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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

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They Want Us To Burn || Alec Volturi ||

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, mild horror, mentions of blood and death.

Words: 6263

Summary: So this turned out to be a little longer than expected but I found once I started writing I couldn’t stop so...

From Alec’s point of view, this is what happened the day the Witch Twins burned.

He took a deep breath, pressed a palm into the soft dirt beneath his knees, closed his eyes, and thrust his head under the surface of the water. The springtime meant warmer weather, but the rivers were still filled with water left over from the winter snow melt. The perfect place to bathe after a frankly awful day. He’d tended to the allotment in the early morning, his back to the sun as it rose since he had no time to admire the beauty of spring if he wanted to plant enough crop to harvest over the summer and autumn months. The late morning to early afternoon gave him time to hunt and check the snares he’d set in the woodland surrounding their home, and after a quick lunch that Mother had prepared, he was off to the fields to earn a pittance for his labour that would help pay the taxes due to the maddeningly fat bastard of a Lord who owned the land their small village was settled on.

The fields were not a nice place to be for Alec, but he’d been turned away from every other job he’d tried to get to earn some coin. He wanted to provide for his family the way he saw other men doing, and as the only man in his household it was his duty to do so, but he could only earn so much if he acquired no skill. His father was not someone Mother spoke about often but he knew he was a foreign born soldier. Whether he was dead or alive, Alec couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t want to be anything like a man who had abandoned his family without a second thought, but he could admit that perhaps their lives would be far easier if the man had stayed and taught him some sort of craft. The butcher’s son was already working at their store as was the cobbler’s boy, and the blacksmith’s son? Well, he was being apprenticed to a man in London of all places, sure to make quite a fortune.

His free hand ruffled and ran through his hair, once, twice, three times over, and then he resurfaced with a quiet gasp. Alec liked to swim when he could. There was a lake deep in the forest, perhaps more of a pond, but it was crystal clear and large enough for him to get a few laps in. He’d learnt by accident. One of the few friends he’d had before they had been driven away had pushed him into the river while they playful fought one day, and jumped in to save him when he realised he couldn’t swim. Underneath the water everything was silent. There was nothing and everything all at once, and obscured kingdom of quiet he liked to visit when the real world got to loud. Most of the time now he was too busy working to provide for his Mother and sister to visit his pond anymore.

Wiping his wet hand over his face and across the back of his neck, Alec blinked the water from his eyes and refocused his eyes on the surrounding greenery, letting sound drift back to him as birds twittered and sung their sweet songs in his ear. Fledglings would be preparing to fly the nest soon enough and Jane would want him to come with her through the forest to help any who had fallen back into their nests again he was sure.

Alec shivered, feeling the water dribble down his spine as he ran his hand over his torso, under his pits. He was awfully sticky after working in the sun all day to till the land, ready to plant the potato crop that would sell at market and go to the Lord’s household. He had never seen the nobles house up close, but he’d heard the rumours from servants who came to market to restock the kitchens. The place was supposed to have high ceilings, long tables feasts that could feed the entire village could be held at and multiple rooms.

Once he deemed himself clean enough, he sat back in the grass, resting his forearms on his knees and letting the sun dry the water droplets still clinging to his hair and skin, the damp strands now sticking down around his face. His hair had grown considerably and was just starting to creep past his shoulders now. He’d have to cut it again soon to keep it out of his eyes when he was working. The pay wasn’t great and nor was the company, but it provided enough for him to pay taxes mixed in with the income from the milk and cheese they sold from the goats.

The men he worked with varied in age, but Alec was by far one of the youngest. He was in his fourteenth summer now and notably smaller than those he worked with, yet still they gave him a wide berth as though he were the biggest and roughest of the lot. Jane was treated the same when she went to market to sell the cheese she worked so hard to make. Nobody dared come near the witch twins. The very name repulsed him, made bile rise in the back of his throat and his face scrunch in disgust, but there was no way they could rid themselves of the moniker now. Alec grabbed a fistful of grass, tearing it from the dirt and scrunching it in his hand with a huff.

There’d been more name calling today, more taunts and jabs from the villagers trying to get a rise out of him. He wasn’t Jane. His sister rose to the bait almost every time, years of torment turning her bitter and hot-headed when they were forced to go into the village square now. Jane enjoyed snapping back, her words equally as barbed and making some of the toughest men recoil in shock at how wicked her words could be.

Alec didn’t like to give them the time of day, but that didn’t mean their words simply bounced off of him. Sometimes, like today, when he was already hot and bothered and just wanted to feed his family, their words lingered longer they should.

Not using your devil powers little witch boy?

Maybe he can’t without that freak of a sister near him. Ha! Imagine! All that power and he’s impotent unless there’s a little girl telling him what to do!

Better not rile the witch up, he’ll make your crop fail you know.

How do we know you aren’t tampering with this harvest devil spawn?

He tossed the scrunched up grass into the river, watching the babbling stream carry it away from him. Sometimes he wished he could do that. He wished he could just drift downstream and find someplace new, someplace nobody knew him or his reputation so he could start a fresh. Alec couldn’t honestly say he fully blamed the villagers for being suspicious of him or Jane (things did have a tendency to happen around them after all) but they never meant any harm. In fact, if anything bad happened it was because bad things had been done to them first and foremost. Still, it did scare him just how bold the villagers were becoming, and how out of control it all seemed to be. Just the other day the farmers youngest, no older than six, had hurled insult after insult at him, and Alec really had no idea how it had happened but he was certain it was an accident when the boy had turned and trod on that hoe. He hadn’t physically put it there, but…well it definitely hadn’t been there before either.

It had always been chalked up to coincidence by Mother – it was her favourite word nowadays. When the boys who had cornered Jane at market had complained they couldn’t breathe Mother had reminded them the day was hot, and the air thick. When the girl who had given Alec hope that perhaps he might have won her favour humiliated him in front of her friends, Mother had said it was a coincidence that she awoke the next day with horrendous boils on her face, sore and bursting and leaving ugly scars behind. Alec could safely say he never decided to do any of those things, but he had felt…different, when they happened. He could remember being angry, being scared, and feeling his fingertips tingle, his mind strangely warm, and then it was all over and something good had happened to those who had been good to him, while misfortune followed all those who had done him or his family wrong.

“Alec! Alec!” Jane’s voice was frantic, breaking him from his thoughts so suddenly it was jarring. He blinked owlishly, head swivelling to the right as he tried to gather his bearings. Jane was running towards him, the beautiful braid Mother had spent so long doing for her this morning now flying everywhere and her dress was tattered, stained with mud. The closer she got, the more he realised her head was soaking wet, her lip split and chin stained pink, like she’d had to wash blood off of her face. He shot to his feet, grabbing at his shirt and throwing it on haphazardly.

“Jane what happened to you!” he demanded, shock and anger fighting a violent war inside of him. His wide eyes took in every battered inch of his sister, his fingers curling into her upper arms as he hauled her into him. Jane never cried, so why were her eyes so wet? She shook, holding tightly to him as he tenderly stroked her hair. It was soaking, sopping wet compared to the rest of her. Her dress was hanging off of one shoulder now. Clearly whatever had happened had been violent, and the thought anyone might have harmed his sister drove him to near madness.

“Th-th village b-boys, they tried to – they were – they tried to-“ she stuttered, gulping for air and unable to get the words out. Alec tried to be patient, cupping her face in his hands and pressing fleeting kisses to her cheeks and forehead.

“Shhh sister, hush now, you’re safe.” He promised, brushing some wet strands of hair from her face. Jane sniffled, closing her eyes as she took some deep breaths, her slender fingers wrapped around his wrists. Given the way she’d run to him he didn’t think she was too badly hurt. There were no bruises on her skin he could see, just her split lip that looked to be quite sore.

“They tried to make me confess to witchcraft.” Jane whispered, sky blue eyes peering up at him and swimming with anxiety. She smelt something awful, like urine and barn animals.

“Make you confess?” Alec repeated, his tone growing darker as his eyes narrowed. Jane nodded, sniffling again and swiping her hands nervously down her dress. Jane was unflappable. She had a comeback for every occasion, a tongue sharper than any sword and a temper that was all consuming and violent as fire. It didn’t suit her to seem so afraid and meek before him now.

“The son of Godwin cornered me at market with his friends, and they dragged me to that boy Edgar’s house, you know the place that owns all the sheep? They kept – kept dunking my head under water in the sheep’s trough.” She told him, her voice starting to shake as her eyes went big, “I swear to you Alec I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know how the Smith’s boy began to choke.” Jane began to cry again, looking alarmed and pale as she fell into his chest. Alec wrapped her tightly in his arms, somewhat frozen in shock himself. It wasn’t the first time those around Jane had suddenly found it difficult to breathe, but someone choking was far more sinister. He doubted it would be forgiven or explained away as easily as their other coincidences had been.

“Jane we must go.” Alec said firmly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and marching with her back through the grass towards the dirt path that led to home. His mind raced, his concern growing as Jane didn’t bother to argue with him as she usually would. He took a sharp inhale as his sister stumbled beside him, falling to her knees and trembling head to foot.

“I killed him Alec. I think I killed Harold the Smith.” She whimpered, eyes shining with tears. He stilled, a shiver running down his spine. Dead? She had killed the blacksmith’s boy? He was due to go to London! He was his family’s pride and joy! This would not be taken lightly.

“Sister…how did you escape?” Alec asked quietly. Had the other boys just let her go once they had seen what she’d done to her friend? How many had witnessed the Smith boy’s demise? Was it gruesome? Alec found a morbid fascination with that last question, part of him hoping it was for all the torment they’d endured at his hands but knowing that the very desire to so much as hit him was a sin in itself. To wish a gruesome death upon someone…maybe he was the devil’s boy after all?

“They all just fell.” Jane whispered back, staring up at him from the floor.

“Fell?” he questioned. She nodded slowly, wiping furiously at her eyes before shooting to her feet. Suddenly, Jane was tugging him by the hand, the skirt of her dress kicking up clouds of dirt as he hurried to fall into step beside her. “Jane what do you mean they fell?” he repeated his question, voice slightly more panicked now.

“I don’t know brother! They began to bleed and then they fell! I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t mean to do it, you have to believe me!” she insisted. Alec nodded placatingly.

“Of course I believe you sister, but what you’ve done is…the village will not forget this.” He fretted, mind quickly turning to Mother. She would be waiting for them to return home, perhaps cooking supper as they hurried along. They had to get home fast, pack what meagre belongings they owned and flee. If Jane had truly killed the boy…the penalty for murder was death by hanging. Depending on the state that she had left the other boys in after her “trial” they might just torture her all over again before giving her the rope.

“Brother do you…hear that?” she asked, stopping suddenly. Alec paused, straining his ears until he caught it. It was a cacophony of loud, clambering voices, muffled by distance but slowly growing clearer. It was like listening to the raucous shouts of the villagers when they gathered to celebrate the Shrove Tuesday feast, but as the words of their chant became discernible Alec felt his blood run cold.

“Burn the witches!”

“Alec…”

“Run.” He whispered, staring with wide eyes at his sister. Jane’s jaw clenched shut, her eyes shining with tears. “Run Jane! Run now!” he bellowed, tugging on her hand to force her to keep pace with him.

Find Mother and get into the forest.

He repeated the instruction to himself like a mantra. Protecting his family was all that mattered now. Their fate was certain, their place in the village now painfully clear. They were nothing more than scapegoats for all the rotten luck that befell others. Jane panted beside him as he focused his eyes on their house, forcing his legs to move faster. He didn’t dare look back, barreling in through the door and shocking Mother so badly she screamed, dropping the ladle into the pot she was busy cooking supper in.

“Alec what on earth-“

“Mother we must leave, the villagers have come for us!” he snapped, pivoting on his heel to reach for his bow. He wasn’t the best shot, but he would have to make do. His family needed him to rise to the occasion, to be the man of the house, to protect them.

“But Alec why would they-“

“Mother there is not time! We must flee to the forest now! We can survive out there, I know we can, please!” he implored. Mother was too shocked to move for a long moment until she heard the shouting, Jane’s shrill cry to warn them of their impending visitors startling her into grabbing the skirt of her dress and hurrying towards the door.

“Hurry, hurry! Jane, come quickly!” she held out an arm and Jane immediately took her hand, Mother ushering her on ahead of them as Alec darted out of the door, nocking an arrow as he went and drawing back the bowstring. He let the arrow fly towards the crowd, a few angry shouts and screams as it landed near their feet ripping through the air. Alec could see the shining ends of pitchforks, the sharp curves of axes, the butcher holding his butchers knife up so the metal glinted dangerously in the sunlight. How could such a cloudless, bright day herald such a terrible fate for them?

Turning swiftly, he pelted towards the treeline, seeing his mother and Jane close to reaching the first few trees up ahead. His hand gripped his bow tight, heart racing as the blood in his body began to roar in his ears. Was this really it? What if they couldn’t get away? No, no he couldn’t think like that. He brushed quickly past his family, holding back the branches in their way and letting them fall back into place beside them. He moved much faster over the familiar hunting terrain, dismayed by just how slow his sister and Mother seemed to move. Tree roots tried to trip them, the patchy canopy sending beams of light to guide their way and leaving the forest unbearably humid. It hadn’t always been this warm had it? He could feel himself sweating again.

“Dammit!” Jane cried in frustration, yanking the skirt of her dress off of the sharp twig it had been snagged on, ripping the material. Mother crashed to the ground, hissing at the sting the impact left on her skin. Jane helped her back up as Alec reached back for another arrow. The villagers sounded close again, closer than he wanted them to be.

“We have to move faster, there’s a blind not far from here where we can hide till they pass.” He said, voice quiet but strained. Jane nodded determinedly, but Mother merely pushed her forward.

“Go there then.” She said, her eyes watering. Alec felt his own eyes widen. His chest refusing to take in air for a moment.

“No.” he whispered as Jane hurried to his side, gripping his arm tightly.

“I am only slowing you down.” Mother insisted, her hands bunching her dress into fists. She approached quickly, jerking like a puppet whose strings had been pulled tight. He couldn’t respond to her hug, her body warm against his and heart beating all too hard against his chest, body frozen. She cupped his cheeks and kissed the top of his head, a shaky smile crossing her lips before she repeated the motion to Jane.

“Mother no.” Jane begged, “Please come with us please!”

“We can make it Mother.” Alec said determinedly. He wouldn’t leave her behind. A real man would save all of his family, wouldn’t they? How could he leave the woman who had given him life? The woman who Jane looked so much like, with her golden hair and soft features. He shared her blue eyes. He still whispered her stories to Jane on nights nightmares kept her awake. He needed her still. He needed her always. Mother twisted her head sharply, the villagers sounding far too close as branches snapped under foot and animals scattered into the depths of the woods to avoid their wrath.

“No, we cannot, but you can. Go now my loves, look after one another. I love you always.” Her words broke on a soft sob and before either of them could react she darted back and to the right, moving diagonally away from them and beginning to bundle rocks in her arm. Jane tugged at his hand, but Alec could only watch as Mother, her blue eyes frantic when she realised they still hadn’t moved and she screamed for them to go once more. Her arm reared back, and a stone pelted the first villager through the break in the trees square in the chest. Coughing and spluttering, the cobbler clutched his chest and doubled over, heaving for air. Alec nocked his arrow and drew back the string, letting it loose without a second thought as his lips twisted into a snarl.

He didn’t recognise the man who went down, the arrow embedded into his shoulder. A swarm of people were advancing now as Jane shrieked at him to move, but Alec barely heard her. He could feel it again, that warmth in his mind, the way his fingertips tingled. His arm wheeled back and forth, nocking arrows and letting them fly. He wasn’t even aware of the obscenities he was screaming now at the villagers who were lunging for them, his ears buzzing as the adrenaline pounded through him at an alarming rate. His eyes were laser focused; tunnel vision pinpointed on Mother as she was shoved to the ground, landing hard on her elbows before she was pushed onto her back. The world seemed to move in slow motion after that, his throat feeling raw as he screamed and screamed, feeling the wind pick up around him as the stones Mother had once held as her only defence now rained down on her prone body.

Jane went down next having propelled herself forward to try and save Mother. She was tackled and pinned by the arms by two burly men that in the back of his mind, Alec recognised as some of the farm hands he worked with. He reached his arm back, furious now as they struck his twin across the face so hard the wound on her lip reopened, spilling bright red blood and making her eyes flutter. He grasped thin air, his blood running cold as he realised he was out of arrows. They were sticking out of various limbs, but it wasn’t enough to stop the mob coming for him, and he swung his bow up and around in a wide arc to catch the first attacker in the face. He was barely seeing faces anymore, each villager a blur as they rushed him. He was forced to the ground on his front, face smashed into the dirt once, twice. There was a sharp sting that ran through his nose, followed by a deep, fiery throb, something hot and wet running down into his mouth and making him choke and splutter.

“Jane!” he croaked her name desperately, vision blurring at the edges and staring to fade rapidly as an explosion of pain ricocheted through his ribs, his legs. He had failed. He hadn’t saved anyone. Mother was dead, Jane was…alive? Slung across the shoulder of the man before him, her hands bound and body limp, his sister’s chest rose and fell as she was carried like a sack of potatoes away from him. Alec couldn’t find his feet, feeling them drag over the sticks and stones littering the forest floor, his shoes sliding through something slick and wet. His blurry eyes could barely make out the discoloured, red splotch that was all that was left of Mother as he was dragged past her, two hands gripping his biceps too tightly and cutting off the blood flow in his arms as he was hauled along. Knowing he had failed made it a lot easier to accept the darkness creeping in on him.

He could almost pretend everything was normal when his eyes opened again. Jane was shouting profanities and curses at the top of her lungs, iron rattling as she shook her shackles and slammed the chain into the bars holding her in a cell. Every part of his body hurt. From head to toe Alec felt a deep-rooted ache, his very bones throbbing in protest of his every breath. The skin around his mouth felt tight, dried, congealed blood covering his skin. He closed his eyes with a wince as the image of his bloodied and beaten mother came to mind. She wasn’t Mother, not like that. She’d looked like one of those slabs of meat strung up outside of the butchers, battered and red with blood. He’d failed. Mother would never again sing as she cooked, which he had always claimed annoyed him but never confessed that they were songs he hummed to himself to pass time in the fields. She’d never patch up his clothes again, citing her favourite sewing rules to an unimpressed Jane, who simply didn’t have the patience for activities such as sewing. Never again would she sit with him when he couldn’t sleep, stroking his hair and reminding him of just how wrong they were, that her twins were her most precious gift and could never be a curse.

Alec felt the grief so acutely it stung in his chest like an open wound, a sharp, red hot knife plunged into his chest again and again and again. Jane’s shrill screaming was ringing in his ears, rattling around his brain, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than lie there, in too much pain to move. Internally though, he egged her on.

Curse them all, sister. Summon whatever power the devil has bestowed us with and bring nothing but chaos to this wretched place.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed sprawled on the floor, but the stone was uncomfortable and began to turn his limbs numb. Alec found himself grateful for it, the pins and needles making his pain worse only briefly before his sprawled figure was simply numb to every physical sensation, and it was marvellous. A quiet sigh of relief escaped him and he closed his eyes, willing his mind to do the same as his body, to shut down and let everything go. He could hear the hustle and bustle outside, an animated kind of buzzing. A strange kind of anticipation filled the air and he knew what it was for, though he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge it. Everyone knew what happened to witches, and he had maimed many villagers with his arrows to only add fuel to the fire. Their ending would not be pleasant, their parting from this world all too soon and all too painful. He prayed the numbness in his body would last.

“Alec?” Jane’s voice was hoarse, her screaming having worn down her throat. He stared at the stone ahead of him, heart aching in his chest as his eyes burned with tears. She sounded so afraid, so uncertain and saddened. The cells stank of human waste, of old blood, the straw on the floor long since mangled and discoloured by various stains he didn’t want to think about. He managed to take block out the foul smell so it no longer made him nauseous at least. It wasn’t until Jane called his name again that he found the will to respond.

“Forgive me sister.” He murmured.

“Alec.”

“I have failed you. I failed Mother. I cannot save you.” His voice was oddly thick, the air unable to escape his crooked nose and making some syllables come out a little garbled, but Jane understood him nonetheless. She always had. Without a word, she curled herself onto her side and reached her hand through the bars of her cell, stretching her hand as far as it would go across the floor towards him. Alec swallowed, shakily reaching for her. There was no pain, his body far too numb to it now, he couldn’t even feel her skin against his, but he held fast and tight to her hand like it was a lifeline, his only anchor in a world that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore. Why them? Why did they have to suffer? Why couldn’t people have just been nice to them? They remained silent, the dark aura that emanated from Jane only growing worse as time wore on and the sun began to dip in the sky. It was like watching a storm cloud grow more violent, lightning crackling around and waiting to strike.

Alec on the other hand finally got his wish. Everything stopped. The grief that was held heavy in his heart disappeared, but so did everything else. They were building his pyre, time was marching towards his death but…it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He had been a good son, a good brother, given time he might have even been a good man, but fate had decided for him and who was he to argue with such powerful forces? When the door slammed open Jane’s grip on his hand tightened, but Alec could only stare blankly at the alderman pointing a gnarled finger at the pair of them. The farm hands he worked among came striding for his cell.

“Get up witch boy, meet your reckoning.” He knew Alfred well, had thought they were perhaps friends. Huh, what an odd situation, to be put to death by a boy you had worked with. He didn’t move, merely stared unblinkingly back at them until they forcibly dragged him to his feet. No pain, nothing. His brain had shut it off by now, and everything else had shut off to as he stumbled out between them, Jane thrashing and snapping at her own escorts behind him. He squinted against the bright light of the torches held aloft by so many of those who had shunned them. He did not feel fear or dread, when he saw the stake driven into the ground, a platform of wood surrounded by logs and branches from the very forest they’d tried to escape into. Perhaps the rope was rough, perhaps it wasn’t. He tested its strength, tugging lightly so the rope was forced to strain a bit against the wooden pole forcing him to stand straight. It didn’t give an inch.

Jane was forced to submit, Alec watching as they drove a fist into his sister’s gut to incapacitate her long enough to tie her down. She struggled viciously, her eyes murderous and flashing over each and every villager before them with her teeth bared. Alec traced the bruised and bloodied visage of his sister one last time, committing the image to memory before turning to face the crowd. Whole families had gathered, some looking excited while others looked morbidly fascinated, like they wanted to be somewhere else but couldn’t bring themselves to ignore the spectacle.

“Alec, Alec look at me.” Jane snapped. He turned his head, dead eyes finding hers for the last time. He had failed her.

“I love you, Jane.” He said, and even though his voice was devoid of emotion he knew she understood just how much weight the words carried.

“There is nothing to forgive Alec, I love you to.” She promised.

“The witch twins have plagued us for long enough! Sickness has befallen our children, our crops have failed, diseases have riddled our livestock, and now they have taken the lives of five young men!” the alderman cried. So Jane had taken down five of those boys had she? Good. The crowd was screaming, the families of the boys shouting curses and thrusting their torches high. Alec knew he should be afraid, but what he could now to stop this? Perhaps the afterlife would be kinder to them? Surely God would know they had never intentionally caused harm to another living being?

“Burn the witches!”

“Purge this village of the devil children once and for all!”

The alderman nodded placatingly, his hand rising and falling in a calming motion to settle the eager crowd. Beady green eyes met Alec’s very briefly, and Alec stared back, unblinking, unflinching.

“For their crimes against our village, the crime of witchcraft, we sentence these two devils to burn at the stake! May God free their souls from the wretched evil that consumes them!” he spat, tossing his torch down onto the branches at Jane’s feet. She let out a blood curdling scream and Alec felt the first flicker of something ignite in him as more torches followed. It rained fire for a few short seconds, and then the acrid smell of smoke was filling his nose, choking his lungs. There it was, fear, anger, despair, disgust. It roiled in his gut like an angry serpent.

“You’ll all burn in hell! Each and every one of you will burn in hell for this!” Jane screeched, struggling viciously as the flames began to lick upwards. The dry kindling caught quickly, bringing his death closer and closer as Alec began to squirm, gritting his teeth. It was growing uncomfortably warm, his eyes burning and lungs spasming as he tried to breathe around the thick, foul smelling smoke invading his airways. He coughed, eyes narrowing on the flames nearing his feet. Jane’s screaming changed in pitch and tone, the anger and malice her voice had once conveyed replaced instead by agony and terror. His head snapped to the right, seeing the leather of her shoes melting into the wood as the flames reddened and charred her ankles, bright orange fire steadily crawling up her dress. His eyes watered, his own feet now hot, burning hotter and hotter as the flames grew higher. They licked at his skin like a thousand angry bee stings. Alec could feel his flesh bubbling and melting slowly as the fire penetrated layer after layer of skin until his very bones felt like they were starting to curdle in the heat.

He couldn’t contain his voice anymore, a strangled scream escaping his lips as he tossed his head back against the wood, trying to move his feet away from the flames encroaching on his skin. He had never felt pain like it and he silently begged for it to end, for something to douse the flames and cool him down. He felt sick, his mind growing fuzzy from lack of air, though he was painfully and shamefully aware of the way his bladder voided once the fire reached his thighs. The torment seemed eternal, stretching on and on as his flesh peeled away, his fuddled mind conjuring images of Mother peeling potatoes to go into their dinner, teaching him to do the same. He would do anything for her to wake him now from this nightmare. The flames leapt suddenly with a gust of wind, pushing through his shirt and onto his chest, but he couldn’t even scream anymore, not enough air in his lungs. His body sagged against the wooden pole, his brain struggling to process the sensations anymore as he finally, mercifully, went numb to it all once more. Vaguely he understood that this was the end, that he was close to passing from this world to the next.

Black shapes flitted in and out of his vision, dancing across his eyes. His ears were ringing with the screams of the villagers, and a deranged, choked laugh escaped his battered lips. Demons, it had to be demons. Maybe they were the devil’s children after all and he had sent a welcome committee to escort them all to hell? He prayed for it in that moment, as muddled as his thoughts were he thought of the demons and how their claws might rip into those who had done this to them, thanked his father for the blissful numbness that had overcome him now and stopped him feeling pain. The demons hovered over him now, pale as the moon and shrouded in darkness, vividly red eyes beaming down at him. His eyes fluttered shut, waiting for the inevitable. He had expected it to perhaps be quick, a slash of the creature’s claws through his throat maybe. It certainly started in his throat, liquid fire pouring into him and forcing his blurry eyes back open in shock. He couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, but his eyes wheeled desperately to find someone, anyone who could stop this.

The fire built and built, and then it overflowed, pouring through his veins and spilling down into his chest, encasing his heart and flooding down to the tips of his toes until his whole body was encased in a burning more vicious than anything he’d endured up until that point. His voice was too broken to make a sound, but his mind suddenly seemed to fire up, working faster and more efficiently than ever before to try and process the agony he was in. As his vision faded again, he felt his body tremble. He was trapped inside of his mind, unable to open his eyes anymore and encased in a shell of burning flesh, being torn apart and remade from the inside. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Was this hell? Was this what the rest of eternity would be like? Where was Jane? Had death been kinder to her? He hoped it had. Whoever had done this to him, whatever awaited him at the end of this ordeal, he used his last coherent thought to make a solemn vow.

The world is going to pay for what it did to us sister, and our enemies will know no mercy from my wrath.

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burts-baked-bees · 4 years

Text

{If The World Was Ending You’d Come Over Right? }

Author: ohhey-mishamigosx

Relationship: Cas x Reader

Warning : Violence, swearing, ANGST, idk what else, its for big kids.

Word Count : 4404

A/N: I’ve been meaning to post more stories on here cuz AO3 is trash. This song gives me major SPN vibes so I made this. Its divided into 3 parts. The male sung verse/chorus is Cas’ POV, the female sung is Y/n’s POV, the part sang together will be both of them! This took me a while to write and I’m so happy with how it came out! So enjoy!

Summary: (A story written to the song lyrics of “If The World Was Ending”by JP Saxe & Julia Michaels) Castiel and Y/n have had a complicated relationship since day one, but now Chuck is wiping out the world they know, and Y/n is nowhere to be found.

- PART ONE - CASTIEL’S POV -

( Bold is Song Lyrics )

( Italics is Flash Back )

I Was Distracted, and In Traffic

The room was impossibly silent as a lone figure stood in a dark and dismal room, their head tilted to the heavens. Flashes of red were seen in the night sky, clouds outlined by the blood soaked light sending eerie shadows on the world below. The harsh flashes outlined the fabric of a worn trench coat and even older suit, the vessel wearing them was no stranger to the feeling of fear that filled his bones as the impending doom danced across the skies. He had been present for many of the earth's cleanings; from the Great Flood to some of his father’s more recent attempts at wiping the slate clean. But, in all those mass killings, those end of days times, he had never felt nearly as much dread as he felt in these very moments.

I Didn’t Feel it, When The Earthquake Happened

As his blue eyes followed the red lighting across the ever expanding skies, he found himself thinking back to one singular person.

One small human of the billions on this planet had captured his mind and held it in bittersweet captivity. He just knew she was somewhere halfway across the country he was in, her eyes also fixated on the skies. And he, an angelic host of the Lord, prayed that she too was thinking of him, but he knew that to be far from the truth. He would know, he remarked, if she was sending out her thoughts to his almost graceless form.

The earth shook.

Castiel felt the very ground beneath his feet cry out in pain as a rumble filled his ears. He grabbed ahold of the wall next to him and dug his fingers into the plaster. He watched as dirt erupted from new forming holes and cracks in the surface of this once calm planet. He knew it was drawing to a close. He knew his father had had enough of the foolery of his creation, and now he was striking back. The end was near.

And he was alone.

But It Really Got Me Thinking

“Well, look who’s back.” Her voice was soft, but bitter and it sent a shiver to the angels' very core. He turned his head from Elieen and met her gaze. The ghost of a smile was seen on his cracked lips as he took a step to face her fully.

“Hello Y/n.” He rasped, his blue eyes twinkling. Her expression didn’t change in the least bit as Sam came to rest behind her. He pursed his lips into a flat line and raised his brow at Castiel, making his confusion with her temperament known as well. Eileen signed something to Y/n and she responded quickly, too fast for Sam to see and unknown to Castiel. She stepped away from Sam and past Cas to lean her weight against the map table.

“What brought you back? Thought you and Dean were mad at each other again.”

Sam looked to Castiel confused as the seraphim looked to his feet, then back at the woman across from him.

“I was told that Sam needed help with his….. Unusual wound ...” The words left his mouth like a plea for any form of relaxed conversation, but it met Y/n’s ears like a deflection of what she truly wanted him to say. She narrowed her eyes at him and smiled dryly while nodding.

“Yeah…” She pushed her weight off the table and brought her body impossibly close to his. Castiel felt his grace flare for a moment, the proximity of Y/n to him was affecting him in more ways than one. Her e/c eyes were fixated on his blue ones as he felt her body heat enter his own personal space. His Adam's apple bobbed as he tried his best to keep his eyes on her’s and not her weather beaten lips.

“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say…” Castiel felt like a spike of ice had entered his vessel. Her words cut him deeply as she made her way around him and out of the room. Sam, Eileen, and Cas watched as the hunter left the room with her arms crossed. The way she carried her obvious sour emotions resembling that of Dean, and giving Castiel yet another taste of the discomfort of being in the presence of this family.

Were You Out Drinking?

Were You In The Living Room Chilling

Watching Television?

The sky was growing darker and brighter all at once as the lone fallen angel made his way through the musty afterglow of the earthquake. His mind drifted to thoughts of Sam and Dean, and what they must be doing now. They always seemed to be at the center of earth shattering events, and this time must not be an exception. He imagined them throwing caution to the wind and pulling out all the stops in order to bring his father’s plans to its knees once again, like a never ending story book that had no definitive plot. He wondered however, as he looked to the rubble around him, if this time God had truly given up. If this was to be the ending to the creation he had hid from for so long.

“I’ve never seen this planet so calm.” His voice drifted over the restless land and floated into the air with no real destination. He wondered how Heaven and Hell would react to the coming end, and to add the Empty to the mix was a frightening thought. He had gone face to face with that entity before, and hated every minute of it. That disgusting abyss had taken more than one friend from him; from brothers and sisters, to the only soul that had ever come close to calling a son. He recalled the way Jack used to interact with Y/n. How he looked to her for comfort and compassion when the Winchesters lacked the knowledge of how to tap into those emotions. She was so kind to the young boy. She treated him like family, and Castiel couldn’t help but see him and her as the parents that Jack deserved.

There she was again.

The world was crumbling around him and all he could bring to his mind was a girl that had rejected him long ago. She was all he could think of. Her world was coming to a close and he feared she may be alone in this chaos. He feared most of all that he hadn’t crossed her mind once.

It’s Been A Year Now

“You don’t get it Cas! After all this fucking time you still don’t get it!” Her voice was rough and raw as she screamed at the angel across from her. He stood rigid and tall, his suit jacket and trench coat were placed on the edge of her bed, his frame looking impossibly naked with his white sleeves rolled and tie loose. He clenched his jaw as the words left her mouth and he looked to the door before looking back to her; blue eyes ablaze.

“I am not some ignorant child Y/n. I may not be human, but I assure you I have a firm grasp on the nonsensical emotions you all seem to share!” His hand was raised and pointed at the door as if referencing the Winchesters just a step outside. She laughed dryly and with venom in her lips, she marched at him and got right in his face as he straightened up and met her gaze with a passion.

“You’re not a child Castiel, that much is true, but you’d be a fucking liar to say you weren’t ignorant.” She spat the last few words, and Cas felt each one strike him like a knife to the chest. She went to walk past him and out the door but she was stopped by his hand grabbing hers. She went to pull away when her eyes found his face. His blue eyes were fogged with tears and his brows were knitted together in what could only be pain. Her entire mood changed at the drop of a hat as she took in the look on his face. His messy hair was falling in his face from the heated fight just a few moments ago, and his chest was shaking from ragged breaths.

“Please…” He choked as Y/n stopped moving, “I Can’t do this….. Not with you…” His once strong and dominant voice was nothing more than a whisper now as a lone tear made its way down his cheek. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. The angelic beast once proud of his inability to feel, was forced into experiencing the most human of emotions.

Fear.

Y/n let her guard down and let a sob slip past her lips. Castiel looked up at her with a look of confusion, but relief all the same. She gave a hard tug on his arm and brought his body crashing into hers. Castiel deflated and let her hold him. He felt himself give into her completely as they fell to the floor in a mix of limbs and tears.

I Think I Figured Out How

How To Let You Go And Let Communication Die Out

“It’s a shame. Of all the ways for our father to dismantle this planet, he chooses earthquakes and fire from the heavens.” Castiel spun around, his shoes sending a groan through the gravel he was standing in, his angel blade dropping from his sleeve like an extension of his arm. “Well, nice to see you haven't changed brother.” The words left the girls mouth as Castiel sighed and lowered his weapon.

“Iaoth.” He breathed, “You caught me off guard.” The seraphim stiffened up upon seeing his sibling.

“I’m surprised to see you alone.” She remarked as she brushed a bit of soot off her shoulder, “I’ve been told you’re very fond of humans. Seeing that you threw away heaven and all of us for them.” Her mouth was smiling but her eyes shot daggers, Castiel glared at his sister with a deep anger. Her emerald eyes darted around the torn and beaten landscape, “So after all this time, we finally get to see our mighty fathers breaking point…” Her hand reached to a decaying flower sprouting from the ground. Castiel watched her intently, his grip on the silver angel blade never wavering. She picked the rotting plant from the ground and crushed it in her hand. “His breaking point was his biggest mistake.”

“Why are you here Iaoth?” Castiel spat, his jaw clenched and eyes ablaze. She laughed at his demeanor and wiped her hands on her suit jacket.

“I could ask you the same thing ‘Oh Fallen One’.” She turned from his gaze to look upon the fire filled skies. “Heaven, as you know, is very much in shambles. You and I are some of the only ones left alive. Naomi is having a party up there with what's left.” She looked to Castiel, her teeth barred in a sinister smile. Cas took a step to his left, circling her as she moved the opposite direction. “It’s so sad to see you like this brother.” Castiel could hear her wings ruffling, as if she was preparing to take flight; or fight. “I can almost smell her human vile on you.” Her wings extended to their full length, the lights from the sky illuminating the silken feathers. Cas felt a primal fear alight in his gut, this wasn’t the first sibling of his to try and kill him since this all began. So many seemed to blame him for the way things were coming to an end. His vessels hands were drenched in the blood of his fallen brothers and sisters, and his angelic form was scarred from the ending of his own kind. Iaoth’s words stuck Castiel to his very core as he allowed the human Iaoth spoke of to take shape in his mind; a misty form reaching out to him in the midst of chaos.

I Know, You Know, We Know

“The whole of the heavens is ending, your celestial home, where you were created and raised, and yet your mind is lingering on the vile mistake that is human kind?!” Iaoth’s words were strong and soaked in rage as she squared up the much smaller Castiel before her.

“Iaoth. I don’t want to fight you.” Castiel spoke, his deep voice unwavering. The woman's laughter flooded the air like a bolt of lightning,

“You really think you have a choice?!” She spat. “Look at you! A broken and grace stripped seraphim! You don’t stand a chance against me or my TRUE brethren.” Her wings were now fully visible. All six of the deep grey spans filled the air like dark clouds, and Castiel let his heart drop as he considered the condition his own wings were in. Iaoth laughed again as Cas allowed his own wings to spread out, the once proud black feathers holding more gaps than anything else, and scarred flesh beneath them. “All that…” Iaoth spat, “For humans. You must be so proud…” Her words dripped with sarcasm as she lunged at the fallen angel before her.

You Weren't Down For Forever And It’s Fine

The motel room was dusty and old, large pieces of dust hanging in the air were seen best around the yellow lamp light, setting a almost frozen in time feel about the place. Castiel looked ahead of him through drooping lashes as the frame at the foot of the bed unbuttoned the last of the flannel shirt that hid her form. The yellow light illuminated every inch of skin as she made her way up from the foot of the bed to mere inches from the angel's face. He could feel her breath fan over his face as she moved his hands to rest on her hips. He exhaled shakily as he closed his eyes, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. His own name filled his ears like a breathy sigh as he shot his blue eyes open to meet her e/c ones.

“Do you want to do this?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. He could see in her eyes that she was genuinely asking him, out of fear of frightening him away. He gave a smile and brought his face closer to hers, his lips ghosting over hers. She held back a low moan as he rested his forehead against hers, their noses brushing.

“More than anything.” In an instant their lips crashed together, moans and staggered breaths filling the air of the motel room. Y/n straddled Castiel’s lap atop the bed and worked his white dress shirt off his torso. Cas brought his hands to her hips and brought her roughly down against his heating core. She let out a gasp and broke the kiss. With a smirk she reached for the bedside lamp and wrapped her fingers around the switch. Castiel grabbed her wrist and held her back from snuffing the light. She looked to him with confused eyes, only to be met by rough lips against her own. The stubble around his own face dragged down her neck as she let her hand drop from the light.

“Want to see you…” He growled as he pressed more kisses to her neck. With a smile she brought his eyes back to meet her own.

“Then let's get started.”

I Know, You Know, We Know

We Weren't Meant For Each Other And It’s Fine

Iaoth spit a mouthful of blood to the cracked and dry earth as Castiel stood above her, his hand wrapped firmly in her hair bringing her gaze to his own blood splattered form. She laughed through red stained teeth and took a shallow breath,

“You pack quite the punch little brother.” Castiel brought the butt end of his angle blade down on her swollen face a few more times, the sick crack of bone filling the hot air.

“I’m not going to sit here, Iaoth, and watch you die but you should know that it’s out of pity,” He brought his face closer to hers in order to whisper the final statement, “And not because I consider you anything close to family.” He released her hair from his fist and let her fall to the ground. His hands were red with the paint of war as he wiped them clean on his coat and began staggering away. Iaoth was on the ground on her back, sputtering blood as she cackled at seemingly nothing. Cas ignored the sound and kept walking, finished with the mere thought of her.

“She’s-- She’s going to die alone. On this forsaken slab of creation. Thinking of why you didn’t save her…”

Castiel froze. His eyes were wide as he turned his head to the side, taking in the sickly form of his dying sister. “That human girl you bonded with like an animal,” Her words were choked, “The word back home is that Naomi is offering safe passage to a parallel world to the one who brings him her filthy head.”

“SHUT UP!” Castiel boomed, bringing his boot in contact with Iaoth’s jaw and sending her reeling to the ground. More broken laughter left the dying angels mouth as Castiel breathed heavy, his shoulders rising and falling in a dramatic manner. He stood over her, his eyes ablaze by her words,

“That hunter whore is going to die drowning in her own blood and her filthy body is going to burn with the rest of this world.” That was the straw that broke the camel's back, with a deep guttural scream Castiel drove the shimmering blade in his hand through Iaoth’s chest. Her own scream ripped through the skies as her eyes and mouth broke forth with a bright glow, a small reminder of the grace that once filled her.

Once the screams died down, the dark haired angel stood from the lifeless body beneath him. He looked to the burned imprint of her wings upon the ground and wiped a spot of blood from his own face. His mind was reeling, wondering if what Iaoth said had been true. If there really was a price on Y/n’s head, as some sort of sick joke by Naomi’s hands, he had to find a way to get to her.

To warn her.

He wasn’t even sure if she’d want his help at all…

But If The World Was Ending You’d Come Over Right?

Dean placed a hand on Y/n’s back as he helped her stumble to the car. His eyes were laced with concern as Sam opened the back door for her, worry upon his features as well.

“Guys, I’m really fine.” She slurred, her head spinning from blood loss. “You don’t need to panic…” Her knees gave out as Sam jumped forward and helped Dean catch her. She chuckled a bit at her own expense and allowed the boy’s to help her into the back seat. Sam looked to Dean and they both decoded that he would ride in the back with her.

“Hey Y/n. Keep those eyes open.” Sam cooed as he brushed the side of her face. She smiled at him and scrunched her nose.

“Trust me Sammy, I’m not dying in the back of this car. That’s nor nearly exciting enough for me.” Sam laughed at her blind optimism and met Dean's eyes in the rear view mirror.

“You die in the back of my car, and I’ll kill you.”Dean joked, taking a glance behind him at her ever shrinking form. Sam felt her squeeze his hand and looked to her now closing eyes.

“Hey!” He shouted, “No, no,no,no, don’t go to sleep Y/n.” He shifted so his hands were holding her face. “Goddammit don’t go to sleep.”

Dean began to panic in the driver's seat as the sounds of Sam’s protests filled his ears.

“Dammit Sammy, don't let her sleep!”

“I’m trying!” Was the angry response. Y/n shifted in Sam’s grasp as she forced out a few more words.

“You guys are such idiots…” Her eyes drifted closed.

You’d Come Over And You’d Stay The Night?

Castiel practically flew down the stairs as the Winchesters came into view. His eyes were wild as he searched the room for any sign of loss or pain. Sam smiled at him and took a step forward.

“Hey, easy buddy.” He placed his hands on Cas’ shoulder and held him steady. Cas looked to Dean who pursed his lips, cocked his brow, and gestured to the chair Sam’s body was blocked from his view. Cas moved from Sam’s hold and froze upon meeting the gaze of Y/n, wrapped in one of Dean’s hoodies, and face littered with stitches and bandages; but still smiling.

“I lived bitch.” She spoke in a horse voice. Dean laughed out loud at her statement and sat down beside her, nursing a half empty beer. Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair,

“Wow that was so sensitive, considering he thought you were actually dead.” Y/n shrugged and felt tears brim her eyes as Cas raced to her. He pulled the chair around and knelt down at her feet, taking her hands in his.

“I - I really thought I lost you.” He looked up at her with big blue eyes, also brimming with tears. Dean shifted away just slightly, a look of fake disgust on his face from the romantic display. “If you ever do anything like that ever again-”

“Oh, I guarantee you I will.” Y/n cut him off, “But we’ll be a bit more careful next time.”

Would You Love Me For The Hell Of It?

All Our Fears Would Be Irrelevant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before.” The words sailed off with the breeze as Y/n scratched an itch on her face. She glanced to the angle beside her, his body leaning against the tan car behind him. His trench coat was wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders, and she noted how utter naked he looked without it. “Sorry if that's too forward.”

Castiel looked out at the sunset and sighed, his eyes soon traveled to the human beside him, wrapped in his essence. “Y/n…” He began. She looked to him with hopeful eyes.

“In all my eons of existence, watching civilizations rise and fall, watching your kind like a child watches a bee in the garden…” He looked to her, “I’ve never seen a more perfect example of the wonders my father is capable of making…” His hand wove together with her’s.

“... Then you…”

If The World Was Ending You’d Come Over Right?

The sky let forth a loud cry as the earth beneath Castiel's feet shook. He looked skyward and took witness as large chunks of flaming stone began falling from the heavens. He watched in the distance as the stone crashed to the ground and set a sick crack through the air. He watched as the sky began falling to the ground, and he was helpless to stop it. He swallowed hard as the soft sound of ringing filled his ears, and he reached for the almost forgotten phone in his inner pocket.

“Dean?” His voice bellowed over the sound of earth breaking all around him.

“Hey Cas! You seeing this?! Where the hell are you two man?! Me and Sam are dying over here!”

Castiel furrowed his brow and shielded his eyes as dirt few up all around him.

“Dean? I’m in Montana! Are you two still at the bunker?” His voice met Dean’s ears like a long lost prayer and the hunter sighed.

“Yeah! How is Y/n?” Cas froze, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“What do you mean? I thought she was with you?!”

“Why the hell would she be with us?! Isn’t she your soulmate or whatever?”

Castiel felt his heart drop.

The Sky'd Be Falling And I'd Hold You Tight

And There Wouldn't Be A Reason Why

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you…” Jack mumbled from his seat at the dinner table. Y/n felt a lump grow in her throat as she forced back tears.

“Don’t worry Jack, sweetheart…” She looked to the ceiling as she viciously fought her tears.

“Castiel, he didn’t want to. But it was the only way. It seems selfish, but it’s not. He saved so many. I really wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. He made me promise…” Jack let his head fall to the table, his mind not at unease.

“I would have found out sooner or later.”

We Would Even Have To Say Goodbye

“You are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.” Y/n spat as she slammed the car door, the force shaking the whole vehicle. Castiel didn’t even flinch as he watched her walk from the parked car to the small lakefront just beyond the car. He felt his heart ache as she sat on a small bench and placed her head in her hands.

“I know…” He whispered to the empty car.

If The World Was Ending You’d Come Over Right?

“The Empty will take you.” She sobbed as she looked to the water in front of her. Castiel stood behind her, his own eyes filling with tears. “Take you the next time you feel joy.” She laughed, a last stitch effort to mask her pain. “How- How the fuck am I supposed to live with that?” She spun around to look at him, and he saw first hand just how much pain he had caused her.

Right?

“But that was months ago Castiel.” He tried to take a step towards her but she stood.

“Months ago! And you're still here!” She let a few sobs rack her chest as she looked down, tears falling like rain.

“Y/n…”

“So… Since that day when you sold yourself over. Everything we’ve done. All the moments we had, that filled me with an immeasurable amount of love and joy… You’re still here. So...” She looked at him, her pain turning to hurt, turning to anger.

“You're not happy?”

If The World Was Ending You’d Come Over Right?

Castiel held the phone to his ear, his mind blank.

“Cas?!” Dean shouted on the other line, “Cas?!”

Right?

#Spn #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader #castiel #castiel imagine #castiel x reader #dean #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #sam #sam winchester #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader

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starrysnowdrop · 4 years

Text

His Newfound Muse

- Rakharo x Oksana -

((Word Count: 728 Words))

((Oksana Qalli is @maiden-born-in-snow’s OC and Batuhan Oronir is @rei-tokugawa’s OC))

———

Sitting underneath the ancient boughs of a large oak deep in the Twelveswood, a Xaela man plucked at the strings of his lute, the wind carrying the dancing melody through through the forest. The notes resonated in the Au Ra’s horns and waves of joy, ease, and contentment flowed through him, down his spine, through his fingertips plucking at the strings, and into a gentle smile that graced his lips.

Rakharo Oronir might be an adventurer, a member of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, and one of Hydaelyn’s chosen, but he will always be a bard at heart. Nothing could compare to the way that playing music, singing, and dancing lifted his spirits. Well, perhaps nothing but what could inspire him to write his songs, and he just found a wealth of inspiration in the last few days.

Anyone would think that the most memorable event of the past week would have been when he and another of Hydaelyn’s chosen stood up against the Amalj’aa’s primal Ifrit and defeated it. Not many can boast that they challenged a primal and lived to tell the tale.

Yet, for Rakharo, it wasn’t so much the fiery primal that he couldn’t get out of his head but his violet-haired companion.

Oksana Qalli... Ever since he first saw her, he couldn’t think of anything else. Every time he closed his eyes, her face would stare back at him. The moment he picked up his lute, his thoughts returned to her, and the music just poured out of him. Some would think he was utterly insane for wishing for some other conflict or another primal to be summoned so that he could see her again.

Thinking back on the encounter with Oksana, Rakharo remembered how her hand felt in his, how soft, warm skin mixed with smooth, ivory scales under his fingertips as he comforted her in the wake of Ifrit’s summoning. He remembered his words to her, as she quivered with fear:

Oksana, there is nothing to fear. We will fight and be victorious together. I will be right here by your side. Alright?

He shuddered with excitement and the butterflies in his stomach went crazy with the mere memory of her. He lifted and strummed his lute as he sung the words that came to mind in the moment:

Sana, Sana, oh Sana

I beg you please don’t walk away

Sana, Sana, oh Sana

Baby, please don’t be afraid of me

Your hair is a blooming flower

With striking locks of violet blue

With streaks of ice and scales an ivory gleam

Your eyes are like shining starlight

Piercing the blanket of darkest night

And I cannot stop thinking of you

Sana

I see you when I close my eyes

And I see you in my dreams

You don’t know what you do to me

Sana

So briefly our paths have crossed

I pray that I see you again

My heart longs only for you

Sana

Sana, Sana, oh Sana

I beg you please don’t walk away

Sana, Sana, oh Sana

Baby, please don’t be afraid of me

When the Xaela man plucked the last string, a different sound hit his horns: a person clapping. Rakharo looked up to see familiar deep purple eyes, striking purple hair fading to black at the ends, and shining black scales smiling down at him.

“Good work brother! Tis beautiful as always,” his elder brother Batuhan complimented as he sat down beside Rakharo. “A new melody I hear... and a newfound muse as well?”

Rakharo chuckled and laid down the worn lute in front of him. He then nodded to his brother in response.

“Aye... I have so much inspiration that my fingers can’t keep up.”

Batuhan shook his head and clapped his hand down on the younger’s shoulder. “Another day another muse. Where will you find the next one to woo I wonder?”

“No, you are absolutely mistaken this time, brother! Sana... she’s... different. I have never met anyone like her before.”

Rakharo sighed as his brother took back his hand. Batuhan stared at him with great curiosity as Rakharo looked up at the great canopy of the forest above them. The younger’s heart skipped a beat as a strong breeze blew past and carried his voice to the far corners of the Twelveswood.

“I think... I think I might be in love.”

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splat-dragon · 4 years

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jarthurmorgan asked: this is probably gonna be a very dumb suggestion but could u write a story about john leaving the gang for a year and arthur is like really sad cuz he misses him and then john comes back and instead of arthur being happy, he’s mad cuz of how much he missed john i really hope that’s easy to understand i feel like it’s all over the place and if u don’t wanna write it that’s okay !

Marston had been gone for a year. Had left his boy without a father, had left Abigail to raise Jack alone. Had abandoned them, had up and left their family. And then he just shows up and expects to be welcomed back with open arms? Thinks that bringing everyone gifts will make them forget his transgressions?

Yeah, right.

It was one of those days.

Those days where the sun itself seemed out to get you, shining straight overhead no matter how hard and how fast you rode your horse. The ground baked, cracking beneath poor Boadicea’s hooves. The mare’s sides heaved, bay coat gleaming with sweat, shoulders flecked with white spittle.

Arthur was slumped low over the mare’s lowered neck, shoulders curled and chin tucked against his chest, hat pulled low on his head to cast as much shade on himself as he could. Only fools would be out in such horrible heat, and so he allowed Boadicea to have her head, the mare knowing the way back to camp. His shotgun was slung over his lap, in case of the off-chance that there were some particularly stupid O'Driscolls or Bounty Hunters about.

A young buck was strapped down across Boadicea’s flanks, blood from the wound that put it down mixing with the mare’s sweat. The buck, too, was covered in sweat, having worked up a good lather in a rather short chase. Its pelt wasn’t in the best condition - it wasn’t mangy or anything, but it wasn’t golden and gleaming like he wanted. It was a completely average animal, but it would feed and clothe them.

A clod of dirt crumpled beneath the mare’s hoof, and she shied with a disgruntled snort. Arthur stretched forward to pat her neck, a soothing murmur rumbling in his chest. The mare’s flesh twitched beneath his hands, but she settled, twitching her ears at the sound of his familiar voice. With a squeeze of his thighs, the mare began to move again, striding forward reluctantly. As the outlaw straightened up, he unlatched a canteen from its place on her saddle, swishing it around. The water inside slashed hollowly and, he began to drink, tasted of metal. But his mouth was as dry as the soil beneath the horse’s hooves, and so any water was welcome.

Lowering the empty canteen, he swallowed and closed his mouth, hissing as his jaw protested the movement. The man reached up to massage the flesh, already able to feel a bruise beginning to bloom. He would be the first to admit that he deserved the blow - he owed Javier an apology. Several apologies, if he was being honest. Owed everyone in the camp an apology.

He had been out of sorts for over a week, to tell the truth. Had sent Jack crying to Abigail when he wouldn’t wear the flower crown the child had made (he had a chocolate bar in his pocket for the boy, though it had probably melted). Had told Pearson what he thought of his cooking - what everyone thought of it, though they were kind enough to hold their tongues. But last night Javier had been playing his guitar and singing while Arthur had been reading through one of his old journals. Perhaps he would have held his temper any other night, had he been reading any other journal. But it had been a year to the day that John had left, and he had found the journal he had had when John joined up. He had been reading through it when Javier began to sing, and the distraction had thrown him into an uncharacteristic rage.

The man didn’t remember most of the things he had said. It was as though he had been possessed, had watched himself loom over Javier, screaming so loud the untethered horses had had to be rounded up. He remembered, though, telling Javier that no one wanted to hear him sing - that he had a horrible voice. That his guitar was horribly out of tune and made his ears bleed.

Arthur groaned, rubbing his face.

He had continued on along that vein until Charles, no longer able to stand the look on Javier’s face, had walked up, grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around and decked him. His eyes had rolled, and everything had gone blurry until he had been dropped at Dutch’s feet.

And Dutch had been so disappointed. He would have preferred anything to Dutch being disappointed. He’d rather Dutch hit him, strike him, shoot him, yell at him. There was nothing worse than having Dutch say “I’m disappointed in you, Arthur.” The man had sent him away from the camp, telling him not to come back until he had cooled his head and had something to show for his time - whether that was an animal to butcher or money from a robbery, it didn’t matter. It had been rather cool last night, and he knew that, if it had been half as hot as it was come the morning, Dutch would have never sent him out to suffer.

“I miss him, too.” the man had said, patting his shoulder, a knowing look in his eye. All the fight had left Arthur, leaving him full of shame as he slunk out of Dutch’s tent, heading out to tack up his mare. Everyone gave him a wide berth, having seen the earlier confrontation.

Boadicea came to a stand-still, and Arthur was drawn from his thoughts, raising his head. The air was a margin cooler, he realized, and he found himself in the shaded pathway that led to their camp. Something curdled, low and uneasy, in his stomach - someone should have met him long before he made it to this point. Had something happened while he was gone? But - no, the other horses were grazing in their places, even those that were untethered. If anything had happened, the horses would have scattered.

Oh, if whoever had been assigned watch had lazed off, Dutch would be furious. And so would he, he would not stand by and allow someone to potentially be hurt because their guard decided to take a break.

The man slid down from Boadicea’s saddle with a groan, stretching and feeling his bones pop. His pants were soaked with horse-sweat, and clung to his skin - he reached down to peel them loose. Patting the mare’s side, he undid the ropes that held the buck in place, slinging it to the ground, taking the time to remove the mare’s tack. He didn’t intend on leaving the camp for the rest of the day, already dreaming of the bath he wanted to draw, needing to get the coarse horse hair off of his skin - it itched!

Arthur took a moment to scratch that hard-to-reach spot behind Boadicea’s ear, the mare shaking herself as she lowered her head to graze, grateful to have been relieved of all the extra weight. He murmured his thanks, intending on coming back to groom her later, get all the caked-in filth out. But for now, he stooped down to sling the buck over his shoulder, making his way into camp.

Pearson’s wagon had been set up near the entrance so that those who brought back carcasses to be butchered would not have to carry them far. Arthur dropped the carcass on the table, noticing for the first time how quiet it was. He frowned - a stew had been abandoned while cooking, the fire beneath it almost out. Albeit, that might have been a blessing.

The man looked around, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. There seemed to be a commotion, he realized, near the back of the camp, and so he began to follow it, one hand dropping to the pistol on his hip. Although it didn’t sound like that kind of commotion, but the happy kind of commotion, the one where everyone would end up drunk as skunks later and miserable tomorrow. The kind with loud, excited, lilting voices, falling over each-other and speaking so rapidly that he couldn’t make out the words.

He had to step over a bedroll - it was Jack’s, he realized, the boy must have dragged it out from the lean-to like tent. It was far too large for a boy of his age, made with dark-colored wolf fur. It had been John’s, before the man had left, and there was an agonizing pang in Arthur’s chest. Before John had left, Jack had had to share his bedroll with Abigail, as there was no point in making him a bedroll he would make filthy and out-grow so quickly. But with John gone, they had an extra bedroll they didn’t need, one that was threadbare and worn with much of the fur shed, and so it had been bequeathed to the boy.

The man took a deep breath, looking to the side. He could see John as though the man were right in front of him, grumbling as he was given the bedroll by Hosea, complaining about the fleas he was sure to get. But it was impossible to miss the soft, pleased expression on his face. It had been given to John not long after he had earned his place in the family, when the boy was only eighteen or so.

Arthur walked passed the campfire, where the logs had been circled around it so they could sit and stay warm on cooler days and chilly nights, listen to Javier play his guitar and sing. Wincing, he looked away from the log that the man had been sitting on when he had lost his temper the night before. John had loved to sit around the fire, hands dangling between spread legs, head low and eyes half-lidded as he allowed himself to relax, basking in the warmth and humming along to whatever bawdy song was being sung. But the man blinked, and little Johnny Marston was gone.

He approached the table where he, Hosea and John often sat, playing Poker and Dominoes. On the wind, he could hear John moaning on and on about women, how they would tear you apart mercilessly, nag at you and mold you into someone wholly different. Even now, he could hear the man’s words become jaded and bitter, snarling and snapping like a cornered wolf as he swore that little Jack Marston wasn’t his - wasn’t his blood, wasn’t of his flesh. Arthur flinched, looking away from the table, hearing his own voice join in the ribbing. Maybe if he hadn’t said anything, maybe if he had told the others to lay off, they wouldn’t have woken to find Marston gone. Maybe if he had… maybe if he hadn’t… Maybe if he did… Maybe if he didn’t… Maybe…

When he found the source of the commotion, he thought for sure he was seeing another ghost. Because there was no reason for John Marston to be standing in the center of their family, looking hale and healthy, eyes bright and happy, hands moving rapidly through the air as he spoke. But there was no denying it - not unless he was hallucinating the way that Dutch was standing there, nodding along. The way Hosea was smiling in that way of his, one hand on Dutch’s shoulder, just like Dutch’s was on John’s. The way that everyone was watching John as though he were some hero returning from a brush with death, not a mangy cur that had fled with its tail between its legs at the first sign of disagreement.

His heart rushed in his ears, and Arthur’s fist clenched on his pistol. For a moment, nothing sounded like a better idea than drawing the gun and putting a bullet between the man’s eyes, watching him drop like the worthless dog he was. But then movement caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Abigail moving away from the gathering, towards her tent, hurrying Jack ahead of her. Her movements were sharp and harsh, and the snarl of rage on her face was a mirror of his own.

Looking back at Marston, he sneered - the man had begun to pass out gifts. Who was he now, Father Christmas? Did he think he could gather back their favor with things? But it looked to be working. Karen seemed to be quite happy with the crate of various alcohols he had pulled from the wagon hitched behind a horse Arthur had never seen before - some dark brown thing, with a wild white mane that covered its eyes - and Javier was speechless as he ran his fingers over the neck of a beautifully crafted guitar. Dutch was quickly given several fountain pens, and Arthur idly wondered how many people John had to kill to get all of these gifts, eyeing the many things still in the back of the wagon.

Arthur shook his head, turning on his heel to walk away. Pearson was distracted by a new set of cooking utensils, and so he intended on butchering the deer before it could go bad in the heat. But a call of “Morgan!” and the sound of approaching footsteps made him still, turning to see who had come up to him.

John Marston stood before him, weight resting on his rightmost foot in a habit that he had picked up from Arthur. And for a moment, Arthur could see little Johnny, the young boy who had mimicked everything he had done; until the boy - the man - opened his mouth. “You didn’t think I forgot you, did you?” he chuckled, pressing something into Arthur’s hands.

Morgan looked down, finding himself holding a journal. Ghosting his fingers over the cover, he found it to be black leather, of extremely high quality. In gold, the letters AM were carved into the bottom right corner of the cover, and when he opened the journal the spine cracked. The pages were smooth and white, still neatly bound and unwritten in. In the back of his head, Arthur knew that Marston had to have bought this himself, had to have spent a great deal of money on it. There was no way he could have had the luck to steal a brand new journal engraved with his initials on it.

Heat bubbled in his chest, and he flashed his teeth, flung the journal at Marston’s feet, feeling a grim satisfaction as it landed face down, pages crumpling and pure white becoming coated in filth. Whirling about on his heel, he began to stalk away, grinding his teeth. His eyes landed on Hosea, the older man bouncing Jack on his knee, trying to distract the boy. “People don’t forget, John.” His use of the man’s first name made him startle, raising his head from where he had been staring at the ruined journal, turning it over in his hands. Arthur saw, then, Abigail sitting on her bedroll, head in her heads, shoulders shaking, and then he knew why Hosea was playing with Jack. Arthur growled, clenching his fist as he fought the urge to spin around and lay the man out - he had walked out, been gone for a year, thrown his family into chaos and left them missing one of their own. Jack had lost a father, Dutch and Hosea a son; Abigail a… husband, if he could be called that, and Arthur his brother, as reluctant as he was to admit it. And then he waltzed in, passing out stolen gifts, expecting to be welcomed in with open arms. Some of them may have fallen for it, those who weren’t too close to him were happy to accept a gift in return for forgiving him, but his family would not.

“Nothing gets forgiven.” he spat and, uncaring of the heat, stalked away to tack up Boadicea, not sure of where he would go but knowing that he would not return until he had blood on his hands and something to tithe to the camp.

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years

Text

Once Upon a Dream

“So, why exactly did you call me over?” Brian said as he sat down his guitar case, settling into one of the chairs in Roger’s home studio.

Roger, who was already sat down, a hand running through his white beard, face pensive, barely acknowledged his friend, his eyes on the music score before him. “I need your help,” he mumbled, his mind distracted with all that had to be done.

“Yeah, I figured that out, genius. With what?” Brian asked, rolling his eyes some.

“Oh. Sorry. This,” Roger said, pushing the papers over to Brian. Brian snatched them up, putting on his bifocals to see what the blurry mess of ink was supposed to be.

Oh boy. A song.

There was no doubt Roger was a musical prodigy (when he tried) but there were times where he got too involved with the craft. Striving for a level of perfectionism that went well into the territory of tedium. Even at this age, working on songs together only made Brian’s hair whiter. He was already dreading whatever the drummer needed help with.

“Um, what is this exactly?” Brian asked, holding the score a bit further from his face to see the lyrics clearly.

The daze on Roger’s face melted, a big grin spreading on his lips, a blush dusting over his cheeks. “It’s a song for John. Our 40th anniversary is coming up and well, I wanted to give him something big. A song,” Roger said, his skin growing redder as he spoke.

Brian couldn’t help but to smile too, his eyebrows waggling suggestively at Roger. “40, huh? That long? You two…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. John and Roger had been through a lot together in those 4 decades. Ups and downs, lefts and rights. Everything. And here was Roger now, blushing like a schoolgirl talking about his husband. Enough said.

“Composition wise, this looks solid. Although the lyrics are quite sappy if you ask me,” Brian continued, checking everything out on the score once more.

“Of course, the composition is good. I made it. I don’t need help with that. Or with the lyrics, thank you very much. It’s not my song. It’s a Disney song,” Roger said as he grabbed the sheets back.

“Is it? Didn’t even recognize it... But I’ll assume it’s one of John’s favorites.” Brian said, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand.

Roger shot him a cheeky smile. “It’s not. Not yet at least. Which is why I need you,” he said, his demeanor shifting back to business. “I’ve recorded everything. It’s all done. Besides the vocals. I mean, I tried to record that too, but my voice is just too…scratchy.” Roger frowned, unconsciously rubbing at his throat. His voice had made millions melt and rock out through the years. He never once doubted his vocal ability until now. This song was supposed to be soft and beautiful and almost like a lullaby, all of which his voice was incapable of doing.

Brian chuckled, his arms folding against his chest, leaning back against the chair. “I see. You need my vocal prowess to woo your husband,” he said, a little too confidently.

“First of all, you’re a tosser. And secondly, yes. Yes, I do. So, will you record this for me, please? For your best mates 40th?” Roger pleaded, even going so far as to pout, which was undignified, but he needed this. For his husband.

Brian pretended to ponder the request, his white curls shaking as he juggled nonexistent tasks in his head. Roger only deadpanned at the act.

“You already know my answer, git. But to be clear, I’m doing this for John. Not at all for you,” Brian said teasingly, holding up a finger. Although, he perhaps wasn’t lying. This recording process would be hell and he knew it.

Roger stuck his tongue out at him, but he took it.

♚

“I started to lose all hope on take 23, but take 24 really made it all worth it,” Brian said as he pressed the play button on the mixing table.

They both smiled at each other as a piano and acoustic guitar duet faded in, the notes soft and light like flower petals in the wind. They danced around each other and swayed, their melodies intertwining into an airy ballad.

Brian’s voice melted into the instruments so well, you couldn’t even notice it at first. His voice was as pure and sweet as it was during his youth. Every word poured out of him into a crystalline pool, clear enough that one could see the love behind every syllable.

Gentle and tender, he sung, his voice filling the studio. Until all three of them, Brian, the guitar and piano frolicked away, their sounds and their song coming to a close.

“Brilliant,” Brian said, coughing as to not give away the urge he felt to get teary eyed.

Roger was long passed that. Wiping at a tear, he nodded, his heart knowing that this was it. The gift he’d give John. “Thank you,” he choked out. Brian gave him a side hug, resting his head on his shoulder.

“It’s perfect.”

♚

Roger stood up from the dining table, his heart racing. He gazed back at his husband, who smiled back at him, his head tilted.

“What are you doing?” John asked, setting down his wine glass.

“Nothin’,”Roger said with a mischievous look as he reached for his phone in his pocket.

John frowned, sitting up straight in his chair. “We said no presents this year.” With all the money they had, presents felt like a cheap way to celebrate their milestones. Especially the milestones that pertained to their love. All they needed was each other. And maybe one expensive bottle of wine. But mostly each other.

“Yeah, we did. I did a rotten job of following through though,” Roger chuckled, his belly jiggling as he did.

Without giving John another opportunity to protest, he tapped away on his phone until the house speakers turned on.

John was confused, his thumbs rubbing against his fingers, a nervous stim of his.

And then his fingers stopped when music began to play.

It felt similar to when you had something at the tip of your tongue.

A song he knew but couldn’t quite put a finger on.

He strained his ears and his brain to remember until Brian began to croon.

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem,

But if I know you, I know what you'll do,

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.

John’s mouth popped open in surprise, everything clicking. He didn’t recognize the song because it was a cover. A cover made special for him.

“How did you-“ he wanted to ask, but was interrupted by a hand being held out to him.

“Would you like to dance?” Roger asked, his crow feet adorned eyes twinkling. John had no other want but to say yes.

But if I know you, I know what you'll do,

You'll love me at once,

The way you did once upon a dream.

The setting sun painted the house in golds and purples, a warmth washing through every room. As the music swirled and caressed, John and Roger danced in the middle of it all. Their wrinkled hands held onto each other’s, their generously sized bellies pressed up to the other. With white hair, or no hair in John’s case, and cloudy eyes, they smiled at each other, John’s droopy cheeks wet with happy tears.

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you, that gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.

How fast the years go by. One minute, they’re young and spry with the world in their palms and the next, they crackle with every step and can’t see without glasses thicker than a dictionary.

And while their bodies seemingly degrade, the love they have stored for each other in their hearts only grows stronger. And younger. And more beautiful. And more wild.

Roger gave John a spin, John’s hair suddenly dropping down in dark brown waves to his shoulders, his back straightening out, his skin going smooth. With yellow tousled hair and a trim physique, Roger dipped his lover, earning himself the giggles of a John whose voice was bright, unmarred by smoke. John returned the favor, twirling Roger around, Roger’s long hair flying every which way, his hand calloused but soft in John’s.

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem,

But if I know you, I know what you'll do,

Softly laughing, the two of them pressed their now creased foreheads together, their aching feet moving slowly to the song, carrying them in a circle.

“I love you,” Roger whispered, looking into John’s grey eyes, the same as they were some 40 years ago.

“I love you too,” John said, his hands fighting the urge flap in Roger’s grip, his gaze on the timeless, unchanging smile on Roger’s lips.

You'll love me at once,

the way you did once upon a dream.

-----

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522801

#joger #dealor #autistic!john

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sophisticateddesign · 5 years

Text

Broken Glass

INVOLVED: Mercedes Jones & Dominic Wilds (DIAG) LOCATION: Mercedes Atlanta Home. TIME FRAME: December 18 NOTES: Dominic comes to town. AUTHOR’S NOTE: n/a

Mercedes and Dominic’s time together had a certain rhythm. A primal beat, consistent and driving. They moved along in harmony, each step a well practice shuffle. Beat one dinner. Beat two dancing or a movie. Beat three, four, five, and six were where the melody started. Crazy and wild. Her bedroom, office, his hotel, generally any surface that could bare the combined weight. But this time Mercedes had changed the rhythm. She had to. This was a new dance.

The dimmer was set low. Only the vaulted recess in the ceiling emitted any electric powered light. The rest of the room was lit by candles set in mirrored holders, placed around the room in clustered groups. Some on trays that sat on the floor, others on the various dressers, and a few even on her night stand. They set a romantic scene. Even if not expressly intentional. The warm light from the tiny flames, flickered, casting dancing shadows throughout the room. Vanilla, and Jasmine scented the air in the room, as its warm glow snuggled in close around her.

Mercedes pulled the tiny dropper from the bottle, squeezing its contents over her still moist thigh. Two coconut oil droplets hit her leg and raced away from each other. Leaving two separate slick trails as they went. She caught them both with a circular motion and worked the oil into her skin. She hummed as Eddie Jefferson sung in the background. Then unable to resist she added her melody to his scratchy voice, “There I go, there I go… Saying just how I’m still in love with you.” She sang softly. The song continued to play as her voice moved back to a hum. ‘Shouldn't he be here by now?’ She thought eyes drifting to her phone, charging where it sat on the mirrored bedside table.

She restoppered the bottle, tightening the cap, then wiped her still oily fingers on the towel just to the left of her picking up her phone. There were several missed messages, immediately her stomach fluttered. Three were from her assistant, one indeed from Dom and the other notifications from her calendar. The butterflies crumpled burning away. Dying as quickly as they had appeared. She sighed heavily and with a sudden hint of annoyance she opened Dom's message, reading it over. -Going to be 10 minutes late.

“You were never one to check your messages.” Came a smooth, baritone voice. If sex were sound, it would be Dominic's voice. The fact that she had cum countless times listening to him; following his wonderful instructions, was all the confirmation she would ever need. Mercedes started, then bit her lip. She turned unhurried towards the man meeting his already darkened eyes. Clothed in the white and navy-blue garb of a Delta pilot, Dominic radiated confidence. He leaned his carry-on bag against the door frame, continuing to leer at her. His hazel blazed candlelight, hinting at the pleasures to come. That danger -that untamable recklessness, it turned her on immediately. Only this time, eyes brushing against the flowers in his hands, it didn’t. Well, not quite anyway.

She smirked, laying her phone down. “Are we going down that road again?” She asked turning to fully regard the man. “I hope not. I’ve already apologized many times.” Mercedes said her voice playful.

Though Dominic loomed in the doorway, his penetrating gaze never paused. His eyes roamed her full body pausing here and there. He had the look of a man idly perusing his notes before a test. When he reached her growing stomach, he came to a full stop, worry lines creasing his forehead. He tore his eyes from her belly returning to her face, meeting her eyes, as he spoke absently. “I still haven’t forgiven you, Antoinette. I think I need further convincing.” He told her, unbuttoning his coat. He paused inhaling deeply, “Lavender, coconut and... “ He frowned. “One day you’re going to tell me what that last oil is.”

She sat back shifting more to the middle of the bed. Her arms pushed deep into the soft mattress. Mercedes quirked an eyebrow at his inspection of her. 'Did he just frown at my belly?' She thought, but when she spoke she continued in her playful manner. “Why would I do that? A lady isn't supposed to reveal all her secrets.” The smooth black satin robe had never fit properly. Now with her breast getting heavier, it gaped open down the front, only gravity holding it in place over her nipples. “Did you bring me flowers?” She said, pointing to the bouquet of roses with her foot.

“Is that so?” Dominic moved into the room, lifting off his hat, he tossed it to the chair. His eyes followed her shifting legs, catching a glimpse of her newly, naked womanhood. “What, these” He asked, dismissively. He looked a question at the flowers, holding them up, “They could be... It depends on how you behave.” He laid the flowers down beside his hat and began to undress. Untucking his shirt, he nodded towards the cart, “So you don’t expect us to leave the house for the entire 48 hours, huh?“ He asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

Mercedes chuckled at his antics from her seat on the bed. She wondered at the flowers, perplexed. It was an uncharacteristically sweet gesture coming from the man. “Is naughty nice now? Are you my sexual Santa Claus? I like the thought of that.” She mused. The jazz she loved continued to play, an odd counterpoint to his undressing. Like the music, his movements were an unexpected yet, captivating mix. “I don’t know about this we." She said, with a sigh. "Some of us have to work in the morning.”

It was his turn to chuckle, "I guess I am. If you're really naughty, I'll let you unwrap your present early." He said. “Work?” Dominic tested the word on his tongue tasting it for a moment. “What’s that?” He shrugged, adding his shirt to his pile on the chair. He rubbed his hands together as he approached a chrome, oval, and glass serving cart that sat at the foot of the bed. "You do love your toys." He almost growled. The second tier held assorted didlos, cock rings and vibrators. While on the top tier sat a decanter filled with brown liquid, conyac he knew. To the right of the liquor and its single glass, were crystal vials labeled, with things like flavored and strawberries. On the left side of the decanter were other bottles, some mark warming or cooling. He raised an eyebrow, then pursed his lips. He perused the bottles before lifting one of the flavored vials from the cart, “Pregnant." He said sniffing at the bottle. "You're sexy despite your condition. But are you sure about all this? It won’t hurt i-” He stopped gesturing towards her stomach instead.

Mercedes rolled her eyes, laughing. She sat up, innocently eyeing the erotic display. "You know me..." Toys were a necessity, for a single woman. Masturbation, self-satisfaction freed you from the whims of men. You could enjoy them when you liked and leave them with ease. Never being chained or bound by that most heinous of emotions lust. Oh, most confused lust thinking it love but Mercedes knew better. She'd learned better. She cared for Dominic, but it wasn't love. It was lust. Simple to cure, and for her easy to dismiss. She was brought from her thoughts, tensing at his demeanor. Pulling her robe closed, “Dom, we don’t have to do this.” She said. Standing, voice unmistakably annoyed. 'I didn't ask your ass to come in the first place.' She thought. “I understand if it makes you feel uncomfortable.” She didn’t really, but the word seemed like the right thing to say.

Dominic set the vial down with a click, “Did I..” He trailed off and moved quickly to the woman kissing her deeply.

Mercedes gasped when the man all but pounced. She relaxed into the aggressive kiss at first, opening her mouth. There was too much desperation, too much need, too much… everything. She pulled away. Her lightly colored eyes staring into his. “What was that?“ She wiped the corner of her mouth, eyebrows narrowed, despite the heaving of her chest.

Dominic reached forward and pulled at the tie that held the smooth fabric closed. “It was my way of damping your concern. My way of telling you I’m not turned off. How I could never be turned off by you."

He was acting odd and all over the place. Mercedes shook her head stubbornly, “Dominic, something-“

“Shut up!” Dominic huffed, pulling her close. He used his lips to cut off whatever further protest she was about to raise. His tongue slipped deftly into her mouth, tumbling over hers. Sure, fingers steadied her, cupping her soft ass. He unzipped his pants with his free hand, then grabbed her wrist slipping her hand into his boxers.

Mercedes pushed against his form but only slightly, the heat from his body and the pressure from his lips were to heady a combination for her fight. She could feel that 'need and...' the thought drifted away as her mind clouded further. She let out a broken moan as her fingers closed around his stiff manhood and everything except the pulse between her legs seem to burn away. Forgotten.

Dominic panted were he lay across bed spent. He glanced to his side then leaned over kissing Mercedes’ sweat slick hip. His lips remained attached to her salty, sweet flesh for a moment before pulling away. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you? Did I?” He said, smiling in a satisfied manner. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at the woman in the darkness. The candles had long since died, though the sound of Jazz still played low in the background.

Mercedes was sitting on the bed head bent back. She felt relaxed and a bit sticky. Some of the flavored oils and lubes had that effect. She opened her eyes looking up at the ceiling as the man spoke. “I should be asking you that question. I’m not the one who begged for mercy.” She chuckled getting to her feet. “I’m going to take a shower. So, you can rest a bit.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Dominic challenged. “Wait until I’ve had a few hours sleep. I’m going to make you eat those words.” He watched as she stood and swallowed thickly, hesitating for a moment around the question he had in his mind. “Mercedes are you seeing someone?” He asked, getting a sense of vertigo from looking at her upside down. He sat up clearing his head, back facing the woman.

“So, you keep promising,” She said, feeling the telltale signs of their activities as she moved. Mercedes chuckled, “No. You know I would tell you if I was.”

Dominic stood from the bed, walking over across the room towards her. He eyed her. In their time together, she’d always been honest. Telling him bluntly when to back off because another man had caught her fleeting attention. However, in all that time, she had never once called him another man’s name. Never! The fact that tonight with her eyes tightly pressed closed, as she tightened around him, her release emit she’d called another. It bothered him. He reached her taking her waist in his hands. “I don’t know. You didn’t tell me about this.” He said touching her belly.

Mercedes shook her head, looking up at the man, “Me, making a family is different. It has nothing to do with you Dom. A relationship puts us on hold. But you know the rules." She reminded him. "Look, I meant what I said, if this makes you uncomfortable you don’t have to be here. I didn’t ask you to come in the first place, Dom. ” She frowned moving out of his grip. Now with her mind clear she recalled his earlier hesitation.

“Easy, it’s just you…” Dominic trailed off. The twist in his stomach, unknotted as she spoke. He must have misunderstood her mutterings. Maybe they were just sounds of pleasure his mind turned in to a name. Anyone in her life would always be temporary, he was the only constant. “I came because I had a lay over here in Atlanta. I missed it…” He said, with a smile. “This is new to me Mercedes. I only said those things earlier because I was worried, I’d hurt you or the baby. Don’t be upset with me." He said, using his voice to smooth the woman. "You as beautiful as ever, honestly.” He said letting a bit of true emotions show.

'I what?' Mercedes thought. She stared up at him, searching. What else did she expect from the man? He had done as she needed, by quenching her thirst. Outside of that he'd be gone in just a few hours. Arguing was pointless. She sighed giving up any further protest as the need for a shower over took her. "Mhm. She said, turning. "Come on you can wash my back."

#thread #Thread: Broken Glass #Mercedes Jones Rp

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randomfandomimagine · 6 years

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Expert Mode (Ignis x Reader)

Character: Ignis Scientia

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Categories: Reader Insert, Female!Reader, Fluff

Title: Expert Mode

Requested by @kerbiesworld28:

Hey there, could I get some fluff with ffxv ignis? Maybe about him and his female s/o in the kitchen and they get distracted when a song comes on while they are cooking and they start singing and dancing together?

A/N: Warning! Being it my specialty and signature, this is extremely fluffy and also quite silly! Enjoy some fluffy cooking with Iggy! :3

I smiled to myself when I heard Ignis singing from the kitchen. He hardly ever sung at all! He was probably listening to the radio as usual, yet for once he was listening to some songs instead of the news.

Deciding to go see what he was doing, I walked over to the kitchen. Apparently, my boyfriend was too immersed in what he was doing to notice my presence, because he didn’t lift his green eyes off the book he was eyeing.

I saw him standing there, surrounded by lots of pans, utensils and varied ingredients. Knowing I would startle him and fluster him –which didn’t happen too often either –I smirked to myself as I hugged him from behind.

“What’s cooking, good-looking?” I cheerfully said, making him jolt up slightly just as my arms wrapped around him.

“Ah, Y/N” Ignis greeted me, pretending like he wasn’t blushing a little because of my loving and playful term of endearment as well as my surprising hug.

As he calmly looked over his shoulder to meet with my glance, I innocently smiled at him.

“Hey, Iggy”

“I was merely going through some recipes, to see what I can cook for dinner”

“No, you weren’t!” I exclaimed, breaking the hug and teasing him as I moved to stay next to him. “I saw you!”

“What is it that you mean, dear?” Genuinely puzzled, he watched me as he adjusted his glasses.

There was still an adorable faint rose tone on his cheeks, even if he had done his best to brush it off. I knew it flustered him profoundly when I got so affectionate. And today I was in a very affectionate, playful and goofy mood. That should be interesting.

“Or should I say…” I paused dramatically. “I heard you, Ignis”

Instantly understanding, he cleared his throat. The faint remnants of the blush on his cheeks intensified again.

“I’m afraid I do not know what you’re talking about, kitten”

“Oh, I think you do”

“I believe I do not”

“You have a beautiful singing voice, sweetie” I leaned in to leave a light peck on his cheek.

Now clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses, he tried to change the subject.

“What would you like to have for dinner, my love?”

Still, I sweetly smiled at him. He was always so loving, so sweet and so thoughtful. Not to mention charming and gallant.

“How about some cookies? Oh, oh, or brownies!”

“That wouldn’t be too healthy, Y/N” He softly scolded me, in a serious yet gentle tone.

“Please, Iggy?” I pouted, giving him my best puppy look. “I really want some!”

“I can never say no to you” Ignis smiled softly, lovingly cupping my cheek.

As he prepared to bake the cookies, he calmly picked out the ingredients he would need and quickly started mixing them with the same confidence with which he cooked. I knew he had baked before –namely for Noctis and the boys, for me too on occasion –but I was just endeared by how capable he was at everything.

I stared at him, admiring how great he was. Not only was he extremely selfless, caring, attentive, respectful, charming and polite. Not to mention an amazing and loving boyfriend. But Ignis also knew how to sing, cook, bake, give massages, talk to people… And that was only the things I knew off!

I wondered if he could dance as well…

Of course he would be able to dance! To my eyes, there was nothing Ignis Scientia couldn’t do. He was the closest I had seen to a perfect man.

“Excuse me, darling” Ignis dared to lock eyes with me. “But may I ask what are you doing?”

“Lovingly staring at you” I playfully told him, with an innocent smile.

Ignis made a pause, in which he couldn’t contain a cute little chuckle, before he proceeded talking.

“Is there a reason why you’re behaving especially affectionately and, dare I say, giddy… today?”

Trying to appear innocent and adorable, I shrugged one shoulder.

“You always cook and do it so easily” I couldn’t get through my sentence without laughing a little. “I thought you could use a little distraction”

“I must assume you are the distraction then”

“Yup” In a kind gesture to excuse myself for all the random silliness, I fondly rubbed his upper arm. “You now have to cook in expert mode while I distract you”

I thought that I was genuinely annoying him yet he was too polite to admit it. But when I noticed the amused hint in his expression and the way he chuckled again next, my face lit up in excitement.

“I do enjoy to be challenged” Tender and loving, he leaned forward and gingerly brushed his lips against my forehead.

Then he continued to mix his dry ingredients before he added the wet ones.

There was a pause in which we both remained silent, until I realized the song that came from the radio next was a slow one.

“May I challenged you to dance with me then?”

Ignis raised an eyebrow and forgot about the baking for a moment to look at me again.

“On one condition alone” He accompanied his words with a lovely yet shy smile. “If you allow me to hold you close while I do, my darling”

I giggled, wooed by his charm once more, and nodded.

“Why yes you can, my good sir”

His smile widened as he wiped his hands on a cloth and held me close to him. One of his hands tenderly held mine at shoulder height while the other softly rested against the small of my back.

We then began swaying softly, slow dancing to the music. How come I had never slow danced with Ignis before? It was so calming and lovely!

Definitely giddy and enamored, I giggled again as I looked up into his kind and warm beautiful green eyes. Ignis laughed a little in response himself.

“You’ve got flour on your face” I mumbled in a soft voice.

“Oh, do I?” He stopped swaying, a bit alarmed. “Where, exactly?”

“Here” I stood in my tiptoes to meet with his tall height and gently planted a kiss on his lips.

When I broke away I was fighting to keep a smile back. But I failed miserably when I looked up to Ignis and realized he was blushing bright red.

Next came the most adorable and genuine chuckle, one that I had never heard him utter. It greatly widened my grin.

“I have a feeling that I’ll never get those cookies made at this rate” I joked, starting swaying again, to which he followed.

“I must say, Y/N” Ignis softly pushed me closer to him as we danced so my front fully rested over his. “You are the best distraction I ever faced”

“You can’t beat the expert mode, huh?” I mumbled, carrying on with the playful chatter. “I finally found something that distracts you from your great passion of cooking”

“In my defense, you are not playing fair, my love” He paused to lovingly gaze into my eyes. “You are my biggest passion”

“Ignis…” I whined, flustered and embarrassed by such beautiful words.

I hid my face on his shoulder as fast as I could, but I was sure that he had already seen me blush really hard.

He laughed again, which made me smile in spite of myself. It was definitely the most I had heard him laugh in the same day, ever.

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adotblog · 6 years

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Brave Part 13

Part 13?? What is even wrong with me at this point?

Pairing: LMM x Reader

Warnings: cursing, smut (be over 18, please!), alcohol, rpf.

Words: 2413

——————————————————

“I may never move again.”

Lin laughs softly. He squeezes your hand under the water. “This is pretty idyllic.”, he says. “And that lady was right about there being no-one here-I mean thank goodness, cos I’m hella naked right now.”. You laugh. “You know, if you ever wanted proof how happy I am…”, you begin. Lin turns to look at you, intrigued as to what you’ll say next. “I forgot we hadn’t eaten dinner. I missed a meal for you. ME.” you shake your head incredulously as Lin chuckles. “I don’t think that’s ever happened before.” you say as you fight giggles. “Well, we did have the marshmallows.” Lin offers. “Please, that’s barely an appetiser.”, you joke. “I can make you food” he returns. “Nah, I’m just kidding, I’m fine. I’m too chilled out to think about activity of any kind”, you say as you close your eyes and lean your head back against the tub edge.

“We should probably get out soon-I’m starting to get that prune look.” Lin says, then laughs as you groan your disagreement. “What if I get out first and get the fire going in the living room?”, he suggests. You raise your head. “I’m gonna take it from your human-heart-eyes-emoji face that that’s a ‘yes’”, he laughs. Lin springs up, and dashes for a towel. You sigh at the sight of him naked. He trots out of the room and you relax back into the water. You stare out at the sea, your thoughts, for once, calm. When Lin comes back, he’s wearing a Kings College tshirt and pyjama bottoms, holding out a huge fluffy towel between his outstretched arms.

With a last look at the ocean, you climb out and rush into his towelly embrace. You stay there for a minute or so, with him rubbing your back and kissing your temple. Eventually he steps away from you. “The house is lovely and warm now”, Lin says as he fetches your robe and holds it open for you. You slip gratefully into it, and laugh as Lin jokingly tries to prevent you from tying it by slipping his hands under it and moving them over your wet skin, stroking your sides and kissing you.

He leads you back to the living room, where the only light is from the open fire. You sit in front of it, legs straight in front of you, fanning your toes out to warm them in front of the flames. Lin is pottering around in the kitchen, phone in hand. Suddenly there’s music, instrumental, soft, unobtrusive-just a gentle hum around the room. Lin places his phone in the speaker dock on the kitchen counter and adjusts the volume. He sways back and forth absent-mindedly as he pours a drink.

When Lin comes back to your side he’s carrying two short glasses. “Honey whiskey?”, he offers as he sits beside you, both of you leaning back against an ottoman. You accept and clink your glass with his before taking a sip. It is smooth and sweet, deliciously comforting as it warms your throat. “Oh boy, that is so good”, you marvel as you swirl the amber liquid around your glass. “Goes down too easy, I’ll be tipsy before you know it.”, Lin says with a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of you”, you promise as you nudge his shoulder. Lin smirks and kisses your cheek.

The music skips to the next track.“Lin, are you playing me your own music right now?”, you ask, cocking your head to the side to listen and confirm that yes, this was an instrumental of “Breathe”. “Huh! I guess so, is that weird?”, he half-cringes. “No, no-I do listen to your music you know”, you tease “I’m kind of a big fan”. You close your eyes, leaning your head back on the ottoman and singing along to the counter-melody. When you open your eyes to take a sip of your drink, Lin is staring it you fondly and it unexpectedly makes you blush. “I like hearing you sing in Spanish.”, he says before taking another sip of his whiskey. “Ha, well don’t get too used to it-I’m much better at reading it than understanding it when it’s spoken and responding well”, you laugh. He looks excited “then you just need more exposure to songs sung in Spanish-I have a LOT of those. OOH! I’ll make you a mix”, he says. “Nice.”, you reply.

You both stare at the fire for a long while, shoulder to shoulder, occasionally sipping your drinks. It is so peaceful. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed”, you sigh. Lin puts his arm around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “No work, no city, no commitments. Nothing exists for the next two days.”, he says. You sigh.

After he pours the second whiskey, Lin suggests a game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. It all starts out pretty well but after the third whiskey you keep forgetting who you’re supposed to be connecting to. You’re cross-legged on the floor, facing each other and keep doubling over to laugh. Then you get the giggles when Lin threatens to call JJ Abrams to back up one of his connection claims.

Eventually, when you have lost the plot entirely, Lin declares himself the winner and steals a kiss when you vehemently disagree. The game is immediately forgotten once his lips are on yours. There’s honestly no place you’d rather be. You throw your arms around his neck, kissing him long and hard, pushing your tongue into his mouth, tasting honey. He leans into you, gently pushing you down to a lying position. The whiskey has you a little giggly and feeling slightly fuzzy.

He hovers over you, placing a kiss at your throat. Then another where your neck meets your shoulder, and another just below your ear. He knows this drives you crazy and smiles when you give a quiet whine. Kneeling above you, Lin’s hands go to the half knot in your robe. He spreads the robe back onto the floor, exposing your naked body. “Mmm, you are so beautiful”, he says as he lies beside you. He holds himself up on one arm and runs his eyes the full length of your body.

You’re still not altogether comfortable with that kind of scrutiny, years of low self-esteem and body confidence cannot be instantly erased, even by Lin. Your instinct is still to cover up, to scrunch your body up to cover the places that are too wobbly, too imperfect. But with the warm glow of alcohol and Lin’s gentle, almost reverent touch, you feel ok to remain exposed.

As he kisses you again, Lin’s hand rests on your ribcage, occasionally stroking down to your waist. Your hand cups the side of his face as his mouth moves against yours-slow, lingering kisses that nonetheless leave you breathless.

You turn onto your side to move closer to Lin as his hand finds your breast. He strokes his thumb across your nipple as he moves his kisses to your cheek then neck. You bite your lip as his fingers trace your curves, sending a shudder down your spine and causing you to arch your back. He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, leaving it raised and hard.

Lin pulls away from your neck to look you in the eye. “You feeling ok?”, he checks-aware you’ve both had a couple of drinks. “So very ok”, you reply breathily. He smiles at that then moves his hand between your legs, to run a finger along your wetness. He presses his hand onto your hip to roll you onto your back and spread your legs. You give a little moan as he pushes two fingers into you, slowly moving them in and out of you as he captures your mouth once more.

You break away from his kiss when he begins to rub gentle circles over your clit. You need all the breath you have to groan as each stroke adds to a growing tension within you. As the sensations fizz more closely together and you feel yourself getting closer, you can’t help but rock against his hand as he presses on that little bundle of nerves.

When you feel the first swell you press your face into the crook of his neck as your whole body curls into his tender yet frenzied touch. He gasps quietly when your voice breaks with your climax. He starts to slow his movements as you squeal and curse at the surges of ecstasy you’re feeling. As you finally come undone, bucking wildly against his hand, he murmurs “Yes, Y/N, yes!” into your hair.

When your gasps turn to contented sighs he removes his hand and pulls you onto your side to face him again. He wraps both arms around you, pulling your chest to his in a full-body hug. “You’re pretty good at that.”, you say with a laugh. “You turn me on so much, I love making you cum”, he says “seeing you like that always makes me…Mmph.”, he sighs. His hardness pressing into your hip definitely confirms that.

“I know the whole doing-it-in-front-of-the-fire thing would, in theory, be romantic…but this floor is super uncomfortable”, you admit. “Yeah, you’re not wrong”, Lin laughs as he releases you from his arms and looks down at you. “You want to go to sleep?”, he asks as he kisses your cheek. “Not yet”, you grin. He raises an eyebrow as you spring to your feet and make a run for the bedroom with your robe clutched to you. You hear Lin following you.

The bed is high enough that you have to jump a little to get on it and when Lin walks in the room you’re kneeling on it, waiting. He undresses quickly. “C’mere”, you beckon. He walks over to stand in front of you, at the very edge of the bed. It puts you about equal in height for once. “It would be criminal”, you whisper as you take him in your hand, “to not show a four poster bed some action.”. He bites his lip as you slowly stroke him. You keep a steady rhythm and soon his eyes are closed, head falling back as he quietly curses. His hand comes up to cup your face as he kisses you urgently until he stops to whisper your name. “Ahh! if we keep going I’m gonna…” he says stilling your hand with a touch to your arm.

You hold out your hand to invite Lin up onto the bed and he hops up and positions himself behind you. He pulls your body into his, his chest against your back. His mouth is on your neck as his arms wrap around you and he cups your breasts. The combination of him tweaking your nipples and lightly brushing kisses up and down your neck has you whimpering. You arch your back and let your head fall backwards onto his shoulder.

Lin’s hands move down your body, caressing your stomach and hips. All the while, his lips are moving against your neck and shoulders. You reach back to pull his hips into yours, his hardness pressing into your backside. “Lin…”, you whisper, indicating that you need him inside you now.

Lin runs his hands down your arms, guiding them upwards to the bedpost just in front of you. His hands cover yours to place them around the post. “Hold on tight”, he says in your ear, a wicked smile playing on his lips. You spread your legs a little and tilt your ass up to give him access. He murmurs appreciatively at the sight of you waiting for him like this and gives your ass a squeeze. Lining his cock up with your entrance, he uses one hand to guide himself in, the other moving to your hip.

You sigh as he slides in, marvelling again at how perfect a fit you seem to be for each other. You adjust your position slightly so that you’re at the right height for him to bury all of himself inside you. He uses both hands to pull your hips back to his and begin thrusting in and out of you.

You move in time together, at this angle you’re almost riding him-bouncing backwards into him. You’re barely holding onto the post, the pace isn’t too fast just yet and you have your back arched so you can look back over your shoulder at your lover. Lin grunts as he helps to rock you back and forth on his cock, his eyes fixed on where your bodies meet.

Your gasp when he hits a sweet spot brings Lin’s gaze to your face. He shifts slightly to hit that spot again, and seeing you gasp again, he leans into you and says against your cheek “I told you to hold on tight”. You grip the post with both hands as he picks up the pace, driving the head of his cock into that spot over and over. He sees the goosebumps you get, he hears your breathing become ragged. Your head falls forward as you feel a climax approaching and you cry out his name, almost a sob, as the first wave hits you. You contract around him, as your knees weaken and he grips your hips tighter to keep you from collapse. Or maybe it’s to steady himself, because as the last ripple of pleasure passes through you and your cries dampen to moans, his hips stutter. He groans and his thrusts become sloppy as his peak chases yours. He shudders against you as he cums.

Lin rests his forehead against your shoulder as you lean against the post for support. He kisses your back as he pulls away from you and sits back onto the bed. He holds out a hand for you to steady yourself as you turn around and then flop down to sit next to him, your breathing still not normal. He smiles at you “Was that good enough action for the bed?”, he asks cheekily. You shrug “Ehh”, you joke. Lin pulls you into his lap, takes your face in his hands and gives you a peck on the lips. “You’re insufferable”, he says with a sigh. “I know.”, you laugh as you wrap your arms around him and rest your forehead against his. “I love you”, you say. “I know”, he responds.

“MIRANDA.”

#lmm x reader #lin manuel x reader #lin manuel imagine #rpf #fanfic

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sound-tracker-flac · 7 years

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Nier: Automata OST Review

Echoes of What’s Left of Us, and of Them

Mild spoilers to follow.

Keiichi Okabe (岡部啓一) and team MONACA had a great deal to live up to, namely their masterpiece that was the Nier: Gestalt & Replicant soundtrack from 2010. Theirs was already a titanic feat—finding the right thematic approach to the Yoko Taro’s insanity must have been immensely difficult. Despite that, the soundtrack to Nier was a runaway hit; it has become one of my top ten soundtracks ever.

So, does Nier: Automata’s OST deliver?

Packaging and Design

The 3-disc set is enclosed by the game’s fantastic artwork.

Disc One has Toobie 2B’s 2Bootiful form etched on its surface. Discs Two and Three are next to each other and are 9S and A2, respectively. Granted, there were “only” three protagonists, but I found it interesting that these two were put next to each other. I guess no-one dies alone, after all…

Artwork of the City Ruins in the case interior. Very nice.

The booklet is adorned by the early concept art of 2B meeting the Forest King.

Goddamn it, Yoko Taro

On the previous page, Okabe wrote an insightful paragraph about the creation of the original Nier soundtrack and writing for Automata in its legacy (more on that later). Here, Yoko Taro gave us…this. (Plot details so I won’t include the translation)

An interesting tidbit: the track names in Japanese were written without Hiragana, instead using Kanji and Katakana entirely. The use of this linguistic trope in Japanese pop culture is often associated with the formality of technical/academic jargon, giving the track titles a “technological,” “mechanical,” and “robotic” aesthetic. Very fitting, considering the game’s setting.

All in all, the physical copy of the soundtrack added more to its value.

Soundtrack Review

Spoilers ahead.

Upon landing in the first area (after the heart-pounding prologue), I knew I needed the soundtrack. The track is “City Ruins: Ray of Light”, which immediately set the tone of the game: seemingly desolate, yet teeming with life within. While the the first Nier OST featured mostly key pieces tied to specific characters/situations, the tracks’ in-game impact was somewhat lessened by their overuse in the game. Not so with Automata, as the soundtrack is punctuated with segmented key pieces that are amazing ambient themes, the permutations of “City Ruins” being one such example. Key pieces such as the later action themes were tied to key moments, giving them the impact and attention they deserve.

Okabe mixed acoustic instruments and synthetic sounds, bestowing each track an expansive soundstage best enjoyed on open-back headphones. Pieces like “City Ruins” were written in movements not unlike Bloodborne’s use of segments to delineate boss phases, but in Automata, the game used segments to transition between different areas in the same map. Though areas are revisited often in the game, this dynamic use of movements actually reinforced the strengths of both gameplay and music, avoiding repetition and fatigue.

Additionally, the composers wrote different variants for the motifs depending on the sequence of the game; for instance, “Significance” and the sweet, melodramatic “Vague Hope” had several versions, changing between A, B, C/D/E. Returning veteran co-composer Keigo Hoashi (帆足圭吾) composed one of my favorite tracks, “Vague Hope: Spring Rain.” The solo vocalist paired with the delicate strings delivers a highly emotional theme depicting a fragile hope…and love, or a memory thereof…

Is it OK to cry while writing a soundtrack review

One mark of a great composer is flexibility in creating diverse, memorable motifs. Okabe shows that, again, he is a master of his trade with Automata. Soft pieces like “Peaceful Sleep” have actually rocked me to restful dreams. And, befitting the soul-crushing, heart-wrenching writing under Yoko Taro’s pen, Okabe delivered the punches with genuinely disturbing tracks. “Mourning” is one such example: it began with a twisted, heavy male chorus slowly elevated by layers of female chorus, rendering the theme significantly more religious as it progressed. The female chorus briefly lessened the sorrow with major chords, only to be dragged down by the weight of the male chorus once more into a sorrowful minor key. The string quartet faded in with a solo session starting at 2:15 that reinforced the motif, and finally joined by the chorus once more at 3:18, rising to a mournful crescendo at 3:57 that was no less than an operatic processional. For the moments that warranted the use of “Mourning,”* the track absolutely killed it, and also killed my heart, hopes and dreams for the characters. *see the end of the Golden Machines sidequest

There is no lack of EPIC in Automata, and I am stoked to say that Okabe and Hoashi have written some of the best action pieces ever once more. Their flexibility came into play again, spinning a twist of action from slow, calm motifs. “War&War” was a pleasant surprise when I realized it was a battle-ready version of the obsessively calm “City Ruins” that might as well have been sung by the Red Orchestra. “End of Aliens” is almost lifted straight out of Tekken, considering the fighting-game showdown between Adam/Eve VS 2B/9S. “Alien Manifestation” by both Okabe and Hoashi is my second favorite action-track in the listing. A powerful collaboration between the two powerhouses, they employed vocals and percussion heavily influenced by Southeast Asian and South Asian music. A decidedly culturally-laden theme depicting something that was inhuman in origin yet becoming human…

See above for EPIC

But the star amidst the shining action-tracks was “Emil: Despair.” Hoashi stole the thunder in this one, carrying on the legacy of the previous soundtrack, other examples being Okabe’s “Faltering Prayer” and “Song of the Ancients (Atonement),” but “Emil: Despair” went full SSJ3 on its already superb predecessor “Emil: Karma” from Nier. The piece is at once filled with the familiar, somber chorus, tense with weight from the Trombone, and fraught with immense sorrow driven by strings and trumpets. A new interlude, starting at 1:20, introduced a new solo vocal that demonstrates Hoashi’s brilliance in composition: introducing new ideas congruent to existing ones, bringing both to a higher place. “Emil: Despair” was truly a prime example of thus; an immensely satisfying blend of percussion-backed action and sadness.

It didn’t take eternity to hurt me, Emil

Okabe worked with amazing vocalists again. The supremely talented Emi Evans returns in key pieces to reprise her excellent performance in the first Nier soundtrack. She is flanked by newcomers J'Nique Nicole and Marina Kawano who performed the English and Japanese versions of the ending theme “Weight of the World,” respectively. Nicole’s voice had nuance and strength and was complemented by Evans’ higher, softer approach. Kawano’s performance is fairly decent although the JP version of “Weight of the World” got a little weird towards the end. I don’t know if it was from overdramatization or if Kawano was trying to emulate Nicole’s deeper vocal range, but the last vocal segment of the song seemed forced for an otherwise good performance.

Nevertheless, the vocal work in Automata’s soundtrack was among the best in the industry. The diversity in the styles of chorus for the soundtrack was particularly noteworthy; you will hear everything from solo vocals to Latin-style hymns to a style close to temple chants in South/Southeast Asian cultures, a musical style rarely found in mainstream media. This tonal diversity somehow retained the thematic consistency of the entire soundtrack, yet bringing a fresh approach to every track.

All I wanted was Metal Gear Rising with Badass Goth Lolita Androids. I did get what I wanted /and/ existential crisis, a torrent of tears, and the one of the best game soundtrack in years. Pretty good deal.

Okabe wrote in the soundtrack booklet:

[This soundtrack] is the result of spending time and thought on capturing the “essence of Nier” as well as introducing new themes to bring the new world of Nier:Automata to life.

His collaboration with Hoashi, Takahashi and Ishihama as well as the talented performers for both vocals and instruments have realized that vision and then some. Nier:Automata Original Soundtrack was yet another masterpiece befitting Yoko Taro’s madness—a bleak outlook on what it means to be human, brought about by deceit and despair, and the faint, blossoming hope rising above the carnage. The game asked if humanity could exist without humans, and the answer was a resounding “Yes.” I hope that music, being an intrinsically emotional creation, will be one of humanity’s enduring legacies in the vastness of existence. Perhaps in 10,000 years, a badass blindfolded goth lolita android will find a CD of Nier Automata’s soundtrack buried in the city ruins, and experience a glimpse of the emotions that defined us.

This soundtrack is a must own for all fans of Nier: Automata and those who enjoy action and ambient tracks. It is available digitally on iTunes and Amazon. I bought the physical copy from Amazon JP.

This review was not sponsored by Amazon, Apple, Square Enix, Platinum Games, or MONACA.

#nier #nier automata #soundtrack #music #review #nier 2b #video games #playstation #square enix

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writingishaaard · 4 years

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A Strange Sort of Comfort

Title: A Strange Sort of Comfort Word Count: 2,008 words Rating: T Notes: There are mentions of a suicide attempt so, be warned. And a dash of gayness in there, why not? This is kinda my sort of attitude to BLM. I’m not saying it’s useless. I’m not saying it’s not working. What I’m saying is keep fighting. Keep donating. Keep bringing awareness. And please, please stay safe out there guys! Fandom: Original Work

A Strange Sort of Comfort

He would be lying if he said that his boredom didn’t get on his nerves. He always has something to entertain him. It was either the fact that he could entertain himself using the mortals as play-things and the fact that he could, inevitably destroy the world and the things he started to enjoy, or the fact that his mortal hadn’t been herself. He could always count on her heart to fill him with excitement. Fill him with something to do. Fill him with the determination of protecting her.

The time of scraping the eyes out of angels and clawing at their wings to try and reach her side flashed behind his eyes. It brought a sense of accomplishment and malicious glee to rest in his core as he heard the growls of angry angels, left behind in tatters as his laughter echoed in the hollowed out space of the planes.

A sharp suck of air brought him back. So he sauntered through the studio, looking for his mortal. Looking for his Kiva. Looking for anything to do in the meantime as well. The presence of water lilies and wet soil filled his nose as he walked past her bedroom. Fresh out the shower, how delicious. He peeked into the room, trying to avoid making a sound with his horns against the wooden door.

There she sat on the bed looking at her phone, cross-legged with her slippers on her feet. Her wet brown hair clung to her scalp while her towel soaked up the water. But something didn’t seem right. Her heart didn’t have the energy it normally sang out. Her soul didn’t radiate as much love it normally gave freely. Her mind didn’t run free from life like it normally did. She didn’t act like she normally would.

He crept in like a puppy asking for cuddles. With his face crinkled in worry and confusion. His silent creep towards her got disrupted by his sudden flailing thought of make noise, she doesn’t like it when you sneak! Her head jumped up. The tears lining her eyes and the redness of her cheeks, the sniffling of her nose and the wrinkles of sadness on her face, made his heart plummet.

“Kiva? What’s wrong?”

His long lanky body almost slithered onto the bed as he rested his hands on her arms. She made quick work of wiping away her tears and muttering a small,

“Nothing”

From past experiences, he’d tell you that that word is everything except what it means. Especially if it comes from someone who just cried. But with her, he took it literally. He would leave her alone and leave it at that.

Until he couldn’t. Until he saw the blood. Until he saw the pools it left. Until he saw where it all came from. Until he saw the knife in her hands. Until he saw the tears mixing with the red. Until he looked down at her wrists. Until she uttered the two words that would haunt him for the rest of his eternal life.

“Help me…”

He had to stop himself from clinging harder. He had to take breaths that had to appear normal. He had to tell himself, calm down.

He gave a nod but made an effort to look into her red tinged eyes. He creased his brow when her round pupils met his own slitted pupils. An awkward lopsided smirk had been the only thing that he could manage.

“You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

That’s when the flood gates opened. That’s when her heart decided to spill out the pent up energy of keeping it in. That’s when her soul opened the gates for her compassion and love to soak the floors and drip onto the downstairs neighbours. That’s when her mind started sprinting through the fields of worry, doubt, and frustration.

He had to take a deep breath in order to catch it from completely leaving his body. He looked down at her when her hands went to her hair, just above her ears. Her sobs wracked her body like a storm taking the waves to crash against the rocks. The words tumbled from her mouth like a person rolling down a hill in those large tubes.

From what he could gather, she had been mourning the losses of people that have black skin. She had been angry at their law enforcers allowing and causing the deaths of the innocents. She had been frustrated at the fact that she can’t do anything. she had been worried about her friend in the hospital.

None of this made sense to him. But he listened. That’s what he learnt.

“I donate to charities, I scream on every platform I got, I sign petitions… I can’t do more! It’s not even helping! Nothing is helping,” she screamed at the air. She took a deep shuddering breath. “I feel like I’m just watching everything burn…”

He moved closer to her and took her hands in his. He made her look into his eyes, the tears now streaming freely.

“It’s not nothing. It’s something. The fact that you’re angry about it means something. The people that aren’t fazed by it, is a problem.” He tried his best to hide the growing panic in his throat. He didn’t want to see her so demolished by a life that is insatiable in its misery. So he tried the next best thing,

“What about that lady that got shot through her door by the officers? Her case got reopened right? And that-that white people are starting to help the black people? Or how they want to reroute the money from law enforcers to people that actually need it—”

“Defund the police,” she corrected in a soft voice.

“Yeah, that. And your friend will be fine. I’ll handle it. You said that people were waking up to it. Isn’t that a good thing? It’s not nothing. The fact that you’re trying to help is something… right?” He tried to smirk at his last word, but her reaction told him that he failed.

“I guess… but every time I look at the news… it keeps getting worse. I can’t cry because then I’m too sensitive… but if I don’t, I’ll be heartless”

“Who said that? Look, this mortal world’s a shit show. It’s always going to be a shit show. Nothing is going to ever be peaceful. You can’t take everything on your shoulders if no one else is willing to do the same.”

With those words, her eyes widened and her brow crooked in realisation. Her heart started to calm, her soul started to lull into understanding, and her mind slowed down to the alleys of awareness. She gave a small intake of breath before her head collided with his chest. He wrapped his arms around her with a sigh.

The thoughts of bringing that smile to her face made his heart pick itself up and soar. He said he would protect her, and protect her he shall. Even from the sadness this insufferable world brings. He gave a squeeze and took her face in his long thin hands.

“How ‘bout we watch a movie? You make popcorn, I’ll take blankets to make a fort.” His half-smirk was genuine but taut, trying his best to gauge her reaction.

She returned his smirk with a shaky smile. A deep breath and a small nod brightened his whole heart. Or lack of a heart, he supposed. He jumped off the bed so quickly, he almost threw off Kiva. Her giggles stopped him from running back to see if she’s okay. And the lack of a thud with a following ‘ow’ had also been a reassurance.

He yanked the blankets off the couch, threw the pillows off like they were ticking time bombs, and dragged the stuffed toys to their spot in the living room. Fifteen minutes of folding up pillows into the blankets. Fifteen minutes of placing the stuffed toys like a nest. Fifteen minutes of… excited smiles and chuckles when Kiva went to appreciate his handiwork.

She came with the big blue bowl of popcorn that had the words ‘POPCORN’ printed on its front and cups of hot chocolate. He helped carry the hot chocolate while she talked about her movie suggestions.

Both of them plopped down into the nest of fluff he had created and put on the movie. They put on an animation she enjoyed so much, she could recite every song sung and every line said. But one song she didn’t sing was the lullaby that was sung to the little boy by a loving witch and her wife.

And that had been the song she fell asleep on. She was on his lap, facing the TV. But had completely turned around to rest her cheek on his broad chest as soon as the witch had tucked in her son. She let out a sigh as she snuggled in. Her weight started to increase on his chest. She’s falling asleep, luckily it’s the end of the movie.

As soon as the tension washed away from her body, someone’s legs came into view right by his face. They were sitting on the couch, running their hand through Kiva’s hair. The hand was an almost solid gold in colour but the more his eyes travelled up, the more the solid gold broke down into small flourishes that faded into a dark pecan colour.

His eyes finally rested on a face he would always describe as breath-taking. A sharp enough jawline to crack through diamonds, eyes so deep you could wander in them without worrying about getting lost, hair so white it could have been freshly fallen snow, and a smile so soft it feels like the finest silks draped across supple skin. The eyes flickered over to him and the smile faltered.

“I am sorry I could not help today,” an almost melodious voice came out as this almost god-like creature apologised.

“Oh, come here!”

He grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him closer. Their lips crashed against each other while the man almost fell atop him and Kiva. Thankfully, he caught himself on the couch. Minutes passed of them keeping their lips locked. His lungs started to burn but he kept the man there. His hand snaked into the white hair and pulled hard enough for the man to get the message. They broke apart with a small gasp.

“Anaras…” the indignation in the man’s voice made him smile.

“Layatiel…” He responded with the same amount of indignation the man had shown. Anaras’s smile widened as the man he grew to know as Layatiel looked him up and down. Then looked over to Kiva, completely oblivious to everything around her.

“And if I had harmed her?”

“Not when I’m around, angel”

“Well, I should have be—”

Anaras silenced him again with a passionate kiss. This time longer. This time using his hand tangled in Layatiel’s hair to push him further into the kiss. Layatiel whined into the kiss before breaking off with another gasp. He took in all the air he could, fearing that Anaras would take him again.

“Are you done?!” Layatiel whispered in a tone Anaras knew as silent sexual frustration.

“Only if you’re done belittling yourself for not being here to help,” Anaras responded with confidence oozing from his mouth. “I know why. I know it’s seriously difficult where you come from, angels aren’t supposed to show themselves to humans, blah blah blah.”

The angel’s eyes softened. He looked down to Kiva and settled down next to Anaras. Layatiel started to run his hand through her hair again. Anaras took Layatiel’s head and rested it on his shoulder. He then intertwined his fingers with the other’s free hand.

“Thank you Anaras”

“It’s nothing”

“I’ll take care of the friend tomorrow”

With that, Anaras took a deep breath and settled down. His heartbeat eventually slowing to meet Layatiel’s. His eyes fell and he welcomed the darkness that came with sleep.

#my witing #human x demon #human x angel #human x angel x demon #the demon anaras #the angel layatiel #angel oc #demon oc #human oc #the human kiva #original writing #original story #original work

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privilegc-blog · 7 years

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( » » tasks | 006 ; parenthood. )

b a s i c s —

Name: Blair Blackwood

Age: 49

Face Claim: Brad Pitt

Name: Daniel Francis Blackwood

Age: 17

Face Claim: Kai Caster

h i s t o r y —

She was such a pretty young thing when she showed up, shortly after Blair landed in Cheyenne. Faith Collier, a 26 year old speech therapist and aspiring singer from Oakland, California had traveled halfway across the country to stop in Cheyenne as well, drawn by the radio broadcasts. Normal, by all accounts. Someone who ( before the entire world changed ) Blair would have thought boring or annoying. She showed up, and slowly slipped into Blair’s heart — almost by accident.

Blair hadn’t expected to fall in love with her but her soft smiles in his direction, her unfailing kindness towards him even when he stumbled, her quiet songs sung in the dead of the night endeared her to him. She didn’t seem to mind his past, his missing arm, or the fact he had past struggles with drugs. Blair didn’t mind talking to her, learning about what made her her, or doing things for her even if he didn’t get anything in return. Ivy teased him for falling for Faith but his younger sister was secretly glad her brother had found someone so normal to love.

It was no surprise that they married, Faith already three months pregnant with their child. It had been an accident of sorts, neither of them expected it, just like how Faith had slipped into his heart but Blair was overjoyed. Of course, they were both nervous, childbirth was hard enough before the end of the world, but now it could be deadly if anything went wrong. Luck was on their side however, and Daniel Francis Blackwood was born without much trouble — a healthy baby with no complications. Faith give the boy his first name, after her father, a retired firefighter who died when she was twelve. Blair contributed Daniel’s middle name, in honor of his sister.

They raised Danny, as they liked to call him, to have his father’s wit and sharp mind with his mother’s kindness and goodness. Faith calmed him after nightmares with lullabies sung in her sweet voice, Blair taught him how to read, write, and to understand numbers. Even Ivy taught Danny how to speak French, and their guard, though far older now, taught the young boy how to kill the dead and shoot while Gwen, the nurse who saved Blair all those years ago, taught Daniel how heal. Daniel had a large family, although not all of them were related, and had as close to a normal childhood as his parents could provide.

Blair hadn’t thought about drugs for years, too caught up in pleasing and protecting his wife, who returned his love in kind. They made a happy couple, even with their vastly different histories. They often compared how different their lives had been before but they both concluded that what mattered now was that they made each other better and had made a life together. Blair was content, even with the day to day struggles of living in a world in which the dead walked and tried to kill the living. But all things must come to an end, as many philosophers and authors use to caution, and Blair’s life he carved out for his family did.

Daniel's voice had just began to drop when it happened. They were all out together, looking for supplies in Rock Springs, when they heard screams. They all assumed it would be someone getting attacked by the dead, but when they came upon the scene, it was a small group of travelers being attacked by a four or five raiders. They all sprung to the travelers aid and the resulting fight was fierce. It was fast and brutal and Blair got distracted by telling Danny to run if the fighting got more intense when one of the raiders went for Faith. Faith, Blair’s wife of fifteen years, died instantly, neck snapped by the bludgeoning of a baseball bat.

Blair went after the raider, intending to kill the man by any means, even with his bare hands. One of the other remaining raiders, panicking, pulled a relic that somehow still worked out — a grenade. The explosive device missed but skittered underneath a nearby car and blew up, hurling the wreck four feet to the left away from the fight. The main wreckage missed everyone, but shrapnel scattered into Blair’s face and the concussive blast blew out his left ear drum while knocking him down.

The raider that killed his wife was not as lucky, and died from shrapnel lodging in his throat. Daniel was knocked off his feet but only suffered a few scrapes, as he was further back and mourning his dead mother. The travelers they saved fled in fear, while the raider that had tossed the grenade disappeared, leaving behind his dead companion. Blair got up, clearly dazed, holding a flap of skin against his cheek that had nearly been sheared off his face. Daniel puked at the sight but quickly recovered, getting his father to sit down and preformed some quick emergency medicine with what little supplies they had been able to find before the fight.

Daniel removed as many pieces of shrapnel as he could find, and cleaned the wounds, giving some hasty stitches to hold together his father’s face before Blair passed out. He woke up that evening to find his son sitting next to the covered body of his wife. Once he felt strong enough to stand up, he fashioned a litter to take the body of Faith back to Cheyenne. Blair carried it himself, ignoring the pain of his face, as he relied on Daniel to clear the way and defend against any undead that might stumble across their path. They made it back, four days later, and buried Faith.

Gwen took a look at Blair’s face, Daniel’s stitches, while crude had done their job well enough. However, there would be unsightly scars left in their place and his left ear had suffered enough damage to render Blair partially deaf in that ear. Daniel had escaped unharmed, but they moth mourned Faith for a week after. Blair was barely pulled out of slipping back into drug abuse ( this time of pain pills ) by his son and his sister.

Every day, Blair and Daniel visited the grave of Faith for the following month. Daniel suffered nightmares that his mother’s soft songs couldn’t soothe, he had to make do with his father’s quiet voice — he couldn’t speak as fast as he done in the past, his scarring wouldn’t permit it — telling Daniel all the stories of Faith’s life. She had told them to Blair when Daniel had been too young to understand them, but Blair wanted his son to know everything he could about his mother in order to not forget her. The father and son struggled, moving away from the camp they had called home for so long, as the familiar hallways and classrooms brought up too many memories of Faith to bear.

They moved into a small house nearby, and Blair lost himself in working on the house. He found that if he kept his hands busy, it was easier to not think about what he might have done differently to save his wife. Daniel soon joined his father in learning the art of carpentry that Blair was learning from an old man who lived down the road named Jeff Goodwin. Ivy and their guard visited often, along with the other various friends they had made over the years, to check in on the father and son pair ( especially to make sure that Blair hadn’t fallen into his old drug habits ) but they seemed to be doing as well as they could be.

Daniel is following in his father’s footsteps, with the charming good looks tempered by his mother’s sweet features. Blair however, no longer has his previous good looks due to his scarring. Despite that, they have a good life. They repair the slowly crumbling buildings as needed, as they are some of the few carpenters left in Cheyenne, with the death of Jeff shortly before Daniel’s seventeenth birthday. Blair still visits his wife’s grave, Daniel less so, but Daniel’s nightmares have disappeared. Blair still secretly blames himself for Faith’s grave but he’s slowly coming to terms with it and concerns himself with raising Danny instead of concentrating on memories and what if’s.

h e a d c a n o n s —

Blair no longer speaks as clearly, and he has a rougher voice as his throat was slightly damaged from the heat of the blast.

Blair wears his and his wife’s rings on a chain that he never takes off.

Blair learned how to play the guitar from Faith.

Danny inherited his mother’s singing voice, was taught how to play guitar from his mother, and learned how to play the harmonica from Jeff.

They own two dogs: a Jack Russel Terrier named Blossom they found as a puppy when Danny was twelve and a Pitt Bull/Mastiff mix named Chomper who was Jeff’s dog.

Ivy calls Danny Frankie because of his middle name, and is the only one to call him that.

Blair is teaching himself how to whittle

He is also planning on making a prosthetic for his arm.

Angry with the patch job he preformed on his father, Danny is learning more about medicine as well as helping his dad.

#hst:task #( » » tasks. )#( » » tasks | 006 ; parenthood. )

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splat-dragon · 5 years

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this is probably gonna be a very dumb suggestion but could u write a story about john leaving the gang for a year and arthur is like really sad cuz he misses him and then john comes back and instead of arthur being happy, he’s mad cuz of how much he missed john i really hope that’s easy to understand i feel like it’s all over the place and if u don’t wanna write it that’s okay !

Thanks for the suggestion! It definitely wasn’t dumb, there are no dumb suggestions. Feel free to send me any you have! This was a blast to write; I love angst! Sorry if it wasn’t what you were asking for

The Prodigal Son Returns

Summary: Marston had been gone for a year. Had left his boy without a father, had left Abigail to raise Jack alone. Had abandoned them, had up and left their family. And then he just shows up and expects to be welcomed back with open arms? Thinks that bringing everyone gifts will make them forget his transgressions?

Yeah, right.

It was one of those days.

A young buck was strapped down across Boadicea’s croup, blood from the wound that put it down mixing with the mare’s sweat. The buck, too, was covered in sweat, having worked up a good lather in a rather short chase. Its pelt wasn’t in the best condition - it wasn’t mangy or anything, but it wasn’t golden and gleaming like he wanted. It was a completely average animal, but it would feed and clothe them.

A clod of dirt crumpled beneath the mare’s hoof, and she shied with a disgruntled snort. Arthur stretched forward to pat her neck, a soothing murmur rumbling in his chest. The mare’s flesh twitched beneath his hands, but she settled, twitching her ears at the sound of his familiar voice. With a squeeze of his thighs, the mare began to move again, striding forward reluctantly. As the outlaw straightened up, he unlatched a canteen from its place on her saddle, swishing it around. The water inside slashed hollowly and, he began to drank, tasted of metal. But his mouth was as dry as the soil beneath the horse’s hooves, and so any water was welcome.

He had been out of sorts for over a week, to tell the truth. Had sent Jack crying to Abigail when he wouldn’t wear the flower crown the child had made (he had a chocolate bar in his pocket for the boy, though it had probably melted). Had told Pearson what he thought of his cooking - what everyone thought of it, though they were kind enough to hold their tongues. But last night Javier had been playing his guitar and singing while Arthur had been reading through one of his old journals. Perhaps he would have held his temper any other night, had been reading any other journal. But it had been a year to the day that John had left, and he had found the journal he had had when John joined up. He had been reading through it when Javier began to sing, and the distraction had thrown him into an uncharacteristic rage.

Arthur groaned, rubbing his face.

Arthur took a moment to scratch that hard-to-reach spot behind Boadicea’s ear, the mare shaking herself as she lowered her head to graze, grateful to have been relieved of all the extra weight. He murmured his thanks, intending on coming back to groom her later, get all the caked in filth out. But for now, he stooped down to sling the buck over his shoulder, making his way into camp.

Arthur walked passed the campfire, where the logs had been circled around it so they could sit and stay warm on cooler days, and chilly nights, listen to Javier play his guitar and sing. Wincing, he looked away from the log that the man had been sitting on when he had lost his temper the night before. John had loved to sit around the fire, hands dangling between spread legs, head low and eyes half-lidded as he allowed himself to relax, basking in the warmth and humming along to whatever bawdy song was being sung. But the man blinked, and little Johnny Marston was gone.

Looking back at Marston, he sneered - the man had begun to pass out gifts. Who was he now, Father Christmas? Did he think he could gather back their favor with things? But it seemed to be working. Karen seemed to be quite happy with the crate of various alcohols he had pulled from the wagon hitched behind a horse Arthur had never seen before - some dark brown thing, with a wild white mane that covered its eyes - and Javier was speechless as he ran his fingers over the neck of a beautifully crafted guitar. Dutch was quickly given several fountain pens, and Arthur idly wondered how many people John had to kill to get all of these gifts, eying the many things still in the back of the wagon.

Heat bubbled in his chest, and he flashed his teeth; he flung the journal at Marston’s feet, feeling a grim satisfaction as it landed face down, pages crumpling and pure white becoming coated in filth. Whirling about on his heel, he began to stalk away, grinding his teeth. His eyes landed on Hosea, the older man bouncing Jack on his knee, trying to distract the boy. “People don’t forget, John.” His use of the man’s first name made him startle, raising his head from where he had been staring at the ruined journal, turning it over in his hands. Arthur saw, then, Abigail sitting on her bedroll, head in her hands, shoulders shaking, and then he knew why Hosea was playing with Jack. Arthur growled, clenching his fist as he fought the urge to spin around and lay the man out - the man had walked out, been gone for a year, thrown his family into chaos and left them missing one of their own. Jack had lost a father, Dutch and Hosea a son; Abigail a… husband, if he could be called that, and Arthur his brother, as reluctant as he was to admit it. And then he waltzed in, passing out stolen gifts, expecting to be welcomed in with open arms. Some of them may have fallen for it, those who weren’t too close to him were happy to accept a gift in return for forgiving him, but his family would not.

#splat dragon #splatdragon #splat-dragon #splat_dragon #arthur #arthur morgan #before rdr2 #before red dead redemption 2 #before the game #fanfiction #ask #asks #fill #red dead redemption 2 #jack #jack marston #my first fill!#l o n g

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