#frays of fate - info | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luuuuucyscorner · 26 days

Note

Hello xxx

Could I request an angst fanfic for Kit Walker x fem reader inside Briarcliff Manor, please?

I'm so excited this is my first ask! And ofc I can anon! I hope this is what you meant!

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐎𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐫- 𝐊𝐢𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫

Info: when kit steals some bread, you take the fall. However, Sister Jude knows that it was kit, so his punishment is far worse.

Tags: mentions of blood, crimes, whippings, religion mentions, angst

word count: 7960

Kit's heart races as he watches Y/n get dragged into the room where Sister Jude waits, knowing full well what's coming next. He clenched his fists tightly, nails digging into his palms as he tries to steel himself against the inevitable screams that would soon tear through the air. He can't help but feel partly responsible for this -- he'd been the one to take the damn bread loaf in the first place, he couldn't help himself. He knows stealing food is petty, trivial even compared to what Y/n's now facing, but he can't help feeling a twinge of regret that it's led to this. To Y/n taking his place, to the cruelty she's sure to endure as punishment.

He shifts restlessly, when the sudden appearance of Sister Mary Eunice catches him off-guard, his heart hammering in his chest as she grabs him by the collar and tosses him unceremoniously onto the cold, hard floor. Pain radiates through his body as he hits the ground, jarring his already-frayed nerves. But as he looks up, he sees something even more alarming: Y/n, shaking and terrified, standing before Sister Jude's desk, the cruel nun's gaze boring into her like a hawk eyeing its prey.

Kit's stomach drops as he realizes what's happening. This isn't about the stolen bread anymore - this is about torment. About who can withstand the brutal regime of the Braircliff institution. About who will be broken first. He watches, frozen, as Sister Jude reaches under her desk, pulling out a wicked-looking whip with metal studs lining the braided leather. His gut twists in horror as the nun starts moving towards Y/n, cracking the whip menacingly, the sound ringing through the air like a gunshot.

Kit can't help it - he launches himself forward, scrambling towards Sister Jude, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through his side as he tries to reach Y/n. He snatches at the nun's robe, desperately trying to pull her away.

"STOP!" sister Jude bellows, "OR ILL ADD ANOTHER TWENTY LASHES ONTO YOUR 'GIRLFRIEND' HERE" she threatens menacingly.

Kit freezes mid-lunge, blood pounding in his ears as Sister Jude's voice booms through the room like thunder. He swallows thickly, glancing between the nun and the helpless Y/n. Another twenty lashes...he could barely stand the thought of what she might already be enduring. And yet, there's no way he can let this continue without doing anything.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lowers himself back down to the cold floor, every muscle tense and ready to pounce again if necessary. But for now, he holds himself still, seething silently as he meets Sister Jude's cold stare. "You wouldn't dare," he growls, voice raw and hoarse. "I won't let you hurt her."

His heart feels heavy in his chest, fear warring with anger and despair. He knows that defying her could mean more pain for both him and Y/n, but he can't bear the thought of watching her suffer any longer. There has to be some way out of this nightmare, some chance to protect those he cares about. He just needs to find it before it's too late.

"Assume the position" Sister Jude instructs Y/n, who does as she's told, shaking and bending over the side of the desk.

Watching Y/n bend over the desk, tears streaming down her face as she obeys Sister Jude's command, Kit's chest tightens into a knot. His mind races, searching frantically for a way to save her from this hellish fate. But there is nothing he can do, no magic trick to undo the situation. All he can do now is watch, powerless and terrified, waiting for the first strike to fall.

As Sister Jude raises the whip, Kit's heart seems to stop altogether. His breath catches in his throat, a silent prayer for mercy that he knows won't be answered. He wants to scream at the nun, beg her to stop, demand justice or mercy or humanity. Instead, he bites his lip hard, tasting blood as he braces himself for the sound of that cruel instrument connecting with Y/n's fragile form.

When the first lash finally falls, it's like a bolt of lightning striking the air around them. A cry rips from Y/n's throat, echoing through the room like a wounded animal's howl. Kit winces, closing his eyes briefly against the image of her flesh being torn.

"the first of fifty" the nun states stoicly

Kit feels a surge of nausea rise in his throat as Sister Jude delivers the first of fifty lashes to Y/n's trembling body. Each strike sends shockwaves through the room, rippling through Kit's bones and making him ache with a pain that isn't his own. He clenches his fists, gritting his teeth as he tries to block out the sounds and images, to shut down the part of him that feels too much, too keenly.

But despite his efforts, he cannot escape the reality of what's happening before him. Y/n's screams fill the air, mingling with the sickening sound of leather against tender flesh. Her body jerks and spasms with each blow, bruises blossoming across her pale skin like ugly flowers. Tears stream down her cheeks, contrasting the blood that drips from fresh wounds.

Kit's heart feels like it's being ripped apart, torn between rage and despair, between the desire to fight and the need to protect. He wants to smash the world apart, to rip the nuns limb from limb, to make them pay for what they've done to her. And yet, he knows it's futile. In this place, there is no justice, no mercy, no hope. Only pain and loss and endless darkness.

lashes echo through the room, ten, twenty, thirty. Y/n stands crying, her bottom angry and bleeding. ugly welts spread down her thighs and up her back.

Kit watches in mute horror as Sister Jude lays into Y/n with merciless force, each lash sending waves of agony crashing through her frail body. Every strike is like a bullet piercing his own soul, tearing open old wounds and exposing raw nerve endings he'd rather forget. He wants to help her, to hold her, to make it all go away. But he can do none of those things, trapped as he is in this nightmare beyond nightmares.

By the time the nun reaches forty, Kit can hardly bear it. His vision blurs, his breath comes in ragged gasps, and his palms are slick with sweat. But still he sits there, transfixed by the sheer brutality of it all, unable to look away, unable to intervene. It's like he's caught in a nightmare from which there is no escape, trapped in a world where pain and suffering are the norm, and kindness is a foreign concept.

And then, suddenly, it's over. Sister Jude stops after delivering fifty lashes, letting the silence settle over the room like a heavy blanket. Y/n slumps forward, her body wracked with sobs, blood staining the once-white fabric of her dress. Kit stares at her, his heart breaking into a million tiny pieces, knowing that it was all his fault. knowing that this was meant to inflict punishment on him, through her.

"you may go to her" The Nun mutters and Kit finally rushes over to Y/n and takes her in his arms.

Kit's entire world narrows down to the feeling of Y/n's body pressed against his, her broken sobs rattling his chest like a storm. He cradles her gently, stroking her hair and whispering soothing nonsense into her ear, hoping to offer some measure of comfort in the aftermath of her torture.

He doesn't know how long they stay there, wrapped up in each other's arms like two lost souls adrift in a sea of darkness. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Time loses all meaning in the face of such overwhelming pain and trauma. All Kit knows is that he needs to protect her, to shield her from the horrors of this place as best he can.

Eventually, though, he knows they can't stay here forever. They need to find a way out, to escape this cursed institution and find some semblance of safety and peace. He looks up at Sister Jude, fury boiling up within him like a tempest. "You'll regret this," he snarls, venom dripping from every word. "Mark my words, one day you'll pay for what you've done."

The nun simply smiles, though, unfazed by his threats. "We'll see about that," she says coolly, turning on her heel and striding out into the halls of the asylum.

#evan peters #tate langdon #james patrick march #ahs hotel #ahs murder house #kai anderson #american horror story #kyle spencer #ahs cult #ahs asylum #kit walker smut #angst #kit walker x reader #kit walker x reader angst

67 notes · View notes

justaghostingon · 11 months

Text

Marionetta Theories:

Do you want to know if Tonny is evil or not? Do you wonder why Julia was chosen to kill him? Have I got the two connecting theories for you!

I don’t have a lot of evidence, since we’re only 28 chapters in, but i wanna get these out there to see if they come true!

@jay9marie this is for u. As only other mutual i know reads this comic.

Theory 1: The Custodian

I do not think Sahed is right about Tonny. I don’t think Sahed’s completely wrong either, but he’s missing an important detail: Tonny is not their jailer, he’s the custodian.

When we first meet him, he describes himself as the manager for someone else, not the one who supplies the magic. And this has been true since before the circus even existed:

If you notice the language here, he’s called custodian. Which means he takes care of the one who is truely in charge, the monster in the attic.

Now there’s a lot we don’t know about Tonny’s position. By the wording “allows” he seems to have limited power to invite others to join the castle. Which given how horrible it is inside, is not a very good deal. But we honestly can’t tell if the contracts is something he was told to do or not. We just don’t have the info.

My guess is Tonny has an awareness of the price of his contracts. Look at his face when he makes the contract with dotty:

He’s exhausted by the bags under his eyes, and clearly unhappy, but his set expression tells us he is still going to do it. He’ll doom them to eternity with him, with only the fine print to warn them of what that really means. And again, we don’t know how much of a choice Tonny has, but that’s still not okay.

But! Dotty and her husband bring new life into the castle. And Tonny starts to change.

He’s smiling, leaning against the door in a relaxed posture. His arms are still crossed, suggesting he’s not completely at ease, but he’s happy to see his people smiling again. He’s thrilled his people can be happy in the first place. And when Rainah speaks up and points out it won’t last, he’s willing to bring Dotty and her husband into the very secret that keeps this place running, something i don’t think he’s supposed to do given how even the ever talkative Dotty refused to mention it by name.

And now in the circus, we can see the contract has changed. They still have to stay in the circus, they still live eternally, but now they have to work - which keeps them focused and active, stopping them from falling into the despair of before. But most importantly:

Tonny is no longer confining them to the castle to waste away. He is actively trying to make this situation the best he can. He’s no longer just a monster’s puppet, but a leader dedicated to his people.

And yes, he’s still trapping people in these contracts, which is not good. Sahed (who i suspect escaped whatever research center/prison was keeping him) has a reason to be angry. But now where he can be, Tonny is kind. He’s taking care of his people to the best of his abilities instead of leaving them to rot. All because Dotty and her husband taught him he could.

Which leads me to my second theory:

Theory 2: Julia’s fate

So i’m pretty sure that Julia’s contract was made with the monster in the attic, not Sahed. When we see Kamela go through her contract signing, she is physically near both Tonny, whom she is making a bargain with, and Sahed, who helps her enter the spirit realm.

Given her smile, her trip is pleasant and short, she frays a bit, but nothing like Julia.

Her experience is terrifying, nothing is explained except the contracts own words, and if she resists she’s punished with a nightmarish experience. Neither sahed nor tonny’s deal with kamela goes like this. It’s frightening and inhumane.

But most damningly of all, when Julia wakes back in her body, she is directly under the monster in the attic.

There’s the contract, directly before Julia, but Sahed is nowhere in sight, unlike how it was when he was helping Tonny. This makes it pretty obvious that while Sahed definitely wants Tonny gone, he’s not the one who struck the deal. It was the attic monster.

By why would the attic monster want to get rid of its custodian? Especially when he still takes care of them and provides contracts.

The answer, i suspect comes from theory 1. Tonny has been putting the people of the circus first more and more, adding new clauses and promsing to make their lives pleasant. With all this attention diverted, the attic monster is no longer getting what it thinks it deserves. It is no longer first in Tonny’s priorities, and the priorities of all the circus folk.

It wants a new custodian to focus all their attention on it. To feed it with despair and contracts, and prioritize it alone. And it has chosen Julia.

#marionetta #marionetta theory #two theories really #julia and tonny: connected through more than just a murder plot #julia marionetta #tonny marionetta #sahed marionetta #the attic monster #spoilers up until episode 28

274 notes · View notes

desnayy · 10 months

Text

I finally finished writing them all down, so now I have to transcribe all the bonds for the Soulmate au cause I wrote it all by hand lmao. Thankfully this is mostly all the info needed cause it's a canon compliant au. All the bonds showed up the day after the Islanders were paired together for the Egg Event.

Quackity and Luzu- World becomes colorful after meeting your soulmate's eyes. Pretty much ever since he adopted Tilin, Quackity's world has only existed in shades of grey, black, and white. He had initially believed that Wilbur was his soulmate and that once Wilbur returned, his world would be colorful again. But once Wilbur came back, Quackity's belief had been squashed after there was no change.

Maximus and Dan- Your soulmates name is printed somewhere on your body. What was once a bright blue name on Max's shoulder has now faded to gray, indicating that Dan is most likely dead. Max wonders if his name is still on Dan's wrist in the blue-black color it had been before Dan's disappearance.

Roier and Jaiden- Always knowing where your soulmate is. Not only is it a constant sense of how far away the other is, they both have a tattoo-like arrow on the inside of their wrists that points in the direction of the other.

Missa and Philza- Red string of fate. An old fashioned one, it stretches on and on without fraying, even as Missa travels beyond the server. Yet it fades in color the longer he is gone with Philza's dwindling hope of ever seeing his partner, knotting itself with Missa's worries of Philza falling for another.

Vegetta and Foolish- Matching soulmate mark. Both of them have a spiraling dragon tattoo on opposite arms. Foolish has his on his right arm, which shows the dragon's purple eye on his hand. Vegetta has his on his left arm in the same way except with an emerald green eye on his hand.

Spreen and Fit- The first word your soulmate says to you is written somewhere on your skin. More specifically, it was the first thing they said to each other after getting paired up with the tickets. Fit's first words are printed on Spreen's collarbones, while Spreen's first words are printed down Fit's side.

Bad and Wilbur- The song your soulmate is currently listening to or singing plays in your head. Bad realized who his soulmate was almost immediately, finding out during what he believes to be one of Wilbur's shows. Wilbur found out only after returning to the island for a short time when Bad told him. The two decided to keep it between them, and just act like normal.

Slime and Mariana- One eye is the same color as your soulmate's eyes. Although this phenomenon usually occurs from birth with the color changing after meeting their soulmate, this is a unique case. The permanent heterochromia remains even as the two separated from Juanaflippa's death, as Slime goes into his self-inflicted Eggxile. Slime's right eye is affected while Mariana's left eye is affected.

Brazilians- Any pain your soulmate feels, you feel as well. The Brazilians discovered this bond the day after they found Richarlyson. It not only covers any injury one of them might experience, it also shares hunger pangs, headaches, dehydrated, sleep deprived, or if they are in someplace of extreme cold or extreme heat.

French- If you and your soulmate are asleep at the same time, you will enter a shared dream space. Like the Brazilians, the French learned of this the night after they found Pomme once falling asleep on the island for the first time. It works no matter how far away they are from each other, though the conflicting (shit) sleep schedules of all the French members mean that they only occasionally get to experience the shared dream. Thankfully, they always wake up well-rested from the dream.

ElQuackity- Does not have a soulmate and does not share Quackity's inability to see colors

#qsmp soulmate au #qsmp #qsmp au

61 notes · View notes

compendiumhistoria · 4 months

Text

HI Y'ALL you ready for the Absolute Brainrot I got outta nowhere for NPCs in a campaign I haven't written? no? too bad, here they are anyways. Art (left, shaved down horns) & Dusk (right, broken horn), the Telodomic Tiefling Two. they're sibwings with a few things wrong with them in different ways. they're generally friendly though!

I'll put More Official Sounding Info under the cut!

Dusk and Art are a rare sort, given that tieflings born and raised in the country of Telodom are few and far between amidst the land's cold climate and general distrust of both divine and demonic influences. The siblings now live in Estellus, reluctant refugees displaced thanks to a civil war between Telodom's ruler and its people. They both more or less work to clear their debt to the "old friends" who helped their escape southward, with Art running a shop to sell their myriad creations and Dusk traveling on various odd-jobs when he isn't contributing to his sibling's stock.

Once specialized in medicine-making and the effects of chemicals on the body, Dusk's studies have veered away from the living and onto the dead and the space between the soul and the physical, the shift from magic to mortal, turning the man of science into a self-taught wizard of necromany. Though why the change in field and to what end, Dusk is too cagey a fellow to give a straight answer. But he is happy to have left behind his fraught and frozen homeland and continue practicing both his physical and magical skills… even when his constant running and lack of rest puts enough strain on his fickle body to warrant the cane he carries around.

Art does not have their older brother's stomach for such visceral things, sometimes literally getting nauseous over it. Sympathetic and anxious, Art prefers craftsman trades to keep their hands and mind busy. Their shop sells many an enchanted accessory and even some paintings, but Art themself has also been known to write, embroider, often taking brief apprenticeships with other makers. Most everything they wear is handmade or otherwise customized with this varied interest in creative arts, and while Art considers it something of a dream come true to have their new life and run their shop, they worry deeply about the fate of the people they left behind.

Songs for Dusk:

Weird Science by Oingo Boingo (From my heart and from my hand, why don't people understand my intentions?)

Too Tired to Wink by Ludo (I'm sloughin' brain cells every day, smearing the globe, my lobe frontally frayed)

Bloody Nose by Jack Conte (With your tattered clothes and your bloody nose, aren't you glad to be rid of the smell? Not at all? Not at all)

One-eyed Maestro by Kevin MacLeod (royalty-free in-campaign theme song)

Songs for Art:

Scary World by Steam Powered Giraffe ('Cause I'm safe right here, we know who we are, and It's kind of scary thinking of what is out there…)

Unlikely Hero by the Hoosiers (I like everybody, but not everybody likes me! My love's not an island, it's the tip of a volcano!)

Journey of the Featherless by Cloud Cult (I say that it's worth dreamin' just for the dream of it, it's all about passion, it's all about perception)

Padanaya Blokov by Kevin MacLeod (shop's theme song!)

#Kris draws #Art the Artificer #Dusk #w: Stupor

14 notes · View notes

punchdrunkdoc · 1 year

Text

Part 2, Chapter 6

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics - *UPDATED*

————–

PART 2

Chapter 6

Calina rubbed the petal between her fingers as she waited for the phone call to go through. The flower Matt had given her had wilted and died after a few days of sitting in a glass of water on her bedside table. All that remained was the single blood red petal she held in her hand.

Matt couldn’t have known that the colour of the flower exactly matched his Daredevil suit - it was purely a coincidence. But during her more fanciful moments, she thought it was more fate than random chance.

The first and only flower she’d ever received was like being gifted a piece of the man himself.

And with his offering and his apology, the wall that he’d erected between them had crumbled. They were closer now than ever before. Falling asleep next to him felt natural. Waking up in his arms, even more so. And Matt no longer seemed embarrassed to find himself wrapped around her in the morning. In fact, touching her seemed second nature to him now; he was always brushing his hand down her arm or grazing her waist when he walked passed her in the apartment…

It felt like they’d entered some new phase of their strange relationship. She should have been excited. She should have been over the moon.

Instead she was feeling anxious and unsettled again.

She hoped the Widows would have news that would ease those feelings.

“Yes? What is it, Calina?” Yelena finally answered after the phone had run a dozen times. She sounded annoyed.

“I’m so sorry for disturbing you,” Calina replied. She couldn’t hide the snark in her voice. “I was calling for an update, seeing as you guys have been radio silent for the last couple of weeks.”

Yelena’s answer was just as snarky. “Well, I’m sorry that we’ve been too busy trying to find info on the man who drugged you to text you all hours of the day.”

“Well has all your busy-ness paid off? Have you found out who he was? Are there more like him out there?”

“Sort of. Yes. And we don’t know.”

Calina mentally matched the brusque answers to her questions. Then sat up straight, the petal falling forgotten to the floor. “Really? You know who he was?”

“Nicolai Aminev. A low level grunt from the research division of the Red Room.”

“Low level?”

“Yeah. Best we figure, he stole some tech during the chaos of the Red Room fall, managed to survive, and tried to make some cash out of selling a Widow.”

“If that’s the case, then there shouldn’t be anyone else after me. If he wasn’t part of some bigger operation-”

“We don’t know that for sure yet. We have a lead on some of his associates that we’re following up on. In fact, we were prepping for a recon mission when you called.”

Calina winced at the not-so-subtle rebuke. “I’m sorry. I know you guys are trying. I’m just feeling…trapped here. And useless.”

“It was your choice to stay.”

“I know. And I don’t regret it. I’m just going a little stir-crazy, Yelena. I can’t stay cooped up in this apartment much longer.” She rose from her chair and stared out of the windows, subconsciously counting down until the moment the billboard outside changed display. She knew the timings and the pattern down to the second. She knew every crack and mark in every window pane. She knew every dent and scratch in the floorboards and every frayed thread in the rug.

She never thought she’d get sick of being in Matt’s apartment, but she was fast approaching that point.

“I hate that they did this to me, again,” she continued, her voice rising with anger as she paced. “I hate that they took away my choices - again. I’m trapped again because of those…those fucking bastards, and I hate it!”

The rage and the frustration and the helplessness that had been simmering inside her for weeks suddenly boiled over, until it had nowhere to go but out. She lashed out and punched the wall between the arched windows. The hard brick scraped her skin, causing it to split.

A warm, strong hand suddenly covered hers. “Don’t do that,” Matt whispered, stroking the damaged skin of her knuckles.

She gazed up at him, surprised. She hadn’t even noticed he’d come home from work.

How much had he heard?

He took the phone from her other hand and put it to his ear. “Yelena? It’s Matt. I’ve got this.”

She could hear Yelena’s tinny reply. “I warned you this would happen.”

“I know. I’ll deal with it.”

He hung up. “Go get changed,” he said to Calina.

“What?”

“Put on some workout clothes. We’re going to the gym.”

———

“She’s going to get angry. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But at some point, she’s going to snap out of her numbness and her fear and she’s going to get really, really angry. And you need to be prepared for that. You need to give her an outlet.”

Matt remembered Yelena’s words vividly. She’d taken him aside as the three Widows were leaving that Friday night weeks ago and issued her warning.

And Matt had been waiting ever since for Calina to snap.

It looked like tonight was the night.

“Are we allowed to be here?” Calina asked, as he ushered her into Fogwell’s with a hand on her back. She sounded curious, but there was still a tension in her voice. The muscles in her back were taut, as if she was wound tight.

“It’s been abandoned for months,” Matt explained. “I come here all the time. It’s fine.”

He dumped his bag on the floor and shrugged out of his jacket and sweatshirt, leaving him in a sleeveless T-shirt. He sat on the bench beside the ring and started wrapping his hands as Calina wandered around the disused gym.

She flipped back the hood she’d worn to disguise herself as they’d left his apartment. The move sent a wave of her scent towards him, clearing the musty smell of the gym from his senses. The dust on the floor swirled about her feet as she inspected the old equipment, and he heard a punching bag swing as she gave it a light tap. The wooden stand by the lockers creaked as she picked up one of the dumbbells resting on it.

“‘No Pain, No Gain’,” she murmured, reciting the mantra painted on the wall. “We have a similar saying in Russia: ‘Without effort, you won’t even pull a fish out of a pond.'”

Matt laughed. “Not quite as catchy.”

That would have made her smile a few days ago. But now there was no response. She just moved on to the Wing Chun dummy in the corner. Before the gym had closed down they’d started hosting Kung Fu classes to try and generate more income. The dummy was a remnant of that failed plan.

He heard a muffled whack as Calina hit one of the wooden slats. Then another. And another, the pace increasing until she was executing a fast series of blocks and strikes against the dummy in a practiced routine.

Matt winced as the force of her hits increased. He could hear her breathing heavily beneath the rhythmic sound of her attack.

“Hey.” He came up behind her and pulled her away from the dummy by her shoulders. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

She shrugged out of his hold and viciously kicked the wooden statue. “No pain, no gain, right?” she sneered.

“I didn’t bring you here to hurt yourself-”

“So why did you?”

“Yelena said you’d need an outlet. This is the one I use.” He handed her some wrap for her hands and a pair of gloves. “I thought it might help.”

“I’m not much of a boxer.”

He remembered the way she’d fought against him before, all balletic grace and lithe deflection. “No. But the gloves and the bag will be less painful than the dummy. Just try it.”

While she prepped her hands, Matt tugged on his own gloves and started hitting one of the bags. By the time he’d slipped into his own rhythmic routine, Calina was next to him, jabbing forcefully at the other bag.

Her form was good. She may not favour the style during a fight, but she was obviously well trained in it. She was light on her feet and swung from the hips, and her gloved hands connected with the swinging bag with satisfying slaps.

Matt tried to concentrate on his own bag - wanting to give Calina the space to process her anger on her own - but after a while it became hard to shut out the signs of her distress. The more she punched, the more erratic and harsh her breathing became. The faster her heart rate. He could taste the salt from her angry tears and her grunts of effort transformed into cries of rage as she pummelled and kicked at the leather target in front of her.

He wanted to pull her away from the bag and into his arms where he could hold her close. But she needed to work through this. She needed to let her anger out. So he continued with his own workout and waited for the moment she exhausted herself.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait too long. After one last vicious roundhouse kick, Calina staggered back from the bag and braced herself on her knees, panting. When she straightened up, he finally got the chance to wrap his arms around her. He held her firmly from behind and rested his head against the side of hers.

Her breathing started to slow and sync to his, just like when they would meditate together. Her heart rate levelled out too, and eventually she relaxed back against him.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

She nodded.

“Do you feel better?”

Another nod. “Yes, thank you.” Her voice was hoarse from her cries.

He reluctantly broke the embrace. “I’ll grab you a drink.”

He ripped off his gloves and dug through his gym bag for the water bottles. When he returned to Calina she was studying something on the wall.

And he knew exactly what it was.

“Here,” he said passing her a drink.

“Thanks.” He heard her twist off the cap and gulp down the cool liquid. Then she started played with the half-empty bottle, rolling it around between her palms, making the plastic crinkle. He knew her well enough now to recognise the meaning behind her uncharacteristic fidgeting - she was debating whether to say something.

“You can ask,” he said, gesturing to the poster he knew was on the wall in front of her.

“‘Carl Crusher Creel vs Battlin’ Jack Murdock’,” she read. “That’s your Dad? You said he was a boxer.”

“Yeah. This was his local gym. I practically grew up here. I used to sit on that bench over there and do my homework while he sparred.”

She took a seat on the bench he mentioned and he joined her. His eyes swept around the room, as if he could see its contents. And in a way he could. This vantage point was so familiar to him - it was one of the clearest memories he had from when he still had his sight. He could easily overlay the details he remembered onto the impression his senses gave him of the room - the black shine of the floor; the silver duct tape holding the punching bags together; the beat up looking grey lockers and the rich golden yellow light that would flood the room at dusk.

“Do you want to tell me about him?” Calina asked. “About your Dad?”

Matt sighed and leaned back against the wall behind him. “There’s not much to tell. He died when I was nine.”

“I’m sorry.”

Matt shrugged. “It was just the two of us growing up, and I idolised him - so much. I knew he wasn’t invincible, not like some kids see their dads. I had to stitch him up after enough fights to know that he bled and bruised just like a normal person.” Matt let out a hollow laugh at the memory. “Man, could he take a beating. He could get hit all day long and never got knocked out. That’s how he won his fights - outlasting the other guy. Never giving in.”

Matt could hear his Dad’s voice, clear as day in his head. ‘It ain’t how you hit the floor, Matty. Its how you get up.’

He continued speaking, his voice wistful now. “I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Even though he hated that idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t want me to be a fighter. He wanted me to get an education and get out of Hell’s Kitchen. He’d be proud of me for being a lawyer. I’m not so sure he’d be proud about the Daredevil thing.”

“But you’re helping people.”

There was that acceptance again, Matt thought, remembering his internal battle the other night during the storm.

But now he was worried that she was a little too accepting. That she’d romanticised what he did and turned it into something more noble than what it was. She’d never seen what he did in the suit, after all. She’d never seen him when he truly became the Devil

“I don’t think he’d see it that way,” Matt tried to explain. “We both have this…thing inside us. This rage and this darkness that’s always trying to claw itself out. ‘Beware those Murdock Boys. They got the Devil in ‘em.’ That’s what my Gran used to say. She saw it in my Grandfather. And in my Dad. During his fights…he would occasionally snap. His eyes would go dark and he’d just start wailing on the other guy. I think Dad would worry that I’m just using the suit as an excuse to let that rage out.”

“Is that what you believe?”

Matt leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs. He tugged at the fabric wrapping his hands as he debated how honest he should be. “Sometimes. Sometimes I worry that I’m kidding myself that I do this for any other reason than to hurt people.”

“You’re wrong.”

He sighed. “Calina, you can’t say that. You haven’t seen me out there. I-”

“Yes, I have.”

Matt sat up straight and faced her. “What?”

She bit her lip and looked away.

“Calina?” He prompted, starting to get worried. When had she seen him? What had she seen?

“When I first found out about, um, you being Daredevil. I followed you. At night.”

“You followed me?”

“Yes. I was curious. I was trying to reconcile this person that I knew from this tabloid news story character.”

“How often did you follow me?”

“Just a few nights. Four at the most.”

“Jesus.” Matt sprang up from the bench and started pacing. He didn’t know what he most angry about. That she’d kept it a secret from him? That she’d seen what he was like as Daredevil, or that he’d been followed that many times without suspecting a thing.

No, that wasn’t right. He had suspected something. He remembered back to that time period, and the vague sensation he’d had of being watched. But it had gone away after that incident by the docks.

That incident…

“It was you.”

“What?”

“That night, with those kidnappers. It was you, wasn’t it?” She’d been the one who'd taken out the thugs while he was lying incapacitated on the floor.

She tipped her chin up. “Yes.”

Matt raked his hands through his hair as he thought back to that night. And to the next morning, when Calina had come to his door.

She’d been checking up on him. She’d known he’d gotten beaten up, so she’d come to check on him. He’d let her back into his life that morning. Everything that had brought them closer together since had started that day.

And it was all based on a lie.

He’d never suspected that she’d had an ulterior motive that morning. He’d just accepted the care and attention she’d given him while he’d been sick.

God, every time he was reminded of how good a liar she was it hit him like a suckerpunch.

He forced down the betrayal that he felt. They’d both resolved to start fresh and discard the lies that had tainted beginning of their relationship. By introducing themselves to each other after their fight, they’d wiped the slate clean. Then they’d sealed that unspoken deal with a handshake.

He needed to let it go.

So he focussed on something else that he’d been wondering about from that night by the docks. “What did you use? To take those guys down. I remember hearing something odd, like an electronic device…”

“It’s called a Widow’s Bite. It’s an electroshock weapon. Standard kit on a Widow’s suit.”

“Wait, you were suited up? As a Black Widow? Jesus, Calina! Did it ever occur to you that that’s how you were found?”

The stubborn tilt of her chin edged up a notch. “Of course it did. But I don’t regret it. You needed my help. And that little girl needed you. Just like the other people you saved that week. When I followed you, I didn’t see someone revelling in violence and enjoying the pain he was inflicting. I saw someone helping his community. You showed mercy towards the people you stopped, Matt. Not needless cruelty.”

He took a seat beside her again and shook his head. “There’s still something dark inside of me. You need to understand that-”

“We all have that, Matt. Parts of ourselves that we’re not proud of. Dark aspects of our soul.”

It was her turn to sound self-loathing. He rested his hand on top of hers on the bench between them. “Hey. Whatever darkness you think resides in your soul was put there by the people who trained you and controlled you.”

She laughed bitterly. “I’m not the innocent victim you think I am, Matt. I’ve made choices - since I was free of the Red Room - that I’m not proud of.”

“But those choices were informed by the life that they forced you to live. By the person they forced you to become. Could you still say you’d have acted the same if you were allowed to be raised by your family, in a loving home, far away from the Red Room?”

She turned her hand over to grasp his, as if it was her turn to offer comfort. “The same could be said for you, Matt. If you hadn’t had your accident, and lost your Dad, would you still feel the same about the man you are today? We’re all at the mercy of chance. We’re all shaped by our experiences.”

He shook his head. “But that’s what I was saying before, about me, and my Dad. This is nature, not nurture There’s something inside us-”

“No. I don’t believe that. You make it sound like there’s something fundamentally wrong with you-”

He gave a hollow laugh. “Calina I dress up in a devil suit to go beat up criminals at night. That’s hardly the picture of a normal, well-adjusted human being.”

‘“It’s no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society’,” she quoted.

“What?”

“I moved on to philosophy books this week, and came across that quote from Krishnamurti, an Indian philosopher,” she explained. “I think it means that most people go about their lives not seeing the sickness and corruption in this world, or not caring about it if it doesn’t directly affect them. But people like you - who’ve experienced it, and gained empathy from it - they don’t conform. They fight. They fight to make the world a better place. That’s how I see you, Matt. Not as some rage-filled monster.”

Matt sat in silence for a few moments, humbled by Calina’s opinion of him. He tried to absorb the words, to make them his truth…but he was fighting against thirty-odd years of dogma. Thirty-odd years of believing there was something wrong with him.

It would take more than a few words…but he was still grateful. “Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand in response.

“And thank you, for before,” he continued. “That night with those kidnappers. If you hadn’t been there…you probably saved my life.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Thank you for saving mine the night with the serum.”

“I didn’t save your life. All I did was hurt you.” He could still hear the crack of her knee impacting the floor. He could still hear the pop of her elbow as it was wrenched out of his socket. He could still feel the heat rising from the bruises littering her skin...

It didn’t feel very heroic.

“You stopped me from having to live that life again, Matt. I consider us more than even.” She stretched her arm out in front of her. “And look, good as new.”

He took hold of her arm and moved it around, feeling the joint as it flexed, wanting to assure himself that she was telling the truth.

And she was. There was no evidence of any lingering damage.

He ran his thumb down the delicate skin of her inner arm, and reluctantly let go when she started talking again. “I think that’s why I’ve been feeling so antsy lately,” she said. “And why it all came to a head tonight. I feel ready to go back to my life, but I’m still at the mercy of whoever’s out there.”

“Did Yelena have any leads on that?” he asked.

Calina explained about the identity of the man who drugged her. “But Yelena’s being cautious - she’s worried there’s more to it than a low-level lackey trying to make some money.”

“What do you think?”

“I think what I’ve always thought - that there’s no danger here. Not anymore.”

“Does that mean…are you going to move back into your place?”

There was a beat of silence. Then another. And he felt like every muscle in his body went tight as he waited for her answer. “Calina?”

“Is that what you want?” she finally said, turning his question back on him.

“No,” he replied.

And it was the truth. He knew she’d have to leave eventually. He just hadn’t let himself think about what that would feel like - watching her walk out of his door. And he didn’t want to think about it now.

He wasn’t…ready.

“You can stay as long as you need, you know that,” he finally said.

“Then I’ll stay a little longer. I, um, think Yelena would feel more comfortable that way.”

Matt smiled, recognising it as an excuse.

She wanted to stay.

With him.

“Then stay.”

————–

Chapter 7

Taglist: @hollandorks, @yanna-banana, @stilldreaming666, @tearosearts-blog @chezagnes, @freckledbabyyy, @acharliecoxedfan,

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

#Daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #marvel's daredevil #daredevil x original female character #Matt Murdock #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x original character #tabula rasa

31 notes · View notes

kagesora · 5 months

Text

Angry Catboy Summons Elder God To Attack Military

Type: Original Fiction Length: About 1570 words Content Info/Advisories: Non-graphic violence, unspecified implications of cruel treatment, poisoning, extremely briefly mentioned ancient extinction of non-human people

Notes: Actually started this one in '22, and took exactly 364 days to finish it because writer's block. I sat on it for the better part of a year because after so long of fighting to write it I didn't like the latter parts of it. I like it much better for letting it sit for a while. I've got several lines in here I really like~

Summary: Cornered by the empire's military, knowing capture is a fate worse than even a tortured death, T'kal'miru stops holding back his power--and nobody is prepared for the force of nature that awakens in return.

Magic roared across his senses. Not the usual whispers and whines of power called by the strong among the humans--no, this was a scream of power fit to tear the heavens asunder, shockwaves from its calling reverberating along the flows of magic in the world. No human could have summoned such power--and with that power, echoes of emotion: terror for the self and another, a heavy grief deeper than the seas, and fury so white-hot even the ghost of its passage through his mind burned like the sun itself come down to the earth.

He stirred, his mind drifting towards waking, the dust and dirt of decades disturbed at his movement. Long indeed had it been since he’d felt any reason to do more than sleep the eons away, his dreams seeking after those who had long before gone to where his soul could not follow.

Another surge of Power skittering along the edges of his awareness, stronger than before and overflowing with the intent of the one who summoned it--death, destruction, fire and wind and the crackle of lightning searing through all those who stood before it.

He opened his eyes. Perhaps it was time to venture into the world once more, if only to see what sort of kin--such as still existed in this age, so far removed from his own--wielded power with such wrathful intent.

---

“No--!”

The shout, along with the rumble of the war-machines and the clamor of armor faded out for a moment, sensation replaced by an odd numbness and a pressure somewhere in the vicinity of her left shoulder. Staggering back, her legs gave way as a sharp, squirming pain began to slip through her veins, digging towards her heart to better push its way into every bit of her flesh. Her body stumbled into another, bright spots of warmth radiating against her where a chest pressed and where an arm wrapped, stark contrast to the freezing chill already creeping slowly on the tail of the pain.

Ah. Tox rounds.

Just enough to suppress magic, just enough to kill the victim… Slowly. Time enough to medicate later--if they decided to take their target alive. And, really, dying over the next hour or two in agony beyond anything she could imagine? Sounded like a damn good time compared to that fate.

Sound came back in full force as her initial shock wore off, but words still lacked meaning--the pain was making it hard to grasp what sounds formed which words. Somewhere beneath her cheek thunder rumbled, more felt than heard. Her head fell limply back, the effort to keep it upright pushing the nerves in her muscles to frayed threads. She forced her eyes to focus, wondering if there were hallucinogenic effects in the poisons she could feel soaking into her organs.

Lips pulled back in a hate-filled snarl revealed small, sharp fangs in the mouth of the young man holding her to his chest.

Mods gone wrong, maybe?

She felt the thunder building beneath her cheek, volume and intensity rising until it pushed its way from the throat above her in an inhuman roar. There were no words to this battle cry, only raw fury and grief.

And where the sound echoed from the armored forms before them, sparks chained body to body in a blinding arc of death.

The reverberation of his wrath drowned all else out, and on its heels the howl of the rising gale stirring from the ground beneath them. Flames danced within the winds and forced those who would step over the bodies of their fallen comrades to fall back. And with the rising of the winds summoned in his rage, tearing at their clothes, his hood wrenched back.

His hair whipped around him, and where cupped flesh should rest was revealed as a strange smoothness.

The cap atop his head shifted, and in the claws of the air it finally tore free.

Two pointed, furred ears pressed flat against his skull in rage.

Oh.

He was beastkin.

---

The humans retreated, the war-machines moving forwards to take their places, carelessly crushing the fallen beneath wheel and tread.

The wind ripped at the machines, smaller ones falling to their sides but the larger too heavy, too sturdy to be given pause by the gale around them. Flames sputtered out upon metal, the wards protecting those within the larger of the machines. The smaller, being automated, had nothing for the fire to threaten at all.

Grounding spells stopped the arcing death from finding a path along the metal to the delicate workings within.

They advanced, slowly, their cornered prey able to do little more than howl in rage and grief and exhaust itself as it summoned more and more power to lash ineffectually at their bulk.

The first of the machines opened fire.

And the world exploded around them.

Burning heat erupted from the sky above, so hot that it frayed the fabric of the world itself--colors not meant to be seen by mortal eyes danced within a whirling void, and a shadow so dark it burned with an impossible light of its own formed within the heart of the vortex. Inhumanly large, a monstrous shape curled into a loose ball.

And then, it Woke.

The vortex burst open, the beast within unfurling into a vision from a nightmare: bipedal, with a muscular build. Scales covered its form, head to heavy tail, becoming finer along the head and face where fur erupted into an untamed mane that floated curiously still despite the screeching winds. Feathery wings of an incomprehensible span stretched from the back. A mid-length muzzle stretched from the skull which housed eyes that watched the scene below dispassionately, the lips peeling slowly back to reveal fangs large and sharp enough to pierce a man straight through.

It lifted a single hand, and curled the fingers until only one, topped by a wicked talon, was left pointing directly at the army below.

Thunder boomed from its chest, its voice deafening the mortals below.

“Begone.”

A ripple spread outward from the foremost of the war-machines, spiraling into tendrils that wove their way through each of the armed soldiers and their machines. Metal rusted over, the plants beneath them growing upwards rapidly to reclaim their husks, time passing through decades in the span of seconds.

The fleshy force of the army fared differently, though no better. They seemed to grow fuzzy, indistinct, confusion and terror etching themselves into their faces for a moment before they simply unraveled, unworked from existence by a power so great they could not even begin to comprehend it.

---

Turning his gaze to the hunted ones, the only two beings left, he studied them in silence. When flames erupted around him, summoned by the kin below, he merely breathed them aside and overwhelmed the power of the beastling.

Strong, even for kin. I had thought any of such ability long extinct.

He allowed the power holding him in place to fade, and descended to the ground. Dwarfing the two mortals staring up at him with terrified awe on their faces, he knelt before them to better see who had called such power as had awakened him.

One kin, and one human--the human dying of some sort of magical poison slowly destroying her body from within. Blood upon the shoulder showed the way such a cruel thing entered her. She would last another hour, perhaps, but it would not be a pleasant death.

The kin, now, he had power--but was exhausted by what he had thrown at those who would have captured them. Were he rested, perhaps he could even save his companion. But now there was little enough he could do, even to easing her passing.

“Why did they seek to capture you?”

The answer would decide their fate.

His eyes narrowed, his power probing at them and finding truth behind the words of the kin: sought for the sake of their power, that they may be used as weapons to subjugate others in turn.

So. Even now such empires live on. It is not enough that my kind were driven to extinction by their greed, they seek to prey upon our descendants and upon their fellow humans.

That would not do.

He reached one talon forwards, flinging his power in a binding net around the pair to prevent their movements. The tip of the curved claw stopped above the wound in the woman’s shoulder, a soft glow gathering about it before dripping into the hole, power chasing the poison through her system and purging it. He released the pair and withdrew his hand as she trembled and gasped, the wound itself closing as the last of her pain was brushed aside.

“None will disturb us unless I so will it. You will rest, little ones, and then you will tell me of this world you have awakened me to. I have slumbered for far too long.”

It was not a suggestion. He watched Sleep overcome them, his power forcing them down beyond the threshold of dream and nightmare alike into the depths of the healing, restorative slumber they both needed so gravely.

He settled back on his haunches, shifting his wings and tail to make himself more comfortable. He had waited eons for a reason to see the world once more. He could wait a little longer to learn what he had missed.

#original characters #original writing #original fiction #t'kal'miru #bloodbeasts #t'kal #yes those are 2 different characters with very similar names there are Reasons for that

7 notes · View notes

wyrmfedgrave · 3 months

Text

Pics: Just a small sampling of H. P. Lovecraft's influence on popular world culture...

1. There's stores now that only sell Lovecraftiana!! This is as amazing as the 1st stores that sold comics & related paraphernalia alone...

2. This would make for a great paper head on your personal website...

3 thru 5. Here we see the effects of more modern culture on Lovecraft's own ideas. An unholy melding of humor, madness & the commercial realms of the Peanuts, a now free Disney rat & (fittingly) sea monkeys!!

6. This 1 is a new ad - but, is it real?! Or, just another fever dream?!! I can't tell...

7. The long time coming - strange eons? - meld between the Great Old One & Victorian retro-stylings. Hoping for more to come...

Like say, an 'armed' (Heh) Cthulhu Pirate-King!!

Make it so...

8. Finally, the finality of the human race is on!

But, is it so?

Remember, everyone who can hear or even know about the Lovecraftian Truth of Reality... Goes Mad!!

So, I wouldn't be too quick to accept some mad dude's tale... There's no telling what's in his brain stem.

Remember, the original story was that we'd become 'like' the Great Old Ones! Free to know 'beyond' Good & Evil.

If that 'fate' has changed - then, any future possibility is possible...

1914: "End of the Jackson War."

Intro: When writing of HPL, writers use letters, essays & biographies about him. Even his stories can tell us much about his innermost being.

Taken together, this mass of info make Howard 1 of the most well documented fellows ever!

There seems to be few periods that we don't know something about Lovecraft's life.

Even during the "Lost Time" of HPL's retreat from society - as new info is always been discovered...

Researchers now know what books Lovecraft read, who he was with & what they spoke about.

They even know what flavor of ice cream Howard was eating & when!

A good example is how HPL never mentions James Dwyer's "City of the Unseen" published in the Argosy mag of December 1913.

It's not a good story, but, not only did Lovecraft read it, it's central image¹ reappeared in HPL's own later works.

We know Howard owned a copy of it, because this issue contains the 1st return volley in the weird Lovecraft/ Fred Jackson Letter War.

Which HPL had originally instigated in the earlier September 1913 issue of Argosy.

But, all things must pass...

In the end, Lovecraft wrote his War's epitaph. And he didn't use overlong or overblown language!

But, he did sneak in some martial terms...

Work: "Pray spare an inch or two², (to) print (these) critics's joint adieu."

"So long... since we began (this) fray, That readers swear we've (stolen) your Log³ away!"

"Forgive... sinners that presume. To fill with... verse⁴, such precious room."

"Inflamed by war & in... martial rage, We held awhile the center... stage."

"Til, blinded by... (such) furious fire, We battled on, forgetting to retire."

"But, (even) feuds draw... to their ends & foe(s) live to meet as friends:"

"So do we now... in lasting peace, Lay down our pens & slander(s) cease."

"What sound is this? ...A joyous yell, As we say farewell."

Notes:

1. Dwyer's "City of the Unseen" is a Lost Race story about an ancient city in the Arabian "Empty Quarter"!!

This sounds a lot like Howard's Irem! The City of Pillars that was swallowed by the sands of Araby!!

It was the lost city mentioned in the holy Koran... And, it might have been found - thru spy satellite footage!

2. This is about the measurement of column space given over to stories, pics & letters in newspapers, mags, etc...

In some cases, stories had to be cut in length, summarized or re-edited to fit the available space.

At the worst, the affected story would be 'saved' for later publication...

3. The "Log" was probably the name of the Argosy's letters page...

Some mags might also use a 2nd name like "Action Log", "Adventure Log" - even just "The Letters Log."

4. As mentioned in earlier posts, some letter writers used poetry to project their 'attacks' & to 'defend' each other.

And, Lovecraft was right in the middle of it all, slinging poetic barbs at Fred Jackson's writing skills...

It was this Letter War that brought HPL to the attention of the mighty UAPA.

More next time...

#hpl bio #history #adult hpl #poesy #argosy #letter war

3 notes · View notes

wickedsrest-rp-archive · 2 years

Photo

First came the dreams, the lines between sleep and wakefulness blurring until fish grew on trees and cars were full of mac n’ cheese. Then there was death – coming face to face with the departed, even when they should have moved on for good. Then came time. The clock turning both ways as people were plunged into the past or future, and even into another place entirely. Eventually, every hour spelled a different fate, and the physics of the town itself cracked open.

Those really in the know understand that a possible fate for White Crest has been spelled out in the history books and onto a memorial plaque. The order of The Horrors is exactly the same as it was so many years ago, before the town’s doom was sealed and everyone vanished. And, like before, White Crest’s population seems powerless to stop the town from crumbling out from beneath them. Worse, it may not just be White Crest. Some of the town’s anomalies are now stretching outside of its borders, threatening to share the fate of the town with that of the world.

Some feel that this is it, the end. As the last threads of sense and reality fray, and White Crest sees dragons soaring across its skies and ship-sized krakens towering out from the sea, even its people seem to be stretching into previously impossible realities. Someone’s house may simply grow a face and devour them. A werewolf may grow 50 feet long and eat the moon out of the sky. Vampires may now require a diet of human hair to sustain themselves. Everything goes black and white, like out of an old film. Little is making sense in this dying town, and it seems inevitable that it’s not going to stop with White Crest.

But deep in dusty old books and in the minds of those who journeyed to the past, there may be a solution, a way to stop White Crest’s fractures from spreading elsewhere, and possibly even save those within the town. But nothing comes without sacrifice.

INFO:

Even those who don’t know about the supernatural at all seem to sense that something terrible is going to happen. Many are hosting “end of the world” parties and gatherings, which don’t seem as cult-like as they once did.

This is your time to do ridiculous and lore-breaking plots! Anything goes. We just ask that if it will affect other characters/players in a big way, please talk it over with them first or reach out to us.

As before, all of the past POTWs are still in effect. If you want to do a plot involving ghosts, dreams, or time travel, those are all in play.

#potw #plot of the week

10 notes · View notes

hcark · 2 years

Text

(oliver jackson-cohen, he/him, spirit warrior) to LESLIE WATTS, the whole world looks like an open page. with a leap of faith, their ability of REACTIVE ADAPTATION grows a little stronger. they’re pledged to the HOUSE OF FRASER to defend the enchanted lands of cagliostro with their ENCHANTED TEARDROP EARRINGS. for THIRTY-FIVE years, they have survived a world of magic with both their AMBIVOLANCE and CARELESSNESS. they work as a FORAGER / COURRIER, but if they could change their fate, they’d want to ALTER THE DEATH OF HIS BEST FRIEND

DOSSIER .

▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ came into this world wailing to the heavens and stars above. Golden pipes as his grandmother used to say, good use of those ironclad lungs. Although some would say it was detrimental to the deterioration of their hearing later on in life. Growing up with a single grandparent is hard; even harder still when said grandparent was half drowned in debt due to the hands of her own children before disappearing for good. A mother’s kindness taken advantage of by the folly of human greed. How typical.

Still, ▇▇▇▇▇▇ grew to be scrappy and figured out ways to help, sure — if you want to reflect the past under a kinder light, but more so to survive. His grandmother wasn’t a perfect person or parent; most of the time she numbed their shitty situation with the promise of hazy evenings and late mornings. Inevitable as it might have been, there came a time when dearest grandmother perished in the clutches of choice vices. *** tw: overdose start *** Gone in a matter of minutes. The creak of a rusted door revealed a shape laid still between the common room and kitchen. Gnarled hands still clutched around a tarnished, cracked container.

The few neighbors that ‘cared’ flocked over like the feathers of a claret-crowned vulture. Overdose, they tutted, a shame but not all that surprising. *** tw: overdose end*** Only 14 at the time ▇▇▇▇▇▇ was left to their own devices. Yet even then, his penchant to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed didn't falter. When a groundbreaking asperation struck him, he went up in arms to only achieve it but to also thrive as well.

Arguably very dangerous adventures in completely rural areas? Done with the repercussion of triggering the first lingering instances with the use of magic.

Being completely engrossed with artifacts after said very dangerous adventures in a rural area ( see: his plummet off a steep cliff )? Done although most of the 'treasures' didn't pay their weight in gold.

Understanding that he wanted to be an explorer ( of all things ) just to follow the footsteps of his grandmother and doing everything in his wildfire ways to best her feats? Done… and then some.

Hardly anyone was surprised when ▇▇▇▇▇▇ proudly attained the opportunity to traverse into the great unknown. Even less so when ▇▇▇▇▇▇ announced his departure with a fellow adventurer into the great unknown. What did surprise them was the state of return or lack thereof.

Him, alone, frayed beyond imagination.

The details of what ensued during his travels was never documented. Just like the abnormal condition his form had obtained was never released; ever bright, glowing just as his ambition once had. All of this was completely shielded by half-hearted white lies and a distant heart, of course.

All truth redacted, erased, unheard of ever again.

Yet ▇▇▇▇▇▇'s tale didn't end there. It hardly ended anywhere, really. Traces of him were few and far between with only a handful of vague sightings across the world. Some more bizarre than others. Rumors of something off about the man now known as Leslie Watts. A man that cheerily claims to be the best two in one forager-courier in one.

MISC. INFO .

The earrings Leslie wears every day wasn’t originally his. They’re a gift from his best friend, the only other explorer he ever spent more than a few weeks with. The jewels are enchanted to help ward off curses ( because lord knowns he comes by a lot of them ).

CONNECTIONS .

Green but keen — sure, leslie's ‘kind of new’ to the whole 'legit' courier schtick, but he swears to get the results wanted every single dang time! so, c’mon, give them a chance — just one!!

Friends — Yes, Leslie is quite a peculiar person that says the dumbest shit known to man. Yes, he’s not the most careful person around. But that’s not all to him, though. Despite what some might believe, he’s always flexible when it comes to making acquaintances and friends. He’s a, dare he say it, decent person; just with a few altered quirks.

Single as a pringle stuck in the goddamn can — look.... leslie's been trying to put himself out there and see if anything sparks, he swears! and it’s not like he hasn’t gone on dates — it’s just that they all somehow end in a catastrophic mess every time. this is a plea for help, guidance, whatever it takes for him to go on a singular normal date. ( open to both wingmen and potential dates alike ).

Let sleeping does lie — straight to the point here — this person knows him as ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇, that young, but no less weird, explorer that made quite a name for himself within the artifact world. whisper anything about that past chapter of his life and leslie's already gone. fleeing for the sunset itself because he does not want to think about it, much less speak about it.

Heaven and hell don't want us — Leslie's led a pretty eventful life so far. There've been plenty of times where he had been dangerously close to shaking death’s hand, and even fewer where he had actually flat lined before he was resuscitated. These people get it. They’ve all knocked on death’s door, only to be brought back to the land of living again. They’re all haunted by the strain on their worn down hearts, and it’s a common factor that makes it easier for them all to relate to.

#cag: intro #overdose tw

5 notes · View notes

midnights-call · 1 year

Text

Arcanist's Gambit

Genre & POV

High Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, First Person, Triple

Content Warnings

Sexual abuse/forced prostitution/sexual coercion/child sex abuse, parental abuse, manipulation/gaslighting, human trafficking, kidnapping, imprisonment/physical restraint, torture, graphic violence/blood/injury/death, transphobia/cissexism, religious trauma/critique

Synopsis

Artealior Thakur had always been the family disappointment. Despite their proficiency as an arcanist, their parents were never pleased, setting the bar higher and higher until one fateful day when the scales tipped in Teali's favor. Now able to pursue their own ambitions to a degree, they stumble into something far greater than themself. Stealing a highly illegal artifact from a crimelord is one thing, but stealing his son too is another entirely. When a being promises Teali the power to right the many wrongs in their life, they gladly agree; somewhere in their mind, however, they wonder if this desperate act will finally be the one to destroy them.

Umbra Vautour is not the true son of Lord Ober Vautour, but that's hardly a secret. What is a secret is what Ober has done to him. Between illegal pit fights, inhumane experimentation, and the forced servicing of his fellow nobility, there are few levels of depravity that Ober has not subjected Umbra to. But when Umbra is given the chance to escape by one naive, in-over-their-head young noble named Teali, he eagerly takes it. Now trying to hide out from his father and adjust to a life of freedom, he starts to wonder what he wants from life and what his purpose is. As he watches Teali start to fray at the edges, and the mystery of the artifact they sought from Ober starts to unravel, he worries that something bad lies on the horizon.

Julien Renouard Archambeau has been a major player in the grand game of nobles since he was a young teen. After the death of his beloved twin brother leaving him the sole heir to the renowned Archambeau name, he dove headfirst into the twisted world of business and politics, despite the gentle warnings of his emotionally distant father. With no one else in this world he can rely upon, except Teali, he knows that he must do all he can to curry favor and protect his best friend from a world that threatens to rip them apart. While it's far from the first time he's been dragged into Teali's messes, this is the first time he truly worries that may not be able to save them from themself.

More info under the cut

Characters

#teali thakur (21, they/them, pansexual, fatanthos) has an arcane proficiency that is unmatched, and their intellect is undeniable. However, their interest in the family legacy is horribly lacking. The Thakur family had served the church as their noble warriors for as long as the family line could be traced back, and Teali could not care less about following in the footsteps of their ancestors. When an incident that made them lose half of their left leg occurred, they suddenly didn't have to. They now had the ability to do anything they wanted, holding the incident over their parent's heads and relishing in their newfound freedom. But Teali is a naturally self-destructive person, unable to ever truly ask for help and continuously pushing themself into more and more dangerous situations. At least they're self-aware, and hardly surprised when they wind up getting burned.

#umbra vautour (23, he/him, gay, human) is as intimidating as he is handsome. With finely tuned muscles, scars littering his skin, and a glare that in itself could make someone drop dead, it's easy to believe that he is a killer. His striking looks and learned ability to become whatever other people want him to help make him the ultimate cash cow for crimelord Ober Vautour. But there's only so long you can keep a dog in a cage and treat it like dirt before it starts to dream of blood and freedom. Once he's out, though, he doesn't really know what to do with himself, purely because he doesn't actually have a sense of self. With room to finally grow into something more than an object to be used, Umbra is trying on a few new faces, and dealing with the aftermath of the horrific abuse he faced as he learns to receive the love others want to give him.

#julien archambeau (24, he/they, aromantic bisexual, bloodless) is a man few would dare to cross, and that's not just because they know his father, the true head of the household, would ruin them in an instant. Julien has become a fine player in the grand game, and is quite capable of getting revenge whenever he pleases, having a wonderful time doing it. He's gorgeous and he knows it, vicious and he loves it, cunning and he relishes in it. Many consider Julien to be one of the most heartless, vindictive men within the upper echelons of society, and they're almost right. There is one person Julien is weak for, and that's their best friend Teali. Desperate not to lose another of his loved ones to a tragedy like he did his brother, he will rip apart the entire known world just for a chance to change fate, and he might just have to.

#tristan archambeau (54, he/him, biromantic demisexual, bloodless) may be the ruling member of the Archambeau household in name, but he's far from the face of the family. Never having recovered from the loss of his beloved wife after she died in childbirth, Tristan became a recluse. While he did his best to handle his responsibilities to the illustrious Archambeau name, he often fell short, especially with his children. Just as he was starting to work towards mending things in the family, the death of his son set him back to where he began. He thought the best course of action was to allow his living son to do as he pleased, but Tristan can see that the game is destroying his dear Julien. He knows his son wants nothing to do with him, and rightly so, but he hopes he can somehow make amends and fulfill the role he failed to for so many years.

#lithara (she/her, forsaken goddess) is a former Goddess reduced to nearly nothing, trapped within an artifact where she has remained for more years than she cares to count. None that have held her prison have had the power to free her, save for one Artealior Thakur. With their status as a savant arcanist, they ooze power, and with their intellect and interest in the forbidden, it's not hard for her to entice them. All she has to do is promise them knowledge and power- which she can easily give -and they'll assist her with whatever she needs. Lithara never dreamed that her return to Godhood would be so simple, but she certainly isn't going to complain. In fact, she'll thank Teali for their generosity, and give them everything they think they ever wanted.

Honorable mentions: Voltaire and Celine Archambeau, borzois belonging to Julien and Tristan respectively.

Ships

#wolfsbane is Umbra/Teali. Umbra's ties to wolves (both literally and symbolically) and Teali's ties to flowers, along with their shared ties to death and destruction