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whorety-k · 1 day

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Ebony Coasts [Part 6]

I'm sorry this took so long!! Between my busy life and wanting a quick change up so I could practice to make this chapter better, I definitely took my sweet time on this chapter. It's another long one but it was genuinely fun and I hope you all think the same. Thank you for your patience!!!

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)

Song recommendation: Witchcraft - Graveyard Club “It’s midnight on Main Street / and this town’s all asleep / But you’re still here with me / and I know that / Darling your love's like witchcraft.”

Warnings: Ocean mentions / potential thalassophobia, culture shock and misunderstanding between species, food, using the word chips instead of crisps because author is American, fluff

Word Count: 4.5k I AM SO SORRY

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 7 (NSFW)]

Waking up three hours later, sticky and crusted with salt was a lot less comfortable than the dreamy atmosphere you had drifted off to sleep in. Corvus was reluctant to let you leave to go home and change, but he recognized that there was no feasible way for you to clean yourself up while you were in his den; the salt water would have wedged sand into more unsavory places. You promised him it would only be thirty minutes to an hour before you would return and, after explaining what an hour was, he relinquished his protests and encouraged you to be safe. You leaned up on your tip-toes for a kiss goodbye, which the mer bashfully gave.

The soothing stream of warm water coursing down your back makes you wonder just how difficult it would be to install a shower within Corvus’s cavern, before kicking yourself for the thought of modernizing any part of the beach that you’re technically supposed to be protecting. The thought of being able to live more readily with Corvus has your brain misbehaving. You hop out of the shower and towel off, changing into a significantly-less-saline outfit than you had been in previously.

Before leaving your apartment, your eyes stray to the dusty picnic basket beneath your desk. For years, the woven wicker has sat unused and taunting you, waiting for its opportunity to see the light of day. The lack of luck in relationships previously had halted any usage of the item, but perhaps today was the day it finally saw usage. You grab the basket.

But what to bring on a picnic with a literal merman? What does a giant fish-person like? You realize you have no idea where to start with him, so when you stop by your pantry you toss two random junk foods inside. Oreos and potato chips. Perfect. It still doesn’t feel like enough though, and you quickly check the time. You still have another fifteen or so minutes to make it back to the coast before Corvus should start to worry. On a whim, you toss the picnic basket on the passenger seat of your car and speed over to the only grocery store between your apartment and the coast.

You’re just as clueless and indecisive as you were at home, but now you were clueless and indecisive with options. The lady behind the meat counter gives you an uncertain look the longer you stare at the identical cuts of salmon.

“If you’re struggling, the Alaskan wild-caught is a better–”

“-Thank you!” You don’t even let her finish before you’re throwing three filets into the shopping cart then speeding off, completely missing the stunned look she throws your way. You barely make sure to wrap them enough to hide the fishy smell.

In the checkout lane, you give in to the crow brain and grab a random rainbow bag of sour candy from the hanging, as well as a pack of four chocolate strawberries from a vendor outside of the store. Are mermen able to eat chocolate? Is it like a dog and cat scenario? You’ve never tried giving a chocolate bar to a fish. Wasn’t there someone who fed their fish Kitkats and it survived? Well, if he can’t have it, it’s just more for you.

You slam the door to the Bronco and gun it for the beach when you arrive. With the picnic basket and a large blanket in hand, it’s not particularly feasible to make it down the cliff face, so you take the long way around. It’s only just been an hour, so hopefully–

A milk white limb wraps around your midsection and lifts you from the ground, causing you to drop your freight in the commotion. Corvus holds you like a kitten, a look of concern plain in his voidish eyes as he intently studies your body.

“You are not injured? It has been greater than an hour. Has something occurred?” He inquires, gently lifting and turning you as he looks you over.

You shake off the shock of being startled, simultaneously chuckling at the doting behavior and irritated with having been snuck up on again. “I’m fine,” you say, prompting the anxious mer to stop twisting you from side to side. Corvus relaxes and lowers you gently back to the sand. Once back on solid ground, you look down at your watch. An involuntary sigh leaves your lungs.

“Corvus.”

“Yes?”

“It has been an hour and three minutes.”

“Yes.”

“This? Over three minutes?”

The merman nods his head, that stoic expression never once faltering. “I worried for your well being.”

Realizing that pressing the matter will get you nowhere, you decide to find the action endearing. When you step to the side to pick up your fallen items, Corvus quickly beats you to it, relinquishing you of the blanket and grabbing the picnic basket before you even have the chance to turn around. It looks comically small in his large hands, cupped like a ball.

“Are we returning to the den?” Corvus asks, readying himself to head that direction. He slides past you, shielding you from the focused rays of the looming sunset.

“That depends,” you start, placing a hand on one of his ebony side fins. The giant stops, twitching from the contact. “How do you feel about trying some human foods?”

Corvus stops, glancing down at you before his attention turns to the basket in his hand. He lifts it to his nose and sniffs at it, and you resist cooing at how cute his ear fins look when they subtly perk up. “I am not opposed to it, however…” His head turns to the horizon, looking out over the waves.

The setting sun casts the sky in a brilliant red, leftover clouds from the earlier storm reflecting the light in a kaleidoscope of pinks, oranges, and yellows. The charcoal rocks of the cliffside bleed into sandstone, cast coral in the dying glow. Lava flows of sand quench in the dusky ocean waves.

“It’s perfect,” you interrupt, grabbing the blanket from his clawed hand. Corvus turns back as you march to the embankment and set up the massive blanket. He watches happily (for someone so usually reserved) as you buzz around like a bee, trying your hardest to get it flat on the sand. Mercifully, the giant holds a corner steady to help you lay out the swath of cloth. When you come back for the picnic basket, he already has it lowered to your level for easy access.

“Get on,” you say, patting the blanket and folding your arms to wait. Corvus spares you a final glance before he carefully slides his way onto the cover, the translucent black fins of his magnificent tail reflecting the threads beneath them. He rests his back against a smooth face of the cliffside and hums his contentment. Enthusiasm at the mer’s comfort thrums through your veins.

Unfortunately, the blanket that’s normally so large on you is nothing compared to the large fins of the black mer. There’s no room for you to sit with him, so you start to kick a clearing beside him for you to sit beside him instead. “I didn’t have a blanket larger than this, so–”

“Would you like to sit on my tail?” Corvus extends a hand towards you, offering you a way to climb up onto him. He adjusts to create a flatter surface.

The marine biologist in you screams ‘I thought you would never offer!’, but the polite person in you wins and instead asks, “Are you sure?” Corvus bows his head and calmly helps you clamber up onto his tail, holding the picnic basket in one hand as he steadies you with the other. He’s cautious to set you low on his lap, below the fins that adorn his waist. You resist touching them, lest you get (literally or figuratively) thrown off of the tail you were just allowed to sit on.

You reach for the picnic basket and Corvus places it before you, allowing you to trifle through it. Strategically, you keep the salmon hidden in the cold compartment at the bottom beneath some ice, drawing out the bag of oreos. A gentle hand rests upon your thigh as the mer watches.

“So these are called Oreos,” you explain, holding one up for Corvus to see, “They’re sandwich cookies with cream in the center.”

Corvus nods as if he understands and scents the item, before opening his mouth to take it. He wants you to feed him you realize, and you carefully place the cookie on his tongue, avoiding his sharp teeth. The cookie is gone with a few crunches. You use the moment to take an oreo for yourself: sweet filling and crunchy cocoa, just as you remember.

The mer isn’t as receptive, nose minutely scrunching as he swallows. You laugh at the face he makes. “Are all humans so fond of sweetened chemicals?” Corvus asks, clearing his throat.

“Some. Not everyone’s a fan,” you reply.

Corvus nods, thinking for a moment. The dwindling light of the dusk has come to a near end, pale moonlight glittering over his visage as his head bows near to yours. Eventually, the mer comes to a conclusion, “The ‘cookie’ half was fine, but I did not enjoy the filling.”

“You’d be surprised how many people agree with you on that,” you note, lean forward to place a kiss on his cheek—

Corvus places a hand over your mouth as he abruptly perks up, stilling completely. His head snaps to the side, eyes glaring in one direction: the rocks in the shallows. You feel the brush of soft flesh before his tail completely blocks your view.

“Is everything okay?” you whisper into his hand, trying to lean around it.

He doesn’t let you. “We are being watched,” Corvus deadpans, eyes fixed on the same invisible spot in the distance. He doesn’t comment further, but his hand moves to your back to curl around you protectively.

The lack of reaction from Corvus and the uncertainty of the situation sets your mind racing. Watched? Watched by what? By who? Are there other humans nearby, looking upon the merman with uncertain eyes, calling the authorities? Your heart begins to palpate in your chest, thumping against your ribcage like a drum. Something’s going to happen to Corvus and it’s going to be entirely your fault, having gotten the mer comfortable with your presence and having him sit out in the open like this. Corvus is going to lose his freedom and his blood is going to be on your hands—

“At ease, little gem,” Corvus calls to you, stroking a soft knuckle down your spine, “You are in no danger.” You snap up to look at him, seeing his midnight eyes now peering down at you. You take a deep breath, and the pounding in your chest slowly begins to steady.

Corvus’s eyes turn back to the shoreline, a swish of his feathery bangs revealing just how furrowed his eyebrows are. He looks disappointed, and you wait for an explanation. With a sigh, he offers, “It is nothing more than someone not knowing that I would prefer privacy.”

A slight droop in his tail allows you to finally see into the partially-illuminated waters. You strain your eyes to find whatever Corvus has been staring at, looking between jagged rocks and soft swells, but absolutely nothing reveals itself to you. Confused, you ask, “Where are you looking?” Corvus doesn’t answer, but eventually you take the hint to follow his eyes to another rock. Still, you see nothing.

The giant startles you by calling something out loudly in a language you do not understand, but finally you notice what he’s been staring at. What you had been fully convinced was just a normal rock lifts itself from the water, revealing a wall of black metal before removing a beak-like helmet. Pale skin begins to reflect the moon’s rays back at you, framed by a mop of black hair straight out of 2005’s top emo bands. As it approaches, you’re surprised to see that it looks strikingly similar to Corvus himself: a large frame with a betta-like tail that’s a tad more narrow, but still visibly powerful. This mer is shorter than Corvus by a substantial amount, but still definitely much larger than you are.

It– He, you believe, converses with Corvus in that unfamiliar tongue the entire time he comes closer, awkwardly dragging himself forward in sand until he’s within a few feet of your blanket. You think Corvus is asking this new mer a few tense questions, based off of the scolding tone of his voice and guilt in the new mer’s eyes, but any communication is lost on you. When Corvus fully lowers his tail, you see the new mer’s eyes widen, but it restrains from any further movement. Corvus finishes whatever conversation he was having and directs his attention back to you eventually with a call of your name.

“This is Shadow Captain Kayvaan Shrike,” he says to you, gesturing a hand in Shrike’s direction. You introduce yourself, unsure if he understands you, and hesitantly reach a hand out towards Shrike for a handshake. He stares at it dumbly, until Corvus mutters something to him in their shared language and Shrike gently takes your hand in his. Incorrectly, just as Corvus had. You’re beginning to notice a trend with the seafolk, and you would call it cute if it wasn’t for the unquestionable strength in the hand over yours.

Corvus directs another inquiry at Shrike, and Shrike takes his hand back to point behind you. Before you can fully turn around, a new voice incredibly near to your head causes you to all but fling yourself off of Corvus’s tail. The giant mer catches you and your picnic basket with a huff, turning his head to address the second newcomer. You follow to see another pale face looking at you inquisitively, standing adjacent to Corvus. He bears similar armor to Shrike, but instead of a shaggy swoop, he wore a slicked-back mohawk. All three merfolk possess the same blacked-out eyes.

“Nykona,” Corvus grunts, before delving into another scolding. ‘Nykona’ doesn’t wear the same kicked-puppy expression Shrike did, instead continuing to observe you in silence. His gaze carries the intensity of someone who has seen and done things in his lifetime that you wouldn’t be able to stomach, sending shivers down your spine. At the end of Corvus’s speech, he gives a simple response and a nod.

Your mer finally turns back to you and directs you towards ‘Nykona’, saying, “And this is Nykona Sharrowkyn, Mor Deythan. Both he and Kayvaan are Astartes.” You have no idea what the second half of that means, but you acknowledge it anyway. You opt to cling to your basket instead of offering a handshake to Nykona, checking the inside contents to make sure they’re alright. Everything appears to be in place.

Nykona and Shrike shift to listen to Corvus speak again, that rhythmic guttural vaguely similar to what it sounds like to list a species’ proper name. You try to make sense of it, but only occasionally do you pick up on names.

The quiet exchange continues on for a fair while longer, before a fantastic idea causes you to jolt upright. Each of the raven-colored merfolk look at you, and you beam at them.

“Do they want to try some human food?”

Corvus had to set a few ground rules with the Astartes, and he had gently placed you down upon the blanket before explaining that it should only take a short moment.

It did not, in fact, take a short moment.

Shrike and Nykona seemed to have an interrogation of their own for Corvus, but in the end, you were actually grateful for the opportunity to see how merfolk interacted with each other. Perhaps it was just these individuals, but they were incredibly formal with each other by your human standards. Respectful distances, no yelling, what seemed like actual discussion. You dare say that Corvus was affectionate with them the way a father was with his sons, reassuring any perceived outburst with a hand on the shoulder and gentle words. The two smaller mer even doff their armor, broad in build even without the augments. You avert your gaze respectfully.

Eventually, Corvus seemed content with the state of things and led the two newcomers back over to you. Corvus curls around your back protectively, leaning against the cliff face again. Nykona makes his way to your right, resting his front on the comfortable blanket while his tail remains on the sand. Shrike has no qualms sitting on the blanket directly beside you.

A strongly-accented voice prods about the basket. “So we are eating what’s in there?” Shrike asks, head tilted like a curious dog.

“Oh! Yes, that’s the plan.” You had no idea whether or not the ‘Astartes’ could understand you, let alone respond to you, so the question comes as a surprise to you. You open the basket, showing him the contents.

Shrike inspects them, then reaches within to pull out a package: a desaturated baby blue with a potato chip on the cover. The captain sniffs at the bag and is confused when he can’t smell much outside of the plastic. “I have seen these floating in the waves before, but they are not often sealed.”

The sentence makes you frown, and you gesture for him to hand you the bag of chips. “Not every human cares about the ocean the way I do. They’ll eat the contents and leave the trash behind. It’s awful behavior.” You pull the sides of the bag open to reveal the salt-and-vinegar chips within. The acrid smell of vinegar makes all three of the mer recoil with varying intensity when you happily pop a chip in your mouth.

In an attempt to ease them into the other foods, you withdraw the strawberries. The smell of the sweet chocolate coating catches their attention instantly, and Corvus, despite all of his politeness, doesn’t wait for you. He tears open the clamshell with a gentle claw and plucks one of the large confectionaries for himself. You give him a playful glare before you take your own berry, noticing that a second is already missing. Nykona chomps away at his from the edge of the blanket.

Only Shrike dares to take a chip from the bag, both Corvus and Nykona passing up the offer politely. Each of you watch as the pungent acidity and saltiness causes the Astartes to wince, gills fluttering awkwardly as he breaks into uncomfortable coughs. Shrike spits the chip out into the sand with groan, wiping off his tongue. You place a hand on his shoulder to comfort him through it, and you’re surprised to see it actually seem to ground him. So is he, by the way he gently pushes your hand away. When Shrike is calmed down enough to focus on another food, he reaches for the remaining strawberry– then lets out a short growl. Shrike’s eyes instantly snap over to Nykona.

Nykona, rather contently, chews on Shrike’s allotted berry. He wears a face of perfect nonchalance.

Corvus covers you protectively with a hand as Shrike glares down his fellow Astartes, but you break the tension by offering Kayvaan your berry. He looks down at the strawberry reluctantly, eyes flicking between it and your patient face. Tentatively, Shrike takes the berry and plops it whole into his mouth, and the instant relaxation in his eyes makes giving up your treat worth it.

You feel a gentle rumbling against your back, and you look up to see the tender expression Corvus casts your way. A careful hand places itself at your shoulders and strokes the muscles there, and you return the soft look.

Nykona crinkling the rainbow bag of candy pulls you from the moment. “These are sweet too. I can smell it,” he mutters, using a claw to open the larger bag and spill out the individually wrapped pieces within.

Warheads. You had bought Warheads. You may have loved Warheads, but you seriously doubt they would given the collective reaction to the salt-and-vinegar chips.

Nykona picks up one of the packaged candies and makes an unreadable face, with Shrike following suit. You take one for yourself and Corvus, offering it up to your betta.

“These are called Warheads. They’re sour candy, so they’re not really for everyone, but I like them.” After your brief explanation, you show each of the boys how to open the packaging and plop the hard candy into your mouth. The instant burn on your tongue causes you to shiver, but after a bit of intense salivation, it quickly gives way to the sweet candy underneath.

The hesitation on each of their faces is clear, but after Corvus places the candy in his mouth, the Astartes follow suit.

You’re surprised to see each of the merfolk maintaining a straight face. Honestly, you had expected each of them to absolutely hate the taste. Hell, most humans hated the taste of warheads because of the extreme burn of sour each of them packed. It was a pleasant surprise to know that Corvus and his… pod(?) must enjoy sour candy—

A shuddering choke to your left catches your attention. Shrike breaks first, letting out an uncomfortable hiss of air and shaking his head, hair covering his face. A groan from your right, and Nykona is removing the warhead from his mouth, dropping the sticky sugar onto the blanket with a less-than-amused look. You only just notice Corvus reach up and take the Warhead off of his tongue, holding it between his claws and frowning at it.

He looks at you with sad eyes, “That was… unpleasant.”

It’s enough to break you into a fit of hysterics, throwing your head back against Corvus’s tail as your core shakes with laughter. Each breath wheezes out of you uncontrollably, limbs feeling gooey as you sink further and further into the blanket.

No one else seems as amused.

Once you get yourself mostly under control, you fall forward onto your hands and knees and reach into the basket with unsteady hands. The merfolk watch as you rummage through it and pull out the hidden salmon filets from within. With pride, you present the orange meat towards the sky.

You don’t even see each of them move– you can only feel the air move around you before your hands are completely empty. The tang of fish fills the air from every direction, then the wet sound of teeth ripping into flesh. You could only describe the scene as feral, sharks tearing into unsuspecting seals in an attempt to wash the taste of the warheads out of their mouth. Only to another marine biologist could you describe it as “cute.”

Corvus wipes off his mouth as he finishes, a soft huff of relief leaving his gills. He gives you a pensive look before his hands snake beneath your arms, lifting you up and drawing you close. You hold yourself against him with a hand on his chest as he adjusts his grip to support your weight better, missing the look the giant casts to the other mer. Movement behind you causes you to look over your shoulder, and you’re surprised to see Nykona and Shrike completely clad in their armor once again, Shrike’s white helmet making him easy to identify in the low light. Both Astartes salute Corvus, hands crossed over their chest, before slithering back towards the ocean. You wave at them in goodbye, receiving a nod of acknowledgement as they go.

Corvus bends down to gather your blanket and basket, cradling you to shield you from the change of gravity then starting off in the direction of his den. With Shrike and Nykona gone, a warm silence fills the air. You smile up at your black betta, and he returns it. You glance back towards the water.

You can't help but wonder more about their relationship, and you make it known, “I know their names, but who are they?”

Corvus trails your glance towards the sea. “Nykona and Kayvaan are my sons.”

His words drop like a bombshell, and you freeze. The thought that Corvus has sons fills you with unease and… jealousy? Sure, you know Corvus has a life outside of yours, and you knew that he had one before you were around, but the thought still does terrible things to your heart.

Corvus can smell the dismay on you, and as soon as you two are within the safety of his cavern, he drops the items he’s carrying. He uses his freed hand to lift your chin, tilting your head to look up at him, “Do not be troubled. They are only my sons in name…”

You find relief in his reassurances, but the way he trails off leads you to feel suspicious once more. You know there’s more he has more to say, and you motion for him to go on. Corvus’s jaw tenses.

“They are made with my genetic material, but I had no hand in making them myself.”

Well that statement causes distinctly more heretical thoughts that you have to force yourself to tamp down. It still doesn’t explain very much, instead replacing your former question with less tasteful ones. With a shake of your head, you admit, “I still don’t understand.”

“It is better that way,” Corvus sighs and continues carrying you all the way into the bedspace, sequestering you both somewhere private. It comforts him to have you completely to himself without anyone to intrude on the moment.

Perhaps there are better times to be a biologist, you reason as Corvus settles the two of you into the bed of furs, placing you on the un-scaled half of his lap. You look up at him with hearts in your eyes, leaning forward to rest against his cold chest. The sensation of something metal digging into your sternum causes you to sit up, looking down your shirt. You move to shift your raven necklace out of the way so you can lean against Corvus more comfortably, but your hand catches on a second necklace that you don’t remember putting on.

Cautiously, you withdraw the pendant and turn it over it in your hand, examining the teardrop of metal cradling a familiar black pearl. Warmth blooms in your cheeks as you gaze up into Corvus’s eyes.

That handsome face of carved alabaster smiles down at you expectantly.

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these two pictures had me dying laughing

this is permanently in my search history now because I was also curious

I tried to base Kayvaan Shrike off of pre-heresy, as well as Nykona, but it can be difficult with such little source material so they definitely have aspects of their later personalities.

If you don't want smut, it's perfectly feasible to stop after this chapter!! This story can comfortably conclude here :)

If you do want smut, though, please enjoy:

[Part 7]

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #corvus corax #primarch #primarch x reader #corvus corax x reader #warhammer fanfic #mermay #raven lady writings #nykona sharrowkyn and kayvaan shrike jumpscare #literally

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silverspadesss · 1 year

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there’s something about how a huge theme in acoc is the role of a daughter - jet and ruby, saccharina, amethar’s sisters, annabelle cheddar, plumbeline uvano, probably more that i’m forgetting

and now we have a theme within the ravening war of the role of a son - deli, colin, the son of amangeaux, even prince amethar

idk what it is but it is something.

#the ravening war #a crown of candy #d20 #dimension 20 #acoc #jet rocks #ruby rocks #saccharina frostwhip #annabelle cheddar #plumbeline uvano #thane delissandro katzon #colin provolone #lady amangeaux epicée du peche #amethar rocks #i could write a longer post examining this. but not today.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months

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Hi, Raven. I recently found out that Professor Train has daughters, is that true?

Yup, that’s canon!

A lot of staff lore is obscured behind Unified Exam events, where you trade in the tokens you earn in cumulative battles to get new staff voice lines. This is the case for the lore surrounding Trein’s daughters; we first learn of them via bonus lines.

Trein mentions in a March 2021 (JP) Unified Exam line that he has “daughters” (I assume 2, but a number was not specified when I checked) and a late wife. His daughters are already adults and have left home. Trein says that his daughters grew up strong and healthy, and that seeing the NRC kids reminds him of them. We also learn in other voice lines that his daughters write letters to him and worry about his health and wellbeing, urging him to contact them if he ever needs help.

This is, presumably, meant to mirror Lady Tremaine’s family, as Trein is twisted from the Evil Stepmother, who also had daughters and a deceased spouse. Interestingly, Trein does not mention a stepdaughter or a stepson. However, it could be that he considers twisted Cinderella as a “true” daughter of his. Alternatively, there just isn’t a stepchild at all. We don’t have that information yet.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Cinderella #Mozus Trein #notes from the writing raven #question #Lady Tremaine #Anastasia Tremaine #Drizella Tremaine

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memento-morri-writes · 4 months

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high fantasy wip snippet: the collector of souls

this is a little bit from the prologue for High Fantasy WIP! It's our introduction to our Narrator, as well as his mistress, the Lady of Ravens.

“Ah, [Name], you’ve returned. Tell me, what souls do you bring?” Her voice is cold and sharp, like a stiletto made of ice. It pierces my mind, and I speak up quickly. “My lady, I have brought you the souls of three thousand soldiers, freshly killed in battle.” I open my mouth wide, and the souls rush out of my mouth. I’ve never quite gotten used to the feeling. Their desperation always tickles my throat. They stream forth in a torrent of energy. The Lady holds out her hand, and they all surge towards it, eager, hopeful. As they gather in her palm, she lifts her hand up to her face, examining the souls carefully. After a moment she makes a swift gesture with her fingers, and the souls vanish, pulled into whatever eternity awaits them. I pause, waiting to see her reaction. She looks down at me, eyes narrowing. “And?” I shift from one foot to the other, squirming under her icy gaze. “My lady, I have the soul of a warmonger. The architect for this conflict. He has killed thousands, and feels no remorse.” I open my mouth again and this time the soul that comes out does so slowly. It drags slowly up my throat, leaving a bitter residue on my tongue. I spit it at the Lady’s feet, almost gagging on the taste. Monsters always taste terrible, especially the human ones. The Lady reaches down, picking up the foul soul between two thin white fingers, each tipped with long, pointed black nails. The soul squirms in her grip, thrashing back and forth. The most wicked are always the most reluctant to face death. She examines the soul, unperturbed by its increasingly desperate attempts to escape. She frowns, reading something in the soul that I cannot, then smiles. She tosses the soul up in the air, and it swells briefly, surging forwards towards freedom. But then it is pulled back, sucked down towards the Lady’s open mouth. A blink of an eye, and its gone. She closes her eyes, a look of contentment on her face. I shudder against my will. The Lady only eats the most vile souls, those who have done such wrong that they are not allowed an afterlife, not even one of punishment.

High Fantasy WIP Taglist: @andromedaexists

#high fantasy wip #my writing #snippets #high fantasy wip: snippets #oc: the narrator #oc: lady of ravens #writeblr #writers on tumblr #original writing #original fiction

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goblingaius · 1 year

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i need platonic fanfics of these scrumptious scoundrels.

give me raphaniel and colin over the years reluctantly starting to care for each other where colin watched over this elderly radish who ages further than time itself and descends into madness. give me raphaniel taking in just some cheese guy who he was once obsessed with and is now relying on as his one truth in his own web of lies. give me both of them following each other around where colin becomes his sword and raphaniel becoming his shield as bulbian church authority but also ensuring that it falls in line with their motives/morals. give me colin caring for the shadow of a man who may have been elderly but was as cunning as a fox and eloquence that could convince anyone he was harmless. give me raphaniel in his sobering moments bestows upon colin life lessons that he had gathered over his lifetime, moments where colin could see the radish who was once a bishop for a good reason. give me raphaniel and colin growing dependent on the other as the war rages on.

give me amangeaux escaping with her baby and a newfound determination born from the grim realisation of what she helped unleash. give me amangeaux deciding to isolate herself while studying for the knowledge that she needed back then and needed it now more than ever and also raising a child as a single mother. give me amangeaux coming to the realisation of what she needed to give up, of what she needs to happen for this child of hers to grow up safely. give me amangeaux for the moving on her own for the first time instead of depending on the bishop and karna for advice/action as she used to. give me amangeaux raising her child on stories of the house of uvano, of gustavo uvano himself, and then baring herself to gustavo with her secrets and her worth and all that she can give, and gustavo uvano sees her none of the woman who once clung to her title as queen and sees a woman is determined to set things right in the world her child will grow up in.

give me karna and deli, who have been abandoned by the people they were close with, attach to each other, filling up the spaces that they once had for certain people. give me karna encouraging deli's traits, even the toxic ones, and making herself useful to him with the underlying fear that he could leave her and ruin her work just like amangeaux did. give me trying to become the leader that karna needs and fighting on the battlefields (both physical and political) with the underlying fear that she could leave him if he wasnt good enough just like colin did. give me karna and deli bonding over their views on killing innocents as they did for queen pamela rocks. give me karna and deli trusting each other but thinking that theyre still at baseline trust because all they have been doing for each other are transactions and thats where their trust ends. give me karna and deli acknowledging their mutual attraction but never taking the step because it will be a weakness for them and they dont trust the other to not take advantage it and they arent ready for that level of trust.

give me fanfics of their years fleshed out in writing, because i sure dont have the skills to do that.

#dimension 20 #the ravening war #bishop raphaniel charlock #colin provolone #lady amangeaux epicée du peche #karna solara #thane delissandro katzon #the aroace in me who enjoys romance as much as the other person does but will dump it without a second thought for a small gen fic #is saying GIVE ME THE PLATONIC FANFICS #crying because my vocab was barely enough to write this out much less a whole fic #i need more gen fics #WE AS A SOCIETY need more gen fics

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faillen · 1 year

Text

Colin pulls Deli’s head into his lap with gentle bloodstained hands, heart thrumming fast.

“Can—?”

“Yes,” Amangeaux cuts him off, with the kind of fierce unwavering that comes with absolute desperation. She fumbles for one of the pouches on her belt, hands shaking as she pulls out the healing kit.

Swallowing, Colin watches as she takes something out and forces it past Deli’s lips, before pressing her hands to his chest, eyes squeezed tight.

“Please,” she murmurs. “Please.”

Colin looks down at Deli. His face is battered, bruised. The foam at the corner of his mouth, an instinctually terrifying sight, is pink at the edges, mixing with blood from his other wounds. The lighter whorls on his arms have purpled with bruising.

He looks—

Colin refuses to think it. He leans down, curling himself over his Chief, and presses his mouth to the top of Deli’s mustard patch, upon the jut of his brow. “Come on,” he whispers, drawing back. “Come on, Deli.”

The skin of his cheeks is tight with the salt of his tear tracks past. As Deli’s nostrils flare in the shallowest of breaths, that skin is wet once again, and Colin takes a deep, shuddering breath of his own. It rattles through his lungs like a growl.

Amangeaux sits back hard, raising her hands with another quick murmur, and Colin feels some strength return to his limbs. Deli’s eyes flutter.

When he glances up, he finds Amangeaux staring off past his shoulder, toward where he knows the encampment lays—but her eyes are unfocused, not searching. Colin looks back down at the ground next to Deli’s hip, also lost.

His armor is heavy, the only part of his oath that he cared for now broken.

The back of his throat tickles, but he doesn’t cough.

In his lap, Deli begins to stir with a low groan. He shifts, and Colin adjusts, moving to help him up to a sitting position before Deli tries to do it on his own.

Raising a hand to his temple with a poorly suppressed wince, Deli’s eyes meet his. His gaze reflects the hollow victory that gapes in Colin’s chest.

In the distance, trumpets sound.

#d20 #the ravening war #the ravening war spoilers #got the image of deli’s head in colin’s lap I had to write it okay?#colin provolone #thane delissandro katzon #lady amangeaux epicée du peche

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marilynsweet · 2 months

Text

FOUR LORDS: CONSEQUENCES

[Trigger Warnings: Domestic Violence, Assault, Abuse, Violence, Blood]

The air felt as still as if time had stopped. Rose’s breath came in shuddered gasps, pain throbbing in her head. She was only a little aware of the blood dripping from her nose, but her eyes fixated only on the face before her.

Todd had frozen at the voice behind him, at the hand that held his wrist. Slowly, he turned to face the invader instead of Rose.

Rose trailed her eyes upwards, past Todd. Relief was an understatement as her eyes met the pale, paper-white face and deep ruby eyes. Annabelle’s face held something of a contained rage and cold authority, hand locked tightly around Todd’s wrist. He tried to pry his wrist from her iron grip, but it quickly proved futile.

As Todd fully turned to face Annabelle, he released his hold on Rose’s shirt. Rose found herself sinking to the floor, back against the wall.

“Who do you think you are?” Todd snapped at Annabelle, now using his other hand to try and pull her hand off his wrist. “Let go of me!”

“You must be Todd,” Annabelle said, not even trying to hide the disgust in her voice. “Such a wonderful displeasure to meet you.”

Todd quickly whirled around to face Rose— as best as he could, anyway.

“You— rancid whore! You’ve— you’ve been hiding here?! You—“

Before he could continue to berate her, however, he was suddenly yanked harshly. He let out something of a yell as Annabelle practically threw him onto the ground, having violently twisted his wrist in the process. His back hit the cold floor with a harsh thud, knocking the wind from his chest. Rose’s relief shifted to horror, and she sat frozen, covering her mouth with her hand.

Annabelle coldly placed her foot on his chest, pinning him against the ground. He wheezed for breath as she pushed down, threatening to break his very ribcage in. She leaned down so she could look at his face better. Rose couldn’t see her face from this angle— only her back. She could, however, just barely make out Todd’s face. He looked enraged and hurt at the same time— likely in pain from how Lady Constance held him down. The maidens who had come to help Rose quickly took a few paces back, terror written clearly on their faces.

“You listen closely, boy.” Annabelle hissed, “You dare to set foot in my home, snap at me, and lay your hands on my maidens? Do you find ecstasy in the thrill of hunting down women who dare defy you? Do you enjoy hurting them?”

Todd thrashed, making a wild jab for Annabelle’s face. However, she coldly caught his wrist without so much as turning her head.

“Let go of me-! I’m— I was trying to bring my wife home—“

Annabelle leaned her head back and let out a frigid, mirthless laugh that left the room feeling as cold as ice. Rose shrunk against the ground, eyes wide as a chill went through her body.

“Is that why you beat her within an inch of her life?” Annabelle snapped, leaning down once more so her face was mere inches from his, her free hand forcefully grabbing him by the cheeks, “Is that why you bashed her head into a wall, cut her with a knife, and chased her across town not once— but twice? How pathetic!”

“She is my wife!” Todd snarled, pushing right back against Annabelle and attempting to lift himself. However, he was quickly shoved back down by Annabelle’s hands, his shoulders hitting the ground with a thud.

“Not anymore, she’s not,” Annabelle growled, grabbing him by the front of his shirt with a hand. “Your kind disgusts me.”

“Let go of me!”

Annabelle sharply pulled him to his feet, her fist clenching the front of his shirt tightly. He was an inch or two taller than Annabelle, yet looked sharply dwarfed by her prowess and anger. In fact, terror began to make its way across his face as she bared her fangs to him - sharp, pointed, with the capability to tear flesh from bone. Her red eyes gleamed like fresh blood, almost seeming to glow with her rage.

“Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?” She hissed, her eyes narrowing. “Do you have any respect for your Lords?”

The reality was beginning to sink into Todd’s face, and the color began to drain from his cheeks.

“You disgust me,” Annabelle snapped again, suddenly shoving him hard against the wall. There was a sharp CRACK that erupted in the room, and Todd screamed out. “Men like you should suffer for the pain you put others through!”

Rose felt sick to her stomach. Todd’s head turned to look over at her, eyes wide and terrified.

“Rose! Dear, tell her to put me down!”

Rose choked on her words, tears dripping down her face. They stung her bruised cheeks, and she wiped her face with her sleeve. Blood smeared across the white silk.

“DON’T YOU SPEAK TO HER!” Annabelle roared, pushing him harder against the stone. His feet actually left the ground, the air breaking with more cracks and his wheezing breath. “How DARE her name leave your foul lips?! How DARE you beg her for help when you beat her within an inch of her life?! DISGUSTING waste of life you are!”

Todd gasped for breath, pushing at her arm in an attempt to free his breaking ribs.

Rose winced, gasping for her own air as blood clogged her throat from swallowing. She tried to blink away the tears, tried to think of something to say - but all she came up with was dead air.

Years of abuse had cultivated into this. He was finally facing an opponent who was bigger than him - who could wound him like he had wounded Rose, and then some. Rose felt sick - what was going to happen to him?

“I— can’t— breathe—!”

Todd’s voice choked out, thrashing against Annabelle’s grip. She narrowed her eyes at him, before abruptly releasing him. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for and gripping at his chest. He tried to crawl towards Rose, reaching a hand out to grab her ankle. However, he was abruptly yanked back by his ponytail, forcing a yell from him as Annabelle forced his head back. Rose scrambled away from him, wrapping her arms around herself.

She was suddenly aware of just how cold she was.

Annabelle pulled him again, forcing him away from Rose.

“You’ll never touch her again,” she hissed, stepping back and dragging him with her.

“Rose!”

Hearing her name again made her want to be sick. So many times he had spat her name, treated her like the scum of the earth, and now he begged for her help. He wanted her to pity him— to help him after the Hell he put her through, because he was forced to face the consequences of his actions.

“Rose!”

And yet his pleas still churned her stomach. The terror was written across his face - was it really regret, or was it fear of what the Lady might do?

“ROSE!”

Rose couldn’t answer him. All she could do was stare in horror as the Lady dragged him harshly across the floor. The heels of his boots scraped against the smooth floor, letting out a harsh squeal. The Maidens who had gathered quickly stepped back, giving Annabelle plenty of room to enter the depths of the Castle.

Todd’s screams of fear echoed through the halls long after he was gone from sight. Distantly, Rose could hear a door slamming - and a heavy thud, like a piece of wood slamming down.

The cellar door.

There was an eerie silence that followed. It was broken by the beating of Rose’s heart, and her quick breath that felt too loud. Soft sobs escaped from her, but she attempted to quiet them. Everything felt too loud.

She practically jumped out of her skin at the sudden knocking at the door, letting out a frightened yelp. The Maidens who had been watching the doorway in shock seemed to jump, too. One of them quickly dashed forward to check the door.

“Where’s Rose?”

Rose felt a flood of relief, grateful for a familiar voice. As if that were a trigger, the sobs began to hit harder, the tears spilling faster.

The Maidens quickly let Bayley in, who glanced around before landing her gaze on Rose. However, she didn’t have time to question it as Rose practically collapsed. Sniffling hurt with a bloody nose, and she choked on her own hiccups and blood. Bayley quickly went over to Rose, crouching down next to her and wrapping her up in a tight embrace.

“Oh, dear… it’s— i-it’s okay, let it out…”

Rose buried her face into Bayley’s chest, what little composure she had left shattering as she practically wailed into the soft silk.

The other Maidens glanced at each other, discomfort and uncertainty evident on their faces. They seemed, too, to be in shock. After a while, they finally began to trickle out of the room - maybe to find a mop for the mud, maybe to calm themselves.

Regardless of their reasons, Bayley held Rose tight, letting her sob her grievances into whimpers - no matter how long it took.

Rose was grateful that Bayley didn’t ask much once she finally was able to pull herself together. She helped her to her feet, holding her steady as her legs threatened to give way beneath her. After that, Bayley led her to one of the bathrooms to help her wash up.

The bathroom itself was a rectangular room. The floor was a cold, white stone tile, and there was only one window at the end, too high to quite see through directly. To the left were stalls, and to the right were a few sinks. It was small, as there were a few bathrooms scattered about the Castle for Maiden’s usage. Past the sinks and around the corner, hidden by a curtain, were the baths. Though, Rose didn’t go that far. Instead, she and Bayley stopped next to one of the sinks.

Bayley sat Rose down on a small stool, which was usually used to climb up to the shelf for towels above the sinks. She then took one of said towels and wetted it under a faucet.

“Here…”

She gently lifted Rose’s head, having rung the towel out so it was merely damp. Rose winced when it made contact with her now swollen cheek, and she shut her eyes tight.

“Shh-shh-shh, it’s alright— I know it hurts…” Bayley murmured quietly, though kept the pressure gentle. “It’s going to be okay…”

With a gentle hand, Bayley began to wipe the blood and mud off of Rose’s face. Her bloody nose had halted, at least, so there was no longer a fresh stream running down her face. She did her best to brush out the mud in her hair, too.

“Stay here— I’ll grab you some new clothes, and then you can bathe, alright? Don’t move.”

Rose only gave a small nod, to which Bayley gently brushed her shoulder with a hand before exiting the bathroom.

She was left alone in the room. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and her heels rested on the rung of the stool’s support to the legs. Only after a few moments did she look over to the mirror beside her, although the movement was slow.

Rose grimaced at her own appearance. Her cheek was swollen— likely going to bruise, as was her eye and a cut on her head. How he had managed to cut her, she didn’t know… it could have been any manner of things at this rate. Her shirt and cloak were caked in mud, now starting to dry and crack. It was stuck in her hair, since Bayley couldn’t pull all of it out with just a towel.

Everything ached - from her throbbing head to exhausted legs. Luckily, though, she wasn’t bleeding anymore. Now that she was finally able to sit, the aches were starting to make themselves more known. There was a stinging on her back from being slammed into the wall of the bakery, and a red mark around her neck where her cloak had choked her.

The silence pressed in the bathroom for a long time, Rose doing her best to avoid looking too hard in the mirror. However, after what felt like hours, the door finally opened again.

Bayley stepped into the room, but she wasn’t alone. Rose was a bit surprised to see Dr. Raven Quinn-Casey, her white hair tied back into a messy bun. With her, she carried a satchel.

“Oh, dear…” she said quietly to herself, and Rose flinched at the hint of worry in her voice.

“Rose, you remember the good doctor,” Bayley said, approaching Rose and tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder. “She was called to take a look at you.”

Bayley offered a small, reassuring smile to Rose, though Rose couldn’t help but notice a hint of worry in her vibrant green eyes. Raven approached Rose.

“May I look?”

Bayley stepped back to give her room, and Rose gave a small nod. She braced herself against Raven’s touch, but was pleasantly surprised as she gently took Rose’s chin with her hand. She tilted her head ever so slightly to each side, taking special care to avoid directly touching the wounds.

Raven hummed, releasing Rose’s head after a few moments.

“Have you been feeling dizzy at all? Exhausted— like you might pass out?”

Rose slowly shook her head, biting her cheek. She felt… cold.

“Hm… hold still.”

Raven reached into her satchel and pulled out a small light. With it, she examined Rose’s eyes and pupils - testing her reaction to the light. She had her follow the light, and then her fingers.

“Do you feel nauseous?”

Rose shook her head.

“You said you weren’t dizzy— any difficulty walking?”

“N-Not— not really,” Rose murmured quietly.

“No slurred speech— that’s good.”

Raven clicked the light off before tucking it back inside her satchel.

“I don’t think you’ve incurred a concussion, but I’d still put some ice on those bruises and on your head and take some time to rest.”

Rose felt Bayley’s hand on her shoulder noticeably lessen its grip, as if she were relieved.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“My pleasure. If anything gets worse, I want to be the first person to know.”

“Of course.”

Raven was quiet, glancing at Rose for a few moments longer until she turned to Bayley.

“Where is the Lady?” She asked.

Bayley stiffened, and Rose felt her grip tighten on her shoulder once more. Rose grit her teeth and shut her eyes, turning her head downward.

“…Busy,” Bayley choked out after a few moments.

There was a pause of silence, before Rose glanced up at Raven once more. She was nodding.

“Alright,” was all she said, until she turned back to Rose. “Take care.”

With that, Raven finally turned, walking out of the bathroom. She closed the door behind her when she left. Her footsteps echoed in the hall, walking away from the door, until they finally disappeared.

Silence pressed on for a long time. Rose let out a long exhale, rubbing her arm nervously. Bayley finally let go of her, and it was only then that Rose noticed how hard Bayley had been squeezing her.

“Come on,” was all Bayley murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

It took a long time to finally rinse all of the mud and blood off of her weary body. Bayley had brought her a fresh set of clothes and had taken her boots while Rose rinsed herself off, and Rose could hear her in one of the other bathtubs, trying to rinse the mud off the outside of her boots.

When Bayley helped her dry off, Rose caught another glance of herself in the mirror, she was relieved to see she looked a little less swollen in the cheek. It wasn’t much, and it was starting to turn a dark purple, but she figured that to be a part of the healing. At least she wasn’t covered in a thick layer of mud and blood anymore.

Bayley led her way to Rose’s room. Along the way, several Maidens sent a few worried glances in her direction, whispering amongst themselves. Rose kept her gaze downcast, choosing to ignore them.

“I’m going to grab you some ice, alright?” Bayley whispered once they had reached her room. “Wait here.”

Rose didn’t answer, taking a few steps into her bedroom. The latch on the window was ever-present in the rattling, and the room felt colder than ever. She heard Bayley’s footsteps disappear down the hall, swiftly— like she was worried to leave Rose alone for too long.

Rose sat on her bed, anxiously fiddling with her hands in her lap. Her body ached, and part of her only wanted to sleep. She was still reeling from the day’s events, however, and she doubted she could sleep if she tried.

She glanced over to her nightstand, swallowing hard. Tentatively, she reached a hand out, pulling open the drawer. Inside, as present as ever, lie her engagement ring.

Rose stared for a long time, a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She let out a huff, brushing her hair back before taking the ring and placing it in her palm. It was dull, and covered in dust. She softly blew on it, trying to scatter the dust. However, it only resulted in her accidentally inhaling a bit of it, to which she coughed and waved at the air.

She stared at the ring in her palm, contemplating. Guilt crawled its way over her shoulders, washing over her like an even colder wave than the faint whisp of the wind outside. It wasn’t even dark— the sun was only midway down in the sky, which was washed with oranges, pinks, and a faint bit of purple.

She suddenly found herself feeling desperate to be rid of the ring. While it may have just been her imagination, all she could think about was how vile it felt to sit in her palm— how desperately she needed it to disappear.

Abruptly, she stood up. She shoved it into her pocket, before brushing her hands on her pants. There wasn’t anything on them, but… she felt dirtied. Before she could quite leave, cloak in hand, her bedroom door opened again. Bayley stood, bucket of ice in her hands.

There was a moment of surprise between the two, as if Bayley had expected her to be sitting. She probably had, Rose supposed, given her sorry state.

Rose swallowed.

“T-Thank you,” she said hoarsely, surprised at the tremor in her own voice.

Bayley hesitated, glancing over Rose.

“Where are you going?”

Rose didn’t want to answer. Her throat felt too tight, even as she swallowed again - like her very windpipe was closed.

“Out,” she finally managed after a few moments.

Bayley narrowed her eyes.

“I’m going with you.”

“Bayley—��

“The doctor said you should be resting, and I won’t patronize you, but I’ll be damned before I let you leave and collapse somewhere for the wolves to find you. The woods are dangerous alone—“

“You—You t-travel them e-every day!”

“That’s different!”

Bayley huffed, setting the ice down next to Rose’s wardrobe.

“I won’t push, but I can’t let you go alone. Not… not again.”

Rose swallowed again. Bayley had been in the bakery when the chase had begun… and she could see the hollow guilt and gnawing shame clawing behind those vibrant green eyes, past that scarred bridge of her nose…

She sighed, wrapping her cloak tightly around herself.

“G-Grab your— Grab your c-cloak, and m-meet me by the—“

She hesitated.

“…Servants’ exit,” she decided. Bayley nodded, eyes lingering on Rose’s trembling hands struggling with her brooch. Before she left down the hall, she gently took Rose’s hands and fastened the brooch on her cloak, pinning it in place. With that, she was gone, her steps echoing on the immaculate tile and down the hollow staircase.

Rose followed a few moments after, her steps slow. Her body ached, but she ignored it as best she could. Despite the waning sun, the trek before her, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling of disgust— of filth that still crept over her very soul, regardless of how they’d rinsed her hair three times to rid of all of the mud and blood.

She descended the stairs, gripping the railing tightly until she reached the ground floor. She heard a soft murmur from the break room nearby, and took a few steps to peer through the door.

Bayley had the ornate white phone up to her ear, connected to the receiver by a short cord. It sat on the table by the radio, to be used for emergencies. And, Rose supposed, to contact outsiders who even had phones.

From the sound of it, Douglas did.

Bayley’s back was turned to Rose, and she was saying:

“I’m going to be a little late— some things happened at work, but I shouldn’t be too long, maybe an hour or two at most.”

A short pause as she listened, twirling the phone cord around her index finger.

“I’ll tell you more when I can— I—“

It was at that moment she turned, noticing Rose. Pink flushed her face, and she untwisted the cord.

“I have to go— I love you,” she said quickly, putting the phone back on its stand a little too swiftly to be comfortable.

“Douglas?” Rose asked quietly when Bayley approached, pulling her cloak tighter around herself.

Bayley nodded.

“I figured it polite to tell him I might be a little late for dinner… so he wasn’t sitting there waiting and wondering where I am,” she said quietly.

Rose nodded, and Bayley followed as she walked out of the room and towards the servants’ exit. There, they were lucky to find no resistance as Bayley pushed it open. Cold wind blasted their faces, as if the night itself brought icy winds and colder temperature— like it, too, was aware of the horrors that had occurred today.

However, there was a stark smell against the frigid cold fogging their breath and disrupting their senses. A smell Rose only encountered when passing by the tavern.

Cigarette smoke.

Leaning against the wall outside was a cloaked figure, shivering against the cold and holding a silver lighter in her hands. Her hands shook violently, as she struggled to light a cigarette perched between her teeth. It was hard to make out in the faint light of the small, flickering flame, but Rose could have sworn that her hands were dark— as if she had something on them.

She perked when Rose and Bayley exited, looking over to them. Bayley breathed something of a sigh of relief.

“Reese,” she said quietly, “Thank goodness, a friendly face.”

The woman stood upright, glancing between the two as she took a puff from her cigarette. She blew the smoke out to the wind.

“Where are you two headed?” The woman asked. She had deep, ocean blue eyes and brown hair, tied back into a short ponytail. She was taller than the both of them by at least half a foot. Rose could make out faint freckles on her cheeks. However, her eyes kept glancing to her hands.

“Oh— O—Out,” Rose managed to say quietly, swallowing hard. Bayley gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Town,” Bayley said, before turning to Rose with a worried glance, as if to ask That’s where, right?

Rose gave a short nod, her eyes flicking back to the tall woman. Reese… the name flickered back to her. She’d seen her at one of the Lady’s parties, sitting at a table with Jada and Lilith, dressed in a rich blue gown with a low back. Reese Anderson, the eldest Head Maiden of the Lady’s most trusted.

Reese coughed, tapping the end of her cigarette and letting the ashes flutter into the wind. Rose nearly wrinkled her nose in distaste, but thought it impolite and tried to maintain a neutral demeanor.

“Yeah… I figured. Given today’s… events… I won’t hold you guys— probably wanted to get something and was rudely interrupted.”

Reese glanced at Rose, and seemed to swallow hard. Under the cover of the dark clouds and frigid wind, it was hard to see her expression. She lifted her lighter again, that soft orange flame sputtering against the hard wind. Reese raised her hand to shield the tiny flame, struggling to relight her cigarette.

However, that small orange flame provided just enough light to illuminate her hands, and Rose’s heart sunk into the deepest pits of her roiling stomach.

Her hands were covered in deep red crimson, dried and cracked against the icy winds.

Blood. It stained her white sleeves, her vest, a splotch on her cheek, the very lighter in her hands.

Rose felt sick, resisting the urge to vomit right then and there. She swallowed hard, a chill sinking through her deeper than any wind could blow.

Bayley tightened her grip, as if she could sense the sudden chill down Rose’s spine.

“We’d— better get going. We won’t be long, I promise.”

Reese nodded, taking another dreg from her cigarette. She leaned her head back as she let it go, her hood falling from her head.

“I trust that you guys won’t take long. It’s freezing— wouldn’t put it past the shops to close early tonight with the cold. Just don’t be long— Lady Constance will have my head if something else goes wrong today.”

Bayley nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, quickly steering Rose towards the path that descended around the Castle.

Rose didn’t hear Reese’s reply over the howling wind and the roaring in her own ears. She was shaking so badly she thought her legs might give out, though Bayley’s hand against her back was an anchor she clung to with every bit of strength she could muster.

Blood. It had been blood.

And Reese didn’t have an injury on her.

Somehow, Rose managed to make it to town. Bayley had pulled her hood over her head to try and block out the cold, their breaths fogging the air before them. Luckily, the lamps were still lit. They walked down the Main Street, but did not encounter many people. Those that were were bundled up against the cold, scarves pulled over noses and hats pulled hard over their ears.

Rose stepped into leading the way, trying to avoid the occasional glance her way. She felt sick when she saw the Bakery, as if the pain in her stomach wasn’t bad enough. She quickly averted her eyes and took a left down the short street that led around the corner. She wanted to be quick— wanted this day to be done and over with, to crawl into bed and forget its events and all they entailed. She might have, had Bayley not kept her grounded.

Finally, she stepped up a few steps and opened the door. A bell sounded, the sound bright and all-too-loud as the wind was muffled upon stepping inside. The hard wood floor was met by the soft clunk, clunk of their boots as Bayley shut the door behind them.

It was a quaint store, with shelves stocked full of items for sale on all walls and throughout the room, except for those behind the cash counter. Behind the counter stood two men - one a tall, blonde man with hair she could only describe as fluffy, and a dark blue jacket pulled over an off-white sweater; the other was slightly taller than the other, with light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a flannel shirt, and with freckles dotting his cheeks. In stark contrast behind the two men was a rack of guns against the wall - mostly rifles and pistols, used by some of the men in town for hunting during springtime. A few sharpened axes hung as well, among other various tools, and next to that rack was a door that could only lead into the back storage and offices. Boxes of ammo lined the shelf beneath the gun rack.

Rose noticed Bayley give the brown-haired man a short, courteous nod— a greeting, as if she recognized him. Rose, despite living here her entire life, had never set foot in this store.

Bayley approached the counter, Rose taking a few seconds to trail behind and swallowing hard. Bayley dug into her pockets, pulling out a few marks and setting them on the counter before the blonde man.

“Two packs of cigarettes— regular ones are fine.”

The blonde man nodded, ducking under the counter to look. From the other side, Rose was snapped from her watching by the other man clearing his throat.

“How may I help you?”

Rose shot Bayley another glance. The other woman was pointedly taking her time in recounting her marks, the blonde man procuring two boxes of cigarettes from below the counter at last. Her eyes shot back to the man in front of her.

“I—“

Her throat felt tight, and she choked on her words. She fidgeted with the edge of her hood, not realizing it had fallen from her head until then. Bayley’s, too, her hair tied back with that stark, pure white ribbon in a bow.

Rose finally swallowed hard, reaching into her pocket and taking the engagement ring in her trembling fingers. As it sat in her shaking palm, a flurry of memories flashed before her eyes— a hand raised high to strike, the curl of lip revealing disdain and all-too-white teeth, eyes wide in terror and the screech of heels on tile—

She slammed the ring on the counter a little too harshly, so that even she was stunned by the fierceness with which she left it. Her heart thundered against her ribs, and every breath came with a shudder down her spine.

The blonde man had quickly turned his gaze as Rose finally removed her hand from the counter, the ring left in its wake. His gaze darted between his companion and Rose’s face, but he said nothing, even as his shoulders had visibly tensed. Bayley was stiff, Rose noticed out of the corner of her eye, her hand paused in the process of picking up the cigarettes from the counter.

The brown-haired man was unphased, however, his piercing green eyes following her hand to the ring sitting on his store counter. He was about a foot taller than her, yet she felt further dwarfed by his gaze and the careful scrutiny upon which he examined the ring.

He took it, examining it between his forefinger and thumb.

“How—However m-much you’ll give— you’ll give me f-for that,” Rose stammered, though tried as hard as she could to halt the waver in her voice and closing of her throat, “I-I’ll— I’ll take whatever— whatever you g-give me.”

The blonde man, too, looked over at the ring curiously, pinned between his partner’s fingers and shining in the lantern light. Rose’s gaze shot away, unable to keep looking at it.

She heard the blonde man murmur something— only evident in that she hadn’t heard his voice yet, and it was not the brown-haired man’s nor Bayley’s— and it sounded like he was scrutinizing the ring as well. Though, he did not raise his voice, and did not inquire further.

Although, his eyes shifted from the ring down to her face. Something like concern flashed across his eyes, and his lips pressed together tightly.

It was only then that Rose remembered that her face was bruised, and that a cut lay bandaged on her head. She swallowed hard, again beginning to fidget with her hood. Something like a wave of cold washed over her, only warmed by a sudden small presence against her back.

Bayley had again rested a hand there, a comforting presence.

“This looks like the work of Constance,” the brown-haired man said idly, turning the ring over again in the light to examine the gemstone embedded in it, “someone must’ve paid a pretty penny for it.”

Rose swallowed. Despite Bayley’s hand, she shivered.

“I—I’ve no— no further need of-of it, sir.”

Silence reigned again, until the man put the ring back down on the counter, seemingly satisfied with its quality.

“I’ll give you six and a half—“

“Done.”

Rose didn’t even let him get the full word out. She needed the ring gone - somewhere it couldn’t haunt her every day, where she might finally be rid of the damned thing. Gone, forgotten, maybe given to some other pretty woman.

“…thousand.”

She did perk at the final number, though. That much? For a ring? Dear Lords, what if she ever grew out of it?

“I-I’ll— take it, th-thank you.”

The blonde man took one last look at Rose before nodding to his partner and ducking into the back room.

There was a dreadful, uncomfortable silence in which Rose found herself clinging to the lifeline of Bayley’s hand while she waited for the blonde man to return. It couldn’t have been more than a few moments, but afterwards he returned with many marks - bundled into the appropriate amounts of cash. Six and a half stacks.

She was half expecting the men to ask why she would be rid of a House Constance ring, but neither of them did. Instead, she caught the blonde man glancing again at the brown-haired one - like some unspoken agreement between the two of them he was just itching to speak as he handed Rose the money.

“Th-thank you.”

She couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to get out of there - the air was so stifling with that ring, the discomfort between the four of them.

Rose took the cash as soon as it was set on the counter, offered a quick courtesy, and left the store swiftly. Bayley lagged behind a bit, apologizing to the men for Rose’s behavior, before taking her turn to follow after her companion.

“Rose!”

Rose didn’t slow down, her pace quickening up the frigid muddy path. The distant sight of torches on the castle wall made her want to run faster - to hide from what she had just done, hide from all of it - crawl into bed and forget today had ever happened.

“Rose, slow down!”

Bayley ran after her, huffing for breath as Rose finally paused on the incline up the path. The icy mud sucked at their boots, threatening to trip them or cause them to slip. The hilly terrain did nothing to help either of them.

Rose turned to Bayley, shaking from head to toe.

“You walk so fast—“

Bayley was immediately cut short by Rose holding out the money to her - well, more like shoving it at her.

Rose thought her heart might leap out of her throat.

“Take it.”

Her voice was steadier than it had been all night - but also hoarse, tired.

Bayley blinked at her a few times, raising her hand to move it away.

“Rose, I—“

“B-Buy your dog. Buy a-a new pair of— of boots, get something f-for Douglas, buy a-a new— new cart— but f-for— for the love of the Gods, Bayley— please don’t l-let me hold onto it any longer. I don’t n-need it. I don’t want it. Please.”

The air was heavy, the wind blowing between them an icy chill on their cheeks and ears. It did little, though, to relieve the stinging pain on Rose’s eye and head. She wanted to lie down. She wanted to lay in bed forever - make use of that ice Bayley had offered her.

Sleep and act as if today had never happened. That she couldn’t still hear Todd’s terrified screams as Lady Constance dragged him down the hall by the hair.

“Please.”

Her voice was soft, hardly heard over the roaring wind in their ears.

Bayley seemingly held her breath for a long moment, but tentatively took the cash and tucked it into her cloak. Her hands shook with the motion, and she suddenly wrapped Rose in a tight hug.

Rose was taken aback, frozen for a moment, until she slowly returned it, burying her face into Bayley’s shoulder and gripping the back of her cloak in her frigid hands.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Tears filled her eyes at Bayley’s words, a hoarse whimper escaping Rose’s throat as tears began to run down her face.

“It’s going to be okay.”

The silence was unbearable. The only sound Rose could hear was the drastic thumping of her heart in the agonizing quiet. The wind howled outside, again rattling her window as it always did. It was a terrible, wretched night. She was so cold, in so much pain… yet sleep wouldn’t come.

She laid on her good side, allowing the ice water-drenched rag to lie on her bruised face. She hadn’t even changed into her night clothes - she had just laid down as soon as she arrived. Her cloak provided an extra warmth, she supposed, although she made a note that she’d have to wash her bedsheets tomorrow.

Oh god, tomorrow.

She was dreading the day to come. She’d have to pull herself out of bed to work, have to act as if nothing had happened - something she wanted so desperately to do, but the thought of doing so made her heart ache and her stomach churn.

The terror in his eyes flashed in every waking memory, and when she closed her eyes all she could hear was his screaming - see the rage on her mistress’s face. The blood on Reese’s hands, fumbling with the silver lighter.

What had happened to him? What had she done?

Her racing thoughts embedded themselves in like a knife, forcefully keeping her from sleep like she were a prisoner to her own mind. Despite her angle, with her eyes closed and the cool compress against her bruise, rest would not find her. It was like he was haunting her - even after her escape.

She just wanted to sleep forever…

However, the blur of her mind was suddenly halted by a familiar sound. A wave of terror coursed through her body like an icy wave of dread, her eyes widening further and her body stiffening, straight as a board.

Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.

There would be only one reason the Mistress was up at such a late hour, on this floor of the servants’ wing.

She’s coming for me.

Rose felt her breath begin to quicken as she abruptly sat up. Her heart pounded faster, and she all but threw the rag into the bucket of ice Bayley had initially fetched - now turned cold water from the passage of time - with a soft splash.

The sound of her heels grew closer to her door, and Rose stood from her bed - but was suddenly hit with a wave of lightheadedness and nausea. She had sat up too fast, and the blinding pain of her injury led her to stagger backwards onto the bed.

What was she going to do, anyway? It’s not like she could stop her - she’d seen that this afternoon. All she had to do was grab her and she’d be helpless.

The heels paused at her door. Rose felt her throat tighten as she gripped her head, her heart thrumming and the knot so tight she felt she couldn’t swallow.

“Rose?”

The voice that came was quiet. So unlike Lady Constance - gentle, even. She sounded so uncertain…

Rose was lost for words. She didn’t know what to say, what to do.

“Rose, are you awake?”

More silence. Rose almost whimpered, blinking to try and clear away her pain and nerves. Why? Why must she feel this terror? Why must she suffer this pain over and over again?

A soft knock.

Rose took a breath, slowly rising to her feet. She stepped towards the door, the dried mud cracking against the floor and leaving a dried trail to accompany the muddy footprints to her bed. That must’ve explained it - she must’ve tracked mud all the way to her room.

Such a sloppy Maiden.

Slowly, she laid a hand on the knob to the door, and twisted it, pulling…

Lady Constance stood before her, her hand raised as if she had been about to knock again. She slowly lowered her hand, expression softening at the sight of Rose’s tired, battered face.

“Oh, Rose…”

She reached a hand out to gently cup her cheek, but hesitated when Rose lowered her head.

“I’m sorry.”

Rose didn’t move, didn’t speak - she couldn’t. Everything hurt - and what would she say? Thank you? Go to Hell? You scared me to death? You saved my life?

“Does it hurt?”

She winced as Lady Constance said this - lowering her head a little more. It hurt so much… she wanted nothing more than for it to stop hurting, to just get some sleep…

“I know, dear…”

Lady Constance’s hand tentatively met Rose’s unharmed cheek, brushing her thumb over the freckled skin, studying her every expression and movement.

“Say something— please?”

Rose winced again at her tone, tears brimming at her eyes. She had never heard her Lady so despaired.

“Wh-what— happened t-to him?”

Her voice was hoarse and broken - Rose was surprised she could even say the words. Lady Constance sighed.

“He’s been taken care of. He will never hurt you, or anyone else ever again.”

Rose had been afraid of that. He was just… gone.

Like Samantha.

“Yesterday,” Rose said hoarsely, “Mrs.— Mrs. B-Birch wanted us— us to tell her where— wh-where Samantha was.”

The Lady’s eyes darkened, and her expression grew cold.

“I didn’t— k-know what to t-tell her.”

Her eyes raised to meet Lady Constance’s - those bright red irises almost glowing in the cold darkness. Her expression was blank and dull - lifeless, almost.

“Why? W-Why can we not tell her..?”

If she weren’t so pained, so tired, she may not have asked the question at all. But she needed something - anything to hold on to.

Lady Constance was silent, her hand drawing away from Rose’s cheek. The gentleness was gone, her face growing more serious and dull. Rose felt her heart catch in her throat - the fear crawling up her spine again.

“I will deal with Mrs. Birch,” she said calmly, “it is not your issue to handle. And you, nor any other Maiden, will speak on the matter - because you don’t know what happened, and I will not have you blamed for something you know nothing about.”

“Then tell me!”

Rose said it a little more aggressively than she meant to, the tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

Lady Constance flinched - slightly, but enough for Rose to notice.

There was a long pause, before Lady Constance spoke again.

“No. The less you - or any of the other Maidens know - the safer you are.”

Fear was turning to anger. Again, being told nothing - Todd couldn’t tell her anything, her mother couldn’t tell her anything, now one of two people she felt she could confide in wouldn’t tell her anything, and the other was forbidden from speaking on it either!

“Safe from— safe f-from what?!”

“I cannot tell you. My love…”

Lady Constance’s expression softened, and she let out a long breath.

“Let us leave it as punishment, will we? Todd paid for his crimes. Samantha paid for disobedience - for breaking the one rule asked of by myself and my fellow Lords. The how and why - the specifics - do not need to be known, only that they were punished. Must you know every detail of how someone is punished?”

Rose wasn’t satisfied, but she was too tired to continue arguing. It was clear that her Mistress’s lips were sealed, and were not opening any time soon.

“But let me make clear—“

She held Rose’s face with a hand, forcing their eyes to meet. Rose jolted, eyes widening and a chill climbing up her spine.

“—you are not to tell anyone what happened here today. Let me tell it. You do not need to be involved. It will be bloody and brutal and my story to tell - lest you be dragged into the fight. I cannot stand to watch you be ripped apart any longer.”

Rose whimpered - a subconscious reflex, really, and she feared her knees might give out. Sensing this, Lady Constance released her face.

“Please, Rose. You do not need to be involved in a fight you have no part in. I care for you dearly - and I don’t want to see you hurt again. If you, or anyone else becomes involved, my fellows might see you as a threat - and I would do anything to keep you from their wrath, even if it means… this.”

Rose maintained her silence, shivering in the cold air and from the prowess of the woman in front of her.

Gods, her head hurt.

“Get some rest. I will tell Jada to let you and Miss Evans have the next few days off. You both must recover from the day’s events.”

A dull feeling of deja vu hit Rose like a brick, but she said nothing as Lady Constance backed away, and walked back down the hallway.

Her heels clicked against the cold tile, and Rose narrowed her eyes to watch her leave.

A small red splotch was stained on her tailcoat - the same color as the dried blood on Reese’s hands.

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annietheseawitch · 1 year

Text

In the shadow of a changing world, two old friends meet up and have tea.

#dimension 20 #the ravening war #colin provolone #lady amangeaux epicée du peche #my writing

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theultimatesandwich · 1 year

Text

Decided to write a mini Ravening War dribble loosely based on this post. Was honestly kinda nice to stretch the ol’ writing brain since I haven’t been able to in a while. Enjoy!

Amangeaux didn’t usually meet with clients in the safe house, but this meeting was an exception. Over time she had organized the hideout, sorting secrets and filing notes into a logical yet complex system, difficult for just anyone to comprehend. Still, on the surface it appeared no different than any other dwelling. An area for food, an area for rest; not that she’d had much of either over the past few years. A gift for her son rested on a nearby table, waiting to be wrapped. It was a second home, as well as second-hand. But she didn’t dwell on its history that often. At least, not anymore.

A rap at the door brought her out of her stupor. An unusual rhythm to most, but a comforting signal to her. Opening the door, she ushered in the cloaked figure. Removing his hood, Amangeaux came face to face with the well-aged visage of Colin Provolone.

“My lady,” he nodded, causing the spymaster to give a slight chuckle. She had not gone by the title of “Lady” in quite some time. Still, it was a bittersweet reminder of long before the war, back when life made a bit more sense.

“It’s good to see you, Provolone.” She smiled at him sweetly. He nodded, acknowledging, but not quite making eye contact.

“Normally it’s one of your informants I meet,” he said. “Why the change?”

“I can’t invite you over for a friendly visit?” she joked. Upon the lack of reaction, she continued, “I couldn’t trust anyone else. Not with this.”

Colin perked up a bit, eyes shifting from the floor to a nearby table. “What did you find?”

“The Sanctus Putris. And an actual reliable piece of information, for once.” She pulled out a thin wafer disk and scribbled a few names and a location on it.

“Easily crushed if need-be. Dissolves in water rapidly. What more could you want?” She gave a mischievous smile, offering him the wafer.

“Cool. Thanks.” Colin grabbed the wafer and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Amangeaux caught his shoulder. “You’re not leaving already, are you?”

“I shouldn’t stay long,” he muttered towards the ground.

“Come on, Provolone.” She smiled, the ghost of a joke and those who understood it lingering in her voice.

As Colin looked up to finally meet her eyes, he saw the greenish-red skin of a young chili pepper. Intelligent eyes and a cocky smile on a far-too-old adolescent face. A spymaster forced into the position out of necessity, finding a talent for it along the way. He forced himself to blink, and saw much of the same, displayed now on the Fructeran visage of Amangeaux.

He allowed himself a small smile. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go.” Turning to leave, his eyes caught the half-wrapped gift on the table. “For your son?” he asked.

“Yes,” she cleared her throat, trying to hide her disappointment. “I figured a chessboard could be quite fun at his age.”

The chili pepper appeared in Amangeax’s place yet again. “They are rather entertaining,” Colin said, his mind wandering into caverns he hadn’t visited in years. “Perhaps we’ll have to play sometime.”

“I think I’d quite enjoy that.”

And with that, Colin Provolone took one last look at the names given to him, threw up his hood, and left to continue his work.

#dimension 20 #d20 spoilers #the ravening war #the ravening war spoilers #my writing #d20 fanfic #colin provolone #queen amangeaux epicee du peche #lady amangeaux epicée du peche #sandwich writes stuff

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101flavoursofweird · 7 months

Text

Preview for #PL4Day (4th Nov!)

Tony’s still gushing as they wander through the old gate and down the hill.

Per usual, Arianna is hit by a wave of guilt, grief and gratitude when she sees the dam wall. She needs to pause for a couple of minutes on the bridge— to push that wave back—

Later. She can mourn later.

#arianna barde #tony barde #My writing #preview #Finally finished that fic about Scraps joining the Scouts #But we also have Ravens Vs Swift #And Lady Loosha because I can’t help writing Katnest #PL4Day

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whorety-k · 4 days

Note

Hi hi! This is for the primarch + song thing! Konrad Curze and 'The Haunting' by Avantasia is a really good match, it fits both his and his legion's downfall really well. ye have full freedom with writing it

This was actually a really enjoyable listen and fit really well!! Very easy to write some twisted shit to, so I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Konrad Curze and gn!Imperial Agent!Reader, could be either platonic or romantic

Song Inspiration: The Haunting - Avantasia [Youtube] [Spotify] “A thousand nights / We've been calling your name / Close your eyes but I won't go away / We're there for you / The cold embrace / that you don't wanna feel / Must not be, but you know it is real / We're there for you.”

Warnings: Graphic blood and gore, descriptions of innards, terror, bestie you aren’t here for a good time, Konrad being a creep that doesn’t know how to express emotions like a normal person, yandere? I think?

Word Count: ~1k

Clink. Clink-clink.

The ice in the cup of water collides with the side of your glass as you raise it to your lips with a shaky hand. You try to focus on it to avoid retching from the overpowering scent of iron around you, condensation dripping through your fingers and onto the floor.

It had started off innocently enough, considering who Konrad Curze was as a person. Being an agent in the Imperial Palace tasked with correspondence, you were the political voice of your charge– a mediator to avoid conflicts, listening and translating the oft harsher voices of the Primarchs into something more easily digestible for the Highborn of Terra. Curze wasn’t even the Primarch you had been assigned to, but with the XIVth Legion on their homeworld of Barbarus with little in terms of updates, your open availability had allowed for repeated encounters with the King of Terrors.

You could not have caught the attention of someone worse, and truly, you hadn’t intended to catch it at all.

You smelled him before you saw him. It was hard not to, with how rot and decay hung to his frame and soiled the atmosphere around. Konrad Curze’s presence had filled you with a level of dread previously unknown to your cushioned existence. Haunting black eyes that seemed to pierce into your soul despite not being fully present. Grime and dried blood embellishing his unkempt locks. Before that moment, you had only heard tales of the Night Haunter’s grim visage and lackluster decorum, but no words known to you could describe the true extremes of it. You had done your best to be amicable with the Primarch of the Night Lords, fearful of his easily-excitable penchant for violence but understanding enough that it caught his attention. Something lingered in those abyssal eyes.

Curze wasn’t used to someone looking at him with anything short of disgust and terror, yet you had given a genuine attempt at conversation. It fascinated him, and it compelled him to keep an eye over you. He was a guardian of justice and an embodiment of the Emperor’s will, after all.

You did not need to know he was watching.

A weight places itself at your upper back, the chill of clammy skin nipping at your neck. It’s cold, the room around you, and a chill runs down your spine for the umpteenth time. You long stopped counting the amount of times goosebumps raised on your skin, or how bile would rise in your throat if your gaze strayed any farther from your cup than necessary. Trying not to cry out was enough effort.

It was supposed to be a regular meeting amongst agents. Even with your Lord Primarch absent, you were still required to show and take notes to discuss with him later. The agent to the Night Lords sat directly beside you as a constant source of annoyance throughout the entire evening, the epitome of a pig. Unwelcome hands on your shoulder or comments about the cut of your uniform came as a plague to your mood, and you left in a hurry as soon as the allotted time was up. You had nearly run head-first into Curze’s leg in your haste to exit the room.

Thankfully, the Night Haunter was more sickly entertained with your clumsiness than irritated with the transgression. He seemed even less enthused to see his agent than you had been, and Konrad’s gaze had not missed the way you swatted said agent off of you when his hand gripped your waist to steady you. You may have withheld your biting comment, but you couldn’t hope to hide the spike of dismay in your scent. Konrad was disappointed you left quickly enough to miss the interrogation that followed, but he figured the aftermath would be enough of a gift.

“Do you like it?” Curze asks, thumb caressing the trembling flesh of your upper arm. You allow traitorous eyes to look up once again at the puppet of meat that once was Konrad’s agent. To call it a corpse would be a gross misjudgement of the scene.

The expression of terror on his face still lingered in his glassy eyes. His chest had been flayed open, ribcage split at the sternum and spread open to reveal the underlying organs beneath. Ropes of intestines piled into his lap like pulled rubber. Arms and legs alike had been shredded into ribbons, tangling within each other. His heart had been carefully carved out and placed on the table beside him.

Frozen to the ground below, you take another shaky sip of water from your glass, unable to look away this time from the grotesque details. You don’t answer.

“He shall no longer be a bother to you,” Konrad says, removing his hand from your back and circling around the scene like a shark called to blood, “Fools have no place in this universe.” He plucks the dead heart from the table, raising it to examine the muscle closer. It pops with a revolting wet squish as he closes his fist around it. Curze sighs, “A pity I’ll have to hassle with finding a new agent, but I’m certain a qualified candidate will come my way...”

Your entire body runs cold when he turns to face you with a knowing grin and stalks closer, wiping his soiled hand on one of the leathery rags of skin adorning his armor and kneeling to be at your level. A bloody hand rests on your shoulder, and an amused breath puffs through his bared teeth when you recoil. You nod your head and force a smile despite the ice in your veins. Black eyes crinkle in macabre joy.

“It’s a great time for change, don’t you think?”

#konrad curze #konrad curze x reader #the night haunter #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #primarch #primarch x reader #warhammer fanfic #raven lady writings #this man is so fucked up and I love it

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rosietrace · 11 months

Text

『 So this is love..? 』

Characters: Victoria Shard, Clarabella, Aldrich Edelweiss (@revivemyreverie)

Pairing: Victoria Shard x Aldrich Edelweiss

Mentioned: Lady Larissa, Valentine Edelweiss

Synopsis: Love can come in many different forms. One of which involves blood soaked fingertips.

Warning(s): Implied murder, Aldrich being Aldrich, mentions of Aldrich killing a girl, me not being normal about them, how did this oneshot even get conceptualized, potential ooc

[ Apologies for any out of character ]

[ Reblogs > Likes ]

♝•°•═════ஓ๑【 ♛ 】๑ஓ═════•°•♝

▹ †𝆤࿙๋࿙࿚⊱【 ♛ 】⊰࿙࿚๋࿚𝆤†

↳ Victoria Shard, the beautiful manipulator

It was a beautiful night in the Edelweiss empire. The imperial family had taken great lengths to make sure that tonight's gala was one nobody could forget.

Aldrich was not among them.

He found the event lifeless and mundane, not to mention the number of witches in his midst didn't make it any better.

Aldrich began narrowing his eyes at his younger brother, Valentine, whilst he was mingling with the other nobles.

The servant beside him hesitated in pouring him another glass. “My lord,” they called out. “You seem to be in a sour mood. Might I pour more refreshments into your glass?”

Aldrich shook his head. “No,” he replied bluntly, little to no expression on his face. “That won't be necessary.”

Pursing their lips, the servant beside him gave him a curt yet nervous nod before backing away to give Aldrich his space.

The fact that I'm required to participate in such events is already a pain as it is…. Aldrich thought, leaning against his father's throne - The one he was ‘destined’ to sit on as the heir.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. And there's quite the number of witches in appearance…. If I'd had my knife with me, I would've….

He chuckled sinisterly at that thought. “I'll put that into consideration. In case…. One of them is enabling my already putrid mood.”

His words easily disturbed the servants nearby, as well as the other guests. Alas, that didn't seem to stop the numerous princesses, duchesses, or some daughters of a marquess or viscount from ogling at him.

He slouched ever so slightly, his frown deepening.

“If only you were here, my savior…”

▹ †𝆤࿙๋࿙࿚⊱【 ♛ 】⊰࿙࿚๋࿚𝆤†

“So this is the girl?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Clicking her tongue, Victoria placed her hand over her hip, glowering at the poor girl looking up at her - Tied to a chair, mouth covered by rags and slightly bruised.

“Give me information,” Victoria ordered.

The servant beside her - Clarabella - nodded, unbothered by the muffled cries of the girl.

“Name, lady Larissa. Daughter of viscount Larissa,” Clarabella continued, keeping her eyes closed. “An avid churchgoer, and strikingly similar in appearance to the girl prince Edelweiss had once searched for upon said girl's death.”

A hum left Victoria's lips. “I see….” she looked back at Clarabella. “Anything else?”

Clarabella shook her head. “Not much, your grace. However, it should be worth noting that Lady Larissa's presence should upset Prince Edelweiss.”

Or rather, both Edelweiss princes. Victoria knew that much.

She also knew of her lovely Aldrich's little secret. He killed that girl from the choir, all because she had been - in some way - involved with his brother.

And yet she didn't care.

A smile fell upon Victoria's face. One as sinister and bone-chilling as Aldrich's. How endearing…

From the nearby table, she picked up a knife. One that she had ‘borrowed’ from Aldrich.

With a simple motion, she grazed the edge of the knife against Lady Larissa's jaw. “You did nothing to me…” her jaw clenched. “And yet you continue to be such a nuisance.”

She let out a breath once blood was drawn from the jaw. Neither Clarabella nor Lady Larissa could tell if it was out of satisfaction or exasperation.

Suddenly, she pointed the knife at Clarabella. “This girl has no sense of importance to me,” Victoria spoke bluntly. “And yet…”

Clarabella bowed her head, beginning to leave the room - Well aware of what her mistress was about to do.

Leaving her with Lady Larissa - tied up, weeping, in her final resting place.

“Some part of me wants to tear you apart, myself…. If not for me, then for Aldrich.”

▹ †𝆤࿙๋࿙࿚⊱【 ♛ 】⊰࿙࿚๋࿚𝆤†

His mood dampened as the night went on. Nothing seemed amusing enough, it seems.

The longer the night prolonged, the more witches came his way. And alas, Aldrich had not brought his knife with him.

Hell, he didn't even seem to hear the sound of trumpets blaring when it came time to announce the entrance of a guest who arrived.

That is…. Until their name was uttered.

“Presenting, lady Victoria Shard, heiress to the house of Shard!”

Aldrich shifted in his seat, eyes suddenly wide with his lips parted. In the distance, Victoria looked back at him, a radiant smile donning her face.

She was gorgeous.

When she finally approached, Aldrich took in every single little detail of the features of her face, body, and even the gown she wore.

The gown, the most. Intricate lace-made sleeves, and lovely ebony silks. Subtle, simple.

Yet breathtaking.

In the corner of Aldrich's eye, he catches a glimpse of red on the hem of Victoria's skirt. Visible enough to make it seem like a deliberate design choice, but not large enough to be the first thing anyone sees.

He knew better than to assume it was a deliberate design choice on his savior's part. Of course he would.

Kissing the back of her gloved hands, Aldrich looked up with a dashing smile. “My savior,” he said. “Care for a promenade in the gardens?”

Chuckling, Victoria removed his hand from hers to lift his chin. “In the gardens? Rather scandalous, don't you think?”

He giggled, relishing in the sound of her voice like it was a sound from Apollo's lyre. He nodded, wrapping an arm around hers and escorting her out of the ballroom, and into the gardens.

In doing so, he advised his brother to take over as ‘star of the show’. Much to his dismay.

▹ †𝆤࿙๋࿙࿚⊱【 ♛ 】⊰࿙࿚๋࿚𝆤†

“In the shining moonlight, you continue to bewitch me with the dazzling gleam of those lovely sapphires in the sockets of your eyes, my darling savior.”

She giggled while he guided her around the garden. “Oh my,” she replied. “Do I take that as a good thing, or a bad thing?”

His smile widened a little. “Take it however you'd like, my dear. You shan't escape my grasp now after months of being together.”

Victoria smirked. “That I am aware of, my prince,” she spoke, kissing the top of his head.

Hearts seemed to appear in Aldrich's eyes at that moment. My prince. Sevens, that sounded incredible when she said it.

“My prince,” Victoria called out. “Don't you think this is a bit scandalous? Two of us, promenading here, unchaperoned?”

He chuckled, knowing full well that this was her way of teasing him. Nodding mischievously, Aldrich walked slightly ahead of her and turned around - The moon illuminating his silhouette behind him.

“Do you hate such a thing, my dear?”

Crossing her arms, Victoria shook her head in amusement, smile softening. “Oh, I could never.”

Very quickly halfway through their walk, Victoria noticed how Aldrich guided her throughout the garden.

It was almost like he was maneuvering her around to avoid running into something. Was he perhaps hiding something from her?

That shan't be the case. But then again, knowing Aldrich, Victoria knew that the possibility of avoiding a recently rotted corpse wouldn't be out of the question.

Besides, she'd do the same. Regardless, she thought it'd be good to bring that topic to light.

“Aldrich,” the young man in question soon found Victoria by his side once more. He looked up at her, tilting his head in curiosity, wondering what she was going to say.

“Are you maneuvering me around the garden?”

Aldrich paused, slowing down as he walked.

“My savior…” For a moment, and only for a moment, Aldrich's expression darkened. “Whatever do you mean?”

In tandem, Victoria matched his energy. Only this time, she didn't falter her now darkened expression.

“You shouldn't try hiding the truth from me, my dear,” she now stood in front of him, lifting his head by its chin just as she did moments before. Only this time, it was for a different reason.

“Please, my dear, do tell me the truth.”

She soon moved her hand from his chin to his cheek, eyes softening. In response, Aldrich placed his own hand over Victoria's.

“I have not a clue what you're on about, my savior,” he replied, leaning into her touch.

Eyes narrowing slightly, Victoria inched closer to his face. “You need not hide the truth from me, Aldrich.”

It was odd, really. Her own way of saying: I don't care what you do, I'd still love you, anyway.

Sighing, Aldrich leaned his forehead against hers. “You know me far too well for my own good, my darling.”

That essentially confirmed all of Victoria's suspicions. And she didn't need to know any more than that.

Slowly, in an attempt to ‘beg’ for her forgiveness, Aldrich removed her gloves. He kissed the back of her bare hand now, almost far too passionately than he had originally intended.

And when he pulled away, he looked back at his beloved, smiling.

He didn't utter a word about her blood-soaked fingertips. Because he couldn't give a damn.

In their eyes, they can call whatever they see - As love.

♝•°•═════ஓ๑【 ♛ 】๑ஓ═════•°•♝

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