#and like. don’t get me wrong cedar did SO much of the harm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mishwanders · 2 years

Text

You Don’t Believe

Pairing: Vampire!Dam! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Genre/Rating: Smut/Adult

Warnings: it’s vampire smut so biting, blood, collar and leash, PIV, fingering, oral (giving), mentions of alcohol. Minors DNI

You never once believed in the stories of evil growing up. The ones depicting bloodthirsty killers with nothing in their hearts but lust for the dark ichor that made them feel alive, if only for a moment. You especially didn’t believe it when you met a man sitting at the bar, nursing a glass that you just now realized he hadn’t even drank from. But you were too enamored with him to care, drawn in by the scent of patchouli and cedar, getting lost within the forest of his hazel eyes. You couldn’t take your own off of him, and he noticed.

“Enjoying the view?” He snakily asked

“Mhm, but I think you’re enjoying it a little more.” You stated, seeing how his eyes were wandering along your body specifically in the areas where your dress hugged every curve.

You didn’t believe in monsters, but he eye’d you like one that was ready to satiate its hunger. You couldn’t help but feel excited under his gaze. You needed to feel wanted, hell it’s why you came to the bar so late at night, trying to drown your own needs and to satiate your own desires until the morning came shining down on your sins. You felt that you two would be a perfect match for the evening, and you were hoping that he would be able to entertain you.

“You’re not wrong.” He replied, licking his lips as his eyes finally set on yours.

He stood up from his place at the bar and stepped in closer to you, towering over your form.

“Come with me.” He coerced, “I can show you so much more.”

You didn’t believe in devils, but he was just as convincing as one, hypnotizing you, having you hang off of every word that fell from his lips. You consented and he took your hand, leading you upstairs from the bar into a room that was ornately decorated only for the finest of guests. But your attention was quickly drawn away again by the scent of him, pulling you back into his presence.

“What will you allow me to do?” He asked, cupping your face in his hands.

You didn’t believe in monsters.

So what harm could he do?

“Anything.” You whispered

His lips came crashing down into yours, drinking in your warmth and the hints of alcohol he could no longer take pleasure in. His tongue slipped past your lips, diving in deeper for more as his hands made their way down your covered body, making quick work to remove the clothing, so they would no longer be hiding you away from him. He picked you up off of the floor, carrying you over to the bed before laying you down. His beard tickled your skin as he trailed kisses to your chest, cupping you in his hands, his tongue dancing around your nipple as he kneaded the soft flesh. A moan escaped your lips at his touch, feeling the weight of the world rolling off of your shoulders as you began to forget what laid outside beyond the door. His right hand left your chest and made its way down your abdomen and in between your legs.

You were already wet for him, so he just used what you gave him and inserted his fingers into you, curling his fingers as he slowly pumped them in and out, forcing more noises to escape your lips as you squirmed underneath him. He chuckled at your feeble attempt to escape him.

“Be a good girl and stay still for me.” He demanded

You did as he commanded, attempting not to move more than you had to in response to his touch. It was your people-pleasing nature, you just wanted to do everything right and not disappoint him.

He continued to move his finger in and out of you at a faster pace, listening to your voice grow louder, panting at each movement as you gripped onto the hair at the nape of his neck. He could already smell the sweet scent coming off of you inhaling it in, knowing you were close. But this wasn’t going to be the only time this evening that he was going to make you crumble before him at his whim. No, you did say that he could do anything.

So he was going to do what he wanted to you.

Soon your legs tightened up around his waist, your back arched, pressing your chest even more into his mouth as he felt the rumble of the moans escaping your body, hearing the melodic sound in his ears. He had to admit, you were tempting to take a bit from right now. But he restrained himself, removing his lips and his fingers from you.

He looked down at your blissfully naked form in front of him, painted in the moonlight. You looked delectable to him and he smiled at the thought of what you would look like with him inside of you, his teeth digging into you as the blood trickled down your soft skin.

Fuck. You were making this hard.

Leon moved away from you and over to the dresser, pulling out a few items and laying them down on top. He turned back around to you, hiding what was behind him and leaned against the dresser, staring at you with a grin on his face.

“Get on all fours and turn around.” He demanded

Again, you wanted nothing more than to please him at this moment, so you did as you were told. He began to undress himself, before you felt him come up behind you. You jumped at the cold sensation of a leather collar being placed around your neck. He brought his hand around to the front, pulling on the ring and forcing you to face him, placing a kiss on your lips.

“Good girl.” He whispered, before clamping a leash onto the ring.

He pulled you around, forcing you to follow him off the bed and over to the large chair at the corner of the room. He sat down, pulling you on your chain a bit harder, rushing you to crawl closer to him until you were in between his legs.

“Sit.”

You sat in your place, awaiting patiently for what he was going to instruct you to do next. You watched as he stroked himself in front of you before finally pulling on your leash, forcing your lips to come into contact with him.

“Be a good girl and suck it for me.” He instructed

‘Be a good girl.’

It was like those words were a hypnotic spell to you, making you want him more, wanting to please every indulgent and lustful action for him. You wrapped your hand around him and began to go down on him, stroking the length with your tongue. You heard him let out a groan as he felt your lips wrap around him. He pulled down on the leash, causing you to gag as he hit the back of your throat, but you were persistent and you were going to make him feel as good as possible.

You continued to work your own magic on him, hearing his voice increase with moans, seeing his knuckles turning white as he gripped tightly onto the chain and edge of the chair. He may have had a collar around your neck, but you had him wrapped around your finger, his desires only to be fulfilled by you in this moment.

He could feel himself getting closer, knowing he was not yet ready for it. He wanted to make it last a little longer, play with his dinner just a bit more before he finally had his fill. He pulled up on the chain forcing you to let go of him. You could see the sweat forming on his skin, his hair sticking to his face. Those hypnotizing hazel eyes staring back down at you, making you feel like his prey.

“Come here.” He said, patting his lap.

You slowly crawled up towards him, pressing your chest to his as you kissed him. He could taste himself on you now, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of knowing you were his.

His little pet.

He forced you to turn around, guiding your hips back down to his lap. He positioned himself up to you, helping you slide down onto him. A moan escaped you as he stretched you out, a groan leaving his chest as he felt your warmth envelope him. He pulled you to him, having your back lay flat on his chest and forcing your legs to straddle over the sides of his. You looked forward and noticed there was a mirror stationed in front of you. You couldn’t help but watch as he began to slide in and out of you, his hand finding its place on your clit, dancing circles around it as he began to slide in and out of you at a faster pace. Every moment and every touch felt heavenly from him, pulling you in even more, pulling you into a blissfully ignorant trance, unaware of what his true intentions were for you.

He loved watching you become undone like this, knowing his power over you in this state. You looked, smelled, and sounded amazing to him. You were perfect for him to finally taste his fill.

You could feel yourself growing closer again to your orgasm, your breath becoming labored with each movement from him. God he knew just what to do to make you crumble from him. You were pulled out of your focus for only a moment, feeling the sting of teeth piercing your skin. But the sting was subdued as you felt your orgasmn reach you. You watched your body quake in his arms. He continued to stare at you through the mirror, loving every moment of what you were giving him, chasing his own high on you now and not letting up.

He pulled on the chain, forcing you to look at him now. He planted a kiss on your lips, allowing the blood in his mouth to fill yours. He wanted you to taste just how good you truly were to him. When he swallowed the rest, he let his tongue explore your mouth, tasting what remained as he finally reached his own high. His lips finally parted from your own, placing his forehead to yours as he tried to catch his breath.

“You taste so good. You were such a good girl for me.” He whispered, staring lovingly into your eyes.

You never believed in monsters. Not in the way you were taught.

But you did believe in him, and if he was a monster, well…

You never wanted to stop.

#resident evil fandom #resident evil fic #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #monsters #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #vampires #vampire leon s kennedy #vampire leon kennedy #spicy writing: leon kennedy

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unlockthelore · 4 years

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Reasons

While Jaken seeks his young lord in hopes of answers to his wandering, he finds himself berated with questions. From the series Affections Touching Across Time on AO3. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog.

A glorified nanny.

If anyone were to ask how Jaken sum up his position, it would be that. While he considered himself to be valuable to his illustrious lord and an asset in the formation of his empire — looking after the children his master sired was a lackluster use of his abilities.

Admittedly, his lord was an odd one.

Ever since his encounter with the human girl Rin, he’d been exhibiting strange behaviors toward beings he would normally disregard, going so far to marry a human, of all things, and to sire hanyō, which only added to his complexities.

Centuries before, his lord would have found such rabble unworthy of gracing the sole of his boots, but now they walked alongside him without a care in the world.

It was mind-boggling. Though Jaken had no desire to be clobbered or bludgeoned with a rock, so his opinions were kept and buried away. Jaken plodded along the winding dirt-trodden road patched with dewy grass, his grunts muffled by wet slapping footsteps as his feet sank into the soft and pulpy soil.

A small outline of a child’s foot caught his eye, and he sighed audibly. No matter how often he chided the children on proper attire, they refrained from wearing the footwear their father had tailored for them. It was a waste of his lord’s kindness, and there was so much they could hurt themselves with — gravel on the roads, shells left in the beach sands.

Blatant disregard for their well-being — he could hardly believe the flippancy.

Taking after their mother no doubt, he thought tiredly, staring up into the bright afternoon sky. Hopefully, she would return soon. With the rise in banditry and ne’er-do-wells, she was in even more danger away from those who could protect her. A worried groan vibrated in his throat as he shuffled beneath the boughs of a towering cedar, grateful for reprieve from the beaming sun.

The child’s footprints also stopped beneath it, somewhere near the roots where muddy footprints cooled then seemed to vanish.

Jaken wiped the sweat from his crown and leant against the tree — it’s bark, smooth and dry, was comfortable against his aching back. He felt as if he searched high and low for the young lord, but to no avail. Hours passing to where his presence was sorely missed. Neither his sisters nor his grandmother knew where he was, although Jaken highly doubted the latter. The Lady Mother seemed to take pleasure in his distress, and without A-Un to aid him in the search, he was forced to seek on foot. Leaving him with precious moments before his lord became aware of his son’s disappearance.

Jaken sighed raggedly, forlorn and defeated, sinking down to the grass with his legs stretched out before him.

Thankfully, Towa and Setsuna had outgrown their desire to make him fret with their games of hide and seek. They were nearing their twelfth spring and found better forms of entertainment than teasing him mercilessly.

Although, that wasn’t to say they didn’t do so when the mood struck them.

Mugen, barely past his fifth spring, enjoyed playing and exploring much like Rin when she was a child. Time and again, his play would come at the expense of Jaken’s well-being. Wandering off, climbing everything, getting into innocent mischief — the list was endless , let alone worrying, and Jaken’s half-hearted grievances to Rin concerning Mugen being her son often earned him a scathing glare from his lord accompanied by a knock over the head. Instinctively, Jaken rubbed the smooth curve of his scalp . The bushes amid the cedar copse and the meandering roads were barely used after rainfall due to the mud. Carts would be easily stuck, but a child on foot would find no end to their mirth.

The young lord could have been anywhere and with as many hiding places as there were — bushes, knotholes, nesting spots, dens — it would have been easy for him to become trapped if something were to go wrong.

“Oh…” Jaken crooned anxiously at the thought, grasping Nintōjō tightly as he hauled himself up, staggering forward on quivering legs. Surely, he hadn’t climbed one of the trees. What if he fell and broke his neck or worse?! If Mugen had injured himself, he would weep for days and Rin’s disappointment would never cease. She never showed apprehension with leaving her children in his care. But if one of them were to be injured due to his negligence —

Jaken shuddered at the thought of her kindly features shifting into contempt. Would she defend him from her husband’s wrath, or leave him to his fate? Wouldn’t he deserve it for allowing harm to come to their son?! No, Rin wasn’t cruel. She would surely spare him, but what if she were upset? Oh, it was too much to bear!

Concern sprang tears to Jaken’s bulbous eyes, glazing them over as he crowed loudly into the echoing woods. “Mugen-sama! Where did you go…?!”

His voice echoed off the trees with no reply. In his distress, he propped his staff against the tree to free his hands, settling the end of it between two large roots protruding from the ground.

It would be grating to his sensitive ears, but if he could find him, that was all that mattered. Taking a deep breath, Jaken’s lungs swelled, and he held his hands around his mouth to bellow. “Mugen-sa—!”

“Jaken?”

“Gah!” Jaken shrieked, jumping backward as leaves fell from overhead, his head knocking against the tree trunk. He groaned low at the throbbing pain, sinking down to sit in the grass while batting the falling leaves away.

Wait, hadn’t that been...?

Jaken scrambled to his feet with a squawk, head swiveling as he tried to find the source of the call. “M-Mugen-sama? Where are you!?”

“Up here, Jaken.”

“Huh?”

Jaken’s heart leapt into his throat as he tipped his head back. His eyes widened comically , beak falling open at the sight of his young lord hanging upside down from one of the thicker branches. Silvery-white locks hung in a thick veil, disheveled and burdened with leaves. A pair of small floppy ears perked up at attention as Jaken’s gaze met a pair of bright golden eyes in a familiar, yet younger and friendlier, face.

“M-Mugen-sama!” Jaken cried, wiping at his eyes furiously with his sleeve. He sniffed harshly, choosing to ignore the boy’s pinched expression. “Jump down to me, milord! It isn’t safe for you up there!”

Much like his mother, Mugen seemed to scrutinize his words with open conflict. His gaze flicking up and down Jaken’s small form as he studied him. He shook his head. “You’re little, Jaken. I’ll flatten you.”

“Watch your tone! You’re not so big yourself, and if anything happens to you, your father w— aah!”

Without warning, the boy dropped from the daunting height, and Jaken’s heart ceased beating. Leaves shaken loose showered Mugen’s form as he met the ground in a low crouch. The pelt around his shoulders flapped on the breeze, slowly falling as he rose to his feet, thankfully unharmed but confused as Jaken hurried to him. Immediately looking him over, Jaken lifted his arms and circled him a few times to ensure there weren’t any bruises or lasting damage.

“Be more careful!” Jaken shouted, trying to calm his racing heart with the breathing exercises the old priestess taught him.

Mugen pressed his lips together and scowled, his gaze cutting. “I am careful, Jaken,” he said petulantly.

Jaken sighed. Though he wanted to argue the point, there was little reason to do so now that he was safe. He ambled over to unearth Nintōjō from the tree roots, grumbling all the while. “Why do you continuously run off, milord? Your father will have my head if something happens to —” He turned around, blinking slowly when he saw the boy was no longer standing beneath the cedar but wading through a bush, his orange hair ribbon swaying behind him. “M-Mugen-sama!”

At the call of his name, Mugen seemed to slow his steps enough for Jaken to catch up to him, panting and gasping.

“Tou-chan wouldn’t kill you, Jaken,” Mugen voiced, soft and well-meaning in his naïvety.

“That you know of…” Jaken breathed a haggard sigh.

If only the children knew what a terrifying yōkai their father could be, he thought, and they would if they listened to his stories instead of wandering off through the woods constantly .

“Watch your head, Jaken.”

Before he could ask, a low-hanging branch Mugen pulled back as he stepped past came hurtling at his face. A loud thwack echoed as Jaken staggered backward with a pained yelp, holding his beak as it throbbed. He murmured curses inwardly. His face growing hot with indignation and embarrassment while his eyes watered. Humiliation was an acutely familiar sensation among his lordship’s family, but he hardly ever felt on the verge of shedding tears in front of his charge.

“I told you to watch your head,” a gentle voice reproached. Jaken barely had time to voice a reply when his arm was tugged to one side. Mugen’s golden eyes flicked across Jaken’s face to assess the extent of the damage. His lips pulled to one side, and he sank down to his knees, fumbling in a pouch tethered to the belt around his waist .

“Here.”

When he found what he’d been searching for, he turned his knuckles upright and opened his hand, a cream-colored rigged shell sitting in the middle of his palm. Jaken blinked owlishly as Mugen opened it, revealing a vivid reddish-orange gel set inside with an oddly smelling spice that sent a burning sensation running through his nose. Claws dipped into the gel and, coating it over the pads of his fingers, Mugen held his hand out to Jaken who recoiled. The boy’s brows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed.

“It will hurt worse if you don’t use this, Jaken.”

Jaken huffed, covering his beak defiantly. “Where did you get that from?”

“Aneue,” Mugen huffed, batting away Jaken’s hands much to his displeasure. The gel was smeared over his beak in slow circles, throbbing and stinging pain beginning to burn dully. Jaken squeaked, but Mugen glared at him pointedly, continuing to rub the ointment. “Kaa-chan and Kohaku-ojichan made it with Sango-obachan’s help. It helps heal yōkai so they don’t have to use their yōki.”

Jaken dared not tweak his beak until Mugen finished, mesmerized as the gel glistened on his skin before gradually sinking into it. His yōki had been flowing towards the wounded area to heal it, but now the energy was shifting about in his body restlessly , righting itself slowly now that it was no longer needed. A handy trick made by humans.

Curiously, Jaken rubbed his fingers over his beak, but could find no trace of heat from the wound. Only the spicy scent strong enough to make his eyes water remained. He swiped at his eyes a few times but to no avail, screeching as a cool stream of water fell over the top of his head.

“Wh-What?!” Jaken sputtered, batting away the steady flow of water as he stumbled backward. Wiping the water from his face with drenched sleeves, he glared disdainfully at Mugen capping his water skin. “What was that for?!”

Mugen glanced at him, brow raised with a slight furrow. “Be careful next time,” he said curtly, tethering the waterskin to his hip aside the pouch then turning away. His pelt flourished and draped around him as he started off again.

Jaken gaped at his back for a moment then screeched. “There wouldn’t be a next time if you would only listen to me, milord!”

“I am listening, Jaken,” Mugen said with nary a backward glance, flexing his claws beneath the drape of his pelt and cutting through a few low-hanging branches, as though it were a hot knife through butter. The ends of the branches, now severed and burning with poison, were carefully taken in hand and set aside away from the mounds and burrows beneath the trees. “Up this way.”

Jaken quickly recovered from his stupor and mumbled under his breath. Like father, like son, though at least the latter had the decency to tell him where he was headed. Jaken puttered around to recover his staff then hurried after Mugen, hastening to keep the fluttering orange ribbon in sight. Branches and brambles cleared from the path led them further through the cedar grove to a small strip of grassland set before a stone wall.

Scraggly grass grew beside weeds, indicating that, with the sheer amount of unkemptness, the path must have been unused. Jaken could barely feel the packed earth beneath his feet, and every step brought the quiet swish-swish of tall grass brushing along his arms and Mugen’s stomach. As Mugen walked closer to the wall, Jaken peered up at it, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. A cool breeze swept through the clearing, carrying with it the brackish scent of the ocean. Distant echoes of rushing water caught his attention, and realization dawned on him. They were close to the falls near the cliffside by the palace.

“Mugen-sama, what are y— ah!”

Facing forward, Jaken noticed Mugen was nowhere in sight once again. Where had he gone so quickly?! Barely able to handle the shock, Jaken didn’t notice the rock sailing through the air until it knocked his hat from his head.

“Up here, Jaken!”

Jaken fumbled to straighten his hat and gawked at the height of the wall. Standing atop it, a rock tossed up and down in hand, was Mugen.

“How am I to climb up there?!”

Mugen’s face settled into a hard stare as he leant forward. “You’re right, your claws are brittle.”

“I beg your pardon?!” Jaken yelled, flailing backward when the boy leapt down. His staff dropped, arms opening to steady him when he nearly fell to his knees. “Be careful..”

Golden eyes blinked at him with a quick scrutinizing look, a small smile bending the severe scowl on the boy’s face. “Hang on, Jaken,” he said, giving little time for Jaken to question the reason. Mugen scooped him up in his arms, much to Jaken’s surprise and confusion. The air, hissing and crackling with a snapping pop as the boy crouched down. Something was coming, and Jaken fidgeted, unsure and nervous. He’d seen his lord use his abilities before. Hair floating, suspending from his energy and his eyes flickering red. In Mugen’s case, what was red was gold and burned blindingly bright, as if someone lit the sun behind his irises. Jaken screamed as the pressure building in the air snapped loose, and they shot into the air with one leaping bound.

He clung to Mugen’s shoulders, claws buried in his pelt and face hidden against his shoulder as the air rushed around them. Gravity bent to propel them downward, and he could only imagine how they would meet the ground. A harsh screaming filled his ears, and it wasn’t until he was jostled a few times that he realized it was coming from himself. Blinking away the tears beading at the corners of his eyes, he looked around in confusion. Past the beaches and few islands surfaced from the oceans was the expanse of the sea laid out before them. Although the wall they’d stood before earlier was dilapidated, around it were low parapets with the distant forms of guardsmen patrolling their lengths.

“Can you walk from here?”

Jaken startled from his thoughts and noticed Mugen for the first time. The boy’s unblinking gaze, seeming utterly unfazed from the heights from which he leapt, was reticent of his father, and Jaken sighed raggedly. These children would be the end of him before long.

“I-I may need a moment…” He admitted, tucking his head against Mugen’s shoulder.

A low hum was the only answer he received, and when Jaken regained his ability to stand, Mugen set him down, leapt off the wall, and returned with Nintōjō in hand shortly thereafter. Jaken sighed, careful not to step towards the edge of the wall. Without the parapets in place, it would be easy to fall to their deaths.

“We can see the gates from here just fine,” Mugen said, handing the staff to Jaken before sitting down cross-legged with his hands resting in his lap.

“The gates?”

“Mhm. Kaa-chan is coming back today, and I wanted to see her.”

“That can be done from the safety of the ground, can’t it?” Jaken huffed bitterly.

Mugen shot him a sideways glare, and Jaken flinched at the sharpness in his stare. “You didn’t have to come up with me,” he said with narrowed golden eyes. Then, he jutted his chin towards the right. “And there is a ladder.”

“W—” Jaken shuffled past him, careful not to tread too close to either end. Scurrying over, he leant over the edge to see that there was a ladder. Not far from where they made their jump either. Wheeling around, he glared at the boy. “Then why did you jump up here?!”

Mugen looked ahead for a long while then hiked his shoulders, sitting back on his hands.

Jaken blinked, then muttered under his breath. “You really are Rin’s son.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jaken cautiously crept to Mugen’s side and sat. Dusk was falling around their ears and dyeing the horizon a peach-orange hue. Waters reflecting the sky, drifting lazily with foam lapping at the cliff sides , mist spraying against the walls. Jaken sighed, and he laid his staff horizontally across his lap.

“Your mother isn’t due back for a while yet.”

Mugen nodded slowly. “I’ll wait,” he said. After a brief stint in quiet, he added softly. “You don’t have to stay.”

Jaken scoffed haughtily, but his heart sank at the vague dismissal. “Hadn’t I already told you, your father will kill me if anything happens to you!”

The words rolled off Jaken’s tongue, and a familiar dread washed over him as Mugen’s eyes narrowed and his peaceful expression twisted into one of irritation.

“He wouldn’t kill you.”

“Hmph,” Jaken folded his arms tightly to hide his trembling. “You obviously haven’t been listening to the stories I’ve told you of your father’s deeds. He’s a boiling seething —”

“ — Terribly magnificent demon,” Mugen interjected with a blasé tone, dry and vaguely unamused. “I’ve been listening.”

Jaken felt his ears growing hot as the boy several centuries younger than him leveled him with a flat look.

“If he wanted you dead, wouldn’t you be?”

The words spoken with a cold snapping tone clamped ironclad around Jaken’s heart. He swallowed thickly, feeling himself shudder. Dedication to his lord had cost him everything. The title that would have had others falling at his feet, lands he could have governed; yet, despite his griping, he wouldn’t have taken those opportunities over the ones he had now. It was terrifying following him into battle as well as waiting on him with his strange temperament. Nonetheless, abandoning him wasn’t an option.

Mugen’s eyes, unrelenting and piercing, reminded Jaken far too much of his father.

“If you’re so scared of him, why do you follow him around?” Mugen demanded, barely contained curiosity and scorn seeping into his tone.

Jaken’s tongue flapped, but he couldn’t seem to gain control of it. His insides twisted and turned the longer he held the steely gaze. “I-I’m his loyal servant a—”

“Tou-chan said loyalty made by fear is betrayal waiting to happen,” the boy snapped.

Bristling at that, Jaken yelled. “Wh— how dare — I would never betray Lord Sesshomaru!”

Their voices echoed, and the silence between them was deafening. Mugen’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed with a slight wrinkle to his nose while Jaken trembled with rage. How dare this boy question his loyalty to his lord? Who did he think he was?

Traitorously, his mind reminded him. This was his lord’s son.

Oh no.

Unprecedented panic overwhelmed righteous anger, and Jaken paled. Oh no, his head would be on a platter for this. As his terror reached a boiling point, Mugen’s severe scowl eased into a genial look as he turned away.

“I know, Jaken.”

Rage diffused itself slowly, draining from Jaken’s body like water from the falls rushing into the ocean. The blatant disgust and contempt was gone, replaced by a self-assured look, one from which he could feel genuine joy and warmth. He wasn’t sure what to say to that, laying his hands in his lap. Mugen inhaled then sighed, turning his head to look at him with a soft smile.

“You’re part of our family,” he said. “And family doesn’t hurt each other, right?”

Family. Jaken’s mouth felt dry, and while he opened and closed it a few times, attempting to summon words was difficult. He swallowed and nodded his head in reply. Mugen gave a curt nod, and looked ahead again.

“I’m sure Tou-chan thinks of you as family too. Believe in him a little. Okay?”

He believed in him?

I need only you to serve me, Jaken.

He had said that, didn’t he? And if he didn’t want him around, wouldn’t he have dismissed him?

They’re our precious children. Look after them, Master Jaken.

Jaken sniffled and wiped at his misting eyes, clearing his throat. “... I-I suppose I’ll wait here as well, if it isn’t too much trouble, Mugen-sama.”

“If you want to, Jaken.”

As they sat beneath the sky, wispy clouds drifting listlessly overhead, Jaken couldn’t help but think of his place in life. Never did he think he would find himself in the service of an inu daiyōkai lord or enjoying an afternoon in the presence of his son. A hanyō, no less. No. That didn’t matter to him at all. He was concerned when Mugen ran off on his own or when he took needless risks. Youth and a feeling of invincibility provided him with a reckless amount of courage that served to complicate Jaken’s duties further. But Jaken was convinced he could guide him. Or at least, be at his heels to ensure he didn’t get in over his head.

“Mugen-sama?”

“Hm?”

“Grow into a strong yokai like your father.”

“I will.”

“It would be much easier if you drank your milk.”

“I don’t wanna.”

A sea-blown wind wrapped around them and rustled the orange ribbon in the boy’s hair, his unruly bangs and the fly-aways in his hair curled and whipped back from his face, casting shadows around golden eyes. The tint of sunlight against tanned skin gave him a slight glow, and Jaken wished for days like this to last. Days in which he stayed a child, unbothered by the nuances of the world and his place within it. For a moment, the kappa asked for time to slow.

A long shadow passed overhead, and Jaken shuddered, intense pressure bearing down upon his being. His skin pricked and crawled. Cold sweat broke against the crown of his head as he turned around, finding himself faced with white hakama, and upon glancing up, a pair of golden eyes that were far less friendly. Where he bowed his head in respect, Mugen scrambled to his feet with a delighted gasp.

“Tou-chan!”

Jaken peeked up in time to see the ghost of a smile on his lord’s lips as he greeted his son, extending a hand from his sleeve for Mugen to grasp. With a flourish, the boy was lifted in his father’s arms and hugging him tightly around his neck. From over his son’s shoulder, Sesshomaru looked down at Jaken and narrowed his eyes. The silent command to explain unneeded as he began to wheedle through events thus far that would not create cause to worry .

“W-We were just waiting for Rin, milord.”

To his relief, Mugen pulled back and captured his father’s attention, hands pressed to his jaw. “Tou-chan, tell Jaken.”

Jaken flinched as Sesshomaru hummed confusedly.

“Tell Jaken what?”

“That he’s family, like Kaa-chan said.”

Sesshomaru slowly shifted his head, looking away from his son to face Jaken, and the cold dread was replaced with anticipation. Would his lord really say the same? Was he truly part of this?

For a moment, Sesshomaru said nothing, and Jaken’s heart sank into the pits of his stomach. Perhaps he had raised his hopes for nothing. The idea of family in the eyes of a child was much different than in that of a yōkai centuries old.

Sesshomaru turned his head toward the horizon, easing his face free of his son’s hands. “Mugen.”

“Yes?” Mugen glanced between Sesshomaru and Jaken, an apology in his eyes, but the kappa brushed it off. It wasn’t his fault and this was within his father’s nature after all.

“Your mother is returning.”

Jaken tensed slightly, and Mugen twisted around to look behind him as Sesshomaru raised a hand, pointing a single finger toward the skyline .

“Look.”

Surely enough, a dark splotch on the horizon was beginning to come into focus. The thick curling cloud of ash and smoke beneath A-Un’s paws dissipating as the dragon gave a loud cry. Mugen’s whooping laughter came in answer, and Jaken scrambled up to his feet. A-Un curved overhead, skimming across the waters before ascending through the air. His rider, laughter loud against the backdrop of roaring waters, waved to them with glee. Jaken could’ve chided her for letting go of the reins, but even if Rin fell, A-Un or Sesshomaru would dive to catch her. He would have leapt over the wall to come to her aid himself were it not for the duty with which she entrusted him.

And it was as A-Un leveled with the parapets, drifting closer to where they stood, that he saw the genuine mirth on her face.

Rin’s skirts ablaze in the setting sun, orange and fluttering as they fell along the sides of A-Un’s saddle. Her dark hair unbound and whipping on the breeze, messy much like her son’s, their smiles bright as they laid eyes on each other .

“Kaa-chan!” Mugen cried, wiggling free of his father’s hold to leap into his mother’s waiting arms. Jaken’s heart cinched as the boy grasped at the leathers bracers on Rin’s arms, and she swung him in an arc before gathering him close to her chest.

She squeezed him to her, peppering his forehead with kisses and tucking her nose in his hair. The floppy ears atop his head shooting up and wiggling as she hugged him to her. Sesshomaru stepped forward until he stood at the wall’s edge, Jaken inching closer to the side to give his lord a wide berth.

Once Mugen was situated in A-Un’s saddle and distracted by petting the dragon’s soft manes, Rin turned her attention to Sesshomaru with a serene smile. Her hand cupped the underside of his jaw, and Jaken turned his head away as they shared a kiss. Meaningful, wordless glances and calm kisses exchanged from his lord, but soft brushes of fingers from Rin. To his relief, they parted fairly quickly, and he wondered how his lord’s face could remain impassive after such a display.

“Master Jaken.”

Jaken turned. Rin’s smile was blissfully happy, making her eyes squint and her cheeks round . “I’m happy to see you,” she said. “Thank you for staying with Mugen.”

“Y- You don’t need to thank me for doing my duty,” Jaken huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

She laughed softly and looked forward, a teasing wink making him sputter. “I know that. Let’s go, A-Un,” she said, picking up the reins. Sesshomaru tipped his head up as A-Un began to circle them, allowing Rin enough time to press a kiss to his head before she tucked her arms around Mugen. “See you,” she said before they were gone, streaking across the sky with Mugen’s laughter carrying on the wind.

With them gone, the pounding of Jaken’s heart promptly returned, and he glanced up to Sesshomaru whose eyes trained on the retreating form of his family, a ghosted smile returning to his lips, gone as quick as it came when he straightened up.

“Jaken.”

“Y-Yes, milord?”

Sesshomaru looked down at him and for a moment, just a moment, Jaken could have sworn his eyes softened. He tipped his head upward to the sky, turning on his heel. “We fly.”

Jaken’s eyes watered, and he nodded, trailing after his lord.

#inuyasha fandom #sesshorin #sessrin #sesshomaru x rin #fanfiction #my fanfiction #sesshomaru #rin #jaken #mugen #affections touching across time

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

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TheGuardian’s Oath, Part Ten

I’m definitely making progress... You can get caught up on previous sections by following the links in the Master List.

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 3,035

Content advisory: Some sexual content, not as graphic as in previous chapters.

At first, I wondered if Sophia might have made them when she first started talking of her lost younger brother, but even a quick look dispelled that idea. The needlework was that of a skilled worker, a grown woman, not a child. The fabric was very soft and fine and the blanket was edged with a distinctive type of lace. Even the thread used for the embroidery looked expensive. Whoever had made these pieces had done so with the aim of making something very special and had the knowledge of what was needed to do so. Whatever had become of Colin, someone had gone to great lengths to make him something to show that he was loved.

Perhaps the proper thing to do would have been to put everything away and wait to discuss these matters with my husband but I knew myself well enough to know that the thought that Kate might have lied to me about the origins of “Colin” would eat at my heart until I knew the truth. So I gathered up both items, carefully folding them because I hated the idea of showing them any disrespect, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

“Good morning ma’am,” Kate greeted me with her customary cheer. “Can I fix you something to eat?”

“Not right away,” I stammered, laying the mysterious garments out for her to see. “I was making some room in the cedar chest upstairs and I found these inside it. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

Kate stepped closer and her eyes widened. She looked every bit as shocked as I was, her jaw falling slack as she turned to face me.

“These were upstairs? They were with… her… things?”

I nodded. “I remember what you told me about Sophia and I thought at first she might have made them but… there’s no way…”

Kate shook her head, rubbing her hands on her apron as she often did when she was anxious. “Oh no, these are her doing… the first Mrs. Devitt. That lace is from her part of the world. She brought some with her and she made blankets and wraps for Miss Sophia and Master William just like these. It’s been years since I’ve thought about it but doing such work was one of the only things that made her seem happy.”

She pursed her lips a little, as if she felt she’d said too much.

“So there must have been some background story then, something she shared with Sophia,” I mused. “Is it possible that Mrs. Devitt had a younger brother who died? Perhaps Sophia heard the story when she was very young and confused it in her mind?”

“I suppose it could be something like that, ma’am. Although that name, Colin… that was the Reverend’s late father.”

“True. And the late Mrs. Devitt’s people were French.”

“I suppose they might have chosen that name for their son and then decided to change it to William afterwards,” she offered.

We puzzled in silence for a few minutes before we were startled by a sharp gasp. We hadn’t heard Susan make her way into the kitchen but more unnerving was the expression on her face when she saw what we were looking at.

“Oh she can’t have kept those,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “With the name and everything.”

“Do you know what these are, Susan?” I asked her, a little more sharply than I had intended.

The girl’s face could hardly have looked more shocked if she had seen an actual ghost.

“I’m sorry for speaking outside my place, ma’am but it caught me off guard. I never realized that they named it.”

“Named what?”

“Well when the Reverend’s first wife disappeared, when she died, she was expecting a child.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Kate snapped at her. “Who told you such a thing?” The cook turned her attention to me before continuing, “Ma’am, I’ve been here many years, and I was here during both of her confinements and I knew practically as soon as she did when she was in the family way.”

“I know she never shared the news,” Susan retorted, “but there were people in the village knew about it all the same.”

“Shame on you for listening to idle gossip!”

“Wait,” I interjected softly, trying to make sense of what I’d just heard. “Susan, why would Mrs. Devitt have told people in the village about this?”

“Why indeed?” Kate huffed.

Susan shot the older woman a hot look but addressed her comments to me. “It wasn’t that she told people there, ma’am. She went to see my Aunt Anne because she was having a terrible time of it. My aunt always helped ladies in distress that way.”

Kate shook her head a little, her dark eyes furious and I was worried that any word she spoke would cause a fight.

“Your aunt helps with the lying-in?” I prompted.

Susan nodded, looking a little gratified that I was taking her seriously. “She does whatever’s needed along the way.”

I didn’t need to ask Kate for her opinion because her disgust was painted across her face for all to see.

“I can’t say what the problem was exactly but she asked me to set up a meeting for her with Aunt Anne and that’s what I did. I never knew what they discussed, as it wasn’t my business.”

Kate ejaculated a hard little laugh and I held up my hand to calm both of them.

“Clearly, we’re not going to be able to learn anything more on the subject and that may be for the best. I am going to place these back where I found them and I don’t think we should any of us speak on it any further.”

The rest of the day unfolded under a sort of dark cloud that was reflected in the weather. A squall rolled in by late afternoon and everything for miles around was battered by wind and rain. I entreated Susan to stay until the storm passed for her own safety but she remained in such a mood that she refused. Dinner was quiet, with Kate a little tart that I had given any credence to Susan’s story and, I imagined, a little annoyed that she was unable to come up with an argument to categorically refute it.

“Will you have a cup of tea with me?” she piped up once I had put the children to bed.

“I would enjoy that,” I sighed.

She sat with me and asked friendly enough questions about how I was managing and whether or not the children were afraid of the storm, but it was clearly all a prelude to what she really wanted to say.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being impertinent, ma’am, but that girl’s story about…”

I nodded and bade her continue.

“I don’t know if you’d decided on saying anything to the Reverend about those blankets you found, but if you do, for pity’s sake don’t start talking about his former wife going to see that old woman in the village. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with her helping young mothers when their time comes but it’s well enough known that she’s hardly better than a witch. You know I don’t believe that the Reverend’s first wife was any saint but there’s wild and then there’s ungodly. I don’t think there’s a hair of truth to that tale Susan told us. I don’t believe she meant any harm because she’s like a lot of the village girls, a bit simple and a measure too fanciful for her own good. But I’ve heard enough about that old woman and goings-on there to know that if you tell the Reverend that people are saying that his wife went to see her because of a family problem that it will be like a knife in his heart.”

“I understand, Kate. I wish I hadn’t found those things and started any of this. When I feel the time is right, I show them to him and ask what he wants me to do with them. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of it.”

We sipped our tea, both clearly ruminating about the fact that this was likely the end of nothing. It seemed that whatever I tried to do for this family, now my family, I was forever disinterring their dead.

Then, from upstairs, there was a bloodcurdling scream followed by a loud crash. Kate and I leapt to our feet and ran to the children’s room, finding them both wide awake and in tears.

“What happened? Did something fall?”

Both children shook their heads frantically, both of them trying to grab hold of me.

“It came from upstairs!” William wailed, burying his face against my skirt.

“Very well then, I’ll go and look.”

As best as I could with the children attached to me as they were, I made my way to the door leading up to the garrett. It felt strange that I was so intimidated, considering that I had still slept more nights in the attic than in the master bedroom. But the narrow door seemed like it led to something dangerous and I found myself hesitating before it.

“Leave it ma’am, I’m going to go for the watch,” Kate mumbled, grasping my shoulder.

“There’s no need for that,” I answered, as much to convince myself as her. “If someone wanted to break in, they’d have come in through the ground floor. We are in no danger.”

I managed to extricate myself from the three of them and cautiously opened the door. I could immediately feel something different than I remembered. I could feel the wind and the scent of the sea was thick in my nostrils. I slowly ascended the stairs to my former room, my breath quickening. I wanted to tell Kate to bring the children back to their room, although I knew they would never go. Unlike them, I had no fear of burglars. I knew that something else could be lying in wait.

The attic was oddly bright and it took my eyes a moment to adjust and understand what I was seeing. The little window from which I had been able to see the ocean was completely smashed and part of a tree hung through it. In the end, I was alone and this was nothing more than a common accident brought on by the storm. As much of a mess as it was, it was neither physically nor spiritually threatening. Nevertheless, I was filled with unease as I observed the carcass of the tree and the shards of glass glittering like stars across the floor.

“Well I won’t be easy to clean up but it’s nothing too bad,” I sighed, giving Kate and the children a weary smile. “That big Scotch pine’s fallen and taken out the window.”

Kate shook her head. “The Reverend’s been asking Mr. Jones to cut that thing back for two years now. He’s going to be fit to be tied when he finds out.”

“At least I’ll be able to get the worst of it dealt with before he gets home.” I smiled to reassure everyone that I had things in hand. “Please get yourself some rest, Kate. I’ll get these two settled again.”

William and Sophia went back to bed easily enough, their tears dried and their rush of excitement quickly fading. I gave them both a kiss and promised them again that all was well. I was about to leave them when something occurred to me about the sequence of events from earlier.

“Sophia,” I began, trying to recall every detail of what had happened in perfect clarity, “what was it that made you scream earlier?”

“I was just frightened by the noise,” she answered tensely.

“Of course, it’s just that I thought… I thought I heard your voice before the tree fell.”

Her dark eyes met mine and, even in the shadows, I could see her brow twitch and furrow just a little.

“I must have been mistaken,” I whispered. “Good night, sweet girl.”

As I returned to bed, I replayed the events of the night in my head. I tried to convince myself that I’d made a mistake but it was no use. Sophia had screamed and then the tree had fallen. She had seen or heard something that scared her but it was something else, something that had disappeared in the commotion afterwards. It could easily have been that she awoke and was frightened by the grotesque shadows cast on the wall by the trees outside. But there was that other possibility; I knew that there was that other figure who lurked here and now it seemed that he had approached the children.

“The arrangement is that you don’t touch them,” I whispered aloud. “You do what you want to me but the children and their father are spared.”

I realized in my heart that I had no power over him and that I could not depend on him honoring our bizarre ‘contract’. Still, I repeated the phrase again in the hopes that he would hear:

“They are to be kept safe.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised that the following day I had a terrible headache. Shifts in weather often had an effect on me and with the stress of having to deal with Mr. Jones and arranging the repairs, along with another sleepless night, I was in so much pain I found myself having to squint.

Mr. Jones was none too happy about being called in to deal with the tree, all the more so when I insisted on hiring men from the town to repair and replace the window rather than allowing him to bring in members of his family to do the job. He cursed at me under his breath whenever he thought I was out of earshot.

Strange men were in and out well into the evening, filling the house with the sound of shouts and heavy footfalls. The men who had come to work on the window were aggravated that Mr. Jones insisted on cleaning up the remains of the tree at the same time. Kate and Susan were aggravated that there were so many people coming in and out of the house. An argument broke out when Mr. Jones fell from his ladder and insisted that one of the men inside the house had distracted him and caused the accident. The foreman was equally adamant that none of his men had been in the room at the time and that our old gardener was trying to stir up trouble.

By the time everyone was done for the day, I was so exhausted I could barely speak. Seeing the state I was in, Kate ordered me to bed. I did not like to impose on her any further, since she hadn’t had an easy night either, but I was in no state to put up a fight. I retired early and would have fallen asleep right away but for what I saw when I entered the bedroom: three lines scratched roughly into the floorboards just inside the doorframe.

I wanted to cry out but there was nothing that I could say. Although the workers hadn’t been in our bedroom, they had been moving throughout the house. The marks could easily have been an accident. Even if they had been made on purpose, there was no sinister meaning to such markings that I was aware of. Still, their presence was a torment to me. It wasn’t enough that he could come and claim me whenever he wanted, Balor needed me to know that he was always there, always watching, even when I couldn’t see him.

I fell asleep quickly and found myself dreaming of a walk in the coastal forest, of wandering and trying to find something, my way home or something I had lost. As I walked, I found myself growing shorter and shorter of breath, until I realized that I was underwater, that I was struggling to breathe because there was no air for me. I awoke some time after dark, gasping, aware only of a weight on top of me and rapid, hot breaths on my neck. His claws were wrapped in my hair and I could feel his sex pressed close to mine. His shoulder pinned my face to the pillow and kept me from seeing anything. I might as well have been running through the underwater forest still.

His touch was rougher and more insistent than ever but I felt a little relieved because if he was focused on me, it meant that he wasn’t marauding through the house or targeting the children. I even slipped an arm around him, pressing my hand against the base of his bony spine and encouraging him to take what he so obviously wanted. He bit down hard on my neck, enough that I felt blood droplets form and trickle from the wound as he thrust into me.

As always, I tried to resist surrendering to the ecstasy he made me feel and, as always, I failed, becoming an eager participant in our ungodly coupling.

He was exceptionally animated, a stream of filth and curses flowing from him amid declarations that I was his and no one else’s, that I had been made for him, body and soul. I wanted to tell him that he was a monster and I was meant only for my husband, and at the same time, I felt connected to the very force of life when I was with him in a way that I never could without. In the end, my mind seemed to become confused as it shifted between Feagal and Balor and all I could do was mewl and whimper in reply to his goading.

When it was finished between us, Balor ran his tongue slowly over the length of my collarbone, sucking gently at the hollow where it connected to my throat. He spoke in a rough whisper, tapping his fingers against my shoulder, a beat for each word he uttered.

“One. Two. Three.”

And then he was gone.

#finn balor imagine #finn balor fanfic #nxt imagine #nxt fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wrestling fanfic #wayward wrestle writing

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skylights422 · 4 years

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@ace-and-aro-wlw-positivity created a Q&A for aspec authors/writers, and as an aspec author, I am excited to participate and answer as many of their questions as I can. Under a cut since it became really outrageously long.

1. What was your inspiration for your character(s)? Are they modeled on yourself, a person that you know, or a character that’s already been established?

Typically I’d say my characters are a mix of general inspiration from other stories/characters and then bits and pieces taken from myself. I try not to make any of them like a clone of myself or another character, try to mix it up, possibly with mixed success but that is the goal.

2. How much, if any, has your character(s) changed since they were first created? What caused this change?

Oh wow, okay I have characters I still use from grade school and middle school, and those characters have changed/grown a lot. Most notoriously (to me) though are my two fellas Euphranor and Kadri. I created them while daydreaming in middle school while watching those science videos in class about how I could make a more parody-like version of said videos, Kadri being the energetic and comically sadistic teacher and Euphranor being the constantly irritated and foul-tempered student. The core of their designs and personalities haven’t totally changed (Euph is still a hot-head and Kadri still likes to troll him), but they’ve become far more nuanced as characters as their story become more involved and serious. They’ve also become softer characters, with Euph having a Heart of Gold and Kadri being a bit morally grey but generally compassionate and friendly. I think the cause of this change and others comes from a mix of things, for one I simply got older and what I wanted out my characters changed a bit. But also I think it’s because I spent so much time with those characters in my head that I couldn’t help but develop them more fully, which in turn made me want to give them a good story. Also, everyone is definitely more queer now then how they started, largely because I became more aware and comfortable with my own queer identity and spent more time in queer spaces (though with Euph I actually just realized he had to be gay because I every het relationship I envisioned for him fell totally flat and yet imagining him as having crushes on guys just seemed to work better/make more sense, and that was an earlier decision).

4. Do you intend on publishing your story one day? Why, or why not?

I definitely do! I have many, many stories I want to publish, as books or comics or tv shows or films. I’ve always wanted to publish some of writing since it’s one of my main passions and have always taken inspiration from the stories I consumed. I just love writing and would want to be able to do it as my main career, the key will just be figuring out how to focus on one project long enough to finish it. xD

5. Surprise fact! Give a random fact about your character(s), whether it’s their favorite color, food, or even song!

Euphranor loves to sing! He hums to calm himself down and even full on sings to vent his feelings sometimes. Kadri loves literature and video games, and blackberry pie is his favorite food.

6. Admit it, you have a folder on your computer of the various types of picrews you’ve created for your character(s). Would you mind posting a few (or five)?

*VIBRATES* MY TIME HAS COME. I absolutely have way too many picrews of my fellas so I won’t post them all, just two each for the core four of my main novel project. First, Euphranor:

(yes he is a Hufflepuff)

Kadri:

(also since I dragged the Hogwarts houses into this Kadri is Ravenclaw)

Ena:

(I put her in Gryffindor)

And finally, Fiera:

(Right now I have her in Slytherin. She could also be in Ravenclaw though)

7. Time to get serious for a bit. There’s been heavy debate on having non-human characters identify as ace, aro, non-binary, etc., but never actual humans. As someone who’s aspec, how would you explain to someone who’s allo why this can be and is seen as hurtful?

I mean, as a sci-fi fan I definitely love if the non-human characters are queer coded, but it’s definitely important to include human representation as well, and I think there are a few simple reasons for that. One is that queer people are, in fact, humans, and therefore our stories deserve to be told as they are in reality as well as how they could be in fiction. The other is only writing us as inhuman implies you consider our identities as fictitious or too strange for a human to have, and queer people already have to deal with other forms of erasure and invalidation in real life. (Also, not everyone is a fan of sci-fi/fantasy, and they should still be able to read stories where they can see themselves)

8. It’s a sad reality that many stories in mainstream media don’t have characters that are aspec, not to mention without resorting to harmful stereotypes. Besides there being nothing wrong with IDing as aspec, why did you choose to have your character ID as such? What would you tell other authors who’re interested in writing characters that are aspec, but are afraid of offending the community?

I have a huge list of aspec characters, which definitely started happening more once I was aware of my own asexuality (and later, aromanticism), since I realized that I could make my own aro and ace characters and then just went wild with it lol. It’s also easier for me to write since I can actually draw from personal experience somewhat for it. Beyond representation having aro and ace characters also allows you to explore more facets of human emotions/the human experience, so that’s always fun.

As for how I would advise allies looking to write a-spec characters, my main advice would be to remember that we are an incredibly diverse group of people, and so while no one a-spec character will resonate with every a-spec reader, an a-spec character written in good faith will definitely speak to some of us. Write them as an character first, and when it comes to things like how their attraction does or doesn’t work and what they want out of relationships, figure out what works best for them. Really, if you’re concerned your character would be offensive in some way you can always make a post asking about it, many of us are happy to offer constructive advice and appreciate that someone is wanting to put in the effort to write about our experiences. Reading or listening to anecdotes from an array of a-spec people is also a good way of getting ideas of how to portray us, and there are various resources for that (the tags, AUREA collects anecdotes from arospec individuals, and probably more than I can think of offhand)

9. If you’re comfortable with sharing, what is your characters’ identity? Do they use any microlabels? Does theirs reflect your own?

Unsurprisingly I have many characters who are aroace (Fiera is one of them), and Ena is bisexual and gray-aromantic. Kadri was originally supposed to just be bi/pan but has become increasingly aspec, will they end up gray-aro as well as grey-ace? Will they end up as a pan oriented aroace? I don’t know yet, but they sure are a pan a-spec. My most recent project has exclusively aro-spec protagonists, Valentine is aroace, Cedar is demiromantic, Raelene is cupioromantic, and then Clematis and Hadyn are presently just Aro and might stay that way. My aroace characters are often styled after my own aroace experiences, while other a-spec characters aren’t as much.

11. Why do you think that not just representation is important, but GOOD representation? Can you offer any examples?

Well, I think there are a few ways to make ‘good rep’. There is the ‘this character helps bring awareness/educate about the community’ and then there’s ‘this character just resonates with certain a-spec people a lot’, and the main reason I think it’s important is because rep should be for the people they’re representing. So if rep hurts the community or totally fails to be relatable to anyone who’s actually a-spec, then it missed the whole point and is doing just as much to leave the community feeling left in the dust as no rep. Of course things do get complicated when the community is divided on whether the rep is good or not, which I imagine will be a common occurrence, and many examples of rep probably fall into the grey area between Good and Bad, but generally people should aim to tell stories that will help more than hinder the people you are telling your story about. (Although I also think that the long term end goal is to get to the point where there is enough representation that it doesn’t matter if some of it is ‘bad’ or not, since I feel like that is the true state of normalization, but that is sadly not yet the case)

12. What’s the genre of your most recent story? Do you always write in this genre? If so, what other works do you have? If not, why did you pick it?

My most recent story (with Valentine) is fantasy, inspired by shoujo style anime series like Cardcaptor Sakura, while Euph’s story is more dystopian urban fantasy? His exact genre has shifted around a lot and will probably continue to do so. In general, most of my works are fantasy in some way or another. A few are more sci-fi or horror based, but definitely the majority are fantasy whether that be magical girl type stories, urban fantasy, superheroes, or dark fantasy.

14. What’s a brief biography of your character? Is their history, personality, and/or looks similar to your own?

I’m going to go with Fiera here. The short version of her backstory is that she and her older brother were born to neglectful parents, and while their grandmother was attentive emotionally she also lived far away. Her brother discovered magic, long thought forgotten, but killed himself shortly after, leaving Fiera alone and confused. She then made a point to dedicate herself to studying the theory and history of magic in the hope that she may someday understand why her brother would take his own life so suddenly like that. She has a down to earth personality and is very observant, and has a great deal of ambition and focus for tasks. She naturally has a more lighthearted and curious personality, but has become more somber since the death of her brother. While she always struggled with sustaining personal relationships, it’s only recently she started using her power of observation to be more manipulative and always keep a cool, pleasant demeanor. She has a love for fashion and sewing, as well as an interest in chemistry.

She isn’t really based on me at all backstory or appearance wise, and only slightly takes after me personality wise. Our main similarity is that we both can be quietly observant and don’t tend to get outwardly angry very often, and that we are both aroace. But I am nowhere near as focused as her, am terrible at lies/manipulation, and have different interests. I’m also way more prone to energetic rants and blunt statements than she is.

15. What are the themes of your story? Is it a lighthearted adventure, or are we talking deep, ocean-sized levels of angst? Why, or why not, did you choose them?

The tone of Euph’s story is kind of all over the place due to how often I’ve tweaked it, but there are certainly oceans of angst for all the protagonists. There’s just also decided remnants of the wacky humor from when the story was predominantly a comedy, and a lot more scenes of the characters just relaxing or goofing off than might be typical in a high tension drama adventure. My story with Valentine is generally much more lighthearted, though there will be some deeper moments for character development (and also because I want it to have a slightly gothic vibe, just Because)

16. How long have you been writing? Has your style changed from when you first began to now? What are some tips you’d give to those who’re interested in writing a story of their own, be it professionally or as a hobby?

I’ve been writing in some capacity just about as long as I can remember, and so my style has definitely taken various shifts depending on how old I was and what I was taking as my main inspiration at the time. Sometimes I went for more sarcastic and whimsical narration regardless of the events happening of the story, sometimes I went for a more quick modern-ish style, sometimes I would focus more or less on descriptions or dialogue. I don’t really know where I’m at right now though.

What I would advise to anyone wanting to sit down and write is to be patient and kind with yourself. Nine times out of ten what sounds epic in your head will come out at first as clunky and all over the place. But that is pretty much the whole purpose of first drafts; the clunky first draft crawls so the second draft may walk so the third draft may walk a little faster so the final draft may run. The other thing I would advise is to absolutely experiment, and see what works best for you. There is every kind of writing advice out there imaginable, much of it contradictory, so really you just have to mess around with styles and perspective and dialogue and see what happens, which stuff you liked and which stuff you didn’t.

17. What’s your process for writing? Do you plan your story out first, write whatever you want then edit later, or both? How might this help others?

My writing process is pretty much a mishmash of writing whatever comes to me, then planning, then writing, then using a bunch of character building exercises to have fun but make no progress in the plot, then neglect the project for months, then write some more or maybe plan. I don’t know how much this would help others, though I have found when I set goals with deadlines and some external pressure (nanowrimo, reward system implanted by friends, etc) I am far more productive, so perhaps that is something others could try if they struggle with staying on track?

18. Your book’s become quite popular, easily reaching the New York Times Bookseller list, and now, you’ve been picked to lead a writing workshop. It goes swimmingly, and afterward, someone comes and tells you that your book not only inspired them to write a story of their own, but also helped them discover and accept their identity. What’s your reaction?

Mostly I would just be flabbergasted, but also extremely pleased and honored to have been able to provide any kind of help or assistance to my readers.And I would feel very happy for the person, since that sort of inspiration is great to come by.

19. Are there any published stories out there that feature aspec characters that you also read? Do you have any suggestions?

Unfortunately not that I can think of! I am peripherally aware of some ace characters, but they aren’t in stories I personally consume. I hope to find more though!

20. Just for fun, write down a paragraph of your most recent writing. It can be an action-packed scene, some witty dialogue, or a colorful description that you really enjoyed. (Be sure to properly tag any possible triggers!)

Well, my most recent finished work would be the clunky first draft of my novel. So, here’s a silly conversation that entertained me to write:

Once they had bought the food, they went back to the park to eat.

“You know, Fiera, I have come to a realization.” Kadri said.

“Oh? What’s that?” Fiera asked.

“Store snacks are not as filling as restaurant food, nor as refined, but they are decidedly addictive.” he said, munching on Twizzlers.

“Yep. That’s what makes them store snacks. Plus, I couldn’t get any really nice stuff. I’m not made of money.” Fiera explained.

“Which brings me to my next question, how exactly are you financing our meals? You don’t seem to work a job of any kind.” Kadri said. Fiera was almost surprised that he knew about jobs, but decided not to ask about it.

“You’re right, I don’t. But my parents leave me about sixty bucks a week so that they can do what they want without me starving to death in their absence. After yesterday and just now, I’m down to like eight bucks, and the next payment comes in three days, so after this stash goes it's dollar store snacks only.” Fiera explained.

“I see. Fascinating. And these drinks you bought us, why are they vitamin drinks?” Kadri said,looking over a vitamin water curiously.

“Because we definitely aren’t going to get any vitamins from chips and candy.” Fiera said simply.

“There is logic to that, I suppose.” he said. There was silence for a few moments.

“Um… Kadri?” Fiera said after a while.

“Yes, Fiera?” Kadri said.

“You know you can’t eat a whole bag of Twizzlers in one go, right?” Fiera said.

“I don’t see why not. If it is not going to give me the nutrients I need, it may as well provide me with the maximum level of pleasure it is capable of.” Kadri said.

“Yeah, but you’ll get sick. And we have limited supplies.” Fiera countered. Kadri looked at the bag of Twizzlers in alarm.

“These are poisonous in large doses!?” he exclaimed.

“What? No, not poisonous, they just make you sick because they’re candy. All candy does that if you keep eating it.” Fiera said.

“Commoners lead dangerous lives, it would seem. I shall never forget this betrayal.” He said to the bag of Twizzlers, putting it down and taking the vitamin water instead.

#Arospec Awareness Week #aromantic #writing #non-fandom #asaw2020

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 4 years

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They ride hard and Geralt does his best to ignore the poet creating new songs about his good looks. Nonexistent as they may be.

By the time they reach the town, it takes a matter of minutes to locate the inn Yennefer selected. Perhaps because it's one of two, and the other smells of urine all the way from across the road.

The other inn has a stable and a conspicuous lack of puddles surrounding it. Yennefer would always choose the nicest inn, regardless of how incognito they need to be. He leads Roach towards that one, Dandelion on his heels. He’s not speaking to the bard, too worried about getting back to Ciri. And not having to have a conversation about his appearance ever again. Utter ridiculousness. He lets Dandelion go in first, taking both horses to settle them in the stables. The hay is fresh and clear of mold. He doles out some oats for Roach and sees Yennefer’s newest mount alongside Ciri’s Kelpie. Roach whickers softly at the other horses in greeting and then headbutts him, causing him to stagger back a little. Stroking her cheek for a few seconds and scratching along her jaw, he frees her from her tack, carefully hanging it before taking his time brushing her down. When her mane and tail are free of burs and tangles, he moves on to Dandelion’s horse. The fat beast gives him very little trouble, happier to stuff its face into the feed than to be groomed.

The horses cared for, he lifts his head, nostrils flaring. He can smell Ciri and Yen, gooseberries and lilac, and then Dandelion’s unwashed self. The bard will smell differently, soon, probably more like cedar and then whatever oils he’s been using on the wood of his lute. He follows his nose, glaring when someone comes up to stop him from mounting the stairs. The maid backs away, and he continues up in search of his companions.

Geralt has more or less forgotten Dandelion's promise to inform Yennefer of his earlier self-deprecation. He feels a dull sense of panic start low in his stomach that slowly crawls up into his throat, tightening it when he remembers about halfway up the stairs. He knows he’s walking into some kind of trap of his own making no matter what he does. Odds are Dandelion will have gotten himself all worked up trying to convince Yennefer to disabuse him of the fact he’s ugly. What Dandelion doesn’t understand is that Yennefer has never been a woman to pretty the truth, or to lie. Although, perhaps the sorceress will be in a good mood, having gotten a good laugh out of the bard before Geralt even gets to the rooms. That might help.

Geralt takes a breath before continuing up the last few steps, misery coiling low in his gut. Whatever madness had gotten into the bard that morning was just going to end in humiliation for the witcher, rather than vindication for the bard. Perhaps he could take a room with Ciri and just avoid his lovers entirely until the whole issue blows over. Glumly, he reflects that is entirely unlikely seeing as how Dandelion is like a starved cur with a bone once he decides to dig his heels in. And Yen....Yen likes to win.

He pauses on the landing, head tilted, listening. His witcher’s enhanced hearing allows him to hear through the doors relatively easily, and he focuses on the sound of Ciri’s voice. While he isn’t close enough to understand her every word, her tone is concerned. Nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply again, taking in their scents, he can smell the bitter tang that tells him not all is well. Throat squeezing and stomach curdling in dread, he goes to the door, takes one last pause to be sure, and pushes the door open.

Not expecting the scene that greets him when he enters the room, he takes a step back when Ciri slams into him, wrapping her arms tight around his middle. "Dandelion says you've got a poor opinion of yourself and it's our job to disabuse you of it. Yen says he's a moron."

Geralt snorts since he agrees with Yen but Dandelion is staring at him morosely and he doesn't want to hurt the bard worse. Yennefer's mocking had probably been quite thorough. Then he catches her glance and recoils slightly. She's angry. At him. He opens his mouth to speak but realizes he has no idea what he's done wrong.

The sorceress crosses the floor in two steps and raises her hand as if she intends to slap him. He freezes, and then notes she's dropped her hand.

"You ... Geralt. All this time? You've really felt that all this time? I know you try and play the fool when you think it will benefit you, but I never thought you believed it. Or the things people say about witchers. Am I a monster Geralt? Because I am no longer entirely human? You were a boy once, until you passed the trials. Then you became a Witcher. A ‘horrible mutation’, as you like to say. But you're still human, Geralt. You still..." She looks at him fiercely. "I don't know what to do with you. Or say to you," she tells him softly, cupping his cheek. He pulls away, unwilling to meet her eyes. She knows he doesn’t think of her as a monster, or a mutation. Even if she isn’t fully human, and that’s why her magic is so strong. The pain he’s holding onto cuts her. "Do you really think all the women lining up to fuck you want to do it because they're daring themselves to fuck a tame monster?"

She sees the accession in his eyes. "Geralt. You're quite handsome. And anything but tame. Or a monster." She curls her fingers into his hair, dragging his head down to press his forehead to hers. "Either you think I am a monster, too, or blind, if you think I would debase myself to fuck you. If I saw you how you saw yourself."

He stares at her, pupils enlarging as he takes in the details of her face.

"Geralt. I love you. And I know you love me. Do you think I would attach myself to someone truly hideous and inhuman? Regardless of the personal gain." She lets him pull even farther away, knowing that he is deeply uncomfortable and unable to have this conversation with her. "No one finds you ugly. Those that fear your hair and eyes are fools. Have you never seen the light catch them? They light up like liquid gold. There's nothing monstrous in them."

He stares at her in confusion, stunned. "Yen, we don't need to, uh...There’s no point to any of this. It doesn’t change what I am." His throat is tight and he finds he just wants to leave the room. "I'll go ask the owner to have a bath drawn for you," he says and turns on his heel to go.

He hears Dandelion protest, and Yen hush him. He chooses not to listen as he hears Ciri's voice rise in confusion and hurt. Yennefer hushes her, and he tries not to hear anything more.

"You scared our Witcher," she sounds faintly amused. Even if her mind is turning over how to best help Geralt. Currently, she feels letting him go lick his wounds is the best option. If they push him too hard, he’ll just get angry and none of it will matter. Once he shuts down it’s all over.

"I had no idea. You didn't either, did you? With all your mind reading,” Dandelion shakes his head in frustration. “How can he see himself like that?”

"I suppose I should say I'm surprised you were able to catch anything I missed. But I am thankful you saw it when I did not. He sees such beauty in the world around him I hadn't thought he saw none in himself." She waves a hand to forestall the bard's indignant protest. "I know he sees himself as less. I just hadn't thought it ran even deeper than that. I know he hates being different, I know he feels he doesn't deserve all that he does. I didn't know how deep all that hatred ran."

Ciri looks at Yennefer. "You've called me ugly. Why is it such a bad thing to be ugly?"

"Do you think Geralt is ugly?" Yennefer asks.

"No. I suppose he looks like any other man, other than the hair and eyes. At least until he does that smile of his. The one he uses when he's being threatening. Not his real smile. Would I have come to look like him had I kept training to be a Witcher?"

"If you survived the trials of the grasses, you might have had, yes. As it is, you'll stay how you are."

Geralt stumps up the stairs, knowing a few moments later tubs will be brought up. This is the kind of inn where one doesn't go down to the tub. He hopes Yennefer has the coin to pay for it. He doesn't. And neither does the bard. For all perhaps he could sing up supper at least. Yen booked two rooms. So he heads into the other, before deciding he can't stand it. He heads back to the other room, pausing at the door he shakes his head. Since when does he feel fear? Witchers don't feel. Once he's opened the door and glanced around, he sees the bard and sorceress focus on him.

"He called you a she-devil," he says abruptly, hoping to shift focus on that. Holding out his hand for Ciri, she jumps up and takes it and lets him lead her from the room.

Before Dandelion can puff up and pick a fight with Geralt Yen holds a hand up, indicating he should let Geralt escape. "I've called you much worse. Both to your face and behind your back."

"And I you."

"So no harm done then. We've put it aside for him before. And quite frankly 'she-devil' is one of the kinder things I've been called."

Ciri allows Geralt to curl up with her on top of the linens. They haven't bathed so there's no point in getting under them. She remembers when he first found her at the farm. He'd promised they would be together. And the only way she had slept was at his side. Perhaps he needs her now like she needed him; to chase away the nightmares. Unexpectedly soothed by his repeated stroking of her hair, she drifts off contentedly. Geralt finds himself calmer as the girl eases into sleep. Her heart beats against his, quicker but no less powerful. Her small hands grip the leathers of his jerkin and he's glad to know even if he falls asleep, she will be there when he wakes. Safe, in his arms.

When a knock at the door wakes them, Ciri pulls away and palms her dagger as Geralt stands to answer. He listens for a moment, heightened senses hearing nothing amiss as he pulls open the door to allow the tub to be brought in. Next door he sees another one going into Yennefer's room.

The maid gives him a look when she sees Ciri sitting on the edge of his bed. "This is a respectable place, sir," she says softly as her fellows start to leave. She dumps a stack of towels with a cake of soap onto the small chest.

"It isn't like that," Geralt growls, surprised by the disgust he feels at the idea. "She is my d- apprentice. I teach her a trade. I do not bed her. You will not suggest that again."

The maid, utterly terrified, mumbles her apologies and flees.

Ciri hears the catch in his voice and feels a hint of wonder. He was going to say daughter, she's sure. "You've scared them so now they won't bring any water," she tells him accusingly.

"They'll bring it to Yen. Besides you'll bathe in her rooms anyway." He cocks his head to the side, listening as he hears heavy footsteps up the stairs and the slosh of water. "They're bringing it now. Best hurry, don't keep her waiting." He shoos the cub into the next room after checking nothing is amiss. Other than his dignity.

Dandelion heads into the room with the Witcher, leaving the women to bathe peace. "She's going to make us sick insisting we bathe every chance she gets."

Geralt grunts as he begins working his leather armor loose enough to remove, “That’s all bullshit, no one caught sick of bathing.”. Buckets of water still arrive at their room despite Ciri's reservations. It's even still hot.

“Plenty of people have!”

“Hm,” Geralt replies rather than have another fruitless conversation.

Once the servants have all left Geralt watches lazily as Dandelion strips and sinks into the tub. The bard scrubs himself quickly and ducks his head multiple times to rinse his hair.

"Why is it I always help you bathe and not the other way around?"

"You've never asked," the Witcher points out.

"Well then I'm asking now, come scrub my back "

Geralt gets up from the bed with a grunt. His leg still aches. Picking up a handful of soap flakes he raises his eyebrows in annoyance until Dandelion leans forward to make it possible to rub his back. Unsure of what to do exactly, he does his best to recall and replicate how Dandelion helps him. After working the soap around he carefully kneads the bard's neck and shoulders. He's afraid to hurt the other man. He freezes when Dandelion groans.

"Oh, don't stop, not yet," the bard protests.

"The water will be cold," Geralt says patiently.

"You always say witchers don't feel things," he points out, looking to push at Geralt again. To keep trying to force him into admitting he isn’t abnormal like he thinks.

"I can feel physical things Dandelion," his voice takes a hard edge. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t tolerate the discomfort. There’d been plenty of monsters in fetid bogs, piles of filth and trash, swamps… and he’d tackled them all without a second thought. Without giving in to the revulsion that would have stopped a normal man from even approaching the monster. He’d pushed past shit and filth to kill things, as needed. Taken his coin from revolted aldermen and other terrified townsfolk. It always cut to see the hatred and mistrust in their eyes as he showed proof of the monster’s death. He’d done it for them. And for the coin since one has to have coin to live on. The assumption he enjoys killing for the sake of killing is what cuts him the most. That he’s some barbarian monster who loves killing and has found a way to profit off it.

"I know. I know you feel pain." Dandelion tips his head up to look at Geralt. He reads the hurt there and purses his lips. "I wasn't mocking you or trying to hurt you earlier. What I said I said in earnest. I like your eyes." He reaches up to touch Geralt's cheek and slide his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in close. “Geralt, I know you feel things. I know you can feel discomfort, and pleasure, and pain, and all of that.”

Rather than reply, Geralt shuts his eyes.

"Have you truly never seen it? You truly don't believe me? Geralt..."

Unsure why those cornflower blue eyes are regarding him so sadly, and at a loss for how to fix it, he presses his lips gently to the bard's. Dandelion pulls away after a moment, and Geralt stares at him helplessly. What’s he supposed to do?

"I wish you fit in here with me," Dandelion sighs. "I'll get out before the water is cold. No sense in making you suffer more than you make yourself already."

Once standing he dries off quickly and watches Geralt slide into the tub uncomfortably. His knees are forced to bend up near his chest. The Witcher rubs at his leg, face carefully blank but Dandelion notices the signs of pain all the same. The way his jaw juts forward just a bit, his eyebrows have a slight crinkle and his shoulders are tense.

"I can help you with that," he offers, gesturing at Geralt's knee.

"I don't think you can," Geralt says heavily.

"Then I can wash your hair," he gets up half dressed, trousers still unbuckled and his shirt waiting for him on the bed. It takes a moment or so to work soap through the witcher's hair, turning it from a greyish white back to milk. It takes a few rinses to get all the soap out and by the end of it Geralt feels much better. He's come to realize he quite enjoys having his scalp massaged. He's never had a problem enjoying physical attention. Not many people are willing to touch him with any kind of kindness or affection, so when someone is, he can barely stop himself from leaning into it. Eyes closed, he tilts his head up when Dandelion stops, opening them slowly and checking on the other man. Somewhat concerned by Dandelion's expression he finishes scrubbing up without help, and gets out of the tub, even though he’s not sure he’s ready to leave the warmth of the water. Or pull himself away from the bard’s gentle fingers.

Drying himself roughly, he drags on breeches and pulls the bard away from the lip of the tub to sit with him on the bed. "I don't like the look on your face," Geralt says quietly, not sure how to go about fixing this. Usually his only long-term interactions of a romantic nature were with Yen, and she had no problem speaking her mind. He rarely hurt her feelings so badly she turned morose. Not to say they didn't have their fights. There was just usually more loud voices and fucking after. Or going their separate ways.

"Well unfortunately it's just how my face looks right now. I'm quite tired you know."

"You were happier earlier."

"Do you truly not feel emotion Geralt? Can you truly say that? You can only feel the physical things? A hand on your skin, cold water clutching at you, and nothing else?"

"Dandelion..."

"Can you look at me right now and truly say you don't know what it is to have feelings? Anger? Happiness? Amusement? .... Love?" He says the last word in barely more than a whisper. They’ve talked about it before, but each time it seems like Dandelion never gains any ground and Geralt goes right back to refusing to admit anything.

Geralt searches for words to explain what it's like. He'd been made to not care. To not fear. To do things that regular humans were too good for. Such as fighting a monster in a moat of waste. What normal man would do that simply because that's all he exists for? His throat squeezes because he knows answering this wrong will end badly. And everything is so new and he's not ready to lose it. He likes being caught between the bard and sorceress, he likes how together they make him feel something he has no name for, but he’s sure it’s something good.

"I... Dandelion, you're asking me something I can't even answer for myself," he says pleadingly. "I know I'm not empty inside, I'm not devoid of all things, but I don't ... I don't feel as you do. I'm a m-"

"Don't say that to me either. I won't stand for it any more than she does." Dandelion starts when a knock sounds at the door.

Ciri pokes her head in, tousled locks of hair still damp. "Yennefer was wondering if you would go order food to be brought up. Since you're the least conspicuous of us," She asks Dandelion politely. He accedes to her request and Geralt sits uncomfortably on the bed, feeling lost.

Ciri comes over, "Put on your shirt and I'll fix your hair again. Like before."

"Can you bring the comb in here?"

"Yen says hiding from her won't make the problem go away."

He raises a brow.

"She said if you tried to hide in here to tell you that," the girl shrugs. "If this is all about your looks then I don't understand any of it. But all the same Yennefer hates that headband you use, so let me fix your hair back so there's nothing else for you two to gripe over."

"Like chickens in the coop," he suggests.

She glances at him, “Some monsters wear human skin, and they’re far more terrifying than any other kind I’ve seen.” Shaking her head, a little, she shrugs and heads back to the other room. A little shaken, the voice hadn’t quite been hers, and she’d looked at him with an intensity he’s unused to. The girl has magic, he knows. Geralt tugs his shirt on but doesn't tuck it in before following his cub to the other room. He sits on the bed and allows Ciri to brush out and tie back his hair. It's soothing.

Yennefer is busily completing her grooming regimen and the room smells of lilac and gooseberries. He closes his eyes until he hears footsteps approach and cool fingers slip under his chin. He looks up at her, unconcerned. He's so very tired.

"Maybe you wouldn't be as exhausted if you two hadn't dallied about like rutting dogs at daybreak?" She suggests lightly. Not that she minds, she started that. If nothing else she hopes he found some satisfaction in it. He’s in some kind of turmoil and she respects him enough to not pry intentionally to find out why. She can’t help getting some thoughts, or flashes of feelings, but she doesn’t have to go digging.

"Or perhaps several nights with no bed, not enough food, and constantly having to change course and split up to avoid the Nilfgaardian army wears on a person after a while."

"Then rest. Food will be here soon enough and you'll feel more yourself." She kisses his forehead.

He frowns slightly, he'd expected her to pick up where Dandelion had left off. Or just to be more tempestuous in general. Ciri has busied herself with unpacking and laying out her and Yennefer's clothing. "It'll need a clothes press," she complains.

Geralt chooses to let them dicker over how to pack better and leans against the headboard with his eyes closed until sleep claims him. When Dandelion joins him, he shifts to accommodate them both better. The bard chooses to drop his head into Geralt's lap, an arm thrown over his legs.

When the food is brought up on trays, they fall ravenously upon it. Rolls of warm bread packed with seeds disappear alongside a hearty lamb stew within minutes.

Geralt crawls wearily into bed after, unsurprised no one feels much like joining him. All their fine words about him, and when he could use the comfort, they’re all too busy. Not that he’s said anything or done anything to indicate he wants company.

"Don't wallow," Yennefer tells him sharply. "Not everyone can sleep just because they're bored or having a fit of self-pity." She has no intention of putting up with him having a fit over nothing. They’re not as tired as he is, and she’s not ready to lie down.

Unable to come up with anything sufficiently nasty to say in response, he simply gets up and goes into the other room to sleep in peace. Grateful to hear Ciri's slippers on the wooden floor behind him, he hadn't asked her to come but he's still struggling to allow her out of his sight. Splitting up had been agonizing.

"You didn't used to sleep this much; I had hoped you might help continue my training."

"In the morning," he agrees. After shedding his boots, he works his way under the linens and tries to find a way to sleep that will ease his aching leg. He feels like it's sucking the life out of him, the way the pain always presses on him. Always there in the back of his mind, aching unceasingly until it flares into sharp blooms of agony.

He shifts around in the bed, trying to find a comfortable way to rest. He’s so exhausted. Why is it so hard to get settled? He grumbles to himself, shifting around miserably.

"What's wrong?" Ciri asks sharply, heading over to the bed and setting down the book she'd brought. He hadn't even noticed it earlier. He wonders vaguely how long he'd been twisting around for her to notice. Minutes? Hours?

He doesn’t have an answer for her. His leg hurts, what of it? He’ll get settled and he’ll get some rest and it will be fine. There’s no reason for her to be worried. He’s been in pain for months now, ever since… ever since the tower fell. Ever since Vilgefortz, ever since he almost lost Ciri forever.

"I'm getting Yen," Ciri tells him and he wonders if he didn't answer her. His head aches and he feels befuddled. Was the food poisoned? No, Ciri is fine. Alert with her wits about her. What if he had made the maid mad and she only poisoned his food? No, not possible she couldn’t know who would eat what plate. Upon further deliberation it turns out he doesn't much care if the food was poisoned, if it'll make his leg stop aching.

Yen hurries in with Ciri on her heels, feeling genuine fear when her witcher doesn't turn to the door when she opens it. Dandelion is right behind her.

"Witchers can't get sick, can they?" He asks worriedly.

"They're very strong, but I suppose it's possible. Geralt isn't exactly an open book of Witcher lore."

“Yennefer, he was twisting around like he was in pain,” Ciri reminds her.

"Was he conscious when you left?"

"Yes," Ciri tells her. "Maybe not lucid but he knew I was talking to him."

"It's that damn leg of his," Dandelion suggests. "It was bothering him in the bath earlier. It's been bothering him constantly just about."

Yennefer knows their voices should wake him up. "He wouldn't faint from a sore leg," she snaps, lightly shaking him. "Get up," she tells him.

When he still fails to rouse, she pulls the blankets down a bit, running her hands over him. "Geralt," she shakes him gently. She looks at Ciri, “Nothing’s broken,” she reassures her. His muscles are hard and tense, she knows he’s suffering. But she’s not finding any bruising or any points that make him twitch. “Geralt, wake up,” she puts an edge into her voice. He very much doesn’t like being told what to do.

"Leave off," he wakes enough to glare at her, or try to. His eyes unfocused. "I'm cold," he tells her vaguely before reclaiming the blankets from her. Yen runs her hands over forehead and neck. "He's freezing. Ciri, take your book and curl up beside him, keep him warm. I'll see if there's any bed warmers." She feels a touch of worry, but perhaps if he's in a bleak enough mood it affects his physical health. They'd certainly upset him earlier. And Dandelion had kept pressing. She felt it was good to let Geralt suffer a little here and there, at least about his supposed lack of feelings. It's easy enough to remember the wide range of feelings he has. Telling her he loves her, before sex, instead of only after. Unlike some. The anger and hurt he's capable of carrying. She hurries down the stairs, wondering what spells might work should his condition worsen.

He'd almost died thanks to the beating he took from Vilgefortz. Had tramped out of Brokilon half healed to go find Ciri. Gone through hell and armies to get to her. Perhaps he's just worn himself out and his body is taking time to finish healing.

Dandelion settles with his lute against Geralt's side. He'll try and help keep Geralt warm, too. Ciri reads quietly as Yennefer comes back in unsure of how to help.

"They'll bring up the bed warmers shortly," she informs them, glancing briefly at the lump under the blankets. There's not much she can do just yet. She's avoiding using magic in case anyone were to notice. It looks like they're keeping him about as warm as they can. "Must you do that?" she asks, referring to his lute.

"Not all of us can get whatever we want by spreading our legs."

"But you're so good at it. How else do you find patrons for that drivel you call music?"

"You need a nap," he huffs, and picks up his lute with a jangle of strings and leaves the room. He'll drum up some business and gather some news. And hopefully the Witcher will be awake and the witch will be in a better mood.

Not much seems to help keep him warm, and while she does her best to get a look at his leg, he resists her even while sleeping. Finally, giving up on getting him to cooperate, she doses him with poppy syrup which at least eases the pain he’s in. Dandelion is worried the poppy will stop him from waking at all and Yennefer has no interest in debating the point with him. If Geralt is in pain, then the pain needs to be eased. With his witcher’s immunity to most poisons and drugs, the poppy won’t last even a quarter of the time it should have. He’ll be hurting again soon enough.

They spend the night tense and worried, only to find in the morning Geralt is awake, if a little groggy. Breakfast passes quickly as they prepare to move on. There’s some arguing between them about whether to risk staying and letting Geralt rest longer, or if it’s better to move on in case more soldiers pass through. It’s Ciri who suggests in a trembling voice that they take Geralt back to Kaer Morhen. If he’s sick, perhaps Old Vesemir would know what it was and be able to cure him.

When he’s lucid, Geralt mostly grumbles that he’s fine, and they should move on as soon as possible. He seems more aware throughout the day, only to fall heavily asleep after dinner, body tense with pain.

“We have to be far enough away that I can risk a portal without alerting anyone, and I’ll get us as close to the keep grounds as possible.”

“Yennefer, what if he can’t make it long enough to wait for this ‘right time to portal’?”

“He’ll be fine, he’s strong. His heartbeat is still steady, he’s still competent when he’s conscious. Sleep seems to help revive him somewhat. He feeds himself when he’s awake. I don’t see why another day or so of travel is a risk.” She does inwardly wonder if she should have paid him more mind weeks ago when he’d told her he hadn’t felt right. She’d assumed roughing it with that much stress had just been a bad combination for all of them, and not anything to be concerned about.

“And if Vesemir can’t help him?”

“I am not entirely sure we need Vesemir in the first place,” she points out. “However, there’s enough low level magic thrumming all through Kaer Morhen that I should be able to hide most of what I’m doing.”

“And if that’s true why haven’t we gone back there, before?”

“In case they went looking for Ciri there. Where else would a witcher take a child of surprise, Dandelion? Novigrad? No, we’ve had no intention of causing a second sacking of the keep. But perhaps we’ll have to take the risk.”

“Don’t they think she’s dead?”

“They did. But it’s not as if Geralt looking for Rience didn’t cause some problems. Somehow, someone caught on to what he was doing and found the firm helping him. Ciri told me one of her dreams, and I checked into it. They’re dead. I suspect they found some proof of her. Not to mention her being teleported half across the globe did nothing to help us keep her location a secret. Geralt would rather be dead than risk her again, but I have to hope that no one can get back to the keep or that people think she’s elsewhere.”

“Then let’s get him moving first thing tomorrow.”

“We will.”

#the witcher #wiedzmin #geralt of rivia #gerlion #yenralt #geraltxjaskierxyennefer #yenneralt #geraskefer #geraskier #cirilla of cintra #my fic #geralt z rivii

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buriednurbckyrd · 5 years

Text

Right In Front of You (3)

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Y/N scolded herself as she stalked around the greenhouse. She had woken up at five in the morning with her face buried in the crook of Bucky's neck, breathing in his spicy cedar scent with the underlying Alpha musk growing stronger. If even she could smell his Alpha pheromones now, his rut had to be ready to burst forth at any moment. The tears that threatened to fall made her even angrier and she punched a bag of potting soil. When the dust settled she was covered nearly head to toe in dirt and the rest of it was spread all over the brick floor. Collecting herself, she focused her power to collect the loose soil into a semi-neat pile. “I'll deal with you later.” She spat, and stomped out to take a shower.

As she washed the dirt and grime off her body she tried not to think about how good it had felt to sleep in Bucky's arms, how amazing he smelled. Too bad the tshirt that she had been wearing was caked in dirt now, she would have liked to hold onto that scent for a little while longer. She lathered shampoo in her hair and cringed at the dull cramp that formed in her abdomen.

“Fucking perfect, now I'm getting my goddamn period.” She snarled into the steam and mentally did the math. “A week and a half early. Peachy-fucking-keen.” By the time she was wrapping her hair in a towel and pulling on her most comfortable pair of leggings her cramps were increasing in severity. She rubbed a hand over her stomach, wincing. The nausea was already setting in, but she hadn't eaten dinner the previous night so she decided to go have a light breakfast and hoped that would improve the uncomfortable sensation.

Y/N was biting into her second piece of buttered toast when Steve and Sam walked in looking for food after their morning run.

“You want some eggs to go with that, Y/N?” Steve asked her, pouring a cup of coffee. “I can cook a few extra.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I'm not feeling all that great this morning.” Sam looked at her with concern.

“You definitely don't look like your usual cheery self.” He said.

“Gee, thanks Sammy. Sorry I'm not bright eyed and bushy tailed for your pleasure.” Her laugh was hollow and weak.

“I'm not trying to insult you. Seriously, are you okay?” She swallowed another bite of toast.

“My lady issues are acting up this month. Decided to come early and kick my ass.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “And maybe I caught a bug or something, I feel kind of hot.” A bead of sweat ran down her back. The three of them turned their attention to Tony as he wandered in.

“Thank goodness you haven't sucked down all the coffee yet, Daddy needs his caffeine.” He drawled. Steve handed him a mug and Tony sniffed the air.

“Did someone make cookies? Something smells good.”

“I don't think so,” Steve replied, inhaling deeply. “But you're right, I smell something sweet.” A much stronger cramp rolled through Y/N and it took her breath away and she doubled over with a loud gasp.

“Y/N! Hey, what's wrong?” Sam knelt beside her and rubbed her knee.

“Ah-I don't know.” She lifted her head and her eyes were wide with fear. “It's never this bad, it feels like I'm being stabbed.” Her stomach lurched and for a few seconds she was afraid she was going to lose her meager breakfast. Sam touched his fingers to her wrist.

“Her pulse is racing, and she's burning up. Steve grab an ice pack and hold it against the back of her neck.” The Captain moved fast and gently pressed the pack to her skin. She barely felt it.

“Wait a minute...” Tony felt her forehead and then leaned in close to sniff her. “The smell is her. And it's getting stronger.” His pupils dilated and he took a big step back from her. Steve looked at Tony in confusion and stroked his hand over Y/N's hair, pushing it aside. The contact sent a shiver through her body and another cramp hit her.

“Oh god,” she groaned in misery. “I just want it to stop.”

“Y/N...” Sam said slowly, everything adding up for him. “Sweetheart, I think you're in heat.” Her head snapped up.

“I'm a Beta. We don't have heats.”

“Delayed presentation is rare, but not unheard of.” Tony said from the across the room. “And it is a bit more common for people with um, abilities.” He was holding himself very stiffly. “I...ah...think I need to leave. Not sure how you two are dealing with this but I...” He sucked a deep breath through his teeth. “I'm gonna go find Pep.” He finally muttered and marched awkwardly away. Y/N looked at Sam with tear filled eyes.

“What's happening to me?” Sam wiped a tear off her cheek and smiled, trying to reassure her.

“Hey, you're going to be fine. Tony is right, these things happen sometimes.”

“If it's true,” she swallowed and her throat felt dry and rough. “If I'm an-”

“Omega.” Bucky rasped, appearing almost out of thin air. He was slumped over the kitchen island, propping himself up on shaky arms. His chest was flushed and heaving, and his eyes were zeroed in on Y/N.

“Fuck.” Sam cursed under his breath. “Steve get him out of here.” Steve dropped the ice pack and cautiously went to approach Bucky, obviously in the beginning of his first rut in decades.

“Okay, pal. I think you should walk away and cool off a little.” His voice was calm but his body language was wary. It was never a good idea to move to quickly around a rutting Alpha.

“Y/N.” Bucky called to her. “You smell...” He trailed off and took a deep breath. “I thought you were Beta.” She answered with a humorless chuckle.

“Yeah? Me too.” She let out a cry of pain and Bucky nearly leapt over the counter.

“Barnes,” Sam said warningly. “You need to go.” Bucky looked at the way Sam was touching Y/N, rubbing her knee and holding her hand. It made his Alpha side bristle and he had to suppress a snarl.

“Can't.” He kept moving closer and Steve put himself between his friend and the whimpering Omega. “I'm not going to hurt her,” he said, shooting Steve a wounded look. “She's mine.” The simple statement, made with such conviction made Y/N's heart skip a beat. “Don't try me,” he growled. “You can't keep us apart.” He was only steps away from her now and she could clearly see how aroused he already was. And his scent. It clouded her mind, made her want to lay down and show her neck, to submit. Hot, decedent lust pooled between her thighs and she was suddenly aware of the unfamiliar sensation of slick starting to seep out of her.

“Alpha,” she whispered. “Bucky.” His gaze snapped back to her. She pushed weakly at Sam. “It's okay, he won't hurt me.”

“Y/N you don't understand...” Sam sputtered and she silenced him with a sharp look.

“Just because I'm suddenly an Omega doesn't mean I need to be coddled or protected. He would never harm me,” she turned back to look at Bucky. “He couldn't.” Her face dissolved into pure agony and she cried out, wrapping her arms around her middle. With three long strides Bucky was kneeling at her feet, nuzzling his face against her soft belly.

“Sweet Omega,” he murmured. “I know it hurts.” His hands crept under her shirt and he hissed when he felt how hot she felt.

“I don't know what's happening, JB.” She whispered. “How is this possible?”

“We belong to each other.” His eyes were glossy and his pupils so dilated they swallowed the blue of his irises. “My rut triggered your Omega side.” She cupped his cheeks and pressed her forehead against his. His touch had soothed some of the pain of the heat.

“I'm so hot.” Bucky nodded and turned his face to kiss her palm.

“Let me help you.” His grip tightened briefly. “Make you feel so good 'Mega.” His voice went impossibly deeper and it caused another wave of slick to gush out. She shifted in her chair and realized she had soaked through her pants.

“Please.” He let out a pleased growl.

“I'm taking my Omega.” He said louder, for Steve and Sam to hear. “I don't want to see either one of you when I turn around.” His tone wasn't overly aggressive, but the underlying threat was there. He was ready to claim his Omega, and the presence of two other Alphas would bring out his territorial side. He was still lucid enough to give a warning. Both men had the sense to leave quickly.

“Bucky,” she whined. “I need you.”

“You have me. I'm gonna take care of you.” He stood up and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him, rubbing her cheek against his bare chest and pressing little kisses to his heated flesh. “Don't get too excited, darlin'. You keep that up I won't be able to get you back to my room and I'll take you right here.” She let out a frustrated huff that made him chuckle. “Come on, sweet girl. It's not far and then I'll give you what we both want.” He promised, body trembling with need.

#bucky barnes x plus size reader #alpha!bucky #omega!reader #plus sized reader #marvel au #A/B/O verse

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

As Above, So Below Ch. 12

Summary: Your average, mundane life as a college student is flipped upside down when the man you thought you knew as your next-door neighbor turns out to be the God of the dead. When Michael lures you down to Hell, everything that you thought you knew about the world is proven wrong.

Word Count: 2878

A/N: This chapter’s sad, not gonna lie :( But it’ll get better, I promise! Feedback is always appreciated and my inbox is always open!

Madison rushes through the doors of Cedars-Sinai’s emergency room, carrying an unconscious (Y/N) in her arms. The journey from the Below to the surface had somehow not killed (Y/N), which Madison had been extremely worried about.

“Help, please!” She yells out, a swarm of doctors and nurses converging around her. Madison places (Y/N) on the hospital bed, almost immediately getting shoved out of the way so the medical professionals can start checking vitals.

“What happened?” A nurse breaks away to stand near Madison.

“I don’t know, she’s been sick for a few days but said she was getting better. Then I came home today, and (Y/N) was passed out on the floor of the bathroom. She was really pale, and barely breathing.” Madison stutters out.

“You’re her roommate?”

“Yeah, one of them.” She mentally gives herself a pat on the back at her acting skills, which are more than believable. “We live next door to the Murder House, so this was the closest hospital to us.”

They had been walking without even realizing it, following the doctors working on (Y/N). The nurse places a hand on Madison’s shoulder, stopping her from walking through the double doors leading back to the restricted area of the hospital.

“I’m sorry, you can’t come back any further. We’ll take good care of your friend, though.” Madison nods, looking the nurse in the eye and performing a quick Concilium spell on him.

“You’ll contact (Y/N)’s other roommates, their information should be on her phone. You’re going to give (Y/N) the best care possible, and an anonymous donor has already paid off her hospital bill. You never saw me, (Y/N) showed up here alone.” Madison commands, watching to make sure the spell takes effect on him before breaking the connection.

He shakes his head slightly, blinking in confusion before walking away and allowing Madison to slip out of the hospital. She doesn’t have to use a Hellmouth traveling back this time, since she’ll be making the journey back home alone. With a quick glance around to make sure nobody’s watching, Madison backs into an empty alley and wills herself to descend to the Underworld. It’s not at all surprising that Zoe finds her the second she stumbles into the hall, having only been gone for twenty minutes in Above time. She wraps her arms around the small girl, Michael’s screams of pain echoing through the castle.

“He locked himself in his office immediately after you left, we’ve heard yelling and crashing since then. I’ve never seen him like this before, Mads.” The lights flicker with another yell, verifying that he’s not okay.

Madison’s never seen him like this, either. The only time his emotions even came close to this level was when Satan had influenced him a couple of hundred years ago to help him with the end of the world, causing Michael to be temporarily stripped of his powers and banished from his kingdom and Olympus. He wandered the Earth alone for a month, desperately trying to figure out how to get back in the good graces of the Olympians. While that was despair, this is completely different.

This is heartbreak.

“I’m going to go and check on him, make sure he’s okay.” Madison kisses Zoe’s forehead, holding her tightly before letting go.

“Is he going to let you in?”

“He doesn’t really have a choice. I’ll break the door down if that’s what it takes.” She walks quickly towards the God of the Dead’s private chambers, heels clacking loudly on the marble floor.

The charm that normally keeps the main door of his chambers locked is broken, Michael not having bothered with reapplying it after he made his way here. His office is locked, but he’s obviously in there. When Madison knocks on the door, the noises abruptly stop.

“Michael, I know you’re in there.” She sighs, leaning against the door and wiggling the handle. “Let me in or else I’m going to bust the door down.”

Nothing.

“I’m being serious, and then I’m going to make sure that you have to rebuild the door from scratch by yourself.” That gets his attention, and Madison can hear him shuffling around again.

The door swings open by itself, and Madison quickly walks through before Michael decides to change his mind. The sight that she comes across has her stifling a gasp; Madison’s seen a lot of things in her long life, but never has she seen this. Michael’s usually-pristine office is a complete wreck. Books have been torn apart and thrown everywhere, paintings are slashed, and the couch cushions are ripped open. The bookshelves lay toppled on their sides, and Michael’s prized desk is in splinters. The blond man sits in the middle of the carnage, head in his hands as his shoulders shake. It’s jarring to see him like this, so uncomposed and not at all in control of his emotions.

“Michael.” Madison says gently, falling onto her knees next to him. Her hand hovers above his shoulder, but she doesn’t dare lay it on him yet.

“Did you get her to a hospital?” He asks quietly, but Madison can still hear his voice shake with tears.

“The best one in the area. They’re going to take good care of her, I made sure of that.” They both sit in silence for a while longer, but Madison can tell that her presence is having a calming effect on Michael’s emotions.

“She’s never going to be able to come back here. She’ll die if she does.” He’s stating the obvious, but Madison has a hunch that he’s still trying to come to terms with the situation.

“Why’d you let her go?” Madison asks.

Michael looks up, watery eyes shooting Madison a half-hearted glare. Tears are still making tracks down his face, which is red and slightly swollen from all of the crying. His hair’s a mess, and she can tell that he’s been yanking on it.

“I couldn’t let her die.”

“I know, but why? If (Y/N) died down here, there’s a good chance the apocalypse wouldn’t even happen. Now, we don’t know-”

“It’s not about that anymore, Madison!” Michael yells, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “I love her. I never want to see her hurt, or in pain, or even slightly unhappy. If...if being down here harms her, then I have no choice but to let her go.”

“And now…”

“Now I’m never going to get to see her again, because we’ll have to fight Satan for the duration of her mortal life. I’m trapped down here until we defeat my father.” Michael laughs bitterly, shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. “Well, now I know how (Y/N) felt when I first brought her down here.”

Madison wants to reason with him, to let him know that she’s going to do anything possible to reunite him and (Y/N), but she can’t hide her shock when Michael breaks into a fresh round of tears. In that moment, they’re not gods. They’re not a king and his advisor, or two people working together to run an empire. In that moment, they’re just two friends, one of whom is heartbroken. Madison pulls Michael against her, letting him cry in her arms for the remainder of the night.

Piecing together everything that happened before you landed in the hospital is tough, and it’s certainly not helped by all the drugs the doctors have you on. Luckily, you haven’t had to do too much thinking. If you’re not sleeping, your friends are constantly at your bedside. They tell you stories about what’s been happening outside the walls of the hospital, get you whatever you need whenever you need it, and provide comfort when you just want someone to hold your hand. They try to steer the conversation away from your sickness whenever you ask about it, assuming that it’s still too traumatic for you to hear. It probably is, and you just don’t want to realize it.

The doctors still aren’t sure how you developed such an advanced stage of sepsis, or even how you were still alive when you stumbled into the hospital three weeks ago. All of your organs were shutting down, and you had lost a heart rate three times while you were in a medically-induced coma in the ICU for that first week. Your medical staff is only mildly shocked at how well you’ve recovered, and they jokingly call you their ‘medical miracle’ whenever they see you. You recovered so well that you even got discharged today. You’re grateful to be alive, and even more grateful that there’s no lasting side effects to being so sick, but you’re still confused about one thing: why is everyone saying that you came to the hospital alone?

When you had tried to ask about where Madison was, everyone was confused. There was no Madison, they told you, even after you insisted that she was the one who had brought you here. They were only more concerned when you started talking about what had happened before you got sick, listening as you told them about being kidnapped by Michael and dragged to the Underworld. If you were lucid during that time, you wouldn’t have even mentioned anything, but the morphine took away the filter you normally had. The doctors told you that vivid hallucinations are common with sepsis like yours, and that it wasn’t all that surprising that your mind had dreamt up such fantastical scenarios. Besides, the timelines that you were giving everyone didn’t match up. You described being in the Underworld for weeks, if not months, but your roommates told you that they hadn’t seen you around for a mere two days before you turned up in the hospital.

Even after they told you that you only hallucinated your experiences, you still believed what you saw. Michael may have had to stay behind to prevent Satan from seizing his throne, but surely he or Madison would come visit you to make sure that you were okay? As the days passed, though, there was no sign of either of them. You saw or experienced nothing even remotely supernatural; one night, after being particularly frustrated that nobody was believing you, you had tried to practice your magic so you could show your friends that you weren’t hallucinating. Unfortunately, nothing happened. You spent an hour focusing as hard as you could, willing yourself to use one of the Seven Wonders that you had already mastered.

Nothing moved, set itself on fire, or grew. You didn’t have any powers, and you just ended up looking like you were stretching your arms for an extended period of time. It was, figuratively, the final nail in the coffin that led you to believe that you really had just hallucinated the entire experience of being in the Underworld. Still, even now that you’re back at home, you can’t stop thinking about it. Everything just seemed so real. From the people that you met, to the magic that you learned, to the kisses you shared with Michael. They were tangible experiences, or so you had thought before waking up in that hospital bed with a bunch of wires and tubes attached to you.

You’re still pretty weak, but the cabin fever that accompanies a nearly month-long hospital stay has made you desperate to get outside and experience some fresh air. Your roommates, bless their sweet souls, had gone out and bought a porch swing so that you could be outside without it being too strenuous for you. That’s where you sit now, after taking a couple of hours to shower and take a nice nap in your own bed. Breathing deeply, the sunlight warms your sun-deprived skin while the wind whistles lightly through the trees. It’s incredibly peaceful, and you find yourself starting to nod off while rocking yourself back and forth on the swing.

The distant sound of the traffic passing by on the freeway doesn’t bother you, surprisingly. What does bother you is the dog down the street that won’t stop barking. You can hear it through your music, and it’s only getting louder. Even turning the volume on your music up all the way doesn’t help, so you huff and open your eyes in order to see how cute the dog that’s interrupting your impromptu naptime is. A black labrador runs down the street, a red rubber ball in his mouth. You smile at the sight, but a voice at the back of your head tells you that you’ve seen this dog before.

“...Cerberus?” You say quietly, feeling ridiculous at thinking that you know this random dog.

Although the dog doesn’t respond to the name, the very sight of another human on the street has him changing directions and running up the sidewalk towards you. He’s a sweet dog, immediately sitting down in front of you and laying his large head on your lap. You reward him with hearty scratches on his head, massaging his floppy ears.

“You’re such a sweet boy!” You coo, smiling when he drops the ball next to you. “Where’s your owner? Are you lost?”

“Nope, not lost.” A feminine voice calls from the abandoned yard of the Murder House.

You look up, squinting at the glare of the sun as you attempt to see who this dog belongs to. When the figure finally steps close enough to be more than a silhouette, your eyes widen and your jaw drops.

“Madison?” You don’t really believe that this actually is the Madison of your hallucinations, and you’re fully expecting her to give you her correct name. Instead she smirks, climbing the steps of the porch and leaning against the wooden railing.

“Surprise, bitch. Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.” You squeal, Madison’s eyes widening when you go to stand up. “Don’t get up, I don’t want you to overexert yourself!”

She sits down on the swing next to you, and this time she’s the one to initiate a hug.

“You’re real!” You hold her tightly, tears filling your eyes while Madison chuckles.

“Why wouldn’t I be real?”

“They told me all the stuff about the Underworld was just a hallucination, and that those are common when you almost die.”

“I’m too iconic to just be a hallucination, babe.” She smirks, studying your face. “I’m so glad you’re okay, (Y/N). I really thought you were going to die.”

“I did, too.” You snort. “Why didn’t you come and visit me?”

“I did, but I cloaked myself so that mortals like you couldn’t see me. It makes things easier and causes people to ask less questions.” She shrugs.

“How’s Michael? Why didn’t he come with you?” Cerberus’ ears perk at the sound of his master’s name.

“He can’t leave the Underworld yet.” She explains gently.

“So Satan’s still at-large?” Madison nods, taking a long drag from the cigarette that dangles between her fingers.

“For now. We’ve weakened him, but we’re still trying to find a way to permanently get rid of what consists of his soul. Michael’s...hanging in there. It’s been rough for him, knowing that he was the cause of your near-death.”

“I want to see him.” You demand.

“(Y/N), you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Do you remember anything from right before we left?” You shake your head, trying to think back to that day.

“All I remember is the fever. I couldn’t even see your faces because they were blurry, and it sounded like everyone was talking underwater.”

“Well, we figured out why you got so sick. Nothing living can survive in the Underworld.” You furrow your eyebrows, looking at Madison in confusion.

“That doesn’t make any sense. How am I supposed to be the Queen of the Underworld if I can’t actually live down there?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out. For now, though, you can’t visit Below.”

“So I can’t be Below, and Michael can’t be Above?” Madison nods, and you can almost feel your heart clenching in pain at the thought. “I’m never going to be able to see him again.”

You can tell that Madison wants to reassure you that this won’t be the case, but even she knows that it doesn’t look too promising right now.

“He misses you, a lot. We all do. Things are the same without you.”

“I miss you guys, too.” You smile, wondering what everyone is doing right now.

“Listen, I really want to stay but I can’t. Michael doesn’t even know that I went Above, and I need to get back before he realizes that I’m gone.”

“You’ll come back though, right?” It probably sounds pathetic, how scared you are at the thought of never seeing Madison again, but she just smiles reassuringly and grips your hand tightly.

“Of course I will. I promise.” She stands up, Cerberus following her movements and looking up at her obediently. “Don’t die or trigger the apocalypse while I’m gone, okay?”

“I’ll try my hardest.”

Madison leans forward to kiss your cheek before disappearing, a strong gust of wind and her crushed cigarette butt the only signs that she was here in the first place.

Tag List: @nana15774 @sammythankyou @queencocoakimmie @let-me-try-mom @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @lichellaw @sebastianshoe @pastel-cloudz @ultragibbycentralworld @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @alexcornerblog @dolceandchalamet @everything-is-awesomesauce @langdonslove @ccodyfern @consultingsnowqueen @readsalot73 @jimmlangdon @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @hplotrfan @omg-hellgirl @gallxntdean @storminmytwistedmind @venusxxlangdon @langdonsdemon @kahhlo @americanhorrorstudies @antichristwrites @xxxmaterialistic

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #Michael Langdon x you #american horror story #american horror story imagine #American horror story apocalypse #ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagine #Michael Langdon au #hades and persephone au

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strategemme · 4 years

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I THINK WITH MY HEART AND I MOVE WITH MY HEAD

EMMELINE VANCE: Character Task No. 1

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves. I don't trust society to protect us, I have no intention of placing my fate in the hands of men whose only qualification is that they managed to con a block of people to vote for them. They used to say that if Man was meant to fly, he’d have wings. But he did fly. He discovered he had to. There are things that have to be done and you do them and you never talk about them. You don't try to justify them. They can't be justified. You just do them. Then you forget it. Due to personal reasons, I will be performing vigilante justice.

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Emmeline L. Vance; there isn’t a soul (presently) alive that knows what the “L” stands for. NICKNAMES: Em; other abbreviations of her name are generally acceptable as long as you don’t try to call her Emmie. AGE: 22 BIRTHDAY: August 27, 1957 GENDER: Female PRONOUNS: She/Her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Florence Vance neé Chevalier ( 50 ) { born in France, moved to England after marrying Devon } // muggle FATHER: Col. Devon Vance ( 57 ) { recently retired from the British Army } // muggle SIBLINGS: Anthony Vance ( 28 ) { named after a dear friend of Devon’s that was killed during the Second World War } // muggle

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Demet Özdemir BUILD: Average height, athletic HAIR: Long, worn in waves on nights requiring effort and otherwise tossed into a bun HAIR COLOR: Brunette EYE COLOR: Brown SKIN COLOR: Tan DOMINANT HAND: Right { she’s pitiful when it comes to her left hand } ANOMALIES: (1) Scar across her left palm from making a blood-pact as a ten year old; it’s so faded now that you can only catch a gleam of silver in the bright sun. (2) Various small burns across her hands and forearms from healing poultices gone askew. SCENT: Vanilla and cedar wood; she’s worn the same perfume since her Hogwarts ACCENT: Standard English ALLERGIES: Cats DISORDERS: Insomnia; she’s always attributed it to a general pace of “too much to do and too little time,” but there are nights when all she wants to do is collapse into her bed yet finds herself condemned to staring at the ceiling; many people make the mistake of believing that she doesn’t need sleep to operate, but her history of errors speaks otherwise. FASHION: She spends far more time in lime green robes than she cares for, and thus compensates with a wardrobe full of neutral colors. She still feels more comfortable in muggle attire than wizarding robes, and thus is seen frequently in various combinations of jeans, blouses, and boots. NERVOUS TICS: After years of having her tics evaluated and erased, Emmeline has largely eradicated any tells of nervousness. Old habits die hard, however, and with the stress of the war mounting, she’s falling back into drumming her index and middle finger on any solid surface capable of absorbing her anxiety. As she’s assumed a leadership position, she’s also taken up the habit of pacing while waiting for her teams of tier three operatives to return. QUIRKS: (1) With the current travel restrictions, Emmeline has fallen back into driving. She learned during one of her summers away from Hogwarts, and her trusty Vauxhall Viva has carried her across Britain and back several times over. (2) When approach Diagon Alley for pleasure, Emmeline prefers to enter through the Leaky Cauldron. There’s something symbolic about crossing from Muggle to Wizarding London. (3) If Emmeline starts something, she has to finish. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, she cannot abandon a task already underway. It is one of the reasons she spends so long planning: planning necessitates time and distance while action must be immediate.

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Puddlemere, England { London has always been home, and her work at St. Mungo’s frequently brings her into the city. But as war rears its head, Emmeline has opted for more strategic ground. The community of Puddlemere is welcoming to muggleborns, and her proximity to other Order members offers safety that could never be found in city streets. } BORN: London, England RAISED: Too many places to count, though Emmeline isn’t partial to declaring military barracks as her hometown. Jokingly, she’ll say that Hogwarts was the most permanent home she had while growing up. More seriously, she’ll consider herself a Londoner. PETS: A tawny owl named Machiavelli, though she considers him more of a useful friend than a pet. CAREER: Healer { additionally, a vigilante; she offers free... how shall we say.. r e t r i b u t i o n to muggleborn and half-blood families that need a little extra muscle, be it of the offensive or defensive sort. } EXPERIENCE: In the medical field, Emmeline has specialized in accident and emergency, though it seems every Witch or Wizard only deems medical care necessary in such cases. Outside St. Mungo’s, she has frequented several underground dueling clubs to keep her skills sharp. EMPLOYER: St. Mungo’s POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Order of the Phoenix BELIEFS: The the Wizarding community is in desperate need of some muggle influence (preventative medicine, to start, but automobiles, microwaves, and telephones would be a wonderful addition). The motivation of purebloods to eradicate such influence only keeps the community from advancing and reaching full potential, and the mounting war is representative of the collision between the old world and the new. (That said, she’s strongly of the belief that no one should have to die while seeking out inclusivity.) MISDEMEANORS: Nothing that has found its way onto her record. FELONIES: Being a muggleborn is starting to damn well feel like one. DRUGS: Never. As much as Emmeline has a tendency to lock herself within her mind, she has yet to seek out drugs as a key. SMOKES: Unfortunately. She knows she shouldn’t, but nicotine is often the only thing capable of taking the edge off and stimulating her focus at the same time. It’s a necessary evil, and her pocket is rarely without a pack ALCOHOL: A taste for scotch runs in the family, and it’s often one of the most expensive items on her list of expenses for the month. She refuses to touch it while in the process of acting, but it plays a large role in her planning stages. DIET: Emmeline never managed to find the time to take up cooking, and as such, she depends on local takeout. LANGUAGES: English, French PHOBIAS: Deep water { she adores swimming, but will never go so deep that her toes can’t graze the bottom } ; failure { a common fear, but many years passed where she refused to speak up in class because her fear of being wrong was greater than her confidence in being right; now those days have passed and she’s perhaps too passionately outspoken, but if she isn’t complete convinced of something, the words will never pass her lips } ; death { she’s grazed the reaper more times than she can count, either in her own life or accompanying the paths of others. still, she can’t imagine what it would be like to see her own funeral. she acts with certainty and confidence, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t fear what is on the other side of that bright green flash. } HOBBIES: Reading, board games or cards, camping, pick-up games of very, very, very amateur Quidditch TRAITS: I never dreamed about success; I worked for it. { + }: Hardworking, clever, frequently compassionate (but...) { - }: Occasionally apathetic, subconsciously manipulative, righteous

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Diagon Alley; it is the place where she first felt that her magic was a blessing rather than a curse, and it continues to instill that childlike hope in her whenever she visits. It’s one of the few bright places remaining. SPORTS TEAM: Puddlemere United, naturally. She’s only recently moved to Puddlemere, but she has a long history of training Mediwitches and Mediwizards during Puddlemere’s practices and matches, and as such has brushed shoulders with the team just enough to be emotionally invested in their success. GAME: Chess (of either the muggle or wizarding variety) MUSIC: She knows the correct answer to this is anything orchestral, yet Goodbye Yellowbrick Road is the most frequently-played record in her flat. MOVIES: The Godfather, Patton, Saturday Night Fever FOOD: Her mother’s Beef Wellington. She’s yet to find its rival. BEVERAGE: Scotch, Earl Grey COLOR: Light green (but certainly not lime, damn those robes)

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Ravenclaw WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 11.25in, sturdy, redwood, dragon heartstring AMORTENTIA: Leather, incense, cotton PATRONUS: Hawk BOGGART: The visage of the first patient that died due to her negligence. It isn’t an exact replica from her memories, but one that is in the process of decomposing. It’s propped up in a bed like the ones populating St. Mungo’s.

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral good MBTI: ENTJ MBTI ROLE: Analyst ENNEAGRAM: Type 8 ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Achiever TEMPERAMENT: Choleric WESTERN ZODIAC: Virgo CHINESE ZODIAC: Rooster PRIMAL SIGN: Corgi TAROT CARD: The Chariot TV TROPES: Lady of War, Female Empowerment Song, Historical In-Joke, Showing Up Chauvinists SONGS: Tongues -- Joywave // History Has Its Eyes on You -- Christopher Jackson // Come With Me Now -- KONGOS // Vindicated -- Dashboard Confessional // Baba O’Riley -- The Who // Vienna -- Billy Joel // Machine -- MisterWives // Kill Your Heroes -- AWOLNATION // Sabotage -- Beastie Boys

𝖎 𝖉 𝖊 𝖔 𝖑 𝖔 𝖌 𝖎 𝖊 𝖘

Muggle influence will do more good for the wizarding world than it ever will harm

Encourages second chances but condemns those that require a third

People should expect to get out of the world what they put in (no more, no less)

Violence should be a last resort, but damn if it isn’t a definitive one

Those that are neutral in a time of oppression have chosen the side of the oppressor

Sugar has no right to be in coffee or tea

History repeats itself; if you can’t find a parallel within the pages of history books, the situation simply hasn’t developed thoroughly enough yet

Cheap scotch is worse than sewer water

#dulcetask #m #development #// what is consistent formatting?? haven't met her #// also i spent way too much time on this R I P

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tonks32 · 5 years

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Inktober #18 - Greif

Hawke and Cullen again.

This got away from me big time!

Cullen heard the whispers of Leandra’s death making their way around the gallows right after afternoon meal. The news was enough to stop him in his tracks. In their time running around Kirkwall together, he learned that Hawke had lost Bethany while fleeing Lothering and her father a few winters before that. With Carver now with the Wardens, Leandra was the only family of Hawke’s that remained. He figured her Uncle didn’t count given his treatment upon their arrival to the city. Now, she was alone. The thought didn’t sit well with Cullen and haunted him as he forced himself to see to his paperwork and other duties instead of finding an excuse to leave the gallows to check on her.

They had a professional relationship that, at times, crossed into a friendly one having met her and her friends at the Hanged Man a few times for a drink or two. It was natural to feel sorrow for her and want to make sure that she was okay. Cullen simply kept it to himself knowing it would only serve to set Meredith wrong. He could send a missive, he mused crossing the Gallows. A simple one to express his condolences while trying to plan a trip to the city in order to see her out personally. That would have to do for now even if it didn’t sit well with him.

That all changed when word reached him on just how Leandra died. Murder. Necromancy. Body snatching. Blood magic. It was all sickening. Cullen’s heart grew heavy as he listened to a retelling of Hawke’s battle against the killer and his demons, one with the face of her mother, in the lower Foundry. Were her friends with her? Where was she now? He glanced up at the setting sun. Was she all alone in the estate? Cullen found himself frustrated that he had no way of knowing the answer to any of those questions and that didn’t sit well with him.

He needed to make sure that she was okay. As he marched to his office, Cullen tucked it away for later on just why that was.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

It was dark by the time that Cullen made it across the bay into the city. She wasn’t at the Estate. The dwarf stated that she only returned briefly after the incident, giving no indication of where she was going. Cullen thought for a moment she was with the archer, Sebastian if he recalled correctly, up at the Chantry arranging a funeral, but the dwarf’s words on Hawke’s state told Cullen she was far too distraught for that tonight. That send Cullen in search for the mage at the Hanged Man. The haggard faces of her friends told him what their words couldn’t. Whatever he heard about Leandra’s death was far worse. They too hadn’t seen Hawke after getting her to the Estate. Cullen wasn’t sure if they were simply trying to protect her location from him out of mistrust, but the idea of her being alone made him sick.

No one should be left alone at a time like this.

Aveline stopped the Templar outside the Tavern. “Are you here truly to check up on her, Rutherford?”

Cullen nodded. “Why else would I be here?”

“Meredith,” The Guard Captain replied. “We all know that she wants Hawke locked up in the Gallows and we are all willing to do whatever we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

It was true. Ever since Meredith found out that Hawke, a mage, was running around freely in Kirkwall gaining influence and power, she’d been bound and determined to find a way to get Hawke off the streets, submitting to her rule. The idea put a sour taste in Cullen’s mouth. He tried not to dwell on that too much at the moment. “Do you know where she is?”

The red head’s frown deepened. “No. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t have any of it. I am looking for her myself and so far, nothing.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Me either,” Aveline whispered as they started down the darkened street of Lowtown. “Hawke doesn’t deal with emotions very well. She drank herself sick and then some after returning from the Deep Road where her brother was infected with the taint. It took Varric and I three days to find her.”

And that terrified him. “Where have you looked so far?”

Aveline had her reservation about enlisting the Templar for help, but seeing how the rest of her companions were steeped in their own emotional turmoil over the day’s events, she put them aside. “I went to Darktown thinking she may be at the clinic and then came here.”

“Okay.” Jaw set, Cullen found himself clenching the hilt of his sword with more force than intended. “I’ll go along the east side of Lowtown and start my way through Hightown on the side routes instead of the main one I took to get down here.”

Her hand shot out to catch Cullen before he could move. “Give me your word, Rutherford,” She demanded. “Your word that no harm will come to her?”

Cullen blinked at the intensity in the woman’s voice.

His silence put Aveline on edge. “I swear to the Maker and his bride that if you take her-.”

“You have my word,” He quickly assured trying to ignore the need building in his chest again when it came to Olivia Hawke.

Satisfied, Aveline released him.

0o0o00o0o0o0o

Everything hurt. All but blind drunk, Hawke stumbled her way alone some street in Hightown. And it wasn’t simple body pain from the battle beneath the Foundry. Her heart, mind, and soul ached in ways she couldn’t begin to explain. That’s why she’d avoided every single one of her friends since working with the Guard to bring back her mother’s body. They would try to sympathies with her. Give her gentle pats of comfort while mummering ‘there, there’ all night. None of them would understand.

Well perhaps with the exception of Aveline who helped her husband meet the maker before the taint consumed him.

The Estate was the last place she wanted to be. Everywhere she looked, Hawke was reminded of her mother. Of the grief welling inside her. Yet, another person she loved gone. It was her fault that Bethany was dead. IF they fled soon. If they’d taken a different route. And Carver? Maker, their mother begged her not to take him down to the deep roads and now he was all but lost to her wandering around with the Wardens.

Tears blurring her vision and legs growing weak, Hawke slumped against a building and pulled her legs to her chest. The pain. By the light, she wished for death to take her. How could she go on after this? She found herself curling into the ball on the ground, silent sobs wracking her system.

“Hawke?” She heard her name through the haze of grief. “Andraste’s Mercy, Hawke.”

The mage stirred, but that’s all she could muster. Her limps had grown heavy along with her head. How long had she been laying in the dark on the street? Who was calling her? Couldn’t be bandits, Hawke silent mused burrowing further within herself in hopes to generate heat. They usually cursed her name.

“Hawke? Open your eyes for me,” The voice gentle demanded. “C’mon, damn it. Please, still be in there?”

A warm hand to her cheek had Hawke’s head turning and eyes fluttering, but truly unable to focus. There was a figure looming over her.

“That’s it. Are you hurt?”

“Sadly, I’m just alive though I did my best to drown myself in drink.” Hawke felt a heavyweight of a cloak spread around her. The scent, though not familiar, brought her a small sense of comfort.

She could hear a frown in the voice when it spoke once again. “How long have you been like this?”

Hawke shrugged.

“I’m going to pick you up and get you to a healer.”

“No healer,” Hawke groaned, trying o get her eyes and mind to focus to recognize the person hovering over her. “Let me just stay here. Death will claim me soon enough.”

“I won’t let that happen. Up we go.”

In no condition to fight, Hawke let to pair of arms lift her off the freezing cobblestone and found herself cradled again a metal breastplate. It wasn’t Aveline holding her leaving the possibility of only one other person. She titled her head back. “Cullen?”

“Yes, I got you,” Cullen replied. “Can you wrap your arms around me?”

“Why so you can take me to the Circle?” She asked complying none the less. “It’s what I deserve after all. I shouldn’t be allowed to roam free. I only bring pain and misery.”

He eased her head on his broad shoulder. “I’m going to take you back to the Estate.”

“No,” Hawke argued. “I belong in the Gallows. Under Meredith’s rule and punishment. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’m a danger to everyone I’ve come into contact with.”

“I’ll let you gave this one because you’re grieving. Say it again and we’re going to have a problem.”

Hawke drifted in and out as Cullen carried her through Hightown. He let her ramble, cut herself down and beg to be taken to the Gallows, offering her no other comfort then the warmth of his arms wrapped tightly around her. He let her grief in her own way when anyone others would try to argue with her, which was useless in her current state. His warmth and scent of cedar and Lyrium helped quell some of the anger raging inside her.

She stirred out of her stupor, just a bit when her back hit the softness of her mattress. In the dim firelight of her sleeping quarters, Hawke could see the hard line creasing the Knight Captain’s brow, emotions flickering in his amber eyes. Was that compassion she saw there? Whatever it was gave her pause.

“I’m going to get you out of your armor,” Cullen announced giving her time to object.

“I make men at least buy me a drink before they undress me.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I think you had enough to last an entire winter.”

Hawke’s clouded mind lost track of time again, getting lost in the shadows of the fire in the hearth flickering along the walls, not really registering Cullen’s actions. In another frame of mind, she would find herself disappointed as Hawke had found herself fascinated by his hands on more than one occasion.

Leaving her dressed in her tunic, Cullen pulled up a blanket up around her shoulders. “Rest now, Hawke. I’m going to find you some water.”

“No.” Hawke found herself reaching for him paying no mind that a Templar was in her bedchambers. “Stay. I-I can’t be alone.”

Feeling the bed dip under his weight, Hawke curled towards him, hand reaching for his as sleep took her.

#dragon age #cullen rutherford #Cullen x Hawke #Hawke #writing #mine #Olivia Hawke #dragon age fanfiction #inktober

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iwritebooksnottragediesagain · 4 years

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They continued to dig their heels deeper.

Sam hoped for something exciting to happen just so they didn’t travel all this way for nothing. He also didn’t want to disappoint Marley.

Sam jumped at a rustling sound.

“Did you hear that?” Marley whispered.

“It was probably just a lion,” He said sarcastically, shaking off the chill that crept up his back.

Sam took a step forward and let out a scream, backing his way into Marley.

Right in front of them was a man. Not a man, but a boy close to their own age dressed in uniform with gold embroidery. And behind him stood two other men, looking just as frightening. It was as if they fell from the sky.

Sam looked up, trying to figure out where they came from.

It looked like they were wearing a costume of sorts, long dark green robes, almost the exact shade of the greenery behind them, accessorized with knee-length boots. The boy with the gold embroidery had a sword strapped to his side and a bow with arrows hugged his back.

“I think they’re humans!” One of the men hissed to the leader.

“State your name and where you’re from?” Mr. Gold Embroidery commanded, drawing his sword from its sheath. Sam felt himself inhale as he watched the gleaming weapon point at his navel. It was not a prop. Sam pushed Marley backward, aiming to get her farther away from this terrifying, but he had to admit, attractive boy.

“I’m Sam, and this is Marley. We live on Honey Oak Drive,” Sam stammered, wondering if he should have told this stranger exactly where they lived. Sam gulped. “I’m pretty sure carrying a weapon in the state of California is illegal.”

“Human.” As quickly as he had drawn his sword, he put it back to where it could do no harm. “I should have known by your choice of clothing.”

What’s wrong with my trench coat? He wondered.

“How did they get here?” One of the soldiers questioned, stepping forward to get a better look.

“Do you think…” The other man began.

But he was stopped by an authoritative look from Mr. Gold Embroidery. “Follow me,” he barked at Marley and Sam.

“Don’t worry. We don’t bite.” The soldier stepped even closer with a grin on his face. “What’s it like over there?”

“Over where?” Marley asked.

“Earth.”

“Ash. Cedar. Head back to your post. I’ll take over from here.” Their leader ordered, and they didn’t hesitate to leave. They disappeared into the leaves...back to wherever they were hiding.

“I think we should be getting home,” Sam grabbed Marley’s hand, and they slowly backed away from Handsome-but-Creepy.

“I wish it were that easy. But seeing as I have no clue how humans stumbled upon Elverwhere. I don’t think you two can return..”

Elverwhere? Why does he keep calling us humans? Sam wondered.

Then Sam noticed the most important detail he was missing, the pointy ears that stuck out from beneath his dark hair. His eyes bugged out.

“Ohhhh!” Marley breathed out, following Sam’s look. “I get it.” She turned to Sam wide-eyed and gleaming. “This was your adventure! LARPING!”

“Marley, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam shook his head fast, looking sideways at the elf’s weapons.

“Foolish humans. You live so much in your imagination you can’t tell what is real,” The elf stated. “It’s my duty to escort you to the King and Queen, who will decide what to do with you two.”

“You mean this isn’t just an amazing costume designer at work?” Marley asked, “Or should I be waiting for a bunch of people to step out and yell surprise?”

Sam shook his head. He watched as her face went from excitement to confusion.

Marley stood up a little straighter and said, “Who are you?”

“I am Knight Leaf, Head Guard of King and Queen Atwood of Rigelville, a region of Elverwhere.”

“What did you say?” Sam understood him clearly but was still struck by the sentence that flew out of his mouth.

Sam looked to Marley to see if she understood anything he said.

“Follow me,” Knight Leaf of Elver-who said. “These woods aren’t the safest place right now.”

Marley started to follow.

Sam grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “What are you doing?” He hissed, bewildered that she would willingly follow this so-called Elf.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Marley pulled her arm from his hand and caught up with Leaf, the knight from Elverwhatever.

“I guess I left it back on the other side of that tree.” He mumbled under his breath. Sam caught up with the two of them, wondering what kind of danger Marley was dragging him into.

“You need not worry. You will be safe with me,” Leaf said.

Sam felt terrified, wishing he could borrow some of Marley’s bravery.

“We just need to figure out how to get you two home.”

“Home.” Sam wanted nothing more than to be back at home, with less terrifying weapons. He was an actor, not a fighter.

His eyes shifted to the weapons on the Leaf’s body. He looked away quickly, embarrassed that he noticed the bulging muscles that flexed under his uniform.

He’s terrifying, Sam reminded himself.

Sam wished he had just let Marley do all the planning because it was his fault they were heading into danger. He let Marley pull him along, his steps slow and cautious. Leaf, now, walked behind them, hand on the hilt of the sword at all times.

Sam cleared his throat loudly. “I’m Sam,” He reintroduced himself once again.

Marley shot him a look; this was no time to make pleasantries with someone who was holding them captive. Sam knew it was the nerves. And he should be asking more questions about where they were going instead of reintroducing himself.

#wattpad #writingcommunity #writers

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caralynsmoved · 4 years

Text

care

fandom: 911onfox characters: evan “ buck “ buckley, bobby nash, athena grant, maddie buckley, ( the fire fam and christopher are mentioned ) relationships: evan “ buck “ buckley & bobby nash, athena grant/bobby nash, mentions of evan “ buck “ buckley/eddie diaz, maddie buckley/howie “ chimney “ han rating: general audiences warning(s): mentions of attempted self harm, no actual self harm in this story but it is assumed and mentioned quite a few times in the beginning of the story and will be brought up throughout the course of it. be safe ! setting: set during 3x06 “ monsters “ but goes au pretty much as soon as bobby shows up to the hospital.

“ hello ? “

“ is this robert nash ? “ a female voice he doesn’t recognize on the other end asks and bobby feels his brows knit together as he steps away from the sink where he had been washing up last night’s dishes, unable to close his eyes without his mind racing.

“ speaking, “ he says warily, wiping his hands on a dish towel before he moves to hold his phone more securely from where he had had it resting in the crook of his shoulder.

“ i’m calling from cedars-sinai, an evan buckley was admitted early this morning and you’re listed as his next of kin, he - “

“ what ? “ the confused and immediately worried question slipped past his lips as he started to look around for his keys, “ is he okay ? “

concern clawed at him as he thought of buck’s eager face, the deflated set of his shoulders, the plea in his voice and how last night as he walked away the confused worry on buck’s face, how he couldn’t believe bobby’s care for him. he had been angry and hurt, letting his feelings overshadow his love for buck and now buck was hurt and once again it might have been all his fault because for all his talk and thoughts of wanting to protect the younger man all he had seemed to hurt him more.

“ he’s stable, he cut himself and because of the blood thinners he was on he needed a transfusion - “

all of the woman’s other words were drowned out in a rush of white noise, static rushing to fill the void as the words he cut himself, he cut himself .. he cut himself echoed. maybe there was a rational explanation, maybe buck had simply nicked himself shaving or broke a glass but … but. there was a voice in the back of his head telling him that buck had been through so much lately, lost so much and sure they had been there for most of it, but after a while buck really had been going through it alone, the second recovery after the pulmonary embolism, the tsunami, the lawsuit … buck had been convinced he was doing it all alone and maybe one some level they had let him. guilt curled around his ribs like a familiar vice and he forced himself to breath, if that had happened, if buck was so hurt that he had done this then the kid needed him, them, now more than ever and this time he wouldn’t let himself be pushed away, wouldn’t convince himself that buck was okay, he’d there, they all would.

“ I'll be right there, “ bobby was quick to hang up the phone, pocketing it as he finally spotted his keys hung up on the rack and was out the door and down the driveway before it could even swing shut.

∞

“ mr. nash ? “

the call of his name stopped bobby’s pacing and his debates over whether to call his wife or maddie or anybody, but every time he thought about what to say the words dried up in his throat and now at least he could put those aside for now, “ how is he ? is he okay ? can i see him ? “

“ take a breath, mr. nash. “ the doctor instructed him not unkindly, “ i’m doctor rice, i’m the one who treated him. your son’s going to be just fine, I can take you to see him right now, if you’ll just follow me. “

“ thank you, “ the words seemed hollow, seemed not enough as he spoke them but, she seemed to understand, once more giving him a kind smile before leading him past the double doors and into a quiet room where the lights were dimmed and it was only when they were in the quiet and he could see buck in his sights that what she had said finally filtered through;

your son’s going to be just fine

when she had first said that he had just focused, clung to the fact that buck was going to be okay that he hadn’t even really registered the wording she had used. it wasn’t the first time someone had mistaken buck as his kid, whether teasingly or seriously and he usually just shook his head, brushed it off, a few times with a smile, sometimes with a declaration that buck wasn’t his kid, but maybe it finally the weight of everything that had happened, maybe it was sitting across from buck at arbitration having their relationship pieced apart, maybe it was his wife’s words, maybe even it was the way buck looked at him with worry and fear when he had told him to go home, but maybe it was mostly standing in his kitchen with a nurse telling him that his kid was hurt...

… he just didn’t correct them this time, held onto it for just a little while longer.

the early morning light filtered through the pale curtains of the room and cast a pale glow over the sleeping young man curled up in the chair.

“ like i explained he needed a transfusion just to be safe and antibiotics. after he was all cleaned up he crashed, been in and out since. “

bobby nodded, making his way to buck’s side, resting a shaky hand on the side of his face not hidden in the blankets and finally breathes. buck for his part snuffled in his sleep, leaning into the touch with the softest of sounds like nothing was wrong at all anymore.

oh, kid …

“ he should be fine to leave once he’s up, cuts were sealed up and he ran out the antibiotics and transfusion, just need to sign him out. “

“ thank you, really, thank you, “ she reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder with a sympathetic smile, “ i’ve been really worried about him, lately. “

“ i think we always worry about the ones we love, no matter how old they get, “ doctor rice said, shaking her head with a soft laugh, “ but your kid ? you don’t have to worry too much, he’s a hero, saved that guys life last night and the woman’s too, neither of them would have made it too long if he hadn’t found them when he did. “

confusion washed through him at her words and he found him fishing for words, all the thoughts that had been lurking and growing in the dark recesses of his brain falling away in the realization of her words, “ he didn’t … he didn’t do this ? “

similar confusion played across the doctor’s features before realization dawned and she immediately shook her head, eyes wide, “ oh, oh mr. nash i am so sorry i thought the nurse had explained his injuries, i had no idea .. “ she shook her head once more, features firm as she explained, “ your son didn’t hurt himself, from what i understand he found a woman with a man through her windshield of all things. the woman herself had a bleed in her brain and the man was in need of serious care as you can imagine and he managed to pull them over and keep them stable until help arrived, he saved their lives. “

“ it’s what he does, “ bobby said, a lump in his throat and a sad smile crossed his lips, fingers gentle as ever stroking along blonde curls, “ drives me crazy sometimes with it, “

“ don’t they all, “ was the fond response he got as she walked away, clipboard held to her chest, “ i’ll give you two the room, whenever he’s up just let the charge nurse know and they’ll set up with discharge. “

#→ care / unfinished #→ and he thought of the way buck would hold onto his hand so tightly like he would fall away if he let go / evan buckley & bobby nash #→ here to stand between you and the chaos / 911onfox #this one should thankfully just be a long one shot but who knows with me at this point #this has been sitting in my google docs since that episode #because i was reading other fics and then the thought hit my head that without clarification and with buck's history of depression #and bobby's knowledge of how dark things can get when you feel like that it would have been so easy for him to go worst case scenario #so i really wanted to just expand a little on that without taking away the goodness that was their talk in that ep #so i didn't really rewrite things so much as tweak and expand #because honestly it was one of my favorite eps #and i figured hey what better time to clean out my docs again then the hiatus #because everyone is looking for more things to read #happy holidays ducklings !

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spltlippd-blog · 5 years

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❝ I’m officially off the rails. You should try it.❞ BENJAMIN WADSWORTH? No, that’s actually MADDOC ‘MADS’ BLENKINSOP. Only NINETEEN years old, this HUFFLEPUFF alumni works as a WILDLIFE + ANTIQUES SMUGGLER and is sided with THE DEATH EATERS. HE identifies as CISMAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be ERRATIC, VIOLENT, and IMPULSIVE but also RESOURCEFUL, BOLD, and PASSIONATE. { EL, 22, EST, SHE+HER }

I. A HISTORY

“DEATHS: Barnabus Blenkinsop, 25. Body missing. Reward for information.” ─ The Daily Prophet, 8th February 1999.

Mr. Blenkinsop's presumed death occurred on November 20, 1998 and his obituary appeared in the Daily Prophet. A reward was offered for information about what happened to his body since all that was found in his bed at St. Mungo's was a tin of anchovies.

The Blenkinsop family made their money through “trade” and “exploration,” which are both just codewords for seizing territories and poaching wildlife.

They’ve comparable to the mafia in the sense that the extensive family operates within itself as an organized crime unit with a tendency for violence; everyone knows what they do, but no one has the concrete evidence (or balls) to do anything about it.

Plus… dragonhide clothing is all the rage, yeah? Who do you think is out there getting the resources? Those pickled hippogriff eggs (found only in the highest society establishments and incredibly illegal for consumption) that you like so much come from somewhere, right?

Also deal with antique looting for private collectors and played a prominent role in the original horcrux hunt as they were able to track down founders memorabilia and get it by any means necessary.

Weren’t originally anti-muggle, but since the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy became very much so.

The Statute both hurt their business and seemed incredibly unfair; wix were continuously pushed into the underbelly of civilization as muggles were continuously and freely expanding and wix are just supposed… to accommodate that? Be alright with living in hiding and bending over for a race that can’t even wipe their arse without using their hands? Bullshit.

The anti-muggle sentiment only grew and festered over time as wix were persecuted by muggles and forced into hiding and culminated in the Blenkinsops becoming one of the most prominent pureblood families that actively and politically opposed muggles altogether.

Blenkinsops were part of the Knights of Walpurgis and continue to be heavily involved with the Death Eaters.

II. OVERVIEW

NAME.

↳ Maddoc Anarawd Blenkinsop. Goes by Mads.

GENDER + ORIENTATION.

↳ Doesn’t think of people like that. But for the purpose of clarity, cisman, biromantic bisexual.

BIRTHDAY + BLOOD STATUS.

↳ ?? / ?? / ???? (currently 19 years old). Pureblood.

OCCUPATION.

↳ Poacher + antiques smuggler.

III. DIGGING DEEPER

↳ “Now this looks like a job for me / so everybody just follow me / 'cause we need a little controversy / 'cause it feels so empty without me.”

What they see: expensive robes, even more expensive cologne worn far too young, five languages, silver gold and glistening rings, never without his wand, unwavering loyalty, straight spine and shoulder back, looks just like his mother, a smile that says: you don’t know me at all and you never will

What you see: tattered shirts, salt and sweat, a vicious tongue, silver gold and blood rusted rings, never without his beast, all-consuming obsession, violence violence violence, looks absolutely insane, laughing at his own traumas

The images co-exist.

He’s so pretty, absolutely lovely at society banquets, trained in wix ballroom dancing that’s essentially spinning on air, but there’s always been a darkness inside of him you might glimpse upon a first meeting

Anyone who was unfortunate enough to attend Hogwarts with him knows all too well exactly why he’s called “Mads” over Maddoc

“i’m officially off the rails. you should try it.”

ERRATIC. his whirlwind of emotions are either charming or terrifying, and switch so suddenly and quickly it can give you whiplash. his behavior more so. he operates by his own moral codes that’s yet to be deciphered and doesn’t seem to follow any pattern of behavior whatsoever. it’s got its benefits, sure, but the downfalls include: unfinished projects, dropped conversations, and general confusion.

VIOLENT. you don’t get it: one second, he’s smiling, laughing with you, and the next you’re dazed and wondering what it was you said that caused that punch. mads is known for sudden and intense violence; his family is much the same, as their enemies are far too aware of, and rumor on the street is that they all beat the shit out of each other daily. it’s mostly true. while in hogwarts, he earned the reputation of the “attack dog,” jumping into physical altercations at the drop of a hat if he felt it justified.

and IMPULSIVE. his line of work kind of depends on split-second decision making and he’s fortunate enough to excel at that. unfortunately, he’s impulsive to a fault and will go with his gut quicker than he can think not to.

but also RESOURCEFUL. not even mads’ worst enemy would deny his intellect. kid’s fucking smart and able to process information and spit back results in a second; he’s already gone through all the possible outcomes of a problem, he’s already thought thirty steps ahead, he’s already more than prepared for every single plan to go to shit. he’s got this.

BOLD. mads was never one to hold back, whether it be his thoughts, opinions, or feelings. he doesn’t second guess himself and he won’t ever hold back. why live life wishing you did instead of doing?

and PASSIONATE. whether it be his unwavering loyalty bordering all-consuming obsession, or the fire he pours into his every action, or his ability to laugh through tear-streaked cheeks, mads has so much ambition within him it’s hard to contain at all.

fluent in English, Spanish, French, Italian, and Persian; currently studying Greek

Blenkinsops (illegally) keep and breed manticores and each have their own; Mads’ is called Bully and he loves him

but at the same time “do animals deserve rights” because he’s really out here poaching wildlife without a care in the world (ask him about pygmy puff kebabs he had at a shady pub in Morocco)

IV. MAGIC SHIT

(former) HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff.

WAND: Cedar wood, acromantula web core, 11 ¾ inches, unyielding flexibility

***(Inherited, passed down through generations of Blenkinsop wizards. The wand is incredibly loyal to its original owner─ dead for nearly 500 years now─ and Mads has difficulty using it.)

CEDAR WOOD: “Whenever I meet one who carries a cedar wand, I find strength of character and unusual loyalty. My father, Gervaise Ollivander, used always to say, ‘you will never fool the cedar carrier,’ and I agree: the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them.”

ACROMANTULA WEB CORE: Those who are determined, stubborn, cold (cool-natured), fearless, and with a mischievous and/or dark disposition would have this wand core. Having such a wand core suggests that you have firm convictions and have a deeply rooted vindictive nature, but this does not at all mean that you are not capable of caring or loving someone or something in your own way. However, your vindictive nature can often lead you towards revenge when something wrong or unjust is done to you. This makes you less likely to forge strong bonds and/or forgive someone easily. This is one of the best cores to use in the darkest of Dark Magic, particularly with The Unforgivable Curses. It is a wand core predominantly found among those of House Slytherin. If one is thinking about having a wand made with an Acromantula Web core, they’re probably a fan of having their wand confiscated by the authorities. Using a wand with this wand core has been illegal in Britain since 1782, after they were discovered that the wielder of a wand with this wand core has particular ability with Dark Magics, especially the Imperius Curse. There are certain diplomatic exceptions, as it is a traditional wand core for Asian wands, but even those are temporary, and many wizard diplomats on long-term assignments find themselves compelled to procure replacement wands during their stay. This was once a common wand core among Dark Healers.

UNYIELDING FLEXIBILITY: A wand of this flexibility finely tunes itself to its original owner’s preferences and doesn’t stray from those preferences, even in the hands of a new owner; the new owner will just have to get used to it. It is particularly good for combative and healing magic. Unyielding wand owners tend to be very confident in themselves and/or in the things they believe in. They tend to be intelligent, somewhat cynical, and usually have well-defined principles that they will not stray from ever. Sometimes, this combination can lead to arrogance because of them insisting on how right they are without considering other points of view or whether or not they might be wrong.

congratulations on making it to the end!!! i would absolutely love some plots for this ferocious little beast so hmu or look out for my plotting call!!!

#iidyintro

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loquaciousquark · 6 years

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19th Cloudreach. Merrill called the clouds “grey and scuddy” today and she wasn’t wrong

Got a letter from Hubert today that the Bone Pit’s up unusually high for the quarterly profit report. Took the letter immediately to Varric, since I could hardly understand a word, but apparently they found a vein of silverite so large they had to hire a dozen extra miners to work it properly. Realized I hadn’t been out in ages, so V & Fenris & Merrill and I all trekked out to the wilderness.

Varric gets along so much better with Hubert than I do. I mean, he understands topics like quarterly profit margin reports, so I suppose it’s a business thing, but Hubert kept asking what I thought about overhead expense accrual and per diem provisions for the hired workers and it was all I could do to nod and make “hm” noises at appropriate intervals. Thank goodness Varric is kind enough to manage all this, because otherwise I’d have squandered it just as quickly as Gamlen did. Probably a little less whoring. Too bad he hadn’t a Varric all those years ago.

(Reminder: ask Varric what his percentage is. Whatever he’s taking, it should probably be higher.)

Something funny happened near the end of the visit, though. I commented that there didn’t seem to be any signs of nesting spiders or anything--they do love the deep crevices of the Pit--and Fenris said “thank goodness” in a way that made me think he was genuinely glad not to fight today. He said he was all right, but I saw him rolling his shoulders more than once on the way out, like there was an ache between them he couldn’t shake.

He said he was all right. Hm.

12th Bloomingtide. It’s been raining for days and there’s a puddle two inches deep in front of my house. Toby thinks it’s brilliant and hasn’t been clean since

He lost his grip on his sword today and almost got himself skewered by a woman with a pair of daggers. Got the assassin, thank goodness, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes after.

I think the markings are bothering him, but who in flames do I ask?

30th Bloomingtide, either very late or stupidly early; all I know is it’s dark and I can’t sleep

I’ve been thinking about Bethany all night. She would be--let me think. Twenty-three this year? Twenty-four. How old is Carver? Twenty-four.

Twenty-too-damn-young, anyway.

I wonder if Carver got my last package. It has ginger crisps in it that Orana made especially for him, though I did the icing. For as shabby as I am at that sort of thing, I thought they turned out well.

8th Justinian. Beautiful day today, sunny and breezy and full of chipper birds that have decided to roost directly outside my window at 5th damned bell

Fenris came by today, and I haven’t the faintest idea why. He asked how much I knew of magical healing, which is a foolish question considering how many years I’ve spent now healing him, and then he started a sentence four times, gave up, and left in a huff.

Sandal said “trapped,” after he left. Don’t I know it, friend.

In other news, that little bracelet I found a few months ago belongs to a very nice shopkeeper in Lowtown. She’d had it stolen by a gang of thieves one night and hadn’t ever thought to see it again. I’m just glad she happened to mention it as I was buying cedar oil, or it’d have lived in the bottom of my lost & found hoard forever.

22th Justinian. Hot, still sunny. Saw a ship with white sails and blue trim in the docks today and almost managed not to feel sad

Something’s definitely off with Fenris’s tattoos. We were clearing out a group of rogue Coterie just outside Anders’s clinic, and when Fenris went to reach into a man’s chest, he-- I don’t know how to explain it. It was as if he went too far. His whole body went clear as glass and he passed right through the man like a ghost. Took far too long to come back after, too, and when he finally did his hands were shaking so badly he ripped the lung and heart together. It was a bad death, and Fenris could hardly stand for it.

I went to see him a few hours after, and he was still in his bloody armor & wouldn’t let me in. He said this has happened before, that it passes soon enough and I shouldn’t worry. He said it’s like a strained muscle that must be given time to recover.

Of course, he was glowing while he said it, so it might not be the most accurate analogy I’ve ever heard.

24th Justinian

He was trying to ask me to help with his markings. I’m such an idiot.

29th Justinian. Hot, a bit muggy today with salt winds carrying in off the coast, but not as bad as last year

Took me another day to build up the courage to ask, but Fenris (finally!) has admitted his lyrium is bothering him. Also took half a bottle of wine and a great deal of coaxing but He says it’s happened before, that they suddenly start itching and aching and become terribly tender, that even his clothes are almost too much to deal with if they chafe. (It turns out that’s why he wears things cut so tight. All this time and I always thought he just had an aesthetic appreciation for chiseled thighs.) He says it often happens after a large magical battle, but not always.

He let me look at his arm, just to see. The skin is irritated all along the edges of the tattoos--I could help with that at least, a little--and I could tell there was something--something off, I suppose, about the lyrium itself, but I haven’t worked enough with it raw to know what exactly needs fixing. All my potion is made with refined lyrium that’s already been treated and processed for safe handling, and Fenris looked just disappointed enough when I told him so that it lit a fire under my motivation.

I’m still not sure where to look. Neither Anders nor Merrill know much about either the lyrium’s wrongness or the blood magic that bound it. Not that I really expected Fenris to allow them to prod, even if they did. He keeps insisting it always gets better and says it’s already a little improved from last week.

Then again, I watched him sit unnaturally still for almost fifteen minutes in the most awkward position just to keep the lyrium from creasing around his knees, so I remain unconvinced.

2nd August. Steamy hot--I swear I lost three pounds just walking down the stairs from Hightown

I’m either brilliant or insane. Or both, depending on Varric’s mood. I went to the Black Emporium today on a blind hunch, and when I told Xenon what I needed he gave a half-dozen thoughtful groans and sighs and then told his urchin to go fetch some book from the back stores.

It was written in a mixture of Tevene and the trade tongue (thank Andraste) but from what I could tell, it was an old manual on the process of refining lyrium, how to prepare it to hold magic. Then Xenon got very stern and told me he was a tradesman, not a library, and if I intended to continue propping up the wall while I finished reading an unpaid-for book he could think of much more permanent ways to make that happen.

He only charged me a handful of silver, though. Every time I think he’s giving me a good deal, I leave with a terrible sense of uneasiness. Still, I’m certain this is the key to whatever’s wrong with Fenris’s lyrium.

I did trim my hair a bit in that mirror while I was waiting. It was getting a bit unruly.

7th August. Rainshowers all day. Air’s so thick it’s like breathing bricks

Sandal said “trapped.” I need to start listening to him more. No wonder the healing didn’t help.

It makes sense they’d get more agitated after a magical fight, too, if they’re absorbing as much residual energy as this book implies. I wonder if a templar’s Silence would have the same effect on the tattoos as it does on me. Not that I have many friendly templars to ask. Cullen would probably do it, but I don’t want Meredith knowing anything more about Fenris than she does already.

I bet this will work. I’m almost sure of it. And if it doesn’t, no harm done--he’ll just still exist in an unending pain, that’s all. I’ve already sent a runner with a message for him to come over this evening, and Orana’s bringing up an old set of Carver’s sleeping clothes that are loose enough for what I need. Poor Fenris. Not bad enough he’s hurting already, now I’m putting him in pants four sizes too large and telling him to stay put while I feel him up, down, and sideways.

Ah, I hear him downstairs. Andraste, give me strength and patience and actually, composure now that I think about it

Later, almost midnight

It worked. It worked! I’ve snuck away and am writing this by the barest wisp of magelight because I’ve got to note it all down now, while it’s fresh, but Maker’s blood and bone it worked.

It’s not healing, it’s a cleanse. Almost--almost a dispelling, really. It has to be general, not specific--Kirkwall’s got so much sundry magic just floating around everywhere that to try to clean it out piece by piece and spell by spell would take a thousand years, which means my father’s interminable lessons on magical foundations have at last proved themselves useful.

We started at his hands. I’ve never seen anything like it. I had my eyes closed to begin with, since I didn’t know quite what I was looking for, but once I found the lyrium’s...heart? is that the right word? I could feel the crusty--scales, almost, layered over it. Any healer can do it, I think, if you’ve got enough sense to know what’s healthy and what’s sick. It’s a similar principle to mending bruises. Just go in from the healthy side, the deep place beneath where it’s hurt, and slide a little knife’s edge of magic between that and the scale over it, and just--just peel it off. Like a scab, but made of light.

I could see the glowing through my closed eyes. I opened them in time to see a faint...oh, I can’t find the words tonight. Almost like a skeleton of blue-edged white light hovering an inch or two above his actual lyrium tattoos, in the same shape as his fingers and the backs of his hands. And then I let it all go because I was startled, and the skeleton--shattered, like two fistfuls of silver glitter.

I will say Fenris looked ready to jump right out the window (you’d think he’d know by now everything I touch becomes unnecessarily dramatic), until he clenched his hands reflexively and noticed they didn’t hurt. Well. “Hardly at all,” is what he said, but knowing him that could mean anything from a splinter to being run through with a tree trunk.

So we kept going. We did both his hands and then went all the way up his right arm to his shoulder and halfway up his left before he had to take a break. He said it didn’t hurt, the process, but it was uncomfortable and made his skin buzz.

We broke for dinner, then, and I noticed he kept looking at his hands as we ate. (He said later it was because it didn’t hurt to hold the fork. He said he couldn’t remember the last time he ate without even a twinge, and I had to blink very hard at my potatoes to keep from welling over. Thank the Maker’s grace for lumpy tubers.)

It’s not a quick process. It took over an hour all told to cleanse his arms, and another hour for his back and chest each. I will say he handled my pawing at his bare skin extremely well and didn’t even blink when I told him he had to take off his shirt. I will say I did not and my throat is still flushed because at the core of me is a little girl who refuses to grow up, even when I desperately wish she would.

There was something beautiful in it, though, seeing each little curve and dot lifting out of his skin like that into the air, shining there for a moment in the dark, and then...scattering into nothing. Lovely and achingly sad.

He stopped me once we were done with his chest. It looked like he wanted to say something, but he also looked terribly exhausted and he said the buzzing was getting to him (I paraphrase), so when I suggested he stay and sleep here, he only nodded and curled down right into my pillow instead of going downstairs like I’d thought. The only reason I’ve got as much written down as I have is that he’s sleeping like the dead and I have to keep checking that he’s still breathing.

I would very much like to comment on how nice it is to be sleeping next to him tonight, but that seems only to invite heartsickness right in with open arms. I will say, instead, that his hands smell like cheap soap, and when he is very tired he snores.

8th August. Still muggy, though not raining nearly as much as yesterday

He wanted to tell me that Danarius had been thorough when he designed the tattoos, in case I hadn’t remembered. I wasn’t a fool this time.

I wasn’t a child, either. I should so very much like to tear out that beast’s heart, only Fenris has first rights.

We got down to both his knees before lunch. I should like to imagine his pain shattering away along with the scales, but I’m not so naive to think it’s all quite so easy to reach.

How much must it have cost Fenris to let me this far behind his guard?

Late evening. I've cracked a window; breeze is moist but cool

Oddly enough, his feet have been the most intimate part of this whole affair. There was a moment this afternoon... he was sitting on the side of the bed, and I was cross-legged on the ground with his foot in my lap, and I happened to glance up, and there was a single moment...

I can’t describe his face properly. Gentle in a way I’ve never seen from him. A good sort of tired longing. And bitter, and so angry, but an old anger that’s burned away all the heat and just sits iron-cold in the pit of your stomach. All of that in one fleeting instant, and then he folded it away layer by layer like someone putting bedlinens back on a shelf. He smiled at me after as if to chase away the image, but it wasn’t a fraction as real.

Anyway, his feet have calluses a quarter-inch thick on the heel, and he made the most peculiar sounds when I was working on the markings alongside them. He said the buzzing--well, he didn’t say tickled, but he surely flinched like it. Should I ever find myself in a position to mercilessly abuse this information, I plan to do so to the fullest extent. Isabela would be proud.

He stood up when I was finished with his feet and nearly knocked me over. He didn’t mean to, he just--walked around my room, slow and then fast and then slow again, and picked things up and put them down, and rolled his shoulders back and forth and bent down and touched his toes. It was all easy, effortless, not a hitch in a single motion.

He said nothing hurt. He said it was one of the best night’s sleeps he’d had in years, and that was even before I’d done the rest of the tattoos. He couldn’t remember the last time he could sit down or cross his arms without needing to brace himself first.

He was so eager to simply move. He didn’t notice, thank goodness, but I had to wipe my eye a bit from all the inconvenient emotions.

I made him sit again for the last part, which was his throat and the lines up over his chin. I’m much better at this now--next time it’ll take half as long--and in the afternoon sun we could hardly see the little ghost-lights until they disappeared in their starbursts at the end.

this is so

He kissed me when we were through. I was bent very close and my hands were on his face, and then the last of the light vanished and he reached up and held my chin with his thumb, right where his own markings would be, and then he leaned forward and kissed me.

It wasn’t an accident, and I didn’t pull back until he did. He apologized for his impulsiveness and I waved it off, but I know... I’m certain he meant it, even after.

He looked me right in my eyes when he thanked me. There was no bitterness in his face then, only gladness and a frank relief, and when he left his steps were lighter than I’ve seen them in ages. He carried the sword like it weighed nothing at all. I hadn’t realized how stiffly he’s been moving these last few months.

I told him to let me know the instant the lyrium started hurting again and he said he would. Shit. Was I worried about inviting in heartsickness earlier? At this point it’s a better bedfellow than Toby. I ought to have recognized it sooner.

And yet...he left happy. Not hurting, for the first time in a very long time.

I’d give a year of my life if it meant he could feel this way for the rest of his.

16th August. Fair, sunny

He left me a gift. It was by my plate when I came down for breakfast: a neat little penknife in black oak and brass, and he’d tied a pair of feathers to the ring. Hawk feathers, both of them a deep red.

He left a note as well. “In gratitude, Fenris.” He wrote it himself.

For someone who repeatedly professes no knowledge of the softer things in life, this man is extraordinarily proficient at stamping my heart into little pieces. I draw comfort only from the blatantly unfair judgement of his terrible penmanship.

Damn him! Next time I’m telling him if he puts more than an ounce of thought into a thank-you gift I’m chucking him headfirst into the Waking Sea.

#fenris #hawke #fenris/hawke #dragon age #quark writes #hawke's journal tag #heck of a lot of fancy headcanons in here #feel free to ignore any and all to your preference #also #as someone with friends and family members who live in constant pain #forgive the self-indulgent wish-fulfillment fantasy #we will return to regularly scheduled hijinks next entry

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

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The Guardian’s Oath, Part Eleven

So we ended the last part with the Demon Balor doing a three count... What did that mean? Well, there’s a little insight provided in this next chapter... Of course, if you don’t know what I’m talking about there, you can go back and read the previous chapters, all of which are linked in the Master List.

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 3,027

Content advisory: Nothing in particular; It’s a horror story that involves demons (well, a demon) and there are some discussions on the subject of childbearing that might be uncomfortable but that’s it.

It was several weeks after I discovered the baby blanket and robe that I finally decided to confront Feargal about them. I had determined that I would say nothing apart from that I had found them in the cedar chest. I was not going to mention Sophia’s invocation of the name “Colin”. I was not going to say that Kate had told me the story of Sophia’s prior obsession with a younger brother of that name. I was certainly not going to mention any part of what Susan had heard from her aunt or the villagers. I was simply going to state the facts as I would have interpreted them without any information from others.

“My love,” I began quietly when we were retired to our room for the night, “I found these when I was making space in the cedar chest. I know that you told me that there was nothing that you wished to keep there but these looked like they might have some sentimental meaning and so I thought that I would check with you.”

My hands shook as I held the pieces out to him, scanning his face to read his reaction. If he had ever seen these objects before, there was no evidence of it. He took the fabric from me with no more than mild curiosity and it wasn’t until he started to unfold them that there was any change in his expression. When he saw the embroidery, his hand moved over his heart, still clutching at the fabric, and I was afraid that his heart might give out.

“I’m so sorry, sir, have I done something wrong?”

He took a few deep breaths before he gave me a pained smile. “I do hope that eventually you will entirely stop calling me sir.”

I smiled and blushed a little.

“You’ve done nothing wrong at all, Helen and I’m sorry that my reaction alarmed you.” He took my hand in his and fixed me with his boundless, clear eyes. “Just before my former wife died, she thought that she was pregnant again. Based on the signs and her experience, she was certain that it was another boy. We planned to name the baby Colin, after my father.

“But as time wore on, things became confused. She became obsessed with the child she was carrying, one day believing that it was some kind of monster and the next that everyone was conspiring to do her and the baby some kind of harm. Again, I meant to have a doctor evaluate her but then…”

His shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the floor. “In the end, I don’t even know if she wasn’t making the whole thing up. The child could have been one more delusion. But she died before I knew for certain.”

“Feargal, I am so sorry. I am sorry that you had to go through such things and I am sorry that I inadvertently made you think of them again.”

“I found out after Sarah was gone that she’d been talking to Sophia about the new brother she could expect. For months, Sophia seemed to have this idea that both her mother and the baby were out there, that they would come back.”

I wrapped my arms around him, unable to think of anything else I could do, and held him against my body, as close as possible. He responded, pressing me flat against him and burying his face in my neck. I thought I felt him shed a couple of tears but after a minute or two, his lips twitched and I could feel a slight smile form on them.

“How God must smile on me to have sent you here,” he murmured, lifting his head so that his lips grazed my ear when he spoke. “A woman to whom I can speak about my darkest times and whose beauty reminds me of the fact that darkness passes into light.”

I gasped at the compliment. “Oh, my love, I cannot hope to thank you enough for saying that.”

He held my face in his hands and kissed me, lips soft and pliant and yet somehow demanding.

“There is nothing I would keep from you,” he whispered, “but if I can ask you for this one favor, I would like this to be the only time we discuss this story. Get rid of the blanket and the robe, please. I would honestly feel better without them in the house, in our house.”

I nodded and laughed a little as he lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bed, to our bed.

I kept my promise never to mention the subject of “Colin” again with my husband. Likewise, I never mentioned it with Kate and Susan or with Sophia. But that was not to say that I did not think of it. I fretted over whether my predecessor had told the truth. I fretted over how Sophia might have perceived the stories told to her by an unreliable mother. I fretted over what had transpired in the village between Susan’s Aunt Anne and Sarah Devitt. When I tried to rest, I found myself trapped, wondering what my beloved husband knew and did not know and wondering if and how my demon lover fit into the story.

I tried not to let my worrying distract me from the beauty of my life. I had scarcely dared imagine that I could have a husband that I loved so much, that I could be mistress of such a fine home, or that I could feel as loved and wanted as I did. Everything else, I told myself, was my imagination, something conjured by the Devil to entrap me.

When Feargal was at home, it was easy to ignore the darkness; we would spend time together with the children and when we would retire to our room, we would make love that was tender, romantic, and like a fantasy.

When Feargal was on the road, Balor would come. He paced his visitations so that I could never be sure when he would arrive or what he would expect from me. He would never simply allow me to participate passively. He wanted me active in our encounters, whether it was by servicing him or by becoming so excited that I would aggressively seek my own climax. He seemed as aroused by my reluctance as my excitement, which made both feel shameful to me.

My body felt worn down as the winter wore on. I slept too little because of my dark visitor and I was always flinching from the invisible welts and cuts he left over my body. It remained cold weeks longer than usual and the coast was frequently locked in a frozen fog that made it seem even drearier. I bore up as well as I could but I felt myself growing sickly, my body like some kind of sack I was forced to drag everywhere, but also like something that was angry at me, taking out that anger by inflicting pains whatever I did.

Kate and Susan noticed what I was going through and did what they could to help me. Susan would take the children on her walks to the market so that I could stay indoors on days when I felt weak. Kate was always coming up with excuses for me to sit near the fire in the kitchen, the warmest place in the house.

“You’re not sick, are you?” William fretted as he showed me some stones he’d picked up on his walk with Susan.

“No, I’ll be fine soon enough. This is my first winter by the ocean, that’s all.”

Sophia took her coat and her brother’s to put them away and he skipped off to show his new rocks to Kate.

“If you’ll pardon me for saying so, ma’am,” Susan told me once the children were out of earshot, “I don’t think it’s the ocean that’s making you sick. I think you’re in the family way.”

I was a little shocked at her impertinence but I was more astonished that this hadn’t thought of this myself. I wasn’t terribly well-informed about the signs of pregnancy but when I reflected on it, I realized that there was a very good chance Susan was right.

“My sister Ellen had three and she was always bad at the beginning. She was so sick at first with her youngest that the doctors thought there was a problem with it but they were both fine.”

I bit my lip, trying to imagine what it would be like to go through months of this. Seeing my concern, the girl continued.

“And she wasn’t sick the whole time, either. Just the first bit. All her children came out healthy.”

“I hadn’t thought about it. We haven't talked about having another child, the Reverend and me.”

“It’s not the talking that does the job,” she quipped.

I couldn’t help but laugh a little at her joke, however coarse it was. She was right. Feargal and I had done what was necessary to conceive a child many times, even if we had never discussed it as a possibility. Did that mean he would want a child with me?

Susan leaned closer and whispered, “Has it been long since you’ve bled?”

I nodded dumbly. “Longer than usual, definitely.”

She nodded and was about to speak again when the children came back into the room. I turned my attention to them and Susan left us. As I read with them and helped them with their piano practice, I tried to imagine what it would be like to make such a thing, to have one of them grow in my body and emerge as its own soul. I thought about how such a child might look, a mix of my features and Feargal’s. And at the same time, I fought back the far worse possibility, that I was pregnant with something terrible, some monster that Balor had put into me. Surely, that couldn’t happen? But if I accepted that I had had communion with some sort of demon, why couldn’t it be true? Hadn’t I engaged in the same acts with him?

Once Susan had put the idea in my head, it was all I could think about. I had no idea if I should tell Feargal right away or wait until I was certain. Then again, I didn’t know how long it would take for me to be absolutely certain. During the days, I was able to distract myself by spending time with the children and attending to matters of the house, but at night I lay frightened in my bed, wondering what was happening inside my body.

After three or four nights of this, it was almost a relief when I saw Balor crawl out of the shadows and onto the bed. I sast up but he immediately pushed me back down, pinning my shoulders against the bed until he was sure I would remain still. He gave a little smile that was somehow more disturbing than his usual sneer and ran his hands down my body, roughly grabbing and pinching at my breasts and finally fanning them out over my stomach. As he did, I felt something like a spark, like a candle being lit deep inside me.

“You can feel it now, can’t you?” he hissed.

“Get your hands off me. It’s mine, mine and Feargal’s. You’ve had your favor repaid.”

“Is that what you think, my dear? You think that this is only about you repaying a small debt? Oh no. The third one is mine and I will not be cheated again.”

“The third one? What? And how can you say I’ve cheated you?”

He cocked his head slightly, waiting for me to catch up with his meaning. As the truth dawned on me, I wished only to go back to my state of ignorance.

“You mean the third child is yours. His third child. You intend to take it from me!”

He nodded slowly. “Yes. I do and I will.”

“And if I try to stop you?”

“I hadn’t decided, but I was thinking I might take you to live with me as well,” he chuckled. “No need for more unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness?”

He kissed me gently, easing our lips together in a way that was more romantic than carnal, and for a moment it felt like I was embracing my beloved husband. As the kiss continued, I felt the air leaving my body and at the same time, I couldn’t force any back in. I struggled a little in his hold, growing frantic as I felt like I was suffocating or drowning until it was like something broke inside me, like I no longer needed to breathe, but that my body could simply draw what it needed with no action on my part.

Balor pulled away slightly and I opened my eyes. We were no longer in my bed but in an ancient, overgrown forest, the tall trees eclipsing the sky above us. Looking back at me was not the seal-skinned demon but Feargal, pale and beautiful and otherworldly, exactly as he had seemed to me when I had first met him. As I stared at his face, however, I was increasingly troubled that something seemed off about him. The longer I looked, the more it became obvious that Feargal’s face was some kind of mask or disguise and as I struggled to comprehend what I was seeing, I realized that we were actually underwater, that the forest was submerged in the ocean.

I opened my lips to scream and felt the briny water rush in, but then I was once again back in my bed, the Demon Balor perched over me with an inscrutable expression.

“What did you mean when you said ‘more’ unpleasantness? And why did you say you wouldn’t be cheated again?” I mumbled, trying to get my bearings.

The Demon wrinkled his nose and shot a derisive expression to the sky. “She cheated me of what was mine.”

“Colin,” I choked.

“Mine. The third one was always to be mine.”

“But she wouldn’t let you have him.” I sat up, feeling like I was seeing something clearly for the first time. “She went to the village woman to get something to get rid of the baby. Then when that didn’t work, she ran away and drowned herself and the child she was carrying.”

He flashed his fangs at me and leapt back onto my chest, pinning my body between his thighs. A stream of hisses and snarls escaped him and small beads of spittle dropped from his lips to mine.

I recoiled and a few tears escaped but I persisted with what I now felt was the truth. “She found a way to protect her son. But what did she owe you?”

“Silly girl. She never owed me anything. She never knew me. You’ve embraced me. You’ve given yourself over to me. You don’t have that pious reluctance in you because you know you’re ruined.”

“Get the hell out of here!” I cried at him, marveling that the sound of my voice when he was near never woke the others in the house. “I won’t let you take this child! I would let you hurt us! I pray I never see you again and if I do I shall make certain to send you back to Hell forever.”

Grinning, he withdrew from the bed and back into the shadows.

“Soon enough,” he rasped in parting. “We shall meet again soon enough.”

When Feargal made it home at the end of his travels that week, he was shocked to find me awake and fully dressed, waiting for him with a pot of tea.

“My love, you look distraught. Has something happened?”

I hardly knew where to begin but knowing his preference for the practical, I chose to start there.

“The Church has been promising since before we were married that they would find someone to take on some of the work you’ve been doing, so that you could spend more time at home.”

“I know,” he responded sadly. “I should have followed up with them and asked what they’ve been doing about it. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I’ve avoided being here with you.”

“It’s not that I want you at home, Feargal,” I snapped, immediately feeling guilty when I saw his hurt expression. “I mean, it’s not just that I want you near me. If it were just me, I could find a way to bear it but I’m afraid… My love, I think I’m… I have a baby in me. Our baby. And I want to know that you’ll be here for us and that you want this.”

“Want this?” he repeated incredulously. “How could I not want this?”

He crossed the room and ran his hand over my stomach as if it were something magical.

“Are you certain?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to be certain. I have all the signs. My body feels different to me. I know we’ve… I know almost nothing about children but I believe that’s what’s happening.”

“Oh love,” he touched his lips to mine and took me in his arms. “Don’t fear. I shall write to the Church tomorrow and insist that they send someone right away.” He trailed kisses down the length of my neck, smiling at the soft mewls it elicited from me. “At the very worst, if you aren’t with child now, we could use the extra time to make sure we get you that way.”

I gasped at the implication, only for him to pull me into a passionate kiss.

“You can’t imagine how much I miss you when I’m away,” he whispered, pushing himself flush against me. “I think of you all the time.”

He caught both of my arms in a firm grip and guided me upstairs to our bedroom, the wild, hungry glint in his eyes offering me a clear preview of what was in store.

“I’m glad you stayed up,” he told me.

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Who is Abigail Elphick? Wiki, Biography, Age, Family, Video, Instagram

Abigail Elphick Wiki - Abigail Elphick Biography

Abigail Elphick is the New Jersey woman nicknamed "Victoria's Secret Karen." Video of an incident involving her at the Short Hills Mall has gone viral. The 25-year-old woman was seen in a video charging a black woman, Ijeoma Ukenta, and later claiming to be the victim. Ukenta posted videos of the incident on TikTok and YouTube. On Twitter, some people criticized the Millburn Police Department and mall security for not doing more to protect Ukenta. “There were many egregious violations of her rights and general welfare by both the Millburn Police Department and Short Hills Mall security. Abigail Elphick should have been arrested {and still needs to be arrested} and at least charged with assault and intent. of theft, ”wrote one Twitter user. NJ.com reported that the incident began when Ukenta, 38, of Newark asked Elphick to move six feet away from her. At one point, Elphick appears to raise his hand towards Ukenta in the video. The police report says this caused Elphick "to have a panic attack, at which point she followed her to stop recording her," according to the news site. The police did not make any arrests. "Pending further review, the Millburn Police Department believes that our officers acted in a professional and competent manner to defuse the situation and restore calm and order," the police statement reads to NJ.com. “I was banned from Tik Tok, yet everyone else was able to tell my story. I'm traumatized, ”Ukenta wrote on Twitter. Victoria's Secret issued a statement saying that “the safety of associates and customers is our top priority and we are committed to creating a safe and welcoming environment for all. The video taken at our store is disturbing and we have launched a full investigation. Our associate followed our protocols and immediately called our Emergency Operations Center, as well as mall security, to provide support during the altercation between our clients. We are dedicated to continuing this critical conversation and demonstrating our commitment to diversity, equity and inclusion through our actions and our words. "

Abigail Elphick Age

Abigail Elphick is 25 years old.

Elphick can be seen in uploading videos

The video series begins with Elpnick charging at Ukenta and trying to hit her and the camera. She backs off when Ukenta says, “My God. Oh, Lord. See this? Oh, Lord. I never thought anything like this would happen to me. She tried to run and hit. "Elphick then crouches down, holding her head in her crying hands, and says," No, I didn't. "She says," I don't want to be recorded. " Ukenta tells other customers and workers: “Did you see that? … Karen had a nervous breakdown. She tried to hit me. "Elphick again states that she did not try to hit Ukenta and says," I don't want to be recorded, "while crying. While Elphick continues to cry, Ukenta, holding a coupon in front of the camera, says:" I tried to come to get my free panties. "Elphick then yells," Why aren't you defending me? I just don't want to be recorded. " Elphick then yells and yells, "Don't record my mental breakdown, please. Please please please." The second video begins with Elphick lying on the ground, screaming and kicking. "She's recording me. Tell her to stop," she squeals. "You keep lying saying I'm threatening you, so I'm filming to protect myself," Ukenta replies. She doesn't seem to be very close to Elphick. The video shows Elphick yelling and running towards Ukenta, who was filming the scene. Ukenta kept repeating that she was concerned that the police would believe Elphick if she claimed that Ukenta attacked her when the video shows Elphick charging at Ukenta and Ukenta doing nothing more than recording the scene. "She's trying to attack me, no, no, no," Ukenta says at one point. "Once the law comes, who are they going to believe?" She says that she is concerned that the police will believe Elphick about Ukenta because Elphick is white and Ukenta is black. Elphick, who makes a phone call at one point, yells, “Stop her so she doesn't record. ... She is recording my mental breakdown. ... My heart races ". Ukenta narrates: "She's lying on the phone. I don't give a damn if she's sick. I'm worried about myself. This is real. This is really happening to me. She's on the phone with the police for me and she was chasing me around the damn thing. store ". At another point, Ukenta says, "I just came to get a free panty, that's all.… This lady chasing me. Now she's calling the police. I can't believe security isn't here. This is how black people die. Do you see what these people do? They call the police and they call in a panic and tell the police that you are doing something to them when clearly she was chasing me around the store. " She also says, "I don't want to turn my back on this white lady, sorry. She's crazy. Did you see her trying to accuse me again? That's the third time." The video does not show Ukenta attacking or making any moves towards Elphick. Read Also: Who is Angela Alberts? Wiki, Biography, Age, Trev Alberts’s Wife, Children, Instagram

GoFundMe campaign

Ukenta created a GoFundMe page that had raised over $ 38,000 as of July 13, 2021, a day after it was created. "I am a black Muslim Nigerian AM and I was treated like it was 1920 in Short Hills Mall. I was assaulted and harassed by a white woman and neither security nor police did anything," she wrote on the page. “I am looking to hire an excellent lawyer who can help me clear up this problem. All videos and updates on the situation are on my YouTube channel: Mama Africa Muslimah. They threw me a TikTok for posting what happened to me and they let someone else post and get millions and millions of views, however, they deleted 2 of my accounts. … One that I have for my garden that was my original account and another 1 that I created after my main account was deleted. I have been harmed by Abigail Elphick (Karen in my videos), Short Hills Mall security, the Millburn Police Department, and most of all, humanity. Please help!"

Elphick told officers that he wanted the video to be recorded

In a video, Ukenta read what he said was a police report: I spoke to the "crazy lady" and told her that she had spoken with the store clerk and that they replied that what Miss Ukenta had said had happened. Miss Elphick seemed to admit that she was wrong and she said she was worried about losing her job and her apartment if the video was posted online. She was having a panic attack from the video recording. I told you that Miss Ukenta has the right to videotape. I asked her several times if she was okay and if she needed an ambulance. And she repeatedly refused. She kept expressing her concern for her job and her apartment. She finally said that she was going home, I asked her if she could drive and she answered yes. At this time, Ms. Elphick voluntarily left the mall with mall security. Ukenta says in a video update: “I see everyone asking me for an update. I'm at the police station. I have the police report, which is somewhat true, but very, very long. I'm happy I recorded because even the officers said that I only showed him the video of her lying on the floor when I showed it to him. Of course, first, they took a statement because she, of course, she called the police. And she completely lied. She is trying to say that I started recording her, which triggered a panic attack, at which point she followed me to try to get me to stop recording. " She adds: So, I am filing a complaint against the two officers who responded. I did not feel protected. I am also filing a complaint against the mall security. Victoria's Secret, in my opinion ... what can we expect? Grab this woman? The manager even sent someone to walk to get security because they were taking too long. So, I really don't have a problem with them ... not at the moment. Now if they give us trouble getting the video, we'll talk about that. That will be another story. "The Internal Affairs Division is now investigating the matter to assess how the officers behaved," the police department said in a statement to NJ.com. "The second woman who was filming much of the incident asked officers to remove the first woman from the mall because she felt threatened," NJ.com said, as described in the police report. "The officers explained that they did not have the authority to do that because they had no indication that a crime had been committed or a crime that could be arrested." Heavy has contacted the Millburn police to get her response as well as police reports, both of which will be added to this story if received.

Elphick says she has worked as a teacher's aide

Elphick posted a short biography on a site that lists people who have a colostomy. In it, she said that she is a teacher's aide. "My name is Abby Elphick," she wrote. “I was diagnosed with chronic constipation and pelvic floor dysfunction. I am a 24-year-old woman who has a colostomy. I am a paraprofessional assistant/teacher who works with children. I love walking outside, shopping, eating out at restaurants! I want to feel comfortable with people who have an ostomy like me to know that I am not alone! " Online records show that she has ties to Cedar Grove and Newark, NJ. The Cedar Grove School District has denied that she is an employee there, writing in a note at the top of its home page: “The person involved in the Mall at Short Hills that took place on July 11, 2021, is missing and she has never been employed by the Cedar Grove Board of Education. " Elphick wrote on a Classmates.com profile: “I am 24 years old and I am going to school to become a Child Development Associate in teaching preschool-age students. I graduated in June 2014 from Cedar Grove High School when I was 18. " She stated on the profile, "I got good grades" and "wrote a book." The Verona-Cedar Grove Times mentioned Elphick in a 2013 article about her brother with a developmental disability and indicated that she had a colostomy. Elphick appears in a photo with her brother and her parents, Kim and Andrew Elphick. There is no state professional license for Elphick listed in the New Jersey state database.

Elphick is not related to a Secaucus

A police lieutenant created a Twitter account just to counter what she wrote were false accusations that Elphick is related to her. "Wrong. This is me and I have no kids. I also have no idea who Abigail is," she wrote in response to one such statement on Twitter. Police Lt. Kim Elphick added: “Additionally, this incident occurred at the Short Hills Mall, which is covered by the Millburn Police Department. Secaucus has no relevance to this case at all, other than the last name. " She added: “Because I am the officer that everyone says is my daughter. I don't have children and I have no idea who Abigail is. Coincidentally, I have the same name. " She concluded: “I received personal messages about what was being published. I created this account to fix it. It spread too fast to get ahead of me and tackle it. Feel free to call the agency tomorrow and I'll be more than happy to verify my identity. " FOLLOW US ON FACEBOOK Read the full article

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