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super-ion · 4 months

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Such Lovely Fur

Chapter 1

The wind howls horribly as I stagger through the drifts of snow. It tears at my cloak and dress, digging icy fingers down to my bones. My teeth are chattering and I can barely feel my hands as I tug the cloak tight around my shoulders.

I find myself wondering for probably the thousandth time if this whole endeavor is a fool's errand. Many men have attempted this very mission, most have never returned.

What hope does someone like me possibly have?

I pause beneath a rocky outcropping, desperately trying to rub feeling back into my numb hands when I hear the voice. It comes in the form of a song in a language I do not recognize, piercing through the storm unnaturally (though there is hardly anything natural about this storm in the first place).

Were I in my right mind, I would ignore it, but I am cold and delirious from exhaustion. Instead I stagger forward blindly through the wind driven snow, drawn inexorably towards the haunting voice.

What I find is a cage, hanging from a sorry looking tree and woven from rough hewn strips of wood and covered with glowing symbols. Within sits the hunched figure of the singer. Her back is to me, so all I can see is a cloak that appears to be covered in dusky feathers.

“Hello?”

She stops singing and whirls to grip the bars. What I previously mistook for a feathered cloak is in fact a pair of wings in place of her arms, three fingers with wicked looking claws emerging halfway down their length. Curling horns and pointed ears sprout from beneath the raven dark tresses of her hair, framing a face with pale mottled gray skin and a sort of flattened nose and tilted eyes like a cat’s. The eyes themselves… they are jet black with glowing flecks like sparks dancing within.

She… I don't even know if this is a she… regards me hungrily with those eyes.

“Hey!” she says desperately. “Get me out of here and I'll grant you your heart's desire!”

Her husky voice snaps me out of my shock and I stagger back.

“Demon!” I gasp.

Her face falls and she makes a sulky pout at me.

“Please?” she asks. “Judging from the spells inscribed on this cage, there are sorcerers about, no doubt intending to carve out my hearts and drink my blood. I would really rather not be around when they return.”

Still in shock at the sight of her, I stumble backward, turn to leave and…

Her words are finally catching up with me.

She could help me save my betrothed.

“You… you can grant my heart's desire?”

She blinks in surprise and her ears twitch. She crouches in the cage, beckoning me closer. I take a few cautious steps forward.

“That might have been a slight exaggeration on my part,” she confesses. “But it is within my power to grant you boons to aid you in achieving such a heart's desire.”

“What sort of boons?” I ask, trying and failing to hide my shivering.

She makes a pointed glance at my cloak, fine dress and thin shoes, all of which are wholly unsuited for the ice and snow whirling around us.

“Well, that depends on what you need,” she replies. “If, as I suspect, you intend to brave this cursed storm and climb the mountain, it is within my power to grant you such tools to assist in such an endeavor.”

I should say no. I should not deal with demons, caged or no.

I also should not be out here in the elements attempting something so foolish. I am far outside of my realm of experience. I will surely freeze to death or worse before getting anywhere close to the top of the mountain.

“How many boons?” I demand.

A hopeful spark shines in her eyes and she grins, revealing sharp teeth.

“Three,” she says. “Standard package. Very powerful number, three.”

“Just so we're clear, I let you go and you grant me three boons?”

“You release me from this cage and I shall grant you three boons spread over three days of your choosing. I swear it on the skulls of my ancestors.”

She points eagerly to a surprisingly simple latch holding the cage closed. I know very little about magic, such things are anathema in civilized society, but I can only assume the glowing writing on the cage is meant for something like her and not something like me.

Regardless, I am reluctant to get too close. I find a long stick amongst the snow at the base of the tree and poke fumblingly at the latch from a safe distance. After a few attempts, I finally manage it and she comes tumbling out in a great squawking bundle of feathers.

She dusts the snow off of herself, revealing great birdlike feet with wicked talons and a whip-like tail that lashes excitedly behind her. She uncurls her body to full height and extends her wings in a languorous stretch.

I am not a short person, but I find myself dwarfed by her. At full height, she is nearly a full head taller than me, and her outstretched wings are nearly twice that height.

She cracks her neck and folds her wings close, ruffling her feathers and puffing up to ward off the cold.

My heart is hammering in my chest when she finally turns her attention back to me.

“What manner of person are you?” she asks as she begins circling me. “Man or woman? Something else maybe?”

She pauses behind me, craning her neck to get a look down my collar. I wrap my cloak around myself tightly in an attempt to preserve my modesty.

“I am a woman!” I snap indignantly.

She cocks her head.

“Indeed?”

When I was fifteen, my household hosted a delegation of merchants from a land across the sea. I remember them ogling and leering at me and asking the most inappropriate sorts of questions. I hated every minute of it, but the trade interests were too important for any sort of argument my father had told me. So I played the dutiful daughter. I made my family proud.

Out here in the wild, so far removed from any sort of propriety, this demon seemed to possess a genuine desire to understand, without a hint of derision. Perhaps… perhaps I could have a conversation with someone unburdened by any preconceived notions of the dictates of gender, neither from my homeland or distant lands with backwards beliefs.

The old familiar traitorous thoughts send a thrill through me and I quickly shove them aside. It is not proper to question my place in society or my role as a daughter or a bride. Nor is it proper to hold any such conversation with a demon.

(Nor is it proper for a woman of my station to be out in the wilderness such as I am, but these are special circumstances)

“Indeed I am,” I say. “Now tell me of these boons.”

She scowls in disappointment at the change of topic.

“Fine,” she sighs. “But first, answer me this: what is it that you seek? What is it that your heart desires?”

“I was to be wed at the end of summer, but the night before the wedding day, the Lady of Winter came down from her mountain and stole my bridegroom away. He is the nephew of a merchant prince, they are a very wealthy and-”

“You're out here risking your life for a man??” she interrupts. “No man is worth trifling with the Lady of Winter, trust me.”

“I am doing my family a great honor!” I reply defensively. “I will prove my devotion and earn my parents an even greater brideprice than what has already been agreed upon.”

She cocks her head the other way and leans forward, raising an eyebrow dubiously.

“But do you love him?” she asks.

“He was one of my dearest friends when we were children,” I say, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “On my naming day, a soothsayer read our fortunes in the stars and determined that we were a most auspicious match.”

She leans closer, too close now.

“You didn't answer my question,” she purrs.

“What is it to you?” I demand, jerking back.

She smirks and gives a little shrug.

“Nothing to me,” she says. “I'm simply gauging your conviction. These sorts of things come with a cost, and if your head and heart possess different notions of that cost, it can complicate things.”

“A cost??” I sputter. “But I freed you-”

“In exchange for the privilege of receiving my gifts,” she enunciates slowly with a roll of her eyes. “Listen, my friend. I can't make something from nothing, so everything costs something. It's called equivalent exchange.”

She taps her chin thoughtfully and sweeps me head to toe with her gaze.

“For example,” she continues. “A fur coat would serve you well… something nice and cozy to keep the chill at bay. I can't simply pull one out of thin air, I need something from you first.”

“What do you need?” I ask nervously.

“Your skin.”

“My…?”

I recoil in horror and she bursts into cackling laughter.

“Your face!” she wheezes as she doubles over. “You should see it!”

I feel a rush of embarrassed indignance and I'm surprised to find my fists clenching.

“This isn't funny,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but it is,” she says as she wipes tears from her eyes. “Seriously though, we'll need your skin. The best, easiest way to do this is to trick part of your body into forgetting that it's human.”

I stare at her, mouth agape.

“You mean… fur. Literal fur on my body? You can't be serious.”

“I am,” she says with a wicked grin. “That's how my magic works. How far are you willing to go for this man?”

I think of the pride in my father's face when my brideprice was negotiated. I think of the face of my bridegroom, the way he looked upon me the last time I saw him, the desire and satisfaction that I would soon be his.

I shouldn't even be out here, it is not a woman’s place to conduct such a rescue. If I returned now, empty handed, the dishonor I would face would be unimaginable. It would be far, far worse than if I had never left at all.

For better or worse, I am committed. I am also woefully unprepared and my success is now dependent upon the gifts this demon has to offer.

Fur would not be such a terrible thing, would it? I already shaved my body daily. This would just be one extra step to my morning and evening routines.

“Do it,” I command.

She claps her hands in delight.

“Close your eyes," she drawls, "and try not to think. Don't fight it.”

I close my eyes and stand shivering in the cold. I try to force my thoughts into quietude. It is difficult, with each stray thought I supress, it seems that two more appear to take its place.

I feel a jolt and a tingling feeling spreads throughout my body. I know instantly that it is the demon's magic, writhing and worming its way through me.

Don't fight it. Don't fight it. Don't fight it.

An itch starts at the back of my neck, spreading down my spine and across my back and down my arms and legs. It is not painful, but it itches more and more terribly with each passing second. I clench my fists tighter and tighter as it takes every shred of willpower not to scratch.

Then, so abruptly that it makes me gasp, the feeling is gone and I am left blessedly warm. I can still feel the chill of the wind, but it is a distant discomfort now, as if I really were wearing a thick winter coat.

I crack my eyes open and look down to the backs of my hands. From beneath the sleeves of my dress pale silver-grey fur pokes out, with darker spots like the rosettes of a leopard.

“Oh,” the demon gasps. “Fascinating...”

She steps forward and rubs the back of a clawed finger against the exposed fur on my neck, sending a thrill through me and setting my heart racing.

“Such lovely fur,” she croons.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #lesbian #transgender #fantasy #monster x human #transgender fairy tale #fairy tale #fantasy lesbians #fairy tale retelling #transformation #original fiction

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cosmictyto · 7 months

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Things Gabriella has Knitted (or Crocheted) for Everyone:

First, (nearly) everyone has gotten a pair of socks from her as a “welcome to the brotherhood” gift.

(In alphabetical order)

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🐺 Arnbjorn: A bright red knitted sweater as a wedding present. He’s only worn it once. (He jokes that it's not his style but he secretly loves it. He doesn't want to ruin it on accident.)

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🔪 Astrid: A black and red striped knitted cowl. As a wedding present. Also a matching pair of gloves.

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🩸 Babette: A crocheted doll to better help her "innocent child" ruse + several knitted dresses in many colors. Gabriella loves trying out new patterns. And because Babette’s small, she doesn’t need as much yarn. Win win.

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♥️ Cicero: Nothing. Though she was working on her “welcome to the sanctuary” socks for him before he attacked Astrid and Veezara.

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☄️ Festus Krex: Black, knitted fingerless gloves (his hands get cold and stiff sometimes.) They look simple at first, but actually have a quite complex stitching pattern on them. Also a black scarf and hat (with string pom-pom.)

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🦋 Nazir: some hard-soled slippers and a deep red tote bag (with black hand print artfully knitted in.)

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🦎 Veezara: Bright, garish horn cozies. It was a gag gift. He loves them.

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Bonus round

🐈‍⬛ Sajjah (OC:) A thick n’ chunky, mottled black & gray blanket (crocheted.) as well as a matching cowl + gloves set. They were working on a hat design but couldn’t figure out how it would work with her ears before the sanctuary was attacked.

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noxhawthorne · 4 months

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Flickerbeat: Prologue

Note: there are some things referred to in the prologue that you won’t know (mostly the names of guns in the future). Those will be accompanied by illustrations in the final novel.

The stargazer fish is an interesting little guy. One wouldn’t necessarily call them physically beautiful like some of their other fish friends, with two bulbous eyes on top of their heads and the complexion of mottled mold. They’re an ambush fish, meaning they hide on the ocean floor, watching their prey. Poisoned spines are their weapon, but there’s another interesting aspect of the nightmarish fish. It has organs in its head capable of producing up to fifty volts of electricity, making it a deadly predator.

In the Philippine Sea, in the year 2052, there was more than one type of stargazer. While the fish hid in the dark depths of a black sea, the U.S.S. Pensacola cut through the surface, churning water and sea foam in its wake. It was an aircraft carrier, one that held over four-thousand Navy and Marine Corps personnel, and that was powered by a shoddy nuclear reactor that could go at any moment (at least that’s what engineers had been saying for the past five years… and yet she was afloat). The Pensacola had been assigned to watch for enemy activity in the area, the enemy being the Armed Forces of the Philippines. Following the second Korean War, in which the North Korean regime was dismantled, it was believed that many of the country’s weapon supply caches were moved to allied nations, hidden from the hands of the United States government. Since then, a silent war had been raging between East and West, one made up of subtle threats and espionage. That was the Pensacola’s assignment. Survey the area for enemy activity.

Of the personnel on board, most were asleep in their racks, the sheets stiff and mattress thin. After a day on board, the scratchy cloth-covered rack felt like a cloud of heavenly comfort.

However, not everyone was resting peacefully. On the flight deck, standing in the midst of the salty sea air, were a dozen sailors and their leader, one of five Force Reconnaissance Marines on board, a tall and intimidating man that went by the callsign ‘Jaws’. The sailors were performing maintenance on an experimental aircraft, the latest attempt by the U.S. military to create a combat-ready stealth jet. Meanwhile, Jaws was peering through a pair of night vision spectacles, head on a constant swivel as he watched for movement on the horizon, an XRS-52 in hand and loaded.

However, it was below deck, in the Hangar Bay - a large room with only two walls, the other two open to the night air - that the second type of stargazer could be found.

Scarlet Adams, callsign ‘Stargazer’.

Another one of the unlucky few on the night shift, she too had watch orders, her main focus being unidentified vessels. She was to look over the dark ocean, watching for any potential enemy ships coming within range of the Pensacola. This wasn’t her first time, having stood in the exact spot nearly a dozen times since leaving Amnia Bay, and it wasn’t that bad of an assignment. At this hour, the Hangar was quiet, leaving the slosh of the ocean’s wake to fill her ears. Various aircraft and a few gray shipping containers filled the otherwise empty space, the normally white fluorescent lights replaced by dim red ones.

Scarlet leaned against the frame of an open wall, though it wasn’t the sea that she was watching. It was the stars, vibrant this far out from the light pollution of civilization. Prior to joining the Corps, Scarlet had studied astronomy, igniting her passion for the celestial cosmos. She intended to further pursue her studies, but… well, the Butterfly Effect cut her time in academia short.

The catalyst was a simple request: to borrow a pen. It had been the beginning of her fourth year astronomy course, stuffed in a musty class room twelve other students. The walls had been covered in maps of the stars, with dusty bookshelves lining the bottom. If Scarlet focused hard enough, she could still smell that room, even nearly two years later.

She had been focusing on an assignment, diligently preparing it to be turned in, blocking out all other sights and sounds. It was a tap on her shoulder that gained her attention, and she quickly turned to see a familiar face. Jack Halifax, a transfer student from across the country. He had only been at the university for a few weeks, and seemed to be the ‘class clown’ type. The professor would often bring up a Holo-Graphic of the stars, using a laser pointer to circle each cluster he was speaking about. When this happened, Jack would take out his own laser pointer, and discreetly use it to mess with the professor. It was funny in a way, but always annoyed Scarlet to know end.

“Can I borrow a pen?” he had whispered, holding his up to show the clearly empty ink cell.

Scarlet, being ever prepared, reached into her bag and gave him a new one, not thinking much of it. He thanked her, and returned to the assignment.

When class had finished, Jack returned the pen with a small piece of paper wrapped around it. All it said was ‘Dinner?’ with a phone number below it. Call her sappy, but Scarlet fell for it, deciding to give this guy a chance. What could go wrong, after all?

One date turned to two, then two to four, and, before they knew it, the two had fallen head-over-heels for one another. It was a love that tamed Jack, yet freed Scarlet, opening her up to adventures she never fathomed. They were seemingly inseparable, a bonded pair that clung to one another.

So, when Jack expressed interest in joining the Marine Corps, Scarlet found herself eager to go with him. Not as a military wife, but as a fellow Marine, one that no longer feared her own death, but the death of her lover. She knew the pain of being alone all too well, having never known her father, while her mother died in a car crash when Scarlet was young. She’d been alone most of her life, and it had felt normal. Now that she had experienced the warm of Jack’s presence, the thought of reliving that emptiness sickened her. So, when Jack went to the recruitment center, Scarlet tagged along. By the end, they both had a one way ticket to Officer Candidate School.

During their training, it was determined by higher ranking officers that both would excellent candidates for Force Reconnaissance, having a knack for gathering information and being talented marksman. When offered the chance to take the Basic Reconnaissance Course and attend Marine Special Operations School, Jack accepted without hesitation. Scarlet, on the other hand, was apprehensive, having hoped to become a pilot instead. However, it was the excitement she saw glinting in Jack’s eyes that convinced her to join him once more.

Prior to the second Korean War, call signs were mainly used for aviators. However, following the capture, extortion, and subsequent execution of Reconnaissance officers by North Korea in 2038, it was determined that call signs were necessary for anyone serving with a secret security clearance. The enemy couldn’t know who was working Recon if their names weren’t used, and that was who they targeted to most.

Scarlet gave Jack his call sign — ‘Jackalope’, a nickname she’d given him back in college. Because of her astronomy degree, and her affinity for gazing up at the night sky during drills, she was dubbed ‘Stargazer’.

In the quiet Hangar, Scarlet was doing much the same, this time admiring the Orion constellation. If she had been performing her duties, she might’ve seen the silhouette sneaking up behind her, each step deliberate, planned. Instead, she was startled out of her thoughts when two hands gently slid around her waist, giving her a soft squeeze.

“Hey, lil’ Stargazer,” the voice of Jack whispered in her ear, breath hot and smelling of stale coffee.

Scarlet relaxed, leaning back against the man who held her, a content smile gracing her lips.

“You’re supposed to be on watch,” she said, though her tone had no malice, but rather a slight laugh.

“So are you,” Jack countered, his lips moving down, skirting the skin of her neck.

“I am!”

Jack pulled Scarlet in closer, resting his chin on her shoulder. His presence was more soothing to her than the stars.

“Sure you are,” he muttered knowingly, kissing behind her ear, “which one were you looking at?”

He knew her too well, aware of her tendency to focus on a particular star rather than the cluster that the sky offered.

“Meissa,” she responded, “it’s bright tonight.”

“Show it to me,” he whispered with a tone that sent goosebumps rising across Scarlet’s skin.

“You, uh, you know where it is. Professor Weldon covered that.”

“Mm, you know I never paid attention,” Jack said, his fingertips caressing her waist, “my eyes were always on something else…”

Scarlet could feel herself melting in Jack’s arms, this kind of physical touch having been foreign to her prior to their relationship. Her heart was beating a little faster.

Raising her hand up, she pointed to the sky.

“Well… well, you see Orion’s Belt?”

Jack made a sound of affirmation, his eyes following where Scarlet pointed. She moved her hand up further, tracing the invisible lines of the constellation.

“Go up on either side… those two stars are Betelgeuse and Bellatrix…”

“Mmhm,” Jack mumbled, kissing her neck.

“You’re not even looking,” Scarlet said, quietly gasping when she felt a gentle bite on the sensitive skin of her throat.

“Of course I am… keep going.”

Scarlet hesitated, savoring the slight sting from his teeth.

“And then… then the one above them, in the middle… that’s Meissa.”

Jack hummed, nodding, “Almost as brilliant as you.”

Scarlet felt her face begin to heat up, a light pink hue filling them. Her lips twisted into a lovestruck smile. Twisting in his arms, she turned to face Jack, finding her look mirrored back. She cupped his cheeks, reaching up to gently kiss him. Soft lips caressed her own, reciprocating the love received.

As the kiss broke, Scarlet sighed in content. She had never felt as safe as she did with him. There was never any pretending, no fear of judgement, just… acceptance, something she had yearned for, something she had never experienced. She was accustomed to being the outcast, the last chosen in gym class, the only one without a valentine. Alone. She had always been alone.

It was then that a twinge of sadness tugged at her heart, a common occurrence since joining the Marines. One that Jack was familiar with, easily recognizing the shift in her demeanor.

“In your head again?” he asked, knowing her all too well.

She nodded, a slight sting burning her eyes. Without another word, Jack pulled Scarlet into a tight embrace, rubbing her back as he held her.

“Three more years,” he said, “then it’s you and me.”

“I know,” Scarlet whispered, burying her face in his chest.

The truth was, Scarlet didn’t want to be a Marine. She wanted to be with Jack, by his side wherever he went. She wanted a quiet home and an average life. Simplicity, comfort, and the knowledge that Jack, too, was happy and safe. That’s what she wanted, not watching for the enemy through the darkness of night, or traveling the oceans on a dying ship. She wanted peace. As she stood there in Jack’s arms, eyes closed, she could almost feel it.

It didn’t last long, as Scarlet suddenly registered a low buzz. Her face scrunched as she listened to it, trying to separate the crashing waves from the sound. It was becoming louder, almost like a bee buzzing near her ear. Lifting her head from Jack’s chest, she looked at him in confusion. From the look on his face, she could tell he heard the same sound.

“What is that?” Scarlet asked, turning to look out over the dark sea.

A loud rumble shook the ship, causing Scarlet to grab ahold of the wall’s edge. It was accompanied by squealing and incoherent shouts from the flight deck.

Scarlet looked to Jack, both of them wide-eyed.

“The reactor,” she muttered.

Springing into action, Scarlet ran towards the hatch, prepared to wake the crew for evacuation. She was stopped when Jack caught her by the wrist. Looking back at him, she was prepared to rip her arm away. That changed when she saw the grave expression painted across his face.

With a grim tone, Jack spoke, “That wasn’t the reactor.”

———

Atop the flight deck, a strange aircraft was powering down. It was as big as a cargo plane, yet built like a stealth fighter jet, sleek in its design. The sailors gathered around the back of the craft, where the only obvious exit was. Jaws was on pointe, aiming his rifle at the cargo hold. There were no identifiable markings on the aircraft, but it clearly did not belong on board.

Suddenly, the latch released, and the hold’s door slowly began to open. Jaws’ grip tightened, the full force of his focus on whoever was trespassing. However, as the door lowered, no discernible figures could be made out. Instead, they saw that the interior was unlit, whatever or whoever was inside hidden by the shadows.

Jaws, not known for his patience, grit his teeth and shouted, “This is a United States Naval vessel! State your intentions!”

Silence. The sailors started to shift, looking at each other nervously, their hands clamming up around their rifles.

Then, out of the darkness came a spark, and a small flame illuminated a black gloved hand.

“Intentions,” Jaws shouted, growing more enraged by the moment.

The hand lifted the flame, bringing it up to the tip of a cigarette. Beyond that, the sailors and Jaws could make out a pair of chapped lips, and two circular lenses above, barely reflecting the flickering fire.

———

Scarlet and Jack remained silent, the buzz having stopped after the ship shook. They stared at each other, frozen in place, unsure of what to do. If it *had* been the reactor, alarms should be going off, signaling an evacuation and imminent rescue from other vessels in the area. However, the only sound either could hear was the gentle lapping of waves against the ship.

That quickly changed as gunfire rang out, accompanied by shouts and screams of agony.

“Shit, get the rest of Recon up,” Scarlet said, an edge of panic to her voice.

She sprinted to where her rifle laid, near a hatch that led up to the flight deck. Picking up her weapon, she was about to pull open the hatch, when she suddenly stopped.

Jack was about twenty feet behind her, watching in confusion as she pressed her ear to the door.

“Scarlet? What —“

Scarlet shushed him. There was a consistent *thud, thud, thud* going down the ladder, getting louder as it came closer. It sounded similar to a ball rolling down a set of stairs. Then, there was a heavy *clunk* as it hit the hatch.

Silence.

*Beep.*

Suddenly, a small explosion split open the hatch, sending Scarlet flying backwards with the force. A chunk of metal slammed against her head, leaving a deep gash that ran across her cheek, blood spilling from the wound. She went limp.

“Scarlet,” Jack shouted, running to where her body laid. He knelt down, panic rushing through him as he searched for her pulse. Relief ran through him as he found the rhythmic beat, and saw her fading in and out of consciousness, but it was short lived as a new sound came from the smokey ladderwell. It was the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate.

Grabbing the collar of Scarlet’s uniform, Jack began to drag her to the port-side opening. He kept looking to the exposed ladderwell, watching as a pair of legs came into view. With each step, more of the person was revealed. It was someone in a black combat uniform, holding a white DE-52. As they reached the last step, Jack could see a cigarette hanging from the person’s lips, the rest of their face covered by a matte black mask. It was smooth, featureless, except for two black lenses over the eyes.

Reaching the opening, Jack quickly took off his dog tags, putting them around Scarlet’s neck. He had a dreadful feeling he knew how this would end.

*Bang!*

A fiery pain radiated through Jack’s shoulder, a bullet cracking the bone. It went through to the other side, hitting the wall and leaving a small dent. Blood quickly soaked his uniform, tacky and thick. The wound left him weak, though his determination to give Scarlet a shot at survival made him push through the searing pain.

As the masked man approached, Jack gave one final shove, rolling Scarlet’s body over the side of the ship. He watched as she landed in the water, crashing through the inky black sea. Jack never considered himself a religious man, but in that moment, he prayed for her rescue.

———

Just below the surface, Scarlet could barely see the Pensacola through her blurred vision. A black tunnel was beginning to surround her vision, but she could make out moving blobs above her. She heard the muffled sound of gunfire, along with the sight of a quick, bright flash. One of the blobs fell on the extended Hangar Bay deck, barely visible at the edge.

Then, black.

#nox hawthorne #scifi writing #scarlet adams #science fiction #scifi #Jack Halifax #tw blood #tw gun violence #writing #writeblr #writer #writers on tumblr

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vickyvicarious · 9 months

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Several very funny back-and-forths in today's update...

“What did you think of him?”

“A pathetic, futile, broken creature.”

Imagine just casually describing someone in this way. Incredible. The first words out his mouth.

“The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amberley's house,” I explained. “I think it would interest you, Holmes. It is like some penurious patrician who has sunk into the company of his inferiors. You know that particular quarter, the monotonous brick streets, the weary suburban highways. Right in the middle of them, a little island of ancient culture and comfort, lies this old home, surrounded by a high sun-baked wall mottled with lichens and topped with moss, the sort of wall—”

“Cut out the poetry, Watson,” said Holmes severely. “I note that it was a high brick wall.”

“Exactly.”

SO funny. Feels very much like they are treading old ground here. Watson doesn't always talk like this out loud, though he does in narration, so between that and his very nonchalant reaction to Holmes cutting him off, it kinda feels like he might be winding him up on purpose just for fun.

And then the classic:

“With your natural advantages, Watson, every lady is your helper and accomplice. What about the girl at the post-office, or the wife of the greengrocer? I can picture you whispering soft nothings with the young lady at the Blue Anchor, and receiving hard somethings in exchange. All this you have left undone.”

“It can still be done.”

We start off with the typical 'good job! you didn't notice anything relevant' when Watson gets to investigate, but then take a hard turn into Holmes joking about him being a big flirt and yet failing to weaponize his charm. So funny. Especially Watson's petulant 'well I can still go charm them now' and Holmes immediately firing back 'no need.' Is this revenge for the poetry, Holmes. Why are you two being so silly today.

...finally, not quite as funny but the always-enjoyable:

“Did you personally examine this ticket? You did not, perchance, take the number?”

“It so happens that I did,” I answered with some pride. “It chanced to be my old school number, thirty-one, and so is stuck in my head.”

“Excellent, Watson!”

Watson Notices Something Important but doesn't understand the full significance (though it's still a cute proud moment)

and:

“It was undoubtedly the tall, dark man whom I had addressed in the street. I saw him once more at London Bridge, and then I lost him in the crowd. But I am convinced that he was following me.”

“No doubt! No doubt!” said Holmes. “A tall, dark, heavily moustached man, you say, with gray-tinted sun-glasses?”

“Holmes, you are a wizard. I did not say so, but he had gray-tinted sun-glasses.”

“And a Masonic tie-pin?”

“Holmes!”

“Quite simple, my dear Watson.”

Watson Notices Something but not in the right way (AKA Holmes in Disguise Again)

#letters from watson #acd holmes #acd watson #definitely diverting the client with a message he sent himself at the end as well #btw i don't remember this case so this is just my supposition #fairly confident in it though

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kiwibirb1 · 1 month

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ADHD is both a blessing and a curse ahem anyway angel au because brain immediately made up like half of it in a split second and then I entertained it for some reason

Angels have pure white wings, and fallen angels have the opposite, pure black. However, it is not an immediate fall from grace. Sins can cause your feathers to gray, eventually becoming full black. Small sins, such as lying, can be forgiven, and then the gray returns to white. Most adults are somewhat mottled, but definitely white. It is considered almost taboo to not forgive someone for something small and simple, to let that one little mistake stain them for the rest of their lives. Hence, children's wings often vary in color wildly throughout the days, as they are made aware of rules and forgiven for their transgressions. A mark of a "bad" kid (or one in a troubled household, but that often overlaps, just enough for everyone to pretend) is nearly pure gray wings, but not black. It is incredibly rare to see a child with black wings, as it is to see any with them, but children especially.

It was once rare to see Anne Boonchuy with grey, but the sight has increased in frequency as the girls move through middle school. Marcy Wu was always a little gray at the tips (remember that other thing in parentheses?), but a bright girl overall. Many blamed the third, Sasha Waybright, for the growing gray spots on the other two, as she herself had nearly pure grey wings (hey remember the thing again? yeah), and dragged them into her stunts.

I think I'm gonna call this greying wings au? Angel au is already a pretty common tag, and I wanted something unique :)

#ill expand on this later #just spent like twenty minutes typing thjs out and didnt even get to the main thing lol #amphibia #greying wings au #GASP I CAN ADD THIS TO THE MEETUP why is that always my first thought with new aus-#anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #marcy wu #angels #amphibia au #i also wrote this while listening to best friend on repeat so thats nice

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herbs-and-poultices · 14 days

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A tiny re-written snippet for my OCs from forever ago, Part 1. (As usual for me, this seemingly simple scene is going to require multiple mini-installments, because I write veeery slowly and perpetually underestimate the length of things)

Scene summary: Aftermath of a not-fun encounter with a half-starved mountain lion in the middle of nowhere.

Story summary: The Fire is dying, and someone must make the long and perilous journey through the mountains to the Place Where Worlds Meet, to receive the gift of Fire anew and bring it back to their people. It is the dead of winter, after a scarce year. The village, already ravaged by hunger and sickness, tries to strike a delicate balance between who can succeed and who they can spare. The chosen ones: childhood friends Raven and Sky. During the month-long trek there and back they face all manner of acute environmental perils, along with the ever-present threats of cold, hunger, and fatigue.

Important Notes:

Character ages: Somewhere between adolescence and young adulthood. They will both officially come of age in the spring, but I haven’t yet decided exactly what that age is in their society. Uncomfy? Don’t read.

Medical stuff: Going for hurt/comfort vibes rather than any sort of accuracy. Stickler? Don’t read.

Content Warnings: Blood and injury. I think that’s it.

Unimportant Note on writing conventions: Although present me has developed a preference for 3rd-person narration, I am sticking with younger me’s original 1st-person narration for now. It does make the pronouns easier, if nothing else.

“Sky?” Though it came out as a hoarse whisper, my voice sounded unnaturally loud in my ears, much like the rapid pounding of my heartbeat. A breath of wind through the hemlock needles was the only reply as I turned back towards him. “Sky!”

He lay still, as he had fallen, thrown on his back with his limbs askew. The tilt of his head left his throat bare above the clasp of his cloak. A shiver ran up my spine, and my hand found its way unbidden to the back of my neck, where the bite of the mountain cat’s powerful jaws would have killed me instantly. Stunned, unconscious, dead, in the wavering moon-shadows I couldn’t discern.

I stumbled across the clearing. The uneven snow and the giddiness which follows a rush of fear-fueled strength made me unsteady on my feet. Pain which had been temporarily overwhelmed by the need to focus purely on survival pushed its way to the fore, blazing hot down my shoulder blade and back ribs. My back tightened with the jolt of each step, pulling at the raw seams of skin. A few times I nearly lost my balance; the reflexive jerk of my arms sent the muscles all across my back into spasms that tore deeper into the gashes of open flesh and I cried out, sparks dancing around the edges of my vision.

When I drew within a few paces, I could hear the rasp of labored breathing, and I saw his eyelids flutter open and then squeeze tightly shut again, furrowing his brow.

“Sky,” I breathed, torn between relief and a fresh wave of panic. “Are you…” I started out of habit, but the words dried in my mouth. What was there to ask? I had seen the creature’s curved claws gleaming white and chokeberry-red with the light of the full moon rising through the trees, each one sharp as a newly-honed knife; I had seen the spray of hot blood as they found their mark. The snow all through the clearing was churned up and stained black with it, and more showed in dark blotches on his torn cloak and tunic. I couldn’t tell, by the mottled gray light , how much of it was his - I and our assailant had both left our share. But I could smell it still welling up hot and fresh, a scent equal parts cloying and acrid that clung thickly to the back of my throat as I sank down at his side.

He acknowledged my presence with a tip of his head, eyes clear under half-raised lashes, but chose not to reply. I was grateful, in a way - words would have made it all even more real than it already was.

#winter journey OCs #my pen slipped #and slipped and slipped #friendly questions welcome #I know I haven't given these two a proper introduction

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all-pacas · 8 months

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anyway here's the first little bit of my durge fanfic (where i'm actually trying to make tav. a character. and not. self insert. but also play with the blank slate thing. anyway it's fun.)

She wakes up to the bracing familiarity of pain. First clue: she.

Stumbling from her knees, ichor and bile in her mouth. Her hands are mottled with blood and bruises, fingernails jagged short. Arms: grayish blue. Purple with bruises. Face: wet, her palms black and red when she pulls them away.

She. Clothes: a shirt that may have once been bone white or ash gray. Trousers, dark. Boots, red soled and worn. Pouch at her hip: wet. Sticky. Red. Her stomach twists. She feels satisfied. She wants to taste it. To lick her fingers, suck marrow from her own bones.

Satisfied?

Something twists behind her eye. Sharp-bright in her head. You must move.

She does.

The evening after the crash, the five of them make camp in the woods, amidst arguments on where to go. But it’s dark, and they don’t know where they’re headed, and the air is filled with ash and putrefaction from the rotting ship.

Their parasites hum. Names are exchanged. Wizard, male, human. Abnormally pale high elf; a magistrate in the city. Cleric with a disinterest in small talk. Githyanki warrior with even less. Gale does his best. Shadowheart is at least polite in her dismissals; Astarion pithy. Everyone’s gaze is watchful.

Their last is silent. Gale asks her something simple, something innocuous. She looks up from the fire, eyes wide and startled. “I don’t know,” she says.

“Memory loss isn’t as uncommon as you might think,” Shadowheart tells her. The knowledge of the other woman’s amnesia has somehow softened her. “It could be the parasite, certainly. But that doesn’t appear to be the case with the rest of us…” her mouth almost, nearly twitches. “I don’t suppose you remember if your memory was better before the crash?”

“At least a name,” Astarion hums across the fire. “A name as delicate and beautiful as you are?”

She looks at him and imagines him in the flames between them, screaming and twisting and crackling to ash. Choking on his own boiling blood, his tongue —

Astarion sees her shudder of disgust. He feels a twinge of anxiety and suppresses it.

“What do you know of yourself?” Gale asks. It is interesting in itself, of course: a mystery to solve, a puzzle to poke at. It is hardly casual dinner conversation, and yet beggars and choosers: Goddess knows the small talk isn’t exactly forthcoming.

The woman is a long time answering such a simple question. “I am… female.” She looks down at her bare forearms. Under the blood and bruises, her skin steel silver, knife white, ice blue. “I believe I am most likely Drow. Perhaps half.”

“Full blood, I’d wager,” Gale says: he sees what she can not. Her hair has been hacked and cropped, but is silvery under the dried blood. Her eyes a pale white: there is no color at all to her besides the bruises and stains. But her ears are too sharp to be part-human, her features too strong.

She nods. Relieved to have more to add to her list.

Lae’zel watches with little interest: she can barely understand the myriad distinctions those of the mortal plane use to classify herself. All four of these people look alike to her: fleshy and bulbous and unnatural shades of pink and gray. She pities the woman for her lack of knowledge and heritage.

But she remembers, too, the Mindflayer ship. Leaping upon the woman to strike first, and watching her dart back, her hands bloody to the elbows and strange, pale eyes void of all intent. Remembers watching her hold an imp down with her boot as she tore the thing’s wings from its back.

It is not the savagery that strikes Lae’zel. It is no more than the creatures deserved. It is her eyes, the emptiness in her expression. Her strange, round pupils had been pinpricks in a sea of ice. It is at odds with this humanoid now. Her fingers digging into her knees.

“Tav,” the woman says suddenly. “I think… that sounds right. I think… I might have been called Tav.”

She was not.

They push inland at the first strike of dawn, having rested fitfully or not at all. Gale takes lead but finds it immediately tiring: to need consider others and communicate his plans, rather than strike off alone. But the others are even less inclined. “We must find people,” he decides for them all. “They will perhaps have a healer among them, a shrine to some useful goddess - or better knowledge of the area, at least.” He says this to pacify Lae’zel, who scowls.

“A crèche remains our only option, but you are not incorrect that the locals around here might point us in the correct direction.”

Gale forces a smile. This is exactly what he just said, he refrains from pointing out. Did she really need to rephrase it for the sake of her ego? Beggers, he reminds himself. Choosers.

Shadowheart and Tav do not object to this plan, the former for whatever reasons of her own and the latter because Gale suspects she barely has agency, let alone a name.

They find a dirt track soon enough, helpfully laden with cart tracks. Unfortunately, they are city folk to the last, and none of them have any real idea how to determine which way to follow: Lae’zel confidentially proclaims north, Gale throws in with her for the appearance of unity, and the rest go along.

Astarion is chatty in the morning sunlight, trying out lines on the women and complaining genially about mud and dirt on his boots. He is the first to make a crucial discovery, as they all suddenly feel a flash of incredulity and disbelief, pain and flushed cheeks.

“You have a sunburn, I think,” Shadowheart says dryly.

Astarion blinks. His cheeks red and striking. “I confess, I do not spend much time... traipsing about the countryside.”

“Did anyone else feel that?” Tav asks, suddenly excited: to feel, for the surprise of pain and heat and confusion. It is almost like a memory.

“It appears our little friends are still sharing information between them,” Gale surmises, familiar enough with the concept.

Within an hour, Astarion has figured out how to do it on purpose, sending every little ache and blister to the rest of them until, exasperated, Shadowheart suggests a break.

#bg3 fanfic #bg3 durge #ficlet more like but i am having fun

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mangoshorthand · 1 year

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Flesh and Blood- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch8 (Hard Feelings Part 3)

SUMMARY: As Christmas approaches, everything between you and Five is perfect...until a destructive temporal anomaly gets in the way. Five is convinced another permutation of himself is to blame. Nothing's simple when you're in a relationship Five Hargreeves: could your loyalties be tested in a way unique to him? Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen

After a year of grief, Viktor told Five he needed a project. He found one.

Initially confusing chapter ahead. Proceed at your own risk

Chapter Eight: The Life that Is

Five's in the outbuilding, readying the Snowcat for tomorrow's journey. Although the handover point is only a couple of miles away, he doesn't want to take any chances. He's near enough that he could blink to your side in a second if a portal erupts.

It's been so good to speak to Klaus and Lila again. You're looking forward to seeing Klaus tomorrow, even just from a distance. The idea of having some new stuff in the cabin is exciting too- something to relieve the burden. The idea of Sloane's care package is particularly appealing.

You listen to the weather getting worse as your eyes grow heavy. It had been a fine day, but now you’re sure you hear thunder. At the flash of light in a snow-gray sky, you sit up, moving as fast as you can with your belly getting in the way. Staring out of the window, you struggle unsteadily to your feet.

There’s a swirling blue-toned storm in the sky. It’s a portal, but not one of the baby’s. There’s no pain and it’s at least fifty feet away behind all the trees. It swirls more sedately and less like a washing-machine on a spin cycle. And then, as suddenly as it appeared, it vanishes. Is it the Commission? Could they have found you? You back up, eyes still fixed on the window, edging towards the back door and Five in the outbuilding. But then the front door flies open and Five’s standing there in a suit and shoes entirely unsuitable for the snow: his heavy coat, hat and boots are gone. You don’t have time to wonder when and where he managed to change clothes before he blinks across the room and wraps you tightly in his arms.

What-?”

He doesn’t reply, he only inhales deeply with his mouth and nose in your hair. When he exhales, it’s in juddery bursts. And then his shoulders heave.

“Five? What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

He’s crying and breathing you in, his tears wetting you and hands trying to touch every part of you at once. He's shaking as he kisses your face and neck again and again.

“It’s really you…it’s you…I’ve got you.”

"I don’t understand, what was-"

He cuts you off with a sob, his face buried in your neck. His skin is mottled with temperature: warm from his emotion with patches of ice-cold from the snow.

"Fuck. Oh fuck. I've got you. I love you. I love you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," his voice is muffled and more tears bleed from his eyelashes, running onto your collarbone.

You just hold him, confused but knowing that he needs you. You rub his back automatically and he holds you even tighter to him in response.

And then the back door bangs open and Five stands there too.

He’s the only kid crazy enough to be out here. It’s only 30 degrees or so but he whined until Diego had to give in. He could never hold out for long when Santi did that. He looked exactly like Lila.

Coat zipped high around his neck, Diego watches Santi’s breath fog out before him as he throws himself down the slide with a long whoop.

Watching from behind the waist-high fence surrounding the playground, he stamps his feet to keep warm. His boots crunch dried leaves into the hard ground.

At least this means Santi is likely to sleep tonight, Diego comforts himself. Maybe even give him and Lila a chance to fool around for once.

Santi’s cry is abruptly cut off and Diego looks up, suddenly alert. If he expects anything In the split-second it takes for him to absorb the scene, he maybe thinks Santi’s taken a fall and winded himself, but that’s not what’s happening here.

He’s just shot down the slide and should be landing on his feet, but he hasn’t. Instead, he’s suspended in midair. So is his fogged up breath, trailing behind him like an old steam train.

Diego stares for a fraction of a second before vaulting the fence and heading towards his son. He freezes himself, however, when a voice sounds behind him.

“Hi Diego.”

Hand on a knife at his belt, Diego whirls around. Standing by a nearby tree, Herb waves awkwardly.

“Santi’s okay. I just froze time for a couple of minutes.”

Diego looks at him disbelievingly for a second. He looks disheveled and distinctly careworn. Exhausted, even.

“What the hell are you doing here Herb,” Diego said, withdrawing the knife from its holster and pointing it warningly in Herb’s direction, “after what you did? You send a killer into my house, near my son?”

“I-I need your help!” Herb says, frantically, hands held up each side of his face in surrender, “Come on Diego, there are at least two killers around your son most days and one of them is his Mother- what harm does one more do?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Diego growls, “you put him in danger.”

Herb blinks

“ I didn’t put him in danger. If Wynn had been able to carry out her contract that night, Santi would never have been hurt like that.”

Diego lets out a slow breath and chews the inside of his cheek.

“Please, Diego.”

He lowers the knife.

“You better tell me what you’re doing here Herb.”

Herb nods eagerly,

“We got a real problem back at HQ. It’s your brother: he changed the timeline. It’s a catastrophe just waiting to happen.”

“Elaborate,” Deigo says, sternly.

“After Wynn failed, I ran the numbers again and they showed that matters were going to resolve themselves anyway: your brother killed his fiance and the baby trying to induce birth.”

Diego feels all the blood drain from his face. His old stutter returns.

“W-w-what?” he manages.

“And that was fine, ” Herb hurries on, “I mean, it was sad; it was really sad, but there weren’t going to be any more portals. But then Five- he must have been working on it all that time- Five traveled back eight years and wiped out that timeline. That means there are two of them somewhere in this timeline and the pregnancy can continue.”

Herb takes a deep breath, pulling in air to carry on with his frantic explanation:

“You have to tell me where they are. We have to stop this. Those portals are going to get worse and worse: destruction on a scale you can’t even imagine!”

Diego’s brain is struggling to take it all in.

“They’re far away from people,” he says, slowly, “and Five can stop them, anyway.”

“Not as the pregnancy progresses!” Herb says, wildly, “by the eighth month we predict they could swallow everything within a fifty-mile radius; even break the fabric of time itself! And that’s not to mention the paradox of two Fives running around.”

Diego shakes his head.

“Please!” Herb says, stepping towards him, “I need you to tell me what you know.”

Diego looks over at Santi again for a short second before turning back to Herb.

“Okay. I'll help. But you need to tell me that all again. Slowly this time.”

You wriggle free of the man holding you, looking between him and the Five standing at the door with fearful disbelief. As you take him in, you realize he looks different. Older. His skin, though still young, looks a little worn and he has a single gray hair at his right temple.

“What-?”

But the older Five just hugs you again.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the younger Five pulls him roughly off you, bringing a shoulder up to his face to scratch an itch there. The older Five breaks free of his grasp.

“Listen asshat, I haven’t seen her in eight years because YOU are about to kill her...tomorrow, if I got my math right. So excuse me for showing a bit of emotion.”

He scratches vigorously under his armpit and gives himself an intense glare.

“What?” your Five sounds dangerous, impatient.

“Yeah- that’s right. You kill her and the baby trying to play OB-GYN.” he keeps tight hold of your hand, “and I spent the last eight years working out how to fix your…my fuckup.”

He looks around the cabin disbelievingly for a second and lets out a peal of relieved laughter.

“I actually pulled it off. I can't believe it. Would you say I look about eight years older?”

But you don't answer: you're still computing what you heard a few seconds prior.

"We die?" you whisper.

The older Five looks at you, all the mirth leaving his eyes like sand through an hourglass.

"Not if I have anything to do with it. Not this time."

You can read the intensity of emotion in his voice. His face has the haunted quality you associate with his regular nightmares. He tears his eyes from yours and addresses his younger self.

“We are not equipped to induce birth and deliver a preterm baby here. But, lucky for your sorry ass,” he shoots a dark look in his direction, “I got a plan.” He uses his shoe to scratch his shin.

“And why should I trust you?” says the younger Five.

“He’s you!” you say, incredulously.

“That's not good enough!" His eyes narrow even further as his tense shoulder scratches his cheek. Older Five's face spasms as he points aggressively into his doppelganger’s face.

“Well, I know how to keep the baby inside her until she’s fully cooked.”

“She?” you whisper.

Older Five looks away from his younger self to look back over at you, lip twitching.

Yes," he says, more softly, "she was beautiful." He lifts your hand gently and looks down at your fingers laced between his.

Younger Five clicks his fingers impatiently in the other’s direction, causing his brow to knit again.

“Let go of her and tell me how we keep the baby inside.”

You remove your hand from older Five’s and step a little way between them. He lets you go with regret but keeps his eyes on his younger self.

“It needs both of us.”

They stand with identical posture, hands in pockets and bodies tilted forward, jaws set. Through gritted teeth, the younger Five says,

“Bullshit. What’s your game, shithead?

"I'm trying to save her life, moron!"

"You've created a paradox," he says, emphatically, wiping sweat from his brow, "you know what that can do! You wanna trigger another kugelblitz?"

"I've had eight years! You think I didn't take that into account?"

The younger Five grinds his teeth as he steps forward aggressively.

"And we had forty-five to work out the jump to 2019 and we still managed to fuck that up!"

As Older Five looks murderous, you hold out a hand as it dawns on you:

“Is this that…paradox psychosis thing?”

“No,” they say, simultaneously, eyeing each other with suspicion.

“And what was the first stage again?”

“Denial.” they say, together, and then scowl at one another.

“He definitely has it," says older Five, "but I’m fine!”

“You’re the one scratching himself like a chimp,” says the younger.

Older Five grunts in frustration, removing the fingernails chafing his hair.

“How about you hear me out and then decide if it sounds like bullshit?”

Your Five shifts uncomfortably and lets out a wet-sounding fart.

“Sorry. Go on.”

“Thank you,” says Five 2.0, “Now. We know that baby’s brain is firing all kinds of crazy stuff out as it develops, right? Hence the portals.”

“Right.”

Older Five turns to you, straightening his tie uncomfortably, “She’s projecting nonsense portals outside the womb because your body isn’t equipped to compensate. That’s why Lila didn’t end up with loads of placentas or whatever would have happened with Santi: because she’s powered, her body can cope.”

Younger Five scratches behind his ear, “We’d got that far, genius.”

“-And,” he continues, “if we can recreate that compensation using OUR power in a form we can place inside her, then the baby can throw out whatever she wants and be born when she’s ready.”

“I’m listening…so do we need to anticipate the convection or wave nodes before they happen?”

“No,” he scratches his leg, “we need to produce two portals with nice, steady vortices. Any frequency as long as they’re totally oppositional. Then we externalize them, confine them to this instance and compress them into one. Think of it like a sphere to go around the baby. And because they’re constantly opposing each other-”

“-It creates stasis within,” younger Five finishes for him, comprehension dawning, “Like a time-travel-proof forcefield? That’s actually a pretty good…”

“-it’s not a forcefield," he snaps, "this isn’t Star Trek, asshole. It’s a relativity suppressor.”

“I don’t understand.” you say.

Older Five turns to you, face softening even as he smacks his lips a little, trying to lubricate his dry mouth.

“It makes sure that time IN the womb matches time OUTSIDE the womb, no matter what she throws out. It will counteract her portals before they erupt. It should keep her in there until she’s ready to be born or until her brain is developed enough to stop spitting them out. Does that make sense?”

You nod. It makes enough sense, anyway. He smiles in return and reaches for your hand again.

“Hey! You just keep away from her.”

He scowls, reaches into his inner pocket, pulls out a notebook and throws it none-too-gently at his past self, who catches it just before it hits him in the chest.

“Here’s the math, dipshit.”

Your Five looks down at the equations, stripping off his coat.

“This is going to need maintenance,” he says, slowly, “it looks like it will degrade.”

“Yup. That’s the worst part. We gotta be roommates for the next ten weeks. Until she delivers. Just to be safe."

Five nods slowly and then says, “How do I know you’re not going to wait until she delivers and then off me?”

“You don’t, " he replies, "but you’re going to take that risk, aren’t you?”

They stare each other down, both shifting, scratching and breathing a little too hard. Finally, the younger Five gives a miniscule nod and says:

“Want to try it?”

“No, I came all the way here to talk about it. Why do you think I'm here?" snaps the older Five.

“I didn’t mean you.”

He turns his eyes to you.

“Your decision, dear one. It seems…logical to me, but this isn’t about me and him.”

You look at the older Five,

“Will it hurt?”

His mouth pulls down a little as he wipes psychosis-related sweat from his forehead.

"I don't know. I don’t see any reason why it should but I’ve not been able to test that part. All I've been able to do is practice shaping one half. Lila can only mimic- she can’t create them independently. No chance of an oppositional portal from her.”

You think for a few moments. If it’s this, death or more skin-ripping portals then this seems by far the better option.

“Okay.”

Older Five squeezes your hand.

“If you just sit there on the couch, we’ll try to create one and then see about insertion.”

“This is still just theoretical,” says the younger Five, looking at himself with a mixture of scorn and anxiety.

“Then let’s get some practical experience,” he replies, with passive aggressive bite.

They scowl at each other again as he continues.

“You create one, make it simple and steady and I’ll counteract it.”

You watch as both Fives take their braced stance, hands clawed and ready to summon. With a look of concentration, a flash of light erupts from Five’s hand, and a tiny portal appears before him. It’s not like the baby’s mad, sucking voids, it’s more sedate. There’s no sucking sensation coming from it, though it makes your stomach flip.

“Okay! Now hold it!”

Younger Five’s face tenses as Five 2.0 summons a portal too, identical to the other, to your eyes at least.

“Now push. It needs to be round and fit together, so it holds itself in shape.”

Both versions of him push their arms outwards with effort, pushing the portals towards each other. You can see veins standing out on their arms.

“Smooth it- we want total amalgamation!”

Hands still splayed and tense, they both manipulate their portals: the energy appears to you like the texture of chilled butter: reluctant to mold without the persuasion of many warm touches. The older Five, clearly more practiced at this, smooths his into shape, like one half of a yin-yang sphere. Younger Five, using his movement for reference, eventually works his own into the reciprocal shape.

Breathing hard with the effort, older Five makes eye contact with his younger self. “Good. Now we need to push. There’s going to be resistance but it should fuse.”

They exchange a nod and, grunting with effort, extend shaking arms.

“Keep it steady!”

They work against the portals’ natural urge to repel each other, like the same pole on a magnet. One vortex or the other tries to become wilder, but each Five forces his half back to sedation each time it happens. Flashes of lightning-like energy fizzle between them. As both Fives start to sweat even more than before, the halves finally join, the final inch between them closing abruptly with a flash and buzz of static electricity. The orb contracts, expands and finally settles into smooth stasis at around two feet in diameter. The noise ceases and it revolves gently, like a planet.

Your Five looks to the other for confirmation, still tensed and ready to manipulate the orb as required.

“That looks good, now we gotta get it in.”

“How?” pants the younger Five.

“It should pass through her if we place it there.”

“You’ve had eight years and you give me ‘should’?”

"Sorry, I didn't exactly have a way to PRACTICE," spits older Five. And then he looks at you, nervousness replacing anger: “Do you want to try?”

You meet his eyes. They’re the same green you know, but something in them tells you how much extra suffering he’s faced.

“If I’m going to die anyway, then this is probably my best chance.”

“Are you sure? You trusted me once and…” he can’t finish.

“I’ll trust you every time.”

He shuts his eyes, looking pained, and takes in a deep breath.

“Then let's try.”

The younger Five looks between you, nods and decides to cooperate. They direct the orb towards you. As it meets your protruding belly, you find you aren’t scared.

“You okay?” says young Five.

You nod. At this final confirmation, they both push. You tense, ready for pain.

But, as it enters you, the orb only feels a little cold: pleasantly so. Despite their intense expressions, it glides into you with what feels like ease. Once it’s disappeared into your skin, it’s almost like it clicks into place.

The older Five kneels in front of you, “Feel ok?”

“Yeah..." you shift experimentally, a little disbelieving, "I can’t even feel it.”

You stand up and take a few steps around the room, half expecting the orb to be left behind where your womb once was, but when you turn around, there's nothing on the couch.

“I think we did it,” says the older Five, “but it will need us to maintain it. I think once a day, just to be safe.”

He lifts your shirt and the younger Five’s arm darts to stop him, but you bat him away with a palm.

Ignoring his younger self's objections, he runs his hands over your skin, “That feels good. You feel it."

He steps back and nods, scratching his neck hard as he does so.

Your Five steps forward, frowning, and holds your stomach too.

“Yeah…it feels…intact.”

All three of you spend a few moments taking in the success, both Fives scratching periodically. The baby kicks contentedly and you stroke a hand over the area. She's kicking you. You're having a girl.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03. Here is a link to the whole series

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redactedthegreat · 2 years

Text

Three Rings

Content Warning: forced transformation

Have you ever had one of those dreams where you realize you’re dreaming? I always wake up right after the realization, like the shock of it breaks the illusion. But this dream was different, backwards almost.

I can’t remember how it started, it was like my subconscious pulled my conscious mind into the dream at the moment of realization. My first memory is of saying “This is a dream?” right as it all clicked.

It made sense why I was confused, it was different than any dream I’d ever had before. It almost felt more real than being awake.

It was like all my senses perceived the area around me in perfect clarity; the colors and brush strokes of every painting along the walls, the smell of soap and stale blood lingering under a foreign perfume, the sweat on my own skin. Even my emotions felt heightened, I was afraid.

I was seated in some sort of tattoo chair, my arms and legs restrained with heavy straps. The parlor looked hygienic enough, but it was cluttered with pictures and objects from what must have been decades of use.

Standing over me was the person I intuitively understood to be my captor. We had just been talking, or so I felt, but I had no memory of the conversation.

I couldn’t tell their ethnicity or gender, I wasn’t even sure they were human. They had smooth pale skin with intensely blue eyes. Their ears came up to gentle points, and their hair was a shimmery white-gray, falling flat and straight like a cascade of liquid silver.

They were wearing some sort of long shirt over a pair of short pants, and every visible inch of skin was covered in tattoos and piercings. Most depicted things I had no understanding of. A bemused smirk lingered on their lips.

“Yes and no, you’ve crossed into the realm of night, the land of dreams.” They spoke in a lilting voice that was gratingly condescending.

“But this is a dream, like none of this is real?” I tried to clarify.

My captor let out a chirping laugh “This is very real for me, I live here. But no, we are not in your reality. You’ve been sentenced to a new one, I’m here to guide you there.” They stated matter-of-factly.

“Sentenced, what are you talking about?” I asked, pulling a little against the straps. I was held fast, but they weren’t uncomfortably tight.

“By the Court of Night, they reviewed a plea for justice and granted benefaction in the form of these three rings.” They explained, uncurling the long fingers of their hand to show me three polished golden rings.

“None of that makes sense.” I objected, struggling harder. “What are those rings for, and why am I tied down?”

They must have felt my rising panic, because their demeanor took a sudden shift “I’m so sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I know it can be disorienting when you first recover awareness. The rest of this dream will come back with time.” They closed their hand and looked me in the eye. Their irises were impossibly blue, like rings of deep sapphire gemstone. “These rings are attuned to your new reality, once they’re in place your body will adjust to fit.”

They looked to the side and I followed their gaze to a cluttered desk near the back, standing above the papers was a round glass bottle with a stoppered lid. It was filled with something that looked like water, but it gave off a soft pale light. The light cast a shifting mottled pattern that reminded me of the shadows cast by clouds.

“That bottle over there holds the memories and experiences that are missing from your mind.” They held up three slender fingers. “Mind, body, soul. You’re taking the place of yourself in this new reality, so the soul is constant. The rings align your body, and the bottle completes your mind. After that my duty is complete. I’ll escort you back to your body and you can wake up.”

They spelled out the whole process with a simple directness that felt designed to put me at ease. I tried to focus on the content of what they were telling me. “So you’ve got me tied down so you can put those rings on me?” I asked, balling my hands into fists.

The smirk came back to their face “In a sense. These are meant to be worn as piercings.” They said, stepping right up to me. They raised their hand and snapped their fingers. I instantly found myself completely naked.

Honestly I couldn’t remember what I’d been wearing before, dreams can be like that. But suddenly my attention was drawn to my complete lack of clothing. My dick and balls were clearly visible, and the restraints hindered any attempts at modesty. My discomfort seemed to amuse my captor.

“No need to feel shy. I’m a professional.” They lifted one ring from their palm and twisted it. The metal bent in their bare hands, splitting cleanly at the tension point into a sort of spiral shape.

They affixed a hollow needle to one end of the twisted ring. “This is going to pinch a bit.” They warned me.

I balled my fists even tighter and tried to think of something to do or say, but all I could do was watch in shock. My captor moved too fast for me to do much else. In one motion they leaned over my chest, pinched my left nipple between two fingers, and ran the needle through it with their other hand. I felt an intense searing pinch, like stepping on a nail nipple first.

“Augh fuck!” I grunted, but they were absorbed by the task at hand and took no notice. They pulled the ring through and removed the needle, then bent the ring back into place, as effortlessly as bending a paperclip.

The moment the ring was back to its proper shape there was a flash of light, and the metal was whole again, an unbroken loop. At the same instant the pain disappeared, replaced at first with a numbness, and then a growing tingle.

The tingle spread from my nipple and down into my chest. It felt good, too good. Like a hot bath when you’re shivering cold; the shock of heat creates a blissful torture.

“Ooh, fuck.” I groaned and stretched my side. The discomfort was fading, but the pleasure kept building. Deep into my chest, along the muscles, back up through my pec, exploding from the tip of my nipple, where the slim golden ring dangled off me.

My nipple became stiff and swollen, growing larger than I’d ever seen it. As it firmed up, it gripped the ring harder, which intensified the erotic feeling shooting through my chest. My dick responded, stiffening and lengthening as the feeling became more intense.

The flesh under the piercing pulsed in time to my heart beat, swelling and shrinking. Like a rising tide, each swell came larger than the last, until my nipple rested atop a new mound of breast tissue.

“Ooooh…” I moaned as the euphoria waned. My cock was rock hard, and I had been pushed to the precipice of orgasm, but I had no way to stimulate myself over the edge. The ring was still filling me with warm tingles, but they didn’t have the same erotic energy as before.

I looked down at my chest and recoiled at the sight. The right side of my chest looked the same as before, but the left had been transformed. My pec had been replaced with what looked like a woman’s breast. Hairless and bulbous, with a thick erect nipple—the golden ring pierced through the base.

The force of my reaction caused my chest to jiggle. The difference in density between flesh and gold caused the ring to tug a little with each change in direction. “What are you doing to me?” I wailed.

“Preparing you for your new reality.” They replied calmly, moving to my other side. “Your body is quite different there.” They prepared the next ring as they talked, showing little interest in our conversation.

“And in this new reality I’m a woman?” I asked, trying to make sense of what was happening to me.

“It’s a reality where you were born with a very different body.” They said as they pierced my second nipple. There was a brief pause as they fixed the ring and I squirmed in pain. “These rings are enchanted to adjust your self-image.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, still determined to get some answers. My head was fuzzy from the new burst of erotic energy. My dick was leaking precum, but I still hadn’t reached climax. The intense feelings in my chest were holding me at the edge.

“The way you see yourself in your mind’s eye, how you appear in dreams, your subconscious awareness of your own body.” They walked around to stand between my legs.

“Wait, wait, wait!” I pleaded. “Do we need to be in such a rush?” I was stalling for time, but I also wanted more information.

They paused and considered my plea “I guess we have a little time to talk.” Their piercing blue eyes met mine again. Suddenly it became very difficult to think of what to say. There was too much pressure, and my mind was foggy from the disorienting effects of the rings.

“Why does it feel so good?” I blurted out. It was the biggest question on my mind, but it felt too embarrassing to talk about.

A wry smile briefly crossed their lips “The rings are attuned to your new reality. Self-image is built on experiences and sensation; what you’re feeling is years of sensation all rushing into your mind at once. The enchantment dulls the pain, but the pleasure all comes through.” They stated, like it made everything clear.

They resumed the task at hand. I sat in a panicked silence, trying to think of another question as they prepared the final ring.

“This is a dream though, couldn’t you just snap your fingers and change my body?” I asked, doing my best to think through the haze.

“Yes and no. I could change how you look in this dream, but it would cease the moment you wake up. These change your very concept of self.” They said, gesturing with the last gold ring. “Close your eyes and picture yourself on the beach.” They asked me.

As nervous as I was to close my eyes with them so close to me, I didn’t feel like it was a trick. Even if it was, I was at their mercy regardless. I closed my eyes and pictured myself on the beach.

The waves were crashing on the shore. I was barefoot in the sand. My swim trunks were damp from saltwater, and my top was clinging to my breasts. Wait, that’s not right, I swim shirtless. That made me think about people looking at me, seeing my chest.

“Do you understand now?” They asked me. I opened my eyes, they were placing the needle onto the last ring.

“Where are those thoughts coming from? I don’t think like that.” I stammered, coming up with another question.

“That’s exactly how you think now that you’ve absorbed some of the experiences from your new reality. The rings don’t really change your physical body, they change your self-image. It’s that shift that changes the body of your dream-self.”

I tried not to panic, but I found their explanation very unsettling. I tried to imagine myself with my chest as I remembered it, and it came to mind just fine. Masculine and broad, covered in coarse hair, little bumpy nipples. But it was a memory, like remembering my last haircut.

When I looked down I was confronted with what my chest is now: round bulging breasts, virtually hairless, topped with wide tall nipples—each one gripping a slim golden ring with excited tissue.

I let out a groan of misery, imagining that happening to my dick, existing only as a memory. I looked at it, lifting my head a little to see over my breasts. The tip was almost purple with desire. I was still teetering on the edge of climax. If what they said was true, these could be our last moments together.

“Hey, I know this is a weird request, but is there any way you could help me cum just one more time before it’s gone?” I pleaded. My face must have been beet red in embarrassment. I wanted one more ejaculation to remember it by. And even if it was all just a dream, I really wanted to get off. The suspense was bordering on agony.

“Don’t worry, this will help.” They said, pinching a bit of the skin just under the head of my dick and piercing it in the same instant.

The burst of pain would have normally doused my arousal, but I was so close it was almost a turn-on. I prepared myself for what could be my last orgasm with my penis, as a flash united the final ring.

The tingling energy surged through me even more powerfully than before. It raced down my shaft and settled deep into my balls, making my cock twitch and ache.

The power pushed me even closer to climax, but at the same time it felt like the peak was getting higher. Meanwhile I could see my dick sinking lower, shrinking closer to my body. I craned my head to get a better look at what was happening to me.

My balls were pulled up tight to my body, and my dick was standing straight up, hard as a rock, but no larger than it used to be when flaccid.

The energy was flowing down into my pelvis too, causing the flesh to plump up on either side of my junk. It pushed my balls out, but it made my penis look even smaller.

The pleasure continued to build. I was well past the point where I would have usually shot my load. My hands gripped the padded armrests and my legs tensed. My cock began to twitch involuntarily, pulling on my balls with each contraction. It was like I was cumming, but my arousal was still building.

A particularly strong contraction lasted several seconds, and accompanied the sensation of warm honey flowing up from my balls. It happened twice more, filling me with immense satisfaction. It almost felt like a slow-motion ejaculation in reverse.

Each contraction caused my balls to shrink, until they completely vanished between the sides of my growing mound. Only my penis remained, poking straight out the top of the crack.

A moment later another pulse of contractions made my dick twitch and leak. My precum had become clear and copious, running down my shaft and pooling in my new crevice.

Each time my dick flexed, it pointed a little lower, and flexed a little less, until it was aiming straight down and no longer responded to the contractions.

The vision of my dick sinking away was heart wrenching, but the sensation was utterly orgasmic. Better than orgasmic, I never knew such pleasure was possible. Even though my dick had stopped responding to the clenching pulse, my orgasm kept going, rolling deep into my pelvic floor.

“Oh fuck!” I cried out, as I finally crested the peak. In that same moment I felt my dick come apart. The thin fleshy line that ran from the tip of my dick to the base of my balls unfused, splitting to form my inner lips.

I was too absorbed in the moment to take note of it at the time, but an awareness had blossomed in my mind not only of my new shape, but of my new anatomy. I understood that I no longer had a penis, I had a clitoris. I no longer had a scrotum, I had labia. Even if I looked away or closed my eyes, it wouldn’t have mattered. The change was happening inside my head.

At the absolute zenith of my orgasmic series I felt myself ejaculate. Just one little spurt of thin watery fluid, which promptly leaked down my butt.

I gasped for air, catching my breath after what felt like minutes of blissful torture. My pussy was drenched, and still humming with erotic energy, but it didn’t feel like it was building up to anything now.

I looked down at my crotch. All I could see from my seated position was the very top of my slit, with a little golden ring poking out to mark my clit. I leaned back with a resigned sigh. At least they were done sticking needles through me.

“I’ll remove the restraints now, you’ve been very good.” My captor told me, pressing a lever at the base of the chair with their foot. My hands and feet were suddenly freed.

I rubbed my wrists and looked around. “I guess I’m a woman now.” I grunted, stepping to my feet. I wobbled a bit on my still-shaky legs.

“That’s a question you must answer with your heart.” They told me as they walked over to the desk and retrieved the bottle of memories. “The rings will continue to change your body gradually, but this will hasten it greatly. As your mind absorbs the memories of your new reality, it molds your self-image directly.” They looked from the bottle back to me, and they studied my expression for a moment. “Whether or not you come to know yourself as a woman, you have lived a life as a man, secure and complete in your gender. There will always be that part of you in your mind.”

I could tell they were trying to help, but it only made me feel more confused. I nodded my head and reached for the softly glowing bottle. For a moment I thought about smashing it, even if they had a spell to undo it, I just wanted some way to rebel against this whole scheme.

They must have sensed something was up, because they pulled the bottle back before I could reach it and gave me a warning. “This bottle holds another person’s mind. Be very gentle with it. Once you begin drinking you must continue until you’ve ingested every drop. You can pause if you must, but I will not let you stop until it’s finished.”

They handed the bottle to me with great gravitas. It felt much lighter than I’d expected, as if it was empty. I looked at the mottled glowing water in the bottle and then back to my captor.

“What happens after I finish it?” I asked, feeling nervous about beginning something they wouldn’t let me stop.

“You will lose consciousness.” They answered simply, then continued. “You will dream the memories you’re about to ingest, and then you’ll wake up in your new reality.”

“So there will be another person in my head?” I asked. I didn’t understand how this double-memory situation could work.

“Just one person. One person with two sets of memories. In one you were sentenced to a new reality, in the other you asked for a dream of another life.” They explained. I still wasn’t sure what they were saying.

Seeing my blank stare they continued. “To the person in that bottle, your entire life, up to and including now, is a dream they are currently having.” I nodded and they went on “Once you ingest the memories, you will fall asleep, and you will have a dream that includes their entire life.” I nodded again, so far so good. “Once you wake up you will be one person with two memories of their life.” They finished.

I understood what they were telling me, at least in principle, but I couldn’t understand how that was different from two people sharing one body. I would have to see for myself. It didn’t seem like I had much choice in the matter.

I uncorked the bottle and took a deep breath. “I guess this is goodbye.” I told my captor. They just returned a thin smile.

I held the bottle to my lips and took a cautious sip. It tasted like nothing, like perfectly clear water, but it filled my head with feelings. Events, ideas, things I couldn’t process. It made my head swim, and filled me with a sort of intoxicated feeling.

The fluid trickled down my throat, and the energy from the rings surged. I was covered in a vaguely itchy sensation as nearly all my body hair vanished back into my skin.

“You must keep drinking.” My captor warned, not allowing me to get distracted. I put the bottle to my lips again for a deeper swallow.

This time I felt my hips swell with energy and begin to expand. They pushed outward, changing the shape of my pelvis and widening my stance. I stumbled a little, but regained my composure and took another drink.

This time my musculature rearranged itself, thinning my arms and bolstering my new hips. I could feel my center of gravity shift even further. Another gulp and all the fat on my body flowed into a curvier shape, filling in for lost muscle mass.

All the redistribution of weight made me stumble again, worse this time. I had to brace myself on the chair to remain standing. I wanted to stop drinking, the changes were too intense. I tried to put down the bottle but they grabbed my arm.

“You must keep drinking.” They repeated, much more forcefully this time. I complied, putting the bottle to my lips once more. They held it there for me as I chugged mouthful after mouthful.

My fingers grew slender, my feet shrunk down, my hair cascaded past my shoulders. Gulp after gulp I felt the shape of my new life take form in my mind, bending my image until I became a perfect copy.

I swallowed the last bit as I felt my throat tingle with energy. I knew I’d be asleep soon, or awake, or however it worked. I lowered the bottle and tried to open my mouth to speak, but I found myself falling backwards. My captor waved goodbye as they tilted out of view.

The world spun around me and everything went black. I collapsed onto a distant mattress, at home in my new life.

#gender bender #tg story #tgtf #male to female #genital transformation #forced transformation #piercings

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spottedmoggy · 2 years

Photo

Rainstorm

#Rainstorm #Main RiverClan #Warrior #Simple mottled Gray #Rain #Storm

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blackberrywars · 1 year

Text

All Things End

What does hope feel like after 13 years of knowing that no one can save you? Ghazan gets to find out.

many thanks as always to my wonderful beta @hellinglasses!!

Rating: T

Words: 1623

Relationships: Ghazan & Zaheer

Tags: Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide Attempt(s), Suicidal Thoughts, Toture, Exposure, Solitary Confinement, Tattoos, Reunions, Queerplatonic Relationships, Found Family, Rough Kissing, Physical Affection, Violence

Summary: His tattoos are fading. Ghazan knows that much, even though he can’t remember it happening. When a gust of wind whistles through his cage, he just stretches his back and lets it wash over him. It’s a warmer breeze than he usually gets, but he doesn’t flinch until he hears a shout from across the boat, another windbreak, and the sound of at least two bodies hitting the wooden deck. He's on his feet again in the space of a heartbeat, peering through one of his windows. The beams are just big enough that even he can’t wrap a hand around one, but he feels like he could break it in half, seeing his old friend.

Read on AO3

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His tattoos are fading. Ghazan knows that much, even though he can’t remember it happening. Twenty years ago, when he was fifteen and starving and too big for his own damned good, looking down the barrel of a lifetime in either the Dai Li or their prisons, he'd been warned. The old woman who’d done his forearms and calves —a castoff tribe member whose hands shook like a grain mill but who could punch ink through steel— had told him as much. The sun bleaches everything but a firebender, and she had the liver spots to prove it. The more time you spend under it, the more it does its work. He’d tried to hang himself with his shirt in his fifth year, but once they’d taken that and doubled his night guard, it’s been eight years of near total direct exposure. His cell has no door, made of nothing but windows for the elements. Sunshine and wind beat down on him until they burn even his dark skin, and peeling it off is the most entertaining thing he gets to do most days. Rain almost soothes the burns, except it always comes down hard enough to hurt him worse. He enjoys it, these days. Harsh water on his skin is familiar, and he relishes the feeling.

The gray, mottled ink on his body disagrees. All across his arms and legs, patches of grayish-brown show through what had once been damn near black, from the factory soot and mineral water that leaked through to the dungeons. He cranes his neck to look at his flowers. In another life, the kind his people had imagined for him, they'd be faded from the scrape of straps against his shoulders, the weight of countless days' journey on his back. Instead, he'd gotten them done in the dead of night. His sister had kissed his forehead and sent him away.

Keeping his lost shirt in mind, he drops to the floor and starts doing push-ups. His back doesn’t really burn anymore, but the late afternoon, with the sun and salt and wind, will still dry him out. Still, even though he can’t ever really escape the sun, with his eyes on the wooden boards or up in the ceiling, he at least doesn’t have to look at it or the bars of his cage. It’s a simple routine. Keeps him moving, which keeps him alive. Not that he values his life all that much, but slowly wasting away, by plague or by just sitting until he rots, had never been his style. He’s tried, but never successfully starved himself to death. Something inside him, maybe the half-street kid that he was, or an even more primitive animal than that, doesn’t let him stop eating. It practically screams when he doesn't finish a plate. Almost a shame that the guards never give him anything with pieces big enough to choke on. Nothing to choke on, nothing to dwell on.

He flips to his feet without using his hands, just to prove that he still can. Then flips to stand on his hands, because he’s a talented bastard like that, and because the blood rushing to his skull feels like something other than the ship swaying beneath him. He can still see the patches in his ink, finds an especially muddled spot over an old burn scar won while training. Does some more pushups just like that, and braces himself against the waves before one drops him flat on his back. If his skin was any less damaged, he might flinch at the roughness, at the splinters surely making a home in his spine. Instead, Ghazan closes his eyes and wishes the sun would go down. He has as much control over the sun as anything else, so he might as well try —nights are always pitch this far out on the ocean, but he could at least get some sleep. He takes his comforts where he can.

When a gust of wind whistles through his cage, he just stretches his back and lets it wash over him. It’s a warmer breeze than he usually gets, but he doesn’t flinch until he hears a shout from across the boat, another windbreak, and the sound of at least two bodies hitting the wooden deck. Ghazan is on his feet again in the space of a heartbeat, peering through one of his windows. The beams are just big enough that even he can’t wrap a hand around one, but he feels like he could break it in half, seeing his old friend.

Zaheer.

He’s alone and dressed like a guard, but he spins and sends three of the real ones flying, knocking his own helmet loose in the air. His hair’s gone completely gray, but the shifty bastard is apparently as quick as ever, running circles around some half-rate firebender and sending two waterbenders into the sea with a wave of his hand.

Footsteps pound across the top of his cage, and three small, precious bits of earth tumble in through a window. They’re dark and glassy, volcanic rocks that Zaheer had apparently remembered were his favorite. They call to him, and his bones sing back. His face aches with the stretch of a grin as he feels his element, so sharp and near after thirteen years of feeling nothing but the seafloor, and he lets the pieces fall in between his hands, moving faster and faster until the friction and the heat melts them together. His chest expands until it hurts. He can feel the earth again. Ghazan lets the shuriken spin a little longer, just to keep it close before he lets it fly. It’s effortless to tear through his cage. It’s even easier to tear through the remaining sentries.

Fucking pathetic, that the White Lotus had let such amateurs guard his cell. He sends a firebender with a shitty hairline overboard with a chest wound that cauterizes itself too little too late. A nonbender nearly avoids the slash at his legs, but gets slammed into a mast for her trouble, because Zaheer can apparently airbend now. He’ll ask him eventually. Now, Ghazan just thrills in the sounds of a fight behind him, knowing his friend is at his back, and sends a waterbender flying, unconscious but alive. With that, the boat goes quiet but for the waves and the sun. The heat and light don’t feel so harsh as a free man. He flexes his arms, slows the shuriken until it turns solid, dark and glassy as it settles in his palm, smooth and cool.

He’s free. He’s alive and he’s free and he has earth between his hands and he is free.

Ghazan turns to his friend, his friend with too-gray hair and too-pale skin, who stands just three paces behind him now, and hefts him up in the air before crushing his lips against Zaheer’s mouth. Blood bursts on his tongue not a second later, and he can’t tell whose it is, but he really can’t bring himself to give a shit. His friend is here. They are free men. Ghazan can prove it to himself, can wrap his arms around Zaheer’s broad back and pull him closer. Can taste more than sea salt and bland gruel on Zaheer’s cracked lips, especially when he kisses him back, just as fiercely. His hands dig into Ghazan’s shoulders, over his faded tattoos, and he thinks, with so much more clarity on the outside, that he can get them redone. He grins so wide that he can’t kiss anymore, but he doesn’t pull away. Zaheer makes that decision for him.

“It’s good to see you again, Ghazan,” his friend pants, and if his voice is deeper than it used to be, it’s still the best thing he’s heard in years.

Hesitantly, he sets Zaheer down and steps away. Before the contact fades, he reaches for Zaheer’s hand, nearly sighing at the feeling of someone else’s skin on his. Those hands which apparently could bend air now, and Ghazan feels vicious, remembering his worst moments when it really sunk in that no one was coming to save him, that there was no one alive and able to do so. The ache in his chest almost feels like gratitude, but Zaheer wouldn’t accept it from him.

“You too. Where’d you pick up the new skills?”

“I have Harmonic Convergence to thank for that. I was in the spirit world when it happened, and when I came back to my body, it was just… there. The fact that it was given to me means that if nothing else, we have to be on the righteous path.”

“Tell the universe thanks, then,” Ghazan sighs, squeezing Zaheer’s hand again, “So. When are we getting them out?"

His square face lights up, gray-green eyes going steely. They don't need to be named.

“As soon as we get you a shirt. From what I’ve found, they’re in worse shape than we are, and the less time the White Lotus has to prepare, the better.”

They walk off the boat hand in hand, into the stolen speedboat. When Ghazan lets go to send his shuriken through the watchtowers, Zaheer’s hand finds his again as soon as the rock is cool, and they stay a moment, watching his prison go up in flames. His old friend doesn’t protest when he splays himself out onto the tiny deck, head propped up on Zaheer’s broad thigh to enjoy his first unobstructed view of the sky in thirteen years. The lull of the ocean, as familiar as it was vicious, faded in comparison to the feeling of his element in one hand, and his friend sat beside him holding the other.

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This started more or less as me being mad about the lack of male affection, so I decided to rewrite Ghazan’s escape. Instead of a bro-handshake (without even a bro-hug!!!), he straight up kisses Zaheer on the mouth. Not in a romantic way, but they’re queerplatonic buddies, and we simply did not get a sufficient reunion gesture after 13 years of torture and separation. Fuck you Nickelodeon, you gave us so much but so little. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed Ghazan lifting his friend up in the air in his big strong arms and kissing the life out of him.

Taglist: @hellinglasses, @halehathnofury, @wishingforatypewriter (if you want to be added or removed, send me a pm)

#berry's fics #legend of korra #lok #avatar the last airbender #atla #red lotus #ghazan #zaheer

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bitsnbolts · 1 year

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finished my farm... although its more of a zen garden in the end. im pretty happy with it :) definitely more for looks than any solid source of food. now to build 5 more areas before i progress in the game at all [image description: two screenshots of the game minecraft, both perspectives of the same build. the first is a birds eye view and the second is a ground view turned to mostly show the right side. it is a area for farms of six different crops, wheat, potatoes, beetroot, carrots, onions, rice, tomatoes, and cabbage. each plot is made up of 3 platforms that resemble a staircase. the outer two are made of stripped oak and birch, a lighter tan colored block while the middle plot is made of darker brown stripped spruce and dark oak. in the center is a small custom tree, surrounded by melon and pumpkin farms in simple rows and decorative blocks. the space between the platforms is paved and there is benches in the corners. it is lit by lanterns. there is a mottled gray horse in diamond armor standing near the gate. end ID] bonus picture of the small bridges and path going to it (that i have yet to connect to my house) under the read more

[image description: a screenshot of the game minecraft, featuring the previous farm in the background. in the foreground are two simple bridges, the first crossing a small ravine and the second crossing a river. the first is made up of spruce logs and dark oak slabs for the bottom, with spruce slabs for the railings. the next bridge is the same but inverted. they are lit by lanterns. end ID]

#bits builds #minecraft #mineblr #modded minecraft #forgot i turned clouds off #i need to think of a name for this world to separate it from my other modpack worlds im gonna talk about

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wild-moss-art · 10 months

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22, 4, and 5 :]

22. What inspires you?

Something that really inspires my color choice is nature and more specifically birds. I find that birds, even the less colorful ones, tend to have really precise and cohesive color palettes. For example: pigeons, while mostly mottled grays, have orange feet and eyes, and purple/green iridescence on their feathers. This is a strict secondary triadic color palette, one of my faves. Sometimes i feel like birds understand color theory in a way I never could!

4. Favorite thing to draw?

I love drawing animals! I really enjoy small furry critters(like rabbits!) and, of course, birds! I can almost always be convinced to draw a cute animal pic, and I used to post a lot of animal art on instagram! (I no longer use insta though lol). I’ve always really enjoyed drawing animals

5. Least favorite thing to draw?

God, couches and chairs and stuff are so difficult for me to get right. Which is insane cause they’re so boxy and simple! I just feel like I can never get characters to sit on them quite right. However, I never hear this as feedback, so it might just all be in my head lol

#ty for the ask <3 #art philosophy tag

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whisper-my-serenade · 2 years

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prelude to a kiss

summary: years after their time at welton, neil and todd still live together and neil is just as in love as ever. maybe one of these days his resolve will finally break.

words: 3741

Winter.

Red noses, chapped lips, cracked hands. Scarves, hats, gloves, ten minutes getting ready to be outside for thirty seconds. Waking up to fresh snowfall that you know in a few hours will turn into gray slush because this is New York, what else would it do, but for now the world just looks like it’s been perfectly coated in powdered sugar. The hum of a radiator, always on. A warm mug of tea with too much honey poured in it. Late sunrises.

So late, in fact, that when Neil wakes up to find the sun casting a hazy orange glow over his bedroom, he panics for a minute.

Oh, it’s Sunday. No worries.

Not like he’d have much to do on a weekday, anyways. Done with high school, done with college, script reading for his next show doesn’t start for another two weeks. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting his thoughts drift. The bed is small, all too similar to the dorm rooms he spent too many years of his life in, but it’s softer and warmer and the sheets are bunched up from too many nights of twisting and turning. The biggest difference is that it’s the only bed in the room. Just one wall separates this room from an identical one with the same twin bed. He and Todd bought them at the same time, back when they were first furnishing the apartment and they realized that buying beds was not exactly an aspect of adulthood they’d been prepared for.

It was the third year of college and both of them agreed that they were sick of living in dorms. Todd had suggested sharing originally, dug up the place, even, but Neil was the one who made the phone call. Soon it was theirs to be filled with books and dishes and shoes and memories. Even when they both graduated and made space on a wall for their shiny new degrees, neither suggested moving out. How could they? It’s home.

Neil hears Todd stirring from somewhere in the apartment (his bedroom? The kitchen? He can’t quite tell). Todd has always been a late sleeper, but becoming a high school English teacher has forced him to change his habits. Now he stays up late, gets up early, and has a nasty caffeine addiction. Music floats in from the living room. An old Billie Holiday record, of course. It’s one Todd has played many times, so Neil mouths the lyrics to himself even though he can’t really hear them.

If you hear a song in blue

Like a flower crying for the dew

That was my heart serenading you

My prelude to a kiss

Eventually Neil forces himself out of bed, the winter air hitting him sharply as he throws off his blankets. The bedroom door opens with a creak, and there’s Todd, softly singing to himself as he stirs cream into his coffee. He’s self-conscious about his voice, and he stops singing as soon as he notices Neil poking his head out.

“Morning,” Todd says quietly, setting his coffee on the counter to grab another mug from the cupboard. Neil picks up the song. Though it's just a simple melody, with nothing fancy, nothing much, you could turn it to a symphony一a Schubert tune with a Gershwin touch.

“Did you see it snowed?” Neil asks as Todd hands him the mug. Their fingers brush for a moment, and it warms Neil more than the steaming drink in his hand.

“Yeah, traffic’s gonna be a nightmare today.”

Neil shrugs. “Good thing we don’t have anywhere to go, then.” Todd smiles softly, still mindlessly stirring his drink.

Oh! How my love song gently cries

For the tenderness within your eyes

My love is a prelude that never dies

A prelude to a kiss

✲

Neil’s shown him the scar. It worms across his shoulder and upper back, sometimes branching out like lightning. It’s an ugly, mottled thing that keeps fabric around Neil’s shoulders almost all the time. In fact, besides the doctors, Todd’s the only one who’s seen it. The others know about that night, of course, when everything Neil thought he knew about love was shot down with the crack of a pistol, but secretly he thinks his friends don’t really understand. Todd, who never really knew what love was at all, does.

Todd always says he wishes he’d been there. Neil says he shouldn’t wish for that. Todd does not need to see any more love gone sour. Later, when they’re in their own rooms and there’s nothing better to do than stare at the ceiling, Neil feels guilty for having shown him. What did he want? Sympathy? For Todd to say he loved him? Clearly neither of them know a damn thing about love, so what’s the point? But the way Todd looked at him, eyes misty but no tears slipping, and the way his fingers ran across it, gentle and reverent and unafraid…maybe people don’t need to see. Maybe they only need to understand.

✲

“You haven’t finished that thing yet?” Neil asks jokingly as he pokes his head into Todd’s room, a bowl of soup in hand. He sets the bowl on Todd’s desk, right next to his typewriter, which has been dutifully clacking all day.

Todd laughs, leaning back in his chair and cracking his knuckles. “Novels don’t happen overnight, Neil.”

Neil leans in the doorway. “Will you let me read it when it is finished?”

Todd shrugs, delicately taking the bowl of soup in his hands. “Maybe.”

“C’mon, I haven’t read a word you’ve written since high school. And don’t give me that look like you don’t think you’re any good一” Neil points an accusatory finger at him. “Because we both know that’s not true.”

Todd rolls his eyes, but a small smile lingers on his face. “You have too read some of it. And besides, the book, it’s- it’s-” Todd starts stumbling over his words. The stutter still acts up when he’s nervous, but it’s been a long time since Neil’s seen it.

“It’s fine, Todd, really,” Neil says, reaching out a hand to ruffle the other man’s hair. Todd huffs.

“It’s just一some of the stuff in there is really…personal, I guess, and I don’t want you to一”

“Judge you for it?” Neil finishes his sentence as Todd trails off. Todd nods. “Please, Todd, I know too much about you to judge you for anything. Remember that night at that bar in Queens?”

Todd groans. “I really wish you’d forget that.”

Neil laughs and taps the side of his head with a finger as he turns to leave the room. To his surprise, Todd follows him, soup in hand. “Sorry, Toddsie, it’s locked in.”

“Well, if we’re playing the blackmail game, you’re the one in danger.”

Neil’s eyes widen as Todd laughs. The two sit down at their comically small dining table in unison, feet kicking against each other on accident. Soon they’re playing footsie like they did in school, exchanging embarrassing stories and trying very hard not to spill soup everywhere. Todd laughs often, loud and unrestricted, something he only started doing in college. Neil’s eyes linger on his lips, the way they curl with a smile when he calms down, the way his tongue pokes out briefly as he structures his thoughts. Then their eyes meet, and Neil must imagine the slight blush that creeps up his face. They stop joking when the moment passes, but they stay at the table, ankles gently resting against each other.

✲

Neil’s tempted to run after that. Run like every other time his own feelings have made him dizzy and sick, shameful and exhilarated all at once. Run to a place where all this pent-up something can be released without Neil’s own head getting in the way. Not often, mind you, only on nights when Todd’s out of town and there’s something clawing at a hole deep inside his chest, begging him to set it free and try to fill that hole with the first sandy-haired man he runs into. He never gets far, either一never farther than the door to the bar. Any farther and things get too real. He likes his little worlds to be separate. The stage and his apartment. Time with his friends and time with his father. The guys in those dark little corners of the city and Todd. He always comes home shaking, throwing his blankets over his head and begging the throbbing, clawing feeling to go away. It never does. The hole, at least, is filled when Todd is there.

Todd runs sometimes too, but Neil does not know where he goes. Sometimes he thinks the other man just retreats into his own head. Neil’s been there, too.

✲

After lunch, it’s Neil’s turn to pick the music. Todd sits on the couch reading the last few pages of a book while Neil dances around, pretending to do chores. The good thing about a small apartment is it doesn’t need a lot of maintenance, but Neil needs something to do when he’s home alone all day, so he does his best to keep up its appearance anyways. Neil sings loudly despite not having the best voice, and once or twice, he catches Todd singing along in spite of himself. The two have wildly different music tastes, but neither can deny themselves a bit of rhythm and blues.

You'll never, never know I care

You'll never know the torch I bear

You'll never know it, for I won't show it

Oh, no, you'll never, never know

Neil listens to Todd hum for a minute. Ah, irony.

Todd finishes his book with a sigh and immediately begins sorting through the precariously stacked volumes on their coffee table for another one. He ends up pulling out Neil’s show script, flipping through it and occasionally stopping to read Neil’s infinite annotations.

Neil laughs when he sees him reading through it. Todd, his favorite practice partner, had been running through the thing with him for weeks since he got it. “We could work on that, if you want.” Neil’s words seem to spook Todd, who jumps a little but nods eagerly.

Orestes. Neil had been apprehensive about dipping his toes into Greek tragedy, a genre he was wholly unfamiliar with after a lifetime (for that’s what four years of university feels like when you were never living before them) of studying Shakespearean comedy. Todd once mentioned he was fond of the play. Neil pretends his off-hand comment hadn’t affected his decision to join the cast. He finds himself rather enjoying it too, though, all things considered. Maybe there’s a place in his heart for the romance of tragedy after all. Maybe there always was.

“What scene do you want to work on?” Todd asks, baby blue eyes darting between the pages.

Neil snatches the paper out of his hands, flipping around until a scene catches his eye. “This one,” he says confidently, giving Todd the script again and settling himself on the floor, preparing his mind to sink into the thoughts of someone who is not himself.

Todd finds the first line of the scene, and the show begins.

Todd’s not an actor. He wasn’t made to be, Neil can tell from the way he uncomfortably espouses thoughts that are not his own. He was made to read his own words and weave thoughts that feel small and comfortable and domestic, nothing grandiose or dramatic like Neil’s trying to make him do here. Even so, he has a cadence in his voice that plays with the words the way all the best actors do, a way that makes you wonder if there’s always something bubbling beneath the surface. Neil, going scriptless, can do nothing but watch him as Pylades’ words spill from his own mouth. Not terribly out of character, actually.

"So what should I do?" Todd reads carefully, a more delicate version of Orestes’ uncertainty hanging in his voice.

"Any chance of staying safe here?" Neil asks in response, head craning slightly to ease his friend’s nerves.

Todd’s voice is small, quiet, afraid. A little too familiar. “No, none.”

Neil poses a question again, in the gentle yet serious way he responds to most of Todd’s mindless worries. "And if you flee?"

Todd surprises him here. He looks up for a moment, the closest thing to a sly grin Neil has ever seen spreading on his face. "Maybe, with luck."

Neil realizes what he’s getting at. This was, after all, not the home they started in. He meets Todd’s smile. "Well, it's better than staying." So much better than staying.

The moment passes, the scene continues as normal, but Neil seems to find Todd’s eyes wandering up to meet his more and more.

✲

"I must go. Unmanly to die here." Todd says in a somewhat bored drawl, as if simple matters like life and death don’t seem to hold as much weight as they used to.

Neil一Pylades一agrees, they discuss Orestes’ sister, then something new emerges.

“These ghastly goddesses—they'll send my wits astray.”

Todd’s voice breaks on accident, and Neil raises his head to shoot him a joking smile. He knows the next lines, he picked the scene because of it. Because he’d seen this story play out in real life, with the same man, in the same sort of winter where everything seems to begin and end at once.

"I'll take care of you," Neil says gently.

Todd reads from the script. "It's rotten work."

A teasing no plays in Neil’s head. “Not to me. Not if it's you."

Todd looks up now, and does not look away. There is careful determination on his face. Hope. "Beware the contagion of madness."

“Come now."

Todd gives him the smallest. fondest smile, and Neil’s heart flips in his chest. “You won't shrink back?" he asks, almost teasing. And then they’re seventeen again, running around their crowded little dorm room with stars in their eyes and hundreds of millions of words waiting to spill from their tongues. Todd’s eyes are the blue of a winter sky and yet in the center as dark as a pitch-covered night. There is no night that changes everything. There are a thousand little moments of something that coalesce and bang! a bigger, more meaningful something into existence. Todd is something, so powerful a something that Neil feels like he’s already gone mad with it. Something that gives him everything while knowing Neil’s willing to give everything back. That has seen his darkest moments and has chosen to fight for him anyways. Seventeen or fourty or a hundred and six, Todd will be the same open-sky home for Neil that he always was. Neil’s so taken by the sweeping feeling of love in his chest that he fumbles for the words.

“Sorry, um一could you say that line again?” he stutters out.

Todd cocks his head slightly with a smirk on his face, sending shivers down Neil’s spine. “You won't shrink back?” he asks again, voice low and leaning forwards slightly.

“I’m in love with you,” Neil suddenly blurts out.

Todd freezes and squints down at the script. “That’s not the line一”

“But it’s true,” Neil says before he can stop himself.

Todd slowly raises his head, eyes wide, and Neil feels the weight of the world fall on top of him. “Neil, I一”

Neil cuts him off, quickly standing and making to leave. He mutters a quick, “sorry,” before slamming the door in Todd’s face and rushing down the stairs as quickly as he can. His breath feels heavy in his chest, every moment with Todd from their years together flashing in and out of his brain. He barely registers the sharply cold air hitting his face as he opens the door of the building, stepping only a few feet out on the sidewalk before he freezes, unsure of where to go. Light, fluffy snowflakes fall on his eyelashes, clouding his vision, making him feel like a little figurine trapped in a snowglobe. The scar across his shoulders feels like ants crawling up his back. What the hell have I just done? And where could he go? Somewhere where he won't have to explain, where Todd can’t find him, where he won’t have the chance to ruin anything else. That place doesn't exist. The shadows of his mistakes are everywhere.

“Neil!” A voice calls from behind him, and he resists the urge to just take off. “Neil, get inside, please, it’s freezing out here.”

Todd steps in front of him, coat loosely thrown around his frame, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m sorry Todd, just please一don’t. Don’t,” Neil mutters, not able to look at him for more than a second.

“Don’t what?” Todd frowns, an ugly look on a pretty face. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“I’m sorry,” Neil says again, staring at his feet. God, it is freezing out here, isn’t it?

“It’s fine, Neil, really,” Todd says in a small voice.

Neil shakes his head, voice crackling with the start of tears. “No, it’s not. I had no right to一and you don’t一”

He’s caught off guard when Todd reaches out and takes one of Neil’s hands in his own, both so cold that Neil can only feel the ghost of touch. “You didn’t hear me out. Just come back inside. Please.”

Todd almost sounds like he’s begging, and when Neil finally looks at him, the misty haze in his eyes nearly splits Neil’s heart in half. Todd turns to re-enter the building, still gripping Neil’s hand, and Neil allows himself to be led back up the stairs like a toddler. Todd looks back occasionally, as if to reassure himself that Neil is still there. But God, how could he go? The twisted, sick feeling in his gut morphs into something like anticipation as his eyes follow the head of soft, dirty-blonde hair in front of him. There’s nothing else in the world to look at.

Todd lets go of his hand to open the door, and walks into the apartment with Neil trailing closely behind him. As soon as the door is shut, Todd wheels around and hesitates for a moment before placing a hand on Neil’s neck and kissing him deeply. Neil’s eyes widen for a second before he shuts them tightly and kisses back. What started slow becomes fervent as the cold drains from all the places their bodies press together.

It only lasts a few seconds before Todd releases slightly, a shaky breath falling between his parted lips. The hand that had been caressing his neck stretches up to cradle his jaw, fingers biting and burning all at once. Neil opens his eyes slowly, helplessly leaning into Todd’s touch.

“Were you scared to say that?” Todd whispers, thumb caressing Neil’s cheek.

Neil lets out a nervous laugh. “Yes. Incredibly.”

Todd gives a miniscule smile, eyes darting to the floor as a blush creeps up his face. “As if I haven’t been in love with you since I was seventeen.”

Neil feels the wind knocked out of him, quickly raising a hand to rest on the one Todd keeps on his face. “Todd-”

Todd cuts him off. “If you want it, just say it. Say it, please.” His voice breaks slightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut, as if fearing an impact.

“I want you. I think I always have.”

Neil barely gets the words out before Todd kisses him again, gentler this time, his hand floating into Neil’s hair as Neil grasps at his shirt collar. Neil shivers as Todd’s other hand grasps to intertwine itself with Neil’s fingers. Neil raises his free hand to graze Todd’s jaw, short stubble poking the dry pads of his fingers. Todd’s breath hitches and they both freeze.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Neil asks quietly, with Todd’s hands suspended on either side of his neck.

“Jesus, Neil, yes,” he says in a pitched breath, not so much a moan as a release.

Neil presses their foreheads together as Todd’s hands slowly work their way down his chest until they rest at his hips. Neil takes a moment to breathe before kissing him again, reveling in the feeling of Todd’s hands tightening their grip on his sides. They slowly wander away from the door, legs tangling as they nearly avoid tripping over the furniture and all the little things in the apartment that make it home. The place had always seemed so small, but now it seems to take years to cross the cold floor until finally, Neil is pulling Todd into his bedroom and those delicate hands are pulling off his shirt and Todd is muttering that he loves him in between heated kisses and winter seems the warmest season of all.

✲

The next morning, Todd wakes him by gently caressing his face. Neil opens his eyes to see Todd laid next to him in his much-too-small bed, already dressed in a button-down and tie and hair only half-dry. Neil can’t help but smile at the sight of him as the memories come rushing in.

“I have to go to work,” Todd says in little more than a whisper, thumb still gently grazing his cheekbone. “But if you get up in the next few minutes we can have breakfast.”

Neil smiles wider, sighing and rolling over slightly. “I’ll be up, I promise. Just give me a minute.”

“‘Course.” Todd seems like he’s hesitating, so Neil takes the lead and leans forward to gently kiss Todd’s cheek. Todd quickly turns his head so their lips meet in a single breath. Neil knows they don’t have time, that he should be letting Todd get up and go to work, but he finds that all he can think about is the feeling of waking up with Todd next to him. It’s Todd that breaks him out of it by forcing him to his feet after too short a time.

Neil picks the music while Todd makes eggs. Ella Fitzgerald. One of their shared favorites. They eat standing up, sides pressed together, both occasionally humming along.

When you're in my arms

And I feel you so close to me

All my wildest dreams come true

I need no soft light to enchant me

If you'll only grant me

The right to hold you ever-so-tight

And to feel in the night

The nearness of you

(I'll get back to writing more soon I promise. oh, and shout out to @saturnewaves for beta reading this!! you're an absolute darling <3)

#dead poets society #dps #anderperry #todd anderson #neil perry #dps fanfiction #fanfiction #dps fandom #based on a billie holiday song #billie holiday my beloved #still think its kind of a mess but eh

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