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ghostboneswrites2 · 19 days

Note

I really resonated with Daryl x abused reader could you maybe do one where the reader doesn’t let their past define them and shows little signs of abuse like they’re super cheery and happy and doesn’t let their past get them down and but maybe reader has a ptsd attack by Daryl after he confronts her about being so happy especially in an apocalypse and they just realize they relate to each other even if they’re personalities are so drastically and Daryl just comforts reader 🫂

The Painted Bunting

Era: Greene Farm

Summary: Daryl is paired with you on the search for Sophia and snaps at you after growing tiresome of your seemingly endless kindness.

Note: No more laptop for now since the cord broke so I hope you’ll all forgive the lack of my usual post formatting :(

Warnings: profanity, mentions of past abuse, grumpy sassy asshole Daryl (the man we originally fell in love with)

Banner credits on this post

Shining hair in the rays of the sun, an infectious laugh, a beaming grin that never seemed to dissipate. A glowing beacon in the dark. That was what you were. And, admittedly, it got under his skin a little, so Daryl tended to avoid you. You weren’t oblivious to it, but you accepted it for what it was. After all, you couldn’t win them all, right?

You had always been that way; soft, gentle, graceful, kind. If you had never let the past change that for you, you certainly wouldn’t let present day events change it, either. Maybe the world had become a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you had to be one too.

Daryl thought that what really gritted his teeth about you was that through everything that had happened, you never changed a single bit. Not like the others had; not like he had.

After the world fell, after the camp by the quarry was overrun, after the CDC, after Sophia had gone missing, you remained exactly the same. For all of the afore mentioned, Daryl found you to be one of the most vexing people he ever had the displeasure of interacting with, second only to Shane, who could have easily been traded off for his own brother, Merle.

Needless to say, he was peeved at the idea that you were sent on search duty with him after he hurt himself in the ravine. Rick decided a buddy system would be beneficial to all of the search party participants, and you volunteered to tag along, because of course you did.

You weren’t so much looking forward to spending so much one on one time with the man, yourself. You didn’t necessarily have an issue with him, but you were all too aware of the issue he seemed to have with you. Really, you couldn’t relate to him at all. Not everyone around camp was perky and sweet, and rightfully so, but Daryl was such a brooding presence and you just couldn’t put yourself in that frame of mind.

The two of you had set out just after dawn and the hours ticked by as you made friendly conversation and Daryl occasionally offered you a measly grunt in response.

“Do you think we’ll find anyone out here?” You asked. ��I mean, aside from Sophia. I know we’ll find her.”

“Pro’ly better if we don’t find nobody else.” Was his first verbal response all day. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Could be good. I’m sure there are people who could really use some help.”

“Ain’t our problem.” He argued. “Gotta look out for our own. The hell you worried about helpin’ strangers for when we ain’t even found the little girl we’re after?”

“Oh, no.” You chuckled nervously. “It’s not that I was just —“ You cut yourself off, sensing an oncoming ramble. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Mm.” He hummed, pausing his footsteps to take a breath and scan his surroundings. After a moment, he continued forward, and you followed without question . Admittedly, you had no clue how to track, so if anything you were there in case he got hurt.

“So, if someone needed your help… You wouldn’t help?” You asked innocently.

He whipped around to face you, the aggression behind his motion drawing you to a dead stop.

“The hell’s your problem, huh?” He snapped. You blinked. “It’s the end of the goddamn world and you’re askin’ me about some hypothetical moral dilemma? Let me tell you somethin’, girl; ain’t no damn morals in the apocalypse. Ain’t no more law and order! It’s just us,” he paused, sending an arrow through the skull of a walker that had crept up behind you. You flinched and turned to watch its carcass thud on the forest floor. “And them.” He concluded.

“I—I was just making conversation.” You mumbled timidly.

“Why? It’s not a social call! We’re out here to find that little girl. This is why I didn’t need no damn babysitter.” He complained.

“I was just trying to be nice.” You defended.

“Nice?” He scoffed. That simple word seemed to trigger something in him as his eyes lit up with aggravation. “Don’t you get it? It ain’t about bein’ nice anymore. It’s about survival. Got dead people standin’ up and eatin’ people and you’re worried about bein’ nice. Walkin’ around passin’ out water and food and gigglin’ with everybody like we ain’t got a bunch o’ dead bodies stumblin’ around us just waitin’ to take a bite out.”

Maybe it was the way he raised his voice, or the way his eyes shot flaming daggers of fury right through your chest, or the way he threw his arms down and spat words at you like you were some puny, wretched little thing. You didn’t know what it was, but somewhere in the whirlwind of heated exchange, his voice slowly blended together with the other voice — the one that still lived in the back of your mind and ate away at you every day.

The voice that belonged to your own father, the one person who struck true, genuine fear in you. Before you knew it, that old sensation of real terror, the one you’d buried somewhere deep inside you and covered with cement, was breaking free and engulfing you.

You were frozen, like a fawn under the scrutinizing gaze of a predator. The humid air felt like a thick paste as you struggled to gulp it down and catch a breath. At first, Daryl felt inclined to criticize your tears as a show of weakness, fragility, inability to handle a little raise of the voice. He quickly noticed, however, that this was no simple burst of reactionary emotions. No, this was something much deeper and it was rattling you to the core. There was a distant look in your wide eyes, one that he came to recognize, even if it took him a minute.

He shifted on his feet, scanning you, unsure how to intervene.

“Hey.” He eventually called out, but it was clear his voice wasn’t reaching you. This was the final piece of confirmation he needed. You were having an episode, the kind he experienced a few times when he first got out of his father’s abusive home.

He sighed and grabbed your trembling shoulders. You jumped but you didn’t flee or strike out. His touch seemed to dry you out and shrivel you up like a raisin. You shrank into yourself, hyperventilating.

“C’mon.” He said softly, ushering you done to your knees. “Hey. Ya gotta breathe.”

Your breathe only became more shallow and forced. Tears poured down your cheeks as your chest got tighter.

“Just breathe. That’s the only way it’s gonna stop.” He urged. He went to grab your wrists but you panicked, snatching your arms away and falling down on your back.

“No! Get away! You can’t do this anymore! I’m not a little kid!” You cried out.

You were making quite a bit of noise by this point, between the gasps for air and the sobs. He crouched over you and grabbed your shoulders.

“(Y/N), ya ain’t there anymore. Wherever it is, it’s gone. In the past. It’s just you and me right now, and we ain’t there. We’re here.” He soothed, hoping his voice could find you somewhere in the abyss. “Just listen. Ya hear that? It’s a Painted Bunting. Look,” he pointed up into a tree at a bright multicolored bird, similar in its beauty to a parrot, only much smaller. “It’s right up there. Ya see it?”

Your breathing had started to slow down now, those shallow inhales finally reaching a little deeper within. Your eyes lazily followed his finger to the bright little bird singing a flute-like melody.

“Ya see it?” He asked again. You managed to nod once, still holding your arms tightly to your chest as you laid flat on the bed of leaves and twigs. He took a moment to see you, to really take you in, and he realized you were beautiful. Not just in the way a pretty girl with a nice personality was beautiful, but in a way that left so much of who you really were unsaid.

“Just watch it.” He whispered, glancing back up at the feathered creature, hoping it would stick around long enough to bring you back down to earth. “They take two years to look that pretty. Did ya know that?” He asked, glancing back down at you. Your eyes were still on the bird, but you shook your head no. “Yeah. Only the males, too.” He added. “Otherwise, they’re just kinda greenish and yellowish.”

Once your chest was rising and falling with a steady rhythm, you finally looked over at him. Humiliation began to set in. You quickly sat yourself up and brushed the dead foliage away from your clothes and hair.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled. “That hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“‘S okay.” He shrugged, standing himself back up as well. “Happens.”

“Yeah, we’ll, it shouldn’t. Not nowadays.”

“Can’t help it when it does.” He assured you. “I get it.”

“Maybe I should head back.” You suggested.

“We both can. If ya wanna. It’ll be dark soon anyways.”

“I don’t wanna make you lose your trail or.. Ya know.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

“Nah. Ain’t no use after dark, anyways. We’d just be stumbling in circles and bumpin’ into each other.” He insisted, contrastingly soft in comparison to before your episode.

“Oh. Right.” You nodded. Just as you got ready to turn back toward the farm, he cleared his throat.

“Ya wanna talk about it?”

“About what?” You turned back to him. He shifted his weight anxiously, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Offering an ear to listen was at least ten yards outside the perimeter of his comfort zone. “About that?” You asked. “That was nothing. Just something stupid that happens sometimes. That’s all.”

While his tone was much kinder and warmer than before, yours was cold, dull, and tired. Those episodes could take a lot out of a person, and he was no stranger to that fact.

“Sometimes it helps.” He said. “Talkin’ about it. Makes it a little less…” He trailed off, searching for the word he wanted. “Less, uh… Consuming.”

“It never gets less consuming.” You argued.

“It does.” He insisted.

“And how would you know?” You asked, impatience lacing your words.

“I used to get ‘em too.” He admitted. “Been awhile but… I just get it. That’s all.”

You studied him. In all the weeks you’d spent around the man, you’d never seen him so genuine, or really so open. He never seemed to look at you like another person. You were always just another load on his shoulders.

“My dad.” You finally spoke. He nodded.

“Me too.”

“I’m sorry.” You sympathized.

“Me too.” He agreed.

“We should go.” You sighed, turning away again.

This time you didn’t wait for him, you just started walking, until he called out behind you; “‘M sorry.” You stood still, but you didn’t look back. He knew he had your attention, though, and he knew he had to say something else. “I know I did it this time. I shouldn’t’ve yelled at ya like that.”

“It’s okay. Maybe you were right.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, taking slow steps to catch up to you. “I wasn’t. It’s good. Ya didn’t let none of that shit make ya bitter. Keep it that way. Else you’ll end up a grumpy redneck.” He joked. You suppressed the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Maybe the grumpy rednecks of the world got it figured out.” You said, walking again once you felt him catch up.

“Nah. I don’t know shit about shit.” He admitted, eliciting a small laugh from you. You shook your head.

“I don’t think anyone does.” You reasoned.

On the hike back to the Greene farm, you two shared some light banter, some stories of the past, some laughs and extended looks. He grew finder of you that day. The critical glares he’d send you from a distance were replaced with admiration and respectful nods. You’d often catch him looking and flash him a big smile, waving at him before you attention was drawn elsewhere.

You both learned that maybe the two of you were differently colored fruit, but you grew from the same tree, and you weren’t so different after all. And, that sentiment was never lost or forgotten. It carried with you for as long as you two knew each other.

Taglist || Masterlist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x you #daryl x y/n

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training4theapocalypse · 3 months

Text

a fine wee lass, a bonnie wee lass ch.1

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 2k

Warnings / Tags: Smut, infidelity, size difference, references to previous underage romance (when they were both teens).

Summary: You're the bridesmaid at your brother’s wedding and his best man, John MacTavish is back in town. You just hope he doesn't remember when you last saw him, when you tried with all your might to stop him from joining the army.

A/N: I've not played COD since like 2012 but I keep seeing clips of Soap on TikTok and my wee Scottish heart just fancies the pants off him. This is inspired by a Scottish folk song called 'Bonnie Wee Jeannie McCall'. The dialogue is written in Scots - I hope you can follow along.

ALSO I just found out about @glitterypirateduck’s challenge by a happy accident the day after I wrote this and this fits nicely into:

Prompt 28: They don't need to know

Masterlist (there’s no other COD stuff here sorry)

Chapter 1: The first night I met her she was awfy, awfy shy

You pull your shawl around you as you stand outside the old castle. Rain lashes down across the sprawling Falkirk countryside while revellers laugh from the wedding inside. The music hasn’t started yet - you think that you’re safe to have a breather before you need to go inside for the first dance.

You stand as close to the wall as you can, taking cover from the rain. Your pink satin shoes are getting soaked. Not that it matters. The shoes your brother’s new wife chose for her bridesmaids are so ugly it’s unlikely you’d have worn them again anyway. But she’ll be fuming when she sees the state of them.

The door to the castle opens behind you and you move over, dodging a puddle to let the newcomer seek the shelter of the castle wall too.

“Awryt, darlin?” asks a voice and you look up from the puddle at your feet to see John MacTavish, your brother’s best man, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “I didnae think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say, putting your vape to your lips and raising your eyebrows once.

He pulls a sour face. “Them? They’re fulla chemicals and like, mercury, and that.”

“Oh aye? What’s in these? Vitamins?” you ask, flicking the pack of cigarettes in his hand with a forefinger. “You didnae smoke afore joinin’ the army.”

“Aye, well, I was sixteen when you last saw me. And you were, whit, twelve?”

“Fifteen, John.”

There’s only a year between you and your big brother, Tam. But the way he and John treated you, you’d have thought there was a decade between you. Acting like you were an annoying wee tag-along. You just wanted to be included from time to time.

But that was ten years ago. Last time you saw John, he was just a boy, and you, just a lass. But now he’s older, with a scar on his chin that’s only highlighted by his coarse, dark stubble. The scar cuts across the hair there like white lightning. He’s taller, and broader than when you last saw him and his hair is shaved much shorter and neater than the teenage John you remember.

“Aw, aye. I mind now. You and your pals had wangled your way intae the sixth-year leavers’ gaff. As usual.”

“Did I? Any excuse for a drink back then, I s’pose.”

“Aye, but I remember ‘cause I wis leavin’ in a few days for the army. And you were -” He cuts himself off suddenly.

“I was whit?” a smile cracks across your face, waiting to hear his description of how you looked that night. Beautiful? Stunning? Mesmerising? You see yourself as you had been - your hair perfectly straightened, your Oh Polly bandage dress hugging your form in all the right places. In your memory, you were the embodiment of a siren. You had dolled up that night to impress the older boys. Or, if you were honest, one particular older boy.

“Well, I mean,” he says putting a cigarette between his lips and flicking his lighter. The orange glow briefly illuminates his face, casting shadows that seem to momentarily harden his features, making you remember he’s no longer a boy of sixteen but a man of twenty-six. “You were absolutely gantin’ for it.”

Your mouth falls open and you hit his arm.

Mortifying.

“Whit? Fae you? Aye, right !” you say, sarcastically but your face flushes bright red, immediately giving you away. You might have been drunk but John MacTavish rejecting your drunken advances as a teenager was probably the defining moment of your formative years.

As your words, brushing off his teasing, hang in the air, the jolt of embarrassment reminds you of a different party.

On that fateful night, ten years ago, the music was much louder. The floor was littered with empty cans and bottles and you’d ‘accidentally on purpose’ bumped into John in the hallway before pulling him into someone’s parents’ bedroom. You’d recklessly thrown your arms around him.

“Woah, woah, woah. What you daen?” he’d whispered in a panic.

“Please, Johnny,” you’d slurred drunkenly. “I dunno when I’ll see you again. Somethin’ tae remember me by.”

You had leaned in to kiss him but he turned his head. You were so drunk you didn’t care. You sucked on his neck, feeling that dark stubble under your sloppy tongue as your hand found his cock in his jeans.

But he’d stopped you in your tracks. Pinned your arms to the side. He was stronger than you, even as a teenager.

“Naw, look, I cannae,” he had said. And even though your eyes could barely focus on his, you could tell he was annoyed at you. But you didn’t care. You just wanted him so badly.

“Aw, come on, John. Please? I’ll show you my tits,” you had said. “I’ll - I’ll go the full way. I’ll do anythin’. Just - just don’t leave, awryt?”

The sound of cheers from the reception hall cuts through your memory and snaps you back to your current, rainy surroundings.

“Aye, well, I was probably just dreamin’,” says present-day John. “It probably never happened.”

It’s considerate of him, to pretend that it never happened.

But no matter how hard you try to pretend, there’s no denying that you made a fool of yourself, plain and simple.

Sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, the memory makes you cringe as you replay that embarrassing moment. You try and cut yourself some slack, remind yourself that you were just a desperate, heartbroken teenager who’d drunk half a bottle of vodka working up the courage to make the move she’d always thought about. Begging John not to join the army. Begging John to fuck her.

He had declined both requests.

But that doesn’t matter because you’re a fully grown woman now. One that hasn’t spent more than a second thinking about John MacTavish coming home for her brother’s wedding. No, sir. Not one second. Definitely not.

You exhale a laugh like it’s a funny memory. “Maybe it did happen. I cannae really remember, I must have been steamin’ drunk,” you say. But you know what happened. He knows what happened. And he knows you know.

John's response comes with a delay, his chuckle soft and tinged with a hint of meaningful self-deprecation, to try and frame some of the embarrassment back onto himself. “You must’ve been steamin' to have tried it on wae the likes of me. You were always far too good for me,” he laughs, but this time his smile doesn’t quite reach those bright blue eyes.

There’s a long silence as you say nothing. With a deliberate motion, you bring the vape to your lips, inhaling deeply, the action grounding you back to the here and now as the artificial kiwi-passionfruit-guava fills your lungs with something that you know must be bad for them. As you exhale, your gaze drifts down to your soaked shoes, the pink satin darkened by the rain. They’ve changed beyond recognition.

“Woah,” he coughs his own puff of smoke. “Now just whit is that ?” asks John, his eyes clocking your left hand.

You tilt your hand subtly, letting the diamond catch the cloudy daylight. “Did Tam no mention it?” The words linger between you, almost casual. “I’m engaged, John.”

For a moment, John just stares at your hand, his face unreadable. Then, a low whistle escapes him, a mix of surprise and something unspoken. He glances up at you, his eyes searching yours for the answer to a question that he doesn’t voice. “Engaged, eh? Tam never said a word.” His gaze shifts away, a frown creasing his forehead. “Where’s the lucky man the night?”

“He’s offshore the now - he works on the rigs.”

“Christ, I’ll say,” says John, taking your hand and examining your ring. “He’d need tae be workin’ in oil for a big rock like this wan.”

Your hand feels small in his. His thick brows soften from a frown when he pulls his gaze up from your engagement ring to meet your eyes. His eyes are blue and full of a warmth that you wouldn’t expect from someone who, from Tam’s account, is a hardened soldier.

Your heart thuds in your chest when you realise that he’s been holding your hand for too long. But you don’t retract it.

“Aww the best tae the happy couple, then,” he says softly. “I suppose Tam never telt me ‘cause he had a lot to be dealing wae his own wedding and that.” John lets go of your hand. “Dae you no miss your fella, wae him being offshore?”

“Four weeks on, two weeks off. I see him plenty… More than your missus sees you, I expect. How often d’you come home? Once or twice a year?”

“I’ve no got a missus so I don’t need tae worry about that.”

The raucous laughter from inside the wedding venue dies down suddenly. And you hear the master of ceremonies announcing the entrance of the bride and groom.

“Gads,” says John, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette.

“If we miss the first dance, we’re fucked,” you say. “I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.”

You try to carefully step over the puddle - John takes your arm and holds on to you so you don’t fall. He opens the oak door for you but as you’re about to pass, he grips you tighter, stopping your movement.

“Listen, darlin’, there are some things that are just off-limits,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in your ear as he leans close. He smells like cigarettes - normally that smell would turn your stomach but there’s something sweet in his aftershave, like vanilla, that makes the tobacco smell musky and warm.

“Meanin’?” You look up at him, confused.

“The last time I saw you,” he murmurs. “You were mad wae it. I couldnae, in good conscience, take you up on that offer when you were that drunk. And you’re my best pal’s wee sister tae boot. I couldnae dae that tae Tam.”

“John, that was - that was a long time ago. It was nothin’.”

“And now,” he continues. “Now you’re engaged. Which means you’re even more off-limits.”

Off-limits?

He’s talking like you’re in that bedroom again, begging for his attention. Except you’re not. You’re not begging for John again. He’s just assuming that you’re about to.

That presumptuous bastard.

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, John MacTavish. Who are you tae try and let me down gently? It’s been ten years and I’m no even slightly interested in you anymore.”

“Naw, I know,” he says, refusing to match your volume or tone of indignation. “I’m just tellin’ you out loud why I won’t be trying it on with the most beautiful lassie in the room. And why I said no back then, as well.”

“Haul! You two!” You and John spring apart to see your tiny, furious wee auntie storming down the hallway. “You’re missing your brother’s first dance with his new wife and you’re both supposed to be on the dancefloor.”

“We - we are?” you stammer.

“Aye, did you no hear the emcee telling the wedding party to join the bride and groom? That means bridesmaids and groomsmen, ya pair of glaikit idiots. Your maw’s fuckin’ ragin’”

And with that, John lets the door behind you swing shut and you both leg it past your auntie to the reception room, with you leaving wet footprints in your wake as you go. The music from the room swells into clarity as you burst through the doors and skid inelegantly onto the dancefloor.

Your brother and his wife are too absorbed in their own happiness to have noticed your late entry and you breathe a sigh of relief. But it’s short-lived. You immediately stiffen again when John takes your waist and you realise that he’s your dance partner.

As the two of you begin swaying to the music, your mind races. You’re no longer that sad, rejected teenager, yet here, in John's reassuring grasp, you feel the ghost of her stirring. His gaze is careful, and guarded, but there's still that question in his eyes that he’s forbidden to ask.

And behind your own eyes, you can’t help the stream of curses going off inside your head.

You curse your nerves for being the reason you got so drunk at that party.

You curse John for being Tam’s best man.

But most of all, you curse yourself as you watch your left hand rest on John’s shoulder as you dance, the giant diamond ring glittering like a heavy disco ball.

#scotland forever #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #task force 141 #smut #soap cod #soap mw2 #john mactavish x reader #burns night #cod fic #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #soapitup

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southern-gothic-comic · 1 year

Photo

Page 8

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: The stranger curls her fingers around the apple and holds it to herself like something precious. She looks near tears. Imogen, blushing, blurts out an invitation.

Stranger’s Thoughts: the apples the apples were sliced so thin and made into little roses it was so lovely I could do that I don’t have any butter or sugar or flour to make a tart like that but I could cut an apple to look like a rose maybe bake it on the hearthstone it would be pretty

Stranger: You didn’t have to do that for me.

Imogen: It’s nothin’.

Stranger: No, it’s not nothing. It means a lot, actually.

Imogen: Listen, d’you . . . want to come home with me for dinner? You’re lookin’ . . .

Panel 2: Pull back a little on the two of them. The stranger puts her finger in her mouth and tilts her head to the side curiously.

Imogen: . . . underfed. I have butter 'n’ flour ‘n’ and sugar and all that at home. If you want to make an apple tart.

Imogen’s Thoughts: she didn’t say that out loud either did she?? crap!

Stranger: Oh . . . I wouldn’t want to impose.

Imogen: You’re not imposin’. Come on.

Panel 3: They start to walk out of the woods together. Laudna relates her earlier encounters with the people of Gelvaan, prompting a slight smile from Imogen with her impression of her neighbors.

Stranger: I’m so happy to meet you. I’m . . . I’m Laudna.

Imogen: Laudna. I like that.

Laudna: Thank you, for the apple. I tried to go to the market earlier but . . . they didn’t want me there. “They’re not for sale, hag! You watch those devil hands o’ yorn! Go on, get! Afore I call the guard! Argh!”

Panel 4:

Imogen: I’m sorry your first experience in Gelvaan was . . . that.

Laudna: Oh, it’s all right. I’m quite used to having the red carpet withdrawn at my approach in a new town.

Imogen: Wish I could say it’s out of the ordinary, but my experience with the people ‘round here hasn’t been much better, to be honest. They call me “devil,” too, and worse. I wouldn’t take it personally.

Panel 5: As they walk Imogen starts emptying the rocks from her pockets.

Laudna: Oh, are you collecting rocks? Do you like rocks? I have some at home you could have.

Imogen: Oh . . . no, these’re just . . . I don’t really want ‘em anymore.

#critical role #critical role comic #critical role fanart #imogen temult #laudna #imodna #southern gothic #a long road home #mintywolf

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resisteverything · 1 month

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Tbh it's clear that S2 of HB is soft rebooting pretty much everything from S1, which is quite....sad frankly and why everything seems disjointed. Let's see here....

The Grimoire? Well that's pointless now, because of the introduction of Asmodean Crystals. If they were there the whole time, then the book is a paperweight(put a pin in this for now.)

Stolas and Stella's relationship? Well at the start, seemed a bit of a mixed bag sort of thing, there was tension obviously between them, but they still shared a bed. Octavia seemed at least by implication of dialogue, good memories of her parents when they weren't fighting. BOTH VAs for Stolas and Stella, seem to think there was more going on with their characters(kind of a red flag, so it seems they didn't even know where their own characters were going). Stolas' song to Via and the lyrics of "I used to think that I was bold, I used to think love would be fun." Sorry but that's clearly referencing him and Stella having had SOME kind of relationship before everything went sour, boldness as per definition suggests that Stolas was the one who initiated and wanting to be with Stella. His lyrics of "now my stories have been told, except for one..." Also implies that he was extremely old.

Oh but S2 shoots all that in the face, with the laziest plotline ever and absolving Stolas of any wrong doing by his Family, by making Stella an evil bitch, as well as a dumbass. This plotline is so boring, considering Stolas already stood up to her and kicked her out of the house and is getting a divorce....there's nothing left there. He can't have been bold for his and Stella's relationship, considering he was forced into it and all his stories? That's bunk, considering the guy is only like in his 30s..

Blitz big vocal grievances to Stolas at the end of S1? Pointless now, because in blink and you'll miss it texts, Stolas doesn't even understand WHY Blitz was upset despite being flat out told to his face.

Stolas and Blitz' relationship? Back to square 1 apparently within Seeing Stars and moreso Stolas has no character growth, it doesn't matter that he's going to give Blitz a Crystal....because he doesn't even seem to understand what he's done wrong.

Also side note, why is Stolas the one getting the Crystal and not Blitz? Why is Stolas having to be the one to give it to him, can't Fizz and Ozzie just you know...mail it to the address of I.M.P.? Ozzie has Blitz' phone number, just send it directly to him.

Blitz and Stolas' deal? Completely pointless due to the afore mentioned Asmodean Crystals and the fact that I.M.P. was killing in Hell before the Grimoire. You can now completely REMOVE Stolas from the show, due to these factors.

Season 1? Since Blitz mentioned to Crimson that they killed in Hell before in Exes and Ohs, why not have some of the episodes build upon that? Why not expand upon the worldbuilding of Hell this way, only for the crew to find out that maybe killing up on Earth would be far more lucrative and thus find a way to get an Asmodean Crystal? There's a catch though, the only one who can(Fizzarolli) hates Blitz for past actions against him...

So now...Blitz goes on this arc of making amends with those of his past, including Fizzarolli, Verosika and Barbie. This is where S2 picks up.

Oh look at that, I removed Stolas entirely from the show and now gave room more to explore Moxxie, Millie and Loona as characters with Blitz as they navigate through Hell in trying to keep their assassination company afloat.

I didn't mean for the long winded ask, don't have to post it up...but yeah S2 clearly seems to reboot S1 and the more hilarious sad part of it is, you can remove Stolas entirely now because of it.

Yeah… and how is it that this crystal is so hard to get that Stolas has to get them from Ozzie when they’re presumably handed out like hotcakes to every succubus in hell? Either that or Verosika being on the surface in spring broken is a world-breaking plot hole.

#helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critical #helluva boss #helluva boss neg #helluva boss critique #helluva critical

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sparrowsoupp · 7 months

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something something transitional period in my life so a new fursona appeared to me a in a prophetic dream. ain’t that just the way

yes he is a crow mixed with [REDACTED] and his name is pigeon. i’m not sure why. like i said, this guy was really a moment where my mind went away for a few hours and i endeed up with a sore wrist and this odd fellow afore me. they eat solely plain, unseasoned toast for 3 meals a day and then wonder why they feel ill.

also if anyone is curious about the maths in the background i just feel like they’d be the type to just doodle on their math homework. they’re a crow so it looks kind of ominous and omen-y but if you squint you can probably make out that it’s just badly drawn warrior cats fanart (definitely nothing to do with my own habits….)

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sco07ut · 1 year

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more fantasy au !! and this time there’s a bit of lore !

the worsties ever!! i was thinkin okay what species should the adulterous tory and his girlboss husband be? ah, of course, the slutty ones

so sirens are a very reclusive community and typically stay deep underwater most of their lives but every now n again you’ll find one who becomes infatuated with surface life and moves up there. on the other hand, incubi (i’m using the interpretation of incubi being tops n succubi being bottoms instead of the male/female thing), are fully integrated into human life. the two found each other at a bar, both with the intention of feeding off of the other n things spiralled from there. they got married drunk despite having a Poor relationship and eventually they conceived and created a horrifying little half siren-half incubus creature called rachel. however, they eventually divorced (on mostly good terms, they’re still good friends) and margot decided she wanted to raise rachel amongst other sirens and took her to the deep. she (and sometimes margot) frequently visits her dad on the surface though and she has a decent relationship with both parents.

however, margot is not the only siren in the household, which creates some difficulties in regards to my previous comment that the main cast don’t know that everyone’s a supernatural creature and just assumes the others are all human (with some exceptions) and i have since worked out those exceptions

robin knows all, he was the first one at the house and with his werewolf nose he basically sniffed everyone out. pat knows what robin is because he’s a weredog and part of robin’s pack. humphrey and kitty are aware of each other as they’re both fae. julian and margot know about thomas and therefore the existence of isabelle because the first time margot and thomas saw each other in the house they basically did this

as afore mentioned, members of the same species can recognise another. margot told julian who then asked thomas about it and they basically gave each other the rundown

in other news, mary has an inkling because as a white witch she can sense the more malicious species (julian: incubus, captain: vampire). fanny is just aware of how completely weird thomas and the captain are

#bbc ghosts #julian fawcett #margot fawcett #thomas thorne #finally giving this au a tag:#ghosts!fantasy au #gonan add all the posts to it so the info’s in one place <3

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strywoven · 1 month

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cont'd. // @limitlessscion

Not the least bit temperamental , not one to allow weakness shown through own immortal ire , but that t h i s has again happened ⸺ ! Their whole world has toppled wildly off-balance for a PITIFULLY HUMAN FAULT ( no — ! do not give it a name , do not dare speak a word of it lest you seek to suffer it for the rest of your miserable eternity & don’t you already ? ) . It takes a great deal of restraint to not lash out , though none of this is really Satoru’s fault , likewise none of this is worth the argument. For as quickly as Kaen’s anger flares to life , it quells , abating into c o n c e r n , into worry and dread.

In their own time , in the eras before this one , there really was only one way to remove the issue : cull that which ails you , dispose of the mortal sickness. And it scares Kaen to realize there is - very fleetingly - and instant where they CONSIDER THE PROSPECT ( kill him , get rid of him , if only to salvage yourself ; as you ought to , as is your right ) .

His question makes them audibly s n a r l , smoke curling agitatedly out of their gritting teeth sharpened into dangerous points. I’M TRYING , CAN’T YOU TELL ⸺ words bitter in bile rise , choked and bitten back. They must remember not to lose themself , they must remain calm ( however difficult at the moment ) . Breath is drawn inward , then heavily expelled , pushing away their tension along with it. Kaen stops walking and turns abruptly to face him , chin lifting to cast their gaze up to meet his eye. They sense it , as much as see it , he’s curious as to what’s happened , likely wondering after why they cannot heal when they have so easily done so afore. ❝ Sure I can , ❞ They can’t. At least , not right now ; all that power is won to come with a caveat or two. ❝ But , y’know , bein’ wounded builds character. ❞ It’s a POOR EXCUSE , and they’re more than sure it won’t keep him placated for long. Quicker than they can think to stop it , they add in , ❝ Don’t tell me y’re worried ‘bout me ? ❞ He doesn’t seem so , but they think to prod him anyways , trying to steer the conversation a w a y from the glaring issue.

#❧ ⸺ ch. kaen | threads ❞#❧ ⸺ ch. kaen | verse xii: jjk ❞#limitlessscion #:clown: i know i said i'd take forever with this #but i finished my work early sooo #here you go- just for you-

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pocket-luv101 · 1 year

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His Windblume

Fandom: Genshin Impact Ship: CynoNari

Summary: When Cyno and Tighnari visit the Windblume Festival, Tighnari decides to research what the original flower could be.

“A flower that symbolizes freedom and love.” Tighnari muttered as he watched dandelion seeds drift through the sky. While he was helping Collei prepare for her trip to the Windblume Festival, he read about its namesake flower. He studied the scientific aspects of plants but he recognized the symbolic value the Windblume had for Mondstadt. The flower’s true identity piqued his interest. “Cyno, if you had a lover, what flower would you give them?”

He turned in his seat to look back into the wagon where Cyno and Collei were sleeping. They rented a wagon for their trip to Mondstadt and took turns as the coachman. Tighnari would drive the carriage at night. However, he knew that Cyno would stay awake. He trained himself to rest his body yet remain alert for anyone who would attack them. As thankful as Tighnari was for Cyno’s concern, he wanted Cyno to allow himself to relax on their vacation.

“A rose, padisarah or nilotpala lotus.” Cyno answered him without opening his eyes. He sat with his back against the wooden wall and he could feel Tighnari’s presence on the carriage seat behind him. He was tempted to climb over the small ledge so he could sit next to him and talk throughout the carriage ride. The reason he didn’t was because he wanted to watch over Collei in case her nightmares returned.

“The first two flowers are common choices but I’m surprised you would say nilotpala lotuses. They have medicinal properties so they are sought after. Though, the other Forest Rangers would complain about how tedious it is to collect them.” Tighnari sighed and shook his head. “They are beautiful flowers, especially at night when they bloom.”

“Many flowers would turn and serve a new master but the nilotpala lotuses would bathe in the cool moonlight and continue to remember the glad songs of that afore-time.” Cyno recited the myth Tighnari told him about the flower. They discussed plants when they wrote the Matra’s survival guidebook together. He thought that he only wanted his input as a botanist and doctor so he was pleasantly surprised Cyno remembered the anecdote he made of the nilotpala lotus.

Cyno stood and then casually leaned against Tighnari’s back. They had been together for so long that they were comfortable being close. Lately, he found his heart racing more whenever he was next to Tighnari. He didn’t understand his growing feelings. He mused to himself: “If you can find someone who shines like the moon in the night sky, nilotpala lotuses will be the best gift for them.”

“Those are all Sumeru flowers so they’re unlikely candidates for the original Windblume. Lisa told me about the festival’s tradition. The people of Mondstadt give a Windblume to Barbatos and their loved ones. They can choose which flower they give that symbolizes freedom and love. It’s quite fitting for the City of Freedom.”

“Do you plan to find the best flower that can be the Windblume?”

“You know me well.” Tighnari chuckled. “Though, my ultimate goal is to find the original flower. My mother was a paleontologist and I read her books. Maybe we can find a fossil of the flower and work with Lisa and Albedo to recreate the flower from it. The first thing we should do is research the origin of the festival and narrow down places the Windblume could be.”

He began to list different methods they could search for the mysterious flower. While they studied different majors at the Akademiya, Cyno loved listening to Tighnari talk about botany. He interrupted himself with a yawn. Tighnari rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to keep himself awake. Then, he felt Cyno’s warmth surrounding him. Cyno reached around him and took the reins that Tighnari held.

“I’ll drive the wagon for you.” Cyno offered. As Cyno knew he would, Tighnari shook his head and insisted that he was fine. He stubbornly held onto the reins tighter. He would lecture others to care for themselves yet he tended to overwork himself. “You shouldn’t push yourself or else you won’t have the energy to search for the Windblume.”

“I know.” Tighnari sighed at himself. He gently pulled on the reins and the carriage slowed to a stop. He leaned backwards and rested his head against Cyno’s strong chest. Between how tired he was and his welcoming body heat, he could almost fall asleep. “I calculated how long it will take us to travel from Sumeru to Mondstadt. If we travel both during the day and night, we’ll be able to reach the festival a day early and Collei can have more fun. She has been looking forward to our trip for weeks.”

After he heard his reason, Cyno knew that it would be difficult to change his mind. He took his old, black cloak and placed it around Tighnari’s shoulders. The cape was warm but it didn’t compare to his arms around him. “I’ll stay awake with you in case you fall asleep.”

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who always fell asleep first when we studied together late into the night.” Tighnari pursed his lips. Cyno had to wonder if Tighnari knew how much he was teasing him. “What do you want to do at the festival, Cyno?”

“After we find your Windblume, let’s go to the Cat’s Tail and play Genius Invokation.” Cyno quickly decided. Tighnari’s pout became a lighthearted laugh at his predictable answer.

“The stairs have eroded a lot so watch your step, Cyno.” Tighnari warned him. Stormterror’s Lair was in a worse state than he expected it would be. They decided to begin their search for a Windblume in the ruins of Old Mondstadt. He cautiously placed his feet on the first step to test if it could carry his weight. He drew power from his Dendro vision and vines sprouted beneath his feet. The vines encircled the withered stone and reinforced the staircase.

Cyno read of Decaradian and his reign over Old Mondstadt. The powerful wind circling the tower was a sign of the god’s lingering power. The Archon War had left scars on the seven regions and they haven’t been able to fully recover despite the centuries that had passed. From his time with the Temple of Silence and experience sealing resentful gods, he was all too familiar with how dangerous they were.

He instinctively took Tighnari’s hand so he would be able to protect him. His touch was so sudden that it made Tighnari look back at him in confusion. “Is something wrong, Cyno?”

He couldn’t find the words to explain his feelings to him. Tighnari tilted his head and looked into his eyes. Cyno liked how direct Tighnari was but his accessing eyes now made him feel a little flustered. As the General Mahamatra, he rarely felt nervous yet Tighnari was the exception to so many of his rules. “Let’s head inside quickly. This whirlwind is irritating my ears.”

Tighnari didn’t pull away from Cyno’s grip. Rather, he squeezed his fingers and then led him up the spiralling staircase. They held hands as they explored the tower. Cyno distracted himself from his feelings for Tighnari by surveying the buildings around them. The architecture of Mondstadt was different from anything they would find in the desert or rainforest. While the tower was in disarray, he filled the holes and patches with his imagination. Then, he pictured Tighnari in field of windwheel asters.

“There should be an opening in the wind barrier near the Statue of Barbatos. Once we’re inside, we can look for documents or portraits that reference Windblumes.” Cyno said. He hoped that the tower still held books and records that could help them. The storm circling Old Mondstadt only dissipated recently and historians haven’t explored the ruins yet.

“Look at those asters.” Tighnari paused on the steps and pointed to a patch of red flowers in the distance. “We should pick a few as souvenirs on our way back. I heard cecilias are also beautiful and they only grow on Starsnatch Cliff. I’m dragging you all over Mondstadt, aren’t I? We’re in Mondstadt for a week so we can do whatever you want tomorrow.”

A faint blush rose onto Tighnari’s face. His words almost sounded like he was asking him on a date and he hoped Cyno wouldn’t find it strange. He loved Cyno but he decided to only confess his feelings if he felt the same. He didn’t want to risk their friendship by being impulsive.

The wind blew harder and Tighnari held his hair back from his face. A shadow loomed over them and he felt the air change around him. The ground shook as a large dragon landed in front of them. It rested its claw on the staircase casually yet that slight pressure was enough to make the stone crack. The floor didn’t break completely but they couldn’t relax in front of the dragon.

Cyno pushed Tighnari behind him and he summoned his divine spirit. Violet wisps wrapped around him and materialized as claws. His eyes didn’t waver behind his helmet as he faced the dragon. He wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt tighnari. Tighnari stepped forward to stand beside him and nocked his bow. He glanced at him in the corner of his eyes.

“The wind called me and told me that two foolish adventurers passed through the barrier.” The dragon spoke, surprising both of them. Even though Cyno didn’t sense malice from it, he still felt protective of Tighnari. “Why have you trespassed onto this dangerous land? It is no place for two humans.”

“Are you one of the four winds, Dvalin?” Tighnari asked once he recognized the dragon from the songs that he heard the bards sing. He lowered his weapon but he kept the bow string pulled back slightly. “We’re here to search for a Windblume. You’ve been alive for centuries. Have you heard of the flower or know what it could be?”

“The bard and his friends sang of that flower during the age of war. The stronger the wind blows, the firmer the roots of the Windblume and the brighter the flowers that burst into bloom.” Hope and excitement filled Tighnari at the thought that he could find the Windblume easier than expected. Then, Dvalin continued. “But that’s all the flower is: a rallying poem.”

“What do you mean? Does the flower not exist?” This time, Dvalin didn’t answer him and flew away instead.

Cyno and Tighnari sat in a field of cecilias. The flowers around them were beautiful and their white petals created an illusion of mist rising from the ground. He couldn’t find a Windblume so he went to pick Mondstadt specialties as a consolation. However, the disappointment of their failed journey still stung. The breeze around them was warm and comforting compared to the whirlwinds of Old Mondstadt.

“The Widblume holds a lot of sentimental value to the people of Mondstadt. Though, I believe they’ll still give out Windblume to their loved ones— whatever that flower is to them. A part of me understands but it would’ve been exciting to discover an extinct plant.” Tighnari plucked a cecilia and curled its stem around his finger. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Cyno.”

It wasn’t a waste. I spent it with you. The thought crossed Cyno’s mind but he didn’t voice it. The forced smile Tighnari had tugged at his heart and he searched for a way to make him truly smile. “What did the flower say after he told a joke? I was just pollen your leg.”

“Since we’re on vacation, I’m not going to comment on how forced your joke is. There’s no need for you to tell me puns the way you do with your Matra. I’m not scared of you, Cyno.” Tighnari said and laid back on the dirt. He watched the clouds drift above them until Cyno leaned over him. His red eyes filled his vision.

Cyno’s eyes were the same colour as windwheel asters. Tighnari thought over everything he learned about the festival and the flowers of Mondstadt. “The Windblume represents the courage to fight for what you hold dear: freedom, family… Love.”

He tucked a cecilia behind Tighnari’s ear and its snow white colour contrasted his dark hair. The Archon War was over but there were battles far more frightening than that. The possibility of losing Tighnari scared Cyno more than vengeful gods or dangerous monsters. At a young age, Cyno decided he would become the General Mahamatra to protect Sumeru. Tighnari inspired him further.

“We couldn’t find a Windblume but I made one for you.” Cyno sat back and opened his bag on his lap. He could feel Tighnari watching him curiously and his heart beat faster against his chest. He pulled out a nilotpala lotus that was carved from crystal. The clear material shimmered as he held it out to Tighnari.

“It’s beautiful.” Tighnari’s voice was a little breathless. He slowly cupped his hand around the lotus and lifted it out of his palm. Even if the flower wasn’t made of crystal, Tighnari would’ve held it delicately. It was a gift from Cyno, after all. He smiled down at the flower and examined each indent he had carved into the crystal. He cradled the flower in his hand as he shifted closer to Cyno and kissed his cheek. “I have a Windblume that will never wilt. Thank you, Cyno.”

Cyno cupped Tighnari’s cheek in his hand and tenderly ran his thumb over his soft skin. The flowers around them couldn’t compare to Tighnari and Cyno saw him as far more than a Windblume. Tighnari was the moon he would follow like the North Star.

#genshin impact #cynonari #cyno and tighnari #genshin impact cyno #genshin impact tighnari #fanfiction

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radioactivepeasant · 1 year

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Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

Someday I'm going to finish writing this story. It would help if I could actually remember where I put my notebook that had the outline and third chapter in it lol

This is a bit from the first chapter, setting up the main character, Dantes. For context, rulers in the kingdom of Hieracium are elected, and each takes the family name of the very first ruler of the kingdom -- an unlucky woman who was volunteered for the job because she knew how to do math related to switching currencies and nobody else did. So the Ulfric Clan isn't a bloodline, it's more of a title.

His father and mother had raised him to work as hard as any farmer or farrier or fisherman. Their particular branch of the ever-growing Ulfric clan had not always been rulers, the late Queen Mother had reasoned, and there had been no guarantee that Dantes would be elected as Maya's successor when she retired. Better to be a Jack-of-all-trades than to find yourself out of work with no practical skills.

But Dantes was more than happy to pull his share of the weight in both the capitol and the city. Perhaps his advisers did tend to gently poke fun at his habit of treating the staff like housemates rather than employees trying to do their jobs. And perhaps some foreign dignitaries looked down on Hieracium a little for having a ruler who was willing to scrub flagstones and scatter reeds with the scullion staff. But the Hieracia people loved him for it. It was a reminder to those within their kingdom and those watching from without that rulers were only mortals, like their subjects.

Dantes had just finished setting a cauldron of water to boil when the head cook shuffled into the kitchen. He smiled at her, dusted off his hands, and began to measure tea leaves into an enormous pot.

“Morning, Mrs. Bolton,” he said cheerfully, “Were the dormitories warm enough last night? I saw frost on the windowpane this morning.”

The elderly woman wrapped her pink wool shawl a little tighter around her shoulders and sucked on her teeth thoughtfully before pushing past the king to add several cups of dried oats to the cauldron. Her hands were not as steady as they once were, and she looked altogether too pale.

“Here, give me that,” Dantes said, trying to take the next cup of oats from the cook. “Sit down and warm yourself before you freeze!”

“Leave off, you!” The cook retorted, gently batting his hand away, “I’m a grown girl, I can handle it well enough.”

She made a face as the last of the oats for the porridge disappeared into the water, and held her hands out to warm them over the steam.

“Truth be told,” she admitted, “Twas a mighty cold night. I can’t speak for the others, of course. But me and Mr. Bolton, we do chill easier than we used to.”

Dantes tutted sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear it,” he said. “I’ve heard that in Nermorn they’ve begun using little coal stoves to heat rooms without fireplaces. Shall I order some for the dormitories? I’ve heard they’re a little messy, but efficient.”

Mrs. Bolton patted his arm with the bold familiarity of one who had known him for most of his life.

“You’re a dear, your majesty,” she told him fondly. “Now you seat yourself! And, and, take some breakfast while you can, afore the rest of my kitchen miscreants wake to scrape the pot clean! I’ll not have it said of me that I let a king go hungry.”

“Yes marm,” Dantes chuckled. He let her push him to a stool by the fire -- no mean feat for a little old woman half his size -- and hand him a steaming bowl of porridge.

It was bland stuff. Dantes waited until Mrs. Bolton’s back was turned, and tossed two handfuls of nutmeg into the pot. He swiftly brushed his hand off on his trousers, lest the traces give him away, but his attempt at concealment failed anyway.

The instant the cook smelled the nutmeg, she crossed her arms and sighed. “Now sire, you know we need that for baking! You can’t turn every staff breakfast into something fancy.”

“I can try,” the king retorted, with a most unkingly pout.

A few of the other cooks, bakers, and kitchen staff trailed in as the fire warmed the stones. They each greeted the king respectfully, then collected their bowls of porridge and drifted away to begin their morning routines. There was bread to be baked, turnovers to be filled, and enough food to feed a castle to be prepared.

“Colin, get another pot of porridge going,” Mrs. Bolton ordered one of her assistants, “Tis cold enough to freeze the marrow this morn. Make up ten bowls for Jemmy to bring up to the night watch -- and mind you don’t let certain individuals meddle with the recipe!”

“We’re down to one more sack of oats, marm,” the flustered man warned, “All the rest went into the oat farls last night. For the upstairs’ breakfast, remember?”

“Nevermind,” Dantes interjected, pointing his spoon in Colin’s direction. “I’ll see to it that we buy more the next time we ride through Ainselv.”

The king visited the city of Ainselv often. It was only four hours’ ride from Iconos, the capital of Hieracium. As it was a little newer than Iconos, and a little larger, it had a much nicer library, and much nicer merchant stalls. Being so close to the shores of Lake Striga, they had first pick of the goods shipped across the lake from Nermorn. Being further east, Iconos often got what was left over.

“Ordering food is the cellarer’s job, your majesty,” the Assistant Head Cook said in mild reproof.

“Well I’m in charge of all the jobs, aren’t I?” Dantes defended himself, “I can give the cellarer less work today if I like!”

“Sure, and you’re not only looking for new tomes of frightful tales, your majesty?” Mrs. Bolton’s assistant teased.

“Now see here, Mrs. Poppy!” Dantes laughed, then spent an embarrassing two seconds cleaning bits of porridge out of his beard. “See here! That was one time! Heavens, come home with a book instead of a bull once, and you never live it down!”

“Who forgets an entire cow?!” Mrs. Bolton called from the dough table.

“A bookwyrm, that’s who!” Dantes retorted. “I’ll make that oat order, never you fear. Besides, I may as well find something new for the court intendant to read.” He made a face. “She’s up all hours like an owl with those tawdry war romances. May as well find her something with a little more substance, eh?”

“I...don’t know that the Lady Hawksbit is the sort who would care for your tales of knights and monsters, sire,” Mrs. Poppy muttered, but said nothing more about it.

Dantes poured himself a mug of hot mint tea, wished the kitchen staff a pleasant morning, and excused himself. “Off to work!” he announced, “It’s Thursday: out-of-doors work today.”

“Ooo! Mind you wear lots and lots of coats, sire!” squealed a scullion's child on the way to breakfast, “Mother said it’s wicked cold today!”

“And she’s quite right!” Dantes answered. “Oh, Charley, tell the butler I’m requiring a rotation of breaks by the fires today, won’t you? We want no frozen fingers here! Laundry will keep until the sun is properly up.”

“Yes sire!” the child chirped, “If there’s to be lots of breaks, will we get to play in the snow?”

“That’s a question for your mum, not me!” the king called over his shoulder. He took the stairs two at a time and came out in a cozy parlor that had once been an office.

Dantes had never really relished the idea of doing his share of the kingdom’s bookkeeping in the same windowless room his mother had favored. He found it unbearably stuffy in the warmer months. Upon taking the throne, one of the first things he’d done was to make sure his private office had windows that could be opened in the summer. That did incur the risk of pigeons coming to investigate the budget, but there were worse things in life.

Dantes hastily sipped his half-cooled tea as he backed out of the study and made his way up the north stairs to the grand hall. On Thursdays, instead of hearing from advisers all day, Ulfric Dantes was more accustomed to holding court for only four hours. Ministers of agriculture, water control, public health, and other departments related to the kingdom’s overall environment would present their reports to the king during this time. If anything was amiss, the king would ride out to personally contact whoever had been placed in command over the town named in the report. Married rulers usually delegated this sort of thing to their spouses, as that was the job of the vice-rulers. But Dantes remained cheerfully and stubbornly single, and liked to take care of things himself.

Thursday afternoons were generally spent in one of Hieracium’s six cities, holding town hall meetings with city government and civilians alike. They usually had much more specific ideas of what the royal court could improve upon than the advisers in Iconos did.

And, thus far, none of the civilians had tried to badger the king into some kind of political marriage. That was another point in their favor.

#folklore friday #fic prompts #writing prompts #original characters #original story #king and coven #ulfric dantes maximilian #clearly i was in a Redwall mood when I first wrote this #Dantes' main issue is that he wants to retire and adopt a bunch of kids but he's contractually obligated to find a successor first #his would-be first pick for a successor Does Not Want To Be King and will scream if both Dantes AND the population elect him #in Hieracium the people select a couple candidates and they intern with the ruler to see if it works #then the council does electoral votes to pick which one replaces the former king or queen #one of the main candidates would do anything to be chosen. the other wants nothing to do with it. the rival does not know this #original worlds

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a-boca-do-inferno · 2 years

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eyes never lie (tom hagen x reader)

summary: A little party never killed nobody, right?

warnings: cheating, swearing, smut, angst-ish

words: 2.8k

notes: the amount of time i spent on this is embarrassing lmao. this is 100% self-indulged btw and also only fiction pls do not cheat on your significant other (only with cute little mafia men <3). enjoy!

A long sigh escaped your lips for the thousandth time as you only kept nodding at whatever Connie was saying. You just couldn’t pay attention to the conversation anymore; your boredom was far greater than any other feeling you had now. Business meetings felt like a slap in the face and these type of “family fraternizations” were always a hard pass for you, as you very much preferred a simple afternoon coffee with your mother-in-law, no shady men in fancy suits whispering to each other. Still, you were compelled to accompany your husband every now and then. You had a reputation to maintain even within family, after all.

“C’mon, (y/n), I’m sure you’re gonna love it!”, it’s Connie’s voice once more, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You shake your head slightly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Connie. Michael won’t like not seeing me here.”

“Oh, please, it’s not like we’re gonna miss anything”, she waves her hand in a sneering gesture, pointing with her chin in the direction of your husband’s office. “Besides, they’re working now. Michael’s mind is clearly elsewhere, he won’t even notice you’re gone.”

You couldn’t help but sigh this time. Connie was just too persistent for her own good. You take a look at the wooden door to your side and nod briefly, giving up. “Fine. But we’ll be back before eleven, you hear me?!”

She only smiled triumphally, already making her way out the mansion while you followed her suit. A rush of excitement rushed through your body as you got in her car, driving off to God knows where. You liked Connie because she was fearless, reckless, even a little bit crazy at times. She was truly a breath of fresh air from all the tension surrounding your family, you even considered her one of your best friends. So, despite not knowing exactly what she had in mind, you trusted her. Besides, maybe what you needed was really just a quick get-away.

A little party never killed nobody, right?

Before marrying Michael, you had already been a friend of the Corleone family for many years. When Vito died, you became much closer with Carmela; they both always treated you like a daughter, after all, long afore you got engaged to their son. The boys and Connie even used to joke about you being the “female Tom Hagen”, especially Tom Hagen himself, while flashing you a warm smile whenever you were around their house. You always thought he was the kindest Corleone man — as ironic as that may sound, since he was adopted —, so you found pleasant being referred to as such, although the joke was now but a good memory from the past.

As time went on, it only made sense you’d end up marrying one of their sons one day. Don Corleone was never really subtle about wanting you to “birth him some grandchildren”, as he liked to say. Michael eventually proposed to you when he got back from Sicily, not really taking anyone by surprise, what with everyone’s revelation that his endearment to you had been no secret from the start. It was such a beautiful ceremony, you still remember Vito’s happiness to this day... But ever since he passed away, things started to change. Mostly with Michael, of course, as he was now the head of the family business.

You have no quarrel with his line of work, never had; however, you would be lying if you said it sometimes didn’t take a toll in your marriage. Most notably in the past few months, where you’d both often find yourselves in a pointless argument about the stupidest things. You liked to think it had little to do with your relationship per se, and rather his stressful job, but at times it felt as though you weren’t happy as a couple anymore. He became more possessive by the day, even going as far as ordering you around like one of his henchmen. And although you did not like that, not one bit — especially because you were raised to have dignity, something his own father had taught you on many occasions —, as his wife, you had to oblige and understand your position. And you did, heaven knows.

But God, was it tiring.

“We’re here!”, Connie announces happily, parking in front of a modest building. She glances at you briefly before getting out of the vehicle. “Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve come here. I found this place right after I left Carlo. C’mon, let’s party!”

You chuckled at her almost cartoonish excitement, accompanying her up the three steps that lead toward the door. You didn’t know that neighbourhood, and to be honest it didn’t feel very safe, but Connie seemed to be familiar with the surroundings, so it couldn’t be that bad. You trusted her, after all.

The door slowly opened and caught your attention. You were greeted by a woman in her fifties, probably, and she offered a warm, even motherly smile to Connie. They both hugged tightly and you raised a brow, still lost as to who that was and where you actually were. The lady then measured you up and down before clapping her hands in a pleased gesture, coming to give you a hug as well.

“Mrs. Corleone, what a pleasure! Welcome, welcome!”, she patted your back in enthusiasm, looking at you with content eyes. “Come on in, make yourselves at home.”

You blinked once, still taken aback by her display of affection to you when you had never seen that woman in your life, but she didn’t seem to notice or mind it. You watched as she made way for you to come inside and Connie readily grabbed your wrist, pulling you to follow her around. The door closed behind you and you were in what it seemed to be a living room of sorts. You exchanged a look with Connie and she nodded happily, unable to hold back her delight. It only got you more curious.

The smell in the air was nicotine, incense and alcohol. There were two red couches next to each other, just in the beginning of the corridor, and both looked ancient. The walls were a dark, almost faded shade of brown, and the infiltration was blatant on all of them. You all walked past the living room, towards the hallway. As you got to what it looked like an office of some kind, a chatter coming from upstairs only got louder. There were laughing and singing, so you took it the “party” your sister-in-law talked about earlier was certainly taking place up there.

“Connie, what...”

You’re cut off by the woman stopping in her tracks, urging you both to do the same. She is still grinning while staring at you. “Would you like separate rooms?”

“Yes!”, Connie says, turning to you. “You’ll be fine by yourself, (y/n), won’t you? You’re a grown-up", she has a mischievous look on her face.

You frown, bothered by all of that suspense. “Connie, what is this place?”

“The finest brothel in town, my dear!”, the woman chimes in.

Your eyes widen in panic. “The finest what?”, you gasp and Connie only chuckles at your disbelief, waving her hand. “Connie, you said it was a party.”

“Well, it is!”, she shrugs, then glances back at the lady. “We’ll take two separate rooms next to each other. Apparently Mrs. Corleone here has been married for so long, she forgot how to jolly up.”

“I am absolutely not...”

“You don’t have to have sex with anyone, silly”, Connie cuts you off. “It’s just for the laughs!”, she then giggles like a child, which only makes the situation more obnoxious in your head. Still holding your arm, she adds, “c’mon, Dorothy will show us the way.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening, but you couldn’t stop your legs from following them upstairs either. There was a sting of sordid curiosity in your chest, and with it being wrapped up in that same rush of excitement of doing something different for a change, your brain just wouldn’t order your body to turn around and go back to your husband. You tried to remind yourself it was merely for the laughs, at last. No one would ever find out anyways, especially not Michael; so, you were safe.

You arrived at the second floor only to be met with a couple of women standing there. Each one of them had some cheap, dirty dress, contrasting with their beauty. All eyes fell upon you and you felt your cheeks heat up. You avoided their gaze to look back at Connie and she bore the same amusement as she pointed to the last door in the corridor, encouraging you with a nod. You scoffed, shaking your head. This was such a stupid thing, rich and respectable women posing as prostitutes only for the jokes, but you still couldn’t deny that you liked the little feeling of adventure growing inside you.

“Have fun!”, Connie says as you walk away from her, causing you to roll your eyes in a mix of irritation and mirth.

You opened the door and everything was dark inside. You supposed there wasn’t any “client” yet, so you simply made your way to the empty bed, sitting on the edge. It was surprisingly inviting and soft for a brothel’s furniture, making you lean in on the pillows and sit more comfortably. For a moment you closed your eyes and pretended you were back at home, in your own bed, waiting for Michael to come out of the bathroom and take you as passionately as he used to, before your relationship started to struggle. You couldn’t even remember the last time you made love with him that felt really good, and not just something to get you both off for the night. He was a busy man, you knew that, but having to constantly share him with his work frustrated you to no end as of lately.

The doorknob made a sound and you jumped in your spot, sitting back on the edge of the mattress in a swift movement. Anticipation ran through your whole body when you saw a silhouette approaching in the darkness, closing the door as it was swallowed fully by the blackness inside the room. The man’s footsteps were like drums in your ears, following the same rhythm as the rapid beating of your heart.

You cleared your throat while he stopped by the bedside lamp, right in front of you, and your breath hitched as he turned on the light. You stared at each other with a rather comical shock at first, a stretching silence around you. Tom’s mouth still hung open when you got up and stood face to face with him, so close you could take in every single note of his strong cologne. It made you feel almost dizzy.

“It’s not what you think”, you are the first one to speak, widened eyes as you blink nervously at him. “But please, don’t tell anyone”, you add, and the desperation in your voice sounds too pathetic to your own ears.

Tom merely nods. “I wasn’t gonna.”

And just like that, all your worries seem to disappear into thin air. Suddenly his hot, heavy breath against your lips is the only thing there is in your senses, similar to liquor warming every inch of your body as it streams down your throat. Your hands automatically land on his chest and his reaction is instant, pulling you into an urgent kiss without another word. Initially, you’re unable to think of anything else other than the pressure his tongue puts on yours, sweeping your mouth at an agonizingly slow pace. But as soon as you need to part ways looking for air, reality comes crashing down on you. This is your brother-in-law, for Christ’s sake.

What are you doing?

“This is wrong”, you choke, shaking your head quickly as you back away from him. Tom himself doesn’t look the least distressed, but then again, you can’t remember ever seeing him out of his usual collected demeanour for any reason; even in moments of pain and panic, as they are so common in the family business. You hug your body protectively, avoiding his piercing gaze that right now is just too calm for your liking. “I’m only here because Connie brought me”, you begin, not wanting to blame it all on Connie, but it was technically the truth. “I wasn’t going to... Nothing was going to happen. It was just for the laughs”, you can’t help but let out a miserable chuckle, your last words but a whisper as if even your brain couldn’t believe them anymore.

“I’m not accusing you of anything, (y/n)”, his voice is soft as a lullaby, ironically causing your insides to turn. Tom then takes an experimental step towards you and you hold your breath involuntarily, the maddening feel of his lips still lingering on yours. He laughs lightly, probably amused by your poor control over your emotions. “I already told you I’m not going to say anything, I would never do that to you.”

“I believe you”, you sigh in defeat, finally giving up. Your shoulders slump and Tom takes the signal as an invitation, taking another step closer to you. His face is against the light now, but it somehow highlights the design of his jaw. It’s breath-taking. “Tom...”

“You kissed me back”, he points out matter-of-factly, and you feel your cheeks burn. His fingertips touch your face and now it’s impossible to escape his dark eyes. “Why?”, comes the unexpected murmur, making you frown slightly.

“You know why, Tom”, you offer him a small smile, trying to find any lingering doubt in his orbs. You don’t. “The eyes never lie, do they?”

He shrugs, gripping your waist again as he pulls you close. “Let’s find out now.”

Then it comes again, that wave of anticipation drowning you before you can even get to the surface for air. The kiss is as desperate as the first, hard, and his weight presses you against the bedroom door with a loud thud. It hurts a little, but you’re more focused on the way your whole body tingles when his hands roam your bust, squeezing and caressing every inch of skin they find in their path. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and alcohol on yours, yet his movements are as sober as it gets. Cold, long fingers grip at your sides and you put your legs around his hips in a tight hold, reflexively.

Your dress is violently pushed up and your underwear is swiftly put to the side, exposing your core to the coldness of the room. A moan escapes your lips as Tom enters you with no delicacy and he finds your swollen mouth for another deep, wet kiss. You both wanted this, there wasn’t really need for any ceremonies. And the eyes in fact did not lie; not with his sweaty body trapping yours in such an urgent pounding, not with the way his breath mixed in with yours from time to time, making you share the same hot air. He let out a quiet groan when your walls tightened around him and you smiled briefly, not being able to hold back the loud sounds leaving your own mouth when his tongue went towards the spot between your breasts, painting it glossy with his saliva.

“Fuck, fuck!”, you blurted out, digging your nails on his shoulders.

His hips were crushing you against the wooden door now and you were sure the thud was blaring enough to be heard outside in the hallway, but you couldn’t care less. He thrust one, two, three times more and a third wave of anticipation hit your body, while you trembled in his arms before going absolutely limp. Tom came right after, splashing the inside of your thighs in white colour. You stayed with your legs straddling him for a few seconds, trying to catch your breath.

The silence between you was somewhat pleasant and you let yourself forget everything, for that moment: Michael, your marriage, the family business... All that mattered now was how tender Tom’s hands were caressing your hips under the dress mindlessly, while his face was buried in your neck. His mouth was still pressed to your skin, but it did nothing there. No kiss, it just lingered on your pores. You felt a shiver up your spine as your eyes met his again, only to find there not a single drop of regret or shame.

Tom then left a quick peck on your collarbone, seeming to be entertained by how your chest rose up and down. “Are you okay?”, he speaks softly, waiting for your answer with no rush in his bearing. This was nice, you reckoned, how so much different he was from your husband. Michael’s calmness was calculating, cold, intense; Tom’s was soothing. You appreciated that right now.

“I am”, you murmur, with heated cheeks as you remember the position you’re both still in. “Are you?”

Tom looks away for a moment, seeming to think of his reply. Then a faint smile paints his lips, and you just know. But he asks, anyway, “can’t you see it in my eyes?”

#the godfather x reader #the godfather imagine #tom hagen x reader #tom hagen imagine #the godfather #tom hagen

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speakeasy8 · 1 year

Text

[005] Fujii, K. (w. Yaffle)

One small portion from JWave's Behind the Music that featured Kaze and his record producer Yaffle. Aired on 4 Oct, 2020.

Kaze: We're gon'be talkin 'bout the album HEHN but 'afore that, ahma rea' out this email here.

Question from listener (read out loud by Kaze): This one's from Eno. "What was the initial impression you had of one another when you first met?”

Kaze: D’ye remember?

Yaffle: Didn’t we meet at my studio?

Kaze: Yea, yea, we did.

Yaffle: I remember I only knew you from what I’ve seen on YouTube...

Kaze: Ritey, rite, rite, rite...

Yaffle: Ngl, I legit thought you were gonna be one of those dudes who’s all full of themselves.

Kaze: Oh ye mean like the ones who’d go, “Yo, sup, Yaf?” Like they’re all that?

Yaffle: Yeah like you’d be stabbing your arm down at me from above for a handshake.

Kaze: Ok...

Yaffle: Was what I imagined you’d be like but what I got was this meek and shy dude whom I could barely hear talk. Talk about a complete 180.

Kaze: Well, that’s who ah am.

Yaffle: You seemed like the stereotypical artist type to me at first.

Kaze: Ah see. An' did ah live down t'yer expectation?

Yaffle: That was just my initial impression. Because as time passed, your talking voice started getting louder...

Kaze: Hehe yea...

Yaffle: Then I realized that you were more flexible than you initially let on and my thoughts about you gradually began to change.

Kaze: Ah see. Ah remember 'twuz jus' the two o' us talkin an' one o' the first things ah thought 'bout ye wuz that ye were very good at askin questions.

Yaffle: Huuuh...

Kaze: It felt like ah wuz naturally bein led thru an interview. Like, ye actually dug pretty deep down.

Yaffle: Oh yea...

Kaze: Ye were askin me stuff like what mah beliefs were...

Yaffle: Oh right, I wanted to know where your thoughts and beliefs lie...

Kaze: The fact that ye were a producer ah wuz able t'get into topics like that wit' wuz actually a huge relief. That’s the impression ah had.

Yaffle: Oh okay...

Kaze: Like, 'twuz comfortin to know that ye were someone who wuz open t'knowin ‘bout stuff like that.

Yaffle: I see...

Kaze: So that wuz back when we first met and didnae know much ‘bout one 'nother yet. Here’s where the ball really gits t'rollin.

Yaffle: Right.

Kaze: Wha' wuzzit again. Rite, let’s talk ‘bout the process o' makin the album HELP EVER HURT NEVER.

Yaffle: K! Did you think we’d actually end up making a whole album?

K: Nupe. Ah only wanted t'put out songs ah thought were worth puttin out an' mebbe en' up havin a collection o'those put out at some point.

Y: Oh, you mean like a collection of just A-sides?

K: Rite, that. Ah figgered if ah jus' concentrated on puttin out one good song at a time, ah’d eventually reach a point where ah’d have 'nuff fer a great album.

Y: We recorded the whole thing on a 3-term basis, remember?

K: Yea, it happened 'cross three separate terms.

Y: The initial set was NaN-NaNw, MOH-EE-WA and Yasashisa.

K: Yep, yep.

Y: Then they were followed by Choshinochatte, Tokuninai and...what was it again?

K: Kae...rou...mebbe?

Y: Yeah, it was Kaerou.

K: Riiiite, rite, it *wuz* Kaerou.

Y: And then the last five came...

K: Yea we jus' rapidly shot them out like bullets

Y: Yeah like rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

K: Yea like that hehe.

Y: But we actually had about a year. I mean it was a 3-term period but it totaled to about a year.

K: Yea, yea, that’s rite.

Y: So during the first two terms, I really didn’t think it would eventually become an album.

K: Yea we didnae think it at all.

Y: I for one certainly didn’t think I’d end up working on it right until completion.

K: Rite, rite, 'twuz still pretty early...

Y: Cause at first, I was actually only asked to come in on a trial basis. Ah, this was before we met, by the way.

K: Rite...

Y: I was given this bunch of demos that sounded like a home recording with just this guy singing with piano accompaniment and then told to pick the one I like best.

K: Rite, rite.

Y: Back then, my first pick was MOH-EE-WA.

K: That’s rite!

Y: I told them that was my pick.

K: Rite, that’s what happened! Ye picked MOH-EE-WA an' Yasashisa.

Y: Well, MOH-EE-WA was my initial pick. When they later asked if that was it or if there was another, that was when I picked Yasashisa. But for some reason they gave me NaN-NaNw instead. That was what it was like from my end.

K: Ohhhh so that’s how 'twuz...truth wuz, ah wuz actually havin me some anxiety issues ‘round that time...

Y: Oh, really?

K: Yea...the affection ah had t'wards mah songs were kinda too strong an' ah really wanted that feelin shared, adamant that people who dun' feel the same aren't people ah wanna work wit’. Ah even sent an email detailin my feelins, y’all. Cuz they were sendin mah songs one after ‘nother to this Yaffle sound producer guy so ah wanted desperately t'clearly get ‘cross what ah felt. It started out wit' sumthin like, “I am sending you this email in the hopes of further explaining some things to you about NaN-NaNw.” An' towards the end 'twuz like, “I know full well that this may sound ridiculous on many levels but I strongly believe that this song, together with the other two songs that were also selected, is going to be one that’s extremely important to both myself and to various other people. Please, I implore that you give it the love it deserves.” Sumthin like that.

Y: Yeah...I definitely remember reading that.

K: Ya remember?

Y: Yeah, yeah I do. I recall.

K: Readin all this out loud is so embarrassin tho...anyway ye replied, "I understand well all that you have said. Please rest assured that everything I am given to work with, I make sure to pour my entire heart and soul into and give them all the love they require. Let’s work together to put out some of the best works we can. Looking forward to an excellent partnership.”

Y: Hm. That’s simpler and more concise than I remembered. My wording, that is. LoL.

K: Heh. Anyway, 'twas this part, “I make sure to pour my entire heart and soul into and give them all the love they require.” It struck a chord in meh an' had meh convinced.

Y: Oh really?

K: Yea. Cuz ye dun' really show yer feelins much which makes it hard t'know what yer thinkin most o' the time. So hearin that ye were actually goin all out an' pourin yer entire heart an' soul inta em wuz comfortin which made meh think ah should try trustin ye a lil mo'.

Y: I see. I think I might have reacted to the whole email thing a bit negatively at first.

K: Fer reals?

Y: Yeah. When it first came, I expected it to sound something like, “Ya better do this properly! Don’t be half-assing it, ya hear?!” Which I was planning to retort with a, “What, you think I’m doing this just to mess around??” But then you were really polite and careful with the way you phrased it.

K: Yea, like ah said earlier, ah wuz feelin super worried so ah wuz pretty much like an anxious parent goin, “Please, please take good care o'mah babies!” So if ah had ta be honest, yer prolly not wrong an' ah was basically sayin, “Ah’m beggin ye PLEASE do this prop'ly!”

Y: Well, it was only like that in the beginning ‘cause we were both still very new to each other back then.

K: Yea...

Y: Plus we were going to be making songs together and all...

K: That’s exactly rite...

Y: So we had all these things going on between us.

K: Yea, we sure did...

[FIN]

Note: Yaffle has a YouTube channel where you can listen to original songs he's composed, mixed and produced. He's got some pretty good stuff on there so give them a listen if you're curious.

#藤井風 #fujii kaze #kaze fujii #yaffle #jwave behind the music #kaze on the radio #kaze gracing the airwaves

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endangered-liaison · 2 years

Text

Prompt #23: Pitch

((Content warnings for this one: some graphic violence, and death.))

"Mister Hostis."

The captain of the Crooked Coin is cordial and polite as they bow. It would feel almost like a business meeting, if not for the spiked metal armour they wear. Bones dangle from it like morbid jewellery, and when they rise from their deep bow the polite smile on their face is morphed by the white paint covering it into something downright malicious.

"Captain Gharl," he replies, trying his best to keep the distaste from his voice.

The wind from the coast is harsh, and Octavian pulls his overcoat closer around himself. A meeting on the coastline, at night, is a great way to catch a chill. But sometimes one has few other choices. When one is a wanted criminal who breached Alliance custody that very night, for example.

"Your ship is off the coast, I take it?" Octavian crosses his arms across his chest, clenching his jaw against the cold. Beside him, Boartusk is shivering. The Ala Mhigan isn't used to the cold.

Kaira nods, stepping forwards with the handful of their motley crew that they brought ashore. Only three. The captain, a viera with white paint smeared across her face like jagged scars, and an eastern midlander man with full half his face painted. They'd taken his claims of a peaceful meeting to heart, apparently. That showed trust - or at least good faith. "Our rowing boat can take you aboard and far from these lands. You need but give us a direction."

"A direction?" Octavian asks, all feigned ignorance.

"To the ceruleum stockpile you promised. Our deal."

Ah, of course. Their deal. Octavian nods, steady and understanding. "Of course. The only thing is, it seems to me, I'm the one who comes out short in this deal. You get more fuel than you could use in two years, and I get...what, exactly? Deposited in the Far East, or the New World?"

Kaira tilts their head like an owl regarding a meal. "That was the deal. Fuel for transport."

Octavian hums. Then whistles, sharp and loud.

Around the two groups, a half-dozen ala mhigans with muskets climb to their feet, weapons aimed at Kaira and their crew. Their pirates don't even have a chance to react afore they're surrounded.

"I feel we should renegotiate!" Octavian grins behind his mask, arms spread wide. "I just don't feel like we're quite getting our fair share, you see."

The Captain's lip curls.

Octavian unbuttons his overcoat, drawing a twin-barrelled flintlock pistol from within. The weight of iron in his hand is reassuring, after so long without it. He points it towards the captain's head with nonchalant ease. "I've heard from my friends that you have two ships. The Crooked Coin out there, and a wooden trader's ship. The Serpentarius, or some such? Now, I can't help but feel a band of idiot fucking savages like yourself shouldn't be heading a powerful Garlean ship like the Coin. So, for our new deal: you keep your little sailing boat, and we take your imperial Destroyer far from here. In exchange, you don't get a musketball between your fetching orange eyes."

Kaira doesn't flinch when the pistol is levelled at them. They don't even react, honestly. Finally, when he's done speaking, their fetching orange eyes flick upwards to stare deep into his, behind the smoked glass of his mask. "You won't be honouring our deal?" they ask, voice a rasp.

What the fuck is wrong with this tribal? Octavian shares a confused look with Boartusk, the man's meaty hands wrapped around an arcanist's grimoire like a giant with a cross-stitching kit. He offers a quick laugh. "You've a half-dozen guns pointed at you. I think it's safe to say we won't be honouring any deals with you, Gharl."

What happens next, Octavian will never fully understand.

They move. But it doesn't feel like movement. They were fulms in front of him, his pistol pointed at their head. And then they weren't. He hears his gunshot. He hears a half-dozen other gunshots, and hears Boartusk start channelling aether.

Their first punch feels like someone took a lump hammer to his elbow. He feels something crack, and the gun falls from his grasp. Their second knocks the wind out of him, staggering him backwards.

He's helpless to do anything but watch, winded and disarmed, as gunfire lights up the La Noscean countryside.

He catches sight of them as a bullet ricochets off their metal armour like it's nothing - their arms are crossed over their face, protecting their one unarmoured point from harm as his men inundate the area with bullets. He doesn't know where their crew have gone. It's just them, standing alone. Their eyes blaze bright in the dark, meeting his.

Boartusk finishes whatever spell he'd been channelling, shooting it forth and striking the pirate - the thing - in the chest. That seems to impact them more than the bullets did, knocking them to one knee and pulling forth a hiss of pain as aetheric lightning crackles across their armour.

There's a low growl.

And then they're gone again.

Simply gone.

Boartusk lets out a scream of pain, and by the time Octavian turns his head to look to his last, most loyal ally, his throat has already been cut. No. Not cut. Torn apart.

Gharl is behind him, using his body as a shield against Boartusk's own men's gunfire. The growl grows louder, more deafening even over the roar of muskets.

Octavian fumbles with his jacket, drawing his second pistol with his good arm and trying not to jostle whatever broken bones his right arm has. He aims it at Captain Gharl, his angle affording him the one clean shot at their head.

Their eyes snap to him, and they simply toss Boartusk's body aside like an oversized ragdoll. Like they are the one twice his size, and not the other way around.

Octavian fires once, and their arm raises to block the bullet before it ever lands. Sparks and bullet fragments splinter everywhere as they charge towards him. He fires again, and they do it a second time. And through it all, their eyes. Burning eyes, staring into his very soul as they reach him. He doesn't even get a chance to swing his empty pistol at them before he feels his leg snapping, their armoured boot digging into the flesh of his knee and carrying on until the bone gave.

Their hand grips his overcoat, the growling roar grows ever-louder ... and then the darkness is plunged into sharp, bright white light.

Behind them, floating just beyond the cliff they had agreed to meet at, a Garlean magitek gunship hovers, engines roaring and floodlights bathing the battlefield in a harsh, artificial light brighter than midday. Through the glare of the lights, he can just barely make out the white paint starkly contrasting its pitch-dark metal.

A handful of his idiotic loyalists turn their weapons on it, Limsan-issue muskets firing on the metal beast's hull like hurling bad language at a god. There's a whirring noise. Octavian barely has time to scream for cover before the gunship's autocannon barks into life, the impact from its rounds kicking up dirt and grass and limbs across the whole hillside.

When it stops firing, a few seconds later, there are no more gunshots.

It's just him. Just him, and Captain Gharl, and the gunship. They stare at him levelly now, no rage or violence in their gaze. Just passing interest.

"Fine." He hisses the word like a curse. "I'll tell you where the damned ceruleum is. Just let me go after, aye? Do we have a deal?"

Behind them, the gunship lands once more, in the open this time. The viera woman leaps from the cockpit, a spear in her hands as she approaches her captain.

Captain Gharl looks like they're considering it. They hum in consideration. Their eyes flick upwards, as if in thought. Then they smirk. "Mm...no. A man who does not honour one deal will not honour the next."

Octavian feels his blood run cold.

"I'll give you extra. I know stockpiles. Dozens of them. Garlean strongholds that are completely abandoned. Pirate's treasures." His voice sounds desperate even to his ears. "I won't try anything. I'll give you their coordinates, maps. How to get to them all. You don't even need to bring me along, I won't be able to cross you."

"Woodborn?" Kaira lets go of his overcoat and he falls to the floor, crying out in pain as his broken leg fails to support any weight at all. Their head tilts towards the viera, and she holds out the spear. As soon as it touches Kaira's gauntleted hands, the blade bursts into life. It glows a brilliant red, and Octavian feels the heat even from where he is. "Thank you."

"Captain, we can make a deal!"

Woodborn smiles brightly at her captain as Kaira plunges the spear through Octavian's chest.

It feels...

Well. It feels like having a hot poker shoved through your chest.

He tries to speak. To cry out. But all that comes out is a vague gurgling noise.

"Mister Hostis." Kaira's voice is calm as they grip his shoulder, pulling him forwards. Pushing the blade of their spear further through him. "You still don't seem to understand. You have no honour. No principles. You lived for nothing."

They meet his eyes one final time, reaching down to pick up his fallen flintlock pistol from the floor.

"And so you die for nothing, as well."

They point the weapon at his head, and pull the trigger.

#Kaira Gharl #From Steppe to Sea #ffxivwrite2022 #Octavian Hostis

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wrathbites · 1 year

Text

Danger

“Why the fuck are we treating her word like it’s law? She can’t touch us! Not without bringing the Alliance down on her head!”

Aria holds her silence, skipping her gaze over each of the human students in turn, waiting. And sure enough there’s a snort from one of them - the one with live-wire pain under his skin. Shepard. Rhys.

“Haud yur weesht afore you dig a bigger grave, Morgan.”

“She can’t, though!”

“Touch us? Maybe not. But your family? Your friends? They’re fair game, pal. The Alliance’ll no send a security escort for all of them. And you gave her the keys to your house when you agreed to the mind-meld like the rest of us. So again: shut yur fuckin’ mouth.”

#Rhys Shepard #WrathWIPs #tagging this one as a wip because I'll be looking to expand this unlike the drabbles I'm startingt to share lol #Sunlight and Stardust vampire verse

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thecreaturecrossroads · 2 years

Text

Pick one of your muses . Fill in the questions/statements as if you were your muse in a new post Tag five people to do this meme

Swiped from: someone else TAGGING: @nykrose @magioffire @bastard-basket @distoretion @jiaolong-rp

1. What is your name ? Cairi

2. What is your real name ? I’m nae giving ye my full name. Nor me witch name.

3. Do you know why you were called that ? Because me Ma wanted tae name me that.

4. Are you single or taken ? Single.

5. Have any abilities or powers ? Healin Magics mostly. I can cure poison an cleanse the earth and water. I can conjure a wee bit of lightning intae me hands in self defense. An a few other things. Mostly plant related. I can sense poisons too.

6. Stop being a Mary Sue. Excuse me??

7. What’s your eye color ? Bright Green.

8. How about your hair color ? Darker browns but also lighter browns further down.

9. Have you any family members ? Me Ma, Me Step-dad, Me Brother Connor, me 5 step brothers... various aunts an uncles and cousins. Some niblings. Me Grans. The rest of me clan.

10. Oh ? What about pets ? I’ve me Familiar. He’s an Albino Raven I hand raised.

12. Do you have any hobbies / activities you like doing ? Baking. Reading. Takin a ramble through the woods fer berries an mushrooms. I also like tae do a wee bit of sewing. Oh! And I can’t ferget Arranging flowers. That’s half me shop.

13. Ever hurt anyone before ? Aye.

14. Ever …. killed anyone before ? Aye. What? Ye think I’m some namby pamby pony? I’ve been in some messes, let me tell ye. Actually nae. I’d rather nae get intae it.

15. What kind of animal are you ? What do ye think?

16. Name your worst habits. I drum me fingers when I’m stressed. I work meself till I pass out lately.... I drink too much coffee right now. Connor an the other lads tell me i’ve become a wee bit spacey. I can’t think of any other’s at the moment.... Me Gran used tae say I’d argue with a wall...?

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual? I’m... nae sure. Me last lover was non-binary. But the one afore that was very much a man... I know I’m attracted tae Lad an nonbinary folk.... really I’m too busy tae really put much thought tae it.

19. Do you go to school? Not anymore. Finished me Witchery schoolin a while ago. Then took a few more years tae really understand curse breakin after that.

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day ? I... I was hoping I’d have been married already. I was goin tae propose tae me last Lover. But shit hit the fan an now I’m burnin meself out tryin tae fix a mess I did’nae even cause.... I don’nae if it’s in the cards fer me. But t’would be nice tae have someone who thought I was special again...

21. Do you have any fanboys / fangirls ? ... What now? I guess...? If ye’d call me toxic first Ex a fanboy.

22. What are you most afraid of ? I’m nae a fan of spiders. I respect them an let them alone... unless they’re in me house! .... The curse takin everythin from me... like it already is startin tae... I’ve seen how me family line has ended up..

23. What do you usually wear ? Somethin comfortable. A Blouse an some pants. Or a plain skirt.

24. Do you love someone ? I still miss me Ex. They were so easy tae love an be around... Until they weren’t.. But I guess I can’t say I love them still...

25. When was the last time you wet yourself? Excuse me?! What kind of question is that?? I don’t know. When I was 5 maybe?

26. Well, it’s not over yet! Of course it isn’t.

27. What class are you ? That... is a complicated question. I’m a Princess by blood... but I live in a cottage in the woods. Living off what money I earn through trade of me services an the bounty of me garden an the forest.

28. How many friends do you have ? I’ve one I’m still in contact with right now. I had tae give up quite a few when I was relocated here.

29. What are your thoughts on pie ? A good pie is always appreciated.

30. Favorite drink? Stout. Herbal Tea. I make a nice raspberry lemonade in summer.

31. What’s your favorite place ? My garden. A cove I remember from when I was a wee lass. Or the reading nook I’ve set up in one of me windows.

32. Are you interested in someone ? I’m so tired...

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean? The ocean.

34. What’s your type ? Someone who’s nae going to stab me in the back at the first chance they get. An won’t mind I might be completely blind in the not so distant future. Someone ho’s nae going to make me feel worthless every minute of the day.

35. Are you wanting the quiz to end ? Aye! Off with ye now. I’ve things that need doin.

#About Cairi #About Cairistiona #dash games #Unicorn Witch #Unicorn

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