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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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Oh! Dealer

Summary: Vada calls Reader for a ride after she does E, they get high together and experience some new highs

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language, drug use

A/N: I cannot confirm nor deny my personal experience in a situation like this...just enjoy this very detailed ecstasy fueled touchy touchy. Also, is the back story in the beginning necessary? No, but I have to world build, I cant help it.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, drawing the attention of everyone in the silent room. You wince, hit the decline button, and clear your throat. The man sitting across from you glares at you. You gulp, really not wanting to piss him off. The phone vibrates again, and he clenches his jaw, the dagger tattoo on his temple flexing as his skin moves. You hit the decline button again.

“Who the fuck is calling you, kid?” He growls, his eyes burning into your head, his anger palpable.

Every muscle in your body is tight, anxious tension rolling through you. You glance down at the phone and look back at him.

“It’s no one. Just a girl.”

The man sitting on the couch next to you laughs, slapping your shoulder, “I bet you’re a fucking lady killer, aren’t you? Lookin like that,” he looks to the man across from you, “You think so, Whisper?”

You clench your teeth, your expression unsure. You shrug. Whisper curls his lip, his tongue running across his teeth.

“Well, are you?” He asks, cocking his head.

You frown, “Am I what?”

“A fuckin lady killer. Noodle asked you a question, didn’t he? Answer him.”

You glance at Noodle. He’s leaning toward you with childlike glee on his face. He raises his eyebrows and nods at you, his lank, oily hair swishing back and forth. You look back at Whisper across from you, unsure how to answer. Every time you came here was something different. The only consistent thing about these two was their supply of drugs and their ability to make you fear for your life.

You gulp, “I do alright.”

The room falls quiet again. The clock in the kitchen may as well be Big Ben, with how loud its ticking has become. Whisper barks out a hard laugh, breaking the tension and leaning forward to dump a duffel bag on the coffee table. A mountain of small bags filled with pills spews out, sliding over each other.

“What’s your body count?” He asks, his laughter stopping and his face growing serious again.

You try to keep your composure, but you can feel your brows knit together and your lips tighten. You don’t have a choice, you have to give him an answer. The truth or making something up, the number matters. You don’t want to sound like you’re lying, but you don’t want to sound cocky either. Your phone starts to ring again. Whisper looks down at it and smirks.

In an effort to distract him, you say, “S-six.”

Noodle cackles next to you and stomps his feet on the floor, slapping his knees, “See Whisper, I told you! She’s a lady killer!”

Whisper snorts, nodding, “Respect. Six at what? Nineteen? Okay, little buddy. How much you taking today?”

You sigh in relief, the muscles in your jaw relaxing. You don’t bother telling him you’re twenty, and your actual body count is four. The moment has passed, you’ve passed their test. You pull a roll of cash out and hand it over to Whisper, a nervous smile quirking your lips.

“Same as last time. I’ll move it in a week or two.”

Whisper nods, “Good man. Don’t spend too much time crushin' girls, little buddy. You need to make Daddy money.”

He reaches across the table and slaps your cheek lightly. His hand smells like machine oil and gunpowder. You unzip your backpack and use your arm to sweep the baggies into it, zip it up and stand. You don’t look back as you hustle out the apartment door, letting it slam behind you. You try to keep yourself from running down the stairs, ending up in a half-jog until you’re in your car. You start it and peel out, only looking back once the complex is in your rearview.

By the time you’re pulling into your driveway, your nerves have settled. You park the car and pull your backpack into your lap, digging through the little bags until you find the one you want. Little red pills shake around in the bag. They’re stamped with the silhouette of a pin-up girl, the naked lady stamp usually reserved for eighteen-wheeler tire flaps. You open the bag, take a pill out, bite it in half, and let the back half fall into the bag. You chew the pill, grimacing at the taste. You’re testing the product is the excuse you always give yourself. In reality, you just enjoy E, but it can be dangerous and laced with shit that will kill your consumers. Testing it is a win-win, you get high, and your revenue doesn’t get merc’d by a bad pill.

Your phone vibrates at the bottom of your backpack. You dig around until you find it and pull it out, Vadas name is on the screen. Again.

“What do you want, Vada?”

“Remember that pill you sold me last time? The yellow one that looked like a Simpson? Like a week ago. We talked in the parking lot, and you-“

“Vada.” You interrupt her, knowing she will continue to talk until she runs out of words. You haven’t actually found the bottom of her word pit yet, always having to interrupt her to get her to stop.

“Right. Sorry. But do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Remember the pill, the yellow one!” Her voice goes up an octave as she grows impatient with you.

You sigh heavily, resting your head on the car seat. “Yeah, I remember it. What about it?”

“So I took the blue one that day and saved the yellow one, and you know how the grass feels when-“

“Vadaaaa,” you groan, praying the red naked lady you’d just chewed kicked in soon.

She huffs into the phone, “I took it, and I’m stuck can you give me a ride home?”

You close your eyes, then lean forward to rest your head on the steering wheel. The first day Vada approached you asking for drugs, you laughed at her and said no. She was persistent, tailing you and nagging you until you’d given in and sold her half an E pill. That was three years ago. Now she comes to you occasionally to buy when she’s going to a party or wants adderall (even though you’re pretty sure she could get this prescribed for her). Your relationship had developed against your will, her stubbornly insisting you were friends and you reminding her your only role in her life was to take her money. She refused to believe you.

“Where are you?” You grumble, hoping she’s not too far so you can get to her before your drug kicks in.

Briefly, you consider that maybe you are friends. You don’t know any other drug dealers that are willing to give rides to their customers. So maybe you’d developed a small soft spot for Vada, even if you won’t admit it.

“I’m at the park on D street. You know, the one with the-“

“I’ll be there in five.” You interrupt her, hanging up.

——

You’re surprised to find her alone at the park. She’s lying on her back in the grass, moving her arms like she’s making snow angels. The streetlights flicker on, and you’re coming up, getting anxious about driving and someone seeing Vada writhing in the grass. You honk your horn, and she sits up, looking around.

You roll your window down and lean out of it, “Let’s go, Vada!”

A huge grin slides across her face, her eyes low-lidded and dopey. She pulls herself to her feet and lurches across the grass to the parking lot, throwing the car door open and dropping into the passenger seat. She shuts the door and turns toward you, smiling, rubbing her cheek on the headrest. Her eyes are nearly black, the drug making her pupils expand unnaturally. She reaches out and runs her fingertips across your forearm, and you bite your tongue. Your pill was kicking in, the touch felt more like silk on your skin than fingers. Vada’s house was too far to drive, you wouldn’t make it before you started to peak. Your house was only five minutes away, so that’s where you take her. She hums to herself, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs and sticking her head out of the window.

Your body is thrumming when you park, the nerves in your skin fooled into finding everything pleasurable by the sudden burst of serotonin in your brain. Vada sits up, a small pout on her lips.

“This isn’t my house,” she drawls.

You rub your eyes, and it’s difficult to stop because it feels so good. You nearly forget why you’re rubbing your eyes until you stop and see Vada staring at you.

“It’s my house. We need to go inside now.”

She nods, accepting the information immediately. You both climb out of the car, but it feels more like a slither. You unlock your front door and shut it behind Vada, leaning your back on it to ground yourself. She makes her way through your entryway, headed for the couch, but you call to stop her. Your grandma is in the living room; it’s her soap hour.

“No, no not that way. Come with me.” You hold your hand out for her to take, and she does, an intoxicated smile on her face.

You lead her to your bedroom, not really thinking it through. You just know you don’t want your grandma to see Vada like this, so it seems to be the safest place to hide her for the next few hours. Her hand in yours feels like the brush of rose petals in your palm, so you hold it gently, hyper-aware of it. She lets go of you and falls into your bed without asking, kicking her shoes off and low crawling up to the pillows. You raise an eyebrow as you watch her roll herself into your down comforter, breathing deeply in the blankets. You’re lucky you’d only taken half a pill, or your self-control would be nonexistent. Just like Vadas now.

If she’s unfiltered when she’s sober, high Vada is a faucet stream of consciousness. Every single word that enters her mind leaves her lips, no second thought, no thought at all, really.

“You know you smell really good,” she says, her voice muffled by the blanket on her face, “like, so good I want to live in you. Can I do that? Or can I just live in your bed? Why do you smell so good?”

You sigh and drag your desk chair over to the foot of the bed, watching her. She’s going to regret what she’s saying when she comes down tomorrow. Even with only half a pill in your system, it’s taking every ounce of self-control for you not to crawl into the bed and roll around with her. At that moment, you decide her voice is better than music, and you hope she never shuts up. The tone and pitch of whatever onslaught coming out of her lips are better than the Chopin records sitting on your shelf. Your thumb and forefinger have the hem of your shirt pinched between them, rubbing the cotton together and feeling every ridge catching and sliding over themselves.

Vada sits up, the blanket wrapped around her head, “Y/n. Your bed is the best place I’ve ever been in my whole entire life. Do you think I died and this is heaven? What are your sheets made out of? I think it’s probably a blend of silk, cotton, and clouds.” She giggles at herself, “Wait, no, you can’t put clouds in houses. Then the house would float away.”

You chuckle, your inhibitions falling away as you feel the ecstasy taking hold of you. Your laughter makes Vada freeze. She drops the blanket and crawls over to the foot of the bed, staring at you in awe. She reaches over and runs her pointer finger down your nose, tickling you. You think if you were made of anything, it’s ashes, and she’s just brushed away the skin on your face with the softest touch you’d ever felt. The sudden compulsion to know what her shirt is made of has you pushing out of the chair and crawling on the bed. She cocks her head as she watches you take the bottom of her shirt between your fingers, rolling the fabric the same way you had done your own.

You look up at her, and to this day, you’d swear there was an ethereal glow behind her. In reality, it’s probably just your desk lamp, but in the drug haze, you’re positive she’s divine.

You lick your lips and run your knuckles over her cheek, “Have you always been so pretty?”

She sucks in a breath, then nods enthusiastically, “I was born with this face! Have you always been so pretty?”

She makes you laugh, and you lean away from her. The tiniest part of your brain is screaming not to make a mistake. You may not have realized how you felt about her before, but you certainly do now. Maybe that soft spot was bigger than you thought. The distance doesn’t do much because as you back away, Vada is leaning forward. She wraps her arms around you in a hug, and you fall backward, landing with her head on your chest. Your entire body lights up, her weight on you setting a fire in your gut, making your breathing quicken and your heart race.

“Woaaaah, you’re so soft,” Vada rubs her cheek over your shirt.

Against your better judgment, you let her continue, wrapping your arms around her and reveling in the comfort of cuddling her. She wriggles her hand out from under you and runs it up your arm. The sensation gives you goosebumps, your skin prickling in a trail following her fingers. She plants her hand on your chest to sit up, straddling your hips. If you were both sober, it would have been enough to make you blush because you’re not wearing a bra, and her fingertip grazed over your nipple, making her eyes widen. She looks down at your breast and runs her finger across it again. You almost forget to stop her it feels so good, but you’re finally able to shake your head and straighten a few things out in your mind.

She moves to touch you again, and you cover yourself with your hand, frowning up at her, “Don’t do that.”

You don’t mean it. You want her to keep doing it more than anything, but you’ve really got to fight to preserve some self-control. Her brow knits together in confusion, and her bottom lip juts out.

“Your nipples are pierced.” She states as if it’s news to you.

You snort and shake your head, removing your hand from your chest, “Only one.”

That tickles her, she laughs, and you can feel it in your belly. “Why do you only have one nipple pierced?” Her eyes are bright and curious as she looks down at you.

You twist your mouth, the slightest bit of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks in a blush, “They were both done. I lost one of the bars when I was cleaning them, forgot about it, and it healed up. So now there’s only one.”

“I want to see it.” She says as if she’s not asking you to get half-naked in front of her.

“Too bad,” you snort, frowning up at her.

She looks down at you, her eyes flitting across your face while she processes some bit of information in her mind. Your hands move against your will to rest on her thighs. You might be denying her, but that doesn’t make her touch feel any less incredible. She looks down at your hands and licks her lips.

“I think I’m peaking,” she says, looking back into your eyes.

You smirk, “Me too.”

“Wait, you too?”

“Yeah, before you called, I was testing the new product. Picked you up before it hit. We’re rolling now.”

She nods, thinking hard again. Then, without explanation or reason, she pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside. You’re too shocked to do anything but let your mouth drop open.

“What are you doing?”

She shrugs, “Taking my clothes off.”

“Why?”

“Do you not want me to?” She tilts her head, her hands lingering around the waistband of her shorts.

“I…no. I mean, yes. I mean…I don’t not want you to?”

She scratches her head, then gets distracted and runs her hands over your ribs. “I think we should have sex.”

You choke on your spit, sitting up on your elbows, “What?”

“I think you’re pretty. You think I’m pretty. Everything feels so good right now. I'm basically having sex with you right now. Can it get better? Like how is it on E? I’ve never done it. I’ve never done it on E. I’ve wanted to do it with you for a while. Sometimes I even-“

You hold your hands out to stop her, “Hang on hang on. How do I know you’re not going to freak out once you’re sober?”

She scoffs, her hands pushing your shirt up to your ribs, “Freak out? It’s just sex, y/n. Plus, like I said, sometimes I’ve thought about you-“

“Wait, wait, I can’t think when you’re doing that,” you stop her wandering hands and try to pull them away from your stomach, but there’s nowhere else to put them.

Her weight on your hips is fogging your brain. Her exposed skin looks like velvet. You want her to lay on top of you so you can feel all of it. She smells good, too, like freshly cut grass and cherry chapstick. She starts pushing your shirt up again, and in your musing, you forget to stop her. You help her pull it over your head and fall back when she throws it aside. Her eyes go straight to your boobs. She sits on you, unmoving for a minute, just appreciating you. Her eyes linger on your right side, the side with the metal bar through your nipple. She licks her lips again. Her hand slides up your ribs, and she stops just under your breast, looking back at you. You shrug and nod, figuring why the hell not. Her blown out pupils go back to the silver jewelry as her hand slides over it, the bar slipping between her fingers.

You bite your knuckles, trying not to moan. Before you understand what’s happening, Vada's mouth is latched on to you, her warm tongue flicking at the silver, and this time you do moan. Her other hand rolls your jewelry free nipple between her fingers, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to cum from that alone. Nope. You know you are. Your fingers slide into her hair, and your hips jerk, and you feel like you’re falling through the bed. Floating on the clouds Vada believed couldn’t be brought inside. You’re not even going to address the fact that she’d done this without even taking your pants off. It would go straight to her head. You’d never hear the end of it.

You desperately need to gain control of this situation, or Vada is going to have you a squirming mess. And you’re not even a bottom. Usually. You lift your hips and flip her on her back, her mouth separating from your nipple, leaving it freezing cold as the air hits it. Her breath comes out in a rush and a giggle under you, her eyes unfocused and hands wandering.

“I love boobs,” she says under her breath, then louder, “Yours are incredible. Probably top ten boobs I’ve ever seen. Definitely the number one boobs I’ve touched. This feels like sex, but my pants are on. Can you take my pants off please I want to have sex with you. Are we having sex?”

You blow your hair out of your eyes, resigned to your fate with her. You like her more than you want to admit. And you do really want to have sex with her. But you need to set ground rules first.

“Okay, we can have sex, but-“

“Yessss!” Vada fist pumps, punching the headboard in her excitement. She hisses and pulls her fist down to her chest.

“But! You have to make a promise to me first.” You look down at her, trying not to laugh when her face grows very serious.

She nods, waiting for you to continue.

“1. Promise me a real date when we’re sober.”

She smiles and nods quickly, reaching up for you, but you shake your head and grab her hands, pinning them to her sides.

“And 2. Tell me you want this. Full consent. We’re not having sex until you say it. I’ll say it first. Vada, I consent to have sex with you right now.”

“A date and consent? No problem. Y/n I promise I consent to do a date with you and to take you out on a sex right now…” she frowns, mulling over her words, “that’s not right. I consent to have sex with you immediately. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow.”

“Good enough.” You hook your fingers under her bra and pull it off her head, eager to have your skin on hers.

You drop down, your chest pushing into hers, and she groans, “Oh fuck, I think you’re made of like marshmallows or cashmere or something oh my god, you’re so soft.”

She leans up and kisses you for the first time, and now you’re absolutely sure how you feel about her. The drugs just knocked your walls down, now Vada was under your skin. She kisses you with fervor, her hands all over you. She unbuttons your jeans and pushes them down your hips without breaking your lips apart. You do the rest of the work, kicking them off behind you. You pull her shorts and underwear off in a hurry, your leg slotting between her legs like you were made to fit together. You lean into her, applying pressure to her center, and she gasps, bending her knee to do the same to you. You don't think you’re going to make it through an actual sexual encounter. Not while you’re as high as you are. Every single touch feels like an orgasm, every whisper of breath, every inch of your body is in pure…well…ecstasy.

You settle for grinding into her, mutual sighs of satisfaction escaping between your lips and noses as you kiss her frantically. She pulls you down with her hands on your back, pushing you so your stomach is pressed into hers. You dip your head to kiss her neck and almost regret it because she starts talking again.

“Oh my god, y/n I think my skin is orgasming. Can your brain have an orgasm? Mine is. Your skin- oh shit do that again -“ she pulls you up her thigh, her eyes rolling back, “I don’t know what or how you’re doing that but please never stop.”

Her voice is breathy and light, quieter than usual, but still, it feels like music to you. You keep rocking your hips, your thigh pressing into her as you grind yourself down on her leg. The growing sensation in your lower stomach is just a touch less than too much for you, it’s almost too good, but you keep moving. You move to kiss her chest, but she’s pulling you back to her lips, then pushing your face away as she leans up to wrap her lips around your nipple again. Normally, you would have stopped her and put her in her place, but she felt so good you couldn’t even fathom arguing with her.

Her hands are on your sides, and she pushes you over, regaining her position above you. She ducks her head down to kiss you again, her hands on your breasts. She’s probably not going to let go of them again, which suits you fine. You use one hand to grip her waist, pushing her to keep moving, and the other hand holds her jaw, keeping her with you. You’re not sure how much time passes like that, your hands running over each other, lips tracing over skin, teeth marking soft spots. It’s like being in a warm pool of constant pleasure, Vada is your oxygen, and you are hers. You’re not sure if you ever actually cum, or if she does, or if you ever weren’t cumming. It’s all very hazy and melded and fluid.

Eventually, you do have to stop, and you both splay out on your backs, gasping for air. You reach over her, flipping on your ceiling fan, kissing her breastbone, and falling onto your back. The cool air licks across your sweaty skin, making you shiver. Vada rolls to face you, and you’re half afraid she’s going to get on top of you again. She doesn’t, she just rests her hand on your chest and watches you, quiet for the first time in hours. The comedown is barreling toward you, you know it.

You turn your head to look at her, “We’re going to crash soon.”

She yawns, “That’s okay.”

“You staying here tonight?”

She closes her eyes and nods, her thumb brushing over your sternum. She cracks one eye open, “Actually, I do need one thing, though.”

You frown, your eyes growing heavy, “What’s that?”

“I need so much water. I could drink a bathtub full. Or a swimming pool, or-“

“Okay,” you roll out of the bed and pad into the bathroom attached to your room.

When you come out, you have two huge glasses of water and hand her one. You sit on the edge of the bed, gulping yours down. When it’s gone, you set the cup on the nightstand and look over at Vada. Her cup is empty and lying on the pillow next to her. Her dark hair is splayed out on the pillow, her chest rising and falling peacefully as she sleeps. It’ll be the best sleep she has in her life, you know from experience. Tomorrow would suck, the chemicals in your brain at an all-time low, but if Vada is there, you can’t imagine being too low. You drop back onto your pillow, sling your arm over Vada’s stomach, and let the post-ecstasy crash suck you down into dreamless slumber.

#vada cavell x reader #vada cavell #vada x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader

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horsegirlwarcrimes · 1 month

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okay i absolutely HAVE to ask about "YQY and ZZLs Snadventures on Qiong Ding" 😆💚

omg hi my brother in zzl appreciation 🤝🤝🐍

this fic is my baby that i expect mmm maybe 3 people to read, but it is gonna be my next longfic after WINRN! Zhuzhi-lang finds Luo Binghe as a child and watches over him in secret. when Luo Binghe leaves for Cang Qiong, Zhuzhi-lang finds a way to assume a human shape and follow him so that he can continue to protect his cousin--only to end up accepted onto the mountain under Yue Qingyuan, the man who defeated and sealed his uncle. thus proceeds many shenanigans, disciple!Shen Yuan, Qijiu reconciliation, and Qiong Ding Peak slowly acclimated to their new martial brother who keeps unhinging his jaw to eat rats.

shared one bit here so ill drop a newer part! fic tentatively titled 'to see if i might shine'

It is on one of these ventures, letting himself drift, half-asleep, along the silty bottom of the Luo River, that Zhuzhi-lang finds a new purpose in his life. He finds it when it crashes into him, in fact. A little body drops like a stone into the water, a tiny dark mass that Zhuzhi-lang thinks at first to be a large fish or a stray dog. Then the little body starts to flail in the water, dark hair fanning out and short limbs waving. A child. Zhuzhi-lang is not a creature often moved to kindness. He saves his empathy sparingly, for the person who most deserves it in the world. But he is heartsick and monstrous in the river, and this creature is so small. He cannot free Junshang from his bindings, but he can save the life of this little thing. He catches them around the chest, secures a grip with slick-scaled hands, and tosses them from the water onto the shore. They roll and curl up into a tiny dark lump, coughing up river water. There are more human children on the bank. Scruffy and scrawny but bigger than the one Zhuzhi-lang has fished out of the river. They are holding sticks, and there are thin lash marks on the pale arms of the child. Seeing the child miraculously returned to the river bank, now pushing themselves onto hands and knees, one of the others with a stick scowls and approaches. “Hey, the dog’s been washed up. Push him again and maybe—” Zhuzhi-lang pulls himself up onto the riverbank behind the child. He uses his arms to heave up his tail, a sheet of dark hair turned lank curtain by the water. The child he fished from the river is too busy coughing and sputtering on the ground to look around for its saviour. The children in front of him, though, get the full view of this form. One of them whimpers. Zhuzhi-lang catches the sudden scent of urine on the wind. He hisses, baring sharp fangs, and the children flee with shrill screams. The half-drowned child finishes expelling water from their lungs and rolls over. Zhuzhi-lang lowers himself back down to lay flat on the ground when the other children run away, but he knows how he looks. Without Junshang’s blood keeping him stabilized and humanoid, he is a monstrosity. He expects this child, too, to scream demon and run when they realize what, exactly, has saved them from the icy Luo river. Then large, dark eyes blink up at him. Painfully familiar eyes, in a painfully familiar small face. The child freezes. Zhuzhi-lang freezes right back, as much from the shock of that face in miniature as for the child’s comfort. They both lay there, on the banks of the river, for a long minute, watching each other. The child with Junshang’s eyes and Young Mistress Su’s face gingerly pulls themselves off of the ground. They kneel in the dirt in front of him. “A river monster…?” The child asks.

thanks sm for the ask! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

#svsss #zzl #zhuzhi-lang #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #luo binghe #zhuzhi-lang enjoyment hours 🐍#my writing #wips #fic writing #my fics #burywrites.pdf #buryspeaks.mp3 #askbox #to see if i might shine #lbh

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emyn-arnens · 5 months

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No need to do this because I already got one, but if it inspires, any character(s) + Angband (and area) + 'shadows of madness and despair'. (You did say darker ones...)

An age later, here this is! An AU with Finrod and Sauron in Angband, ~700 words | AO3.

Finrod stood in the dark of his cell, searching. A hushed song fell from his cracked lips. Its notes buried themselves deep within the stones and mortar of his cell, probing for fissures and points of weakness.

In whispered words, he sang of loosening, of breaking, of splitting, of falling free, of light piercing the shadows. The stones trembled at his voice, and his chains shivered against his skin. Dust trickled over his fingertips, pressed against the stone wall behind him. He scratched at a line of mortar with his fingernail as he sang, and a spray of dust fell upon his hands.

He sang of the lashing rain throwing down great rocks in mountain passes, of the flash of lightning cleaving mighty trees in two, of the thunder of cavalry rattling the mountainsides, of the howling of wind splitting strong walls asunder. The stones of his cell danced and quivered in response, and dust and shards of stone fell like rain, biting into his bare skin.

Finrod sang louder, until the stones shook with both the power of his song and the ringing of his voice.

And then, in an instant, the stones fell silent and still, and his voice died in his throat.

Shadows, darker than those he already stood in, gathered in a corner of his cell, and from them came a voice: “Thou hast great power in thy voice, but it will not avail thee.” The shadows twisted and coiled, and from them stepped his captor.

Finrod bore Sauron’s mocking appraisal in silence.

Sauron circled him, the shadows following him like the swish of a cloak. He tipped a clawed finger beneath Finrod’s chin and looked deep into his eyes, searching. His own eyes burned like the hearts of embers.

Shadows and whispers pressed upon Finrod’s mind, probing, prying. He held his mind silent and still.

Sauron tilted his head. He lifted his hand to Finrod’s face, studying it with appreciation, and the slow stroke of his fingers down the side of Finrod’s face was like a caress, even as the tips of his claws drew beads of blood from Finrod’s skin. “Wast thou a king? Thou hast a kingly bearing.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron gripped his chin and leaned closer until his breath stirred Finrod’s hair, lying lank against his neck and shoulders. “Thy tongue is better suited to song than silence,” he murmured. His words skittered over Finrod’s skin like the grazing of claws. He released Finrod and stepped back, a smile playing upon his lips. “Sing for me, little king.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron’s smile spread. “If thou dost not wish to sing of thy own doing, I can aid thee in loosening thy tongue.”

The shadows that clung to him peeled away, and in an instant, they seized Finrod’s throat and forced open his jaw, and a cry tore from his lips.

“Sing.” The command filled the cell until the stones trembled.

Finrod’s voice tore from his throat despite himself, and he sang. He sang until his tongue was thick with dust, until his lips cracked and bled, and until his voice was no more. He sang until his limbs shook and trembled, and he sagged in his chains, utterly spent.

Only then did the shadows about his throat relent and slink back to their master.

Sauron cupped Finrod’s face in his hand, and his eyes burned into Finrod’s. “I will learn thy true name in time, and thou wilt come to do my bidding of thine own will.”

Finrod’s tongue was too heavy to respond.

Sauron brushed his fingers over Finrod’s lips and then smiled, sudden and sharp. “Dost thou thirst?” The sound of falling water filled the cell, and a rivulet of water trickled from a crack in the wall mere feet away from Finrod.

Sauron vanished as quickly as he had appeared, and Finrod stood alone in his cell once more. He strained at his chains, but though he strained until his limbs burned, the trickle of water evaded his reach, and he collapsed against the wall more weary and parched than he had been.

The rivulet of water disappeared. Lilting laughter echoed about the stone walls of his cell. How foolish thou art, little king.

And all through the night came the sound of gently falling rain, though not a single drop fell upon Finrod's skin.

#the silmarillion #finrod #sauron #asks #polutrope #my fic #posting this is only *checks notes* seven months after receiving this #iirc i wasn't able to finish this one before i had to pivot to working on tolkiengenweek pieces and then i had writing burnout for a while #after that #but it's written now and my inbox is all cleared out for the new year wooo!#this was a lot of fun to write thanks for the ask!

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layla4567 · 8 months

Note

Hello there! I love your May The Force Be With You so much that I am requesting one! Here’s mine: The reader calms Cal down when he is using the Dark Side (During Jedi Survivor near the end when he’s chocking Lan Denvick) but you choose the reader calms him down.

oki doki!

I'm right here

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Fem reader Summary: Cal seeks revenge by using the dark side of the force against the hidden base of the Imperial Security Office. You arrive just in time before he does something crazy Warnings: Blood, violence, fight, chocking, spoilers of jedi survivor, angst but fluff ending kinda (If I forget something let me know) A/N: This is my first request, sorry for the delay, btw I had to research the game to write this lol

Cal walked with sure and furious steps towards the base, wielding his saber that now shone bright red ready to attack anyone who crossed his path. The red light contrasted with his green eyes and gave him a menacing look, Cal wanted revenge, to avenge the death of his friends and his seething anger toward embracing his dark side. You stayed on the ship praying that nothing bad happens to him or that he doesn't cause a lot of blood to flow. You understood Cal more than anyone and how painful it is to lose a loved one, especially when they had already lost someone before.

Finding Lank Denvik sitting behind a command desk, Cal approached him with BD1 slung over his shoulder. The redhead's gaze showed no compassion or patience.

"Cak Kestis"-Lank said

"Listen carefully, deactivate the alarm system now"

"Or what? You're a Jedi, I know what you're capable of and what you're not capable of."

Denvik took out a blaster that he had hidden but Cal was faster and took it out of his hands thanks to the force. The freckled man took out his own gun without stopping pointing it at him.

"On the comms. Now"-The redhead said impatiently and intimidatingly, knowing that one mistake and he would just have to pull the trigger.

After deactivating the alarm Cal explained that he was there because of Bode, and saying that he found him thanks to a tracker. Unsurprised, Lank, as if accustomed to her pathetic carelessness, simply casually commented that Bode's reports indicated that the two of them had become quite close since Coruscant. Cal's gruff expression softened slightly as he lowered his gun slowly, something in his brain clicking, as if his gears had been set into motion.

"You were the one who sent him to infiltrate my team.."

"That's right, he was my weapon for a long time, he was very effective. Not like those armored idiots in the inquisitorious"

"So it's true, Cere died because of you"-Cal's gaze became hard as steel again as he gritted his teeth.

Lank leaned forward in his seat. "No, there are still months until Operation Jedha"

"You're lying!"-The redhead used force by clenching his fist to push Lank's back against his seat and immobilize him.

"The empire burned the archives led by Darth vader!!"

"Lord Vader? I have to stop this while I can"

The man approached the commandos again but Cal extended his hand firmly and pushed him back again in anger.

"Don't you understand? He lured you here to destroy me! They're coming! I'll be a dead man unless-"

The redhead clenched his jaw, tired of listening to him speak, without thinking twice he drew his fist towards his chest and Lank's head hit the table making a thud. Cal looked at him with a sullen expression, the only thing he felt was displeasure for that man. With his black inquisitor suit, to go unnoticed, he decided to head towards where Bode was always with his droid at his side. When she arrived she saw Bode's daughter Kata packing her bags, the little girl explained that that was what her father had told her to do because they were supposedly going on a trip. At that moment Bode entered the room, when he saw Cal his muscles tensed, the redhead took a step with a predatory look in his pupils but Bode extended his hand in a stop sign and explained his past. That he was a Jedi Knight assigned as an undercover agent during the Clone Wars. Bode also talked to him about how he met his wife and they had Kata and the deal with Denvik. Cal let his guard down a little at Bode's story but that was his only mistake. Using force, Bode pushes him making him fall on his back and escapes with Kata and the compass alerting the imperials.

Cal, flushed with anger and with dilated pupils, leaves the room without being able to stop Bode and his daughter, just at that moment dozens of imperials are preparing to shoot him. Cal wields his saber embracing the dark side and faces the soldiers, dodging and blocking each blow while with his red saber he cuts the armor and flesh of the Imperials. He is an unstoppable beast, like an enraged bull he cuts the skin and impales several imperials without much difficulty, the desire for revenge and anger moves him as if he were carried away by a wave or ocean currents. Memories of all the people he received love from and then lost came to his mind. He no longer knew how to differentiate between anger and sadness, a whirlwind of emotions debated inside him but an emotion stronger than the others surfaced and won everything. Hatred.

Meanwhile in the Mantis

You and Greez were waiting for Cal to finish his mission. Since you were used to fighting you already had your uniform and your blaster on your belt, you nervously felt it to know it was still there. Greez reassured you by telling you that Cal knew how to defend himself and that he would be fine, but Cal knowing how to defend himself is exactly what worried you. Many times you had seen him succumb to the dark side of the force and you had to hug him so that he would return to the light, you hoped that this time it would be different, that Cal would not make too big a massacre. But you couldn't blame him, if he were you you would have done the same, he was just hurt and he needed to somehow vent those feelings into something to make sure Cere's death wasn't in vain.

Suddenly a roar and screams shook the Mantis and made the ground vibrate. You two had to hold on to your seats to keep from falling to the ground. You looked at Greez with concern and fear, you had to get out of there as soon as possible. After the tremor passed you jumped up from your seat and headed towards the exit of the ship. Greez stopped you screaming

"Wait! where are you going!?"

"I need to find Cal, he's the one causing this."

You adjusted the blaster to your belt and were about to leave when he grabbed your arm firmly, you turned to look at him with a frown.

"No, no no wait! Don't do anything stupid. Trust him"

You removed his hand with a distressed gesture.

"You don't understand, he is in contact with the dark side, he has no self-control. I am the only one who can stop him!"

Before Greez could say anything you jumped off the ship, landing on one knee on the cold floor of the base and ran like hell. Greez yelled something at you but you didn't listen, all you thought about was finding him. You ran and ran with your hair flying in the wind wishing it wasn't too late. At your sides there were imperialist soldiers on the ground dead and bleeding, you looked away in horror.

"Please don't let it be late"-you prayed in a low voice without stopping running

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cal continued massacring soldiers, he was breathing heavily and his hair had stuck to his sweaty forehead from the effort. The lightsaber gave off red sparks like fire and hummed with every cut and movement, the freckled man did not notice the fatigue, the hatred and aberration he felt was like pure adrenaline injected into his veins and drove him to continue attacking no matter what. When there was no more imperial, Cal, breathing like a rearing horse, deactivated his saber. You were still running around the corpses when you finally saw him, you felt your heart beat out of your chest and with slight relief you trotted towards him. Cal saw you and a look of surprise wrinkled his forehead, he didn't expect to see you there.

"Cal!"

You shouted his name as you quickly approached him with a small smile and great relief, at least he was still alive. You were not even a meter away when your smile faded and with horror you saw how Denvik was approaching Cal from behind with a blaster in his hand.

"Watch out behind you!!"

The redhead already saw it coming, so returning to his sullen and enraged gesture, he unsheathed his saber and blocked the shots with ease while he attracted Lank with the use of force, preventing him from moving. Cal raised his saber and held it tightly dangerously close to the man's neck, the red glow shining on Cal's face and giving him a menacing look. You closed the distance between you and Cal and came to stand close to him at his side, scared of what he might do.

"Come on Jedi, if you're going to kill me, do it now. Do it!!"

But Cal had other plans. He put his saber away and raised his clawed hand, levitating Lanken as he writhed and put his hands on his neck, coughing. Cal was choking him.

"Cordova, CERE! THEY ARE DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!! And now you're going to pay for it..."

Lank was beginning to cough and gasp for air, his face was turning slightly purple while his eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets.

"Cal, enough is enough..!"

Your cries of fear and anguish were words inaudible to Cal as if they had been carried away by the wind. He couldn't listen or even reason, he only had eyes to see Lanken die, the man who made him suffer so much and took away his friends, his family. Cal's gaze fell on the man's face as it went from violet to pinkish red, and a slight grimace of satisfaction crossed the redhead's lips for a moment. Cal seemed to enjoy his suffering, using force was much more pleasant than if he had impaled him with his saber, a slow and painful death was what Lanken deserved. You, horrified, placed a hand on Cal's tense shoulder, hoping he would listen.

"Cal listen to me, I'm here, please don't do it. Don't become a murderer like him."

Cal didn't seem to listen, he just kept seeing his enemy, you tried to attack from the other side.

"Do you really think this is what Cere or Cordova would have wanted? Prove that you're better than him."

You grabbed the freckled man's cheek, forcing him to look at him. He looked back at you, blinded by fury, but you didn't care.

"Cal look at me, this won't make them come back, please come back to me, I'm begging you"- you cried.

The redhead's face softened and he released Lanken who fell abruptly to the ground while holding his chest and coughing and retching. For a moment Cal seemed to come back to himself, as if a blindfold had been removed from his eyes and his gaze softened, once again showing that sweet and gentle look that made his green eyes shine with heavenly intensity. He looked around as if seeing it for the first time, realizing the damage he did, feeling a little guilty under the sad sight, you approached him and rested your forehead against his, grabbing his cheeks gently.

"It's okay, it's over"

You rubbed your forehead against his like horses would and then hugged him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck, not wanting to let him go again. He sighed, holding you and he relaxed his body as if you had lifted a great weight off of him. As you slowly peeled yourself away from the hug, you noticed that his eyes were watering. You tenderly wiped away the tears that surrounded his cheek with your thumb. You understood Cal's pain more than anyone and you didn't want him to suffer alone because he wasn't alone, and he never was. You gave him a sweet kiss on the lips to reassure him and assure him that you would always be by his side supporting him and then feeling slightly better he gave you a shy smile, the one you missed seeing so much.

"Let's go back to the ship, Greez must be worried"

You told him as you placed a hand on his back and you both walked tiredly towards the Mantis.

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blood-mocha-latte · 3 months

Note

Gurl. Sledgefu Valentine-day drabble! Make it fluff, make it angst, make it heart-shaped! *guitar riff*

LINH you’re a genius truly. i had way too much fun with this; enjoy some modern au sledgefu for the Number One sledgefu pal <3

“‘m just sayin’. You broke up with me.”

Merriell flicked at Eugene’s ear, staring up at the ceiling in something that could almost be amusement, if he wasn’t almost flat-on-his-ass fucked out. “I did it for good reasons.” He muttered, bringing his smoke to his mouth with the fingers that weren’t running through Eugene’s hair, lank with sweat and darkened to a burnt carmine.

From where he rested his head at his chest, Eugene stretched, reaching his own nimble fingers up to take the cigarette from Snafu, bruised lips wrapping around it absently. The sight of him hollowing his cheeks out to pull at it made the corner of Merriell’s mouth quirk up, an almost helpless smile, and Eugene arched a pale eyebrow, unimpressed. Snafu shook his head.

“Just rememberin’, ‘s all.” He said, smooth, tugging at Eugene’s hair. “Gimme my smoke back.”

Eugene released it easily enough. “What in the hell’s a good reason.” He muttered, not a question, temple sticky with sweat where it rested against Merriell’s bare collarbone, shifting slightly.

It was goddamn hot, in the room, because Merriell’s AC broke a week and a half ago and he hadn’t gotten along to getting it fixed, even though he could easily, and he wasn’t expecting this. Not anymore.

“A good reason is realisin’ that all we had in common wasn’t good enough, cher.” Snafu said. Because Eugene might have been his ex, now, but he was always just Sledge, first, and Merriell didn’t lie. He never would.

Eugene didn’t seem insulted, by his reason. Instead, he just snorted, pale and freckled nose wrinkling up delicately. “Why do you say it like that?” He asked, his own accent curling queerly around his words, and Merriell wrinkled his nose right back.

“Like what? Cher?” He asked, and Eugene huffed, leaning forward to peck at his lips in what was more of a bite than anything else.

“My sister-in-law’s been learnin’ French.” He said, clever mouth leaving Merriell’s own to suck a gentle mark under his jaw. “And it doesn't sound anything like that. Y’sound like you’re sayin’ the first syllable in Shawshank Redemption.”

He followed the honey-words with a sharper bite at Merriell’s jaw, and Snafu hissed slightly as his tongue soothed the mark. “Y’ever even seen Shawshank Redemption?” He asked, fingers still teasing through Eugene’s hair, tugging none so gently. Eugene made a discontented sound as he did, releasing Merriell’s skin to bat away the hand in his hair.

“No.” He said, eyes still dilated, lips a cherry-soda red. Merriell hummed, tugging on his hair slightly to force him forward, another biting kiss.

And if they were still dating, and if Merriell thought he had any sort of permission to have Eugene in any way other than this, he would make promises.

Would whisper them against Eugene’s bruised and blood-welled skin, would bite them into his lips. Would promise to show him movies, or teach him phrases, or show him how to break a copperhead’s spine just right so it became like a scaly rope in his palms.

But they weren’t still dating, and Merriell wouldn’t promise him anything. Not when he had any right to. Never did, even, maybe.

When they were, they didn’t call it that, and Merriell taught him different things, anyhow. Like how to best read a map. Keep sand out of his rifle carbine. Line up the sights just right, leading a running man on, and squeezing the trigger—

Merriell’s skin almost crawled.

He didn’t want to think about that.

Instead, he pressed lips to Eugene’s tacky-warm skin, an unspoken, unpromised prayer. Eugene leaned into him, a near affectionate cat, before pushing away from Merriell’s chest to lay back on his mattress. Snafu only had one pillow, so he closed his eyes against his sheets with a soft hum, eyes slipping shut.

Merriell was helpless to only watch him, heart somewhere in his throat and somewhere in the sand, the sky, the ocean.

“All we had in common wasn’t good enough.” Eugene murmured, lips forming the same words that Merriell had said seconds before with none so much of a whisper. “I think that’s bullshit, Mer.”

Merriell released a soft, hoarse sound in the back of his throat, maybe a protest. “‘s a good reason.” He said, as convincingly as he could. He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, anymore. “All we had was a secret. That was it.”

Eugene stretched, back arching against the mattress, eyes staying closed. Midday sun streamed through wooden blinds, striping him like a gold-red tiger, freckled and warm and tacky with sweat.

“Mutual frustration over the DADT.” He murmured thoughtfully, and Merriell hummed.

“And the DADT’s been repealed, boo.” He said, like it wasn’t obvious, like they hadn’t fucking celebrated it, like they both hadn’t known that it was going to be their end.

Eugene rolled over onto his stomach like he didn’t know. “Bite me.” He said, and, as always, the phrase in his mouth made Merriell smile. “Not like it matters. What’s my favourite colour?”

“Green.” Snafu said unthinkingly, the word on his tongue like it had always been there. Eugene hummed, reaching out a single reddened, freckled hand towards him, running light fingertips over Merriell’s cheekbones, the wedge of his nose.

“And what’s your favourite colour?”

Snafu huffed, impertinent, but responded to him all the same. That was another problem; he couldn’t fucking refuse him a thing. “Green.”

“See? There you go.” Eugene sounded almost entirely too smug. “I should come down here and visit more often.”

Coming down and visiting was more akin to Eugene tracking Merriell down through Burgie and then threatening his address out of his boss, and visiting was more like jimmying the lock on his door and not letting Snafu push him out.

“You broke down my fucking door like we were still in Iraq, Genie.” He said, his words slurred by Eugene’s trailing fingers across his lips, and Eugene leaned forward further, kissing at the mark he’d left under Merriell’s jaw heartbeats beforehand.

“Well, you ran away like we were still in Iraq, Merriell, so all’s fair.” He said evenly, smugly, and Snafu turned to squint his eyes at him.

“If this is what college is doing to you,” he said, in reference to the general rebuking and smugness, “you need to quit immediately. It’s not good for you.”

Eugene’s laugh was a huffing exhale, breathed across the side of Merriell’s face. “On the contrary,” he said, “I’m gonna start bringing you with me.”

“I don’t know how to read.” Snafu said immediately.

“Mm. That would make sense, you never responded to any of my emails.”

“Yeah. My reading dog is only down here every other month to go through my taxes for me. ‘s a real delicate system, Gene. My brain would burn outta my skull ‘f you brought me anywhere near a school.”

Eugene hummed, a low, playful rumble, and shifted up to press his lips to Merriell’s again, tongue tracing the seam of his lips.

“Best just keep you here, then.” He muttered, and Snafu hummed, hand shifting up to run through Eugene’s hair, again.

“Alright.” He said, in between bruised and gentle kisses. “But just remember—” Eugene pushed up and over him, laying directly on top of him, their legs tangling together, and Merriell brought his other hand to press against the back of his neck. “I broke up with you.”

Eugene hummed, and it sounded amused in a way that Snafu’d never heard, anywhere else.

“I hear you did it for good reasons.” He mumbled against Snafu’s lips.

#rie writes #i need to start writing more sledgefu..... they're quite delightful.....#sledgefu #eugene sledge #snafu shelton #merriell shelton #the pacific #hbo war

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zeestarfishalien · 1 year

Text

go to work

[spotify link]

The beginning of it was subtle. Danny just started talking less. Tucker and Sam attributed it to lack of sleep, which was true to a certain extent. He seemed to attack things with a peculiar single mindedness. Slowly his time spent relaxing with Sam and Tucker, just messing around and being a kid, became less and less. They assumed he was catching up on sleep or stuck in yet another ghost fight. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late to stop him.

Got a feelin’ creepin’ under my skin

It began with a bad week. Sleep was something Danny could only daydream about in the brief moments he had to think. It’s ghost after ghost after ghost and then it’s assignment after test after quiz and in that time Danny managed to slip into sleep long enough to reach REM stage twice. With his mind shutting down he kept only two things in mind. Schoolwork and Hero work. All else fell to the side as his mind latched onto those things with a singleminded focus. He doesn’t remember much from that week, only the knowledge that if he stopped he’d breakdown right then and there and be of no use to anyone.

My mind hits a new trauma every rest of my head

The dreams are the worst part of sleeping. Not dreams…nightmares. Most days Danny is more tired after sleeping than before. He just smiles and gets back to work. Words fall from his mouth with most of them forgotten before they finish leaving his lips.

Kind lips get twisted dipped in poison

He knows he’s flinching anytime his parents come near but Danny can’t quite bring himself out of the fog in his mind long enough to control his instincts. Is it words of love or hate coming from them? He can’t stay focused on the conversation long enough to know. Is he “beloved Danno” or “ghostly menace?” Does it matter? They’re both him. He deserves it right? If he can’t protect everyone he’s useless. He can’t let himself become an annoyance so he has to go to work work.

Don’t care if I’m really ready

Go to work work

And my everything is unsteady

The fear of becoming Dan presses at the edges of his consciousness and so Danny throws himself harder into work. He can’t be idle. If he stops, then he has time to think and if he has time to think then the panic will set in.

My sanity slips and all the straws runnin’ thin

At some point school falls off his priority list. He retreats. He’s either in Amity fighting ghosts or in the Zone fighting ghosts. He barely remembers his name sometimes, but names don’t matter when you’re working. He doesn’t deserve a name if he can’t protect the town. He can’t fail, he can’t fail, he can’t fail…

Go to work work

If they hadn’t been assured that this was the same ghost, the heroes present would swear that this was something entirely different.

The spirit before them barely resembles the young boy he once was in life and early death. Teeth sharp for ripping and tearing flesh from anything too close to that wide jaw. Skin an eerie opalescent blue that seems almost translucent in the sun. The symbol on his chest is nearly obscured by the long white hair that hangs in lank strands over his face and chest. His limbs are either more of a suggestion or things too long and with one too many joints. Or even worse a joint that moves the wrong way.

The thing before them can barely be called human adjacent, but the kids who dragged them in insist that he’s still alive and human even if only half.

They watch as those needle sharp teeth rip another ghost’s arm off and they find themselves struggling to reconcile the image.

[Edit:] Feel free to add onto this or change it and take it in a whole different direction

#dpxdc #justice league #danny phantom crossover #dcxdp #danny kinda loses it #a special type of mental breakdown #boi needs a nap #for a week #songfic #the song is go to work by kiwifrooot

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happyk44 · 20 days

Text

Jason digging his teeth into Coral's skin, blood coating his tongue as he goes deeper and deeper. She sits and stares at him. The pain curls a frown across her lips but she says nothing about the way he pulls his teeth closer together, wanting to rip flesh off the bone, but holding back from Hazel's tense hand wrapped around the back of his neck, loose but tentative, a warning of I will scruff you, little pup.

He bites harder and harder. He seeks bone. Coral grumbles quietly under her breath. Her eyes stay lifeless. A limp dead fish atop grainy sands. He is the ever vigilant bird high above, grabbing the sun-rotted carcass in sharp talons before it gathers flies and maggots. Before it ruins what it beautiful and perfect.

Hazel's fingertips stroke gently across his skin. Hairs prickle across his neck. Blood swallows down his throat. Iron and salt sticks to his tongue.

You are not judge, jury, and executioner, Hazel said as she dragged him down from Coral's throat to her palid arm. From a foot away, she'd grabbed his jaw and clamped it shut before his teeth could wrap around plump artery there. Before he could kill, kill, kill, I have to kill her, she's going to break everything.

He knows he cannot be all three. He knows this even when stress digs into his spine to hold him rimrod straight. Even when his mind has been thundering for days, for weeks. When it keeps him from sleep and rest. When it pulses through his skin, and he remembers standing small and young, staring up at adults who knew best, as they pushed his purpose over and over again - child of Jupiter, you must be great, you must stand strong, the face of New Rome, a leader to the end, never fail your people, never fail us.

He knows it best when the subconscious becomes conscious and love means nothing as he carefully plots out how to force his friends into the line of righteousness, how to get rid of them if they fail to follow the letter and spirit of the law. He knows it best when he sees potential enemies in everyone, when trust drains away, when vindication bullies empathy, when he holds still for a moment instead of helping immediately.

When punishment becomes the only form of justice that makes sense.

I am a compassionate caring person, he thinks as he tilts his head and pushes his teeth into untouched flesh, never departing from the arm he's dug into. I understand the nuances in situations. I understand people have their own habits and I am okay with that. Fresh blood stains his teeth. The world is not black and white.

Coral shifts.

He glared at her. The world is not black and white, but she sits in its shadows without care or compassion. Like the ocean waves against rocky shores, she breaks things. Orderliness, social rules.

The rules written in large text for the park.

He is the wind, scattering seeds where they may grow away from harsh tides. He is humanity fixing the horrors of erosion. He is a dog protecting against a vile predator.

She tilts her head. "Are you done yet? It hurts. And I have to pee." She crinkles her trash in her free hand. "We can throw it away when we go to the bathroom."

No littering.

He growls through each word. No, no, he thinks. He can't let her go, can't let her correct her mistake. There must be no mistakes. Perfection each time. Especially when the rules are written so clear and obvious. When they've been taught since childhood.

He closes his eyes. I am a compassionate caring person, he reminds himself. Correction comes first. Discipline. Punishment. He exhales hotly. Then death.

He doesn't detach right away. Another set of minutes flitters by, narrowed in blood and spit and soft touches and a cool breeze. Then he lets go. Licks blood and pieces of skin off his teeth as he eases into Hazel's steady grip. She doesn't let go. Not yet.

Coral admires the massive bite on her forearm. Jagged from where he shifted. She hums and lets her arm fall lank to her side, rising up. Jason rises with her. Hazel's hand drops. Instead she loops her arm with Jason's.

As they head for the bathroom, Coral pauses at a trash can and drops the litter in. "I can't believe litter broke you," she says.

He scowls but the pensive and paranoid fears have fallen away. It was never this bad when he lived at Camp Jupiter - people followed the rules. Perhaps not perfectly or obediently, but swiftly they'd be disciplined and punished if insubordination was spotted. He wanted to be different. Explain the how's of being lawful and why's of its importance. Outside it, even just in New Rome, was harder to parse. People did as they pleased. Treated the rules and laws like guidelines, suggestions. Most people were good, but everyone experienced lawlessness at one point or another, and while Jason didn't believe in some rules, the mere existence of them sat in the back of his mind as he traveled from place to place. And the worse people were, the worse he got, and the more every law in effect became important - even if he didn't care about them.

Hazel's annoyed look when he stopped her from jaywalking early that day flickered through his mind. An empty road and still they walked another three blocks to the crosswalk, only to turn and continue on towards the park in the same direction they had come from.

Now, his mind slowly relaxing away from the bitterness he'd been boiling in, he doesn't care about jaywalking once more. He'll do it without stress. He'll dart between cars if he has to.

The clawing sensation of the world will end has faded. He fought the dismissal of the law and won. The world fully isn't upright, but it never was. Luckily for him, Hazel understands what it's like to feel like everything is off, sloped and sliding, when it's not. But for right now it's only slightly tilted. The normal amount of unsteadiness he's known since childhood.

"I don't litter," Coral adds, pulling her backpack open and fishing a small tied up plastic bag out. She dumps the contents - wrappers and plastic and an apple core wrapped in a napkin - then puts the bag back inside. "I like nature."

"I like nature too." Hazel leans into Jason's side. "Jason?"

"I am nature," he says. Hazel's face falls flat. "Nature nature and human nature."

With a roll of her eyes, Hazel steps aside. Her arm dislodges from Jason's, but her hand catches his in a loose hold. "You are not human nature. You're what human nature plans to be at three in the morning while rearranges its room but fails to follow through on almost immediately the next day."

He huffs, and hipchecks her gently on their way to the bathrooms. The door to the stalls is locked. Coral still pulls on the doorknob aggressively, shaking the very hinges.

He swats at her. "Stop that - I got it."

Kneeling at the door, he threads gentle touches of a breeze inside the lock, feeling the mechanisms inside. Coral takes a step and half away from him. Hazel hovers close, peering over her shoulder like she'll what's happening inside if she breathes down his neck.

"Breaking and entering is against the law," she teases.

"Shut up."

She snorts and leans across his back. It takes a moment then the lock clicks. Hazel slips back as he stands and tugs the door open.

"Sometimes there aren't bathrooms when I have to pee."

"Nice trick," Coral says. She points at large bush near edge of the concrete walls. "I was just gonna piss in that bush."

He doesn't get it. "Why would you do that?"

"There's a working bathroom right here!" he says, gesturing rapidly at the open doorway.

Coral stares blankly at him. "It was locked."

"I opened it!"

"It was locked though!"

He pulled at the edge of his shirt. "Then find a window! Or break the door! You don't urinate or defecate in a random public area when there is a working restroom nearby! It is unsanitary, and what if-"

"Oh my gods, Jason, no!" Hazel yells. She drags him back and down until their faces are parallel to each other. "She's not going to pee in the bush, you opened the door, it's fine." She snaps her free hand at Coral. "Coral! Bathroom, now!" She snaps her fingers just above Jason's face. "Jason! Calm down! This is not the time to start spiraling again, especially when I know you've gone to the bathroom outside."

"Those were-"

She pulls him further down. "No," she says, voice firm as stone. "Calm." Without looking away from Jason, she says, "And Coral, I said go to the bathroom."

Coral rolls back on her heels. Then shrugs. "Okay."

She disappears into the bathroom. Jason breathes slow and steady through his nose. Slowly Hazel releases him. She massages her temple with a quiet groan. "I am so tired."

"I might need to kill Coral again later," Jason says.

"Yeah, I figured that when you started yelling about bathrooms."

He takes a moment, then tries, "I mean, it is unsanitary and-"

"I need you to shut up so much right now."

Her arms drop to her sides. Jason teeters on the balls of his feet, then quietly rubs his cheek against her head. She snorts. Letting him continue to rub, rub, rub, she pats his chest softly.

"Good boy," she murmurs when he finally pulls away.

Coral appears again. She stands quietly close but not too close. Jason can't help himself before he barks out, "You washed your hands?"

A damp smack to his cheek is his answer. Hazel laughs, a quiet wheezy thing. Her fingers thread between his. She rests her head on his shoulders. "Alright, I'm hungry, and there has to be some place around here that's open." She reaches out and pokes Coral's bicep. "You're coming with us."

There's a slight shift in Coral's face. Just barely perceptible. "No."

Hazel rolls her eyes. "Did I sound like I was asking?" The silver bracelet on Coral's wrist yanks her closer to them. "Don't worry. You'll survive a little quiet human contact." She tilts her face to grin at Jason. "And Jason's technically part wolf so it's not even full human contact."

"Zombie," Jason huffs.

Coral's brow wrinkles. "No."

"I don't care," Hazel says, and she gives another yank of Coral's bracelet. "It's cousin time."

Coral stares at it like she's tempted to rip off. Then over at Hazel, brows furrowing further. There's a slight taste of salt in the air. Then it fizzles away. Taking short step to the side, Coral says nothing. She doesn't run, or fight. Simply smooths her hands down her thighs and gazes out to the grass and tree.

"Great." Hazel pushes the door shut. "Let's go find food."

The shadows warp and wiggle. Still at a small distance, Coral quietly takes Hazel's other hand. Her gaze holds on their interconnected fingers then drifts to Jason and Hazel's. Is she comparing them? Hazel's loose hold with her compared to the tighter grip between her and Jason?

Her eyes catch Jason's. He watches her as she watches him - chaos and order held in balance by the earth between them. Then, at the same time, their gazes separate as Hazel pulls them into the cool and dark.

#pjo fanfic #jason grace #hazel levesque #happy talks pjo #i actually have a different thing i was working on with this concept #idk when ill finish that one. its from Hazel's perspective #daughters of Neptune #my writing #my fanfic #wolf!jason #i dont really like the end of this one tbh but like. look. they're not all gonna be winners

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little-peril-stories · 3 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 12 - Semi-Conscious

From The Prince of Thieves:

It’s not fine. I’m no doctor—farthest thing from one—but even I know this is bad. “You want to lie down?”

“No.” He leans back against the wall. It can’t be comfortable with the other wounds pressed against the stone, but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I know.”

He is quieter than I expect while I wash out the shoulder wound. No cries of pain. The first time I glance at his face, his eyes are squeezed tightly closed, his jaw set. The next time, his eyes are open, but his gaze is distant. I wonder if he’s even really feeling it.

“Are you still with me?” I ask, letting my lank, unwashed hair fall in front of my face as I wring out the cloth. He nods, but he says nothing, and I know he’s not. Not really.

Hatchett would want me to take advantage of this moment. Ask for Fox’s name, see if he gives it. I keep the question to myself. Baden Hatchett thinks he knows me. He fucking doesn’t. I’m selfish, but not in the way he thinks.

#febuwhump #lps the prince of thieves #semi-conscious #wound cleaning #painful wound cleaning #infection #infected wound #prison whump #whump #whump writing #febuwhump cheater

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oddsconvert · 2 years

Text

Shattered #3 - Trials & Tribulations

Masterlist / Previous / Next

CW: References to Vampire Whumper, Vampire Caretaker, Pet/Bloodbag Whumpee, References to captivity, Recovery Whump, Wound cleaning, Drugs/Medication, Stripping of clothes (Non-sexual, for wounds), Vegetative State/Disassociation, Use of hypnosis/mind control, Choking, Mentions of death, Illness/infection, Referenced previous abuse

Taglist: @octopus-reactivated @whatwasmyprevioususername @ramadiiiisme @darkthingshappen @whumpsday @thecyrulik @t0rture-me @redwhump @the-non-binary-cowboy @snowstuffscuff @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @wolfeyedwitch @interdimensional-chaos @no-terms-and-conditions-apply @whump-blog @leyswhumpdump @not-a-space-alien @onlybadendings @darlingwhump (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed 👀)

Was this a foolish endeavour? Such irrational attachment and concern for a mere mortal, one August didn't even know existed until a day prior.

Because August would turn the world upside down if it meant that Declan could understand that he was finally safe…finally free. To know that his captivity and all its pain was a burden of his past, and that August would be honoured to ensure the safety of his future.

And with the unsettling way in which the boy's struggling breath wheezed from his bruised chest in the troubled slumber, dead-weight slumped in August's arms and the nauseating temperature pressing against him: skin to skin. Fire to ice.

August knew this was right.

Declan just needed someone - anyone to care. That's all he had ever wanted as well. When he could want, that is. When his mind still allowed him the capacity for desires and dreams. If only he were lucid enough to know that his wishes were coming true.

Night after night locked away in the vampire's basement, silently praying for someone to drag him out from the pits of hell, far away from the devil himself. The only company had been the lingering pain that had scarily become a comfort: after the beatings came merciful silence. Vince would leave him to writhe and sob in agony but at least he left - maybe only for a short while but it was a break nonetheless. Relief from constant torment.

August had called ahead of his arrival back home, asking his housemate to prepare Declan's new room and to begin setting up the medical equipment from his work study. He was beyond grateful that he had Lucas, a human, on side to ease Declan's recovery. It would help him acclimatise to the new environment, to have a sense of familiarity.

But also to vouch for his character. As much as August desperately wanted the boy awake, aware and able - there remained a niggling feeling pitting in his stomach. Dread. Dreading that moment where their eyes would lock for the first time, the inevitable strike of panic and a wash of pure terror in which Declan would realise:

Another vampire.

A corpse? Surely not…

Lucas’ jaw damn near broke from his skull when it dropped from bewilderment, eyes captivated by the harrowing sight of the lifeless boy cradled in close towards his friend’s chest; ashen-faced and lank limbs swaying loosely through the air. His lips were turning blue.

The vampire had warned him the new human he was going to collect was in rough shape; battered and broken. But this… this was beyond comprehension - a knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach.

August quickly scurries through the door, neglecting to notice or even acknowledge his friend standing dumbstruck in the hallway. Instead he hurriedly rushes past, barrelling up the stairs and carrying Delcan into one of the bedrooms.

The poor thing is just so incredibly feather light, and so unbelievably frail; he feels as fragile as fine china. So much so that August is hesitant to place him down in fear of him smashing to smithereens. He gently lowers Declan on top of the bed, allowing the limp form to slowly slip from his grasp - plummeting into the soft sheets that cushions the slight drop.

He wants to wrap the boy up in heaps of warm fluffy blankets, to tuck him in and leave him in peace to get the rest that he’s been so deprived of, the sleep he’s been refused for who knows how long? Alas, they must get the hard part out of the way.

When August had become a doctor, opening a surgery within his own home, he wanted to help ease the suffering of humans, lessen their horrific ordeal - he'd never anticipated it going down the malicious path it did. His skillset grew to be used against him; affluent, high class vampires dropping half-dead yet 'valuable' pets on his doorstep - demanding a miracle. It quickly transpired that his work made no difference to people's lives, he was essentially slapping a band-aid on them and shipping them back to torment .

A vicious cycle of fixing blood bags up to send them on their merry way and then bought back again the next time they were nearly killed. But maybe this time, with Declan, he could actually make a difference. He could actually save a human. And they could remain saved.

August’s ears twitch at the light pitter patter of footsteps creeping into the room behind him, swiftly followed by the waft of fresh, delicious blood that makes his nostrils flare and fangs itching to bare. He’d been around Declan for so many hours now, inhaling the rancid smell of near-decay that he’d almost forgotten how tempting that scent was.

“August, I -” Lucas whispered with concern, fiddling with his fingers from the nerves.

“I know… I know.” August cuts him off, not turning his head away from Declan laying on the bed - running the back of his knuckle lightly across his bony, sweat-drenched cheeks as though to lessen the blow when he stabbed the cannula into the back of his hand. He couldn't stop trying to redundantly comfort and soothe the boy, it was in his nature.

What does he know? Lucas ponders to himself. Does he know that boy looks like he’s already knocking on death’s door? Does he know that he’s definitely in way over his head?

“Is he even alive?”

“Just about.” August sighs, not entirely convinced himself, “He’s really fighting, Lucas. Clinging on to life by a thread.” August now fiddled with numerous pouches of IV antibiotics, painkillers, nutrients - pulling the stands by Declan's bedside ready to flush into his body.

“His owner was a cruel bastard… another day with him and he would be a goner-”

“How can I help?”

“I - I need some help undressing him if you don't mind. I need to examine his injuries, send some painkillers in his system, get him cleaned up. Could do with a hand?"

"Anything you need, man."

As the pair peel away the still drenched clothes clinging to Declan's skin, August freezes. Rolling Declan’s shirt up to reveal his torso covered in vicious and recent injuries littering the entirety of his body. Raw, weeping gashes from whip marks, smoldering blistering burns, deep slashes from stab wounds - warm colourful bruises spotted around his skin in polka dots. All overlayering already healing scars and marks.

“Vince said Declan has been like this for months…”

Lucas stops what he’s doing, remaining silent and cautious as his eyes land on his friend who stands lightly tracing delicate fingers around heated, wounded skin on the boy.

“These wounds… I - they can’t be anything more than a few weeks old”

August retreats and slightly paces, sticking his tongue in his cheek and clenching his fists. He had half a mind to return to Vince's manor and drive a wooden stake through the fuckers's heart - provided he actually had one. But that would be too dignified an end for the likes of him.

“Even in this helpless state he was still being hurt - that’s fucking sick-”

“He doesn’t deserve this-”, Lucas sighs sympathetically in agreement, clutching onto Declan's hand and giving it a firm squeeze.

“Nobody deserves this - was killing his soul not enough? He needed to break his body as well as his mind?! A race to see which one cracks first-” August was almost screaming the words, disgust and fury warping together.

“You’re right to be angry about this, August. It’s disgusting. But you need to channel that anger into something positive, to help Declan.”

Damn it, he was right. He couldn't allow himself to get emotional - he needed to detach himself and focus on Declan's health. The time could come later for righting wrongs - he needed to get the boy through this first.

August didn't know if Declan could even register pain anymore. He hoped he couldn't, as he returned to his side, beginning to run alcohol swabbed cotton along his infected bites - knowing that this should draw a hiss of discomfort from the sharp sting. Repeating the disinfecting on his numerous wounds, dressing them all in fresh bandages. Feeding the drips into his veins - they were impossible to find with how much weight he'd lost, they were almost invisible and hiding.

“Can you fix him up with something to eat? Something easy, something smooth - I wouldn’t know what’s best-”

“Don’t worry, I got it.”

Lucas returns a short while later, clutching a bowl with a thick red liquid sloshing around its edges. It looks delicious. It looks like blood. But the sickly scent fills August's nostrils and he nearly wretches as the taste infects his mouth, covering his nose from the smell. He tries to suss out what it is.

“What is that?”

“Tomato soup. It’ll be easy for him to swallow, he won’t have to chew", August pulls an unsure face but accepts the food with a thankful nod.

"August, I must ask... Is it your intention to feed from the boy?"

"Oh goodness, no! I know Vince said that he'll probably get through a few more days, but I believe that one last feed will be his end. He needs to recover", August reassures, though slightly offended at the implication. Declan wasn't food or prey - not anymore. He was a patient under his care.

When Lucas leaves the room, smiling with satisfaction at his friend's answer, August turns to return to Declan, he spots those big brown eyes staring off into space. He’s awake, which is a good sign.

"Hey… Declan. I bought you something to eat. My friend tells me it's motato soup or something? God, I hope you like that…". He perches on the side of the bed, helping Declan up into a sitting position and trying to get a spoon of soup into his parted lips.

But Declan’s body refuses to cooperate, his woozy head continuously dropping to fall back asleep.

"Come on, buddy…just a few spoonfuls - then you can sleep as much as you want-"' his fingers catch Declan's head before it flops again, "in your nice, comfy bed, hm?" August ‘s palms trail across the soft blanket sitting underneath Declans body, fingertips trailing through the fibres beside the boy’s legs. A luxury he was well aware Declan was never allowed, he'd spotted the grimy, ripped mattress with rusting springs popping out when he'd picked the boy up. And specks of what he could only assume was dried blood; he didn’t want to think about that.

A part of him was frightened that if he let the boy fall back to sleep…

Well, what if he never wakes up?

Declan blinks, his lip drooping as the spoon enters his mouth, tipping the warm gooey liquid onto his tongue. But as it slides down past his tonsils and to his throat, his body begins rebelling against the sensation, spluttering and choking as his body heaves and gags. A gasping, gurgling noise sounding from his throat.

“Nononono, shit!”, August frantically crawls to his side, throwing his fists around Declan's ribcage and abdomen, thrusting him backwards to get the thick liquid back up his throat before finally bending him over to the side of the bed and getting him to throw up.

Declan sits wheezing with bile trickling down his chin, short chesty breaths, August holding him in his arms and rubbing his back.

"There you are…you're okay…you're good"

August is so exhausted already. So frustrated. He sits Declan upright in the bed. If he lays him down and he retches again, he’ll choke. Game over. He picks up the bowl and the spoon and storms out the room, slamming the door so hard cracks splinter within the walls.

He isn’t furious with Declan, he could never blame him for whatever hell he endured to end up like this. He’s furious with the entire situation. Furious with Vince. And furious with every bastard vampire that selfishly puts their own hunger above the life of another being.

As he enters the kitchen, he lunges the bowl flying straight at the wall with a growl. The ceramic smashes to pieces, crashing to the ground with thick tomato soup coating and splashing against the walls and marble floors. The tremendous bang alerts Lucas who comes speeding into the room

“What the hell happened here?!”

Lucas’s sight lands on his friend, crumbled to the ground, head in his hands, panting with anger. August brings his hands to cover his face as he screams into his palms with defeat, muffling it.

"Hey, hey, hey, what happened?" Lucas crouches beside him, a hand landing on his shoulder, rubbing it to console him.

"I knew it was bad. That his mind was mush but… fuck, Lucas! He can't even eat!"

"What if … you persuaded him to eat?"

"Then what's the point of us doing this? What's the point in doing any of this if we have to resort to the very thing we rescued him from?"

Lucas listens. That’s what August needs right now, just someone to recognise and hear that he’s trying.

"He'll never heal if I have to control him just for survival. His mind needs a complete respite from just… functioning."

"What do you plan on doing then, where’s your head at?"

"I don't know.." he runs his fingers through his hair, deep in thought, "Seeing if we can get some liquidized food down him without retching? Feeding tube? Intravenous nutrition?". All such invasive procedures, most needing anaesthetic. August wasn't sure Declan's body could handle that much physical stress.

"I did do some research before buying Declan; on vampires, our abilities, the effect of persuasion…Have you ever heard of the fungi: Ophiocordyceps unilateralis?"

"I - what?", Lucas stares blankly, befuddled.

“Zombie-ant fungi. It's a fungus in the Amazon rainforest that infects ants, hijacking their mind and draining its nutrients. They corrupt the host, seize control of its muscles - the infection causes the neurons that control the body to die. Its brain is still in the driver seat, but the fungus has the wheel."

"Sound familiar?" August lets out a faux scoffed laugh, pointing his finger to the ceiling where Declan's room lays above.

"Persuasion…", the puzzle pieces click together. There could be an answer.

"I have a connection in Brazil that has been researching fungi and the insects it hijacks, trying to develop a sort of antidote…antivenom per se to vampiric persuasion. It’s in very early development but… they think they may be onto something. It’s shown to have a significant effect in reducing its effects on humans."

“Well, shit! how do we get our hands on some?”

“I’ll reach out to them, she owes me a favour. See if I can get my hands on a sample… it may not work, but it’s worth a try, right?"

“That or let him die.”

There's a beat of awkward silence. The two sit slumped together on the floor, glaring at their folded knees.

"Lucas, I think it’s best if we don't get our hopes up.” August chimed in, realising their doomed mission and the hoops they needed to jump through to save the human.

“I hate to say this… I agree.”

“He’s in rough shape, it’s a very slim chance he might make it. We can only do our best for him now, either help him turn the tide or offer him comfort in his final days. But we couldn’t have left him there.”

“What we’re doing is very experimental… it’s not guaranteed to work-”

“But…you did say their research had promising results”

“And it does, but it’s still in early development. It’s never been tested on a case like this.”

Maybe it was cruel to put Declan’s body through this amount of stress; maybe the kinder thing to do would be to let him go, and to end the suffering. Even with this 'antivenom', 'vaccine', whatever you'd like to call it: it wasn’t guaranteed to work, and if it did he still wouldn’t be out of the woods for a while - it would be taxing.

But it just felt so wrong to let him slip away. To not be given a fighting chance. August pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls up his contacts, hovering his finger over the name of his old university friend.

Hoping with his whole heart that she can offer some help.

Some light in the dark.

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vox-fantasma · 2 years

Note

I love your imodna story like light in the morning (hold my hand) on ao3!! For the Touches Ask Game prompts, could I please request (and only if you feel like writing it!!), for hugs: number 6 'hugging and gently holding the other’s head', and 16 ‘not wanting to let go’ hugs. They could even be combined if you feel like :) Thank you!!

thank you! tried writing this as soon as i got the ask but life had me by the throat last week so it look a lot longer than i thought. this can be read separately or together, whichever you prefer!

By the time the airship is firmly in the sky and Bassarus a receding nightmare in the distance, Orym is exhausted. He aches from multiple open wounds over his torso, his soul still holds the lingering chill of death, and his mind echoes with the image of Will’s face, so close for a minute and then gone, yet again. That pain of loss is an old one; he is familiar with its weight, and yet today it seems to have doubled, tripled, pressing down against his shoulders and his chest until he is almost breathless with it. Too many reminders in too short a time. He looks over at his two companions and suddenly it's like he’s right back where he started, except this time the wretchedness he’d worn like an open wound is now grafted onto the face of another.

Imogen is a seething mess, her clothes sweat-soaked and streaked with dust. There is a tear in the side of her dress that is slowly weeping red - he’ll have to check on that, later. The lightning marks that had stretched across her neck and face after the fight have mostly receded, leaving thin, silvery scars where they once were an angry red. Her hair is a tangle around her shoulders, obscuring her expression from most everyone, but Orym can see the glint of tears as the sun reflects off her clenched jaw, tears that hadn’t stopped since she’d dug up Laudna’s limp body from the rubble. Orym knew worse was coming, once they’d gotten a chance to really take a breath. Pain is easy to ignore in the rush of a fight, or in the tense moments afterwards - it’s only when things start to settle that reality comes seeping in.

Laudna - her body - is laid out beside Imogen, head resting in her lap. Her torso is still wrapped in the same sunny yellow blanket Ashton had carefully tucked around her as he carried her around the city, and if Orym didn’t know better, they might have painted a peaceful picture, at least from a distance. It’s position the two women have been known to be found in once or twice - lounging around a campfire, Laudna puppeteering Patê while Imogen looked on and provided colorful commentary, just two women taking the odd restful moment to enjoy each other’s company.

This time, though, there is no jovial voice peaking into a squeaky laugh in between lustful jokes, no warm smiles and secretive exchanges between them. Only Imogen, cradling Laudna’s too-still body with such desperate sadness that Orym has to look away.

“I’ve cleared out the hole,” Ashton announces. His voice is angry, has been angry ever since Otohan, but he’s gentle as he rests his hand carefully on Imogen’s shoulder. “Made it as nice as it's gonna get. I think she’ll like it there.”

Imogen nods, but makes no move to get up. Her hand cards through Laudna’s lank hair, and Orym can see the minute tremors sparking up and down her arm and she continues to sit quietly.

“Give them a moment,” he tells Ashton, and gets a short nod in return.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, interrogating Treshi, messaging the Tempest, making plans to reach Whitestone, and by the end of it everyone retires to their rooms below deck, spent. Orym curls up around Fearne in his usual spot, glad for the faun’s consistent warmth, but as exhausted as he might be, sleep never comes. His body is screaming for rest, but his mind is still on high alert, flinching at every sound and shadow, senses sharpened to an almost unbearable degree as he waits for something else to attack them. Try as he might, he cannot let his guard down.

The restlessness builds and builds until he can barely restrain himself from springing up at a particularly loud creak of the deck. All muscles tensed, Orym carefully rolls away from Fearne, making sure she’s still sound asleep before he sneaks out of the door and up onto the deck to get some air.

Outside the moonlight is a gentle glow, the red moon of Ruidus thankfully tucked away behind cloud cover, and the chill of the night helps banish the haze of anxiety squeezing around his heart. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, thinking of the high peaks of Zephra, letting himself indulge in the brief fantasy of home. A dark spot on the deck catches his attention, and his hackles rise for a moment before he recognizes the familiar shape of the hole. Something draws him towards it, an irrational urge to check in on someone who is beyond his protection.

Dropping quietly into the hole with a grace honed by years of training, Orym gives a silent thanks to his mentors for his soundless entry. Because Imogen is right there, leaning against the wall, fast asleep in the very same position he’d found them earlier this morning, curled protectively around Laudna even in slumber.

Orym spends a few moments allowing himself to adjust to the darkness, then sets off to find a blanket within the pile of miscellaneous items haphazardly pushed to the side of the hole. He tugs one free and then slowly approaches Imogen, holding his breath and making as little sound as possible.

This close, Orym can see the dried tear tracks on her cheeks, the way her pupils flicker behind her eyelids restlessly as she dreams. Her arms clutch Laudna’s body stubbornly to her chest, gripping as though even in sleep she is afraid of letting go. Orym gently lays the blanket over her shoulders, taking care not to cover up Laudna’s face, and tucks the corners around her drooping shoulders. He knows she’s going to have a hell of a backache in the morning, and he also knows that nothing will stop her from doing this again and again, however long it takes for them to bring Laudna back. He hopes, for her sake, that it won’t be long.

Imogen mutters something intelligibly in her sleep, and her grip around Laudna tightens before relaxing once more. Orym gives them one last glance, checking them over until he is satisfied he has done all he can, then leaves as quietly as he came. His heart is heavy, but determination and hope prevent him from giving in to despair. He knows she will do anything to get her back, and that he would too. He will not allow another repeat of his loss.

Outside, the stars are bright.

“Just wait a little longer, Laudna.” A quiet promise.

“We’re coming.”

Once again on the Silver Sun, this time bound for Yios, Orym cracks his back wearily as the sun starts to set beyond the distant red plains of the badlands. It’s their first day of a long series to get to where they’re going, their journey once again crossing dangerously storm-swept territory, and despite the cool breeze and the comfort of the skies Orym can’t say he’s excited to be back. The Hells have been attacked every single time they’ve got on one of these things, and, judging by their collective luck so far, this trip was probably going to be no different.

On the deck, the crew is preparing to bed down, Xandis assigning his first mate instructions to keep the course for the night, others busily battening down important cargo should a storm rapidly approach in the dark. The Bells are similarly ready to retire, bidding each other good nights as they one by one retreat down to below decks to their respective cabins. Soon it is only Orym leaning against the starboard rail of the ship, taking the opportunity of a quiet night to practice his neglected meditation, as well as Laudna and Imogen, huddled together a little ways away. The two women had spent the whole day close, hand in hand, neither willing to go too far from the other, so fresh from their reunion.

Orym is familiar with the sentiment.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the air is quiet save the now familiar creaking of the ship, and it is enough for his perceptive ears to unwittingly pick up on a fragment of their whispered conversation.

“...really should go to bed, Laud, you look exhausted.”

“Oh, just a few more minutes, please? It’s such a nice night out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Orym sees Imogen hesitate, shoulders rising as if to object - but instead of voicing her concerns, she just gives Laudna a fond - if somewhat exasperated - smile. “’Course, Laudna. Whatever you want.”

Laudna smiles back, but it barely reaches her eyes, a far cry from the almost unsettlingly wide grins Orym’s used to. Imogen’s right; she does look exhausted. Dark purple circles sit like bruises under her eyes, her grey skin even more sallow than usual, and her shoulders remain permanently hunched over, like even the weight of her own rail thin body is almost too much to bear.

It’s a long moment before anyone speaks again. Orym’s eyes flutter open as he hears Laudna’s voice sigh through the wind.

“Imogen, I... I’m not sure if I can go to sleep tonight.”

The frown is evident in Imogen’s voice.

“Why not?”

“Its silly, but I... last night camping out at the Sun Tree was wonderful, and it felt nice having you all back next to me, but I kept thinking that- that if I closed my eyes, I’d be... back. With her.”

Orym hears Imogen shuffle closer, and when he glances over, she’s placed her arm on Laudna’s shoulder, looking at her with such an expression of tender concern that an answering pang twinges in his chest.

“That’s not silly, Laudna, that’s... terrifying.”

Laudna nods slowly. “I know you said that she was destroyed- and I believe you! I knew you’d beat her, you’re so strong and capable Imogen-” The sorcerer in question scoffs at the familiar praise, but she’s smiling- “but I just can’t get rid of this feeling. Like she’s just waiting for me to let my guard down before striking again.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry, Laudna. I’m sorry that bitch was in your mind for so long and I’m sorry that I didn’t try and do anything about it sooner. I never should have blamed you for the rock-”

“No! No, I’m sorry you had to see all that- Whitestone- oh, Imogen, I never wanted you to see any of that. And at the tree- I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder, like you asked-”

Laudna’s tremulous voice cuts off with a soft oomph, and when Orym looks, Imogen has both arms wrapped fiercely around Laudna’s back, head pressed to the other woman’s neck as she whispers something so softly even Orym’s keen ears can’t make it out. He watches as Laudna’s eyes well with black tears, and then she’s hugging Imogen back just as desperately, crumpling the back of Imogen’s shirt with the force of her grip. They rock gently back and forth, Imogen whispering a gently lilting stream of words meant for Laudna’s ears only.

They stay like that for a long time.

Orym's heart still lies heavy, but the tension in his shoulders lifts for the first time since Otohan struck, and he closes his eyes as he lets his mind go free.

When at last he moves to go back below deck, his head clear and his limbs heavy with fatigue, he takes one last glance back at the bow of the ship. Two figures remain locked in a gentle embrace, one a light purple and the other a dark grey, their outlines intertwined against the white light of the moon.

Sleep, when it comes, is the easiest he’s had in a long time.

#hope you like hurt/comfort anon #orym of the air ashari #imogen temult #laudna #critical role #imodna #vox-scribere

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protect-daniel-james · 2 months

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🍋

Simone pulled himself closer to Pippo. “You don’t look sick,” he said, trying to convince himself more than Filippo that it was all just some kind of a misunderstanding. He couldn’t smell him now, the freshness of the sheets was too overwhelming for his senses, but he made up for that by holding his shoulders and leaning close to his neck to feel him and taste him. “Do you feel sick?” He pressed his lips to the front of Pippo’s neck, just below the angle of the jaw, in the exact spot where he could feel his pulse. It was strong and powerful, and Simone opened his lips more, touching the skin with his bared teeth as if he was getting ready to sink his teeth in. He felt Pippo gulp and grinned, pulling away. His heartbeat echoed his brother’s. He always knew they were in sync. There was something that nobody else could understand, a bond that existed just between the two of them. At times, Simone was convinced that he could feel the exact same emotions as his brother and understand him without words. They never argued, after all. Simone always knew what to say so there would be no reason to argue. Even now, when Filippo seemed overwhelmed with his own existence, he felt like he knew what the solution was. He was sure this was what Pippo wanted as well. And Pippo proved him right, because he wrapped his skinny arms around him. “I don’t feel much,” he whispered, hiding his face in the crook of Simone’s neck. Simone exhaled with ease now. Even if Pippo struggled to feel anything at all, as long as he was here, it was all going to be alright. He stroked the lank hair that, for the first time he ever noticed, had a few silver ones weaved in them.

#inzaghicest #myfics #pippo is aging and depressed #(not surprised when simone keeps fucking him every chance he gets)#have a great saturday night with this information

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necrosin · 8 months

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@mastabahs : ❝ i've only ever defended you. ❞

amusement unfurls, a flighty sort of thing, a bubbling sort of thing, a summertime exclusive sort of thing —— out of place, trapped in this space they've colluded to make, a grossly contrived homage to intimacy and the honored and most holy practice of carving out a place in your lover for yourself. a pyre of pressed sheets ( wrinkled and half-ruined, now ) and bland walls and the tinny sound of the television in the background and the curtains thrown open for the moonlight glow because they both hate enclosed rooms in that way and a smell far too chemical, cloying in his nose. their bodies stretched out alongside each other, imperfect parentheses, knees overlapping, suguru propped on his elbow, jaw resting in his palm. his eyes narrow / brows raise / mouth a slash across his face ; he drags his fingers through satoru's hair just because he can.

❝ should i reward you? ❞ as if any concept as trite as reward and punishment holds much way over either of them, as if it ever did. the meanings and uses of such things falling flat, intentions that had been meant to be engraved on such ideals never coming to any fruition nor meaning at all. SUGURU UNDERSTANDS THE WEIGHT OF THE WORDS / perhaps even the intention of them / satoru wouldn't come all this way just to be with him otherwise, after all / they hold meaning and he acknowledges them, irrelevant though they may be. ( echoing as you're mine, not quite lost in the void ) idly he brushes his thumb across satoru's temple, ❝ for standing up for the villanous curse user against the higher up council? ❞

the idea is funny —— it always has been, satoru's indifference turned irritation with it all, playing at being rebellious in spirit. as if his existence in and of itself wasn't an act of revolt, though from where and what remains a mystery / everyone always says the world was upended by satoru's birth, and suguru found it funny more than anything, the weight of it all. ( though, born after satoru, perhaps it's that he'd never known a world without him / and never will / but suguru is just arrogant enough to presume that even if he had been born first, it would persist in hardly mattering at all. )

fingers curl to brush against his jaw, a lover's caress, gentling over a bruise before poking at his cheek, ❝ i'm not a child, satoru, ❞ perhaps it's romantic to defend your clandestine lover against the deraignments and hatred of the greater masses / perhaps it really is romantic to not carry out the ever standing order of execution hanging over his head ( it's an ineffectual sort of thing, as though suguru would let anyone but satoru ( and shoko ) find any trace of him, as if anyone but satoru were capable of doing such a thing even if suguru did it ) / and suguru is a romantic above all else, other than idealism, but still : the concept is simply humorous to him. declarations and adorations and all the things in between —— all veiled words, thin as the lank curtains they had drawn back however long ago. ❝ you don't need to defend me against them, their judgments and opinions are nothing more than senseless bleating, ❞no need to defend suguru against or anyone or anything / not even satoru, himself / suguru holds no hate nor resentment for jujutsu high and only a heavy handed distaste for the faceless council so determined to lord over them all —— their methods are ancient and their tactics cruel / hypocrites, the lot of them, preening and power hungry. it will all come crumbling down beneath his hands, after all, once he succeeds. washed away like sand on the shore.

a phone buzzes / mimiko's text ringtone chimes ( she'd insisted and he's not especially good at denying his daughters anything ) / he stretches languid as a cat, leg extending over satoru's as he rolls, glancing over his shoulder at the bedside table as the void opens over it / a hand reaching out / closes / drops the phone neatly in the space between them. ❝ —— unless it makes you feel better, ❞ a half—cruel curl of his mouth and an unspoken challenge as he lays his palm over the phone / hiding mimiko's name on the screen.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON.

#GETOU，in char.#GETOU，devoured.#mastabahs #mastabahs : satoru.#bit of a return to old formatting here and i honestly just considered #answering the literal actual ask but. for the sake of consistency #and my sanity.#i did not.#anyways idk man this is. this sure is.#suguru being a bit of a bitch but standing by the whole 'i don't need anyone to understand me' schtick. and being like. amused by the idea #of satoru even defending him in the first place bc. funny. haha.#hm this could be a starter now that i'm squinting at it #(u don't need to reply i'm just rambling in the tags for some reason)

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casparscunttt16 · 2 years

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Katsuki Bakugo | MHA | NSFW🌶

warning: Arguing,Jealousy, Toxicity, Possessiveness, Choking, kinky?, degradation. EVERYONE IS AGED UP (22).

I get up out of my bed and go to pick out my outfit. I decide on a red body con dress and red pleaser heels to match it. I get in the shower I turn on some music and begin to lather up, as i’m singing along I get a text from Mina saying she’ll come pick me up.

After 25 minutes I get out the shower and go to get dressed, I put on my clothes and do my hair and makeup which only took 30 minutes so now it’s 9:10. I text Mina and let her know that i’m ready, in which she responds saying she’s outside.

I grab my purse rushing around trying to make sure I don’t forget anything, I leave my apartment and go out to Mina’s car, she’s blasting Telepatía by Kali Uchis. “YOU KNOW I’M JUST A FLIGHT AWAAAAY” she sings an octave above, I giggle getting into the car immediately singing along.

“GIRLLLL YOU LOOK THE FUCK GOOD” Mina screams hyping me up, I smile. “THANKS BITCH YOU TOO”. Her and I begin talking about the party, and how late we are. It’s 9:45 and we’re more than half way there, Kirishima texts me asking if me and Mina are still coming, I quickly reply that we’re almost there.

We soon arrive to a house with flashing lights and G.O.M.D by J.Cole blaring through the speakers, Mina and I strut into the house and look around scanning the room. Instantly a guy comes up to Mina asking to dance, she looks over to me for permission not wanting to leave me, I nod and hug her.

I see Kirishima and walk over to him with a smile plastered to my face. “Hi kiri!” I smile pulling him into a hug “Hey Y/n/n” he hugs back before looking around for Mina, “Where’s Mina?” he asks concerningly “She’s dancing with a guy” I say looking up at him.

“Where’s Katsuk-” my jaw quite literally dropped as I seen a girl flirting with him and touching on his arms and twirling her hair and he smiles back at her. “What the fuck” I curse under my breath.

I head over to the kitchen and get myself a drink, I take a couple shots and soon enough feel the tequila corsing through my veins, I notice a tall lank brunette boy is checking me out, I smirk as he suddenly walks over to me.

“Hey you’re hot, let’s dance” He says extending his hand, I take his hand and guide him to the dance floor, we get to the dance floor.

The smell of sweat and Marijuana fill the air, the couples dancing on each other pushing our bodies closer together. I throw it back on him feeling the music and grinding on him, he places his hands on my waist guiding me to the beat, his hands roaming my body.

Katsuki walks over plopping down onto the couch he begins scanning the room looking for me, his eyes find mine with raging filling his ruby colored eyes. I smirk feeling accomplished.

His hands find the hem of my dress lifting it slightly “How about we take this upstairs gorgeous?” He suggests while whispering in my ear, I lean my head back onto his shoulder and I look into his eyes and he looks in mine “You’re so sweet, but no” I whisper back softly.

Katsuki gets up walking heavily towards us. “Y/n what the fuck are you doing?” he says dragging me away outside of the party.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He says letting go of my arm and looking at me annoyed. “Did you not see what I was doing? I was fucking dancing dipshit” I seethed. “Yeah you were dancing with some fucking guy Y/n” He yells. “Mmm and you flirting with some random bitch is better? If you want her so fucking badly go get her Katsuki. Fuck you” I argue back turning away going to walk in the direction of the party.

“Seems like I need to remind you who you belong to” He states in a factly tone, I roll my eyes at his stupidity now seriously heading back to the party.

He pulls me back into his arms by my neck choking me lightly, he purses his lips together getting ready to say something. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me” I say shutting him up. He kisses me roughly then whispers “Upstairs” lightly into my ear.

He takes me back into the house, the smell of alcohol and weed invading my nose, we go upstairs into an empty room. Katsuki closes the door behind him, instantly kissing me hungrily, I take off his shirt, he kisses my jawline lightly.

I take off my dress revealing my lacy red lingerie, he takes a step back admiring me and my body. He moves to my neck sucking on the sensitive skin I moan into his ear, I fall onto the bed.

He takes off my bra cupping my breasts and kissing my chest leaving hickey’s marking me, he kisses down my stomach nipping as he goes, he slowly takes off my underwear and tosses it to the side. He kisses my inner thighs leaving marks everywhere he then sloppily places wet kisses on my clit, I moan out finding my hands in his hair “o-oh fuck” I moan softly.

He starts sucking and licking my pussy, he puts one finger in pumping it in and out letting me adjust to it before adding in another, he curls his two fingers whilst still eating me out, he hit my g-spot repeatedly having me moan out loudly “Fuck Katsuki don’t stop” I scream at full volume. He continues pumping in and out of me at a steady and rough pace.

He soon unzips his jeans, I hear them fall to his ankles. He slowly puts his dick inside me, pounding into me, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, my head is hitting the headboard as the headboard is hitting the wall, after fucking me in that position for some time he quickly spins me around so now i’m on all fours, he pushes me head down onto the pillow with my ass in the air. He puts his dick in and slaps my ass, he begins pounding into me again harder than before.

He slaps my ass, the slap sound echoing throughout the room. “Are you going to dance with another random guy again?” he asks angrily, I could literally feel the heat radiating off of him as he asked me the question. “N-no” I stutter losing myself in the feeling of pleasure. “Mhm and who do you belong to?” He asks again in the same tone but this time getting a handful of hair gripping it.

“You” I breath out burying my face into the pillow. I begin to feel a familiar knot in my stomach, after 20 minutes. “Katsuki I-i’m gonna cum” I moan. “Hold it” he responds simply. He flips me back over into missionary, I wrap my legs around his torso and pull him closer to me as he pushes himself deeper into me. “Fuck” he moans into my ear lightly, his thrusts begin to get sloppy as I dig my nails into his shoulder blade. “Y/n I’m gonna cum” He says moaning, after an additional 5 minutes we cum in sync.

He rolls off of me and stares at the ceiling in the dark, he and I are in a comfortable silence for some time before he breaks the silence “Y/n I wasn’t flirting with that girl I was trying to help her with Kirishima” his phone starts to ring, he groans and gets up from the bed shuffling over to the light switch and toward his phone. “What the hell do you want Kirishima?” He asks annoyed.

“Hey where are you? you and Y/n disappeared and me and Mina wanted to know if you two were alright” He says concerningly. “Yeah Kirishima we’re fine, we’ll come find you two soon” he says getting ready to hang up “They we’re definitely fucking” Mina snorts “Shut the fuck up pinky” I dramatically gasp and toss a pillow at him, “Don’t talk to her like that” he rolls his eyes at me before then picking up my dress and tossing it at me. “Thanks” I roll my eyes back at him.

Me and Katsuki get dressed and go down stairs and roam around until finding Mina and Kiri downstairs, the house is pretty much now empty with a couple people passed out on the couches. We walk into the kitchen to see Mina and Kiri talking. “Hey guys” I smile, “Hey y/n/n” Mina says coming over to hug me, “Hiii” I smile back opening my arms to embrace her into my warmth. Mina and I pull apart and I go to hug Kirishima. We converse for a couple minutes before going our separate ways.

I went over to Katsukis apartment and got unready, it’s been hours since the party and it’s now 12 o’clock, Katsuki and I are laying in bed. He’s spooning me and we’re silently talking about random stuff, he’s half asleep rambling about things as i’m listening. I turn towards him now facing him. “I love you” He murmurs pulling me into his arms “I love you too” I say snuggling into him, he kisses my forehead softly. “Goodnight” He speaks.

#katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki #mha #mha smut #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha mina #mina ashido #friends #toxic relationship #toxicity #fluffy #possesive love #jealousy #18+ post #arguing #choking #tag: degrading #aged up

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anamelessfool · 1 year

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Maestro (part 1 of 4)

It was 1977.

Sister Imperator, the Dark Mother, was looking for an apprentice.

@petrifyingpapas Challenge Week 2: Incantation

Sister Imperator & Young Secondo, Young Terzo AO3 Link

tags: dark magic, ritual magic, initiation, family drama, exploration, SFW

Secundo had grown up in her shadow. He had known her for as long as he could remember. During Rites he watched her, captivated, as she delicately performed the ritual movements, held aloft the chalices, athames and other arcane trinkets that Secundo craved to wield himself. (Illustration by me, A Nameless Fool)

1977

There were 823 marble tiles on the hallway floor outside Sister Imperator’s office. Secundo had counted them several times while he waited, swinging the canvas bag of notebooks he carried. Ever since he could remember he would come up with games and puzzles to amuse himself in idle times. Estimating the amount of leaves on a tree. Visualizing the floor plan of a building based on the outer windows. Using the relative heights of the plants to determine what part of the Ministry courtyard received the most sun. So if he assumed each tile was a perfect ten inch square (and he could, because his foot was just larger than that) then the total dimensions of the hallway was ten feet wide and sixty feet long. And if he used said tiles to estimate the height of the ceiling in the Sanctum, then that would be—

The door finally opened and Secundo saw the face of his father looking down at him. He was Brother Nihil, a mopey musician, half-attentive father, and personal assistant to the Dark Mother herself. The Infernal Eye glared out of his gaunt head from under a woefully mod haircut, adding some semblance of intelligence to his face. “Come now, boy,” he said, opening the door further. “We have more questions for you.”

Secundo’s jaw tightened and he felt his heart start to beat a bit faster. He stared ahead, glaring at the space before him, steeling himself with a mantra that he himself invented: POWER. He imagined the five letters floating in front of him, tracing one by one with his mind. The solidness of the thought settled him enough to move his feet into the room.

Sister Imperator, The Dark Mother, sat behind her oaken desk decorated with carved grinning skulls, looking more like a lost tourist than the Custodian of the Void. She wore her customary long tunic dress of outrageous swirls of polyester color. Her hair was a carefully organized golden helmet, one sweep of curls concealing her right eye. Secundo had grown up in her shadow. He had known her for as long as he could remember. During Rites he watched her, captivated, as she delicately performed the ritual movements, held aloft the chalices, athames and other arcane trinkets that Secundo craved to wield himself.

She quirked her thin red lips, beckoning Secundo with a casual flick of her manicured nails. The boy approached, standing before her. The bookshelves along the walls towered around him, bursting with ancient texts and glittering ephemera. Nihil settled into a chair to the side of her, clutching a dossier and blinking.

“How are his tests?” Sister asked flatly. Her nails stroked the ends of her chair. The inquisition had begun.

Nihil shuffled papers around, bringing them uncomfortably close to his small eyes. “Academically, high marks. Top ten at his high school. Hasn’t gotten into a fistfight in two months.”

“Two weeks,” Secundo corrected.

“Er- oh, right, I forgot that one,” Nihil said, sniffing.

“No matter,” said Sister. “And our tests?”

Nihil leaned towards her, attempting to show her a document. She ignored him and he slumped back into his seat. “Highest score this year. Beat the second highest by ten points. Was twice his age, too.”

“I don’t take adepts this young usually,” Sister said. “But my bones tell me that the boy has a lot of work to do.” There was a flash of blue deep in her eyes. “The earlier he starts, the better.”

Secundo tossed his shoulder-length lank black hair. He tried not to show any expression, staring into the eyes of the bronze sculpture of a roman she-wolf behind the Dark Mother. POWER.

Sister continued. “Do you have your assignment?”

Secundo placed the small pile of notebooks on her desk before her, bobbing his head in a show of deference. Sister picked up the first one, flipping through idly. “Cloud formations, weather patterns,” he explained. “Timed, dated. Six times a day. A whole year and a day.”

“I trust you did not miss a single day.”

Secundo shook his head solemnly. “I swear it by the Void.”

Sister’s eyebrows raised as she let out a little chiding huff. “Any comments from his reference?” She then turned her head slightly to look at Nihil. Nihil nodded.

Nihil attempted to remain serious, but he could barely hide the glimmer of pride in his eyes. His mouth twitched as he struggled not to smile. “Virtuoso piano player, as far as I’m concerned. Expert in Latin and the Theban Alphabet. Learning a bit of Chinese astrology on the side as well.” He couldn’t help it, his mouth stretched into his rubbery grin. “Even as a tyke… good imagination.”

“A good imagination is the best quality of all,” Sister added. “Especially one that is put to use to solve problems. Secundo…” She leaned forward on her elbows, her eyelids low and dreamy.

Secundo bowed his head quickly. “Yes, Your Dark Excellency.”

“How willing are you to die?”

Secundo’s visualization faltered. The question was held up in his face so aggressively it brought his immaturity to the surface. He was still a child. He had never thought about death. But she leered at him now, looking for his answer. He snorted, deepening his frown. “I will do anything to learn magic from you.”

“Well, that settles it,” she scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Time for the final test. Happening now.”

Another gauntlet thrown before him. He had already won her over, and there was nothing left to lose. He tried not to grin. “Now? Fine, Sister, I humbly accept.”

“Return here in one hour,” Sister explained. “Nihil will lead us to the catacombs. Bring anything you may need.”

His smile faded, his mind racing, her challenge the starter gun. “What would I—”

“Anything. You. May. Need.” Sister’s face stretched into a sneer. Her eyes flashed with wildness.

Secundo glanced towards his father, who was focused more on the floor than the room around him. Secundo had never noticed how sunken Nihil’s face was. While the Infernal Eye stared out from its socket fierce and shark-like, his human eye dripped with weariness. Secundo was aware of how the man drooped in his seat, his flesh hanging off his skeleton, his mouth sagging. It was easy to quickly glance and mark the man as a dullard but something in this moment hinted at some deep strain. At life being drained from his spirit itself.

Sister coughed for attention and Secundo glanced back at her. She flipped through the next notebook on her desk and had moved on from giving him any further attention. “As I have said. Sixty minutes.”

To be continued...... (this week, fingers crossed!)

AO3 Link

#ghost fandom #ao3 author #ghost band fic #fanfic #the band ghost #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #young secundo #young terzo #sister imperator #ghost scenes from the void #petrifyingpapas #my art

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