All the muscles in his body tensed when the rustling of the underbrush grew louder and he could make out a figure in the darkness. Part of him was convinced Geralt was just messing with him. Still he waited as the figure emerged from the forest. 

“Well, well, well, it's the witcher’s bard,” the man that stood guard at the gate from earlier said derisively. His disheveled appearance and that glint in his eye were unsettling in the darkness with only the moon’s glow lighting the path. He had his halberd with him.  

Jaskier tried smiling confidently, but here’s sure it came out more of a grimace. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he heard footsteps behind him. Taking a peak he saw the second guard and two other individuals moving to surround him.

“Look, gentlemen,” he nervously displayed his hands, “I really don’t mean to interrupt your late night plans.”

“Oh, what a shame,” the man shared a conspiratory look with his friends before smiling wickedly at Jaskier, “we were planning on offing the bumbling idiot ourselves and selling off his possessions, but we thought up of a different business adventure, so why don’t you help us out?”

“I really must be going.” 

“ ‘fraid you don’t have a choice anymore, bard,” the man motioned the others closer. “We need you for ransom.”

“Fuck if I don’t,” Jaskier replied, calculating his chances of slipping past the man unscather. The men behind him were also armed with swords. Jaskier’s heart hammered and the feeling that made his insides twist in discomfort intensified as he realized he was clearly outnumbered. He wouldn't go down without a fight. 

It was a tense moment before anyone moved. Jaskier determined none of them actually knew how to use their weapons given the pathetic way in which they were holding them. If he could just slip past them and into the woods, he would be free. 

“Enough waiting! Get him!” 

The men walked toward him, carefully even though he was clearly unarmed. At least they have some sense, Jaskier thought. The next moment occurred so suddenly as Jaskier made a split second decision. There was no time to dig out his dagger from the bag, so he brandished his lute as his only weapon and swung at the closest unsuspecting mad. He winced as his precious lute made contact, thankfully staying intact as it knocked the man to the ground. The other man yelled in anger and swung at him in a blind rage. Jaskier was able to dodge his uncontrolled swing and push him back, but he miscalculated in thinking the first man was knocked out for when he turned to the side to flee the man was already up and slashing. Jaskier had foolishly walked straight into the swinging path of the blade.

Searing pain erupted in his midsection, flesh was no match for sharpened metal. His lute clattered to the ground as he clutched at the wound with his arms. Someone from behind him kicked his back and he went tumbling forward, trying not to make the injury open further.  He screwed his eyes shut as his headband shoulder collided with the dirt path. The same person then kicked him onto his back, revealing the long gash at his abdomen from which blood poured out of, staining his clothes.

“You idiot!” their leader growled, stomping over to knock the man who slashed Jakier to the ground, “Now we can’t use him.”

“Gods, now the witcher will be after us,” Tom’s voice quivered in fear. The man on the ground paled at his words. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Help me,” Jaskier pleaded as another wave of nausea hit him, seeing so much of his own blood gush out. He was practically holding his innards inside himself. 

Tom looked at him in horror and turned around and fled, quickly followed by the man on the ground. 

Their leader cursed and kicked Jaskier, making him yell out in pain, “Bloody useless all of you.”’ He started to walk off after Tom. 

“Shouldn’t we kill him? Prevent the Witcher from knowing we did it?” The last of the group lingered near Jaskier called out, drawing his sword anew. 

“Leave him, the animals will get to him or the bloodloss. Whatever comes first.”

Jaskier didn’t try to get their attention again, determined to stay alive until Geralt or help arrived. His vision was swimming, so he shut his eyes and made sure the men were far enough away before he inched his way  to the underbrush to stay somewhat hidden. To his horror there was a trail of blood leading up to him. Now that he was situated under some cover, the effects of his injuries compounded. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he was getting cold. There was so much blood. 

***

The witcher let out a string of curses just as the bruxa’s head hit the ground. He glanced down at his body where his wounds were. Five gashes made their way from his lower ribs to his hips and more littereed his legs where the bruxa tried to disable him. When he wiped his brow, his hand came back with blood and sweat; his eyes stinging as a result. He cursed some more as he put away his weapons and retrieved the head, needing proof of his kill. All that was left was to head back to the manor and collect both the bard and his money. 

The road back to the manor was as desolate as it had been on the way to the hunt. There was still something unsettling about the night, which he had pushed aside earlier as his imagination and knowing there was a bruxa in the area. He noted the night was oddly silent, no screech owls preying on unsuspecting rodents and no wolves howling at the wind. The path before him seemed to stretch incredibly long. Maybe he should have brought Roach to have been able to get back to the Manor faster, but it really was unfair to not allow her to rest. 

His ears picked up a commotion, but he thought nothing of it, probably just some wild animals moving through the forest. Soon he was near the manor, and the gnawing feeling that something was wrong intensified. It was then that Geralt smelled the metallic scent of blood and drew his steel sword, not willing to take chances with his injury, and continued his trek more cautiously. Eventually he could discern a blood trail in the direction of the forest line, which he followed. 

“Geralt,” a weak voice flitted through the air, “that you?”

 And then much more softly as if unintended,  “Gods, I hope it isn’t some wild animal.”

Geralt lowered his weapon, and moved closer to the dense underbrush on the side of the path. The sword he had been carrying clattered to the ground when he dropped it and rushed to the bard. Jaskier was lying face up, leaning his head on a shrub and clutching at his abdomen. The bloodied scent was strongest where he was, and the dark stains on his clothes were telling; he had been there long enough for it to seep through his clothes and onto the ground. Immediately Geralt leaned down and gathered the bard into his arms. He was freezing to the touch.

“Everything is spinning, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured, burying his head further into the crook of his neck. The jostling movement unsettled him further as Geralt ran as fast as he was able to. “so hazy, and ‘m cold.”

“We’re almost to the town,” he lied, trying to comfort the man in his arms. The witcher suppressed a wince from the pain shooting through his own injuries with every step he took. He’d had much worse, but the bard was turning a worryingly pale shade making his lips seem blue and had started to break out in cold sweat a while ago. His breaths came in shorter intakes now. Geralt didn't remember the path to town being this long. Silence between them stretched an unsettling amount of time.  

“Jaskier!” the bard made unintelligible sounds. “Stay awake, talk to me.”

“The kugh.”

“What?”

“Coast.” Jaskier tiredely enunciated. “ ‘never did go to the coast.”

The end of his statement came out in one short breath, without his enhanced hearing Geralt was sure he wouldn’t have heard it. Then the bard went fully limp in his arms and panic bubbled up inside of Geralt. He tried to get a response out of Jaskier to no avail. He cursed when he could faintly make the town’s outline in the distance. At least they were close by now. 

If there were people out on the streets they would see him carrying the bard's dying body in his arms, unbridled panic and despair defining his usually stoic face. He didn’t care. He sprinted to get to the tavern, kicking the door open and frightening the few people who were up at this hour. People screamed when they saw the bloodied Witcher.

“Yennefer!” Geralt yelled, making his way further into the room. The tavern owner dashed up the stairs to fetch the woman while Geralt carefully placed Jaskier on a nearby table. It felt like an eternity before the sorceress appeared beside him, pushing him away to assess the damage. There was a long gash through the bard's stomach. His intestines were visible at the deepest portion. 

“You have to help him.” Geralt pleaded, not taking his eyes away from Jaskier’s face. 

“Jaskier!” She yelled at the man below her, checking for a pulse. No response; his pulse was weak and waning. “You stupid bard, you can’t die now.”

Yennefer did her best to heal him, mending the wound together and covering his organs once again, yet his breaths were shallower every second and he was still unresponsive. They were too late. “He’s lost too much blood already.”

“No.” Geralt refused to listen. “You’re wrong.”

“There’s nothing I can do.” Yennefer’s voice broke, staring at her bloodied hands and refusing to watch as life left the bard’s body. “Geralt, I’m sorry.”

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

Next post in the series: Ghost

[mintchocohip]

Can I request Jm wears only an oversized shirt saying 'take me', u notice his lips, u see jm applied smth on his lips. He hides it, u invade his space & his breath hitches, arms around his waist, he closes his eyes expectantly. U steal the tube, he's embarrassed as u read it out loud"Lip plumper...tinted". U say "Baby, u don't need this" he explains his lips are 'small' & he wants them bigger, shyly adding, maybe u would kiss/makeout with him more. U place him on the counter & makeout with him.

yes you can! how cute.  💫  pairing: jimin x reader  |  notes: just fluff   

When you wake up cold, you reach out an arm into the darkness, and try to find Jimin’s warmth.

Your hand slides over empty sheets. Sleep-worn eyes peek open, and adjust to the shadowed shape Jimin left in the blanket.

He’s in the bathroom.

You know he is.

The past seven days have followed a loosely defined schedule: you wake up to find Jimin ready to go, before quick mornings of fooling around turn into long hours of tourism under the crisp autumn sunshine, and longer evenings of drinks down leaf-strewn streets, dancing, shows, and exhausted footsteps making their way up spiraling staircases. By chance, none of the hostels and apartment rentals you and Jimin have slept in from Bucharest to Barcelona had a working elevator.

“Why have you been waking up so early?” You asked the question when you found Jimin sipping a coffee in the hostel’s cozy communal area yesterday morning. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’m just excited for the day.”

A mattress wrapped up in sheets that smell like lavender creaks, and you roll over onto an elbow. Pale white light is shining around the shape of the bathroom door. 

“Can I come in?” A few light footsteps in fuzzy slippers stop you in front of the door. To your side, you can see the coffee cup from yesterday perched on the room’s small, low table. Jimin looked so fresh, sitting in that armchair; surrounded by old magazines and bright plants―rosy cheeked, rosy lipped, dewy; with glowing hair, and a voice that hummed with a rasp. You waited to jump him until he’d wandered upstairs, and finished the coffee.

“Y/N? Oh―” Something clatters over the sink. “Come in.”

Hinges creak open, thin light washes over onto the bedroom floor, and you take a step inside the tiny cubicle of a bathroom. Your eyes immediately drop down. Jimin is leaning back on the standalone porcelain sink. A soft hem has ridden up over his knees, and exposed a thin hint of muscle and smooth, tan skin. You’re certain staircase after staircase has made Jimin’s thighs thicker.

The forest green color of the shirt sliding shapes of shadow and light down the front of his body is unrecognizable. Did he buy it when we were shopping? You wonder―Has it been buried in his luggage? Jimin was wearing a pair of simple black pajama shorts when he fell asleep. Maybe he felt comfier trading something on his bottom half for something on his top half. You don’t question Jimin’s insatiable appetite for comfort. 

When your eyes slide up, blocky print across Jimin’s chest greets you in tiny, precise black letters.

TAKE ME.

You blink. You’re half-awake, and you’re sure you could just be reading TALENT or TAMPA,FL and mixing it up into something you want to see. A few more blinks, and TAKE ME doesn’t morph away.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” A surprised smile bursts onto your face, and grows. You step forwards to flip your finger up under the hem of the shirt. Loose fabric swims in the light. You give it a flick, and the swimming light puffs down Jimin’s stomach and towards the hand he’s swiping down to push your fingertips away too late. “Like I don’t do that whenever I want to?” Gliding up from Jimin’s chest, you notice the elbow jutting out from behind his back, before settling your warm gaze on his swallowing throat and strangely shy face.

It’s so cute when he gets shy. You pull your hand away from the enticing heat of his thigh, and blink slowly at Jimin’s lips. He never really gets shy anymore.

His lips glint.

You squint.

The glint isn’t going anywhere. 

You aren’t sure if your freshly woken senses are heightened by the bright light. Somebody is opening a store grate down on the street, and a chair is creaking downstairs. Everything is sensitive, and raw.

But Jimin’s lips look brighter than normal. Rosier, and shinier. 

It looks like he just got out of the sauna, or glanced up from between your legs.

Jimin is staring at your eyes. The fact that you’re hypnotized by how flushed he looks is obvious. Fascination draws you in. A hand rests down on Jimin’s hip. Your eyelids lower, and a foggy darkness lets you see Jimin closing his eyelids and parting his lips before your vision falls black. 

You saw the whimper forming before you heard it. When your nose grazes against his cheek, and your lips are so close it tingles and tickles━a shiver from Jimin’s stomach rises up and brushes against you. Through two thin layers of fabric, your chests are pushing together. 

The hand on his hip drifts away, your arm slides behind Jimin’s curving back, and you pluck a small tube unlacing from his instantly relaxing fingers.

“Limp plumper?” Your lips are speaking over Jimin’s as you put a hand on his chest, and lean back. You could smell it when you leaned in. Chemical; but sweet, and tart, like sugar-coated lemon candy. The stilted gasp from Jimin hits after a few seconds. In the corner of your eye, you can see his eyes opening slowly under helplessly raised eyebrows. “Tinted?”

You’re staring to the side. The tube of gloss in your hand hovers over white tiles. Reading off fine text on the cranberry-tinted glass Jimin dropped into your palm, you stroke the emblazoned words on his chest with your thumb, and glance up and down a liquid filled with tiny bubbles.

When you furrow your eyebrows and glance up to meet his gaze, Jimin immediately drops his eyes to the floor.His heartbeat is pattering under your hand.

“Baby.” You take a step back, and lower your gaze, too. Concern is filling your thin, soft voice. “You don’t need that.” Jimin has never done anything to change himself for your attention━he doesn’t have to. To you, he’s perfect.

“Sometimes…” The toes of your slippers are almost touching Jimin’s sandals. You take another step back, and give Jimin’s wash of shyness some space to breathe. One of his hands has settled on the edge of the sink. His finger is skimming over the sheen, before tapping down, and stopping. “My lips are too small,” he tilts a gaze at you, “right?”

“Your lips?” Your whole body straightens up. Disbelief makes you smile, shake your head, and whine out a long sigh. “Jimin…” 

Jimin has the poutiest―flushest, softest and most kissable―lips you’ve ever had the joy of knowing. 

“Your lips are perfect, baby―” the fact that Jimin needs to hear this almost makes you choke up. “They’re beautiful.”

“Maybe if they were bigger,” Jimin’s voice is falling quieter, and quieter. “You would make out with me more.”

“Oh?” 

The realization is slow.

The realization is guilty.

It’s true.

When you want Jimin, kisses on his shoulders and throat while hands pull down his clothes are a flash of seconds. After that, the rest of your body speaks for you. Pauses for tongue are always initiated by Jimin. They’re always cut off by the need to pant in fresh air, and pin Jimin back into the sheets.

Memories of your first few weeks with Jimin are cozy, and deep. 

You could lose time kissing him, back then―in the back of the empty movie theater, on a blanket by the river while the cute ice cream scoops you bought dripped down your fingers; sitting on a bench outside the museum like the pigeons really wanted to see the two of you twist pretzels around each other.

It’s been so long since you gave yourself time to kiss Jimin until he’s trembling.

You clinked the lip plumper down onto the sink. You can see Jimin glance at it.

As your fingertips patter up Jimin’s thighs, the movement turns his eyes. When they meet your tense, purposeful gaze, you’re watching his eyes widen.

Hiking up the hem of his shirt enough for your hands to slip under it, you find the crest of Jimin’s adonis belt, and trace a dip and groove down. A hand pulls down the front of Jimin’s shirt modestly―Where in the world is this modesty coming from? You were walking around naked last night with the shutters open―and your revelations are compounding.

He wanted to surprise me.

The shirt.

The plumper.

The shyness.

Is that why he’s been waking up so early? To make himself look nice for me?

Your cheeks are flushing. 

Licking your lips, you feel them lift up into a weightless smile. My baby wants some attention. You’re so confident in that statement, you’re almost muttering it out as you lean forwards to kiss Jimin’s throat. The kiss is soft, and slow, and your tongue hints out to taste the clean smoothness of Jimin’s skin.

Don’t worry, baby. This isn’t going to be another quickie.

I’m going to take my time.

Any trace of tension in Jimin’s body is disappearing back into the sink, as you gently suggest his body back with knuckles trailing down his cool, goose-pimpled forearms. His hands are trying to find your waist, but your hands are sliding under his thighs.

“Wait―” Jimin gasps, as you grab down, lean in close, and hike his body up―“I’ll break the sink.”

“You’re small, aren’t you?“ You nuzzle away from Jimin’s throat, and smile out the words as the muted sound of fabric on a smooth surface greets Jimin’s ass sliding back. His legs wrap onto your hips on instinct, and his hands fumble back around the sink’s rim. “I think the sink will be fine.”

The first glimmer of a glare slides over Jimin’s eyes. It fades as the bare hint of a smile appears on his red lips. His thinning eyes slide down to where the insides of his thighs have been left exposed; pulling against you, and disappearing under the folds of your pajama shirt and the curve of your waist. 

When you find his lips, Jimin’s thick swallow is interrupted, and he loses his breath into it.

He tastes amazing. That’s always the first thing you notice. 

Today, that flavor is heightened by the sweet damp still flavoring his lips. Jimin tastes sweet, and sour, and crisp, and everything is hypersoft between the jagged lines of his teeth. You can’t help tracing those teeth as a tease, before meeting the motionless, waiting tongue in his open mouth that he needs you to press against.

Your hands have moved onto Jimin’s hips. Stroking them slowly, you glide down a thigh, before sliding your other hand up the gentle curve of his spine.

The fact that his lips have been made delicious and pouty is impossible to ignore. It’s unique, it’s new, and while you don’t dislike it―you don’t need it. You want the way you can feel him fluttering with butterflies with every tiny twitch of his jaw, and you want the soft moans that hum behind his nose. 

A glint of light catches behind your closed eyelids. The warmth of Jimin’s chin and cheeks and tongue are sliding, and you know he’s hoping you’ll find a new angle as his eyes shift behind in response behind closed eyelids. 

“But―” the moment your lips shift to get lost in him, Jimin gasps, and draws back. “Can you…” he swallows hard. “Can you tell me?”

“Tell you?”

“My lips…”

Right.

You already told him exactly how much you love their natural glow; but, he was probably too flustered to really hear it.

“Your lips are beautiful, Jimin. I’ll kiss whatever you give me, but…” you spill out your thoughts. “I don’t want you to change them for me. I don’t need you to change them for me. Kissing you is about so much more than how you look, or how your lips feel―” Jimin is flicking his hazy eyes from your lips, up to your coolly closing eyes. “Let me show you what I mean.”

Your whisper hums into a smile, before you nudge back against his slightly parted lips, and immediately dive in. 

One final thought is quickly handled, before you extinguish your questions and move with the moment: 

You wonder if Jimin will want to stay curled up in the warmth of the hostel, as this cold morning turns into a wind-whipped evening. So that you can spend all day kissing him, and touching him, and remind him exactly how he makes you feel.  

[maotranslates]

Chapter 2

Novel: Life Going Wild With Plug-ins 带挂装逼, 最为致命 by Shi Zi Qing 十字卿

PREVIOUS / TABLE OF CONTENTS / NEXT

I motioned to the shopkeeper to help me pack him up and leave, and when looking back, I found that person staring at me with open eyes, clear and full of contrast.

So it turns out he wasn’t sleeping.

Nightrunner had a set of registration procedures, which were rather annoying, and had to be confirmed with me numerous times. After handling this process, I waved at that person:

"Let's go."

The expressions of everyone around me seemed rather shocked, and someone muttered: “He is injured so heavily, and has been lying down for so many days, how can he just go when told to go? He’s really met a master just as heartless as the previous one……” 

That person staggered to the wall and got up, shifting his steps closer to me, having an even harder time walking than I was. As he took a break every two steps, I waited very patiently while holding my sleeves.

It took one incense stick’s time to get out of the inn.

It took another one cup of tea’s time to walk past the Shaxian snack shop.

And it took yet another quarter of an hour to walk to the city entrance.

Even my very slow-tempered self felt slightly bothered.

Me: "Can't you walk faster?"

The Shadow Guard's body shook, and he trembled as he knelt down: "This servant ...... is incompetent …… Master, please punish me as you wish."

His voice was hoarse, and every word seemed to be difficult to say.

Could it be?! An idea suddenly flashed through my brain and I felt very smart as I asked, "Are you in pain?"

"I don’t dare." The shadow guard took a deep breath.

"Then let's go." I guess I was wrong......I embarrassedly rubbed my nose, then watched him take a long, long time to get up and continue walking.

After moving two more steps like a snail, I stopped.

I actually had no idea where I should go and what way is good.

The letter only wrote about the task of buying a Shadow Guard, and since I already bought one, I felt that my life goals had already been accomplished, and that I had no concerns.

While meditating on this, I also rubbed my stomach, and the wave of pain made me frown.

"Master ……are you feeling unwell?" The Shadow Guard keenly perceived that something was wrong.

"I've been conspired against, and I don’t have long left to live." I sighed in frustration.

The Shadow Guard was shocked, and said in a low voice, "This servant has committed an offense." Thus, he took up my hand.

Hey, why is a grown man feeling my hand?

The Shadow Guard held my wrist and blanked out for a while, then bowed his head and said, "This servant is incompetent ……I cannot detect Master’s sickness."

I don't blame you, this place is really too sinister.

I gave the Shadow Guard a look full of expectation, waiting for him to guide the direction of my life. The Shadow Guard was baffled by my stare and did not speak for a long time.

Sigh, what are you useful for?

"What am I supposed to do now?" I asked complacently.

The Shadow Guard was suddenly a little nervous, considered it for quite a while, then very cautiously said, "I can only rely on Master’s command."

I only asked you because I have no idea uh…… 

I thought about it, and put it another way: "Ordinary people, what would they do around this time?"

The Shadow Guard went through another internal struggle: "The common people, they would have supper at this time."

Oh right right right, exactly this. I recalled that the physical body indeed needs a daily meal, and feeling reassured, I said, "I’ll leave it to you."

"Yes." The Shadow Guard answered, but didn’t do anything.

The Shadow Guard waited for a while, then raised his head and looked at me.

I also looked at him.

He looked back at me.

The Shadow Guard’s complexion became a bit complicated, and he hesitantly started to speak: "This servant……this servant has just come out of Nightrunner, and with me???? I don’t……have any......"

"I know." Didn't we come out together? Do I look like I have amnesia?

"......" The Shadow Guard looked at me complicatedly for a while, and then said, "Yes. This servant understands."

Then he slowly moved away.

Was it an illusion, or why did he walk slower than even the ordinary people? He should also have taken physical body operation lessons.

I crouched by the river, silently waiting for the sun to go down behind the mountains, and gradually felt that the very poisonous attacks in my body were becoming worse… So painful, oh my god, ​​I’m gonna die, gonna die gonna die gonna die gonna die gonna die.

"Master." Finally hearing the call, I turned my head and saw a staggering figure, walking towards me with a cloth bag. Getting near, he slowly spread the bag on the floor.

I looked at him in the afterglow of the setting sun. Hey, why was there so much water on his face, and also so much mysterious red liquid emerging through his clothes?

I reached out my finger and poked the small fountain.

The Shadow Guard took a breath of air, his face twisted, looking extremely in pain.

I didn't understand what he was in pain for.

"It hurts?" I looked at him with a good-natured smile.

The Shadow Guard clenched his teeth and said, "No."

Alas, I guessed wrong again, I’ve lost.

This loss was very momentary, because I was immediately distracted by the aroma in the bag, and the smell seemed magical, making me feel tickly.

I smelled this flavor in the experience class!!

This, it couldn’t be, the legendary, food!!!

"I'm very… sorry... I only got a pheasant and a few wild fruits, and roughly cooked it, you..."

In our civilization, it is said that food will be addictive. It is similar to drugs, very dangerous, and once you start you cannot stop. This is because you can only eat with a physical body, and maintaining the physical body is a very luxurious activity, let alone controlling the body to eat.

Yet my hands, not even being controlled, reached out as if bewitched.

The Shadow Guard who just turned back with two newly broken branches looked in amazement at the sight of me eating, whispering, "Master, chopsticks..."

Chopsticks, hehe, don't play with me, how would I know such a difficult operation?

Like a strong wind scattering the last clouds, I cleared the roasted pheasant and wild fruits and shed tears out of excitement.

Ancestors are awesome! The physical body is awesome! Wuwuwu.*

*wuwuwu = “cute” crying noises

After finishing everything, I saw the Shadow Guard mutely staring at me, and coughed in embarrassment. Oh no, I forgot to leave some for him, he is also a human, and also needs to eat...

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

The Shadow Guard painfully shook his head.

Oh, not hungry... why do I keep guessing wrong, so depressing.

So it turns out the Shadow Guard doesn’t need to eat, so impressive, really very awesome.

At this time I just realized that the on and off pain in my abdomen had disappeared, and was replaced with a kind of comfortable satisfaction. It dawned on me that the Shadow Guard must have secretly put medicine in the food.

I looked at him sincerely.

The Shadow Guard fell on his knees, "Master, forgive me! This servant could only find this...!"

Sigh... am I that scary ...

I helped him up, then returned to a situation where I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I could only question, "Let me ask you, what do ordinary people do at this time?"

"Master, forgive me!" He fell on his knees again, "It is time for Master to sleep, this servant should die."

Why does me sleeping mean you have to die? I didn’t understand and frowned. "Where to sleep?"

"This servant is ignorant, I didn’t know Master..." He hesitated for a while, "I don't know which family’s residence the Master is from and how to go back."

I thought about it and said, "I'm not from any family and don’t have anywhere to go back."

"...Sorry, this servant has overstepped his boundaries." The Shadow Guard’s complexion looked blue, bewilderedly asking, "Then tonight... rest at the inn?"

"Then let's go."

The Shadow Guard wore a complicated expression and walked with difficulty ahead, and I leisurely followed while humming a little tune.

It was just that oil kept dripping from the side of my mouth, and feeling a little helpless, I reached out my sleeve and wiped it. It was still sticky, not very comfortable, but much better than before.

The Shadow Guard’s expression while looking at me became even more strange for some reason.

There were groups of two or three people eating in the hall of the inn. I looked at them, then thought about the other people I met today, and looked at the Shadow Guard again.

Hm... I keep thinking... The Shadow Guard is not quite the same as everyone else.

Other people's clothes are pieces by pieces of cloth, even if the style is simple, they are neat.

Why are the Shadow Guard’s clothes full of streaks with ragged edges, and blackened and dirtied?

I remember that in my previous fashion history classes, in some eras people would specially make cuts in their jeans to make them look old, which was a trend of the time.

The Shadow Guard is probably keeping up with the fashion trend of this era.

No wonder people keep looking at him and pointing him out.

Although I don't like this tattered postmodern style of clothing, it is clearly a difference between other people and me, I have no right to interfere with other people’s preferences. This creator god is really very democratic.

The owner of the inn came up, looked up and down at my clothes, his gaze stopping at the jade pendant on my waist several times. He smiled until his eyes became narrow, and when he saw my face, the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch.

"Uh, honored guest, are you staying at the inn? What room do you want, how many?"

I felt a little complicated, not knowing how to answer. I could only look at the Shadow Guard.

"One room.” The Shadow Guard’s tone was a bit hesitant, “......how about …...a principal room.” 

Wait a minute, it couldn’t be that he had never stayed at an inn before either?

"Okay~" The boss agreed and looked at the Shadow Guard, full of smiles.

The Shadow Guard looked at me.

Hm? Why are you looking at me?

After waiting for a while, the boss quietly reminded: "Honored guest, first pay a deposit...?"

  ……Oh! I understand! Asking for money! But that’s fucking useless, I don’t have money.

After the Shadow Guard regarded me with a complicated expression, he took a deep breath, as if making a determination, then turned back and said, "Boss, bring a pen and paper."

Hearing this, the boss arranged it for him. When the Shadow Guard finished writing, the boss looked and his whole body shook, his expression becoming extremely respectful.

"So it is that lord's... Waiter! Quickly send these two noble guests upstairs!"

Eh! Writing can be spent as money! My Shadow Guard is so great!

I glanced at the Shadow Guard with admiration, intending to wait until we arrived in the room to praise him, but his complexion suddenly became very unsightly.

The boss finished arranging the room and looked at the Shadow Guard while whispering, "Young master, your follower’s wounds are not light, should I call a doctor?"

I frowned and looked at the Shadow Guard: "Who told you he was hurt?"

Unexpectedly, when I just finished speaking, the boss knelt down in fear. "My humble self has spoken too much! I should die! Young master, please spare my life!"

…..why are each and every one of you like this? Why are you all forcibly acting like I’m a serial killer...

I went into the room depressed, and saw the bed I had once seen in a museum. In our civilization, the source files of consciousness are stored in network containers while we rest, so the idea that such a simple wooden board in front of me could restore physical strength is seriously amazing.

Do I just lie down on it...

"I deeply apologize for my incompetence, with this unwise decision, you can only stay for two or three days ...Master, please punish me."

I frowned: "You did pretty well, I was even going to praise you."

The Shadow Guard’s face was deathly pale.

I sat on the bed and shook it a few times, finding that the bedding was actually soft, when I saw the Shadow Guard conscientiously crouching in the corner. "What are you doing over there?"

"...I apologize for my incompetence, this servant is a Shadow Guard, who should be guarding the Master in an unseen place, not obstructing the owner's eyes. But... my lowly body is very unsuitable, without the strength to jump on the roof beams..."

Oh, was my Shadow Guard born with a disability?

Being disabled and still engaging in a high risk occupation as a bodyguard, this really must be a strong will in a disabled body.

I smiled at him approvingly. The Shadow Guard fell in fear.

"Won’t you come up?" I patted the quilt.

"...I won’t." The corners of the Shadow Guard’s mouth twitched.

It seems that he likes crouching in the corner and doesn’t like sleeping in bed. I never force anyone to do anything, so I let him be, pulling the covers over me and lying down.

The jewelry I wore jingled together, wearing both gold and jade... it was really pressing quite uncomfortably and unbearable.

I recalled today's unfavorable situation and did not feel very great. I am the creator god of this world, coming here with a plug-in, thinking I would be a big plug-in user who could cover the sky with one hand. Instead, unable to find the golden finger switch, I am just a little defeated thing that is not even as good as the common people.

I don't know what can support me to survive in this sinister Jianghu.* I don’t have a friend in the world, not even two sticks to rub together, what’s left is only... my... good looks… sigh.

*Jianghu = land of rivers and lakes, the martial world

After reaching this place, I couldn't help but feel depressed.

PREVIOUS / TABLE OF CONTENTS / NEXT

[rosedavid]

Could you do a thing where TJ and Cyrus are on an ice cream date, TJ gets ice cream on his nose, and Cyrus just finds it really adorable? I just want something as sweet and fluffy as cotton candy lol.

this is SO cute omg!!! thank you!

…

“No, that is so wrong! How could you do that?!” TJ gasps, watching as Cyrus bites straight into his ice cream cone. 

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t just bite into an ice cream cone! That’s like, morally wrong.”

Cyrus laughs, taking another bite playfully. “It’s more efficient! If you wait to lick it all, it just melts all over your hands.”

“But that’s half the fun of it!”

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon. The temperature has finally started to warm up to summer heat. In order to celebrate, TJ gathered Cyrus for an impromptu ice cream date to cool off. Now, after getting their ice cream, they’re strolling along the banks of the river that runs through the edge of town. Along the grass, dozens of families picnic together, also enjoying the warmth of the day. 

Cyrus and TJ hold sweaty hands, swaying gently between them as they debate the exact mechanics behind ice cream. Of course, their ice cream flavors they bought also seem to match their personalities. Cyrus, with his plain vanilla, and TJ with his layers of chocolate ice cream encasing brownie, fudge, and cookie dough pieces. 

 “I just don’t understand how your favorite flavor of ice cream is vanilla,” TJ exclaims. “I mean, why would you choose something like vanilla or strawberry or chocolate when things like this ChocoBurst Extreme exist!”

Cyrus protests, “Vanilla is the original. It’s simple yet delicious.”

“Agree to disagree, Underdog.”

It’s days like this that are perfect to Cyrus. Lazy days with nowhere to be, not running off the time on his phone. Days where he and TJ can fully enjoy each other’s company without the pressures of school or work or anything else. Just the two of them facing the world together. 

Cyrus glances over at his boyfriend. TJ’s green eyes reflect in the sun, nearly matching the color of the grass beneath their shoes. The freckles on his nose have started to peek out from the exposure to the sun. Also, just as Cyrus expected, a trail of melting ice cream drips from the cone down onto his hand. Then, as TJ is finishing off the last few bites of his cone, he accidentally smashes it too enthusiastically toward his mouth. Some of the ice cream smears across his nose messily, making Cyrus giggle. 

“What?” TJ asks, face completely covered in chocolate. “Did I get something on my face?”

Luckily, Cyrus always comes prepared. He hands TJ a bunch of napkins for him to wipe his face and hands off with. In the end, though, he still manages to miss the spot on the tip of his nose. It’s completely adorable and endearing, for some reason. 

“Why are you still giggling?” TJ wonders. “Did I miss a spot?”

Cyrus reaches up with another napkin to gently dab the end of his nose clean. TJ blushes.

“I can’t believe I got ice cream on my nose,” he groans, hiding his face partially. “That’s so embarrassing!”

“I think it’s cute,” Cyrus teases softly, squeezing his hand. “Everything you do is adorable.”

“You’re adorable,” TJ counters, tickling Cyrus’s side. 

Cyrus squeals, jerking away. In an instant, TJ uses a finger to swipe up a bit of ice cream left in Cyrus’s cone and bops his nose, covering it in the cold, melting liquid. 

“Teej!” Cyrus laughs, going to wipe it off.

Before he can reach for a napkin, though, TJ leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. Cyrus turns beat red as he pulls back inquisitively.

“Vanilla is still boring,” TJ declares with a smirk.

Still reeling from what just happened, Cyrus sputters out, “You’re wrong and you know it!”

TJ laughs, throwing his head back. He then wraps his arm around Cyrus as they continue walking along the water. All and all, it turns out to be a pretty amazing day.

[royal-writer]

In the Claws of Death

I don’t like the rushed pace of this one. But I’m busy, and don’t feel like fixin it.

We’ll camp here for tonight, he’d said. Yes, because there was nothing better than climbing out of a rickety wooden carriage ride and into the soggy mud as a downpour came down upon them from the heavens. No thunder, no lightning; just a waterfall of rain that appeared to have no end. Luke warm and sticky as humidity clung to the night as it had to the day. It no was no longer leaving a refreshing odor of a summer rain and now reeked only of dirty people and one very soaked dog.

There would be no fire tonight. Setting up the tents would be a nightmare, and even if they managed to hold them together where they wouldn’t collapse from the storm they were going to get wet inside. It was like a monsoon, and they were going to float away with it.

“Can we not ride on until the rain settles?” Essätha whined. She huddled herself into a ball, with raindrops dripping from her hair and down her cheeks and chin.

“I don’t wish to be washed off the road,” Abernathy disagreed, encouraging the sodden ponies to follow the trail towards the campsite.

“Perhaps we should rest in the wagon? And try pitching cover of it then?”

“You afraid of getting more wet?” Penimra moped. “We’re already practically sitting in filthy bathwater, in our attire. What’s the point?”

“The point is that I don’t want to get off this, and into that,” she declared, jabbing a figure down into the liquid soil that was engulfing their wheels. No longer able to budge, and their horses beginning to huff and snort with exhaustion and agitation for all their hard work.

Caesar’s tail began to slap against her leg in a spray of water. With a grumble of displeasure, she held an arm up to cover her face as Maestro trudged through the muck over to the side of the cart. The reason for the large dog’s excitement sitting astride the dark beast.

“We should try to take shelter beneath the trees,” Amon advised. “Their foliage will offer us some protection and the root systems will have firmer ground to keep the cart from washing away.”

“Alright,” Abe relented. “I guess that’s the best we can do for now.” With a click of his tongue and flick of the reigns, the two horses surged forward. Straining themselves as their hooves sank into the dirt, trying their hardest to haul the cart and all its weight from the sludgy terrain. The cart did not move, nor did it rock in its immobile state.

“I’m still not getting out of the wagon to sleep on that,” Essie muttered, crossing her arms in front of her chest as the mastiff leaned over the edge and into her; reaching out his snout to his master.

“Well it looks like we’ll all have to get out, and give the cart a push,” Abe suggested.

“Wonderful.”

Amon offered a sympathetic smile. His facial hair and dark lock drenched, and hanging limply. He extended a hand to stroke the side of Caesar’s face as Maestro shifted closer to the wagon. His one free hand gripped to his cloak; pulling up the edge until it held over Essätha’s head.

She offered him an endearing smile of gratitude. No sooner then she did however, heavy drops of water dripped through the dense fabric, and upon her nose and hair.

Her face soured.

A raspy chuckle emitted from the Illiad Lord. He tried his best to cover it, clearing his throat as he pulled back cloak to let it fall with a wet, sloppy sound against the fabric of his jerkin. One leg swung over the dark mare’s side, as he made to slide off into the river of brown beneath.

“I was trying my best, my dear.”

“I know you were; I’m not making the face at you,” she sighed, placing one leg over the wheel of the wagon. She swallowed tentatively, looking down at the mud sure to swallow her up the moment she stepped off.

Amon patted his equine's side. The gentle mare gave a shake of her wet head, and stepped aside with a whinny. It provided him room to maneuver around her, and reach out to place his hands on Essie’s waist as she lurched forward uncertainly.

“No Caesar, stay.”

The great hound whimpered, having been leaning over the edge of the wagon in a manner that intended to launch himself off. Instead, he ended up sinking back down into the cart with an unpleasant huff. His ears heavy with water, drooped lower than normal as he pouted pitifully up at his master. The mud-river was clearly made for dogs, and he was being punished without reason.

Ignoring the sulky pout of his pooch, Amon held a soft smile as he cradled her close. His hands careful steady as he murmured: “Just hold on to me, I’ve got you.”

Offering a meek little nod, Essie wrapped her arms around his neck and slid off the edge of the wagon.

Just as promised, Amon kept a firm but gentle grasp to her waist. He was a solid wall. Confident and proud; knowing his strength and lacking the arrogance one could easily fall into owning it. His arms were reliable and safe. Protective and trustworthy. And as her boots sank into the mud he held her still; soft breath close, dark gaze hovering just above her lashes. Gloomy clouds may lie above, but the stars came out tonight regardless in his eyes.

His smile curved broad. Distractedly handsome. She had to fight off her own desires with more will then she thought herself capable not to fall into his chest. Let the night melt away with her problems and the storm, and they would be shielded and happy, together.

The nobleman held his secrets on his tongue. Feeling stronger; more understanding, more sincere; he credited it all to her. The world felt different beside her. Tasted of hope and joy all anew, and gave him his fortitude.

Essätha slid her arms timidly from around suitor and cleared her throat. An undeniable heat burned her face as she dropped her hands awkwardly at her side, standing a bit stiff.

“No lovebirds canoodling on the cart!”

“We aren’t on the cart!” she hissed, tossing a glare Adela’s way.

The tiefling shrugged, curling her tail around like a sly cat at play. She kept an impish smile even as she dragged her attention away from them, and stepped around to the back of the vehicle.

With a roll of her eyes, Essie turned around to brace her hands against the corner and side of the cart. A glance over the shoulder, and she spotted Amon taking Maestro’s lead. He spoke calmly to the mare as she braved the slide of swamp-like earth. Trudging on, the pair headed off the path and to the dense treeline.

“I’ll be back to help out once I’ve got Maestro tethered.”

“He’s just leaving all the hard work for us,” Rava accused.

“Between all of us, I think we can manage,” Sulhadur encouraged.

“When do we push?” Pri’cha squeaked, their tiny little hands resting to the bottom of the cart.

Essie smiled, speaking gently, “Pri’cha I don’t think you have to-”

“Push!”

Essätha let out a yelp as flecks of heavy mud flung up from feet and tires, and on her clothes. At least she wasn’t wearing anything worth much, but her lower lip pouted regardless. Her feet sank into the mud, and she shoved hard as she could.

The carriage slid and rocked around in the muck. To her astonishment, Pri was doing an exceptional job with four little arms at boosting the wagon around. Caesar seemed to be far from enjoying the ride however, panting heavily as he paced alone atop the cart. His tongue lolled. He maneuvered around, snuffling and trying to check anyone he could before he’d flatten himself out. Claws scrapping wood, whining as he was tossed about like cargo in a ship’s haul on a stormy night.

“Push!”

The wagon jolted and jumped up. The wheels unsticking from the mud, and rolling forward.

Aylin lost his balance, and face-planted in the mud. Sulhadur followed him, sinking to his knees as many of them went sliding gripping to the edge. Caesar let out a bellowing woof, and fell down before the cart came to a stop.

Still holding to the edge, Essätha shuddered with relief as it stilled. Her hand moved over her face, muffling her voice as she mumbled, “That could have gone smoother.”

“Not as smoothly as this is gonna be.”

A splash of boots carved through the mud. Looking up from where she leaned over the cart, tired and wet, Essätha looked upon the group of men approaching them. Of the bunch of them, two were armed with rapiers, one with a sword, two with bows, three with various sized axes and daggers in each hand, and the remaining dozen seemed to have nothing at all.

“Oh, hello there!” Abernathy greeted. “Are you stuck out in this deluge as well? Perhaps we could help push your cart-”

Barking with laughter, one of the men held up his arms, glowing with pinkish hues.

“We ain’t here for your help, old man,” they sneered. “We here for your charitable donation of all ya money.”

Thank the fates, their luck tonight had just gone from dreadful to disastrous.

“I don’t think so,” Essätha snarled, holding up her hands as plumes of a deep plum purple began to encircle her fingers. She tried to take a step forward and faltered as her boots stuck to the thick, wet ground.

Her eyes darted across the rest of her friends. Sul was struggling to get up from the ground and helping Aylin, and everyone else seemed to be having just as much difficulty standing or even plodding through the goop. Rava alone had her weapon ready. Adela was busy trying to scale up the side of the cart, hoping for a steady surface to work from.

Penimra began to spit out a series of words, and an arrow snapped off someone’s bow and pierced into his hand. He gave a sharp yelp as Pri’cha bounded awkwardly for him.

“Don’t look like you’re gonna have much of a choice now miss,” another sang, curling their green glowing digits in their direction. “Now how’s about you hand off the money, right quick.”

Snarling, Abernathy reached for his axe. He only slid it part of the way from the holster when the nearest man jumped at him; their blade piercing into his foot as he gave a pained shout.

Whispering a few words, Essie launched a series of magic projectiles upon the men standing in front. A mirage like a shield suddenly flickered across the ground, and her very same spell came hurtling back around towards her. She crashed back into the wagon wheel, gasping.

The fur along Caesar’s spine and neck rose despite being drenched. He bared his sharp canines as wrinkles formed upon his muzzle, placing a paw upon the cart’s edge before leaping off.

A spray of mud went flying in every direction. One of the archers raised their bow, aiming for the massive dog as he plowed through the slime.

The arrow missed, and his teeth clamped down upon the individual who stabbed Abe in the foot.

Shaking his leg with panic, the man yanked his weapon free of Abe’s boot as he screamed, “Someone get this fucking dog-”

A mighty roar tore through the last of the man’s words; drowning him out. The ground shook, and brush parted as a bulky mass of matted brown came thundering out from the trees.

“Fucking gods-”

The massive paws of the grizzly bear cut through the wet ground like a till. It snarled as an arrow skipped over its hide, but didn’t slow as it crashed into the closed person. Jaws parted to reveal the length of its teeth as it howled once more, and the beast came crashing down with both forepaws upon the man.

“Run you bloody fools, run!”

As the people began to scatter and run as hard as their feet would allow in the marshy dirt, the bear tossed back its head; victim still pinned beneath its claws. They struggled and squealed in the top note of their voice as the grizzly leaned down close to their face. A deep rumble in their chest, and intelligence gleaming off beady dark eyes.

Essätha watched as it raised its limbs, and made to lunge. Its haunches were not coiled to spring however; a half-hearted facade. It slid forward instead. Mud splashed up upon its underbelly as the cowering man took what he thought to be a streak of luck, and claws himself from beneath the beast with tears streaming down his face.

“Help me please, someone help me!”

The bear snorted, leaning down. Its teeth gripped upon the back of the man’s hood, and raised him up slowly as he cried out. It gave a shake of its head, tossing the man back and forth like a ragdoll before releasing him. They went rolling through the slick sludge, coated from head to toe in mud.

Smirking to herself, Essätha murmured a few words, curling her hand up into a clenched fist. A ghastly skeletal hand formed in the air before one of the men notching an arrow, and latched on to their bow to pull upon the weapon.

They dropped it in alarm, chasing after the others.

A braver soul charged the bear, their sword held in their hand even as they shook. The blade whistled in the air before the beast. It tracked the movement lazily as it stepped back, before raising a paw dripping wet to smack the blade from the man’s hand. It bellowed in their face, still raising its leg to show the large beans of its toes.

The man ripped free a dagger from their side, and threw it.

With a snarling rumble, the grizzly’s claws ripped through the front of the man’s clothes. Shreds of fabric tore away, and blood welted beneath the leather beneath their apparel. They sobbed with pain, back-peddaling as quick as their feet would allow them.

“I said run you morons!” someone screamed. “Leave the lost idiots to the creature!”

A final burst of magic light flashed through the sky; blinding. Essie winched, covering her face for a moment. As the starbursts faded in and out of her vision, she realized that the crowd of men appeared to be gone. Though their bickering could still be heard, rolling down the lane.

“What nonsense,” she muttered, watching as the dog galloped through the mud over to the enormous grizzly. It sniffed along its legs as it plodded on all fours through the mud. Grunting and whining, the flaps of its mouth moving as though it was speaking without words to understand.

Essätha marched through the oozey ground towards the grizzled creature. It circled around in her direction, panting and grumbling as she reached out to it.

“Oh m’lord look at you,” she scolded, lightly grasping upon the bear’s face. “You’re absolutely filthy. You’re going to smell of wet fur and hair. Caesar and you are going to be one in the same tonight, stinky.”

Wrinkling up its muzzle, the bear seemed to grin at her as though mocking.

“Don’t give me that look,” Essie reprimanded. “Looking so proud of yourself. ‘Well you’re going to stink like me later anyway’, I bet that’s what you’re saying. Who says I’m going to lay with you, anyway?”

Blinking its eyes, the bear exhaled roughly against her cheek. She wafted her hand before herself as the beast moved forward, resting its head over for shade from the rain as it breathed heavily.

“Dirty man,” she sighed. Her fingers ran along the side of the beast’s face. To its ears, against its chin and around the muzzle as it closed its eyes in contentment.

Caesar gave out a bark. She inclined her head, spotting the animal bent low against the animal’s belly where a stain of red colored fur and mud.

Her eyes narrowed. Leaning back, she tapped a finger against the bear’s dark leathery nose as it gruffed a few unpleasant sounds.

“Change back, so we might have a look,” she ordered, her face a mixture of worry and authority.

It sniffed loudly upon her fingers for a moment. The rough texture of its tongue ran against against them and she stuck out her own tongue with a short sound of unpleasantness. The bear’s saliva was sticky on her digits as she wiped them to her shirt, watching from her peripheals as the formidable animal began to shrink and reshape.

Eagerly, Caesar bounded around the bear as it changed into a man. He circled around them a few times as they tugged upon their fur-lined collar. They gave a wince, reaching down to the bloodied patch of his soiled clothes.

Essie reached out for him, lower lip trembling.

Lord Amon gingerly caught her hand, a soft smile on his face.

“I’ve got it, he reassured her softly, placing a hand against his chest. A brim of white-light coiled down his body, stitching along fresh patches of skin.

Grabbing the edge of his jerkin instead, she leaned in to kiss the underside of his chin.

“Be more careful.”

“I was. I can handle the bear.”

“I meant be more careful about not getting stabbed,” she muttered, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his clothes. “I know you can handle the bear. I always knew.”

Amon grinned. An edge of wildness still in his black eyes, and hair in dispensary. He leaned in swiftly, pecking a kiss to her forehead.

“If you two would be so kind to quit snogging over there, we’d like to get out of the rain sometime tonight!” Penimra called out, hands on hip.

“Yes, an old feeble man like me could use some help with this cart,” Abe called out, pushing the squeaking wagon a few inches through the mud.

“Come on,” Amon snorted with amusement, placing an arm around her waist.

They trailed for the carriage, struggling not to slip the whole town as the rain came down with new force. Almost as if the gods themselves were laughing at their misfortune. And though the rain came, the group didn’t truly feel that unlucky, after all.

[castlehead]

beauty seems to be really funny most of the time and i like dat.

this idea that sends pop definitions of beauty running for the hills makes for some

quality distance, if only one step back.

what if i had any idea who i was but could see into everybody else

phone home cheeky cosmic touch m8 gonna think this is too easy

yeah but not let’s feel this way without before examining ourselves

for anything fake about it first parting from the idea that there wasnt anyway

and then parting cuz that knows so much

that part of me knows so much abt what do you call it extreme fear of maudlin

i run naked thru the grass singing abt yesteryear

                        ...There’s a move in social situations I like to call, “around the sun” whereby you wait for the game to end to play music, or wait patiently for one plan of another to say its peace so you can say yours. I like to take it to a more extreme level and say, turn down the fuckin tv, I want to listen to a thing I find beautiful.

SONG ONE : like the earth

1. Sit back and dream of clouded metaphors Reveal the schemes that we devised Back in the day, when ur hands were small And the WORLD splayed out colorfully Before our eyes

(chorus)

Take ur thronging bussloads of the living dead Take all the lifetimes of a million busy heads Ur sly intellectuals that laugh in the dome The only place, the only place is in the peaceful tones Of singing birds perched on ascending wires, like notes

2. Caught u up past three, sitting on the porch I woke up from a dream that I immediately forgot That seems to happen a lot, especially if previously I torched a dutch and passed the fuck out But from the ether of my dreams I heard, from the scope of reality I heard you shout

(chorus)

3. The sun and the moon both live in a box And the box is a square made out of lead And the square lies motionless in ur head Like a body on the rocks

Watch the hour tuck away into an evening A day nestled in afternoon light From the beginning In ur mind that made all minds the same The twilight creeping across ur paper brain And I can only burn and burn and burn

And I can turn round like the EARTH And I can be a sphere like the EARTH And I can stitch up the nations With fear, like the EARTH

(chorus)

                        ...people who call it a false flag just don’t wanna think it’s their own who bomb, if it can’t be a towelhead.

SONG TEW : the rainbow

The sinister rainbow blinks over the clover And the dawn is a monster in my brain I'll take a picture before this song is over And I’ll fix u in a wheel to keep me sane

Don’t break out the gin for the old lady creepers Smoke until the blur makes ur head float around I live in hades, burn my tongue on the heater When I lick this heaven ill taste yur sound

(chorus)

What Im saying isnt deep What Im stealing isnt cheap But I know that if i play it loud and long That this song in my head will instead Form a beat

Like a stranger in the rain Slowly driving me insane There's a fork in the road And I dont know whether Or when, all this shit will come together In the end

2. I got a stupid friend who lives in a pause He takes life from the tiger’s jaws, and prays

That life begins again, after it is over And the rainbow shines like a dream, in a daze

Ill take u thru the eye of the needle Ill breathe a testament to ur false gods Ill tell the truth, and contaminate the evil And zap u like a lightning rod

(chorus)

3. Dont you know that the rainbow is the world? Dont you know that the news is already told? Im gettin too old to be unfurled Im seein the rainbow in my mind Im waking up for the daily grind Im singing useless things for useful people The rainbow is not evil, its kind Dont u know that the color kings rattle like a marble In a tin can? And the rainbow eats the darkness like a mother Without a son? Dont u know that u can never be a man? And the rainbow drags across the empty land And the rainbow drags across the empty land

(chorus) (chorus)

                        ...the only division is classical and romantic. all else is contributory to these two. postmodern, modern, no. romantic. it all follows the romantic objective. one is ruled by the time at which it occurred, and the other is ruled by the mechanism of breaking from any present time.

SONG THREE : an ending that promises to begin again

1. A legend sleeps in yur head somewhere You take yur trembling hands And grope for mine, like a bum for spare Change... You cant explain

This strange perdition that engulfs Yur position in the sane... And the trouble of the pulse That leads a broken synapse Up into my eccentric brain... Theres a clot in my neck And the ruins of time Keep me from being able to find A comfortable spot to rest

(chorus)

Im stuck in erasure--a constant exposure To the elements still provides me with eyes To see bad karma writhing in my spleen And I wonder if ill dream While the whole WORLD is awake Will I be the manufactured figure, Will I be fake?

Or will I take these petty abstractions And roll them up into a ball And put them in my pocket Just to feel the reason stall In my throat... Is life a puzzle, or a joke?

2. The life you led one sunny afternoon Is the life you never led again... I can appreciate the reasons For why you did not blend Like a chameleon in the room But cant discern the seasons Of the moon

Yur whispers prosper, loud Like a passionate apostle And the lords are proud of ur Painting on the wall... That skritter of an evening gone Is enough to scatter colors When the sky finally falls, And the lords are like the brothers Of what lorded over them... Take these idols and shatter them... The racket in my brain is loud And does not end And does not end And does not end, even when the jig is up Cuz ive gotten fucked by time: Its an ending that promises To begin again

(chorus)

                        ...Nobody starts an Apollonian, and only those are Dionysian who have the capacity for restraint needed to confer the Apollonian chariot, tho some die without a revision of the vision etc. some die restraintless

SONG FOUR : chauncey ames and the case of jenny preston

1. Chauncey loved the flowers Chauncey loved the trees Chauncey smelled the wind And knew that he was free

Chauncey took a cab home Chauncey felt the air flow Thru the window He paid the driver extra Just for keeping him From being alone... Back, once again To the place that he had left Long ago

In fact, it had been years and years and years Since the man had seen walls Not fortified in concrete... In fact, it had been years and years and years Since this man had put to rest That lying cheat

(chorus)

Chauncey was a killer That was his disease Got off on manslaughter: Fingerprints on a pair keys Got him twelve years For offing someone's daughter Even tho she was eighty three Cuz no matter how old u are Everyone Is a daughter or son To someone

2. Now he's out, but he has his fears... Maybe people will not like him For his past It is unclear Even after all the facts Had been presented... Whether Jenny Preston Was murdered, or just had a bad fall Onto a bed of broken glass They found her in the hall At the head of the stairs, flat on her wrinkled ass

(chorus)

Chauncey was a man of few words But in the end he was unheard His eyes were petrified In delirium His arms shook As he held the gun He took aim On the good book Instead of his brains just to prove a point His neck is craned His eyes like coins That shine their milky matter On the barrel of a luger

(Chorus)

                        ...doubt any of y'all would live up to the wit/confidence/sardonicism y'all judiciously sculpt for hours on the book of face.

SONG FYVE: my summer home

1. This is food for thought Write it down in chalk: The chimney puffs From the fire in the fireplace And erupts in a black plume And with luck The old man Balances a spoon On his nose He sits inside a room As the room grows Smoking from a pipe While its raining outside And the light Is waning, slowly waning, outside

My fingers and my toes Are numb to the bone And I will have my wish To swim with all the fish In the sea of my mind In time ill find A little spot in the country Somewhere peaceful and secluded Ill save up all my money And hope im not deluded And hope that I can find a place Thats nice, a lush spot For a good price

(Chorus) Do you feel that I feel you? Do you feel that you feel me? The time is right to live again To let the atoms wiggle In our spherical galaxy That seems to have no real end But the one that we assume Is reality, and soon We'll eat up all the doom

2. Concentrate upon a single understanding Dont let the sisters on the throne Rage in the dome And find out that this trip Needs more planning to exist

The sky is silver and the universe is green Ill show you things in this world That you have never seen Things that have been waiting So long to be unfurled Things for boys and things for girls Without an explanation Ill bring the nation together And hold it by a tether Show you things for boys And things for girls

(Chorus)

                        ...for example i would never be able to muster the cognitive stones to say all of this, in order, amongst the company of people, even friends

SONG SIX : notion

#1 im in the middle of this phrase Stuck between the lines Bless these simple chains I'll see what I can find In my simple mind To lead to some way out The drip, drip drip of water From the trippy rusty spout Keeps me awake I'll explain that to ur daughter The world is fake The world is miles away:

Chorus: Put a notion on the river And see it travel downsteam Suspended on liquid creature dreams I sweated thru the fever And, between the middle of this phrase Passed all my days in solitude And grew weaker, as the days Passed on in solitude

You can call me daft You can say im frozen In technicolor time That im stranded on an island In the middle of the ocean But I dont have the spine To wiggle thru the shaft And give you back This simple notion

#2 I gots a paper boat Lofting on the water It travels down ur purple throat And dissolves in the water

I set a fire just to see if it could think And I questioned the venom Just to see if it could blink Nonsense on the edge Of the bullshit day Chillin on the ledge, you shape the clay And drive the screws on down And drive the screws on down

I thought of you, thought of you And I felt like a clown

(chorus)

#3 I crawl out, I crawl out I crawl out of bed I walk down the hall To turn the notion into thread And whisper rumors to the dead Sometimes I try to talk And my voice drops Sometimes the vague paralysis Defies analysis And you are left sitting on a chair In a yellow room That is a technicolor tomb Without a door, confined and spare, I crawl, I crawl I crawl out of bed And walk down the hall And fall and fall and fall Into the creation of sound Until I hit the ground And everything is mother night And the imperfections in yur eye Spangle in the strange notion of the twilight

(chorus) (chorus)

                         ...the broad concept of subjectivity has as much to do with a detailed exegesis of one tenet of it as death itself with the specific way we die

SONG SEVEN : collected and connected

You're a sharp one You're a dumb one You got nobody But the people in yur head

And everybody is connected But you aint connected to them Yur a ghost, on the interim While the fringes die out You live them out To the last splinter Until it is winter And the trees are all white with snow And the blue wind blows

Yu spend twenty minutes Feeling for the lightswitch In a room made out of figments That you shovel into a ditch And bury, along with all yur Dangerous ambitions And as you drive away, you feel The religion Of yur memories corrupt u And yu reel

CHORUS. Cuz everyones connected Everyones collected Into the same intangible organism That lives life in the schism Of ur teeth I watch ur lips move And cannot hear u speak I pick up on the clues and watch the pressure leak Until all of it is used And nothing much is left To be abused

Everyones connected by a string That trembles across the space Of every living thing The fractions of my face illuminate in the light I shake when i sing I am a yellow kite Mangled in a tree Forgotten by the breeze I am a thing, wafting in the breeze But I have begun again, my friend, Just by following the string Follow, follow the string

#2 Two days ago the WORLD was made of angles I opened my eyes to the lost ways And came upon a shallow swale The brush and branches tangled And the rays of the sun, barely Coming thru the jail Of the scary fray

Dont you think that yur fellow men Would like to lend a hand? And dont you think That this desert you have crossed Only gets u more lost Until u arrive at the brink Of the sahara, and find A single, solitary house Where a mumbling old man Is confined

(CHORUS) (CHORUS)

i always dress nice when i have no place to go. otherwise i look like a sweaty coked up hobo. its my chic, paranoid hobo chic. my comportment u say? quirky to the acquaintance, somewhat sad to the friend, an endearing mix of both with a dash of worry to the best friend, and an embarrassment to the significant other. im usually the life of the party bc i bring drugs so people are forced to tolerate my horror of a personality.

rejection is a rare and beautiful flower my time is spent tending it my life wants it to be a gift i water the flower it sits next to my bed it is next to a lamp littered under the lamp are dead ladybugs ladybugs are all over my house but if i am not meant i am not meant and i cast my line of poetry here trying to figure out if it was meant to be there wonder exactly why what is innumerable can be rare and think of lots of things

[zabinizara]

And I will roar into the heavens that those who will raise a hand against me shall perish in the attempt. And I will roar into the heavens that I am a force to be reckoned with, and those who can not recognize that will be taught. 

Don’t you think ZARA ZABINI looks a lot like ZOE KRAVITZ? Apparently SHE is PROTECTIVE and INTUITIVE but can also be RUTHLESS and SELF-SERVING. They are TWENTY-FIVE and were sorted into SLYTHERIN. The HALF-BLOOD (PART-VEELA) is affiliated with THE DEATH EATERS works as a POTIONEER, and lives in CHELSEA, LONDON. (blossom, 24, MST, she/her)

AESTHETICS :

Liquid silver dripping into a dark green bottle, a pet boa constrictor lovingly cared for, shattered tea cups, keeping secrets so tightly to your chest they wind around your heartstrings, a stack of diamond rings, black lace lingerie worn under a stark white wedding dress, smeared red lipstick, soft moans, power - endless and consuming power, emeralds, thigh high boots, bleach burning your nose, crocodile tears, lipstick on a cigarette, ballet shoes.

HEADCANONS :

O N E ;; Zara is bisexual and biromantic. She will develop feelings for anyone deserving of those feelings and she’s not quiet about it. In fact, in the halls of Hogwarts, she would be seen holding hands with men and women alike.

T W O ;; According to the Veela Wikipedia page, the powers only work on men. This is the reason Zara has so many female friends. She can’t trust that men are around her because they’re interested in her or if they’re interested in the supernatural beauty she exudes. She feels her dynamic with women to be much more genuine.

T H R E E ;; Her Veela mother was the first one to show her power in its truest form. While Monique Zabini loved her husband, she did not love the men who ogled at the two of them. She with her dark skin and he with that of a porcelain dish. It came to a cusp when Zara and her mother were walking and a man made a deplorable comment about helping her make another light-skinned child. In a flash Monique, her beautiful and effervescent mother, became a monster. And, as quickly as it had begun, it had ended. She was herself once more, her silk dress now stained with blood. “Zara,” her mother had whispered to her that evening, braiding the child’s coarse hair. “You are never to allow a man to treat you as anything less than holy.” Zara's large eyes glanced at her mother through the reflection. “Yes, Mother.” And you know what they say. A monster is as a monster does.

F O U R ;; Her skin color has been the one thing Zara has yet to embrace. With her (literally) enchanting beauty, she’s never known what it is that truly, genuinely draws people in if it’s not her Veela abilities. Growing up, her ideals of beauty were her mother - dark skin the color of the pure silt running through the river beside her house - and the friends her mother brought around - skin as white as the snow that fell on the grass beside her house. She was neither, and when she looked in the mirror she wondered where she would ever fit. In her Hogwarts house, forced to hide her heritage to not become the enemy - in public, forced to decide whether she was more black or more white. Couldn’t she just be Zara?

MISC :

boggart ;; her father as an Inferius. she knows he and her mother are her only two weak spots (until her son is born) and that if her father were to face her again, that would be the only thing to cause her to falter in battle.

patronus ;; an acromantula, the giant spider crawls up the walls and fends off Dementors. this is her Patronus because she is as venomous and unforgiving as the creatures, though their loyalty can be won - as can hers.

favorite spell ;; Cruciatus Curse

amortentia ;; the French countryside when it’s raining, her favorite bakery in Italy and lavenders

wand ;;

—- wood ; cedar wood | The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them.

—- core ; Veela hair

—- length ; 10 inches

playlist ;; [ HERE ]

pinboard ;; [ HERE ]

BIOGRAPHY :

*TW FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT, DEATH OF A FAMILY MEMBER, PREGNANCY AND MURDER*

When Zara was born, her father’s eyes sparkled. A tear rolled down his cheek, and her mother - with a tired arm - reached to wipe it clear. “She’s beautiful,” he had whispered. “She’s our little miracle,” her mother had agreed.

Her face was perfect, even moments after birth. Drawing the nurses and doctors to wonder at her face in awe, astonished by the newborn’s beauty. She was just shy of one hour old and her existence was already cause for conversation. She grew up comfortably, in a large home right on a river in Scotland. Her father doted on both she and her mother, arriving home with flowers for both of them for no specific occasion. Simply for being his world, he’d told them. He was everything Zara wanted to find in a man - one to grow old with.

She was ten years old when her father didn’t come home from work one evening. Just old enough to understand what the Aurors meant when they said he’d been found, dead in an alley with his wallet missing. Her father had been taken from her over thirty Galleons, and he would never see her grow up. Monique was inconsolable, and therefore not of much help to her daughter as she struggled through the process alone. One day, things changed. Monique was done crying, she was there to braid Zara’s hair again.

“What did you do, Mama?,” Zara asked. “I didn’t let a man treat my family as anything less than holy.” She had said almost the same thing years ago, walking away from the scene in a blood stained dress. She was exuding emotion. Not just emotion. Justice. Not just justice. Revenge.

Zara longed for a taste of revenge.

Her beauty, the inescapable attention it brought, made it nearly impossible for her to be sure whose intentions were pure. She had a hard time trusting her heart in the hands of the ravenous boys who roamed the halls of Hogwarts. Or anywhere for that matter. And in Fifth Year her tentative spirit around them was proven correct as a man two years her elder held her down, silencing her cries for help. The next day he mysteriously lost his footing off of a ledge in the Astronomy Tower. Zara gave what happened to her no credit to turning her into what she had become. No, she would never give the pain someone had put her through the privilege of being the reason she was strong. She was the reason she was strong. She’d learned from a young age that to be strong was to be untouchable - and god help the person who dared to touch her.

The taste of power it gave her satiated the hunger for revenge that had been aching in her chest for years. She had come out on top. She would never let anyone hurt her again, and she finally felt whole. It was borderline sociopathic behavior, and despite knowing that, she continued her warpath, tearing through the halls radiating an energy only fools would choose to go up against.

Her time came when a recruiter of the Dark Lord approached her - her first husband. A wealthy man who she drew in with her charms, her beauty, her enchanting voice. Then, when she was high enough in Voldemort’s ranks - much more useful than her husband, of course - he found himself at the wrong end of a poisoned tea. She liked the way he writhed in pain beneath her. What they had had never been love. But still, she wiped away crocodile tears as they buried him, treating herself to a new necklace the next day.

She is powered by power. And men came to her, desperate to know what she might taste like. Women, too, only they never found themselves clawing at their own throats as fire tore through them from the inside out. She was gentle with women, allowed them in and out of her Venus Fly Trap as they pleased. A Black Widow, they called her. She liked it. She liked the sound of the venom behind the name she had been given.

Another husband came and went. A Pureblood she met while visiting her mother in France. It wasn’t long before he, too, met his end. Although she waited until he had given her a child and she knew she could secure another fortune before his… untimely death. Her hunger for revenge may have been satiated, but with every sip of power that she’s gotten over the years, the thirst becomes stronger.