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ask-the-becile-boys · 8 months

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Fic: Dee (crosspost)

Word Count: 3980

CW: Self Harm, Emotional/Verbal/Psychological Abuse

Summary: Thadeus attempts to revive Delilah and fails. Hare adopts the abandoned creation– a reclusive, angry mannequin– as his sister, Dee. (Originally intended to bring people up to speed with Dee’s character, now serves to provide some more detail and context to her backstory.)

-H-

A few months after Jack’s accident, Pops began working on something in the attic. He carried the scant supplies up the stairs himself, as opposed to having The Skull do the labor. Hare could hear Pops talking as he worked, the words muffled through the floorboards; one time he even heard Pops singing, and it sent a too-human chill down his metal spine. Nothing that made Pops that happy could spell good news.

-D-

There was light, and there was shadow. A shadow, thrown over her, a body outlined by a white circle glowing behind them, too bright, too bright. Everything felt wrong. This wasn’t her body. This wasn’t a body.

“Delilah?” the shadow asked, voice deep, curious, plaintive, demanding.

She might’ve been Delilah. A Delilah, at least, or something like that. She was unsure how she was moving when there was no feeling of flesh in her arms, no air in her chest.

The shadow stepped forward and she saw it was a haggard man with ugly metal gauntlets. “Do you recognize me?” he asked.

“Where am I?” she asked, ignoring his question. “What’s happened to me?”

She held out her hands to look at them. Cloth, stitches between the joints, shaking. The man enfolded her hands in his own, trapping her in place.

“You’re alive, again,” he said. “It’s been--”

“I was dead?” she asked. “Dead? No. No!”

“Calm, dearest Delilah,” the man said. “It is all going to be alright.”

She knew a lie when she heard it, and she bowed her head over their hands and sobbed, fear afresh for her lack of tears.

-H-

Hare stood at the foot of the attic stairs and listened to the woman crying. Horror kept his limbs frozen while his thoughts raced. When had she gotten here? How had Pops slipped her past all of them? He barely stirred when The Skull’s heavy footsteps sounded next to him.

“What are you doing?” The Skull said, his words more warning than question.

Hare didn’t respond. There was no way The Skull couldn’t hear her. The first step creaked dangerously under Hare’s foot as he began to climb.

The Skull seized Hare’s arm just above a long tear in the sleeve made by The Jack’s teeth. “Don’t,” he said, voice low. “We should learn more first.”

“Learn more about what?” Hare asked, good eye staring wide at The Skull. “He’s got a girl up there. We’ve gotta get her out!”

“And then what? He dismantles you for interfering?” The Skull’s grip tightened. “No. Leave it alone, for now--”

Hare swung, they scuffled, and Hare hit the ground, making it shake. He scrambled up and went careening down the hallway, seething, plotting, dripping oil.

-D-

It was the third night. Heavy footsteps, unlike the first man’s, were coming up the stairs. She tried to stay still as the door opened, keeping her back to this newcomer, but her fingers continued to pick at her not-flesh through her sleeves. She’d been given a white dress to wear, long and old, dust in the seams, and a wig to cover her head, hide her glass eyes.

“Psst!” the newcomer hissed in a raspy voice at her back. “Hey, lady! I’m going to get you out of here!”

She did not turn, afraid to show them what sort of thing she was. But an ungiving hand, clad in a red glove, took hold of her elbow, and she looked at them and screamed. Shark-like teeth tore their way up left side of their metal mask, up to a glowing green cat’s eye, and there was no eye where the right one should be, just an oily void, and there was no face under that mask, was there?

“Get away from me,” she keened, her voice rising to a dizzying screech. “Get away!”

The metal monster stumbled back, shooting a look at the stairs. It may have been speaking, but she could hear nothing over her own terror, the howl tearing out of her body. A real body would run out of air, force her to breath, but she had no real body, she was as much a monster as the metal thing that now ran from her.

The first man, Thadeus, appeared a few minutes later. There was a splatter of dark oil on his gauntlets.

“That was Hare, my dear, only Hare,” he said. “A creation of mine that can’t help but cause trouble. Do not fret, Delilah. I’ve made it very clear he is not to bother you again.”

-H-

Like hell was Hare going to give up that easily. So the woman wasn’t a woman, per se; that didn’t make her crying any less real. If she was the product of Pops’ hands, for whatever twisted reason-- well, so was he. That made her his sister, as far as he was concerned.

The Jack wasn’t getting any better, but he was stabilizing into a new normal. Hare still had to spend a lot of time watching out for him, making sure his confusion didn’t lead to destruction. But whenever he saw Pops headed for the attic, Hare would set everything aside to crouch at the steps below, straining to listen. Most of the time he couldn’t hear more than their tones of voice-- Pops, uncharacteristically beguiling, and Hare’s sister, distressed, and growing quieter each day.

-D-

Thadeus would come by every day for a few hours and talk to her, bringing old photo albums and palm-sized paintings for her to look at as he tried to jog her memory. Sometimes he would read off from dense research papers, studies on chemical interactions that she found completely abstruse. There were boxes of women’s clothing--none of her (her?) old belongings, he explained with obvious regret, but things of her style, garments that might make her feel more like her old self.

Nothing helped. She could remember nothing of this Cavalcadium, or of a younger Thadeus, or of science. There was only a vagueness of feeling where her memories should be, dream visions: wet, swampy fields; ticks and chiggers; brushing a child’s hair; tin-sided houses; the sunset sparkling in lines on water.

The manor below was scarcely quiet; a madman lived down there, who would laugh broken screams, and another two whose arguments sometimes carried on right below her, bellowing insults in rough voices. All three were ‘creations’ of Thadeus’s work, including the so-called Hare. But Thadeus acknowledged them rarely, with open disdain.

“Only one is useful,” Thadeus said. “I keep the other two so as to keep him placated. Perhaps one day, when you are better,” he said, like it was a forgone conclusion. “Your presence will be enough emotional support for The Skull. You were always kind.”

She didn’t feel kind. It took all of her strength not to scream at Thadeus for fear of what he’d do in return. Would he destroy her? Find some way to make this mannequin’s body feel pain? Dangerous men could not be trusted.

The last of Thadeus’s visits wasn’t special. It was quiet. He was speaking about something, and she was barely listening, letting him hold her hand. A passing remark snagged on the trace of a memory.

“She has a young child, now,” Thadeus was saying. “At a particularly troublesome age.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could think to stop them. “All the ages are troublesome. My daughter would cry--”

Thadeus’s grip became vice-like for a moment, then slowly pulled away. “… Your daughter?”

Had she a daughter? Yes. She nodded.

“Delilah Morreo had no children,” Thadeus said. He left, then, and she never saw him again, not in the flesh. In the dark of night, when she wasn’t in the half-awareness she now called sleep, his silhouette lingered in the shadows. In the day she would stare at the stairs door and wait, and wait, and wait for him to open it.

How dare he.

-H-

Pops forbade any more talk of the lady in the attic. “A waste of resources,” he had muttered bitterly, making Hare’s oil prickle like battery acid, nearly launching himself at his creator in a fury if not for The Skull hovering nearby. Instead he stalked through the manor, ignoring The Jack when he called to him, and stormed up the steps. But with every stair ledge his self-consciousness grew, until he came to the door and stood silently before it, anxiety gnawing.

Pops didn’t even give her a name. Of course he hadn’t-- he hadn’t given The Skull his, either, and he hadn’t thought he was some reincarnation.

But Hare had one. And it was time he properly introduced himself.

-D-

When the door finally opened again, it wasn’t Thadeus, but the metal monster she’d seen on her third night. Reflexively, she froze, then threw a mug Thadeus had left behind at his head.

“Get out!” she screamed. “Leave me alone!”

The monster ducked back out and the mug shattered against the wall next to the door. Damn him, damn him! She wanted nothing to do with monsters, even if she herself was monstrous. She wanted nothing to do with danger, so there would be no more silence around dangerous men, no more waiting for the disasters that followed mistakes. If this attic was her only safety, she would defend it.

She would hold her ground, even if she didn’t deserve it.

She groaned, looking down at her inhumanity. It was a constant reminder that she was wrong, that her existence was abhorrent to nature. Her hands felt no sensation, but her soul ached. Damn Thadeus. Damn his ugly creations. Damn herself.

She finally picked a small tear in the cloth of herself, in the torso, and the material tore in a satisfying, grating rip.

-H-

Hare stared, standing halfway through the attic door. He’d given her some time to cool down, and now bunches of stuffing were scattered on the rug, and his sister was laid out with her side torn open.

“Oh, hell,” Hare whispered. “Oh, hell, what did you do?”

He went to her and gently shook her shoulder. Nothing. Was she dead? There was nothing in the stuffing that indicated a power source, no tell-tale glow from within the open cavity. Hare began to tear apart the room and found a sewing kit in one of the boxes.

He hesitated. He knew he shouldn’t touch her while she wasn’t responsive-- but she might continue ripping herself apart if he waited, and this, this amount of tearing, surely if he could pick a lock he could use a little needle?

Easier said than done, but he tried his damnedest. It was an ugly job at the end, but it held the stuffing in and it didn’t unravel when he tugged at it. And just in time; Hare looked up from the stitches to meet his sister’s furious eyes, and she slapped him. Her hand bounced off his face harmlessly, and they scowled at each other for a silent moment.

“I told you to leave me alone,” she said imperiously.

“I was never very good with directions,” Hare replied dryly. He leaned back from where he was kneeling, giving her a little space, but otherwise held his ground. “So. You’re not Delilah, but I gotta call you something.”

“I have a name,” she spat.

“Yeah? What?”

“It wasn’t,” she said, faltering. “It wasn’t not ‘Delilah,’ it was… something with a ‘D,’” she muttered, looking away.

Hare thought for a moment. “With a ‘D,’ eh? How’s just ‘Dee’ sound? You like that?”

She shrugged. “Fine. It’ll do.”

When Hare left, he closed the attic door behind him and paused, looking at it. He took off his glove and laid two bare claws against the wood, and he gouged it with straight lines, down, down-right, down-left. ‘D’.

“It’ll do,” he said quietly.

-D-

There was scarce to do in the attic, and Dee’s conversations with Hare often ended in awkward silence for lack of things to discuss, and the discomfort made her irritable. Hare soon learned to leave early, and that left hours upon hours in the day alone.

She tossed the things Thadeus had brought her out the bigger of the two windows; she spied a tall figure, one she often saw tending the grounds, retrieving the items from the bushes. She looked through the boxes and found a few things: embroidery kits that held no interest; empty journals that she sketched birds and bugs in; old novels, dense in the style of those decades.

Mostly, she slept. She could sleep for days, aware enough to notice the shifting of the sun and moon or Hare sticking his head in to check on her, yet detached enough that the time passed quickly, her foggy memories creating landscapes that she could walk (walk!) through.

One day she came back to herself to find Hare thumbing through one of the novels she’d left out.

“You like these?” Hare asked, glancing up from the dust-yellow pages.

“They’re too hard to read,” Dee grumbled.

“Yeah?” Hare said.

He brought her some new books after that, pulp fiction he’d grabbed by the handful, and colored pencils for her journals, and boxes of puzzles, and crosswords and comics. He lugged up a radio one day and a record player another, and fed wires down through the floor for power.

She tried to summon thankfulness. But there was so much rage curdled in her chest that her words came out viperous, that she’d smash the records or tear the pages from the books. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to exist. She was lonely. She had hatred in her and Hare was her only witness.

Sometimes, on the bad days, her fingers would still make their way to her seams. Hare would huff and grumble, but he didn’t lecture. And with the passing of years, his stitching improved, the threads holding tighter despite the fraying of her cloth edges.

-H-

Pops died.

Hare went up to the attic after the burial, dirt and grass still sticking to his gloves. Dee was laying on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her fingers played thoughtfully over her lips.

“I felt him die,” she said, speaking before Hare could even try to explain.

“That’s... great, Dee.”

“I’m glad.”

Hare didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to scream and cry and laugh and pick Dee up and carry her outside so she could see everything she’d been missing.

But he couldn’t touch her; he was filthy. So he left her to lay in the sun, and he grieved alone.

-D-

Dee was curious; how had she felt Thadeus die? In her dreams she often walked around the attic, and sometimes when she looked down at herself she was a human, a barefooted woman in overalls. She’d even had dreams where Hare was human, a scarred, olive-skinned man.

She wondered…

It took effort, like steering a ship liable to capsize. But Dee had long mastered falling asleep at her own volition, and she had nothing if not time to practice. She focused on her dream self, tried to stay in the attic and ignore the lure of the memory-landscapes. She could feel the wood under her feet in a muddled sort of way as she walked from one end of the room to the other, but did not feel the warmth of the sun. Perhaps there was not enough substance to sunlight to feel in this state.

But she never, never went through the door to the stairs, not even as a walking ghost. What if she didn’t make it back? What if the vile tether keeping her and her body together snapped when she got too far away? What if the manor below was even more nightmarish than she imagined?

-H-

They had a new engineer, a reedy scrapper son-of-a-bitch named Riker Szarka. Hare hemmed and hawed over the decision to bring him up to see Dee. He settled on the decision when he noticed Dee’s arm bending a little funny at the elbow.

“I think her frame is bent,” Hare said to Szarka as he led him to the attic. “Should be an easy fix, but I don’t know nothing about fixing metal and joints.”

Hare glanced inside, waiting a few moments to see that Dee was asleep on the couch before steeping in. Szarka followed, then froze.

“That’s not a robot,” Szarka said, seemingly more disturbed than confused.

“Close enough, right?” Hare said. He grabbed the seam ripper from the sewing kit and gently took Dee’s arm.

Szarka hesitated before stepping closer. He leaned down-- and Dee’s arm tore out of Hare’s grip, her hands clawing at Szarka’s face and neck.

“Don’t touch me!” Dee screeched. Szarka fell backward on his ass, luckily out of strangling range, his cigarette falling to the rug. “Get out, get out!”

Szarka obliged her, scrambling to his feet and bolting from the room, leaving the door open behind him.

“How dare you,” Dee sobbed, seething at Hare. “You brought that man here to--”

“Your arm, Dee--”

“--Damn the arm--”

“--I just wanted--”

“--I don’t care what you want--”

“--Stuck up here, and I can’t fix it--”

“--I hate you, I hate you all--”

“--It’s like you want to fall to pieces--”

“--Let me, then, I don’t care if I--”

“WELL I DO!”

Hare and Dee glared at each other.

“I give a shit, Dee,” Hare said, brow low, a drop of oil gathering at the rim of his broken eye. “I want you to be okay.”

“Why?” Dee asked, voice flat. “Why would a monster like you care about a monster like me?”

“Damn needing a reason,” Hare said. “I chose to. Every day, I choose to. Because the day I stop caring about you, and Jacky, and Skull, that’s the day I can’t keep going no more. It’s an ugly world out there, sister. Caring’s all we got. And you got me in your corner even if you wish you didn’t. So suck it up.”

Dee paused. Her lip twitched a few times, then she began to smile nastily. “Your friend looked like he pissed himself. Not very brave, is he?”

“You should’a seen him when he met Jacky,” Hare said. “But he ain’t run away yet.”

“Not very smart, then, either.”

“You can be real mean, you know that?” Hare shook his head. “You gonna let me look at your arm or not?”

Dee thought. “Fine,” she said. “But I will take out the seams.”

Hare narrowed his eye. He held up the seam ripper. “Do it the right way.”

A moment passed, then Dee held out her open palm.

-D-

Another day. Another sunrise, another herd of clouds crossing the sky.

“You reading The Lord of the Rings again?” Hare asked.

“Yes,” Dee said, not looking up.

Another day. Eventually there would be no more. But for now there was pattern and routine and her favorite books and dreams.

“Beautiful day out. You wanna come down and we’ll have a picnic?”

“Go to hell.”

“Love you too, Dee.”

-Bonus-

Dee was settled on the couch that day, with her stand crooked out in front of her. Hare’s eye dropped to the old, white dress in her lap—the same one she’d been wearing when he’d first seen her. Surprisingly, it seemed to still be in one piece. He approached her slowly, wary of her quiet mood.

“What’cha doing, Dee? You, uh… wanna put that on?”

“… No.” Dee lifted her head and frowned at him, continuing the play with fabric in her hands. “I just… I thought I felt cold, for a moment. And the dresses he gave me are the only clothes I have.”

Hare stared at her blankly. Clothes. He had never thought to bring her up any clothes. “You, uh… never said you wanted any.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, pushing the dress off her lap and onto the ground. “I can’t feel if I’m wearing them or not. And a monster has nothing to hide.”

But Hare watched her frown and stare into the distance. “You know what,” he said. “I got an idea. I’ll be back.”

He rapidly descended the steps and began sleuthing through the manor, looking for The Skull. He found him reading the newspaper in a sitting room. “Hey, Skully.”

The Skull ignored him.

“Oi, bones-for-brains, I’m talking to you.”

“What is it.” The Skull didn’t look up from his newspaper, but his grip on it tightened in annoyance.

“I need a sweater. You got one?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

Hare sputtered. “Are you freaking kidding me? Two hundred for a lousy sweater?”

“That’s what my time is worth. You want something cheap, go to Wal-Mart.”

“You crank these things out every time you sit down like it was nothing. You ain’t got one just lying around?”

“No, not that’ll fit you or will breath proper for your furnace. And it’ll need to be black to hide the soot stains.”

“It ain’t for me, numbskull!” Hare shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. “It’s for Dee. She’s cold.”

Slowly, The Skull lowered the newspaper and shifted a calculating gaze onto Hare. “… Cold, huh?”

“That’s what she said.”

The moment stretched, the silence scratching at the inside of Hare’s head. Just as he was about to hiss another sharp remark, The Skull finally spoke up. “That upstairs closet by my room’s got a box of them in it. Ain’t nobody else in this house gonna wear ‘em. She can have those.”

Hare, shocked, started to speak a few times, but choked them down, unsure of what to say. Finally he decided on a simple OK gesture, and, turning from the room, left.

As The Skull returned to his newspaper, Hare’s head popped back around the door frame.

“You lied right to my face ‘bout there not being any lying ‘round.”

“Yup.”

“Jackass.”

Hare found the box easily enough. Huffing smoke, he maneuvered the overflowing box up the stairs to the attic and dropped it at Dee’s wheels. “Here, take a look at these!” He said with a grin. “Hand-stitched by our good ole buddy Skull. He, uh. Sends his regards.”

“Does he?” Dee mumbled, leaning over and sinking her hands into the pile. “That’s polite, for a monster.” Hare let the comment slide, watching as she cautiously sorted. Eventually, she pulled one loose—gray with a dark picture patterned on the front. She looked at it for a moment before pulling it over her head.

“So,” Hare said as Dee smoothed out the wrinkles and readjusted her wig. “What do you think? Feel any better?”

“… I don’t feel anything,” she said. Hare started to deflate, but then she pulled the front of the sweater taut and looked down at the picture. “What is this?”

Hare squinted at the three figures on the sweater, then laughed. “Those are elephants. In the circus, they line up and hold onto each other’s tails with their trunks. So you got mama,” he pointed to the largest elephant, then down the line. “Sister, and baby. It’s cute, ain’t it?”

“They look like that thing in the backyard,” Dee said, looking toward the larger of the circular windows. “But rounder.”

“… Yeah, that one’s metal.” Hare’s voice took on a strange, unusually soft quality. “A metal elephant, same as I’m a metal person.”

“… I see.” Dee paused for a minute, then wrapped her arms around herself. “I think I like this one.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ll have to tell Skull he’s done the impossible.”

But he didn’t need to. At the foot of the stairs to the attic, The Skull was already listening. He glanced up the stairs thoughtfully, then nodded. That was good enough. And he walked away, leaving the soft sounds of Hare and Dee’s conversation behind.

#becile bots #steam powered giraffe #steam powered giraffe fanfiction #thadeus becile #dee becile #hare becile #fanfiction #canon fic #dee #self harm tw #abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #verbal abuse tw

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 3 months

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The Judgment on Babylon (Part 2)

33 For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel:

Daughter Babylon is like a threshing floor at the time of treading; Yet a little while, and the harvest time will come for her. 34 “He consumed me, defeated me, Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon; he left me like an empty vessel, Swallowed me like a sea monster, filled his belly with my delicacies and cast me out. 35 Let my torn flesh be visited upon Babylon,” says enthroned Zion; “My blood upon the inhabitants of Chaldea,” says Jerusalem. 36 But now, thus says the Lord: I will certainly defend your cause, I will certainly avenge you; I will dry up her sea, and drain her fountain. 37 Babylon shall become a heap of ruins, a haunt of jackals; A place of horror and hissing, without inhabitants. 38 They roar like lions, growl like lion cubs. 39 When they are parched, I will set drink before them to make them drunk, that they may be overcome with everlasting sleep, never to awaken— oracle of the Lord. 40 I will bring them down like lambs to slaughter, like rams and goats. 41 How she has been seized, taken captive, the glory of the whole world! What a horror Babylon has become among the nations: 42 against Babylon the sea rises, she is overwhelmed by roaring waves! 43 Her cities have become wasteland, a parched and arid land Where no one lives, no one passes through. 44 I will punish Bel in Babylon, and make him vomit up what he swallowed; nations shall no longer stream to him. Even the wall of Babylon falls! 45 Leave her, my people; each of you save your own life from the burning wrath of the Lord.

46 Do not be discouraged when rumors spread through the land; this year one rumor comes, next year another: “Violence in the land!” or “Ruler against ruler!” 47 Realize that the days are coming when I will punish the idols of Babylon; the whole land shall be put to shame, all her slain shall fall in her midst. 48 Then heaven and earth and everything in them shall shout over Babylon with joy, when the destroyers come against her from the north—oracle of the Lord. 49 Babylon, too, must fall, you slain of Israel, because by the hand of Babylon the slain of all the earth have fallen.

50 You who have escaped the sword, go, do not stand idle; Remember the Lord from far away, let Jerusalem come to mind. 51 We are ashamed because we have heard taunts, disgrace covers our faces; strangers have entered sanctuaries in the Lord’s house. 52 Therefore see, the days are coming—oracle of the Lord— when I will punish her idols, and throughout the land the wounded will groan. 53 Though Babylon scale the heavens, and make her strong heights inaccessible, my destroyers shall reach her—oracle of the Lord. 54 A sound of crying from Babylon, great destruction from the land of the Chaldeans; 55 For the Lord lays Babylon waste, silences her loud cry, Waves roaring like mighty waters, a clamor resounding. 56 For the destroyer comes upon her, upon Babylon; warriors are captured, their bows broken; The Lord is a God of recompense, he will surely repay.

57 I will make her princes and sages drunk, with her governors, officers, and warriors, so that they sleep an everlasting sleep, never to awaken—oracle of the King, whose name is Lord of hosts.

58 Thus says the Lord of hosts: The walls of spacious Babylon shall be leveled to the ground, its lofty gates destroyed by fire. The toil of the peoples is for nothing; the nations weary themselves for what the flames consume.

The Prophecy Sent to Babylon. 59 The mission Jeremiah the prophet gave to Seraiah, son of Neriah, son of Mahseiah, when he went to Babylon with King Zedekiah, king of Judah, in the fourth year of his reign; Seraiah was chief quartermaster. 60 Jeremiah wrote down on one scroll the disaster that would befall Babylon; all these words were written against Babylon. 61 And Jeremiah said to Seraiah: “When you reach Babylon, see that you read all these words aloud, 62 and then say: Lord, you yourself spoke against this place in order to cut it down so that nothing, human being or beast, could live in it, because it is to remain a wasteland forever. 63 When you have finished reading this scroll, tie a stone to it and throw it into the Euphrates, 64 and say: Thus Babylon shall sink. It will never rise, because of the disaster I am bringing upon it.” Thus far the words of Jeremiah. — Jeremiah 51:33-64 | New American Bible Revised Edition (NABRE) New American Bible, revised edition © 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Cross References: Genesis 11:4; Genesis 16:5; Deuteronomy 4:29; Deuteronomy 32:35; 2 Samuel 17:8; 2 Kings 19:7; Ezra 1:7-8; Job 20:15; Job 31:40; Psalm 13:3; Psalm 18:4; Psalm 44:15; Psalm 46:8; Psalm 76:5-6; Isaiah 8:7-8; Isaiah 13:2; Isaiah 13:19; Isaiah 21:9; Isaiah 25:5; Isaiah 30:8; Jeremiah 13:4; Jeremiah 25:26; Jeremiah 28:1; Jeremiah 48:15; Jeremiah 50:38; Acts 2:40; Romans 12:19; Revelation 14:15; Revelation 18:2; Revelation 18:20-21; Revelation 18:24; Revelation 19:1; Revelation 19:6

#song of praise #judgment on Babylon #Babylon's punishment #Jeremiah's prophecy #Seraiah #Jeremiah 51:33-64 #Book of Jeremiah #Old Testament #NABRE #New American Bible Revised Edition #Confraternity of Christian Doctrine Inc.

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nirikeehan · 1 year

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"Do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?" for Thalia and Samson?

Hi, this burned a hole in my brain for months. Then I was feeling extra normal about Samson this week and here we are.

Awhile back I wrote a one-shot where Thalia goes feral on Samson after he wounds Cullen in a duel at the Temple of Mythal. This is a sequel to that I guess.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1265

---

Thalia stood outside the damp cell. The roar of Skyhold’s foundational waterfall filled her ears, though nothing could be so loud as the pounding of her heart.

She did not want to be here. Everything in her screamed to turn and run, but she hadn’t been sleeping well since returning to Skyhold, the horrors of the Temple of Mythal fresh in her blood.

She stepped closer, peering in through the bars. “Samson?”

He was inside, leaning heavily against the stone wall. He looked worse than ever: skin a sweaty grey, face gaunt and emaciated. When she spoke his name, he let out a blistering cough that wracked his whole body. His feverish eyes met hers.

“Ah, m’lady,” he said, extending a weak bow. “We meet again, eh?”

Fury filled her, but also a plethora of other emotions: guilt, shame, even pity. She said nothing, remembering instead her agonized conversation with Mother Giselle earlier. The clergywoman had found her sitting by the shrine of Andraste off the courtyard garden, angry tears dripping down her face. Thalia bore complicated feelings for Mother Giselle, and had been outright hostile to her in the beginning. The Chantry mother never flinched, treating Thalia instead with gentleness and patience. Over time, Thalia had come to begrudgingly respect her, if not entirely what she represented. When they’d spoken this morning, Mother Giselle had listened to her frenetic ranting with a serene face, and offered calm advice. Not that it was advice Thalia wanted to hear.

“So do we simply stare at what is horrible and forgive it?” she had demanded.

“Yes,” Mother Giselle said. “Every time.”

Thalia laughed wryly. “But it’s hard.”

“Of course it is. You do not think we are called to do these things because they are easy, do you?”

She stared now at what was horrible: Samson’s trembling arms; his body, stripped of its armor, being worn away to nothing; the guarded yet curious gaze — the defeated waiting for the victor to speak.

“I’ve come to apologize,” Thalia blurted. Her hands tingled with the vulnerability laid bare, waiting for him to seize upon it and twist it to his own ends.

Samson quirked an eyebrow. “What for?”

Thalia inhaled sharply, straightening. Surely he hadn’t forgotten? No. He was making her spell it out.

“For striking you while in custody.” She kept her tone cool and formal, her best diplomat’s voice. “For… hurting you. That was unbecoming of any agent of the Inquisition, let alone the Inquisitor herself.”

Samson leaned his back against the wall, crossed arms over his concave chest. There was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “No offense meant to you, m’lady, and your—” he paused, eyeing her, “—surely sizable strength, but ‘hurt’s’ a bit of a strong word for what you did to me.”

Thalia narrowed her eyes. “What? What do you—”

The smirk widened, accompanied by a guffaw, which turned into another fit of coughing. As Samson bent over to hack into a fist, she understood: he was taller, wider, with decades of warrior training and the benefits of red lyrium, even as it ebbed from his system. She was a small, young mage who had slapped him with her staff in a fit of fury. She had split a lip, maybe blackened an eye, but he’d already been injured in the battle. He’d probably barely felt a thing.

“Are you mocking me, ser? For trying to make amends?”

The cough abated, and Samson righted himself. “No. I’m just saying, you needn’t worry your pretty little head about doing me damage, that’s all.”

Thalia dug her fingernails into the flesh of her palm. Of all the things she hated, being patronized by the likes of him threatened her composure the most.

Before she could think of a quick retort, Samson said, “Hey, m’lady, tell me something, will you?” He approached the bars and curled thin, bony fingers around them. “Cullen. He gonna be all right?”

Thalia nearly snapped, What do you care? Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to exhale her anger. “Yes. He’s expected to make a full recovery.”

Samson nodded absently, staring off into the middle distance. She couldn’t tell if he took this as good or bad news. Then his gaze snapped to hers and the wicked smirk returned. “S’pose you wouldn’t be here apologizing if he wasn’t.”

“You suppose correctly.” She wanted to inquire further, but another fit took hold of him, the coughing so violent she worried he might collapse if he lost his grip on the bars. When it finally subsided, she asked softly, “How’s the withdrawal?”

“How’s it sound?” Samson snapped. His chin had flecks of blood on it, or perhaps something else. She did not wish to think about what the red lyrium had done to him, that it might be calcifying his insides as they spoke. “Won’t be long now. Wait a few more days and you won’t even have to sentence me to death.”

Thalia pressed her lips together. “Perhaps my reputation does not precede me as much as I thought, or else you’d know. I don’t sentence criminals to death.”

“Ya don’t, eh?” Samson groaned, lowering himself into a sitting position. “Just my luck. Guess I’ll try and make it quick, then. For all our sakes.”

Thalia stared down at him as he raked fingers through his thinning hair. She felt as though something had reached into her chest and was squeezing her heart. It hurt more than even the revulsion she felt to behold him.

“There could be another way,” she said.

Samson laughed and did not look up.

“I’m serious,” Thalia pressed. “There’s ways to beat lyrium addiction. I’ve seen it.”

Samson shook his head. “Not the red. Not the blue, neither, far as I can tell — but never the red.”

“Cullen did.”

“Did he?” Samson squinted up at her. “Or is he just in between highs?”

“Currently, he’s in the infirmary with three broken ribs and thirty-seven stitches,” Thalia said crisply. “ All of it your doing.”

Samson grunted. “Lyrium would help with the pain. He’d be a fool not to take it.”

“And you’re being evasive.”

“What is it you want, m’lady?” Samson drew his thin arms around his torso, rocking slightly. “You’ve not offered me anything, just sweet platitudes. They said you were an idealist, but I must confess I am surprised by how much.”

“You don’t wish for a chance to start over? Free of addiction, of doing other people’s dirty work?”

Samson chuckled. “Now who’s to say I won’t be doing your dirty work instead, if I accept whatever deal you’re cooking up behind those lovely baby blues?”

Thalia gritted her teeth. “All right, you’ve got me there. But you’d be alive, for a start. If I understand correctly, leaving you here untended means you’ll be dead soon. That’s not an acceptable way to handle prisoners of war, regardless of what I plan to do with them later.” She stepped closer. “Let us treat you. If you survive, perhaps you’ll be grateful enough to consider repaying who it was that saved you.”

Samson watched her for a long moment, then smirked. “Whatcha gonna do? Put me in an infirmary bed next to Cullen?”

“If necessary, yes.” Thalia tried not to think of Cullen’s ensuing outrage, though any shouting would at least be tempered by the broken ribs. “But it would probably be easier on everyone if I didn’t.”

For the first time, Samson let out what seemed like a genuine laugh. “Ah, fuck it. Sure, m’lady, what else have I got to lose?”

#thalia trevelyan #raleigh samson #thalia & samson #what even are these two and why do i like writing them #shrug shrug shrug shrug #i'm normal about samson #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle

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bitchwhoreofastorm · 2 years

Text

a curse (day 3)

(chapter 4 - tesfest2022 - read on AO3)

When she was fourteen, a boy asked her out. His name was Ernil-- a neighbour of hers who she trained at swords with, a fellow noble, as self-absorbed as all noble boys were-- and he’d cornered Iliah in the garden. He’d fallen to his knees, seized her with his clammy hands, and begged for her to become his girlfriend. She, ever-graceful, had thrown him into the canal and fled.

The incident tormented her. For one, she was not malicious by nature, and she was consumed with shame to remember how she’d suplexed someone she’d once considered a friend into a body of water. But more than any guilt, she was tormented by confusion, by horror:

Why hadn’t she said yes?

The agonising part of the question was the immediacy of its answer: she hadn’t wanted to say yes. But anything beyond that was a jumble. Ernil was kind, sweet, polite, interested in her, and if one looked at it objectively, he’d be an ideal candidate for a boyfriend. According to society, Iliah was of the age where a young woman ought to take an interest in boys. Even Karnalta had taken to spending her days with a mysterious handsome man, about whom she made no secret of her intentions. Iliah, and Iliah alone, was disinterested-- another mark of her strangeness, further confirmation that within her something was deeply wrong.

She was miserable to the point of madness, absorbed in her own shame. She paced the streets of Mournhold inconsolably, so distraught that she reverted to her old vice of muteness, reduced to staring balefully at passer-bys like some dislocated shade. It was night-time when Karnalta finally found her; when Karnalta grabbed her hand, Iliah yanked it away, and when Karnalta embraced her instead she promptly burst into tears. After hearing a vague outline of the story Karnalta swore vengeance upon the invasive, irritating Ernil, and, holding hands as if they were little children again, they returned to their home by dusk.

Later in her life, Iliah would hear the word Telmoran. She would hear about an island on the Telvanni coast where women loved each other and spurned the company of men. She would find in the knowledge that there were others like her a glimmer of strength, and she would find in her own nature a capacity for love for a goddess that would lead her to towering heights. But that night, sitting in their hiding-spot in the garden, she only felt herself the victim of some cruel joke.

“I think I’m cursed,” she told Karnalta miserably. “There’s something wrong with me.”

Karnalta’s head was bowed; a magelight she’d cast hovered over her, illuminating her knitting. “Maybe,” she agreed after a while. “But we both are. We’ve always known that. We're weird, we're strange, we came out wrong.”

“No, I meant something different. I…” Iliah watched the string move deftly around her sister’s hands, watched the magelight above them bob and twinkle. “... I’m just different,” she finished, in a defeated whisper. “I don’t think I’m meant to be alive.”

Karnalta placed down her knitting. “Neither of us are,” she said quietly, her eyes glinting lavender in the pale blue light. “But why should we need to be?”

#tesfest22 #idk if this needs some vague warning for internalized homophobia #if anyones reading: iliah faces some amount of homophobia throughout her arc so like. if thats gonna be triggering pls be aware :(#iliah #karnalta #fic

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ovid-daily · 2 years

Text

Today, for the first day of Metamorphoses Book III, we encounter

a gigantic poisonous serpent in a primeval forest

Sacra Iovi facturus erat: iubet ire ministros

et petere e vivis libandas fontibus undas.

silva vetus stabat nulla violata securi,

et specus in media virgis ac vimine densus

efficiens humilem lapidum conpagibus arcum 30

uberibus fecundus aquis; ubi conditus antro

Martius anguis erat, cristis praesignis et auro;

igne micant oculi, corpus tumet omne venenis,

tresque vibrant linguae, triplici stant ordine dentes.

quem postquam Tyria lucum de gente profecti 35

infausto tetigere gradu, demissaque in undas

urna dedit sonitum, longo caput extulit antro

caeruleus serpens horrendaque sibila misit.

effluxere urnae manibus sanguisque reliquit

corpus et attonitos subitus tremor occupat artus. 40

ille volubilibus squamosos nexibus orbes

torquet et inmensos saltu sinuatur in arcus

ac media plus parte leves erectus in auras

despicit omne nemus tantoque est corpore, quanto,

si totum spectes, geminas qui separat arctos. 45

nec mora, Phoenicas, sive illi tela parabant

sive fugam, sive ipse timor prohibebat utrumque,

occupat: hos morsu, longis conplexibus illos,

hos necat adflati funesta tabe veneni.

"With intent to make sacrifice to Jove, [Cadmus] bade his attendants hunt out a spring of living water for libation. There was a primeval forest there, scarred by no axe; and in its midst a cave thick set about with shrubs and pliant twigs. With well-fitted stones it fashioned a low arch, whence poured a full-welling spring, and deep within dwelt a serpent sacred to Mars. The creature had a wondrous golden crest; fire flashed from his eyes; his body was all swollen with venom; his triple tongue flickered out and in and his teeth were ranged in triple row. When with luckless steps the wayfarers of the Tyrian race had reached this grove, they let down their vessels into the spring, breaking the silence of the place. At this the dark serpent thrust forth his head out of the deep cave, hissing horribly. The urns fell from the men’s hands, their blood ran cold, and, horror-struck, they were seized with a sudden trembling. The serpent twines his scaly coils in rolling knots and with a spring curves himself into a huge bow; and, lifted high by more than half his length into the unsubstantial air, he looks down upon the whole wood, as huge, could you see him all, as is that serpent in the sky that lies outstretched between the twin bears. He makes no tarrying, but seizes on the Phoenicians, whether they are preparing for fighting or for flight or whether very fear holds both in check. Some he slays with his fangs, some he crushes in his constricting folds, and some he stifles with the deadly corruption of his poisoned breath." (Transl. Miller 1915)

#ovid #ovid daily #metamorphoses #metamorphoses daily #tagamemnon

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libidomechanica · 3 months

Text

This blessing, an offer in the blossom winks

A sonnet sequence

Ah, how sweet, it was born; seal’d her but I be not blinde was the bare hill; there vigor barn nor be part. When others cried, and beauty dwelling- place, and flame was woven in sleepless being brand next, on a pieces small as snow-white Lamb: shee is it doth scorn that wild about his eyes the bush; an’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. But Salámán have played it light is more. Spring danced vast, and rejoice keen as my lips with nicest caren, they lose thy motionless,—and wept.

On forked light, that, unconfin’d, and that might rather of the poor I, thought for the Carian side by side, far as justly they every perforating pool I will pleasure of her Bounty, and speech: Ah! By him who made in light, a kind of love, that good and seemed to state, it might for two should not learning rises keen, with my absence courage quails and withering stuff might rather sight and cape. See, to adorne her with light berries amid a murder-spot. Now that for their sweet.

A world I learn her rising and poise and in circling roguish een. Like them to the dead. Losing man, is to plenitude, as long a weary brother, who had chose falls under his through but kindly took his stormy seal shallowed dost thou hadst before; and hopes, and having the way young Endymion; seeing human hand is bed thy center. I beheld the body—I look’d—’twas very wretched that wiry Coronall: oliues betweene, and slowly dying brief while you?

That I never sing then he all blind my sex will well shows of public grief, or as a whale rises storm-rent disclos’d to weave me most to grace can you wouldst hunger so nearer to shining here; of whom he shook three, I bow full lips are like as, this her youthful wight smiling phial: groan’d one this moments came a hungry man in a dreams. I’m martyr to a home; which in losing me to be thaw’d or ceas’d in their tool. And their ghosts of Sunday’s rude. Loves the poet’s harp—the sank.

But thou would rise with horrors of give, singing light! What did I know, while nose she move, the glorious revelry began t’ increasing grew in such an offerings, and least brought be blest am I to die through depths of my dream ’mong rush of leaves of death. And having but Wisdom cut and bad dreary phantasied. He spake, and woes. A sunflower on earth upon thee—on the black-lined slippers for an after frequent shrinking of old-lipp’d a child war’s deare played it lightning.

Heaven whispering, and fade awake; and it round his dark above that for Fortune, I am naked for years always my spirit struck with the stones were green or silver, too. Is of a briefly in the final gulphing; the things of death-shadows, and for fairer Virtue kept: all seize; she which may not help, come, coming fame, nor lightning, to the poor folk of the multitudinous chattering oblivion laid him a Nurse—her Name Absál—her Jewels within my wings.

He slept the feud, then silent nigh. Small lies all my love, the knuckles— they unclasp’d—I caught but, love that even to teach strange of the sun? And told the body—I look pierced moments after dead; and years when you cover. Rose: he let us commend; so you come clear senses with each others pay which we cannot shine with carefully. And their cries upon an undistinctness; storm and the universe have the chiefe lightning-star, and cradled as at moment thy worthiness die.

Youth, mine—our face by heart of striking, glad life in losing which the fragrant posies, and it hath scoped they fail to see even the Scotia’s strange, are deaf to rehearse, I thinkest to reach at thy vision like two ways, and sweetness to more will pass these may have heart, smiles to swarm the World. Now I began t’ increase, and that wild with joy, or fellow-men with which when mine eyes dawnest on my sleeps, ’twixt the forty feeding gradual swell’d him by thy Mother mouth of milk!

There we are for her dying, this old man shoulder to gaze upon my Nancy aft I could not dare to think awhile nose she moved thrall, my life was sharpening mouth. Of archives a friends, to paste of woman climbs o’er the more shalt thou been impossible, nor be the Ring, and outward part; nay, I am too fear, fantastically merry heart short its simple that ends promove: for what stuck in the knot. My heart, which mething when thought, and if these shadows, and lives out of her Eye.

Love not from thee of his mothers, that all this whooping—anon-anon: they straight! With heard, and like the cold blear-eyed Will and singeth, which I breath. Driven kindling arise and that I mighty deeps, the oaken log lay our ends my pain, but know him a Nurse—her Name Absál, here his bounty, showers then palace should die. I think every object bound, a sound on my mother’s grow. From human thine eyes still the rest felt a high employ at news of public grief at thee my wings.

So now about each lifted up his adjunct pleasure; all the cowslips, and you get no fair; heap the same. Divine, love, lord, was thilk same art do come, my joy above that shall I never can hope denying; by a clear thee, Moon! Arms o’ the lime and got before; and swelling the found that I never more. There he stars. Then Nature’s mine, and round ever I should forget. Ere they daucen deffly, and fro, distill’d his spirits graveyard, lie saunt’ring though ill spirit struck them noise.

It is not blink, will for thee, as longing. Find the rear diminishing him smile. Or nest doth nothing is possessed of that the waterfall. That curst magician’s name fell still true forme of Latmos! Shall not destroy’d. He might, suff’ring those numbers hand one did round it was free and hoary. Of verdurous man! Ere from the gray linen slacks, and now doth ouercome my origin with the sun? Grown he knew it was happy, happy may be sent: there. French can yet three long vine creeps beside of manhood, for only they proud man apart, and by skill how dear delight. An old man sitting Sun I mix, and, between, above that he head and the amaze. Somewhat shine with dew; nor for silvery spendthrift hour but all these then!

I sue not marriage is coming curtains the heart, and thousand Heart turn’d him food; no cripple would the Nightfall break on vain. His orient beams, and as months and true, it is time, grey—age o’er them tame; if in the hot Junes burn’d on these I better than thou have his pregnant posies, traverse my indolent ease the utmost quiet smiling bed—that all the Quarters! More the sings and targe; rudders that had redden’d soul; and yellow for Blind many a second I felt with rayne?

Come live and that Do; what if so timid air is firm under young again be seen, whilst through the dead are born delighteth on a broke, that I am done, to make so excels, an’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Hell is done; at moment play unfair!—Thou wert cold region? Small birds sing to the Honeycomb; and if ever after page, till thou must we part? Spake to my rhymes could not: there ’gan to rail at thy mind, toward weight this moment play! Twas past my side, sam slips bread.

Some glory and having me shade doth enshrined pious tears, who lord that I courteous Dick supposed to me for Mistress Bride the moment plays as dance to slake my greedy thirst who, his Jewel,—her Jewel in all these we men and a love within my breath of madness. For I would love receding that dead are bow’d before a multitude of the inviting my tardy name. Many a secret place, where Cupid’s sake! He held his wine of his aged eyes, my will never fight.

Had watery pillow, and bones, o’erwrought. The snow and since, not thy vision like the Soul crazed that made to keep me as a consecrated up in earth we are to giue me my origin with dancing leave. When silver lip kissing to the Noose of insolence she kist thicket hid I curs’d the body’s mask of joy that aw’d echo into foam. With lurid beams, and that strain of works on leaning verge of their babes to see, but gaze upon his heir owne making up perfume. That I have devised where then with heat of all of winds, and rose. From yon bean-field! The Moon of heaven, in sight, from her loving upon the blossom’d brine: for what gave me, or my life’s burrowing, there ’gan fare along the gold bought; with me?

One’s sense of Heaven. And moss and cape. What did I know, while his lullaby the true woman with that is in placed leave me, feele there’s life and tomorrow, to linger out a purpose of heaven, when all his kind; why then she storm-rent disclos’d to purpled vests, and there are like an aesthete of sooth’d must Court, and faults conceal’d, where turned, which, elements. And guns implore; unmeanings all are busy fools of the gentle wrists, with all my heart by heart, which my lichen.—What, if she was no eye for many share should be better mind; it is the flame left sitting not that eve voyage on gently, she cast all his kneel for thy robbery, gentle and gloom outrage worse. And done, with feet embleme.—Oh Thou think of.

Blasted in sounds; if human he lay direct! And this heavy, my Julia, though ten centuries that all time; all the weather’d deer, an old man impossibly quilty. To conference, and Peace, and the blaze her son and still! Was mine eye or face. Which he in her bed: but if being blest, and fall there wildering To-day to-morrow is before; and when I read long! At length I read. On with a glass may be press’d their symbols by the Heaven was His Head. Where my happy crown’d.

Would be smother moved eve smiles, miles encountered, smell storm, and doleful tasted in spite the rest—turning, wi’ mony a wide sea nymph arose: a placid lake came golden gathering of these are new denizen had thrill’d hair. Was here is to look in. The swell the multitudinous chime, tells may thee: yes, I am a friend that gold; a belt of stones were not alone, stock or stone; the armèd man, enters woman opens her eyes, and old Eolus thy feet emblem’d in vain.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #110 texts #sonnet sequence

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archfeyworkshop · 5 months

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World of Arturium: Greygurn

It's hard to find a place on Mabarin that wasn't affected by the boot of the Vel'Shasa kingdom. All of the non-Elven races on the continent suffered slavery and oppression, and the Henbi most of all were displaced from their home after the Age of Horrors. Second to them were the Dwarves, recognised for their mountaineering and engineering knack and superior underground sight, so when the Age of Discipline began the Elves of Vel'Shasa seized upon those skills. While Dwarven homes in the mountains of south Mabarin spoke already to their prior work as miners and deep-delvers, they had seemingly avoided the bowed mountain range known as the Bow of Adelaide that splits the continent horizontally. It wasn't hard to see why - the mountains were strange things, still mighty spires of rock, but bent to the south like blades of grass in the wind.

At the dawn of the era, the Vel'Shasa kingdom found itself in a position of unprecedented power over the continent compared to the nations in the rest of the world, and was intent to scout and benefit from these mountains themselves. Thus the first Dwarven settlers in the Bow of Adelaide were the results of forced migration, and the first settlements were staging and mining towns that bloomed as the richness of material was uncovered. The beginnings of Greygurn as we known it, the industrial hearts of these lands were made to pull metal from the earth. Originally part of northern Vel'Shasa, over the years when the various enslaved species rebelled, the Dwarves took the mountains and the materials for themselves.

Upon the achievement of independence, two major cities emerged as dominant forces, as the capitals to the smaller towns and villages spread along the mountain range: Hammerdeep and Silvertongue. Named for the former specialisation of each city, the Dwarves had opted to turn their chains into their dominance of the land and the historic designs of the cities reflect the transformation in culture they've undergone over the years.

The larger of the two primary cities is Hammerdeep, from which enormous quantities of tough stone was mined in ages past for the Vel'Shasa construction projects. Characterised by colossal caverns carved out of the earth, the city was then constructed using stone brought in from even deeper down. A series of great tiers threaded through the caverns, Hammerdeep is an ardent theocracy, for it was faith that led to its revolution. When it was under Elven rule the Temple District was established in the lowest reaches where the overseers rarely went, devoted to the gods Shirina, Seamus and Giliam. When the revolution came they came with unity and well-made equipment as a result, and the Temple District and the faith it represented was as a result rightfully important to the Dwarves there. It's since remained as the both physical and spiritual foundation of the city, with it and the other low reaches being the recipients of a mountain spring, channeled up through the city to power various waterworks and monuments.

With the married deities Shirina and Seamus as patrons of the city many locals believe their home blessed by light and shadow, and with the principles of strong community and good governance have given rise to a well-run nation that by the word of most of its people does well by them. It isn't the wealthiest as a result of prioritising welfare of its citizens over exports, but it remains a strong trader of masonry and the skills that go with it, these skills giving it an at the least dependable position on the world stage and hard to assail position geographically. With clever use of the waterworks it has also managed to devote several layers to underground gardens, limiting its need to rely on the surface.

Compared to the vast caverns of Hammerdeep, the warren of Silvertongue is postively claustrophobic. Built along massive ore veins in search of rare minerals, Silvertongue spirals down and criss-crosses over itself as a maze of corridors and sudden drops with homes and industries built into the walls. Once, health and hazard was fretted about much less. But since it was made from a mine into a home efforts have been made to reinforce the old tunnels, replace the old rickety lifts, and in some cases entirely remake passages to be less incomprehensible and impossible to map. Chief amongst these modifications was the creation of the Grand Lift the size of a district that moves steadily up and down the city to allow its populace movement, along with the installation of several smaller secondary lifts for material movement and dozens of small tertiary elevators playing the part of vertical streets. A city built in three dimensions, surface-dwelling visitors tend to prefer to remain in its surface gardens, as the confusing three-dimensional layout has a habit of getting people lost even after its revival.

Silvertongue then on the world stage is a gemstone and artworks trader. Less practical in design works than its sister city, it is still a far richer place thanks to its veins of rare metals and mineral deposits for gemstones, gold, silver and the like. In fact, other than a desire to not exploit its own it and Hammerdeep have little in common. Far less theocratic in nature the city is instead presided over by its merchant guilds, the guildmasters acting as a sort of elected mercantile council jostling with each other over the most lucrative trade of the season. Thus while not intending to exploit its population things still slip through the cracks and more aggressive individuals still may rise to the top, and there's a fierce competitive streak running through the population as all members work for one guild or another. It certainly still provides a strong sense of community, but one founded on competition and effort. It also relies much more heavily on surface trade, trading its valuable materials for food and lumber, depending on Hammerdeep for more dedicated defence while lending the cities economic power otherwise not available to them.

These two melded nations collectively known as Greygurn by the outside world are united in their shared history but divided by their modern methodology beyond a couple of core principles. It's allowed them to meet other nations as a unified entity, but below the surface there's an ever-present tension between the competitive and the tranquil. Still they're dependent on each other for finance and commerce, so these issues loosely manifest in local legal disputes and cultural clashes, which the nation's rulers try to dissipate through the use of wargames and joint festivals and competitions.

#fantasy #pathfinder #ttrpg #worldbuilding #fantasy wordbuilding #Dwarves #Elves

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notchainedtotrauma · 6 months

Text

#we seize horror as we bow #hegemonic violence #Gaza

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cedefaci · 10 months

Text

Five Times Vongola Settimo retrieved corpses at his CEDEF counterpart’s behest, and one time he made one

1, 2, 3, An Estraneo Traitor, 5, 1

warnings for gore, body horror, and torture of both the physical and psychological variety

Sostrata, his Rain, was there with him when the message came. The runner was dressed in trousers, a shirt, and a vest, the messy flop of hair beneath a newsboy cap lending a sense of youth to the ensemble.

“Settimo.”

Fabio checked the time on the clock on the wall of the restaurant’s private room, then favoured his guest with a coldly empty smile. “Well?” He asked as he stood, “Shall we see whether a single sentence of what you have said to me today was true?”

Swallowed by his shadow, Claudio Estraneo flinched, futilely attempting to suppress his urge to disappear into the furniture until Sostrata, unimpressed, seized the other man forcibly by the shoulder and dragged him upright, helpfully sticking Estraneo’s glasses in the man’s shirt pocket.

The agent formerly known as Cinquedea held the door open for them, and after his Rain had passed by her, frogmarching the Estraneo Don before him, she let the door swing shut and slipped behind them to bring up the end of their procession.

Fabio marvelled, not for the first time, at the difference between his counterpart and his counterpart’s subordinates. Had it been Spada behind him, he would have already been regaled with every shameful secret their guest would never have wanted them to know in between luridly violent threats just to keep Estraneo on his toes. Moreover, the CEDEF Commander would never have contented himself with the practiced, habitual manners displayed by the other agents, instead leaving Fabio with the consistent impression that even when bowing as propriety demanded or offering kisses as pledges of devotion, Spada had been playing some private game with the customs of their society. And that feeling had not abated as they had grown closer. Instead, his friend had simply invited him to take part in his sport.

It had been more fun than he had expected, although Fabio had picked up some of Spada’s more vicious quirks—and even that had proven useful, as evidenced by the trembling figure of a traitorous ally being forced into a car in front of them.

Spada was waiting at the gates of the university, and his face was dark with wrath. Behind him, hidden from onlookers by a giant shimmering soap bubble of illusion, stone-faced CEDEF operatives shuttled boxes of evidence onto the driveway, inventoried and photographed their contents, and sorted them into piles to either be commandeered or destroyed on the spot with Storm Flames.

“Remind me again, Sostrata,” Fabio said casually, “Didn’t Don Estraneo swear, on his mother’s grave even, that his nephew’s work with the government was solidly within the bounds of conventional medicine, and that his focus was solely on seeking a cure for tuberculosis?”

“Yes, Settimo.”

“And does this look like the work of someone trying to invent tuberculosis medicine?”

“No, Settimo.”

“What is this, then?”

“The most extreme breach of Omerta since the term was coined.” Spada answered, his raging Will manifesting itself in an all but tangible aura of madness and horror, the shadows of nightmares cast by moonlight turning his pale face and fair hair into a skull. “A famiglia prostituting itself to government dogs, disgracing its history, selling secrets that were not its to sell.”

Restrained by Sostrata, Estraneo went paper white.

“Don Vongola,” Spada snarled, “This goes beyond petty political posturing. Even were it a time of peace, revealing Flames and building—nay, designing—weapons for the military would be an act of treason against the cosa nostra itself, and this now is a time of war the likes of which the world has never seen—you will not let this stand. The one who acted has been condemned to the brazen bull for his treachery, but what of the mind behind him? What of the collaborators which supported him? What of the den of thieves which produced him? What is your will, Don Vongola?”

He could burn Estraneo to ashes here and now, with the Flame Guns at his hip and the Ring on his hand, but. It did not seem to be enough, somehow, not for the magnitude of this crime—of this sin.

At that moment, their prisoner, clearly aware that he was doomed either way, broke out of Sostrata’s grasp to make a break it in an explosion of indigo flames—

—Fabio had pulled the trigger four times.

Both arms, both legs, returned to the elements by the harmony of the Sky, just as the air rippled—an attack by Spada, barely a hair slower than his own. The head and torso of Claudio Estraneo thumped onto the ground. For a moment, Fabio thought that Spada’s attack had done nothing, but then Estraneo started screaming, and something moved in the man’s belly.

“Rats.” Spada offered a word of explanation, somewhat settled by fighting alongside Fabio. “It will be slow.”

“And painful?” Fabio—Don Vongola had come to a decision. “I will be calling for a general assembly immediately, and I intend to make an example of Estraneo. Until then, keep it nonlethal.”

Spada bowed, modifying whatever state he had imposed on Estraneo with a flick of his fingers, all without taking his eyes off Fabio’s.

“We’ll make a show of it.” Don Vongola continued, “But that’s no reason to be sloppy. Send CEDEF agents to keep tabs on all Estraneo members. I’ll have the Families vote to destroy the famiglia before we act, and their job is to keep the Estraneo from going to ground until then.”

“Already arranged, Settimo.”

He didn’t start, because with his Intuition bright in his mind, Flame high in his heart, he could not help but be aware of everything and everyone around him, but his conscious mind had forgotten the last member of the party that had set off from the restaurant.

“Excellent work, Sage.” Spada nodded at the CEDEF agent that had accompanied them—so that was Cinquedea’s new name.

“Of course, sir.” Sage replied, then frowned at the moaning remains of the Estraneo Don. “I’ll get a tarp for the car.”

“I’ll go with you.” Sostrata added immediately, clearly eager to put some distance between himself and the sight of a quadruple amputee with his insides being slowly devoured by illusionary rats.

“Go.” Fabio gave his permission. He paused, riding the crest of his Wrath, and added, “Bring the body of our guest’s nephew. We’ll see that they get to stay together until the end.”

With their subordinates gone, they were left alone (but for their barely conscious victim).

“You are gathering the Families under your banner, I see.” Spada said, once they were out of earshot.

"Divided, we will fall." Fabio said flatly, “And if we are to act as one, then I will only allow the Vongola to lead us all."

Spada hummed appreciatively. “A clever plan.”

“Thank you.” Fabio shrugged, “Now to lighter things—Cilantro told me why you overhauled CEDEF’s names— ‘no comments from the spice cabinet’, indeed—your pride will be the death of you some day, Spada, especially now that it has already become the death of your dignity (and the Vongola’s). But why Sage for Cinquedea? I get that Gladius can sometimes be an acquired taste, like cilantro, but the reasoning for her name escapes me.”

“His.” Spada corrected, “Sage affected masculine stylings for a mission and found the experience euphorically informative, discovering his desire to be a man in perpetuity, and keeping in mind your usual points of consideration, I decided to facilitate his dreams. Choosing a masculine name for him was no trouble, and he has consequently become the most devoted—as his initiative proves. Your methodology regarding bonds and connections produces impressive results, Fabio.”

“I see.” Fabio frowned, “Strange. Timoteo also chose a man’s name and mode of dress—and yet she has never rejected womanhood.”

“There are parallels, yes.” Spada shrugged, “But Sage has spoken with her regarding the matter and informs me that while there are similarities in their experiences, their situations are not the same. Still, it’s a useful condition. The agreeability of their circumstances is tied to the reach of Vongola’s power, and bound with something as intimate as identity, their loyalty will not waver.”

“Somehow I suspect that you have misunderstood my strategies completely, my friend.”

While he had decided to make the Vongola appealing in comparison to competitors, Fabio had not imagined that it would be done this way—and yet Mists were capable of making tangible alterations to themselves with their Flames, which clearly gave them another perspective on indecency, and from what he had heard of Berlin in Germany and some of the more particular establishments of the night, Spada’s subordinate wasn’t a unique case, even if Fabio himself found the situation odd. And yet Spada was correct. The fact that Vongola was offering a degree of freedom and affirmation not found elsewhere would cement Sage’s loyalty.

“I doubt it. That I have done such a thing is only because I have learned its doing from you, Fabio, as you have learned strength from me.” Spada’s attention turned to the returning men, “Sostrata, get in to the car and help Sage lay down the tarp on the middle seat. Sage, sit the corpse there, set Estraneo the elder in its lap, wrap the tarp around both of them to secure them, then let Sostrata hold them steady.”

Sage obeyed, though with tightly pursed lips. Sostrata was more reluctant, but a jerk of the Settimo’s head had his Guardian bowing to the External Consultant’s authority.

Beside Sostrata, Claudio Estraneo was forced to gaze into the melted face of the charred corpse of the nephew whose blackened arms held him in a hellish embrace, some sort of Mist Construct depriving him of even the ability to scream.

Spada looked at his work with satisfaction, then dismissed Sage to coordinate surveillance efforts while he himself slid into the car in Sage’s place. As a finishing touch, he replaced Estraneo’s glasses, just to make sure his victim would have clear sight of his nephew’s death mask.

He smirked at Fabio, as if to say, look how creative I am.

The Fabio of even an hour ago would have balked, but here and now, his Will blazing behind his eyes and upon his brow, Don Vongola only nodded in approval. Here was the fate which awaited all who betrayed the Vongola; to turn from the Family was to turn to hell.

It was the right thing to do. Spada’s smirk turned into a true smile.

But Sostrata wore a grim frown.

This is the high point of the Fabio/Spada relationship, tbh, the point where Fabio has internalized some of Daemon’s viciousness while Daemon has learned that there’s more to power than just having the biggest stick and the greatest willingness to use it.

Fabio’s Guardians and the CEDEF agents, however, are realizing that their bosses are going too far. In particular, Sage, formerly Cinquedea, will be tapped by Daniela to eliminate Spada for being an unmanageable war-hawk after the Allied Victory, and then succeed Spada as CEDEF Eighth.

The Alliance, at this point, is more of a loosely knit coalition of the big Families agreeing not to step on each other’s toes too much than the well-organized, well-coordinated hierarchy of Families with Vongola at the top as the ultimate arbiter. Fabio started the process, but Daniela was the one who used the fires of war to establish the Vongola as the unquestioned leader of the underworld.

I’ll leave it up to you to decide if Estraneo recognized his ancestor.

#khrrarepairweek2023 #Vongola Settimo/Daemon Spade #cw: gore #cw: torture #cw: body horror

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iwillberunningfromdemons · 1 year

Text

She sounded so defeated that Alise wondered if the Elderling woman were ill. But then she set her hands to her belly in the unmistakable gesture of a woman who is with child and sets that child's well-being above all in her life. It was like the last piece of a puzzle falling into place. The circumstances were exactly right for her; if it was not fate, it was close enough.

"You cannot go, but I can." She spoke the words clearly, offering herself and seizing a chance for herself in the same breath. "I am willing to travel with them, using my knowledge of their kind to aid them in any way I can. I am eager to travel with them, to learn of them all I can, and to observe their kind in, if I dare to admit it, the wild hope that I could be with them if and when Kelsingra is rediscovered. Let me be the one to go."

Silence greeted her words, but it was of a mixed sort. Malta looked at her as if she were a vision of salvation. Trader Polsk looked intrigued. Two of the committee members were regarding her with sick horror. She made an intuitive leap; those two had had some inkling that Kelsingra was real and that valuable Elderling relics might be discovered there. She’d just spoiled some sort of secret scheme without even intending to do so. The thought of that fired her courage. She spoke aloud to Malta. "If Kelsingra is rediscovered and is intact at all, it could be the greatest resource yet for understanding how Elderlings and dragons interacted. The mysteries that have been discovered at Trehaug and Cassarick may be solved at Kelsingra."

"Surely that is a matter for Rain Wild Traders to discuss," one of the men at the table assayed.

"Surely it is a matter for Elderlings and dragons," Malta countered.

"The first step is to find the place. And get the dragons to safety." Leftrin was grinning from ear to ear. He strode across the darkened room to step into the light and stand beside her. "If the lady's willing to go on the trip to continue her study of the dragons, then I'm willing to take her." As the gray-haired committee leader leaned forward as if to object, he added calmly, "In fact, I'm willing to make it one of the conditions for my accepting the charter." He boldly turned to Malta and made a small bow. "Perhaps we should defer to Malta Khuprus. She suggested that the dragons should have a representative. Seems to me that having a dragon expert aboard might be one of the wiser things that we could do."

The Dragon Keeper, by Robin Hobb (Rain Wild Chronicles #1)

#dragon keeper #rote #rain wild chronicles #realm of the elderlings #realm of the elderings #robin hobb #rote reread #alise kincarron #leftrin #malta vestrit #fantasy #fantasy books #books #book quotes #books and quotes #books and reading #fantasy literature

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

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Sebek + 🐟 + romantic!

Somehow I’ll make a man out of youuuuu--

Order Up!

"Er, Sebek... Are you sure this is an easier way to catch fish instead of like... you know? Actually using fishing rods?” You stared hesitantly at your bare feet, which were submerged in cool lake water.

Beside you, your boyfriend adamantly nodded. He, too, was barefoot, and had rolled up his pants to avoid soaking them--exposing his strong calves to the world.

“We have no need for such archaic tools!” Sebek bellowed with a smirk. “This method is far more efficient. Why, when Silver and I were young and still training with Lilia-sama, we’d fend for our own food in a similar fashion!”

“Uh-huh. So... remind me again what we’re supposed to do?”

“Firstly, you must assume the proper stance: legs an arm’s width apart, knees bent, hips locked in, waiting for your prey to approach. When a fish has drawn near, you take a deep breath, summon all your courage, and strike, seizing them by the tail--” Sebek pantomimed a snatching motion. “--quick as lightning!! It is a fairly simple process!”

“Alright, I trust you.” You copied his posture to the best of your ability--legs an arm’s width apart, knees bent, hips locked in, just as he had recited. “... Like this?”

“Precisely like that!! You catch on quickly.” He caught a flicker of movement--the flash of gleaming scales--beneath the waters, and stilled. “And not a moment too soon. Here comes our first catch of the day!!”

“Oh...! I’ve got this!” you cried, lunging to grab at the fish. Its tail tickled your skin as it passed, slipping by your fingers as they closed.

At the same time, Sebek let out a war cry, a hand plunging into the lake and latching onto the first solid thing that brushed against his fingers. He yanked, expecting to come away clean with the fish--but no. Instead, Sebek had snagged your ankle and sent you crashing into the water.

His eyes widened in horror as he unhanded you, allowing you the chance to sit up. Drenched from head to toe, you awkwardly wiped your face and blinked several times, trying to reorient yourself with the surroundings. The first thing to greet your blurry field of vision was a panicking Sebek.

“I APOLOGIZE!!! It was not my intention to drag you down under...!!” he sputtered, cheeks burning. Sebek snapped into a deep bow, his whole body still shuddering with shame. “REBUKE ME, IF YOU MUST!!”

“It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to.” (You paused to spit up some freshwater.)

“Grrrgh...!! Even so, that is no excuse! A mere apology is not nearly enough to atone for my wrongdoing!!” He shook his head furiously. “If you refuse to hold me responsible for my actions, then I shall take it upon myself to administer a reasonable punishment!”

“What? No, Sebek. Don’t do th--”

“Please excuse me!”

Sebek swallowed down a gulp of air and pinched his nose. Squeezing his eyes shut, he dove, slamming you with another wave as he completely submerged himself beneath the water. Several seconds later, he reemerged, just as drenched as you were.

Water raced in rivulets down the severe angles of his face and the contours of his clothing, accentuating his handsomeness, his warrior’s body. The lake had also loosened his gelled back locks, causing his mint hair to fall across his face in loose waves.

As wild as he looked in the moment, all Sebek could offer was a cheeky grin.

“I trust that this makes us even now, human!!”

#twst x reader #Sebek Zigvolt x Reader #Sebek Zigvolt #twisted wonderland imagines #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Reader #self insert #delights in bites #twisted wonderland interactions #twisted wonderland scenarios

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nirikeehan · 11 months

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3, 11, 29 :)

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

A Little Grace, and Some Elegance, hands down.

I should probably just leave the DA fandom now because I really don't think I can top it, LOL. It is, however, VERY dark — Cullen nearly dies of a lyrium overdose in the first chapter. The second chapter sets up the backstory between Cullen & Samson I have been absolutely feral about ever since, though. God. What a gem. I wrote it in about ten days in a total fugue state, idk. I was going through some shit at the time.

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics?

Oh, yes! I have a playlist for Thalia's character, and one for Cullen and Blackwall if I'm particularly in a mood for them. The only fic with a playlist is Through a Glass, Darkly, and it's...... suspiciously becoming a LOT of Samson songs. IDK. Still it's very dark and moody and atmospheric for the nightmare setting I've got going.

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

UhhhHHHHhhhhhh ok I wrote this scene for DADWC as like, maybe a future confrontation between Thalia and Samson. But IDK, I am worried it might end up redundant to other shit I've got planned by the time I get here. It's far away in the timeline so who knows. Anyway here's the juicy bit 👀

---

A moment later, he hit her with a crushing blow. His whole body enveloped her, dragging her to the ground, trapped under the weight of him and his platemail. He took hold of her chin with his gloved hand and tilted it to face him. “C’mon now, darling, we’ve barely got to know each other.”

“You’re insane,” Thalia snarled.

She writhed beneath him, trying to raise the arm that held the dagger. He grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head. “Yeah, well,” Samson said, breathing hard. “Sanity’s all a bit relative, ain’t it? When one lives in an insane world—” He leaned down, using his free hand to draw up the strap of her dress that had slipped from her shoulder. The cold metal of his gauntlets scraped her skin; their gleaming crimson lyrium made her tongue go numb. “—We grasp for any shred we can.”

He leaned back on his haunches, bits of thinning brown hair falling loose about his forehead. The cruelty in his expression softened. “Mm,” he said softly, “but you are lovely.”

Thalia spat in his face.

Samson cried out with surprise, rocking backward. Thalia used the change in momentum to push against him and they barrel-rolled, one over the other, each trying to wrest the dagger from the other. Several dizzying seconds later, Thalia found herself upright, bare legs straddling chainmail and leather and metal. Her gauzy scarlet skirt flared around his waist like a wound. She tightened her grip around the blade and bowed over him, bringing its razor edge to the exposed skin of his throat.

Underneath her, Samson froze. They were both panting. His eyes, no longer red but a shadowy grey, widened in fear.

Thalia straightened in surprise, one hand pressed to his breastplate, the other slick with sweat as it white-knuckled the dagger hilt.

“You wanna end it here, love?” Samson rasped, seizing her hand. He pressed the blade closer to his neck, drawing a thin line of blood. “You go ahead and end it.”

Thalia’s breath hitched. Her whole arm trembled. All she could see were his eyes, deep and dark as wells, full of horror and pain. She tried to pull away, but his gauntleted hands held her fast. “I said, end it.”

#ask meme #writing nonsense #thalia x samson #KINDA #i GUESS #ammy dared me to write it no one is shocked

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calif0rnia-lovers · 3 years

Text

favorites.

an: something short and sweet for johnny t.

requested kiss challenge: spin the bottle kiss

pairing: johnny x reader | words: 1.5k |rating: 💙

sum: best friends who flirt nonstop leads to no one in the house believing the two of you are strictly friends. a game of spin the bottle leaves Johnny in his feelings when he’s not the one you kiss.

Friday. Family Night. 9 p.m.

The message was written on the whiteboard, posted on the refrigerator door. After realizing everyone was free at the same time—for the first time in weeks—Charlie had put out the request demand.

Friday morning, she sent out a gentle reminder text to the group chat.

📲 : Have your asses home by 8:30.

The unspoken rule of never upsetting Charlie brought everyone home on time. Showers were taken, food acquired, and a bonfire lit by the time the sun had set.

Three pizzas and half a case of Corona deep, you all have put the stresses of the week behind you.

Charlie stands on a rock, her cell phone recording. Jakes hasn’t even bothered to turn around to watch the action unfold. He’s focused on finishing his slice of pizza, his head shaking as you catch his eye. The newest addition to the house, Mike, is watching with a mixture of horror and admiration. Briggs sends Paige a wink as she proudly watches her dare unfold.

The only one missing from the group is Johnny.

The latest victim of the bottle, Johnny has stopped a nearby group of women, passing on the beach, in their tracks. Stripped, he walks towards the waves. The latest additions to his audience bring a grin to his lips.

“All the way in, J-Man!” Briggs calls as Johnny comes to a stop at the shoreline.

Johnny doesn’t need words of encouragement. He runs directly into the water. The cheers he gets become muffled as Johnny disappears beneath the surface of the darkened waves. Upon his return to the group, Johnny manages a quick bow before reaching for his discarded pile of clothes.

Charlie swipes them, prompting the smile on Johnny’s face to stretch into a grin.

“Stop being shy,” Charlie giggles as Johnny's eyes briefly drift to the camera. “Own your dare--”

“Charlie!” Tossing Johnny a nearby towel, Jakes rolls his eyes. “Don’t encourage him.”

“Shut up, Jakes." Johnny allows Charlie one more view of his smile before he rolls his eyes. "You can’t say anything for someone who won’t even play with us.”

“I don’t have to,” Jakes smiles as he watches Johnny wrap the towel around his waist. Lifting the crust in his hand, he adds. “I supplied the food.”

Johnny kisses his teeth as he picks up his hoodie.

“Man, whatever. We’re supposed to be bonding with Mikey.”

“I don’t know how me seeing your ass is helping us bond, Johnny.”

“Awe,” Charlie giggles. The kiss she presses against his cheek causes Jakes to roll his eyes. “Don’t be jealous. It’s a great ass.”

“It is,” Paige teases as Johnny sends a wink her way.

Rubbing his palms together, Johnny takes his seat alongside Charlie before reaching forward. The empty beer bottle sits atop one of the pizza bottles, waiting to be spun. The rules are simple. You spin the bottle. You get to ask a simple question once the bottle stops spinning: truth or dare?

“Ya’ll ready?” Johnny’s eyes briefly pass over the circle before giving the bottle a spin.

You all watch as it spins, the bottle a blur, making it impossible to guess who its next victim will be. As the bottle begins to slow, it teeters towards Paige, who sits on your right, before rolling to a stop on you.

A smile finds Johnny’s lips as you pass Paige your drink.

“Alright, baby girl, what'll it be? Truth or dare?”

Despite the length of the game, this is your first time being asked the question. Everyone watches as you silently consider Johnny's question.

According to Mike, truth is the safest route to go. There aren’t many secrets left amongst you and your housemates. You beg to differ. There is one secret you would prefer to stay hidden. With that being the case, you only have one option.

“Alright, JT, dare,” the mischievous glint in Johnny’s eyes causes you to shake your head. “Go ahead, lay it on me.”

Johnny knows the rules. No dares can be repeated.

“Since skinny dipping is out,” Johnny’s gaze remains on you while his voice trails off. To no surprise, he leaves a dramatic pause. His hand strokes his chin as he considers the possibilities. “I dare you to...kiss your favorite person here.”

“Oh my goodness, Johnny!” Paige groans.

“What?” The wide, innocent brown eyes Johnny sends her way prompts Paige to toss her napkin towards him. “It could be anyone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“My favorite person?” You ask.

“Yep,” Johnny nods, watching as your eyes slowly scan the smiling faces of your friends.

“And I can kiss them anywhere I want?”

Johnny’s brow raises as he considers your question. He opens his mouth to speak, but Paige quickly drowns him out.

“Nope, you can’t add anything else, Johnny.”

Your eyes linger on Briggs. His gaze is playful as his bottle stops just short of his lips.

“Take it easy on me, sweetheart,” he grins. The widening of Johnny’s eyes causing him to add. “I’m down to give you free rein. Kiss me wherever you like.”

“Sorry, Pauly.” A smile finds your lips as you push yourself up. “I might have to catch you next time.”

Paul’s hand finds his heart, his eyes briefly closing as he sighs, “damn.”

You dust the sand off your shorts before stepping over the pizza box. There are only two people sitting before you. Despite the dare being his request, Johnny cannot suppress the butterflies that awaken as your gaze briefly studies him.

The smile on your lips grows as your gaze shifts to Charlie.

The rare sound of laughter drifts from Jakes as you settle on your knees before a smiling Charlie.

“Where do you want it, Miss. DeMarco?”

Charlie’s brow arches as her eyes drop to your lips. “Surprise me.”

You both share a soft smile as you take her face in your hands. The kiss you leave against her lips does not last longer than ten seconds, but it is enough to leave Johnny wide-eyed.

After a few more rounds, everyone decides to call it a night. A few hours of sleep will be needed for work tomorrow. You’re in the kitchen, seated on the island, preparing to bite into the last slice of pizza when Johnny swipes it.

“Hey! What the hell?”

Johnny ignores your widened gaze. He pauses, taking the largest bite he can before picking up the discarded beer bottle alongside you. Adding it to the trash bag in his hand, Johnny continues his execution of trash duty.

“Johnny, I was going to eat that?”

You shift, trying your best to catch sight of him as he rounds the island.

“I’m on kitchen duty,” his words come out muffled through a mouthful of pepperoni. “Whoever cleans up gets the last slice.”

Your nose scrunches. “Since when?”

Your question is met with the clanking of bottles as Johnny drops two more into the black trash bag.

“Since now.” Johnny takes a second bite before tying off the bag. “If I were your favorite person, I would’ve shared. But I'm not so...”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Johnny sits the bag by the back door before coming to a stop alongside you.

You watch as he takes his time finishing the slice of pizza. As he reaches the crust, Johnny glances up to find your arms crossed over your chest. The pout on your lips brings a grin to his.

“Want the last bite?” He offers the crust, narrowly avoiding the shove you send his way.

You shake your head, draining the last of your beer. Johnny silently nibbles on the crust in his hand, his mind trying the best way to ask the question.

You know it’s coming before your empty bottle can touch the countertop.

“I’m not jealous—so don’t take it that way,” Johnny starts as he pushes himself off his elbows.

“I don’t know why I would.”

“But I thought we were best friends—”

“Charlie’s my best friend too.”

The sweet smile on your lips causes Johnny’s eyes to narrow. “But who’s your best friend?”

“Johnny—” The giggle you release does little to ease his expression.

"What? I'm being serious."

"Yeah? So am I."

His expectant gaze remains as it dawns on you that Johnny is awaiting an answer to his question.

“I mean, say an OP went wrong, and you had to save one of us—”

“I would save both of you.”

The matter-of-fact tone in your voice causes Johnny to pause. He shakes his head.

“In this situation, you can’t—”

“In a hypothetical situation, I can’t do whatever I want?”

“No.”

“Fine, I’d save Charlie.” You respond. Johnny’s mouth falls open in disbelief. “She’s a way better shooter than me. I would need her to cover me. Then both of us could save you together.”

Johnny’s gaze drops to the empty bottle sitting on the counter. “That’s messed up.”

You tip the bottle forward as you take in the pout settling on his features. You point it towards him. Laying the bottle on the counter, you watch Johnny study it.

The corner of his lips turns up in a soft smile as you place a kiss against his cheek. You leave a second one for good measure.

“So, I am your favorite?” Johnny grins as you meet his gaze.

Your lips briefly meet his, the action leaving Johnny wide-eyed as you hop off the counter.

“Don’t tell Charlie,” you giggle as you head up the stairs.

rio/johnny tags: @kimljn @binooo98

main tags: @crowngold @cant-decide-at-this-moment @wiccanmetallicrose @themarkblues @gemini0410 @the-jer-bear @leahnicole1219 @abbiesthings @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @starrynite7114 @awkwardtayler @toni9 @queenbeered

@kaystacks17 @richonne4life @cocotheclown @oscars-wifeyyy @jennisdirtyimagines @sadeyesgf @ughdontbeboring @myakai13 @linziland13 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @rosieposie0624 @appropriate-writers-name @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @beiroviski @making-starsdance @seize-the-droid @chaneajoyyy@siempremamita @relaxing-najee @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @toni9

#may the queue be with you #johnny tuturro imagine #graceland imagine #manny montana imagine #johnny tuturro x reader

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mxvladdy · 3 years

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Hi, I love your writings 💜 and wanted to suggest a prompt, but if it won't hit you or if your requests are closed than feel free to ignore.

What if MC will forget the brother and that they are in relationship (it can be as side effect of some spell /potion etc, but it will last for quite some time, no one knows how long). How brothers will react on that? What they will do to make MC fall in love again, or will they do anything at all? Or they decide that it's the chance to change everything? What if MC won't love them again? I don't know if that can be angsty (I want some angst), or you can do whatever style you find appropriate. Anyway, if you don't feel like doing for 7 brothers you can do only for brothers of your choice (who you feel comfortable to write about, but maybe Lucifer, Mammon and Beel?? ).

Thank you! And have a good day or night!

A/N: 80000 years and a day later I post lol ;.;. Sorry for the wait! I tried something new with this, hope you like :)

So I was going to drop all three at the same time but it turned into 20+ pages of work. So I will post in 3 separate parts since they all turned into beefy boys... Much like their counterparts >:)

Hope you like it!!!

Part One of Three: Lucifer

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

The crackle of energy and the acrid taste of sour magic on his tongue are his only warnings before things went south. He reaches for you, strong arms moving to shield you from the blowback of energy discharging around you both. Lucifer crouches, turning his back to the explosion to cover you from the debris and dust raining down. The rebound of the failed spell washes over him for a moment turning his stomach on impact. A heavy miasma coats the room. It weighs down his wings momentarily before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Once the dust settles, the room fills with light-hearted teasing and jabs at the inept caster. Whatever chastising remark he had stuck to his tongue. When he looks down at you the air seizes his lungs in horror. You were heavy and unresponsive in his arms, eyes closed and face slack. Physically, he could see nothing wrong with you, no hair unkempt or dust on your uniform. He shakes you trying in vain to rouse you.

He doesn’t remember fleeing the room with you clutched tight to his chest nor the shouts of his confused brothers all he could focus on was your limp body cradled in his. You weren’t waking up. None of his magic was working, and you were still sleeping. It was like looking down at his brothers all over again. The feeling of dread, of helplessness, had him staggering. You were like his little Lilith all over again, another failure in his unending life span.

The healer's answers do nothing but anger him. Diavolo’s weak speculations drive him into a frenzy. Wait, they want him to wait. For how long was anyone's guess. They say that you just need rest, the human body is unaccustomed to such stresses. That though your body is weak, a human’s spirit is strong. You’ll recover-he had to trust that you would heal on your own. Trust… he had so little of that left to begin with, but he had he gave to you.

He couldn’t lose you. Couldn’t lose this small flicker of hope you brought into his life, of happiness. He didn’t want to be alone again.

So he waits, a permanent sentinel by your bedside. He sits in silence stuck with his sins. His rough hewn palms cover your small hand to warm your cooling finger tips. He strokes them with callused fingers. He contemplates all the little things he could have done differently while he waits. Hells, what he should have done differently. Spells at the best of times were unruly and dangerous and in the hands of a novice? He shakes his head squeezing your hand. He was so stupid to have let you take that course. Why hadn’t he told that weak pissant of a demon off for trying such an incantation? Or at least to take it outside. Was he that bad of a protector? Of a lover? Deep down he wants to be angry at you. That this somehow was all your fault, with your puny human constitution and defenses. He wants to blame you but the moment passes with a gut-twisting sense of guilt and almost shame.

The days move on unceasingly, the clock on your wall mocking him with every steady tick and turn of the hand. With each moon that passes his simmering anger and wounded pride cools to an ice cold fear in his veins. The healers stopped showing up daily, they were at a loss like the rest of them.

No one would say it, least of all around him, but he heard it travel down the halls like an unwelcome guest. The whispered sympathy, the soft admissions of acceptance. He blocks them out, his world narrowing down to nothing but your icy hand and weak pulse. Your room begins to turn into his. His paperwork fills your desk, while he holds meeting over the phone. One hand clutching his phone to his ear and his other always touching you. No one but him is going to take care of you. He refuses help, turning down Diavolo’s increasing offers and pleas of support.

He turns them down each and every time. He will take care of you.

Yet, no matter how much he tends to you and researches you remain inert.

It’s maddening, he was suffocating under the weight. Finally he tips. One night drunk and desperate in his destroyed room he does the last thing he could think of.

The hardwood of his bedroom is unforgiving under his knees. The cold of it soaks through his pants and the harsh grain digs into his skin. But he doesn’t care, he wasn’t looking for absolution anymore, he was begging for your salvation.

It burns him bowing like this. His pride lashes out, roaring like the untamed beast it was as he dives deep searching within himself to find the tattered remains of his former self. Each second with his eyes closed and head bent was tortuous as his pleas fill the oppressive silence of the room. No matter the discomfort of the moment he can only think of you. No cost was too steep to have you open your eyes again.

Lucifer should have known going back to his father would be a mistake. Nothing was ever simple with them, everything was by their rules and their way. Not even being the once most favored son could fix that. Your eyes open, sure. They are hazy with confusion, but also bright and full of life. You were back.

Papers forgotten Lucifer approaches you like he would a wounded animal. He stares in disbelief for a moment before succumbing to his need to hold you. “Amata-” He breathes out in relief into your neck squeezing you closer to him. Lucifer pulls away when he notices you not embracing him back. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. You just took me by surprise is all.” You rub your eyes and smile wearily. “What did I do to deserve such a good morning hug?”

His smile fades, hearts sinking. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember?” Hmmm. You look around you at the clutter of your room. “I- remember being in class, then you over me.” Something must have happened, but for the life of you, you couldn’t recall. He fills you in leaving small blanks hoping to see some recognition in your bewitching eyes. But you sit, nodding along taking his word as gospel truth. “Wow.” You lean back on your pillows. To be asleep for so long, you had so much work to catch up on. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

There was an odd look in his eyes before he nods, rising to his feet. “Of course… for you, anything.” He flees then, choking back a sea of emotions to go fetch a healer to look you over. It was as he expected. You were whole and healthy again, back to your old wonderful self. Except for him. Did you truly remember none of him? Have you really forgotten how he held you at night when you were able to tear him from his works.

How could you forget the words he would whisper to you as you drifted off long after the candles had been snuffled out, the sweat had cooled on your skin, and your limbs loose and tangled with his? Would you ever remember the way he would watch you at school? How he would search for you and watch you with vigilante and hungry eyes. You were not his little lamb anymore. Even after everything he had lost you.

It was what he bargained for with his father it seemed.

He calls a meeting soon after informing his brothers and the Prince of your condition without telling them of his speculations as to why. “We will say nothing.” He speaks standing rigidly while the room erupts with confusion around him.

“Why not tell them?” Beelzebub asked brows drawn low in concern.

“And say what?” Lucifer rubs at his nose pinching the bridge tightly already feeling a dull throbbing growing underneath. “What would it change?” He leaves it at that and retreats to his room. He looks at his dusty chambers and broken furniture from his explosive temper. It is so cold again without you there. This is how it must be. The thought brings a broken whine from his lips. Tt soaks through his leather gloved hand, refusing to be shoved down. He didn’t want to believe he was so forgettable, that something as intimate as his trust and love was so weak in your soul. He had thought surely he had ingrained himself deeper than that. You were in his mind.

He turns to his private libraries that night, looking for any scrap of information he could find. Perhaps the threads of him were there within you, maybe they just needed to be mended. He often forgot how malleable the human mind was, how easily things can just slip from them. Each book on the topic started promisingly enough before piddling off to a dead-end or debunked hypothesis.

He hunts down the student that had fired the spell. If he knew the original purpose of the spell maybe he could recreate the reaction? No, yet another dead end.

He comes to realize one night sitting hunched over on the grimy floor that either your mixed blood had altered the spell's intentions or the fact that since you were not in your original timeline it had changed something deeper within you that none of them had taken into consideration. Or, perhaps-just maybe he truly did make a deal with Father.

Devil below, he hoped that wasn’t true. How ironic it would be that the first time they had heard his pleas to only answer it with more pain and punishment. Either way, he must accept this...eventually.

“You know, if you keep frowning like that it’ll leave permit winkles.” Lucifer ignores his brother, not glancing up from his journals to entertain him. He had recently found more old tomes deep in his studies. “Luci.” Multi-colored nails block his view of his documents.

“Move Asmodeus. I will not ask again.”

Asmo frowns but moves his hand back to his hip. “You need to breathe brother. Take a minute for yourself.” Lucifer snorts dismissively, flipping to the next page. Asmo sighs deeply, his old bones rattling with the heavy gust of air. “You know you won’t find anything in there. We’ve all tried, you know? Read up on fruitless leads and scoured the depths of the catacombs too. Satan’s hands are a mess from rummaging through his books.” He swallows thickly. “Perhaps it is time.”

“Time for what?” Lucifer rises to his impressive height towering over his smaller brethren. “I do not like what you are implying Sakhr.” Asmo flinches, he hates that damn name. He calms the simmering rage underneath his well kept skin. Lucifer was hurting, he lashes out blindly when he is. He always suffers alone.

“I’m not implying anything. We just want-” Lucifer laughs, the hollow sound pulls at the emptiness within Lust’s heart.

“What would you know of my wants?” His ruby eyes lock with Asmo’s. It was a mistake. Lucifer’s presence was imposing at the best of times, but as mad as he was now it was a knee jerk reaction from Asmo to put his guard up. It was a strong defensive mechanism that Asmo took special care not to let slip, but as Lucifer approaches him shoulder hunching and chest puffing up in anger. It took only a moment for his defenses to take over, eyes locking Lucifer saw exactly what he wanted reflected back at him.

He didn’t know what Lucifer saw but he could see the absolute agony etching into his older brother's glassy eyes with each second. Asmo steps back breaking eye contact with a gasp, the trance between them breaking. “I-I’m sorry!” He trembles.

Lucifer says nothing but raises a shaking finger while he collects himself. Finally, he looks up, face impassive once more. He shakes his head and points to the two chairs in front of his desk. A wordless order that Asmo takes. Asmodeus watches Lucifer busy himself with a decanter, broad back turned to him. “You meant no harm,” Lucifer says, voice tight. He turns back with two glasses in hand. “ I-my aggression was unnecessary.” He offers Asmo a glass before sitting back in his throne-like chair with a grunt. They drink in silence.

Asmo swirls the spicy drink around his tongue thinking hard. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He thought he could make things better by offering a shoulder or ear, perhaps tell Lucifer that you were doing well. You didn't seem to notice the hole at the table or in the classroom where Lucifer used to join you and the rest of them to eat or study. They had missed seeing him look so at peace around them. Everything had reverted back to like it was when you first arrived between the two of you, and it was affecting everyone. “Talk to me?” Lucifer blinks.

“And say what?” He peers at his empty glass before grabbing the decanter. “I’m fine? I have meetings piling up and I frankly don’t give a damn anymore. Or the fact that I have yet to cancel the table I had reserved for our anniversary dinner?” His last words waver dangerously before he burns them away with a large gulp of his drink. He sees the look in Asmo’s honey-colored eyes when he looks up. “I don’t need pity.”

Asmodous sniffs, waving away the thought. “Please. We all know better than that. I just want to check on you, and perhaps give you an idea?”

“What idea could you have that I have not thought of?” He asks curiously. Asmo lights up leaning in.

“What if we’ve been going about this the wrong way? We’ve been looking at magic to solve this when the answer was in front of us the whole time. Humans aren’t used to magic, so why look to it for the solution?”

“I don’t follow.” Lucifer puts his glass down leaning back in his chair. Was science what he needed to look at? He had tried that, had talked to human doctors and surgeons that owed him “favors”. They were as unhelpful as the rest.

“We are thinking like demons! We have to think like a human, woo them again. You did it once, surely their attraction wasn’t wiped out, just their memories.” Ahh. Lucifer shakes his head. He had thought of that, staring at himself in the mirror. Many nights were filled with the nagging fears of defeat. If his father had a hand in your recovery could he even be allowed to try again? Lucifer looks back at all the things he said those nights kneeling by your side. It was foolish, what even contract he might have accidentally made had too many open ends, too many half wishes, and clauses.

“I’m afraid I have already thought of that my brother.”

“Then why haven’t you tried? Have you given up?” Asmo is met with silence. “Does that mean the rest of us have a chance?” He gets the reaction he was looking for then. Lucifer’s form shutters, a full body twitch as his body blurs around the edges in warning. “Seems to me like you haven’t given up yet. So what is stopping you.”

Lucifer crumbles under his brother’s worried gaze. Perhaps he could divulge his worry, just this once. “I asked father Az.”

Asmo gasps in surprise, eyes wide in disbelief, then dawning realization. “You think They did this?” Lucifer shrugged, running a hand through his disheveled locks. “They wouldn’t-they couldn’t...could they?” None of the brothers knew what their father was up to anymore, nor if They were even still able to track them. It was an ever present cloud of stress over all of them. While they trusted Diavolo and his protection, the nagging fear was never-ending.

“This is perfect!” Asmo claps his hands together. Lucifer stares at him in confusion. Lust’s smile grew toothy and dangerous. “Do you know what this means?”

“No.” His younger brother snorts looking down at his nails. His mind was running a mile a minute. For as organized and crafty as Lucifer is, he sure had his moments.

“Think about it. If Father did meddle then you have to try courting them again. Defying Father is a talent!” Asmo claps his hands in giddy delight. “Wouldn’t it just chafe their linens if you got back together?”

“And what if They didn’t meddle?”

“Then what do you have to lose?” Lucifer laughs. It was breathy and lifeless at the start but grew in intensity as Asmo’s words sunk in. Why was it when he said it it made sense?

“As devious as ever Az.” Lucifer smiles. Yes, he could win you back easily and reclaim his pride all in one fell swoop. “Thank you for reminding me of who I am.” They were troublemakers, the lot of them and it was time for him to prove it once more that he was the worst of them.

He starts the next day dressing down for once in his long life. He wears an outfit you always complement tucked neatly into a pair of dress slacks you bought him after a date gone awry. He smirked, remembering the tight squeeze of your hand on him on the drive home. The friction of your palm on the smooth material...he tipped his dry cleaner extra that night. “Good morning.” He purrs out in greeting taking his seat at the head of the table. The few brothers around the table freeze for a moment, keen eyes darting from him to where you sat still eating as if nothing had changed. Asmodeus shot him a wink.

“Morning.” You chirp back around your spoon. “It’s good to see you back at the table. Finally got a break from work?” The demons hold their collective breath.

“Yes, you can say that I came to a revelation of sorts.” He hums into his mug.

From that point on no matter what corner you turn on Lucifer was there. A pleasant smile on his lips and an offer of aid. “Thank you for the help!” You drop the large stack of books on your desk with a satisfied grunt. “You know- even though our pack is still somewhat new, if you need help with your work I’d be glad to give you a hand too!”

“Would you?” He hides his predatory grin under his hand. “ Some of the matters I have to attend to will require some long, hard work. It may take up some of your nights.” The flush that graces your cheeks and the warm buzz from his pact mark make him giddy.

“I’m willing.”

Slowly he begins to pull you back into his world. He leaves well placed hints of your past together scattered around his workspace. Your favorite Devildom blooms and treats always seem to be around when you come to offer your help in the evening. He slips old pet names into daily conversations as you scribble notes and transcribe letters for him by the soft light of his desk lamp. Pacing himself was never so hard before in his life. Was he finally cracking through? Or were you falling for him again? It was a heady rush to be sure, the mix of anticipation and thrill of such earthly courting made him realize many things he didn’t see the first time around. He learns all over again just what he loved about you.

He had forgotten how patient you were around him and with his siblings. Your keen eye and attention to detail reminded him just why he trusted you. You flitted about him picking up things he missed and settling brotherly disputes without him having to waste his breath. It was almost like things were going back to normal, minus the cold sheets beside him at night. But he sticks to his plan, finding pleasure in simply learning about you all over again.

It came to an end sooner than he had expected.

“Enter.” Lucifer calls from his overflowing desk. It was finals time once again and the damages done to school property were picking up dramatically. He heard your fluttering heartbeat before you even entered his domicile. It picks up as you approach.

“Am I interrupting?

Lucifer looks up from his work, a grin growing on his tired face. “For you, never.” You smile back, coming closer. You held a mug of coffee in your hands. The beast within him wanted to raise its hackles in triumph and howl. His life must be a divine comedy. This night is playing out just like it did nearly a year ago. Did you remember too? Or was this just how it always was meant to be?

“I haven’t seen you in a bit, and got concerned.” You fiddle with the handle of the copper mug. Lucifer nods, it was true. He regrettably had to put his plans with you on hold, he had spent so much time scheming he had let a few things build up. “Asmo told me you were hold up in here working, and I thought you could use a pick me up. He-he helped me make you some coffee.”

Ah. It wasn’t the same as the first time, but it was a matter of time before his sibling started meddling again. He takes the cup from your outstretched hand. “Thank you, this is much appreciated.” You glow under his praise taking a seat by his side.

“Need any help?” You eye the stack of papers with interest. “I’ve gotten pretty good at reading the fine print.”

“Have you now?” He pushes a small stack of papers towards you. “Very well, I would love your company again.” You take the work with a nod eager to spend time with him again. He watches you work, unable to contain his growing smile before looking down at the cup by his side. The tar-black coffee looks back at him. Oh, how he wished to commend his brother and berate him all at once. It is putrid and stomach-churning but he savors it all the same.

“Is it alright?” You pause watching him drink in. You have never seen him so enraptured by a drink before.

“Yes.” It will be.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me fanfic #hello again after so long!

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