#WHY DO THEY PULSE LIKE MONSTER GUTS.....
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Okay but like, a dark clump of what
#what are these things exactly and why on earth does link feel so comfortable eating them#totk tag#totk spoilers#WHY DO THEY PULSE LIKE MONSTER GUTS.....
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In This Lifetime
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Vecna's dead and the gates are closed and life is finally back to normal.
Well except for one thing.
Eddie's entire view of Steve Harrington has been tipped on its axis, shattered, booted off a fucking cliff. Whatever you want to call it. Because, well, the guy's not an asshole. He's strong and passionate and so goddamn caring. He's probably the kindest, most giving person Eddie's ever met and although he'd like to say he doesn't know what to think of it, we'll he does. And he thinks he's in love.
Steve Harrington is like fucking sunshine and unfortunately for Eddie's fragile heart, that glow of light doesn't fade.
They become friends. Best Friends. Nearly inseparable. Attached at the hip throughout the years.
They move to Chicago together, rent a shitty two bedroom apartment that maybe as well be one because they still have nightmares and being plastered next to one another seems to calm those terrors.
They laugh and they sing and they dance around the kitchen while they smile and cook and inevitably burn whatever meal they had planned, opting to order pizza instead.
Eddie's in a band and Steve never misses a show.
Steve's in school, planning to become a Guidance Counselor and Eddie's by his side quizzing him with the reward of candy in hand.
It's perfect, living life together in domestic bliss. Even if all they are is only just friends.
But it's still perfect all the same and if it was up to Eddie, he'd spend the rest of his life in these years. Repeat them again and again, if only to fall asleep at Steve's side and wake up to honey-brown eyes every morning.
But he knows it can't always be like this and that's why this is the hardest thing he's ever done.
This is the hardest thing he's ever done, and he's done some difficult shit. Like surviving a near death experience in literal hell being the main contender. But sitting across from Steve Harrington as he turns a little golden ring between his fingers and goes over his proposal plan, yeah that's pretty fucking difficult.
And it shouldn't be, he should be excited, he should be cheering for his friend but there's a gnawing feeling in his gut that's telling him it should be him. It should be him that Steve drops to a knee for, it should be him that Steve professes his undying love to, it should be him that'll one day get to call this man his husband.
But it's not. It's not because even though he's known this ragtag group of monster hunters for years now he's never been able to come to terms with telling them that he's gay and he sure as shit hasn't come to terms with telling Steve Harrington that he loves him and loves him in a very much not 'just friends' kind of way.
So that's why when Steve asks him what he should say to this woman [Becky, who quite frankly could double as Eddie's twin] he spills the beans. In a very subtle way he supposes. He doesn't come out, doesn't outright tell Steve he loves him, but as he's telling Steve what to say to his future fiancé, he's letting his emotions come out like word vomit, only wishing Steve knew he was talking about him.
"I don't know man." Eddie huffs, shuffling uncomfortably in his chair, eyes avoiding Steve's as he contemplates his words.
But it's hardly more than a few seconds before they come tumbling out, Eddie sucking in shaky breath before he stares into the carpet and begins to speak, "Tell her she's like sunshine, beautiful and bold and the source of life. That she's like the blood in your veins, forever present in the most beautiful way and the only thing that keeps your heart beating. Tell her that even on the most difficult days that she's the one you want to see, the one you want to hold, the one that makes you take the breath you need and steady your heart when it's beating out of control."
It's a building thing, slowly growing out of control, he can feel his pulse thrumming in his veins and he's beginning to think he might just do something crazy. He pauses for a moment, gauging Steve's expression. He'd gone to get them beer and hasn't bothered to sit back down since Eddie began talking. There's an indecipherable expression on his face and he's stood still, in front of the couch, beers on the coffee table and he's silent, waiting for Eddie to continue.
And you know, if Eddie was a normal man he'd stay in his chair, talk to his friend from an acceptable distance away and not profess his love, but he's not. He's a showman and as his acting skills get the best of him, he's moving, shuffling across the carpet, taking Steve's hand in his own and kneeling before him. Because why not make this a harder interaction for himself. Christ, it nearly feels like the real thing as he looks into Steve's eyes and shuffles the littlest amount closer.
Eddie shudders a breath, taking a single second to appreciate this moment, even if it'll never truly be real and then he continues, "You get down on your goddamn knee Steve Harrington and you say, ' Sweetheart you're the only thing that keeps me alive in this crazy fucked up world. Having you in my arms and my heart keeps me steady and breathing. I've been through some shit, but I'd go through it all again to find you in the end. The blood, the sweat, the tears, nearly fucking dying to be by your side for the rest of my life. I want to grow old with you Darling, I want us to grey and weather together. To find ourselves fifty years from now watching our kids and our grandkids; all the life we've brought into this world. All the love our life together has brought into existence."
Eddie's crying now, because of course he is, he's confessing his love to someone he knows will never hold the same emotions for him, but through a watery laugh and a sniffle he carries on, tightening his grip on Steve's hands.
"I want you in this lifetime and the next, in any way that you'll have me. I can't bear the thought of a single day without you let alone an entire lifetime. I'll find you, I promise I will Sweetheart, but for this lifetime, I ask that you spend the remainder of it with me."
It's cheesy, he knows, but it seems to take effect because as he looks into the eyes of the man above him he sees the swell of tears gathering along thick dark lashes.
The room's suddenly silent, save for the pounding of Eddie's pulse in his ears and the hope that Steve didn't see through his actions or words. That all he saw was his rather expressive friend acting out as per usual.
But a tear finally escapes and rolls down Steve's tanned cheek and a rather aggressive sob breaks past his lips.
Eddie's to his feet in seconds pulling Steve to his chest, one arm firmly around his waist while another wraps around his shoulders and cradles a head of mousy hair as close as he can. Steve's sobbing, short shaky breaths and surely there's snot and tears staining Eddie's shirt, but it's not like he can say much, what with silent tears streaming down his own cheeks and dripping to Steve's hair.
Steve hiccups around a sob, voice shaky and muffled against Eddie's shoulder, "I can't do this."
God, that's not what Eddie wanted to do, he didn't mean to scare Steve away from his impending engagement. No matter how much he wished it was him. He loves Steve, but if he can't have him, he just wants him to be happy. He deserves happiness. He deserves love.
Even if it's not with him.
Eddie cards his fingers soothingly through Steve's hair as he speaks, "Yes you can. I know you can. Steve, you love her, you're just scared. You can do this."
Another sob heaves against Eddie's chest while Steve continues to shake in his arms, "I can't Eddie."
"Why not Sweetheart?"
Steve's knees give out as a pained nose escapes his throat, dropping to the floor, taking Eddie with him, he doesn't answer, only continues to cry and burrow into Eddie's chest upon settling into their new position on the ground.
He's verging on a panic attack, Eddie knows this, he's seen it many times before. The way Steve's fists clench in his shirt and his breaths are short and sudden, gasping for air that's not filling his lungs, he's flushed white and Eddie knows it's only a matter of time before he gets sick.
"Stevie, come on, you gotta settle down. I'm sorry if I said anything wrong, I didn't mean to if I did. We can talk about it later. But right now you just gotta breathe for me okay." Eddie grabs Steve's hand, tight fist and all and holds it against his chest, allowing Steve to feel his steady breaths, "Breathe in with me, come on Big Guy. Take a deep breath in." Eddie takes a large lungful and holds it for a second, waiting for Steve to do the same and even though it's shaky and raspy he manages.
They repeat this process ten times over, Steve's head and hand now resting against Eddie's chest, their backs to the couch, the rooms fallen silent enough that only muffled sniffles are audible aside from the hum of electricity and the joyous screams of children outside.
After a moment, Steve wiggles himself closer, if even possible and again states, "Eddie, I can't do this."
He's not quite sure how to answer, really. Should he push or should he allow Steve to call off the engagement before it even happens. Lord knows where his own wishes lie. "You wanna tell me why you think you can't do this?"
Steve's breathing picks up again, but before he can reach hysterics Eddie's fingers card through his hair and he soothes Steve back to baseline.
"You," Steve whispers after quite some time of Eddie waiting for a response. It's a quiet thing, Eddie wouldn't have even heard it if he wasn't intentionally listening for Steve to say something.
It's a pain in the chest to know he may be the reason for Steve not to propose, sure he wished it wouldn't happen, but not like this. For him to say something so stupid that makes Steve call the whole thing off, "I'm sorry if I-"
He doesn't have time to finish his sentence before Steve's speaking, "No, not like that, you have nothing to be sorry for Eds. Its just- fuck- I wish I could tell you."
Combing his fingers through Steve's hair, Eddie reassures, "Steve, you can tell me. Please. I want to help."
Steve shakes his head, wrapping an arm tight around Eddie's waist, tucking his head in close, "It's nothing you can help with Eddie."
Nosing against the side of Steve's head, hair tickling his nose, Eddie whispers, soft, gentle, scared to frighten Steve off, "Try me."
And then it's silent. Dead quiet and for quite a long while. He knows Steve will answer, he knows he's just gathering his words, sorting things out before he speaks. It's obviously something big, something important to have warranted such a reaction from such a strong man.
It's with a sudden movement that Steve's sitting upright, turning to face Eddie with the appearance of confidence and sheer fear on his face. He looks fucking terrified. Working his jaw, eyes darting all over Eddie's face before he finally settles on his eyes and speaks, "I love you, okay." The words are far from gentle, they're sharp, rushed, sudden, like if he didn't get them out they'd burn a hole in his throat, but before Eddie has a second to even process those few words, Steve's barreling on.
"And when you were down on your knee infront of me, I wanted nothing more than for that to be the real thing, for those words to actually be directed towards me because I love you so fucking much it hurts. And I get it, I do. I know you're straight and we can never be a thing or really even get married but Eds, fuck, I love you so much and I can't marry Becky knowing I feel that way about you. I was going to try because I knew this could ne-"
He knows what Steve was meaning to say, but Eddie had to cut him off before those words could be spoken into existence because they're wrong. It can happen. Holy fucking Christ, Steve's loves him. It can all happen.
"I love you too," he says with such haste, taking Steve's face into his hands as he speaks with so much passion it nearly hurts, "-so much."
Cheeks squished in Eddie's grasp, Steve's eyes begin to well with tears once again, but now, now a smile is fighting its way to his lips, only growing with utter disbelief as Eddie quietly says, "and I meant every word of it. Every fucking word Sweetheart."
Steve's eyes search Eddie's own for only half a second before their lips crash together. It's a feverish thing, years of pent up love and need crammed into a single embrace, but their lips move as if they've met a million times before. And maybe they have. Maybe through the thousands of years this little rock in space has been turning, they've never left one another's side. Maybe they do find each other in every lifetime. Maybe they fall in love against all odds. Maybe this lifetime is no different.
Many Years Later
Turns out, it's not different at all.
When the time comes, so does the real proposal. It's been planned for years and when word of legalisation reaches Eddie's ears he's running to Steve. Dashing through streets, shouldering past strangers and dropping with a painful thud to the hardwood of Steve's office floor. In those few short moments to follow, the life he wished to have so many years ago becomes a reality.
Steve's his fiancé.
Soon to be his husband.
In this lifetime and the next.
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#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie#steddie fic rec#steddie fanfiction#steddie headcanon#steddie fic#steddie fandom#steddie ficlet#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#steve x eddie#eddie x steve
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Prompt: a thief makes the mistake of trying to steal from a community of orcs/minotaur/other big monster people of your choice and is put in a pillory for public use
Doing short requests (<1000w)!
Feel free to drop requests in the replies or into my askbox. If you’d like a leave a tip for your own request or someone else’s, my tip jar is here.
“I didn’t even manage to get away,” Vi hisses, trying to pull her wrists free from the pillory they’re locked inside, trying to wriggle her way out of the bondage, but it’s not working. She can’t get the leverage she can when she’s in handcuffs, can’t cut through it like she can rope, can’t do a thing but be here, bent over with her feet flat on the ground behind her. “What are you actually punishing me for?”
“Trying,” rumbles the minotaur who’d pulled her back through the window by her ankle and snatched the bag of pilfered jewellery out of her hands, and rips apart her trousers in one motion of his palms, and then suddenly his cock is sliding into her arse, and she howls at the thrust of it inside her, the slight burn as she’s spread wide and filled, the minotaur’s cock shoving so deep that she feels her belly bulge even before she looks down and cranes her neck to see the lump of the minotaur’s cock inside her.
“Why steal, girl?” the minotaur asks behind her, gripping tightly at her hips with his big, impossibly strong hands and fucking her mercilessly, and suddenly her cock is hard and bouncing underneath her with the force of the bull-man’s thrusts, with the rub of his surprisingly soft fur against her arse and the back of her thighs. “Why not take what will be freely given to you?”
Vi wails and tries to catch her breath as she feels the minotaur plough hard and rough into her guts, and Gods, it feels good, feels so good she can’t conceive of it, knows the minotaur’s cum is rippling through her with that addictive magic that comes with it, setting her skin on fire, making her arse throb, her cock, her tits, all of her.
“How long you gonna be?” asks a voice to the left, and she suddenly thinks about where she is, the pillory set up in the middle of the town square – it’s late at night and the taverns are just beginning to close, and suddenly there are so many great, hulking men coming out into the streets, minotaurs, orcs, trolls, huge dragon men with twin bulges in their leggings, and so fucking many of them are walking her way.
Her cock sputters as she comes hard, her balls drawing up and her cum spattering on the ground beneath her, and the minotaur behind her grunts – she feels the pulse and jerk of his cock inside her, feels his cock thicken and twitch, and then suddenly his cum is pumping into her as she squirms and stands up on her tiptoes and press back into his cock for more.
She’d known—
This town is infamous for things like this, the monstrously big men that live here, each of them with monstrously big cocks, and the pillories lined up in the square for every would-be thief and ne’er-do-well to enjoy the consequences of letting herself be caught.
Much like she had.
Her guts are flooded with it, her belly bulging out beneath her, and she hears the man behind her say, “Finishing up now, she’s all yours.”
“I’ll take the other end,” says the orc. “Keep her from spitting out the gift you’re giving her.”
Her belly feels so heavy and she can feels the splash and rush of all the minotaur’s thick, hot cum within her, feel it slosh inside her guts, feel her belly swing and her cock swing up against it, and before she can say anything her jaw is being opened, and a huge cock is sliding over her tongue and sinking right down her throat and fuck, but it tastes good, it’s good—
The minotaur is out of her arse for barely a second before one of those draconic monsters is shoving her twin cocks into Vi’s arse and forcing her arse even wider, and she’s spitroasted between the two of them, and fuck, fuck—
“Good girl,” rumbles the dragon behind her, gripping her waist to shove Vi down onto her two pricks, and Vi’s scream of pleasure is muffled by the orc cock filling up her throat.
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‘it’s not worth the trouble,’ ghost says, eyes averted.
you lift your palm to his jaw anyways, cradling his head through his mask. and treacherous, his body betrays him in the slope of his shoulders and the shifted weight melting down over your palm, molding into you the way his voice says he will not.
because beneath it all, he’s just a man, flesh and blood and the oh-so human desire to love still pulsing defiant from behind calloused walls. for every rejection, every betrayal, every part of him he sacrificed in the hopes for something better that never came, there was never another hand to salve the wounds left behind. and despite everything, he’s still ten years old, hiding under his bed and wondering why love just isn’t enough.
‘it’s not worth the trouble,’ he says again as if to convince himself that he is undeserving of the warmth on the other side of his mask. his voice thins and trembles, and he turns his head to curl closer into your touch.
a sickening pool wells in his gut. as early as he can remember, the greed of others has only caused him the kind of excruciating pain that carves its anguish in wounds that forever refuse to close. he should have learned his lesson. who is he to hunger? who is he to swallow the monster whole, and, in doing so, become one with the cruel urge to insatiably take, take, take? such vicious cycles cannot be broken when he, too, desires from the deepest parts of his heart.
want is a fever that burns its own pyre, but he has been cold for so, so long.
yet the hand that feeds him does not strike him, this time. you bring your second hand to cup his head in your palms like a precious stone, and that wretched, wretched want grabs him by his throat and rips him under the tide. and he itches to claw open his chest and tear his beating heart from the cage of his ribs because the violent intimacy of hurt might just let him ignore the simple fact that for the first time in ages, love is an unconditional generosity that solely gives. because the tide has swept him somewhere where the waves are still, and the water is warm, and your hands are so, so soft through the worn fabric of his mask.
‘i’m not worth the trouble,’ he rasps, because third time’s the charm, and maybe this one last heave will finally stifle the ache of life banging against the walls of his chest. it doesn’t. he buries his face in your hands, and even through the bony armor stitched over his mask, he swears he can feel you running your thumbs over where the highest points of his cheeks lie. his heart doesn’t quiet. of course it doesn’t.
his mind stills in defeat. resignation for a victory undeserving. maybe something in between. but where his words fail, you speak instead, your voice strong and clear as you press your brow against the brittle bone shielding his skin.
‘it’s worth it to me,’ you say softly. ‘you are to me.’
#wrote this in a fugue state lol saturday night vibe#something something anger is a desperate cry for love#in retrospect this could also be soap’s pov#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#mw2 x reader#su.pdf
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Febuwhump Day 13: CPR (Twilight & Wild)
Ao3
CW for drowning, blood and injury, vomiting, and referenced animal death (temporary and non-graphic)
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Twilight surfaces with a gasp. Water droplets cascade off of him, sparkling like opals as they roll down his sea-blue armor. Any other time they would be beautiful. But not now. Definitely, not now.
He hefts Wild more firmly in his grip, kicking madly to keep the hero’s head out of the water. Blood drains down from the gash across his forehead. It pools in the crystalline liquid surrounding them, turning wispy in its unforgiving current.
Twilight sweeps it away as he begins paddling one-handedly toward the shore.
“Hold on, cub,” he rasps, water burning in his throat. “We’re almost there.”
Only the lapping of tiny waves serves as his reply. The iron ball of worry situated in Twilight’s gut solidifies further. He can hardly comprehend it past the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but it is there nonetheless. It sets his heart pounding harder, makes his breathing more erratic.
The shore is in sight, however, and he battles toward it with a strength he does not feel.
Wild’s long hair flows beside him, drifting loose and free like strands of molten gold. One of his arms breaks free from the rancher’s hold and floats crookedly. The skin of his fingers is as pale as death.
Ordona only knows how much water is currently clogging his lungs. Twilight knows better than anyone how painful a fall from the Great Bridge is. And the hit he had taken beforehand had practically sealed his doom.
More than likely, he had been unconscious long before he collided with the dark waters of Lake Hylia.
It had taken Twilight at least five minutes to find him and five more to free him from the debris that he had become tangled in. Every single second had felt like a dagger to his heart.
When the heroes had landed in his Hyrule a week earlier, he had been overjoyed. To be able to show them the land he had fought for and the home he loved was more than he could have ever asked for. Especially, where Time and Wild were concerned. So, when Wild begged to go for a ride with him across the rolling plains, how could he refuse? Why would he?
He should have, Twilight thinks bitterly, spitting a mouthful of water. Or at least, he should’ve asked another hero to come along with them. Time, perhaps.
But it had been so long since he had gotten to spend some time with his best friend. It had truly been wonderful, just the two of them, laughing as they flew across Hyrule.
Until the black-blooded monsters had attacked.
His feet connect with murky mud. Gasping, Twilight drags himself up onto the bank, releasing his hold on Wild. The hero’s body lands in the mud with a sickening squelch. He lies where he has fallen, eyes closed, lips and skin the same shade as his tunic.
“Come on, Wild.”
Twilight pulls himself up onto his knees, forcing leaden limbs into cooperation. Trembling fingers find Wild’s icy cheek, then travel down, searching his neck for a pulse point.
“Come on. I know you’re tougher than this.”
His voice cracks, desperation cleaving through all else. No steady throb responds to his touch. No breath issues from the nostrils he hovers a hand over.
(No mischievous grin quirks the champion’s lips, lighting his eyes with an infuriating energy. No teasing remark lifts Twilight’s spirits…and ignites his ire. No hand settles upon his shoulder, warm and rough, scarred and steady. Comforting.)
Inhaling a ragged, gasping attempt at a breath, Twilight places his hands over Wild’s chest and pushes down hard.
There was a kitten, when he was young, that had somehow ended up in the river. He had fished it out with careful hands. Then, as tears streamed down his cheeks, he had brought it to the one person he knew could fix anything.
And sure enough, she had. With warm hands and steady breaths, Uli had coaxed it back to life. After that, she taught him how to do the same. So that he could always try to save those dear to him, whether animal or human.
Now, as he places his mouth over Wild’s and breathes for him, he is more grateful than ever that she did so. If he didn’t have this, he doesn’t know what he would do. He doesn’t necessarily want to contemplate it.
…and if this doesn’t work…well, he can’t think about that either.
The moments begin to blend together as he continues.
Push, count, breathe. Push, count, breathe.
Twilight does it again and again, every movement fierce and desperate. His arms are shaking now from the force of it all. His muscles scream their protests. His breaths come too fast for him to garner the air he needs. Tears snake down his cheeks, fire against the frigid water that clings to him.
But he can’t stop. He won’t.
“I’m not losing you, cub,” he grits out, even as Wild remains limp. Even as he grows colder with every passing second. Every as his wounds ooze blood and his skin becomes a darker shade of blue.
The sun shines its mocking rays down upon them, turning the champion’s hair into a halo. Overhead, a bird sings a joyful song.
A sob tears its way out of Twilight’s throat.
“Damn it, Wild…breathe!”
Once more, he bends and blows breath in Wild’s still lungs. Once more, he rises and presses down on his chest. Again and again and again. An endless, relentless rhythm that tears him apart.
He’s choking on his tears now and shaking more violently than ever. His world has narrowed to just this merciless thread of moments, just the two of them, one hero trying and failing to save the other.
“I won’t…let you…leave me!”
Wild bucks beneath his hands. Sky blue eyes fly open, hazy and wild. Just as quickly they squeeze shut again as the champion pitches sideways.
Twilight holds him steady as he coughs up murky water. But it’s difficult to do so when his own body is begging to collapse. That doesn’t matter though. Not anymore.
Sweet relief covers him like a blanket.
We made it. We’re okay. Wild’s okay. My cub is alive.
Wild finishes and collapses against him, breathing hard.
Thank Ordona he’s breathing now.
Twilight wraps an arm around him, carding trembling fingers through his tangled hair. Sluggishly, those eyes search him out. A grin tugs at Wild’s lips. They’re returning to their usual pink, now, and his skin is regaining some of its color as well.
“H-hey, Twi.”
Twilight smiles. It is shaky and wet, but it’s there nonetheless, proof that this new terror hasn’t managed to break his spirit.
“Hey there cub. You alright?”
“Um-hm,” Wild hums, curling deeper into his embrace. He shivers and closes his eyes again. “I h-hate big lakes. Always t-tire me out.”
Twilight chokes out a chuckle. “Well, next time you decide to take a dip in one, clue me in first, alright? You almost gave me a heart attack.”
Wild’s hand finds his and squeezes, weakly.
“Y-yeah,” he murmurs, just a touch of cheekiness in his tone, “I’ll make sure and do…do that. Now, can we…can we go home?”
Twilight blows out a sigh.
Home. Home sounds wonderful.
“Yeah, cub,” he says, already grasping a nearby blade of grass to call Epona with. “Let’s go home.”
#febuwhump 2024#febuwhump day 13#drowning tw#blood tw#injury tw#vomiting tw#temporary animal death#linked universe#linkeduniverse fic#whump#angst#trin writes#lu twilight#lu wild
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Snippet - Ask the Experts - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO
Vi learns a thing or three...
Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO
Snippet:
"I need her back, Nao," she whispered. "My sister's all I have. She’s kept me going for seven fucking years. And if I can't save her, then—then I've got nothing left."
Nao cradled her close, and whispered, "Maybe she doesn't need saving."
"Huh?" Vi blinked wetly. "What do you mean?"
"Maybe she's where she wants to be." Nao's fingers tipped Vi's chin. "Maybe she's throwing up walls because they're what's keeping her safe."
"Safe from what?"
"The past," Nao ventured. "Or you. It doesn't matter. Maybe she's in the middle of her own maze, and she's scared. Until she finds a way out, she'll keep those walls up. Maybe she's afraid to lose sight of where she's headed, and how far she's come. Maybe, to her, looking back means losing sight of the future."
"Who's future? Hers—or Silco's?" Vi's teeth sunk into her lip, but the words slipped out. "Look, I...I gotta ask. Do you know anything? About them?"
Nao's expression, beneath the softness, seemed to calcify. "Them?"
"Jinx," Vi said, hating herself for it. "Silco."
Nao was silent a moment. Then she said, softly, "He's devoted to her."
"That's not what I'm asking." Vi fought down a hot surge of bile. "There's rumors. So many fucking rumors. That he and Jinx, they're—together. In the worst way. Jinx denies it, and Silco, too. But—the way they act, sometimes, it's like they're the only two people in the world. They're always together. Like a package deal. She's always clinging to him. Always looking to him, like he's the one holding her up. It's—it's like they've got this..." She groped for the word. "Intimacy."
Nao stayed quiet. When Vi met her eyes, they were shadowed. Nao knew something, but the knowledge ran deep.
"The Eye," she murmured, "has someone in his life."
Vi's pulse spiked. "Are you saying—?"
"It's not Jinx. She's his family. And like family, they keep each other close. Close like a knife under a pillow." Her eyes slid away, and her voice dipped. “But there's someone else. Someone he relies on. He doesn't show her off, but when she's by his side, he's different. He's... not softer, but steadier."
"Who," Vi pressed. "Who’d be crazy enough to be with him?"
"I can't tell you. But I'll say it's serious."
"How serious?"
The smile was back, but the shadows remained. "As serious as it gets without a ring."
"Then you've seen it." Vi's gut churned. "Seen them. Together."
"I see plenty. I hear more."
Nao slid a leg over Vi's waist. Straddling her, she arched over Vi’s recumbent body. Dark locks fell in a perfumed curtain. Vi could smell the musk of sex beneath the sweetness of mint. Her body was a warmly debauched garden. And it should've aroused Vi, except Nao's face was a polished oval. All her tells carefully hidden.
Vi wondered if this was her visage, her persona, for Silco. Or if there was a different self beneath the façade.
One reserved only for his enemies.
"I'm good at what I do, Vi," she said. "And the Eye knows it. He values my services. And my discretion."
"I'm not asking for dirt."
"You aren't. But he would." Nao's fingertips traced her jaw. "We all have a part to play. And I have to play mine right. I won't be in this life forever. Three years from now, I won't be his favorite. But I'll have what I need to walk away. And when I do, I want it to be on my terms. No loose ends."
Vi swallowed. "Loose ends?"
"Something that can be used to yank me back." A phantom of pain flitted across her face. "Or force me under someone's boot."
"And that's why you chose Zaun," Vi surmised grimly. "Why you chose Silco."
Nao's brow arched. "Is that jealousy I hear? Or judgement?"
Vi's cheeks heated. Her palms, skating down the hourglass dip of Nao's waist, starfished her full hips. "I just don't get it, is all. You could've had any heavy hitter in the world. Instead, you've got a guy who's—" The words stuck like paste. "He's fucking awful, Nao. A monster. You can't tell me you enjoy being with him. Even if you're just playing a part."
Nao's head tipped, as though pondering the clumsy words. Then she shook it. "It's not about enjoyment."
"Then what is it about?"
"Power," Nao said simply. "The Eye controls the underworld. I control his pleasure. With one hand, I give. With the other, I take. It's a balance. And in between, for a little while, we're both satisfied." She shrugged. " I've had clients far worse. Men who can't be bothered to shower, let alone groom. Others who think their cocks are magic, or a woman's body is the mouth of hell. The most tedious are the ones who need to be coaxed out of their shell, and coaxed to sleep after." She gave a wry laugh. "They don't need a fuck. They need their mother."
Vi's heart gave a sick patter. "And him? What's he need?"
"His needs are—complex. There's a labyrinth where his mind should be. You never know what turn he'll take or what door he'll slam shut. You're always left second-guessing. Always waiting for the blow-up." A strange smile slinked across her lips. "In the bedroom, that's not without its merits. Sometimes, he reminds me of you."
Vi bridled. "Ugh, that's sick."
"That's the truth." She leaned in, the tips of her breasts ghosting Vi's. Between them, her pendant was an icy lick. The Eye's insignia flashed, and her own eyes glinted. "He's harder to read than you are. Harder to satisfy. But in a good mood, he can be generous. Patient. And very... inventive."
Revulsion crept through Vi. The idea of Silco and Nao, in bed, doing the same thing she and Vi had shared, was beyond the pale. She didn't even dare contemplate what perversions he might be capable of.
And yet...
"What's he like when he's not?" she said, then instantly regretted it. "I mean—he doesn't... force you, does he?"
Nao laughed, but it held no mirth. "It's not about force, Vi. It’s about loyalty. That's the currency he deals in."
"Blood and bullets."
"No. Those are tools. What he's willing to trade. What he wants?" A beat. "That’s simpler."
"What do you mean?"
Nao swooped in, and nuzzled her ear. "Everything."
#arcane#arcane league of legends#arcane silco#silco#forward but never forget/xoxo#forward (never forget)/xoxo#arcane jinx#jinx#arcane vi#arcane violet#vi#violet#nao/maven#snippet
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from hero to the hunted
Summary: a brief glance into the ways John Dory coped with the isolation, and how the hell a Pop Troll managed to survive for twenty years in the mountains
Warnings: gutting a massive fish (it gets a bit gross), grieving, check Ao3 port for full tags
Authors Note: I've been thinking of how in the fuck he survived out there in isolation since I saw the movie, now I've written about it so I can sleep easy at night. anyways! hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checkin the ao3 port, it really means a lot
"It's just me and my armadillo now, I guess," John Dory said, out loud, too himself, even though no one else existed in this empty forest. It was just him and his armadillo, which he was going to kill for meat, but chose against it when he realized she was sort of... Hollow.
She didn't have any meat, she was just an exterior, why she was like that he didn't know. And he would've left her alone, forever, but she decided to nuzzle up against his leg and chirp at him and he couldn't deny that. Only a monster would deny that, so he picks her up and starts on his way to carry her through the woods so she doesn't step on anything sharp.
It's kind of stupid, adopting an armadillo for no reason other than 'she looked at me and made sound' but he's a big brother. He's the oldest brother, he's spent his entire life before leaving being the caretaker. Their parents just paid attention to each of them equally and it didn't feel like enough, so he decided to start taking care of his little brothers too. Packing lunches, doing laundry, just being as good a brother as he could be before the band started.
And now it's been four years since he left, he's twenty one and he's probably going a little bit crazy with the isolation. Just a little bit nutty, a minuscule amount of absurd with how much he hasn't interacted with anyone or anything in years. Maybe that's why he's picking up this little creature and carrying her around like she's his little sister. He needs a placeholder to fill that void of a little creature in his life, that'll fend off the depression if nothing else.
"I'm gonna call you Rhonda," John stated as he placed her down on a log and started on foraging on some small twigs and slightly larger rocks for a fire pit.
Rhonda just chirps in response.
-/-/-/-
"I think it's a big one!" There's a laugh on his voice as reels in dinner for the night. It fights, thrashing and kicking up a massive splash of water every which way.
Rhonda is quick to amble over and bite the back of his vest tugging him just a bit whenever he lurches forward. Step by step she slowly pulls him back while keeping the cord from snapping with the tautness of it.
"Thanks girl, I'll save you the liver," John promises, it elicits a purring chirrup from Rhonda. He yanks the rod one last time and the fish is in the air, falling down to the ground in seconds, "Hold it down for me."
The armadillo does as told, pressing one paw on the tail fin to keep it down despite it's writhing. She bats it once or twice with her other paw while John grabs his knife, although it's more of a cutlass compared to the size of his body. He drives it through the eye and holds it until the fish stops moving, Rhonda steps back, resting on hind legs as John works.
He works smoothly really, digging the tip of the knife into the tender underbelly of the fish and running it up to the base of the jaw. Blood is minimal, but it still drips from the frayed flesh as he pops on his goggles. He takes a deep breath before diving into the complete and utter darkness. It's dripping with whatever rests inside of a fish's organ cavity and it used to make him feel like vomiting, but that was a long time ago, back when he could still carry Rhonda in his arms.
It's a pulsing and oozing mess, but he persists, cutting the cords and just hauling them out like they're anything but organs. He takes extra care with the liver and tosses it to Rhonda specifically before sliding out and moving onto cutting off the head.
"I hope you like that liver, this guy was living offa swamp scum," John commented as he lopped off the head, severing the spine with a practiced ease to his motions.
He's twenty seven now, ten years into his isolated life in the mountains and the forests and the swamps. He doesn't know how much longer he's gonna stay out there for either, he's probably a freak to the average Troll society now. He's happy here anyways. He has Rhonda, he has his sword, he has a group photo of him and his brothers before everything went wrong.
He's absolutely odd these days, positively so, talking a shocking amount of thoughts that enter his head. Eating whatever plants don't look poisonous and having Rhonda hit him with those defibrillator paws if he passes out from said plant. Cutting open giant fish and other assorted creatures that he comes across. He can store most of his stuff inside of Rhonda anyways, he could sleep in her if he wanted too, but the nights are never cold enough he has to leave her alone at night.
"Hey girl, can you get a fire going for me?" He asked rather loudly as he worked on trying to wedge some of the bones from delicate fish flesh. It was a tedious process but he'd rather do so than risk Rhonda choking on some bones.
There's a loud rumbling purr before Rhonda walks off to get some sticks.
-/-/-/-
It's a bad night, age thirty and he's spending another night laying awake thinking of his brothers and he left them. He thought he dropped this habit on his sweet, sweet twenty sixth birthday where he found an abandoned barrel of lager. He drank himself into a waking coma that night and came too about a week later, semi naked and covered in tinsel and hay. He still shudders to learn where that tinsel came from, but even more so about where the fuck the hay came from.
He's sleeping inside of Rhonda that night, the cold bite of winter air too much for him to bear. He's stuck staring at the ceiling with his few mementos of what his brothers were lay beside him plastered to a wall. He knows they've changed by now, for fucks sake, he's changed, albeit, probably for the worse considering how feral he is. He eats meat, he's always on the run from some monster, he talks to his armadillo van, he definitely wouldn't be able to just assimilate back into society.
John heaves a sigh, tears are hot on his face and his body shudders as he exhales. He misses his brothers. He misses the nights he'd spend falling asleep nestled against Spruce cause he stressed too hard over the song line ups, or he worried too much about his brothers in one way or another. He misses having Floyd there to try and calm down, he regrets not listening to his younger brothers worries and soothing words. He misses all the jokes and the choreography that Clay would carefully craft for them, he misses their secret handshake. He misses Spruce, he misses Floyd, he misses Clay, he (somewhat) misses Branch.
He doubts they miss him, he broke the one law of eldest sibling: never leave you baby brothers. He shattered it, he ran off to the mountains and he's been in said mountain for thirteen years hiding and scavenging. He left, he abandoned them to go be 'brolone' and he's experiencing a intense wave of regret again when he was sure he was over it.
"This is fucking stupid,"
He's an idiot, he thought he'd be fine alone. He adopted an armadillo, he killed her parents, her siblings, he killed all of them and took her in to replace his brothers. He can't go alone, he's not built like that. There's no more stress to keep all of his pieces together, he's gotten so comfortable in the mountains the wilderness fear has gone down too much to act as a substitute.
John just rolls onto his side, away from where his few memorabilia of his brothers exist. Out of side out of mind. He's crying because he lost his favorite vest to the woods, not because he lost his brothers due to his own hubris. Definitely not, and maybe if he tells himself that lie enough times he'll believe it.
#trolls fanfic#trolls band together#john dory trolls#rhonda trolls#trolls 3#he deserves to go a little bit peculiar with the isolation. a little bit feral. to gut some massive fish.#writing#fanfic#fanfiction
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Autumn Wins You Best By This (a birthday gift for shen qingqiu)
Felt like writing something for SQQ's birthday, but none of my SQQ related projects were anywhere near completion. So I decided to write a totally unconnected scrap of bingqiu fluff. No plot, no setting, just the two of them talking about Shen Qingqiu's crippling imposter syndrome. Enjoy~ *(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭*
--
Xiu Ya flew like an arrow through the air, embedding itself point-first in the Oxen Devouring Flame Grub's carapace. The point found a crack in the creature's natural armor plates, and with a powerful pulse of spiritual qi, tore it apart.
Bug guts, lightly flaming, showered gently over the ravine. Luo Binghe applauded enthusiastically, his eyes shining. "Shizun is so cool!" he cried out. "Taking out the beast with a single blow -- my master's power truly is without peer!"
Shen Qingqiu lifted his hand, making a sword seal to bring Xiu Ya back to its sheath. A grimace ticked up the side of his mouth just a hair; anyone less attuned to the microexpressions of Shen Qingqiu's face would not have noticed it.
Luo Binghe, of course, was and he did.
He waited to say something about it until they were back on their journey, past the interruption caused by the rampaging monster. He nudged his way over to Shen Qingqiu's side, and bullied his way gently into the line of his gaze. "Shizun," he asked. "Why don't you like being complimented on your skill?"
Shen Qingqiu looked away, embarrassed. "Binghe has noticed?" he muttered.
"It's not only when I say it," he replied. "You don't like it when the other Peak Lords comment on it, either. Even when its civilians praising your skill as a cultivator, it makes you uncomfortable."
Shen Qingqiu stayed silent for a long time, but Luo Binghe knew him well enough by now that he would answer, eventually, if he wasn't pushed. Indeed, after another half-mile of travel fell behind them, Shen Qingqiu sighed and capitulated.
"Binghe knows, does he not," he began, "That this master... is not the original Shen Qingqiu."
Luo Binghe nodded. He'd always known there was something odd about Shen Qingqiu, but that particular truth had come out in a spectacular manner when the System that had pulled him into their world in the first place began to break down, glitching spectacularly and pulling Shen Qingqiu into uncontrollable fits in its death throes. Luo Binghe had to go into Shen Qingqiu's dreams and memories at that time, and had seen a world there that was alien to his own eyes.
Shen Qingqiu had told him that much, afterwards. He'd had to tell him something. But they'd never really talked about it. What could he possibly say?
"Then you know... that this power wasn't something I worked for," Shen Qingqiu confessed. "When I awoke in this world, Shen Qingqiu -- the first Shen Qingqiu -- had already cultivated into a powerful immortal. All that you admire, it's his accomplishment, not mine. Every use of that power is a reminder of that -- that I am a fake, a loser." What the hell am I doing here...
Luo Binghe fell silent for a long moment, leaving Shen Qingqiu to stew in his own imposter syndrome. But Shen Qingqiu could see the thoughts whirring furiously inside his head.
"Shizun," Luo Binghe said in the end. "Do you think this disciple is also a fake?"
"What?! No!" Shen Qingqiu flailed and sputtered. "Why would -- not at all!! Binghe is the coolest, the strongest, the emperor of all demons --"
"But I didn't work for this strength, either." Luo Binghe held up his hand, flexing his fingers so that the black claws would extend from his fingertips. "This power, this royal lineage that the demons bow to... It was just handed to me, when my demon blood awoke. Does that make me a loser?"
"Of course n --" Shen Qingqiu broke off, sighed. He saw the trap, he saw the point Luo Binghe was trying to make, but -- "It's not the same."
Luo Binghe tilted his head to one side. "Why?"
Why, indeed. How was Shen Qingqiu supposed to answer that?!
"Because... even if your power is innate, you still had to learn to use it," Shen Qingqiu said at last. "It came on you without warning, you had to practice and train --"
Luo Binghe was nodding along, a smug little smile on his face. Shen Qingqiu broke off, rolling his eyes. Cut him a break, please! Binghe is the ultra-cool protagonist, and Shen qingqiu is just an old man who spent all his time on the internet! We are not the same!
"And besides... you paid for your strength in other ways," Shen Qingqiu said softly. The story had turned out well in the end -- or at least, better -- but a part of him would always still ache at what his poor white lotus had gone through. "You had to suffer... you were afraid."
Luo Binghe shook his head. "I don't think suffering made me better, Shizun," he said, matching Shen Qingqiu's tone for softness. While Shen Qingqiu was reeling from that, he followed it up with: "And besides -- I think that when you came here, you were afraid, too."
Yes.
Yes, he had been afraid. Of the new world generally, of his own destined fate specifically, of being found out, of fucking things up -- even of Binghe, small and cute as he had been back then. But what was his fear, his pain, in the face of Binghe's?
Luo Binghe hadn't finished talking. "Maybe you were given power you didn't work for. But, so was I," he continued. "I don't think where power comes from matters as much as what we choose to do with it. And you have always chosen to be good with it."
Shen Qingqiu swallowed. He had a lump in his throat and an itching in his eyes, probably some monster ash that had gotten blown in his face. "I don't deserve you," he said, and his voice came out very small.
"I choose you," Luo Binghe said firmly. "You are the man I love, and I would not want you to be anyone else."
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Rhett x Tess: a supernatural au
Summary: After a particularly bad hunt, Rhett and Tess need some reassurance - and relief.
Pairing: Hunter!Rhett Abbott x Hunter!OC (Tessa Abernathy)
Word Count: 1367
Warnings: established relationship, blood/gore mention, gun mention, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI (neck grabbin', slight blood kink if you squint, unprotected pinv, public sex, rough sex, creampie, an emotional turn there at the end)
✎……likes are great but comments/reblogs are even better!
✎……listen this was originally part of a kinkmas in july thing i wanted to do but couldn't go through with do to life but this has been sitting in my drafts for forever (so yes, I'm still on hiatus) and SINCE it's July i thought...why not. so here ya go.
Blood. So much blood. They were both drenched in it — soaked down to their bones. It matted down their hair and squelched in their boots. The whites of their eyes shining bright in the moonlight as they walked back to Rhett’s truck.
A Skinwalker. Nasty shapeshifting beast. It took a week to track him down and even longer to lure and trap him in that barn. Eventually, Rhett got him with the silver loaded shotgun just as the thing was about to jump down on them — eat their hearts right out of their chests. The monster exploded in blood and guts everywhere. Not a pretty sight. But at least they were alive.
They reached the truck, parked behind the old barn, and Rhett threw their supply bag into the bed.
His hands still shook with leftover adrenaline. They itched to move, to fight, to do something. He glanced over at Tessa. She stood right beside the truck, rocking in place, blue eyes focused off in the middle distance.
He hated using her as bait. But they were low on options and time before the Skinwalker killed again. She knew what she was getting into, loving him, involving herself in his family’s business. She took to it like a natural, like she was raised to be a Hunter. But this job was harder than most.
It was adrenaline and relief and fear all at once. He knew what his hands itched to do.
Boots crunching through the thin layer of gravel, Rhett reached her in only a few strides. He took her bloody face in his bloody hands — and she looked up at him without hesitation.
“Thought I lost you,” he whispered as he tugged her close, pressing every inch of her to every inch of him.
The corner of her mouth ticked up. “S’gonna take a lot more than that t'get rid’a me, Abbott.”
He kissed her like he was hungry for it. Like he wanted to devour her. Heart and all. Violent in its desire. The copper tang of blood infected each kiss, each swipe of their tongues, but neither of them cared. A broken moan echoed in her throat and got caught in his mouth as he backed her up against the side of the truck. Her back collided with the metal with a dull thud. Tessa fisted his bloodied shirt in her hands, tugging and pulling and urging him as close as she could get.
The sound of his veins pulsed in his ears as he gripped her throat in one large palm. He could nearly get his fingers to touch at the nape of her neck. As his other hand snaked between them and cupped her cunt through her jeans. She broke away from his lips with a cry, head tilting back to smack against the truck door unceremoniously.
Blood. Everything was blood. The taste of her. The crimson on their skin. The sound in his ears. Rushing and rushing and rushing inside him until it came to a red, burning hot halt in his cock.
“Need you,” he whispered, hoarse and low, in her ear.
He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop devouring. His lips dragged across her cheek, his hand pressing into her — forcing her onto her toes. Tessa could feel it. The hard press of him against her stomach. She needed this too. This relief, this reassurance. Fast and greedy and nasty as it was.
She nodded and that was all he needed.
Pulling her away from the truck, Rhett opened the door and urged her to get inside. Everything happened in a rush. She climbed inside, scooted back on the bench seat as she undid her blood crusted jeans and worked them off over her boots. Rhett clambered in after her, on top of her, belt already hanging loose. He captured her mouth in another starving kiss as he pushed her further up the bench.
A ripping sound cracked through the cab of the truck. And then he had her underwear, now nothing more then a scrap of cloth, tossed onto the floor.
She liked that pair but she didn’t even care. Everything just felt so hot. Her skin, the blood, the slick that coated her thighs. But it wasn’t enough. As she laid there and watched her lover pull himself from the confines of his jeans, she wondered if it ever would be. If this ache would ever go away.
There was no preamble, no prep, no foreplay. He slipped the plush tip between her folds — slicking himself with her juices. Catching against her clit.
“Rhett,” she breathed into his ear, insistent, begging.
“I know,” he answered, lining himself up. “I got what ya need.”
He pushed in slowly, but he didn’t wait for her to adjust. Normally, he would take his time. Let her feel every inch of him. But this wasn’t about that. This was carnal, this was base instinct, animalistic, rough and ready. Blood covered bodies after a hunt on the bench seat of his truck.
Tessa cried out, broken and breathy, as he bottomed out inside her. Filled her to the brim. She felt him in her guts, in her bloodstream. Her fingers tangled in his hair and held him close. Rhett groaned, braced on his forearms, face screwed up in concentration as he paused for only a moment.
Then he drew up onto one knee, his other foot planted on the truck floor, hands firm on some of the only parts of her that weren’t coated in blood as he lifted her hips completely off the bench to follow.
Tessa shouted some expletive, hands scrambling for purchase against the leather seating, at the change in angle. It hit something deep inside her that made her drool and her spine go numb. He pounded into her at a ruthless pace, making the entire truck jerk and rock from side to side. She yanked up her own shirt, pulling her breasts from the confines of her bra to roll her nipplies between her fingers.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck — tha's it,” Rhett panted above her as he pistoned his hips, fingers sure to leave more than bloody prints behind. “Can y'touch y'r pussy, baby? Play with y'r lil'clit f'me?”
Nodding, mind completely blank to everything but his words and his cock buried inside her, she trailed one hand down the clean skin of her belly. She left a line of crimson in her wake. Then she pressed two fingers into her clit and her back arched as she rubbed quick circles in time with Rhett’s thrusts.
“So good — oh, R-Rhett, please!” she cried, desperate to meet him in the canting of his hips.
But she couldn’t. He was too fast, too desperate. There was something wild and animalistic in his eyes as he roughly shoved her body onto his cock. Punching sound after sound out of her until it was nothing but his name chanted like a prayer.
Mouth dropped open, shoulders curled over like he just got punched in the gut, Rhett’s hips worked even faster — thrusts more shallow.
“Shit, fuck — need y't’cum, baby, com'on. Wanna feel it. Wan'it.”
A rolling, moaning cry tumbled from her lips as she did as he asked. Her vision flashed white, her back arched nearly completely off the bench. Every muscle tense and taut as it crashed through her. Rhett made a small noise, an oonf, as he stilled beneath the touch of her still clenching walls. His hot seed coating her insides.
For a moment, everything was still. The windows of the cab were fogged. Crickets chirped just outside the still open truck door. They both panted for breath.
Then something in Rhett’s face changed. Gone was the wild. Gone was the concentration. It was something else that Tessa couldn’t read in the dim light. But she understood when he stripped off his bloody t-shirt and collapsed against her chest. His skin was fever hot, his heart beat frantically inside his chest, and his shoulders shook only slightly as he tucked his face into the crook of her neck.
She wrapped her arms around him easily. Threaded her fingers through his hair.
“S’okay, sweet boy, I’m here. I’m here.”
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#oc: tessa abernathy#fic: here to stay#fd: outer range#supernatural au#outer range#outer range x oc#outer range imagine#outer range fanfiction#outer range fanfic#outer range fic#rhett abbott#rhett abbott x oc#rhett abbott imagine#rhett abbott fanfiction#rhett abbott fanfic#rhett abbott fic#hunter!rhett#lewis pullman
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NSFW Bo Sinclair HCs + angst
I can't believe it. I've finally managed to start carving out a little space in my mean mind where I can feel safe and comfortable thinking about Bo. This is of course thanks to help from @slutforguts @early20sfailingplenty and @visceravalentines. You three have done some amazing work helping me get comfortable with Bo, even if you don't realize it, so thank you!
Anyway Let's get to it!
Contains: Bo being a complex, complicated human being. Switch, soft needy Bo.
🚫 Minors, blank and no-age blogs are not welcome on my blog or to interact with my posts. You will be blocked. 🚫
•First things first. I think Bo is very... complex. He goes back and forth with himself a lot. On one hand, he doesn't want to be a monster. He wants to be be better than his father (I think Victor facilitated a lot of the abuse Bo faced, Trudy probably just went along or didn't care unless she was pissed a Bo) and he wants to prove his parents wrong
•On the other hand, his parents taught him, told him he was a monster, wouldn't want to disrespect the dear old folks any would he? He also enjoys feeling so powerful in instilling fear and causing suffering to his victims. Making them feel like he did.
• This means Bo is going to have very complicated feelings about you as his (potential) s/o at first. He's going to be angry at you for making him feel so soft and weak and vulnerable, but at the same time, he wants to be so, so good for you, good to you. He has to be. Show you and everyone he's not a monster.
•When Bo first meets you, something clicks for him. Something about you catches his interest, makes him feel... something. He feels some pulsing incessantly in his brain, telling him he can't let you go. He can't hurt you, he can't kill you or scare you away. He doesn't know why, he just can't. His mind is an enigma. *cue image of spilt milk*
• Now, I Cannot, CANNOT imagine Bo putting his potential s/o in the chair. One, because I can't stand the idea , personally it would destroy my mind, and I can't even fathom coming out of that and still wanting Bo. I can't. Two, like I said, Bo doesn't want to be a monster to you. He won't put you there. He doesn't want to put you through what his parents did to him.
•He might actually be somewhat skittish and more reserved around you in the beginning. He's angry he feels so soft, but he's trying to be good for you. He's still gonna be a charming flirt, he may express frustration that you don't understand at times, but he is going to try SO hard not to take his shit out on you. Any visitors that roll in during this time get the brunt of his inner turmoil Vincent's having to do serious overtime, and also hiding away. Lester too, will be less present in town.
•Things are gonna be rocky and tense for a bit.
• I don't think he's gonna want sex too soon either. He has... intense tastes when it comes to sex, and doesn't want to scare or hurt you. He may believe that his desires are fucked up. He might see BDSM as a form of torture (given that all his kink gear is stored in the torture room) and has no place in pleasure shared between two consenting adults. Oh Bo, you are so very wrong.
• Bo will probably spill his guts to you one night after heavy drinking. When his scars itch and he scratches till they bleed, and the memories are too much to bear on his own. He will pour out everything to you though gritted teeth and sobs. What happened to him and his brothers, his parents, all his complicated feelings about you and his desire to be a good man for you despite how much of a monster he feels he is because of everything. He needs to know you love him anyway, and you do.(otherwise you wouldn't be here)
• Once all is said and done, you guys can work on things more calmly. Things will be worked and talked through. They won't be perfect, but Bo will be overjoyed that he gets to have this with you. Once you guys get to work on building your sex life, this fun really kicks off. 😈
• Bo loves to be dominant (but he is a switch) He loves tying you up, gagging you, teasing you, overstimulating you, denying you, spanking you, using toys on you... There's so much he loves to do with you.
•Anything you're comfortable with, he'll do. And he will praise/degrade you for being so brave and needy for him. And he will refer to himself as Daddy if you're on board with it I don't make the rules.
If you want some samplings Bo's dirty talk...
"You're my brave, strong little darlin' ain't 'cha? Lettin' me tie you up like this and have my way with you? Look at 'cha, squirmin' for me already.
"You gonna come for Daddy, huh? Is my needy little slut ready to come for me? Thaaaat's it, there you go darlin', make a mess for me."
"Is it too much sugar? You can't take another spanking? You sure? Cause this mess you're makin' all over my lap says otherwise."
•Now, Bo is a switch. Sometimes he needs to hand over the reigns. Let someone else do the thinking but sometimes he feels he needs to be put in his place or punished. Times like those can tricky to maneuver. Check in with him often and make sure he's not pushing himself past his limits. If you're domming him and you feel like something isn't right, use your safeword. Make sure he knows you don't want to hurt him. That you don't want to actually punish him, make him suffer. Sometimes he thinks he deserves it. Keep an eye on him.
• Now when Bo just wants to be fucked dumb and out of his mind? Ohhhh fuck you're in for a treat. He won't allow you to bind his hands, but he loves it when you take his hands in yours and press them to either side of his head while you fuck him.
•He loves being overstimulated (despite what his cries and whines may suggest) Does NOT like being denied. Edging is great, but ruined orgasms and straight up denial are a no-go for him.
• For some reason I can't stop thinking about Bo being blindfolded and having as many toys as possible used on him. So... blindfolds. Good.
If you want more samplings of Bo's dirty talk...
"Oh FUCK! Please! Ri--right there darlin' Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Ah! Please... N-no more. I-I can't-- Ah Fuck! Again please. please!"
"Shit, you feel so, so, sososo good inside me. Fuck! Harder!"
lots of moans he tries to hold in, but they only turns into whines.
•Bo also loves getting on his knees and between your thighs. Because he KNOWS how powerless you are with him kneeling between your legs, staring intensely up at you with those blue eyes. He may be on his knees, but he is fully in control. He loves watching you squirm under his gaze and falling apart.
OK. Holy shit. I'm exhausted. I had to get this all out while it was still in my mind. It's waaaaaay past my bedtime but I am so happy I got to do this. I hope you enjoyed!!
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The dreams are stronger than usual tonight. Not merely flashes of corpses and blood, but more visceral scenes of carnage, battlefields strewn with bodies all dead by her hand. There is a strange heat in her gut, pulsing like the thud of her heartbeat. The beast screams, and the heat floods outward through her whole body as she sinks her hands, deep to the wrist, into bloodsoaked ragged-ripped flesh--
Narrator: You open your eyes with a lurch, and you are not in your bed. You stand above a body, which is in a state of gore nearly beyond recognition.
Her vision is white at the edges. The blood pulse sounds like a war drum in her temples, and the tadpole is squirming in rhythm. There is blood on her hands and her face and staining her shirt.
She feels alive. She feels powerful. She feels drunk with it, thick on her tongue.
Narrator: The body of that brave girl who earnestly swore to devote her life to your cause. Her blood covers you and its warmth feels like the embrace of an old friend.
Narrator: You recall nothing of how you ended up here, but your head pounds and aches.
There is very little of her left. Everything is the beast, roaring in satisfaction as the blood drips slowly down onto the sigil she drew in the dirt. Alfira stares up at her, blank-eyed, her stomach open just as Lae'zel described earlier in the evening in another context entirely - from navel to neck. Her guts decorate her body like gruesome tinsel.
She struggles for clarity, for anything resembling control.
[INTELLIGENCE] Try hard to remember something, anything.
Narrator: A single moment comes to you. The flash of abject terror in her eyes.
Narrator: Blood spilling from her lips. No time for last words.
The memory only makes the beast howl louder. She feels dizzy and sick and sated. The sigil on the ground seems to burn into her eyes.
[INVESTIGATION] Investigate your surroundings, looking for an explanation.
Narrator: There are dozens and dozens of wounds on the corpse. The killer did not stop savaging it, even when she was long gone.
Narrator: And your dominant arm aches. It aches from stabbing. Over and over.
Facts, implacable, inescapable, piling on each other as they always do. The picture coming into focus, moment by moment.
Narrator: No matter how it appears, the body is there, and the blood is on your hands. The question flows through your mind - who are you, really, that you could be guilty of such bitter business?
Wonder: what curse is in your heart, to kill in your sleep?
Narrator: Something wicked must have woken you. The contemptible pervert within must have lavished slash after slash upon the girl. But where, oh where, could that monster have come from? If only you knew yourself better...
Narrator: You don't have much time for reflection now. You need to act. You may only have a few moments before the others awaken and begin to cast blame for the hot sin before you.
The beast is slowly calming, enough for her to start to think. What good hiding what happened? She has been honest with them from the start, that this urge claws at the back of her brain. This should come as no surprise to anyone.
And yet...
There is a strange thought without cause or logic. She does not want them to see. They are not drawn to the blood as she is. They would see this as tragedy. And perhaps it is.
They will see her as a monster. And perhaps she is, too.
She wonders why that troubles her.
Prepare to face the others. You aren't going to hide.
She sits down next to the body, rests her elbows on her knees, and waits, staring into the dying fire.
Narrator: Your misdeed is bright and clear as the dawning day.
-----
Gale is the first one awake the next morning, and his shout rouses the whole camp as one. They gather around and stare at the horrific, gory tableau that greets them.
"By the gods themselves, what kind of nightmare is this?" Gale asks grimly.
Lae'zel's eyes have already moved past the body and are focused on Rakha, bloodstained and silent, sitting next to her. "And you're unclean," she says. "Why?"
Rakha says nothing, just stands slowly. The eyes are all on her, and she does not shy from them, but their judgment stabs as much as she expected it to, even if she does not understand why.
"I'm going to say something I'm confident we're all thinking," Gale says, after the silence has stretched for a while. "Was this your doing?"
"I don't know what happened," Rakha says flatly. "I woke up and she was dead."
Gale's eyes narrow. "I'm going to make the obvious point that you are covered in blood, friend. Point the finger where you will, but you're the one we've caught red-handed."
Another long silence. Rakha makes no objection. She has not 'pointed the finger' at anyone. That Gale can extrapolate facts is no surprise. She awaits the judgment.
Will they leave? Her eyes flick to Wyll and Karlach standing at a distance, their expressions troubled. What do they see in this, with all the baffling kindness under their strength?
To her surprise, though, no one moves, and eventually Gale huffs a breath out through his nose. "This is not beyond the remit of what the parasite might command," he says pensively.
Narrator: The worm in your head has never slept more peacefully. You know in your heart it was something deeper. Hungrier.
Remain silent.
If that is what they wish to believe, she will not dissuade them of it. She wants the assistance they can provide. She wants... their companionship, strange as it is to admit. But she will not waste her time arguing for something she knows to be false.
There is only one certainty. Something deep and fundamental is wrong with her. And the beast is far more in control than she believed.
Gale nods slowly, settling into his hypothesis. "If the parasite is truly to blame, we must be more vigilant than ever and hope this affliction spreads no further." He takes a step closer to Rakha, squints at her guardedly. "I'm keeping my eye on you," he says firmly.
Narrator: An uneasy feeling lingers in the air. As the inquisition departs, you are left alone with a familiar headache.
Perhaps it would have been easier if they had all left. She is left with lingering questions that have nothing to do with Alfira's death. This will cause them to take precautions, to form ulterior motives, to hide their opinions. She realizes abruptly that she had started to trust those who carry the worm with her, to expect them to answer her questions honestly. And, given the wary glare in Gale's eyes, that is no longer certain.
And the beast will still have free reign in her head.
Breathe deeply. You must uncover the cause of your mad spree, lest it happen again.
Narrator: Much is uncertain, but you know one thing for sure. The darkness will strike again, unless you find a light.
Perhaps. And yet there is so little light to be found. Wyll said that she carries her own, but there was no sign of it last night when she sank her fingers into Alfira's guts.
She wonders what he meant...
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#WELLP#WELLLLLP#i guess i should have seen this coming but ahhhhhhhhhhh#:'(#upsetting
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Wild Inhibitions - Chapter 2
Chapter 1
Astarion Ancunín x Ilwyn Crowdancer
Summary: She was young, still learning to control her wild magic when Ilwyn was abducted by the mind flayers. Little did she know that revenge for her mother's death was imminent as well as an ill timed infatuation with a vampire.
TW: character injury, blood drinking, canon typical combat, blood, language, etc.
WC: 2.3 K
Taglist: @confidentandgood, @galaxycunt, @euryalex, @inafieldofdaisies, @neonneurons, @roofgeese
“It’s not what it looks like,” he attempts to placate her, watching as shaking hands scramble for a weapon. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. It’s just that, well, I need blood.”
Ilwyn remains silent, realizing exactly what he is.
Stories of vampires dotting the Faerûn were spun among the sanctum in an attempt to frighten the only child gracing the halls. Never had she become acquainted with one until now, a slave to sanguine hunger as sharp canines glint.
“How many victims have there been?” her quarterstaff is readied and Astarion smirks; it appears the young sorceress has all but forgotten she could but ignite him with only tips of her fingers. “Hundreds? Thousands?”
“I thought I had a flair for the dramatic,” he chuckles haughtily before Ilwyn jabs at the air without any menace. It becomes painfully obvious that her combat skills are quite measly. “Stop batting at me, darling. It’s rather embarrassing.”
“And let you bleed me like a stuck boar? Hah!” Copper hair is matted from sleep, glowing eyes still groggy.
“Please.” He leers, knowing she’s far wiser than the frightened creature poised in front him suggests. “I just needed a bite. Normally bears and kobolds suffice but having to keep my energy up for battle has been...difficult. I need something more nourishing.”
“Why me?” no longer feeling she’s in immediate danger, the staff is tossed aside as spindly arms wrap around her ribs nervously. A dark gaze dips to ample cleavage while she mulls over the situation, enjoying how a tight corset hugs supple skin.
The elf’s beauty is rather unfortunate, considering how irritating Astarion finds her. Yet he’s drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
“Frankly, my dear,” a large hand tousles snowy white curls with roguish charm, “You’re the least likely to ram a stake through my chest. The Blade of Frontiers and the Gith are less inviting though I’m sure they’d taste delectable.”
“I could kill you with the snap of my fingers,” doing just that sparks an spark as the vampire is impressed the young woman finally remembered her roots of sorcery and the arcane.
“But you won’t,” Astarion stalks closer, closing the gaping space between their bodies and leaving barely a foot remaining. Realization buzzes through an undead brain as a plan is formulated. “Because a kind creature like you takes pity on a poor monster like me. After all, I’m all but chained by my condition.”
“What do I get if I allow you to feed?” looking up through wispy lashes, the dying light of the fire splashes across her face. A nervous pulse jumps in her throat that he can practically feel against the flat of his tongue.
“A rather impressive partner in combat. One that will readily gut enemies with the flick of a wrist.”
One that is no longer weak from overexertion.
But such an admission is too risky, an open wound she could exploit while Ilwyn is the one that needs to be exploited. For Astarion’s own safety. Which almost feels like a trap when she nods her head sheepishly.
“I supposed that’s not a terrible trade,” blunt teeth dig into painted lips, a dusky mauve. “Doesn’t mean I’m thrilled about it by any means.”
“Why don’t we get more comfortable?” a blush crawls up her neck before flowering across full cheeks. Astarion takes a warm hand in his own, gently pulling her down onto a rumpled bed roll. Shorn copper waves splay across a lumpy pillow, freckled chest rising and falling steadily.
He wants to ruin her. Savagely rip her apart and attempt to put the mangled pieces back together. She’s too perfect, too kind, too naïve. With hardly any convincing at all, a powerful sorceress has agreed to lend blood to a dangerous creature of the night.
“Be gentle.” She pleads in a stubborn whisper before averting her eyes. “And do not a drop more than you need.”
“Not a drop more.” Eyes as dark as wet carrion are wide, unblinking in promise before dropping her hand to the ground with a graceless thud. His own brace bare shoulders, digging into a pile of blankets before burying a sharp nose in the crook of her neck. An elixir of smoke and lavender invades his senses, making him the littlest bit needy with want. The intimacy is overwhelming yet he fights it with a searing sense of aggravation.
The icy tip of his tongue seeks out a jumping vein, heartbeat echoing in pointy ears like a war drum. Arching upward instinctively, Ilwyn grapples with one bicep as she attempts to swallow a contented sigh. Smirking in amusement, fangs are bared before easily slicing into soft sinews.
Blood of a thinking creature is indescribable. While not hearty or completely filling, there’s a tanginess that buzzes in his mouth like sipping from a goblet of rich wine. The elf’s blood is almost as sickeningly sweet as her personality, tasting of ripe cherries as the hot liquid flows down a twitching gullet.
“Astarion,” she hisses in pain, feeling as though ice has been injected directly into her carotid. Vision swims out of focus as he continues to dine upon her as small fists weakly knock against a solid chest. “Stop…”
Either she isn’t heard or is simply ignored before squirming beneath the man. Panicking, Ilwyn struggles to push him away, overpowered by a mass of muscular limbs. Unable to focus on an incantation, she kicks her legs dazedly before the vampire is pulling away, blood smeared across his lips.
For a moment he looks content as the woman attempts to calm her nerves before something unexpected happens. But that’s far too late as a puddle of mud bubbles to life, garnering their attention as a dirty and diminutive creature flaps a pair of leathery wings.
She summoned a mephit. And then another.
A cacophony erupts in camp, rousing the others from their tents. As if travelling with a bunch of similarly infected strangers wasn’t already odd, finding two of them chasing after winged muddy beasts surely is.
“Why in the hells did you summon these bastards?!” Astarion whines, knife barely perforating one wing as the mephit floats higher yet. His bow is neatly tucked in his tent for the night, making combat with sky bound creatures difficult.
“It was an accident!” Ilwyn screeches, a fountain of flames desecrates one of the mephits, splattering charred chunks of mud across the front of both elves.
“What in the blazes is going on?” Wyll yawns, rubbing at his stone eye while the others emerge to take in the unfolding scene.
“Ignis!” Ilwyn ignores the question, attempting to kill the second animal that mocks them so, dodging every fiery rivulet sent its way.
“I am covered in muck!” Astarion growls while Shadowheart and Gale silently watch the theatrics unfold. Before anyone else can step in, the monster is suddenly pierced by a sharp arrow, falling with a thud. A hush falls over the camp as all eyes fall on the seething Githyanki.
“In Vlaakith’s name, who’s conjuring beasts for me to kill in the middle of the night?” Lae’zel hisses, miniscule nose pointed upwards. Ilwyn hugs herself nervously while Astarion sneers at the whole ordeal, “Chk!
It’s early afternoon when a ruined village is stumbled upon. In spite of hiking towards a goblin nest to find the druid Halsin, Ilwyn’s uncontrollable magic and Astarion’s vampirism are both popular subjects.
“Is it often that you summon mephit’s when distressed?” Shadowheart chides with the click of her tongue as the elf concentrates on balancing on a water-logged boulder. “Or should we expect more frightening beasts like hook horrors to manifest next?”
“That’s hardly fair,” Gale tuts while Astarion remains stoic. “Magic is quite the complex mistress that’s rather difficult to please. It takes a lot of practice to become an expert in the arcane. Or to become one with the weave like myself.”
“How very noble of you,” the young woman scoffs, chain laden braid swinging in the breeze. “To be traveling with the fabled Wizard of Waterdeep, a cursed enchantress, and a bloodthirsty monster. May the gods bless us.”
“Not technically a monster, darling. At least not as much as a true vampire.” Astarion jumps with a grunt, before running into Ilwyn and practically knocking her over.
“An imitation vampire. How…quaint.” Shadowheart chuckles mincingly though the man pays her jab little mind while scanning their surroundings. Cliffs rise around them, craggy rocks blossoming out of dirt and dust while not even the faintest whiff of a goblin lingers in the air.
“Where in hells are we?” he looks at their forlorn leader, shoulders beginning to slump forward as she pushes the intricate sleeves of burgundy robes up pale arms. “Well?”
“How am I ti know? I’ve never ventured this far outside of the city. All I know is we crashed across the River Chionthar.”
“You’ve taken the lead, my sweet,” he patronizes sardonically, sniffing at a rather intrusive scent of sulfur and brimstone. “Why don’t you lead us? Unless you’re afraid you’ll turn us into a herd of cats or summon a blizzard.”
“Careful,” she jabs one finger into his chest, reaching her limit, “Or you’ll have to start feeding off wild boars again.”
“As lovely as this bickering is,” Gale pipes up as they trudge down embankment, voice lilting the slightest bit, “I think we’ve bigger issues concerning us.”
Across a rushing vein of water is a hulking Tiefling, devil red and engulfed in flames. One horn is cracked off signifying that this must be Karlach. Carefully approaching, weapons drawn, she roars with an unbridled fury before the flames quell in a suffocating hiss.
Amber eyes soften as a welcoming grin stretches across her face.
Ilwyn can’t help but think that Wyll’s assumptions were incorrect as another drifter is added to an ever-growing gallery of rogues.
Gale is all too happy to hike back to camp, to bury himself in the comfort of musty tomes and scrolls while Karlach joins the search for the goblin camp. For a Tiefling from Avernus, she’s in rather high spirits and keeps both Shadowheart and Astarion occupied with conversation.
Ilwyn is grateful the attention is off of her magical mishaps and the bloody wound congealed against her throat. She doesn’t notice but the vampire’s gaze is oft drifting back to her visage as they hike across the Faerûn. Something about the young woman beckons him, how she uses the tadpole to talk a hoard of goblin raiders out of a fight at a broken windmill before freeing a gnome without even considering a reward.
Yet the she’s as clumsy as she is persuasive, practically slipping off a cliff when the rogue finds himself wrapping an arm around a her waist. If she dies, so does his chance of survival.
“Watch your step, darling,” he hums, pulling her back against his chest for an instant. Her heart skips a beat, making lush lips curl over pointed canines. They’ve hardly been banded together very long and her resolve is beginning to crumble. But before she can even push him away, her eyes freeze across the horizon.
An old temple looms in the distance, enveloped by a thick fog as the orange roar of a campfire is subdued by the darkness. The four adventurers breathe in unison at the foreboding sight. They’re one step closer to finding Halsin, finding a cure. Then they’ll be rid of each other.
Rid of the wretched Ilwyn, Astarion thinks as she’s still held flush against him. Her enveloping warmth is overwhelming, clouding his senses before she’s being propelled forward on stumbling feet.
He doesn’t need her. Or she him.
“That looks creepy as shit,” Karlach announces, fingers wrapping around the handle of a battered great axe.
“Place is likely crawling with a slew of goblins if Aradin is to be believed,” Shadowheart interjects haughtily as their attention falls on the de facto leader of the rag tag team. Strands of bright hair whip across freckled cheeks as the sorceress silently ambles forward and towards a cobblestone bridge.
“What in the hells is the matter with you?” he screeches over one shoulder as a flame incinerates a shabby drum. It’s a smart, to assure they can’t contact the rest of rather grubby cohorts.
“Would you have rather I smeared shit across my face?” Ilwyn hisses as the two take turns at slew of charging goblins. The Tiefling chuckles, unrestrained as a sharp blade bears down on the weak skull of a fallen enemy.
“I thought it was pretty badass!” then Karlach is bounding up an incline with a roar as a stubby tracker attempts to sprint away.
“As long as the devil enjoys it!” Astarion huffs, grabbing a goblin by shoulder as a sharp blade is driven into the creature’s gut. Innards spill in a puddle while a whiff of burning flesh becomes prominent. “Then I’m glad you tossed dung at such a feral little beast.”
A part of him is impressed that she even thought to do something so childish and petty though it’s ending in a flowing river of blood and corpses. They have the upper hand during the battle though it’s rather messy. Shadowheart casts a series of protective spells as Karlach continues her slaughtering rage. Ilwyn hears the taut swish of arrow soaring through the air, losing track of how many enemies are left to be contended with.
And before she can turn to see the brawler approaching in her periphery, a serrated blade is tearing through a soft belly, blood blossoming across intricate robes. A bolt of light quickly consumes the vile monstrosity but the elf can feel consciousness fading as she reaches for the arm of a velvet doublet.
“What is, my dear?” Astarion licks his lips wolfishly, savoring the metaphorical taste of blood just as much as the literal. “Have another grotesque friend that needs carving?”
But there’s no response as fingers dig deeper against him before being followed by the unmistakable sound of a body slumping against the solid ground.
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A Little Human (as a Treat)
Part 1/? - Un Volontario
Part 2/? - Un Escursione
Part 3/? - Una Complicazione
Part 4/? - Una Famiglia
Part 5/? - Un Aiutante
Part 6/? - Una Ricerca
Flavia and Perla escape from Signora Pepitone - while Luca, Alberto, Giulia, and Signor Macarello find themselves trapped.
The ceramic birds were in a cabinet with a glass door, in the corner of Signora Pepitone's bedroom. There were all sorts of them, painted in bright cheerful colours. Some were things like gannets and pelicans that Flavia was familiar with, but many more were strange and unidentifiable, and some didn't look like they could possibly be real. In other circumstances she would have wanted to know all their names and where they lived, but there was no time for that now.
Perla didn't even give the birds a glance. She went right to the tall window and opened it, peering out over the railing of the Juliet balcony.
“You promise you're not just teasing about the sea monster thing,” she said.
“I swear. Cross my heart,” Flavia told her, solemnly drawing an x on her chest.
“Follow me,” said Perla.
Perla swung a leg over the railing and lowered herself onto the rail of the next balcony down. From there she dropped to the cobbled courtyard and landed on her feet, as easily as if she'd done it a hundred times before. From there, she looked up at Flavia, waiting for her to follow.
Luca had warned Flavia that if you fell on land you hit the ground pretty hard, but what Perla had just done didn't look too difficult. Flavia stepped onto the bottom rung of the railing and looked down.
Looking down did not bother her underwater, but doing it now made Flavia feel as if all the blood had rushed out of her arms and legs, leaving them immobile and cold. The distance to the ground seemed like kilometres, and the thought of falling and hitting it made her head spin. The sight of Perla waiting for her at the bottom seemed to waver, as if Flavia were seeing her through hot water.
She quickly stepped down from the railing and crouched there, gripping the bars as if in a cage and breathing hard.
“Come on!” Perla urged her.
Flavia shook her head. She knew down deep in her gut, she absolutely could not do that.
“Just don't look down,” Perla suggested.
“I can't do it without looking down!” Flavia said. “I won't know where my feet are!” Knowing where your feet were was very important on land. Why had she ever thought any of this would be a good idea? Papa Leo and Papa Giorgio always said Flavia was already perfect the way she was. She should have stayed in the water where she belonged.
“I'll tell you,” said Perla. “Keep your eyes closed if you have to and go really slow, and I'll tell you what to do. I know you can do it.”
Flavia shook her head again. She couldn't do that. What was Signora Pepitone going to think when she came back without Perla?
That thought made Flavia go cold all over again. Perla couldn't come back up, could she? There was nothing low enough for her to grab and pull herself back to the balcony, and she certainly couldn't swim back. Flavia had to climb down.
“Okay,” she said, voice wavering, and swallowed hard. Closing her eyes as Perla had suggested, she climbed over the railing, trying as she did to imagine there was floor on both sides. Her heartbeat was making her whole head pulse, but there was no sick sensation if she kept her eyes shut. She held onto the bars as tight as she could, until it hurt.
“Crouch down and hold the bars,” said Perla, “and let your feet down one at a time.”
Flavia obeyed. She felt around with one foot while Perla told her right or left, further out or closer to the wall. With those instructions, she managed to get both feet onto the lower balcony. There she clung to the railing again, eyes still squeezed shut.
“Now let your feet down and let go,” Perla said. “It's not that far. Just bend your knees when you land.”
Flavia nodded, but at first she couldn't do it. She knew she needed to let go, but her fingers wouldn't uncurl. She kept her eyes shut and counted to three, and then forced herself to open her hands.
She landed in a heap, scraping her palms and knees painfully on the gritty stones. After keeping her eyes shut for so long the light seemed far too bright when she opened them, and spots danced her in vision for a moment.
Perla took her hand and helped her up. “See? You did great!” she told Flavia. “Come on, before somebody notices us! Where will your friends be?”
“I don't know. I don't know where anything is,” said Flavia. Where would they try to go if they were looking for her? “The last place I saw them was at the zoo.”
“No, they'll be closing. It's almost dinnertime,” Perla said.
“It wouldn't be a good place to go anyway,” said Flavia. The zoo was where everybody had seen them. The Pirate Museum wouldn't be any better, because she already knew that the man and his parrot there would remember them. Where else had they been that day? Maybe the pizzeria where they'd eaten lunch? Or... “I know!” she explained. “The candy shop! Luca said the man there wouldn't care if we were sea monsters as long as we liked his sweets!”
“You mean Narciso's?” asked Perla. “Everybody knows where that is. Follow me!”
--
Dinnertime arrived, and the Macarellos started trying to make excuses.
“Don't you kids want some supper of your own first?” Felicia asked nervously.
“We had a big lunch,” said Giulia. “We'll be fine.”
“Can we please go now?” Luca begged.
“We should probably wait a little longer,” Antonio said. “The darker it is, the fewer humans will be out and about.”
“But the longer we wait, the longer Flavia is all alone up there!” Luca protested. “She could get hurt, or more lost, or in some other kind of trouble.”
“And if we wait too long, they'll all finish their dinners and come out again,” Giulia added.
Alberto gave a theatrical sigh. “I guess I was right the first time – they can't really help us. Guess we'll just have to do it ourselves after all. Let's get going, before we waste any more time.”
“Yeah, good idea,” said Luca, with a glare at the Macarellos.
Antonio groaned. “All right, all right,” he grumbled, “but we have to be as quick as we can.” He turned to his wife and took her hands. “If I don't come back,” he said to her, “you have to promise not to come looking for me. It's too dangerous. I can't let you risk it. Will you promise?”
“But, Tony...” Felicia began, her lip wobbling.
“Promise!” he insisted.
Alberto rolled his eyes.
“I promise,” Felicia said gravely.
Antonio kissed her cheek, and she threw her arms around him for a hug.
Once that melodramatic goodbye was over, they were finally able to set out for shore. Antonio Macarello made a wide circle around the harbour of San Giuseppe, staying far outside the walls the inhabitants had built as a wavebreak. Rather than straight to the town, he headed for a point south of there, where there were high cliffs similar to the ones around parts of Portorosso. The layers of rock visible in the face were at a dramatic angle, which made Luca smile to see.
“Do you know why the rocks have those stripes?” he asked Antonio. “They formed horizontally in layers of different silts, and then something like a volcano lifted it up and tilted it until it looked like that!”
Antonio frowned at him. “What?”
“Rocks start out when dirt sinks to the bottom of the sea,” Luca explained, “or sometimes tiny shells made by plankton. It all settles out of the water in layers, and it very slowly turns to stone as more stuff piles up on top of it...”
Signor Macarello's face was blank. He clearly didn't understand a word of this, but he also didn't want to be rude by ignoring what Luca was saying, so he just hung there in the water.
Giulia cleared her throat. “Maybe you can tell him more about it later, Luca,” she suggested.
“Oh,” Luca said sheepishly. “Yeah. Sometime when we're not in a hurry.”
On the other side of the projecting spur of cliff was a steep, gravelly slope leading up to a shelf of layered rock, which had broken in such a way as to form irregular steps up to a grove of a trees at the top. Once out of the water, the chilly evening breeze dried the group quickly, changing them to human form: Antonio Macarello turned out to be pale and balding, with mousy hair and a narrow moustache. Dressed in only his seagrass trousers, he was shivering as they reached the top.
“There,” he pointed. “There's the town.”
The clifftop was about a kilometre from the piazza and on a level with the rooftops of the three or four storey buildings. The sun was getting low behind them and the spur of stone they were standing on cast a long, black shadow over the town, but lights were coming on and they had a good view. The inhabitants were coming and going, or standing in groups talking much like people did in Portorosso. There were even a group of children with a football who were being shooed off the street by a woman, who was flapping her apron at them as if they were a flock of geese.
“Our bicycles will be about there,” said Alberto, pointing to the edge of the piazza. This area was in deep shadow, but they'd locked the bikes to a railing and they ought to still be there. “And the lit windows there are the candy shop.”
“The zoo is behind those buildings at the top of the hill,” Luca added.
“Then we'll start there,” said Giulia with a nod. It would be a long walk – but not as long as the conversation was going to be when they had to explain to Flavia's and Ciccio's fathers why they were so late. “Grazie, Signor Macarello.”
“Buona notte,” Luca said.
They started inland, heading for the road they'd cycled in by. Signor Macarello stood there watching them for a few moments, fretting and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, but then he ran after them. “Wait! Wait!”
The kids paused. “Yes, Sir?” asked Luca.
“You're not... you're going back to the town? After people saw you?”
“Of course we are. How else are we gonna find Flavia?” Giulia asked.
“We do this all the time, remember?” Alberto told him. “We're experts.”
Antonio shook his head. “Something's wrong. There shouldn't be so many humans out at this time. They're upset about something. The policemen are out.”
“Policemen?” Luca was surprised he knew what those were.
“How many people saw you?” Antonio wanted to know.
The kids thought about it. They hadn't counted, but even if it had been more than they thought, it didn't seem like it would be a problem.
“They won't recognize us,” Alberto decided. “Nobody was paying any attention until we Changed.”
“Everyone was watching the truck slide,” Giulia said. “The only person who might remember us in particular was Signora Pepitone.” That would only be a problem if they met her in particular again – which they might, especially if Flavia had stayed with her. If that were the case, they'd have to figure something out, but it seemed too early to worry about that.
Antonio was not convinced. “I don't like this. It isn't safe.”
“Relax! We know what we're doing,” Alberto insisted.
“Thanks for your help, Signor Macarello,” Giulia said, and gave him a friendly wave as they started off again. The message was supposed to be clear: they appreciated his advice, but they could not be dissuaded.
He stood there a little longer watching them go, then groaned and ran after them again.
“If I find out something happened to you, I'll never forgive myself!” he said, “and imagine what your parents would think of me! I can't let you go all by yourselves.”
“You can't come,” Alberto told him. “You don't have any human clothes. They might not recognize us, but they'll sure look at you funny.”
Antonio looked down at his seagrass trousers, and sighed. “Give me a moment. I'll be right back,” he said, and turned to go back down the slope. “Don't tell my wife!” he called over his shoulder.
He vanished down the hill, and Alberto immediately started heading for the road again. Luca and Giulia grabbed his arms to stop him.
“What? You're not actually gonna wait for him, are you?” Alberto asked. “Flavia's gonna be wondering what's taking us so long.”
“If he comes back and we're gone, he's gonna freak out,” said Luca.
“I'm kinda curious where he went,” said Giulia.
“He probably changed his mind and doesn't want to admit it,” Alberto snorted. “I doubt he'll come back at all.”
But Antonio did come back a few minutes later, looking very sheepish but fully dressed in blue Genovese trousers and a yellow shirt with a collar. The kids had no idea what to make of this development.
“Santa Ricotta,” Giulia murmured.
“Don't tell my wife,” Antonio repeated. “Promise?”
“Yeah, okay,” said Alberto uncertainly.
“Why do you...” Luca began.
“Let's find Flavia first. Then we can ask him,” Giulia decided.
This was probably a good plan, but it did make for an awkward lack of conversation as they headed for the road – and they couldn't help noticing that Signor Macarello never once asked them where they were going, nor did he have any of the problems sea monsters did when they got out of the water only rarely and had to remember how to walk. He'd clearly done this before, recently, and he was deeply embarrassed about it, keeping his eyes on the ground by his feet.
Giulia decided it was probably none of her business, but whatever was going on, Felicia Macarello was probably going to find out eventually. Everybody knew it wasn't good for couples to keep secrets from one another – Signora Marsigliese's husband had used to keep secrets from her, and she'd eventually taken her son Rocco and gone home to Portorosso, leaving her husband behind in Pisa alone.
Luca thought of his grandmother visiting town regularly for years without his parents realizing it, and figured it was probably okay.
Alberto thought of his father, and wondered what kind of trouble Antonio Macarello might be in.
They soon found the road and reached the petrol station the kids had passed on their way to the town that morning. A car was their refuelling, and Antonio kept his head turned away, as if afraid somebody would be able to tell what he was by looking at him. From there they entered the city itself, and had gone no more than a block when they were confronted with a policeman.
This man stood very straight and tall and looked quite intimidating with his bushy moustache and fierce eyes. He glared down at the kids and asked, “where are you folks off to this evening?” The words were arguably friendly, but the tone was not, and Luca, Alberto, and Giulia moved a little closer together even as all three tried to look brave.
“We're looking for...” Luca began.
Then, surprisingly, the policeman seemed to relax. “Tony?” he asked. “It's not Thursday.”
Astonished, the kids turned to Antonio Macarello and found him looking absolutely mortified. “Hello, Ippolito,” he said. “I'm not here to play cards... I'm just with the kids.”
“We're going to get our bicycles. We left them in the piazza centrale,” said Giulia, figuring that was the safest, least sea-monster-y story.
“Yes,” Antonio nodded.
“I didn't know you had kids,” Officer Ippolito said.
“We're not his,” said Alberto.
“They're my cousin Mario's,” said Antonio. “They're just visiting for the day.”
“They picked a hell of a day to visit,” Ippolito observed. “The whole town's going nuts. Some kind of creature escaped from the zoo and went into the storm drains, and now everybody's worried it's gonna come up through the toilets and bite them in the backside.” He shook his head.
Antonio tried to give a friendly chuckle but the result was awkward and stilted. “Some people, huh?”
“I'll escort you to the piazza,” the policeman decided. “It's not a good night for strangers to be wandering around.”
“Oh, no, that's not necessary!” Antonio held his hands up. “We know the way.”
But the officer insisted. “Some batty old lady was talking about these things assuming human form, and another fellow is very confident that his kid identified them as Martians.”
This was not a good development. The policeman would expect them to just take their bikes and go. Unless they happened to meet her somewhere along the way, that wouldn't give them any opportunity to look for Flavia. Would they have to leave again and then sneak back in?
“This is dumb,” Alberto said loudly, as the group of five headed down to the piazza. “We're obviously not sea monsters.”
“Or Martians,” said Giulia.
Luca tried another approach. “Sir,” he said politely, “we were wondering: have you seen our friend Flavia? She's shorter than any of us, with dark hair and brown eyes, and she was wearing a plaid dress and shiny black shoes.”
Ippolito thought about it. “I might have, but not that I noticed particularly. Why do you ask?”
They'd already told him they were there to get their bikes – they couldn't now contradict that and say they were searching for a lost friend. “Oh, no reason,” said Luca quickly. “She lives around here and I thought you might know her.”
The policeman nodded, unconcerned, and turned to Antonio again. “How've you been?”
“Oh, fine, fine,” Antonio replied. “I'm fine, Felicia's fine... her nephew is getting married next month so she's been helping with the planning. Everything's fine! You?” His eyes darted in several directions. “How's your, uh, your mother-in-law, wasn't it? Didn't she hurt her back?”
“Her tailbone,” said Ippolito. “She's much better, although my wife is still staying nights with her just in case she needs something.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right? I know we tease you about always being jumpy, but you seem... you know, more so.”
“Not at all!” said Antonio with a nervous grin. “Well, maybe a little. Hearing about monsters will do that to you, right?”
Alberto rubbed his face. “We should have just left while he was getting his clothes,” he muttered to his friends. Neither Luca nor Giulia replied, but they were both starting to agree.
Hoping to steer the conversation away from things that would make Signor Macarello stammer like that, Giulia asked as casually as she could, “so... how do you two know each other?”
“We've been friends since we were about your age,” Ippolito replied. “Tony always knew where the good fishing spots were, although he kept the best ones to himself. We'd be sitting there and he'd get up and wander off, and come back half an hour later with an amberjack as big as he was!”
“I couldn't tell you all of my secrets, you know!” laughed Antonio. He caught Giulia's eye and grimaced, and again mouthed the words don't tell my wife.
Alberto tried very hard not to groan out loud, and almost failed.
It seemed to take way too long to reach the piazza. As they had observed from the hilltop vantage points, there were people standing around outside the shops and bars talking – this had looked pretty normal from far away, but up close they could see the scared expressions on people's faces, and suspicious looks followed them as they crossed the pavement. People were huddled in doorways, and there were no children out.
“Are those your bikes?” Ippolito asked, pointing to a railing.
“Yes, that's them!” said Giulia. The kids went ahead and pretended to inspect their belonging, but they were all trying to think. They had to come up with a new plan now, some excuse to stay and look for Flavia. If they could find a way to do it without Antonio and Ippolito, that would be even better.
“Ippolito!” another voice called out. “Have you found something?”
“Ruggero!” Ippolito replied. “Don't worry, it's just some kids getting their bikes. They're fine. They're here with Tony from Thursdays.”
“Tony?” The man named Ruggero separated from the group he'd been talking with and came to greet them. “I don't even remember the last time I saw you anywhere but a card table! How are you?”
“Fine, fine,” Antonio repeated, looking around for an escape like a cornered animal. “I'm just here with my cousin Mario's kids. We're not staying long.”
If this were intended to make Ruggero go away, it had the opposite effect. The man had already called a third friend over. “Graziano! It's Tony!”
“Tony! You picked a terrible night to come,” said the third man. He had limp ginger hair and a bulbous nose, and while they didn't recognize his face, the kids immediately thought his voice was familiar. Where had they heard it before?
They figured it out a moment later, when Graziano looked directly at Luca. His smile melted away and he stopped short, the blood visibly draining from his face. Luca feared the man would pass out, and stepped forward to help, only for Graziano to let out a terrified shriek.
“That's them!” he declared, pointing a shaking finger at them. “That's the kids Fischietto didn't like!”
That sparked a memory: the last time they'd seen Graziano, he'd been wearing a fake beard and an eyepatch. Now he was in ordinary clothing, clean-shaven and without his parrot. He would have looked like a normal person if he hadn't been staring at them in bug-eyed horror.
Up until that moment, all the attention had been on Signor Macarello as his friends greeted him. Now, suddenly, it was on the children instead. They instinctively moved closer together, with Giulia standing between the boys and the crowd as she had at the end of the race in Portorosso. There were fewer people here, no more than a dozen rather than the entire town, but rather than having been suddenly shocked by the reveal of sea monsters, they'd been stewing on it all afternoon and were quite prepared to do something about it.
“No, it's not,” said Ippolito. “These are Tony's niece and nephews... aren't they?” He looked at Antonio. “Or... no, they're your cousin's kids.”
“Get some water!” a woman suggested. “See what happens when we wash them off!
The kids looked at each other, not sure what to do now. They were several blocks from the ocean, and there was no river to escape into here. Even if there were, they couldn't abandon Flavia all over again.
Luca stepped forward and spoke directly to Graziano. “Sir,” he said. “We don't mean any harm. We're looking for our friend, the other girl who was with us earlier.”
“The one who didn't know parrots could talk,” Alberto agreed.
“Once we find her, we'll just go and never come back,” Luca finished.
Graziano seemed to consider that. He looked at Alberto and Giulia standing protectively on either side of their friend and realizing that there was indeed one child missing. Before he could properly react, however, the woman who'd spoken a moment ago shoved him out of the way and threw a bucket of water over them.
There wasn't enough water to soak any of them from head to toe, but plenty enough to prompt partial transformations. Giulia had once again moved forward to protect the boys, and she got the worst of it. Only then did she properly remember that circumstances had changed since last summer, and now she was in just as much trouble as they were. The people around them gasped in horror, taking in the sight of children who'd just grown fins and scales, and whose eyes glowed in the dark. Ippolito's mouth fell open in disbelief.
“Don't let them get away!” the woman declared.
“No, wait!” Antonio protested, as the humans seized the three kids. He'd been far enough behind them as to not be badly splashed, though he was wiping his hands on his shirt to get stray drops off them.
The man called Ruggero grabbed Luca and twisted his arm behind his back, making him squeak in pain. Graziano got a hold of Alberto, only for the boy to bite him and wriggle free. He ran to help Luca, but somebody else pushed him over, and he fell against Ippolito. That seemed to bring the policeman out of his shocked freeze, and he was able to wrestle Alberto onto his back and handcuff him. Giulia twisted and squirmed as people tried to hold onto her, and kicked the woman with the bucket in the shins. The woman retaliated by swinging the bucket at her, hitting her squarely in the nose.
“Stop!” Antonio begged, grabbing Ippolito's arm. “They're just kids!”
“Kids? Did you see that?” Ippolito dragged Alberto to his feet. Alberto had already changed back to human form, but his furious expression suggested he was not averse to biting again anyway.
“Yes, I saw, but they're still children,” Antonio pleaded. “They're not going to hurt you. What are you even planning to do with them?”
“I...” Ippolito paused, u sure of how to answer that. “I'll follow procedure,” he decided. “We'll lock them up for now, and have the witnesses from the zoo identify them as the creatures they saw. Then we... uh... I'll have to ask my superiors what they think.”
“We didn't do anything wrong, though!” Luca protested.
“You can't just throw them in jail for no reason,” Antonio agreed.
“Think about what you're saying, Tony,” said Ippolito. “They're not your cousin's kids. They can't be.”
“No, they're not,” Antonio admitted, “but that doesn't mean they're here to hurt anyone.”
“How can you be so sure?” Graziano demanded of him.
Antonio gulped and looked in the direction of the ocean. Was he tempted to just run? If so, he resisted, and took a deep breath. “I'm... I mean, you know I'm not dangerous, right? You've known me for years, and I've never been dangerous except to the fish. I'm more scared of you than you are of me, and I,” he declared, “am a sea monster, too!”
The others stared at him.
“Go on! Splash me!” Antonio said.
Nobody moved.
Antonio looked around, and saw the woman with the bucket. There was still a little bit of water in the bottom. He grabbed it and turned it upside down over his head. It wasn't nearly enough to transform him fully, but enough to bring out mustard-coloured scales on his face, a few fins, and one eye with a vertical pupil.
“See? If you lock then up, you have to lock me up, too!” he said.
Ippolito stared a moment longer, then turned Alberto over to Graziano, who held onto him more carefully this time, gripping by the shoulders so Alberto couldn't try to bite again. Then the policeman took Antonio's arm.
“This way,” he said. The rest of the onlookers brought the children along, and they crossed the piazza to the little police station. This was one office room with a man sitting in it doing paperwork, who glanced up with disinterest when the children were brought in, then jumped to his feet when he saw Antonio, who was still partially transformed. He did not ask questions, however, and just stood watching while Ippolito and the others escorted the sea monsters none too gently through a second door and into the single cell beyond.
This must have been one of the oldest structures in the entire town, perhaps part of the long-lost Castello di San Giuseppe which had been built there in the middle ages to watch out for pirates – there'd been a model of it in the Museum of Piracy. It had stone walls and three little holes in the floor to allow water to drain, and only one window, which was high up in the far wall to look onto the roof of the building behind. A bench along the wall below it was the only place to sit. The door closed behind them with a squeal of rusty hinges, and the key went clank in the lock.
“All right, everybody, we're done here,” said Ippolito. “We've got it handled, and all of you need to go home now.” He shooed at the crowd, and they, reluctantly, began to file out. Ippolito waited until they were gone, and then looked back at the prisoners a moment before shutting the door between the cell and the office and pulling a chair over to sit down and keep an eye on them.
#pixar luca#luca 2021#luca paguro#alberto scorfano#giulia marcovaldo#ercole visconti#fanfiction#a little human (as a treat)
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Can we have prompt 52 with sukuna
prompt: exhausted numbness after crying
warnings shibuya incident/jjk spoilers!! manipulation, a breakdown
sensory prompts
this was written in a disconnected way on purpose<3 enjoy! its a bit long for a drabble (1.7k)
Hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight as the voice behind you repeats itself. You had paid it no mind initially, not realizing that they were talking to you. And certainly not even recognizing the voice itself. But it’s clear that he is speaking to you, in the revered, venomous way your name curls on his tongue.
It’s Yuuji’s face you see when you turn around, but it’s not his voice. It’s the voice of a demon, of a monster, of a legend told to children when they’re misbehaving.
Sukuna’s voice shouldn’t carry as much black honey as it does. “Hello, darling,” he murmurs, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He’s gone as quickly as he comes. A shiver pulses past your spine, leaving you rooted on the spot. Your eyes are wide, unable to form words as Yuuji confusedly (and then concernedly) asks you what happened and why you look like that.
Your blood is still humming, the sound of Sukuna’s voice reverberating in your bones as if you’d been incomplete without it.
“He says he’ll cut out my intestines and feed them to Fushiguro if he can’t talk to you,” Yuuji says, somehow with a cheery smile on his voice.
“Let’s try to keep your guts where they belong,” you mutter, gesturing for Yuuji to sit down in your office.
“I already told him that you’d never speak with him willingly, not in a million years,” he says, full of conviction.
“You think too highly of me, Yuuji-kun,” you reply, “Well, let’s hear what the king of curses has to say to little old me, then.”
Before you end your sentence, you’re suddenly whisked into a domain painted in red and black with blood and skulls lining the walls and the long pillars. You roll your eyes in disgust and yet, you can’t help but feel like you’ve been here before. Like you’d taken these steps to the formidable throne of skulls, where you can see the king sitting boredly with his fist curled into his cheek.
Your footsteps echo and you don’t know where this bravado comes from.
“You should let Yuuji go,” you attempt, “Give him back his body, soul, and mind. He doesn’t like you very much. I can’t say I blame him, though. Who lives like this?”
You kick a skull at him from the base of his throne and Sukuna laughs. Goosebumps erupt on your arms. At least you tried.
“You always had a mouth on you, darling-” Sukuna says. Now that he’s right in front of you, robes and tattoos and all, you swallow nervously. No amount of jujutsu training could prepare anyone for the king of curses referring to you as ‘darling’.
“I’m sorry, do I know you? Stop calling me that,” you sneer at him, “Let me out of here, what the fuck-”
“You used to love it,” he informs you, his lips curling into a cross between a menacing smile and a smirk.
“You have me mistaken with some other poor woman,” you scoff, “Well, good for you, I’m trapped here. You got me where you want me, for whatever fucking reason that is.”
“You’ll remember in due time, darling,” Sukuna says, tilting his head at you curiously. It’s uncanny, how alike he looks to Yuuji in this moment. Before you can open your mouth to ask questions, you’re thrown out of his domain with a sharp gasp as if the air has been punched out of your lungs.
Yuuji asks if you’re alright but all you see are flashes of Sukuna in black robes and flashes of a woman’s hidden face in a white shiromuku. Aloof terror washes over you in realization by the time the sudden image passes and you think if you saw the woman’s face, it might be your own.
“If this is true, you have terrible taste in men,” Gojo informs you and you resist the urge to punch him.
“You’re one to talk. Don’t get me started Satoru,” you roll your eyes, “Besides, I don’t know if it’s true. The only way to find out is…”
“Getting yourself thrown into Sukuna’s domain to determine whether you’re his long-lost reincarnated lover seems like a bad idea. Terrible, even.”
“It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” you say, playing with the button of your blouse, “You know, the legend is that his lover is the one who got him to stop his eternal quest for worldwide domination. Not the sorcerers.”
“How romantic,” Gojo says with his own eye roll, “Think we can use you the same way?”
You look at him silently, with unwavering dark eyes. Lips barely moving an inch but he already knows what you’re thinking. After all, he’s known you the longest out of anyone at the school. He can read you like the back of his hand.
“Are you a fucking idiot?” he whisper shouts, “That was a joke! Not meant to be taken seriously-”
“Think of how much death we’ll avoid if-”
“No,” he says with a note of finality, looking at you from over his black shades. Gojo’s voice is firm and strong, authority ringing clear and bouncing across the walls of the room. He hardly ever uses this voice on you. Why are you so eager to throw yourself into the arms of the devil anyway?
Your shoulders drop in understanding. Maybe next time.
Sukuna bides his time when it comes to you. He doesn’t want you to be afraid. After all- he becomes accustomed to the way you glance at Yuuji in nervousness. Yuuji is clearly hurt by it. It’s not as if he’s done anything to warrant your discomfort.
It’s only the thousand year old demon inside of him biding his time. The last thing he wants is for you to be afraid.
You never used to be afraid of him. Rose petals used to line the hallway to your shared bedroom with him and your hair used to always smell like jasmine. Your skin like sandalwood. You used to feed him strawberries and peaches and lick the juice as it trickled down his chin. Mischief would always dance in your dark eyes, swirling with every smile you gifted him.
He massacred villages to get to you. You were written in the stars as being his, and he spent a lifetime trying to find you. Blood was spilled in your name and instead of finding him despicable and horrific, you were in awe. This broken facade of a warrior, self proclaimed king of curses treasured you enough to kill for you?
Sukuna will never forget the way your eyes glittered for him. Even when he told you that your childhood home was gone and anyone who had ever mistreated you in the orphanage or in the streets where you grew up was gone.
You’d only asked him one question. “Did you kill my parents?”
And he’d given you the truth. “No.”
It takes Sukuna a few months to realize as he studies you through Yuuji’s eyes. You seem restless and guarded. Dark circles line your under eyes and you’ve lost your appetite lately. Everything tastes bland and something inside of you is pulsing, gnawing at you bit by bit. It’s hard to keep your head above the water.
You wonder if this is how Geto felt. There’s no time to ask Gojo and there’s no time for him to ask you why you’re acting like this. Why you’re acting like Geto did in the months before…he left.
There is no time left because Nanami dies, Gojo is sealed and you are left with vivid memories of a life you never lived.
******
“I am not her,” you say, squaring your shoulders and pointing your cursed energy at Sukuna, “The woman I dream about. The woman you loved, in your own fucked up way. I’m not her.”
“Oh?” his smile sends a shiver down your spine.
“You planted her memories in my head,” you accuse him. You both know it’s baseless.
“I never lied to you before,” he says easily, “Why would I start now?”
“What reason do I have to believe you, a curse? You killed my friends,” you hiss, trying not to break your resolve.
“It never bothered you before,” he replies and your heart aches in your ribcage. Did Nanami die for this? For you to show no mercy to a fucking curse?
And yet, your eyes glitter for him.
“What’s wrong with you,” you whisper, “And what’s wrong with me? Everything in me is telling me that this is right, that this makes sense. It doesn’t. None of this makes sense…”
Is this how Geto felt?
“Come here, darling,” Sukuna purrs, “Let me tell you.”
Your eyes still glitter for him.
It’s impossible to tell how long you’ve been here trapped with Sukuna. Are you in his domain? Is it your domain, too? Are you in a forest? Near a city?
Sometimes you hear birds chirping. Sometimes you hear an ambulance. Sometimes you hear the river of blood flowing in Sukuna’s domain.
Trapped isn’t the right word. You want to be here…right?
Your head hurts. You sleep for a little longer.
You keep waking up with intense headaches and wet cheeks. Have you been crying? Why does your chest ache as if your heart is about to stop? Has it stopped already?
You must not be human anymore. Not if you’re willingly with Sukuna.
You cried so hard yesterday that you nearly vomited. A memory of a silent, cold Gojo after Geto had defected continues to haunt you. You can nearly feel his tears of blood slipping down his fingertips and onto your open palm…Is he out of the prison realm? Is he looking for you?
Will he forgive you?
You cry again at the realization that Gojo has lost two people to curses. A lover and a friend. You seem to be in a never ending supply of tears these days and yet your cursed energy has nearly been reduced to nothing.
Will he forgive you for loving a curse in your past life? Will he forgive you for loving a curse in your current life?
“Come here, darling,” Sukuna calls for you, “You’re so pretty when you cry.”
With your heart thumping erratically in your ears, you go.
tags: @kentobean @aeanya @mystikawi
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(Close casket funeral) chapter 3 (draft) - growing bones are weary
'What the fuck are you doing with my body!?!?' The monster screamed at you, or so you thought, it's difficult to tell when the only indicator is the 'feeling' in your gut while running around a burning city trying to escape an angry mob of humans. 'GET OUT GET OUT GETOUTGETOUTGETOUTGETO-'
"Shut UP!!!" you hollered back, a foreign feeling rumbled in your neck and almost got you to drop the bundle in your arm. You can feel the 'voice' in your head panicked and the hold on the bundle tightened slightly, from a force that does not feel like yours.
'Be careful!' it hissed, you could feel the hostility so clearly that if you were not scrambling to get away you would make sure it could feel you rolling your eyes at it.
"UH, HELLO?? IM TRYING TO GET US OUT OF HERE ALIVE AND YOU'RE DISTRACTING ME!!!" You yelled back, as you instinctively dodged a stake aiming for your head.
'And what a good job you're doing.' it scoffed as you turned the corner, "oh can it Skeletor," you hissed, something has nicked your left thigh, "shit shit shit-"
'Give me back my body already!' it growled at you, for some fucking reason, 'I am not going to die at the hands of these filthy humans because i'm stuck with whatever you are!'
God, you're so going to die again.
Somehow you two didn't die because of the angry human mob, you will have to say you're amazed.
Sitting at the bottom of a stairway leading down to the sewerage, you are a little dazed as you hold the bundle that probably covers an infant in your arms, throbbing legs and out of breath, you can't help but curse at the sickened higher power.
"Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk" you groaned out, your hold on the baby sagged a little. You were surprised you didn't drop the little shit earlier while you were running.
'Language, there's a child in your arm,' the voice chastised, sounding just as shaken as you are.
"You acted like you are reacting better," You scoffed, "Not like the infant would remember anyway," you mumbled as you pushed the rough fabric aside a bit to reveal the smaller skeleton's sleepy face, you can't help but poke at it with your bonely finger. "Why would you be a skeleton of all fucking things?"
'Why being a soul-latching, body-snatching fucking parasite-'
The infant wailed at your body sharing mate's murderous magic pulse, sending both of you into panic, you rock it back and forth, shushing it and trying to calm it down.
'That's my BROTHER you heathen, stop referring to him as an 'it' this instance!'
"How was I supposed to know!? You guys just looked like bones to me!!" you hissed back quietly, still trying to calm down the baby. "And if it's your brother, a little help wouldn't hurt!!!"
'…'
"Oh no you don't!!" you whispered against the wailing infant, "I know you're there bitch!"
--------
'What are you doing!?' You hissed at your monster host, as the skeleton tried and failed to change the infant's dirty diaper. "YOU do it then!" he barked back, his hands flaring up with magic in panic as the tiny monster wailed louder. If it's not for the magic barriers you shakily put up, you would have already died twenty times over by angry gangs, considering you are nowhere near neutral ground.
"Paps, stop wiggling," said Serif, a drop of sweat rolled down his skull, the teenage skeleton magic humming against your own, stress and fear thrumming in his magic pulse. "Come on kiddo."
'Wow, this is pitiful,' you snorted at the sight of fumbling skeletal hands and the crying infant, 'try to wipe the magic residues off first, genus.'
Having stuck with the skeletons for about two weeks, you have made your peace, and promptly follow your host's becks and calls on the shared 'chores'. You can't do much anyway if you tried to take over and hold control over his head for too long your soul would just shut down, his attempt had ended no different from yours.
In both instances, it was rather unpleasant for all parties involved, including the screaming infant.
He only grumbled at the suggestion, 'and use the soft handkerchief I grab at that mall and not the fucking rag you idiot.'
The fucker throws his hand up at your unwanted but necessary input, undoubtedly wanting to ask you to go do it yourself but unwilling to admit defeat.
You would be gleefully laughing at him if you had your body on you right now, maybe give him the middle finger, manchild.
You would also be out for his, and maybe even the infant, dust right now if you are still in your human body so maybe it's for the best that your survival is linked to his.
Damn.
Can't believe this is your life now.
'Apply the baby powder first,' you yawn, closing your shared eyes for a second, ' he's going to scratch his ass bone off with that cheap diaper'
"…You mean his coccyx?" Serif asked,
'do my magic feel like I know?' you scoffed, 'what am I? A scientist?'
Not everyone goes around with knowledge about what an ass bone is called.
Only the unstable one does.
----
The time before 'now' is nothing but a blurry mess in your vacant mind.
You remember running through the wrecked city not unlike these days, albeit more alone, scared and stressed, but that can mostly be blamed on the paranoia. Survival was never kind to a lonely soul in a war between some and all.
Glimes and memories of your fully human life might be nothing but fleeting, but it does not mean you're sometimes still holding on to it with 'your' bleeding hands.
While Serif wasn't too keen on the visions of your past, he was never too vocal about it.
Papyrus seemed like your stories enough though, it does make some wicked bedtime stories.
---
The infant has grown up at an alarming rate, or so you think, Serif claimed it's more than normal for a monster to push its growth during an unstable period. Wars and whatnot.
And he also said your soul had shut down roughly twelve hours or so after total control. Because you're the main caretaker of the infant, you tend to take control more than him, and while Serif doesn't seem to mind too much aside from being his normal paranoiac self, it takes a toll on your soul.
"We gotta figure out this body control thing," you whined, bouncing the physically five-month-old monster on your lap, " the shutdowns thingy is making my magic sloppy and i'm not even well rested." Rubbing at your eyesocket, you let some more of your magic drip off for Papyrus to feed on, you and Serif have found out he fancies your green magic and tends to eat more. Thank the stars for monster biology, you can't imagine running around trying to find not only food for Serif but also formulas for his little brother.
That would be a nightmare and a half, and you're no soul of patience and neither is Serif.
This might just lead you two to do something stupid like ambushing a group of well-off snorts.
But looking at your full inventory and the big travel package, Serif might have done it on his own already.
Fucker truly resents letting you have fun, and can't even have the decency to include you in the planning.
"Serif, I know you're in there, you bald bitch," you push the magic through your shared bond, something you two picked up in one of the more high stake raids, "you can't just keep putting me on baby duty and do all the fun shits." You grind your teeth together as Pap lets out a yawn, slowly falling asleep in the soft bundle of blankets you and Serif trying your hardest to keep warm, clean and soft for him.
"Serif," you warned, "Don't make me stick you to diaper duty," you feel a shift in the soul, as dread and horror of the unfortunate fucker you stuck with crept through your veins." You and I both know you shit at it."
----
The first time you called Pap your little brother was around a year after you accidentally linked soul with Serif and attempted to steal all his bones.
The infant is now as tall as Serif's kneecaps, ablet not that tall, but it is still a step up from a little bundle of bones and blankets, and just gained consciousness about two months.
The newly dubbed sentient monster has a great curiosity that Serif and you both find delightful to entertain.
But it quickly came clear to you both that the curiosity packet is not 'self-perseveration included'.
So in the shock of watching your very fragile, very dustable toddle smiling at a human whose weapon was raised too high for a friendly greeting you might have reacted, hastily.
And as embarrassing, as it is to have that mental image burned into your no longer existing brain, you can't help but think about how the younger skeleton's eyelights sparked as the word was ingrained in his little mind. It was somehow different to all the times Serif called him his brother.
Neither you nor Serif has exactly told the tiny child about your, …circumstances. But Pap might just have caught on with his brilliant little mind.
Serif kept teasing you about how you yelled out the word as you bashed the human skull in with your magic blast. The wording was slightly bitter at the time, you figured it might be because Serif still has some distance for a human soul to call Papyrus 'its' brother.
The ingrained teaching to hate one another was difficult to correct from both of yours and his mind, you presume.
---
The first time you called Serif- Sans, Sans. The first time you called Sans your little brother was just another night of your forever wandering life. Being on guard duty for once, you set up magic barriers, letting Sans's soul rest from all the heavy lifting duties he put upon himself to do, as well as trying your best to get your shared body settled. As the vessel was a shared thing between two souls, it's challenging to know where the limit is, taking into account a super soldier soul and a green main human one. The body is more often than not, ran ragged, never truly rested.
As Sans has been the main rider for almost all day, except for small moments of rest in between you forced his stubborn coccyx into switching to prevent a shutdown, so you thought he would be more than knocked out completely the moment you finished the campsite. Your gentle magic pulse certainly gained no response beyond some light 'tired, tired, annoyed' so you leave him be.
Your first mistake was to assume his paranoid ass is in deep slumber for once.
Your second mistake was cooing at Pap in an attempt to annoy the child to go to bed.
"Oh you adorable little munchkin," you coo-ed as you squished his soft face bone together, "you're my favourite little brother right now."
The child gasped and giggled against your hold, his tiny claws grabbing at your offending hands, which were still very much squishing his cheek together. "I Am Your Only Little Brother!!!"
You only grinned at that and tickled the child, which led to another fit of laughter.
It takes a while for Papyrus to fast asleep, but when he does, you can't help but mumble to yourself about your other little brother, the one you're sharing a body with.
"Sans is my little brother too you know," you mumble, petting Pap's tiny skull as he snuggles closer to you, "not sure if he shares the sentiment." you chuckle sadly.
Then there was a pulse of magic.
Crap.
'…Yeah no,' said the skull head sleepily, your magic run cold, the fear of rejections, your mind supplied, 'if anything you're my little sis, bud.' and- what?
"… I am older than you," you let out a scoff, as uncertainly as it is, "you're like what? Twelve? Your teenage hormones are showing."
'Bitch I was Fourteen when you found me, and we shared the same fucking body!' The skeleton soul snapped awake, 'If anything! It's our hormones now!!!' He laughed.
"Still older than your midget ass," you sing, " I was sixteen when I died, and taller too, so imagine my surprise when I woke up two feet shorten in a lab, lmao, skill issue honestly."
'…I understand like half of that, but!' you felt a light poke at the bond, the equivalent of an annoying poke to the rib between you too, 'you're not older than me'
"Are too!"
'Are not!'
"Are too!"
'Are not! The human soul stops ageing once the body dies! I know that!' yelled gleefully the teenage skeleton.
"That only counts when they no longer have a body." you scoffed, arms crossing defensively, "Even then, i'm still older than you."
'…how about, hear me out here,' Sans started again, ' we called it a drawn and settle for twins?' Sans offered, you can imagine the deranged winning grin on his face.
But he has a point, he's younger right now but he will grow up when you still don't know whether you will grow with him or not. And neither of you wants to be the younger one for any amount of time due to pride.
"…Fine." You huffed good naturally, a soft smile evident on your face but he can't prove that beyond the 'fond, fond, love, brother,' subtle pulse of magic against his soul. "Nice to meet you, my twin brother."
His magic flows around with 'sister, family, pride, pride, love' intertwined within it, which makes you can't help but chuckle, 'It's great to know you too, sister.'
----
'Oh, can it skeleton.' You growled at your least favourite brother, the same one who has been laughing his ass off for five minutes now.
"I- I can't!" He gasped, rolling on the temporary campground, Papyrus sat beside the fire, ignoring the laughing brother as he found the picture book in his hand much more interesting. "Pa-Paps is a better reader than you!" He exclaimed, tears of joy rolling off his cheekbones, " He doesn't even know his alphabet!"
At this, the child peeks up hearing his name being used condescendingly and frowns at his brother. " I Do Know The Alphabets, I Just Can't Remember What Come After What."
'Shut up!' you hissed, obviously embarrassed, 'we all have flaws! Stop making fun of my inability to read! Mister "I am afraid of everything"!!'
"Hey, that's not fair," he sulked at your aggressive magic pulse, "I was locked in a lab!" He whined.
'And I was not! So stop making fun of me!!!'
"Fine, fine," the skeleton chuckled, "how about me teaching you a thing or two, eh?"
'… only if you promise to stop making fun of me.'
"That's a promise, sister." He all but barked out his waves of laughter, and Papyrus, who wasn't quite able to grasp the conversation from magical intents alone, just looked at Sans like he had lost it.
---
Sans's past studies were more… 'repertoires', as he likes to say, while yours is less, whatever that is and more survival-based. This leads to very conflicting teaching.
Papyrus huffed as his coccyx collided with the forest ground once again, having been too focused on the correct standing for him to be aware of the actual fight. You sighed as frustration rolled off him in waves, while your youngest brother has much more patience compared to Sans, you can see it being worn thin.
"Pap, chill with the techniques bud," you kick lightly at his leg as the child refuses to get up, "you gotta keep your eyelights on your enemies."
Papyrus eventually sat up, his face scrunched up with confusion, "I Do Not Get It," he mumbled, tugging his legs closer to himself, "Sans Said It's Important, But You Don't Care For It!" He barked out, eyelights snapped from his feet to your face, "How Do You Fight, Please Tell Me, Sis!"
You groaned at the thought of actually describing your fighting style, how does one even say messy, dirty and desperate but with more words?
----
'I can't believe you talked me into this.' Sans grumbled, not quite pleased with your plan for Papyrus 'first' raid, well, first one he has an active role anyway. You can't just leave an infant/toddler in an empty base with basic protection barriers and notice-me-not charms and hope for the best all the time.
(Even with such reasoning, the first few raids when Pap got too big to be strapped to Sans's body gave you both one too many soul attacks. How such a tiny thing could be so fast when it just discovered walking brings fears to you every day.)
"Come on, Twinsy," you rolled your eyelights as you gently pushed at your twin soul, "relax, Pap got this. And have a little fate in me, will ya?" You pouted, it's not like you both have been training Pap for months on end, and your plan has been fine-tuning for weeks before being put in motion.
"But what if something went wrong?!" Sans snapped into control, anxiety ran deep into his magic. You only huffed as you were suddenly pushed to the back seat, and your brother only chuckled apologetically.
'He's what? Seven now?' counting another year in the test tub would make him eight, you rolled your magic softly at the bond, calming the skeleton, 'I was up and about that criminal live at his age, and we're watching his back anyway, don't worry.'
Your unvolunteered roommate only sighs, " I hope we won't come to regret this."
You grinned at him.
----
It was around Papyrus's tenth birthday that The Old King's guards captured you three venturing too close to their border. The kind old man all but welcomed you three with open arms, well, in his eyes, there are only two lonely young brothers lost in a war.
You were reluctant about trusting someone you know little to nothing about. But as the longing deep in Sans's soul dripped into your bond, Papyrus gleamingly smiled at the thought of living among his kind. You can only accept it and urge Sans to give it a go, certainly, you can protect your brothers if it comes to it!
Right?
----
You can't remember much before that fateful day when your soul got ripped out of your body by the cold and uncaring hand of the doctor, you told Sans one night. He snorted at that, " I wouldn't doubt it, sound pretty traumatic to me", he said as your eyelights trailed along the horizon, " Gaster was cruel, and I feel like your memories from the 'before' keep getting worse anyway," he said as he lifts the riffle in your hands, lining it up to his left eyelight, the one blazing with magic, and aiming at the creature making it way pass the pinewood walls you both worked so hard on.
You float lazily at the back of the mind space, letting him do the work, zoning out on your surroundings. You don't like that response, it reminds you of the early days when he would fight for control while you fumbled in a panic trying to help, Man, Sans can be so paranoid in those days, you huffed in annoyance.
"Focus," you can feel the magic in your throat rumbling lowly as Sans pushes his magic inward to get your attention, "you know I can't get a clean shot with your magic clouding our mind." he huffed as he tried to steady his aim.
You roll your metaphor eyes as you feel your soul dragging itself closer to the front, more aware of the world surrounding your shared body. Sans grunted as his grip on the gun flattered slightly, you snicker at the annoyance in the magic pulse he sent you, "Stop moving," he complained again, " it messes up my aim."
'What even is that anyway?' you asked as you looked through the riffle rear sight, a creature covered in black tar powering through the snow after passing the wood walls with warning signs against trespassing. It let out a wail that you're sure you would never be able to hear if not for Sans's enhanced senses. Its mangled body looks like parts of humans and monsters glued together like some Frankenstein monster.
"Dunno," he mumbled, "still gotta shoot it down, it's gonna get to the gate."
You hummed as the riffle went off, the magic-infused gun effectively took out the tar-covered creature, leaving the snow-covered ground blackened by the energy blast.
'you are good at this.' you praised the skeleton.
"Thank you, I live to amaze." Said the monster as he did a little bow.
-----
"Little Paps! There you are!" Using your magic as a platform boost, you launched yourself into the air and slowly landed next to the tall teenager. "Sans was going crazy looking for you," you huffed at your very much annoyed younger brother, "he almost ran his magic jagged enough for a shutdown when he couldn't find you in the campsite."
The sixteen-year-old Skeleton only sighed, not very apologetic, "My Apologies, Sister, I Was Just Going For A Walk," He huffed, "Didn't Mean To Worry You Both."
You only wave at your youngest brother's concerns, "It's fine Paps," craning your neck upward to meet the tall child in the eyes, you smiled as you said, "Sans gonna be out for at least a day so I guess you gonna be stuck with my lessons for now."
"That Is Quite Alright, Sister," Your youngest brother said, his right hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, " I Enjoy Our Sessions Very Much, Although I Would Like To Learn Magic Attacks Instead Of Hand Hand Combat From You Today…"
"Aww, but Paps, you gotta learn to fight beyond magic," you pout at him, well aware of his annoyance against the hand-to-hand training, "Sans suck at it and relies on his magic too much, and you know 're-"
"'-Relying On Only One Tool Is A Dangerous Thing To Do'," Papyrus finished off the well-recited line with an eye roll, all but huffing he said "I Know, I Know, You Has Been Chiding At Us About That Since… Forever."
To this, you can only chuckle and shrug at him, "Maybe one of these days the advice will stick for once," giving him a fake and drawn-out sigh, you said, "A girl can only hope."
The teenage monster answers with a rough push hard enough to hopefully get you to land on your face, children, honestly.
"Alright alright, I got it," your hand shot up instead of surrendering, " How about you let little ol' me show you how to do platform jumping? Ey? Ya, fancy that?"
At this offer, Papyrus was all but smiled so wide it actually concerning for his jaws and maybe mental stability.
"Thank You, Sister Dearest, Now Let Us Get Going Before Your Sunrise Shift Come Around." He said with so much joy and excitement in his voice it was barely containable, and then the skeleton started walking toward the training ground with a pep in his step.
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Shaved
Every Conversion City Hospital room was stocked with local flowers in glass vases. They gave a pleasant smell to Ascendants and a deeper comfort to Yaostayans. Healers exploited that relief for their protective magic, charging anti-heart attack spells with the soothing power of the patients’ previous home, far beyond the city. Cultural dissolution was less important than preserving a compliant citizen.
Bruzek realized how stupid he looked checking for Demlow’s pulse, and let go of his wrist. The Brigadier was hooked up to life support with replacement blood and antitoxins, and all vitals showed life. Healers could have him up and firing in seconds. The only wait was getting some high-power cleric in from Asteria, at taxpayer expense, to cast his strongest anti-curses. Who knew what profane energies the hair elemental left in its targets? A sleeping mind was less vulnerable to such evil than a waking soul.
“Brigadier Demlow.” The General wore a quiet iteration of his speech-giving voice. It was an imitation of Decadin’s style, but Bruzek could never land the sincerity. “I can’t promise I’ll have time later to congratulate you properly, so this will have to do. I heard when that creature fell from the sky, you issued retreats and charged it yourself with Tarle’s blade.” Bruzek glanced at the bedside table, atop which a chef’s knife was sheathed. “I don’t know if the Dread Fighter’s bravery or stupidity possessed you, but that was courage beyond human limits.”
Bruzek strode to the window. Neon signs illuminated citizens in the streets below, who were using their allotted downtime to walk to corporate shops, where they traded their allowance for shiny trinkets, rest coupons and produce fresher than rations. For peoples who worked outside market logic, they caught onto it fast. All else would follow.
“No, it had to be bravery, because you had the elemental flamethrower. When the hair monster broke down the armory door, you must have ran inside. You thought there’d be something to end the fight, and with no operation manuals you used what you found.” Bruzek shook his head with a smile. “Apian would call that stupid, but you did what had to be done, knowing full well you’d have to answer to me for using a forbidden weapon without approval. My forbidden weapon. That took guts. I’ll tell Apian to get you a medal.”
That felt like the right conclusion. Bruzek sat on a chair by the bedside table, picked up the sheath and drew the knife. Pristine. Feeling its weight in his hand once again, he remembered why he’d demanded Cosal let him keep this trophy. If Demlow had ever used this thing, he took good care of it, but Bruzek suspected this weapon spent all its time holstered. He turned the blade over in his hand, caught his face wrinkles in the reflection and sheathed it.
“And don’t worry,” said Bruzek, “I’ve banned hair. Weekly shavings are mandatory for them now, and clippings get burned with the bodies. Beards too, and everything else. We can’t take chances.”
———
Yaldev is a sci-fantasy worldbuilding project by Ulysses Maurer, with art by Beeple. By looking at narratives, stylized loredumps, bad poetry and little details, we'll witness the story of a planet filled with magical power, the nation which tried to conquer it, this empire’s dramatic collapse and the new world which emerged in its wake. Along the way we'll meet the characters who live here, and we'll explore questions about nationalism, rationalism, the natural world and the quest to master it. For all stories in chronological order, check out the pinned posts at r/Yaldev!
#beeple#fantasy#scifi#worldbuilding#writing#everyday#short story#surreal#dystopia#dystopian#dystopian fiction#science fiction#science fantasy#sci fantasy#sci-fantasy#scifantasy#sf#sff#worldbuild#worldbuilder#worldbuilders#magic#d&d#dnd#canadian writers#escapism#lore#amwriting
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