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obsessedwithegos · 2 years

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BTHB: Locked in a cage ft. Scar to remember with Emil

CWs: Vampire whumpee, Demon whumper, Failed escape attempt, Bystanders not helping whumpee despite recognizing him, Whumpee with inability to lie, Descriptive burns (silver and sun), Near death experience w/ gore, Non descriptive medical whump

Notes: Canon! Lots of build up and not a lot of focus on the actual cage part but I felt like it was important to get this whole story across :3c This is also how Emil got his only scar!

~~~

It was a rare opportunity. Tael went to the basement to get another color ink and left Emil alone and unrestrained.

The shop’s front door was unlocked as it was daytime and Tael was accepting walk-ins today.

Emil got off of the chair and slowly made his way towards the front entrance area. He knew it would take a few minutes for the demon to find the color he wanted, it would be enough time for him to escape.

But if he escaped he’d have to endure the sun. If he was successful he’d never have to see Tael again. If he failed?

He bit his tongue, he could just go and sit right back in that chair and pretend like he didn’t even consider it. Maybe earn some praise and a reward.

His eyes wandered to the top of the door where a bell was. He knew the sound of it paired with Tael’s symbol on him would immediately alert him that he had left.

He takes a step forward, closer to the glass door and the sunlight shining through it. He tucks his hands into his sleeves, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do much to try to protect his face.

Emil takes a deep breath, walking into the sunlight and grabbing the door handle with one of his covered hands.

He would regret this, he would, he knows he would from the sun alone. He’d regret it even more if he was caught.

“Found it!” Tael calls from the basement.

Emil’s time to decide was up, he yanks the door open and bolts out.

The sun immediately started to burn against his face and neck, his hair couldn’t provide any protection as it was being pushed behind him by the wind.

He gritted his teeth, he needed to bare it, he needed to be out at any cost. He knew the sunlight wouldn’t kill him so he needed to try to fight through it.

He doesn’t know how far he got before he heard the running hoof steps behind him, they told him one terrifying thing.

Tael didn’t bother to switch to a disguise and was willing to blow his cover just to get Emil back.

He knew he must have been running for a few minutes at least as he could feel the burn wounds starting to open on his face. He had managed to reach the main street before a sudden force hit his back.

Tael tackles Emil, sending both of them tumbling. When they stopped, Tael had Emil pinned under him. One knee right into his back, the other on the ground. One hand on the back of his neck, putting pressure on the nape piercing, while the other was getting Emil’s wrists together.

Emil was weak, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get the demon off of him but he still tried to struggle as tears fell from his eyes and into his fresh burns wounds. He looks up and sees people, staring at him and Tael.

“HELP! PLEASE!” He cried out, his desperation overpowering his pain “FOR THE LOVE OF EVHER PLEASE HELP!”

None of the people moved, some even leaning towards each other to whisper.

‘Evher? Don’t they hate vampires?’ ‘Doesn’t he look familiar?’ ‘Is that Father Emil? Didn’t he disappear almost a year ago?’ ‘Maybe that’s why he did.’

Tael takes his knee off of Emil’s back to force him up, still using one hand to hold his wrists together but moving his other hand to the front of the vampire’s neck. “Sorry about that folks! This one was being brought in for more training and got loose!” He explained in an authoritative voice.

That’s when it hit him. That’s why Tael didn’t bother disguising himself, so he could pass himself off as a vampire trainer. And it worked.

The people nodded in understanding, some even saying that it was fine and that it was good that he had managed to capture the vampire before anyone could get hurt.

Emil squeezed his eyes shut before there was a brief feeling of weightlessness. Once the feeling passed, his skin no longer was being burned by the sun. He didn’t open his eyes, he knew where he was.

Tael throws the vampire down onto the concrete ground of the basement “You fucking idiot. What did you expect to happen?! That I’d let you go that easily? How long did you think you would make it in the sun?”

Emil whimpers “I-” His words got caught in his throat, he couldn’t say he didn’t know. He did know, he considered it before he even opened that door. “I knew I’d regret it.” He answered, finally opening his eyes to look at the demon looming over him.

“You know you’d regret it and you still did it.” The demon scoffed before kicking him in the stomach, earning a loud yelp. “How long did you think you’d make it in the sun?” he repeats.

“I don’t know!” He cried, he really didn’t know. 10 minutes? An hour? Certainly not more than 3 hours.

“Then how about we test it?”

“What?” His voice was small.

Tael moves to a corner of the basement and pulls out something Emil recognized immediately.

A silver cage that was barely large enough for him to fit in.

The demon also pulled out some rope. “I’m going to go set this up. While I do that, get out of your robes. When I get back I’ll determine if you can keep the clothes under your robes or not.” He didn’t wait for a reply, heading upstairs and slamming the basement door behind him before locking it.

When Tael returned, Emil had his robes in a folded pile on top of unopened boxes. He just had a short sleeve shirt, black slacks that were a bit too short for his legs, socks, and shoes on.

The vampire’s face was puffy, not just from crying but from the burns.

“Come here.” He ordered. He noticed the hesitation of Emil coming to him, for now he refrained from commenting about it.

He grabs Emil’s wrists to tie them together with rope he had brought back down. “Even after that stunt, I’ll be kind enough to let you keep your clothes for now.”

He could barely hear him mutter ‘thank you.’

“Look at me and open your mouth.”

Emil wanted to ask why but refrained. He looked up at Tael and held his mouth open.

Tael shoved some of the remaining rope into it before using the last of it to wrap around his head to secure it in. He ignored Emil’s whimpers as the rope rubbed against the burns.

Once he was positive everything was securely tied, he grabbed the rope binding Emil’s wrists and pulled him to follow. He no longer trusted the vampire to walk behind him freely.

He brought Emil up from the basement, through the shop and up into the first floor of his housing area, then up into the second floor of his house. He stops right before reaching the stairs to the roof.

“Sit.” He commanded after letting go of the ropes around the vampire’s wrists.

Emil obeyed, sitting down on the stairs and looking at the ground to avoid looking at Tael.

Tael moved to grab three things off of a nearby counter. More rope, zip ties, and a silver stake. He puts the stake into one of his belt loops and the zip ties into one of his pockets. He used the remaining rope to tie Emil’s ankles together.

He picks him up, throwing him over his shoulder “You better not fucking scream or do anything to bother the neighbors or else I’m going to make this so much worse for you.” he threatened.

He heard a small sound of acknowledgement from the vampire as he carried him up the stairs.

Tael didn’t give Emil any warning or any time to prepare himself before opening the door to the rooftop and bringing him out, exposing him to the sunlight again.

Emil managed to keep himself still and only let out more whimpers to the pain but nothing more.

After opening the cage, Tael drops Emil and uses his hoof to force him into the cage.

Emil bit down on the rope gag and tried to focus on his breathing to try to stop himself from yelling. Silver usually took a moment before it started to burn him but due to already having sun burns it was immediate.

He was shoved in the cage in an uncomfortable position, his back was on the gridded floor of the cage, his head and neck were uncomfortably craned to fit with his face pressing against the back of the cage, his arms were tucked into his chest and his legs were pressed against the cage door once it was closed.

Tael pulled the zip tied out of his pocket to secure the door shut, not leaving any chance for the vampire to get the door open.

Once that was finished he walked over to where he was within Emil’s line of sight. He takes the silver stake out of his belt loop and drops it to leave it within his line of sight as a constant silent threat.

“I’ll be back to get you later.” Tael said before going back inside to contact one of his friends.

There was no escape from the silver cage, Emil couldn’t curl in on himself any further nor move to try to get his skin away from the silver bars.

What parts of skin the silver wasn’t touching was exposed to the sun. The roof had no plants or umbrellas or anything that would provide shade or mercy from the sunlight.

Tears fell from his eyes into the burns on his face. The rope gag wasn’t helping as it dug into the burns further.

Each labored breath pushed him further against the cage walls earning new whimpers and whines. As time passed he wanted to yell and scream but the silver stake that laid not far from the cage was enough of a reminder of why he couldn’t.

The sky was starting to turn orange when Tael came back out to get Emil. First he took the time to pick up the now hot silver stake, putting it into his belt loop, before going to break the zipties to get him out of the cage.

The vampire’s skin looked as if it was almost ready to peel off, the parts that were in contact with the silver were purple and black, some bone was visible in the deeper parts like on his face.

He was visibly exhausted from the constant pain and could barely make a noise as he was pulled out of the cage.

Tael cuts the rope around Emil’s ankle and wrists before moving to the makeshift gag, ‘accidentally’ cutting his cheek in the process. “I expect you to walk by yourself. I have a guest for you to meet.”

“Y-yes sir.” Emil whispered. Each movement was incredibly painful but he didn’t want to upset Tael any further, not wanting to risk him actually using that stake.

The demon led him back into the building, periodically glancing back to make sure he was still following.

He led him down to the basement, where Tael’s friend was waiting.

They were a harpy and had medical equipment laid out on a table that Tael had brought down for them.

“Dr Zerys, this is Emil.” Tael introduces the vampire.

A doctor? Tael had never gotten a doctor for him, he’s always able to heal from any injuries he’s been given so far. He was positive he’d even heal from these burns without medical intervention.

“It’s nice to meet you, doctor.” It was a struggle for Emil to even speak clearly but he made sure he did.

Dr Zerys looks at Tael, ignoring Emil for now. “I’m set up so proceed.”

Everything happened so fast for Emil.

Tael grabbed him by the throat and shoved him down to the ground, sitting on his stomach with his legs on each side of him to further ensure the vampire couldn’t get up.

Emil choked on his yell, the sudden additional pain was too much for him to even try to stop himself. Though trying to stop himself went out of the window as he saw the silver stake being pulled out and aimed at his chest.

He started to struggle “WA-WAIT! BUT I DIDN’T- I WAS GOOD! I DIDN’T MAKE A SOUND TO ALERT THE NEIGHBORS!’ He cries.

“You really thought I was going to let you get away with your stunt after just a few hours in the sun against silver?” Tael laughed “If you had alerted the neighbors I’d be doing this five more times.”

With that he plunges the stake into Emil’s chest and directly into his heart.

The burning was immediate, Emil’s scream echoed through the basement and into the shop leaving his own, Tael’s, and Zerys’s ears ringing. His back tries to arch as pain racks through his body, he could barely control anything anymore.

The basement quickly filled with the smell of burning flesh and organs paired with sulfur. His hands were clawing at Tael, desperately trying to get him off and to get the stake out of his heart out of pure instinct as the burning sensation was racing through his veins.

It wasn’t fast, he’s always been told that this would be quick and easy if it ever happened. Instead it was slow and excruciating.

He could feel what little strength he had leaving him as he started to choke on his own cries and blood.

When he could no longer claw to try to get the demon off is when Tael finally stood up and got off of him, ripping the stake out with some of Emil’s heart burnt onto it.

Once Tael was off, Zerys got to work, not having time for anesthesia. After all, Tael wasn’t going to let him go that easily.

Emil survived thanks to Zerys’s work. He was weak and going to be unable to move for the next three days but he survived and would heal up almost just like normal. The only sign that would remain of his near death would be a large scar on his chest, directly over his heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~

General tag list: @thebluejaysworld (not tagging emmett for general or tael tag bc of the gore)

Kira’s story: @whumpsday

BTHB: @badthingshappenbingo

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fff777 · 7 months

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Commentary for NCT Life Mini?

Some of these videos were seen in my post for NCT Nimdle so I won't cover those again.

NCT Life Mini "Music Game"

Winwin getting excited and worked up over the game :3

The excessive rewinding and replaying is kind of annoying v.v

Jaehyun letting Chenle take Chewing Gum :3 Chenle was REALLY baby back then.

I've seen clips from this because of the Jaewin brainrot but Winwin and Jaehyun are kind of touchy :3c

More Dreamies join the game :3 (Jisung)

Jaehyun totally just guessed DBSK Mirotic

Even more Dreamies join the fray (this time Jeno and Haechan)

I'm not sure who the judge is (MC Ari?) but he seems like someone that the Neos know and can joke around with

Winwin fighting Jaehyun to answer :3 He isn't good at games so just let him have this one haha

Chenle's good at this. He was super competitive even at that age XD

Leave me alone

They've all moved closer to the bell. Getting even more competitive heh.

Yayaya yayaya~

High key thought Chenle won this XD I underestimated Doyoung

Jaehyun's always leaning into Winwin I can't stand them DX

NCT Life Mini "Initials Game"

Chenle screaming in glee already a thing

Markren fighting to the death

I'd seen clips from this because Winwin and Renjun were being affectionate. But I also noticed Renjun linking his arm with Mark :3

Renjun false start!

Guys from the back row now move up

Renwin :3

Taeyong and Doyoung (both Korean) struggling with b-b-b ^^;;

Jaehyun dropping a hint

They're now doing the game another way where they line up to say their answer which is way more civilized and less chaotic

Winwin waiting patiently on the floor :3

Omg MC is so strict, no second chances. So Jaehyun just stole Haechan's second answer TAT

Winwin so eager to put up Renjun's hand

I think the MC was probably mulling over yakiniku because it's a Japanese word

Winwin put his hand up by accident ^^;;

So Haechan is the winner!

170425 NCT 127 in Vietnam

Taeil all cuddled up to Mark

Ahhh yes I've seen this interview between Doyoung and Winwin. Winwin is comfortable teasing Doyoung :P Then Doyoung asks for something nice and Winwin soullessly says I love you XD Very Winwin fashion.

NCT LIFE Mini Behind - Inkigayo Backstage

Johnny cam

Winwin wearing one of those really big overbearing fur coats over a basketball (?) jersey

Was Taeil giving a lecture to Jaehyun, WInwin, and Mark? Is that why he got embarrassed about being filmed?

Winwin was clingy to Taeil :3

Omg Johnny is wearing the Arizona Coyotes Kachina jersey

Winwin took the big overbearing fur coat off

More clingy Jaewin

NCT LIFE MINI BEHIND - Mini Fanmeeting

Winwin inspection, first nostrils then ears :P They talked about Winwin's asymmetrical ears that make him half elf.

Meanwhile Mark has his super soft foldable ears

Jaehyun's belly button and Doyoung's calf will remain secrets

Haechan/Doyoung shenanigans

LMAO the guys get down low to exaggerate Johnny's height XD

I have also seen this Haechan/Winwin clip where Haechan wants to kiss Winwin's neck and also wants Winwin to kiss his neck ^^;; It goes about how you think it does

Why was Winwin wearing a harness over his suit when he was coming out of the hall

NCT LIFE MINI GAME "Seochon Date" with NCT DREAM

Haechan and Chenle winning every round. Good at games vs competitive.

Make Jisung do Haechan's punishment ^^;;

Why isn't the camera showing the bottles when they're being flipped -_-

Somehow, Jisung succeeded XD Against all odds

The others trying to sajiao their way into another chance

Everyone but Haechan succeeds XD

170410 NCT DREAM's Seafood Restaurant Food Broadcast

Chenle and Jeno still singing the Ppukku song

Even back then in the baby days Jisung was groaning over Mark's dad jokes

They're all holding the camera at a funny angle and it kind of looks like a fish eye lens at times

Squish

Jisung very bravely tackles the raw octopus (that is moving)

He got a bit grossed out when he ate it lol (presumably because the octopus was still moving)

170413 NCT DREAM's Rest Stop Food Broadcast

When Jaemin is not there, Haechan, Chenle, and Jisung are maknae line ^^;;

At this age, Chenle is already bratting it up (asking Mark to buy food for them), but at that age, Chenle is baby enough to ask for it in a cutesy way

Markno wrasslin'

#screencaps & commentaries #nct #nct 127 #nct dream

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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questions for dragon and wolf otp ❤️ 11, 17, 25, 31 & 50 :3

Let me tell you, I just adore rambling about these two sad, but beautiful fools. And I'm so happy that people like me rambling about them enough to keep asking questions! >:D

So, let's get ANSWERINGGGGG! >:3

11. Who is the most physically affectionate?

Fane. Fane, Fane, Fane, Fane. Fane is 100% the most physically affectionate. A lot of times, he taps into old habits that he used to do as a dragon when he's with Solas. Nudging, nuzzling, resting his head in the other's lap, etc. As time goes on, Fane branches out and develops more ways to express himself through touch. Leaning his shoulder against Solas', reaching out involuntary to hold hands, sitting behind and wrapping his arms around the other while burying his face into a shoulder, etc.

Fane is touch-starved. He would never admit it, but he is. All his life (both draconic and mortal), he's received only ridicule and harsh treatment. So much so that he disassociates from reality and goes numb, and that's even with Mhairi and Cyfrin around him. It also doesn't help that his literal body is a beacon of pain due to his scars. But, all it takes is a brush of a hand against his own, or cupping of his cheek from Solas and the world sings and feels. It seems cliche, but Solas and Fane both know how it feels to walk through life believing it to only a bad dream. They take solace in each other, and Fane desires it through touch. Not always, of course, Fane and Solas merely find joy in existing in the other's sphere, but when nights are cold and the world feels silent and grey, Fane needs more than what Solas' eyes can offer.

17. Do they ever trade clothes?

Ohhh, you're outing me with this question, you fiend! X'D

*takes a deep breath and taps two fingers together* ...Yes. Yes, they do.

Okay! So, obviously, Fane is built different than Solas. I like to think of Solas as being about 5'7 in height. I also like to think his overall structure is slender, but not like impossibly lithe. It's an in-between deal, but Fane is vastly different in structure and height.

Fane is 6'1. He's not as broad as Bull is, and that's because I don't want people to envision Fane as Qunari in build because he's not. He's athletic, but not immovably bulky. He retains the body shape of the Elvhen--slender and agile, but he does have more muscle mass due to the draconic aspects of himself rolling over.

...And because he wields a heavy ass sword to the point where he can swing it with one hand and barely lose his balance with the momentum. (BUFF ELVES FOR LIFE >:3c)

Anyways, the reason I put the above is it explains why Fane can give his clothes to Solas, but Solas rarely ever gives his clothes to Fane. Short story; Fane's would fit Solas, albeit it loosely, but Solas' wouldn't fit Fane.

...Fane isn't hard pressed by that though. He secretly enjoys when a bucket of water somehow finds its way from the rookery down to the elf's desk, soaking him and forcing him to change. *sips tea* Ahhh~ Nope. Not hard pressed at all.

25. How do they comfort each other when one of them is scared?

Presence, presence, presence.

Solas and Fane find joy in existing around each other without words or touch, but they also find comfort in that, as well.

Fane usually has border-line panic attacks after one of his nightmares and when he has to suffer through a bout of retching from either magic or memories of blood and flesh being torn and ripped from his body. During any such episodes, Solas will ground Fane--asking him gentle questions of 'where and what'.

For example: If it's after a nightmare of his father, Solas will ask, 'Vhenan, do you know where you are?' If Fane manages a nod or a shuddering sigh then Solas will continue with, 'Can you tell me where?'. If Fane responds with the 'correct' location then Solas will shift and ignore the 'what' part of the ritual, instead whispering Elvhen and soothing reassurances of, 'You are fine, ma'isenatha. Breathe. Breathe. Take your time, and I know I am here for whatever you need, whatever you desire.'

However, if Fane struggles or can't articulate then Solas will delve into asking the 'whats'. He'll prompt with simple questions like, 'What is solid?' or 'What is cold?'. These open ended questions are meant to reconnect Fane to the physical world, to pull him from the Fade and his spiraling fear inch by inch by urging him to think beyond what initially caused him to plummet (in this case, his father). This process can take quite a while, depending on how entrenched Fane is in his mind and his memories, but when Fane finally does manage to reconnect and utter, 'I'm...awake... I'm awake. Just a nightmare. I'm in Skyhold. I'm in Skyhold..' then that's when Solas will pull his dragon's head close to his chest and stroke his hair, offering familiarity of a kinder essence.

Now, when Solas finds himself quivering with fear, be it from his own nightmares or a momentary sensation of the world closing in, then Fane will do what he does best; observe. This might seem odd, but Fane does this to determine what will help Solas best. If Solas is tensed up, back rigid and shoulders hunched in a defensive position, then Fane knows to use his voice to coax the man back from the edge. If Solas is prone, posture defeated and visibly shuddering, steady hands trembling and chest rising and falling with increasingly sharper and sharper and sharper breaths then Fane knows immediately that he needs to reach out with touch. Not suffocating with an embrace, but just a grasp of hands, stilling the fearful tremors and giving back control. Fane understands how desperately Solas wants to be in control of any and every situation that involves himself, so the moment he detects the hint of terror in blue and grey from it being lost, then Fane knows that Solas needs him to help him get it back.

Once Solas reestablishes that control and the tremors stop, Fane will silently open his arms for his wolf and if he chooses to take the invitation (which Solas usually does), then Fane will always whisper, 'This dragon will catch you as many times as needed. So, let yourself spiral when it becomes too much; I'm here. I'm always here.'

...As you can see. I think about this a lot. X'D

31. Who is the big spoon and why?

To be honest, Fane and Solas take turns. PFFFT!

It honestly depends on how they both move throughout the night! Though, when they start out, Fane is the big spoon because he has a tendency to...curl. XD

So, you know how dragons are shown just kind of curling up like large cats? That's what Fane does with Solas. He'll burrow his face in our dear wolf's neck, pull him as close as he possibly can, and just...pass out. It's one of the fastest ways Fane falls asleep, actually. Solas, at first, was like, 'Fane? ...Fane?', but once it kept occurring all it got were fond chuckles and a single utterance of, 'Good night, ma'isenatha.'

...Fane just chuffs in his sleep and Solas has to try and keep a straight face. My boy is feral. Don't let him fool you. Don't.

50. Who makes the best flower crown?

You all are catching onto me, aren't you?! Aren't you?! *dinosaur scream*

Indirectly, Fane was the best at making flower crowns. Yes, you heard me. Was.

---

Fane used to wander away from Solas during the time of Elvhenan, seeking the forests and the mountains instead of enduring the piercing eyes of the Evanuris and the boiling rage that nearly made his icy core melt with its heat. As such, he would start...poking around in the meadows, draconic curiosity taking him by the horns. Once, during such a necessary venture, Fane stumbled upon a vibrant patch of blooming Gladiolus--golden and sweet. They swayed with magic and spirited wind, twinkling with the song that encased the entire realm.

They were beautiful in a world that had steadily been on the decline.

Fane nudged a bloom with his snout, blinking and huffing as a bell rung from it--glittering essence drawing out from the center and cascading to the earth below. Had the flower just sang? Sang as the spirits and elves did? He found such a thing curious, and so he had nudged another.

Ring. Another bell. He then nudged another golden chime. Ring. Another bell! They did sing!

Fane huffed again, cool breath sprinkling a light frost over the chiming flowers, but they endured with their beauty, with their eternal nature. His burst of air spurred up glittering pollen, wafting the sweet scent of these delicate bells up to his nostrils without preamble.

They smell of honey, Fane mused and began to gingerly nuzzle into the tiny patch, seeking more sweetness, more beauty. Why had he never seen these blooms before? He had graced this world for many, many centuries, and yet, never once had he observed golden Gladiolus. How odd, but it gave him an equally as odd idea.

The wolf likes honey, yes? Fane thought, eyes narrowing as he stopped his mindless snuffling. A feeling of warmth engulfed his snowy core, scales bristling from the foreign sensation before it ebbed away. Why did he always feel so...strange when he thought of the rebel?

Fane huffed harshly at the warmth coursing through him, actually shaking his head a bit before fixing the dazzling buds with an intense stare.

The wolf likes honey. Fane nodded in agreement with his mind and, with one edge of a sharp fang, sliced into the stem of the sweet bloom of gold. He nudged the severed flower to the side, snorting a bit when some pollen invaded his airways, but shook it off to continue gathering more.

Fane made short work of the small patch of Gladiolus, rising with pride to gaze upon his bundle of petaled nightingales. Each one softly chimed and glimmered, not at all perturbed by being uprooted. He supposed the foundation of magic was not so vile, so long as it was used as it was intended.

Now, I suppose I should head back. Fane growled under his breath at that thought. He didn't wish to go back to...to there. The lair of deceit and pitiful, self-proclaimed 'gods' who had nothing but desire in their single toned eyes. But...the wolf was there, and he wan--no, had to stay by the wolf's side.

Heat filled Fane's core again, making him growl once more and shake out his scales as they bristled with a sensation unnatural. Why did he keep getting so warm?! It was mid-spring! Not the height of summer!

Fane growled as the heat stubbornly refused to abate. Begone, begone, begone! He huffed heavily as the ember trickled away, leaving him cool and all together, snowy. There. Better. It must simply be the magic in the air. It is stronger within these woods.

With the heat of oddity gone and his mind decided, Fane turned his head to gather up his...bouquet? Is that what the Elvhen called it? He had seen arrangements done, but none of them held a flame to the golden blooms he--

Fane blinked, eyes staring down at...a spirit? Wait this spirit who was now holding his flowers was--

Wisdom. Fane immediately thought next, form slowly relaxing as he caught the familiar sight of the kindly spirit. Their body ebbed and flowed like the silk robes worn by the Evanuris, but not for a need to flaunt. It was merely their nature, their being. A womanly face gazed up at him, serene smile in place as golden flowers were cradled in ethereal arms.

"Greetings, White One.", Wisdom greeted, swirling eyes of magic and knowledge somehow appearing fond. "I see you have found a rare flower this day." They gently jostled the bundle in their arms, golden essence puffing forth and sound like that of jingling Sentinel armor.

Fane tilted his head at the spirit. They knew of the flowers that sounded of bells? Before he did? Odd, but he supposed spirits of Wisdom would know such obscure things. Wisdom chuckled softly, voice that of a tender breeze.

"I know many things, isenatha.", Wisdom said, communicating with him easily. Although, most spirits did. They gracefully floated down to the ground, images of legs folding depicting the image of them sitting. "Just as I know of a perfect way for you to present this gift."

Fane blinked and found his eyes darting to and fro, trying to avoid the knowing gaze of Wisdom as they smiled serenely up at him. Damn it all! How he wished his disconnection to the minds of others and they to his worked on spirits!

Wisdom hummed, mimicking the chime that sang from the flowers as they picked one up with a delicate swoop of their hands. Fane watched from his peripheral, somewhat intrigued while still wishing to rebuff he had picked the flowers as a...a gift? How ridiculous! He had only want--thought the wolf would enjoy the scent. Nothing more!

"Please, sit, White One.", Wisdom beckoned with patience and a gentle voice. Their hands began to directly interact with the blooms, summoning a tendril of magic to fabricate a vine. "This will take but a moment." A smile danced on their wispy lips, upper half of their face hooded by a vision of a hooded cloak. "...And I have no doubt Fen'harel will be warmed when you offer him this particular crown."

Fane made a questioning growl, but Wisdom offered no more, resuming the odd task of weaving magical vines and twinkling gold. He watched for a time, curious and puzzled, but soon, he found his body carefully lowering to the ground. He curled up a bit, resting his maw upon his claws and observing the act of the spirit quietly. He caught another smile from the kindly spirit before their face went neutral, focused.

A crown.. Fane mused as he watched just that be formed from both the natural and the imaginable. The warmth from earlier began to invade his body again, but this time, he made no moves to shove it away, so entranced by the delicate weaving of gold and blue. He merely narrowed his eyes and watched, letting the ember steadily grow. I want to see the sky smile.

Fane completely missed the tender look in Wisdom's otherworldly eyes, so besotted by the idea of a sight he shouldn't, but would desire.

---

Oh GOD, I blurbed! *yoinks this snippet for potential fuel for later* >:3

#asks #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age #ask #thank you so much for the ask friend! X3 #i know the fear one is kind of touching on anxiety and whatnot but i think it falls into the same category :3 #yes. fane knew wisdom which makes later FUUUUN *cries*#dragon!fane is very confused by what he's feeling and is a proud son of a gun PFFFT #*is thinking about solas in one of fane's tunics* ...i am so predictable

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radiojamming · 4 years

Note

I feel like the low-hanging fruit of a prompt to give you is something around the canonical presence of the Franklin Expedition in TMA lore. Everchase fic?

[GRABS THAT FRUIT AND SCURRIES BACK UP MY TREE WITH IT BEFORE U CAN EVEN BLINK]

also i picked my 3rd favorite franklin expedition boy as the main dude here :3c and this isn’t terror-centric so much as it lines up with MAG 133!

- - -

Tom doesn’t understand what possesses the men he sails with. Some of them have such a want; such a craving and a desire that he cannot fathom, what with his simple daily tasks and basic training. He sees it, sometimes, when he’s tying off ropes or painting or tarring. He sees their hunger, spies it when they look out at where the sea is caked in ice, threatening the end of a cold summer. Out beyond the grey mountains and glaciers, the knife points of broken ice, the strange creatures, the dancing lights that curtain the stars, he knows they see the Northwest Passage. They see it so clearly that they’re blind to what’s in front of them now.

He sees a job. He sees chores and things that years in the Navy have taught him to do.

Of course, he also wants things. Everyone does. Tom wants to make it through the expedition in one piece, whether it end in the Sandwich Islands or England if they have to turn tail. He wants to collect his double pay, count it out from his hands to his mother’s, and feel safe and warm again before the next set of sails and ropes entices him back to the sea.

And once, he wanted adventure. He wouldn’t have had the thought to sign onto Erebus if there wasn’t some part of him that craved it. It didn’t capture his senses the way it does for some of the men, but there was a thrill that ran a gauntlet through his heart when he saw something truly strange, like the auroras or the twirled horns of narwhals peeking up through the ice. Sometimes, he would eagerly run down to the orlop after his watch ended and pen out a quick letter to his sisters, his brother, his mother, or his cousins—just hurried observations of the Arctic and how different it was from Gillingham.

He wanted adventure. The past tense is deliberate and fierce. He wanted, because the only reason it was ever in the present tense at all is now buried under six feet of frozen gravel some two hundred miles north. If he must want something presently, he wants his brother back from the dead.

No, he doesn’t understand the men who seek the Passage like hounds on a scent. What’s the use of wanting something you’re not meant to have?

- - -

They freeze in for the second summer in a row. The sun kisses the horizon, pressing rosy lips to grey shale and pink ice—then draws back up into a powder blue sky to wink above them.

That’s when people start to disappear.

First, it’s Sir John. He dies in June—or so Tom’s told. He apparently dies in the night, long after the dog watches take place. Captain Crozier tells the men that they’ll be burying Sir John right away, but Commander— no, Captain Fitzjames’ face is fixed peculiarly when the announcement is made. Dreadfully ill, Crozier tells them. He can’t be seen.

It doesn’t make sense. Many of the ABs echo the sentiment, but the mates and lieutenants are quick to quash their concerns. The burial is hasty, committing a simple wooden box to the gravel with only a large stone to mark the grave itself. This strikes Tom as stranger than all the Arctic’s oddest traits combined. His brother, a lowly able-bodied seaman, was afforded more decorum than Sir John Franklin.

More disappear after that. Fairholme and Osmer apparently die on a hunting expedition. Aylmore, Goddard, and Kinnaird aren’t far behind, disappearing into that sun-soaked horizon with only whispers left behind.

Reddington makes the oddest display before his disappearance; honestly, he’s the best hint to Tom that something very, very strange is happening. The night before he goes missing, he wakes half the ship up with a maniacal laugh, practically screaming in pure incoherence before Lieutenant Le Vesconte drags him into the Wardroom, presumably to calm him. Le Vesconte opens the door only once to ask for Captain Fitzjames and a glass of brandy before he shuts them both in and the screaming starts again. All Tom can catch is the howl of, “It’s there! It’s there! I’ve seen it!” before Fitzjames arrives.

The next morning, Reddington is gone. Fitzjames says he broke loose and ran off after the second dog watch, presumably having gone mad.

A few days later, Crozier says they’re going to abandon ship and begin a long walk south.

- - -

The craving begins in September, Tom thinks.

If there even is such thing as September.

In his mind, it’s The Craving, titled like a book. In this book, he thinks the plot would be about men so far gone in their hunger that all the humanity in them decays to nothing, leaving them crazed husks searching for the impossible. At this point, what with men falling into the stones and dying halfway through the descent, he feels they shouldn’t be like this. They should be tending their wounded and ill, making camp more often. But The Craving is in Crozier’s eyes, dragging them further and further towards… something.

Tom doesn’t think they’re looking for the Passage anymore.

He follows along, as he always has. Ever the seaman, now ever the AB, following orders from a boatswain with lips scarred from his whistle freezing to the flesh and tearing away.

Then, The Craving gets carnal when their last food stores begin to dwindle. Tom barely notices, watching as if in a dream as the man who used to be Daniel Arthur cracks marrow out of a bone, greedily clawing it out of the hollows with his frostbitten fingers. He eats like an animal, and stops only when they begin to move again.

Tom doesn’t eat with them. Every time he thinks of it, his mind plays some terrible trick. He thinks of John, entombed in ice and rock, emaciated and torn open like an animal was the one who pried his ribs from his body, and not a surgeon. He thinks of what John’s marrow would taste like, and imagines his brother watching him, eyes unfocused behind the mists of death, jaw unhinged in that silent scream of a corpse—judging him.

Tommy, he thinks John would say. Always stealing off my plate, huh?

He doesn’t eat. When the hunger saws at his stomach with iron teeth, he bites his hands, his lips, the wool from his coat, the copper-tasting metal of his buttons. He swallows snow until he vomits.

And somehow, impossibly, he lives on.

- - -

There are no days.

No weeks.

No months.

Maybe years, but Tom’s stopped counting.

There are only steps, one after another. There are bloody footprints thousands of miles behind them. They abandoned the sledges back in the snow and gravel, leaving useless cargo and a trail of broken bodies. Men still die, but there seems to be no real reason why they do. Tom should have been dead… ten? Twenty? Fifty years ago? He can’t remember. All he knows is that he’s still walking, following behind Crozier and Fitzjames and a dwindling party of men still dressed for the Arctic weather.

They’re in a desert.

Surely they should have found the Passage by now? Tom thinks this as he sees a lizard scurry up a strange plant, spiked like a well-used pincushion. The sun bites his blistering flesh, scrapes its glowing teeth along the back of his neck. Still, he’s never felt the need to take off his slops. There’s something comforting about the What Was, after all.

Why is he here? He doesn’t Crave the way the others do. They always talk about the Passage. It’s over that hill, surely. It’s along this river. If we just walk over there, it will be within sight. He knows it won’t be. It never is.

So why does he walk?

Because you Want, something tells him. It’s a deep, odd thing set in his soul, prone to ring out when struck like a bell, reminding him that he Must Always Walk.

For what?

For the Wanting, it says. And what do you Want, Thomas Hartnell?

Somewhere beyond a flat-topped mountain the colour of blood and bile, he thinks about that question. What does he Want?

He wants his mother to kiss his forehead and tell him good night. He wants Charlie to take apart their father’s pocket watch and put it back together, just in time to proudly show it to Tom. He wants to hear Mary Ann sing old shanties while she kneads dough on Friday morning. He wants to sit at the base of an apple tree while Betsy throws down the fruit, giggling as she does so.

He wants John to come back from the dead.

He wants to go home.

And Home is over that next mountain, says The Craving. Tom looks up at another blood-red mountain, the winking sun pressing a kiss to the slant of its neck. Don’t you want to see it again? Gillingham? Kent? The River and the Sea?

Of course he does, but it isn’t—

Well, maybe it is.

So Tom Wants, and he Craves, and he Walks.

#tma #the magnus archives #mag 133 #THIS WAS REALLY REALLY FUN

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chrysalispen · 5 years

Text

writing warmup #2

morning writing warm-up time! just an alternate POV from a certain in-game scene :3c

====

Nero tol Scaeva was bored out of his godsdamned mind.

Out in the middle of fuckall nowhere, chasing some curiously specific intelligence, malms even from the little shitehole desert town that reminded him of his own home in all the wrong ways, he was also thoroughly annoyed. The desert heat was slowly cooking him to death even with the self-regulated cooling mechanisms he'd installed in his armor, the wind had blown what felt like an entire sand dune into his mouth, and he badly needed to piss.

He'd pulled himself away from his most important project to take the data he needed personally and- nothing, so far. And yet here he was with one of his least favorite people in the world, watching a gaggle of lizardmen caper and shout around a bonfire, and waiting for something to happen. Anything.

How a supposed summoning ritual could be so dull was beyond his understanding.

Point of fact, he was about to pack the entire bloody thing in and look into just who had anonymously tipped off his sources, because he was half-certain that Frumentarium had been pranked. The beastmen had been trying to summon their god since the immediate aftermath of van Darnus' disastrous Project Meteor with no success; the notion that they might be able to manage it now-

"Nero."

The voice, female, canned and echoing through the metallic rattle of her helm's communications array, snapped impatiently through his ears.

"Yes, my sweet?" Smooth, devil-may-care, and just a little bit condescending: Nero knew full well how much that sort of response irritated her, which of course was why he did it.

"I just asked you a question. Have you fallen asleep at your post?"

"Patience, Livia. Their ritual's only just begun. If naught happens in the next--" the tribunus laticlavius checked his digital chronometer and, internally, the remaining capacity of his bladder, "--half-bell or so, we'll report in."

His fellow tribune made an irritated chuffing noise over the receiver, but said nothing further. Nero was well aware that Livia didn't like him. She saw him as her direct competition for Gaius van Baelsar's favor, resented what she saw as his inappropriately cavalier attitude towards their Very Serious Eorzean Campaign, and had made her rancor towards him abundantly obvious from day one.

The distaste was mutual. Nero was quite able to set aside his personal feelings for the nonce if a situation required him to use his gunblade- ferreting out spies under his authority as the commander of the XIVth's Frumentarium, for example. But it was a chore, little different to his way of thinking than performing maintenance on an engine. Livia on the other hand seemed to delight in bloodshed in a way that deeply bothered him. The only thing she seemed to love more than crushing savages beneath her cermet-plated boot was the Black Wolf.

And that, he decided with an inward grimace, was a line of thought he'd really rather not give terribly close consideration.

Black clouds were roiling overhead and the air had turned thick with fire-aspected aether; he could feel the warmth of it against his exposed face and his scalp prickled uncomfortably.

Nero considered retrieving his helm - it would provide some measure of protection against the concentrated aether - and then decided against it. The on-board diagnostics in his suit would have sounded their alarum did current aether levels pose any serious risk to him.

If worst came to worst, he’d have a headache for the rest of the day. Maybe not quite safe as houses, but safe enough.

Dispassionately the tribunus surveyed the scene below. A number of Eorzean soldiers wearing Immortal Flames colors and a small handful of adventurers had been brought to the edge of the circle, their hands lashed together.

Experience and secondhand observation from subordinates' reports told him that meant they were marked either for sacrifice or tempering; he wasn't certain which, and didn't particularly care to make the distinction. While he bore no particular ill will towards the denizens of these wild lands, he couldn't find himself bothered to feel strongly one way or another watching scenes like these, either. He was no hero, and he certainly wasn't going to stick his neck out for a motley collection of savages he knew full well would not extend him the same courtesy were their positions reversed.

Still, he observed, as he was wont to do. The adventurers were being dragged forward first, their apparent leader a tall, slender blonde woman with a staff strapped to her back. Some variety of caster, though he was hardly well-versed enough in such matters to know or care what sort. Now that was interesting; if the beastmen meant to sacrifice them to their god then why had they left them their weapons? Moreover, why had their victims not attempted escape...?

The ringleader--he supposed by this one's relatively gaudy sartorial choices that he was their priest--raised bracelet-clad arms and hands aloft to the sky in supplication. Nero didn't understand the tongue he spoke but it didn't take a scholar to understand that the Amal'jaa were calling out to their god.

At more or less the same moment there was a quiet beep from the old aetherometer on his wrist. Nero slid the casement open with a flick of his gauntleted index finger to view the results, and his soft hum of satisfaction rose, briefly, over the sounds of chanting and drums below.

"...and there's the waveform spike," he said aloud. "It appears they're finally getting on with it."

“I don’t need a play-by-play description, Scaeva.” Livia had perched herself on a nearby rock with a loudly disinterested sigh. "That said, do wake me when the savages are through with their little ritual. I should like to have news of actual consequence to report back to Lord Gaius for this trouble."

"What? Bored, are we?" He spared her a short and mocking laugh, never mind he was bored himself. "You don't care to watch them feed their pet god?"

"I take no joy in such things, as well you know. I would not even be here did I have the choice." He could practically hear the scowl she wore. "Perhaps if you paid more attention to your own mission, this would go faster."

With a mental shrug the tribunus turned his attention back to the canyon basin below, where the festivities had begun in earnest.

Heat blasted in a wave across his cheeks as the sphere of aether that had coalesced midair exploded outward to reveal the eikon that had formed within. It was a big, ugly brute, half again as large as a castrum watchtower, each of its claws fully seven fulms in length, and it turned its attention to the group of adventurers first. As Nero watched, the lizardmen cut the bonds of their prisoners and shoved them forward.

"... bathe these unbelievers in your holy light!" the priest bellowed. The words were very faint, but in the absence of any other sound they echoed perfectly against the walls of the canyon.

And suddenly everything else - the weapons, the lack of escape attempts - made sense. Not a sacrificial ritual, then. They intended to temper their captives.

He grimaced. Boredom or not, he really didn't want to watch them have their will subsumed beneath that of an aetheric construct. They'd have to be put down by their fellows - or by imperial steel, depending upon who encountered them first.

Nero felt a peculiar sense of regret as his eyes caught that flash of honeyed gold again. Such a shame.

Hoping to avoid actually witnessing the tempering process, he spat out a mouthful of sand, ran his fingers vigorously through his blond curls to shake out the dust that had accumulated there, glanced at his aetherometer, and back down to the scene unfolding below. By now the hapless adventurers and the soldiers at their back would have been bathed in Ifrit's flames, doused in his aether, and forcibly-

Something was happening.

The Hyur woman he'd glimpsed earlier stood alone, staring bemused at her open palms, then at her surrounds in clear-eyed but obvious confusion while the tempered soldiers around her bowed and scraped and wailed their empty praises to the construct that towered over them.

The eikon's tempering hadn't worked on her for some reason.

Nero's gaze sharpened with interest. Livia forgotten for the moment, he came out of cover, crouching down upon the lip of the overhanging cliff face for a better view. The priest and eikon were recoiling from her, their voices raised in agitation, and the woman-

The adventurer drew her staff from her back and shouted at the others to do the same. They did. Whatever protection it was that had shielded her from the eikon's will, she had somehow managed to extend it to the three others of her ilk that now stood at her side.

They were going to fight, Nero marveled. The mad bastards. They were actually going to try and fight an eikon.

"Well, well," he said softly, his gaze dropping to the chiming aetherometer on his wrist. "This is certainly a development."

Hopefully the data he’d glean from the adventurers’ unanticipated show of strength - as brief and bloody a fight as he expected it to be, four mortals pitted against even a weak ‘god’ such as this - would prove equally entertaining.

#writing exercise #a realm reborn #chrysalispen writes #writing nero is absurdly fun and i should do it more often #he's just like 'ahahaha good luck you crazy bastards'

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tiptoeingquietly · 7 years

Text

art room 3c - chapter 6

brraanng! Annabeth had never been so happy in her entire life to hear a sound. To the average student at AHS, this bell meant the freedom of break. To Annabeth, this bell meant she could finally have a cigarette. Picking up her bag, the buttons made a clicking noise as she sped out of her classroom and to the school doors, pushing through the creaking oak and sprinting to the forest. The yellow, tall, and still frosty grass, crunched under the soles of her feet, slightly scratching her calfs but she didn't stop - not till she reached the forests edge. She dug through her bag sighed as she held up the pack. Never in her life had Annabeth had to wait that long for a smoke, never in her life had Annabeth needed one so badly, also. Feeling relieved, Annabeth reached into her bag once more, feeling around for the box of matches so normally glued to her hand. She froze.

"no." it at first came as a whisper. A silent prayer of 'oh god please no please tell me i packed my matches' no, but soon rose to a "no shit oh god!" As Annabeth dug frantically. It had to be in there, it just had to be there.

Annabeth had just given up, sliding down a tree with her elbows balancing on her knees, unlit cigarette still closed in between her pointer and middle fingers. She was breathing in cold, dry air when she heard a crunched sound to her right. She opened her eyes and stood quickly, fearing it was a faculty member, or adult. She was surprised to see it was neither Faculty nor adult, but the boy from her art class. She sighed and slid down the tree again, reaching to put the cigarette back in its pack.

"need a light?" the voice was low and rich, but slightly scratchy. it reminded her of waves breaking on a beach, not much different to the ones he had painted that morning.

"what?" Annabeth blanched. He chuckled. A sweet, low tone that spread a warmth she had never experienced before throughout her body, yet accompanied came goosebumps. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a classic fuel-lighter.

"need a light?" he motioned to her hand which held a cigarette, and she put her hand to her forehead.

"yeah, um sorry" She scored herself for fumbling and looked back up at him, standing. He tossed her the lighter and she lit the end of her smoke, inhaling so deeply she could feel every vein fill with black and fiery stickiness. Weirdly enough, it calmed her. "It's Percy, right?"

Percy looked up, his expression of a deer caught in the headlights. "oh. um yeah." Annabeth smiled and tossed him back the lighter.

"Thanks Percy." she smiled and he chuckled again. Annabeth suppressed a shiver.

"Anytime..." His eyes searched hers and Annabeth realised she never giving him her name. That and the fact he had his earphones in all class, this boy had no idea who she was.

"-Annabeth" She offered, taking another drag at her stick.

He smirked and lit a cigarette too, breathing out an impressive cloud of smoke. "Well then, anytime, Annabeth."

It was then the two sat. Each across from each other, pant and dress slightly dampening by the dewy grass, inhaling the others exhaled smoke, as each supplied more to the woodsey atmosphere. Annabeth had just finished another smoke when she heard the bell ring in the distance. she cursed, putting out her second cigarette on a small stone.

"Shit..." She shuffled, pulling out her list of classes. how did she lose track of time? how long had she been sitting here?

"you okay?" Percy asked, getting up and looking over her shoulder. Annabeth was painfully aware of his presence and her heart pounded in her chest. So much, she feared he could hear it from where he stood. "oh, i see. you're new, right. Here, come on, i'll show you to your next class." Annabeth pricked up at that, turning around only to be met with a broad chest. She took a step back and he did too, scratching the back of his neck.

"you-you don't have to do that."

"no, really it's cool." Annabeth looked up at him and he smiled, though to her it looked like more of a smirk. "i don't have the next period this quarter." Annabeth felt herself nod and start to blush, but willed it down. what was she feeling?

Percy walked her silently to her next class and she turned to thank him, bouncing once on the balls of her toes.

"Thanks. uh for um.. for walking me."

"No problem." He smiled-more-like-smirked again and Annabeth walked into the class with 2 minutes to spare, receiving her seat and desk as she went over what just happened again and again in her head.

holy shit.

#percabeth fanfiction #percabeth #fanfiction

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