niennandil-me-writes

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 29: Bugs

cn: medical horror, (android) body horror, computer viruses, suggestive

[Sebastian belongs to @yakyuu-yarou who also betaread this]

Sebastian looked up from his work computer to stretch his arms. With a frustrated sigh, he palmed his stiff neck, wondering if he could talk Dante into giving him a massage later. Maybe he could pass it off as a medical emergency (though the last time he had tried that, Dante had signed him up for a newsletter on “simple yoga exercises for desk jobs”).

“Hey, Dante!”

There was no answer from the other side of the room, where Dante had their office space. That reminded him…

“How’s your update coming along?” Sebastian asked, turning around.

Again, there was no answer. Dante was sitting in front of their computer, slack in their chair, eyes closed. A cord was plugged into a socket hidden beneath their red shock of hair.

Sebastian got up and walked over to them. “Dante?” he asked, gently putting a hand on their shoulder.

The medical android jolted awake. “Dr. – Dr. – Dr. Hirsch – eck.“

Sebastian frowned. Something about their voice seemed… off.

“Dante, is everything alright?” He lifted his hand to the plug, then faltered. If something was wrong with the update they were installing, he didn’t want them to download even more of it, but he also didn’t want to damage them further by shutting it off completely.

“Dr. Hirscheck.”

“Yes?” Sebastian shuffled around uncomfortably, then jumped at a whirring sound behind him. He turned but couldn’t place its origin.

He twisted around when Dante started talking again: “Would you like to – like to have another private research session, Dr. Hirscheck?”

Despite his unease, Sebastian felt himself blush. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Is everything – “

Dante turned their chair around and looked up at him. Sebastian flinched back. No, something was definitely wrong. Dante’s eyes were discolored, flimmering like computer screens. Their mouth was open in a wide grin.

“I have – have – havehave so many things planned for us today.” Dante rose from their chair and held up their right hand. The fingertips of their index and middle finger detached and from them sprouted a syringe and a very small, very thin, very sharp scalpel. “There is something wrong with you, Dr. I need to fix you.”

Sebastian stepped backwards and almost tripped over his own bag lying on the floor. Dante followed, their steps slow. The left corner of their mouth rose even higher, turning their grin more and more grotesque.

“Dante, this isn’t – you’re malfunctioning! The update – I’m getting help, I promise.” Sebastian had arrived at the door and turned the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. It had been locked via the system. So that had been the sound he’d heard before.

“Why would you leave? – leave? – LEAVE NOW! We have all the privacy in the world. I need to fix you.”

Sebastian felt a sharp pain in his arm. He turned, tried to get away, but his legs wouldn’t obey him anymore, and he sank to the ground a moment later. Dante towered over him, the bag filled with their medical equipment in hand. They let it drop to the floor. Knives and scissors and medication scattered around Sebastian.

Dante crouched down. The corner of their mouth rose higher still – and then something must have torn beneath their synthetic skin; their mouth sank on the same side, drooping down unnaturally. 

They put one hand around Sebastian’s throat and locked it around his windpipe. He was forced to look up at them, into their distorted and mangled face, the flickering glitch-filled eyes. He felt like throwing up.

“What have I told you about opening strange links?” they said. “You have contracted quite a bad virus there. I need to fix you – fixfixyou.”

Sebastian tried to say something, anything, but their fingers were still cutting off his air, tried to push them away, but his limbs felt like lead.

“I’ll need to look beneath your casing.” Their scalpel-armed finger cut through his shirt. “Maybe there’s hardware problems as well.”

“Dante,” Sebastian wheezed. He tried to move backwards so the knife wouldn’t cut his skin as well.

“I am only trying to help you – help you – helphelphelphelphelp 01001000 01000101 01001100 01010000 00100000 01001101 01000101” 

Their eyes went blue for a moment, expression blank, then they snapped back. “But first,” they said, lifting their hand to his temple. “I need to look at your processor.”

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #gore #sebastian hirscheck #dante bianchi #androids #body horror

[niennandil-me-writes]

OCKissWeek 6: Wrex & Charlie

[Wrex belongs to @noxachi]

Charlie looked on intently as the flames ate up paper and wood. Her gaze was transfixed, her mind enchanted, trying to take in every detail of the process, of the dissolving of matter. Taking it apart, bit by bit, crumbling, melting, splitting, cracking, until only the smallest fragments remained and then –

“Charlie.”

 Wrex’ voice eased her out of her focus. Charlie looked up at them. There was a look of concern on Wrex’ features, adding onto the usual worry that knit their eyebrows together.

Charlie didn’t lower her head, but her eyes darted away, over to the cupboards and shelves of her workshop. But instead of chastising her, Wrex just held out their hand.

“Did you burn yourself?”

Charlie looked down at her hands. The metal one, the one she made herself, was blackened by soot, but otherwise unharmed – it was made to last. The other, however, was flushed and hot and was beginning to tingle at the fingertips.

Wrex gently took her flesh hand in their own hands. A soft kiss sent soothingly cool healing magic through her body.

“Maybe be a bit more careful next time,” Wrex suggested.

Charlie just smiled and nodded.

#my writing #oc writing #ockissweek #ockiss24 #wrex #charlie wallner #fluff #wrote this at the park today

[niennandil-me-writes]

cn gore, consensual violence, romanticized violence

He hadn’t even heard Qin approach. They just suddenly threw their arms around him from behind.

“Caught you, babe,” they exclaimed triumphantly. Teo didn’t have to look at their face to know they were smirking.

“Didn’t know we were playing hide and seek,” he said.

“Oh, we aren’t, or do I have my knives out?” They held him even closer, arms wrapped around him. Their hands dug into his shirt.

The lopsided grin that had spread on his face as soon as they had appeared turned into a softer smile. He reached up to their right hand and took it in his own. It felt so small, so breakable, between his big, scarred fingers. But for now, he only held them, rubbed his thumb into their palm.

Qin let their other hand wander inside his shirt, over his chest. Their soft hair brushed against his neck as they leaned down to press a kiss to his shoulder.

His grip tightened. Both the one of his right hand around Qin’s, and the one of his left on Dex’ haft. His fingers flexed around the leather-wrapped axe grip. Oh, the things he wanted to do to that Tiefling…

Qin seemed to have noticed his reaction. “What are you thinking of?”

Teo pulled their hand up to his lips and pressed gentle kisses to their knuckles. Their bones cracking under his grip. “You know,” he murmured. Their blood drenching him. “The usual.” Their corpse lying in front of him. He littered more kisses on their wrist.

Qin leaned closer into him, their lips at his neck. “Then why don’t you show me, loverboy?” they hummed. “Or are we just words and kisses today? I could live with that as well.”

He pressed one last kiss to their black-veined skin, then turned around. They didn’t let go off him, their arms around his neck, with maybe a foot of space between them. Not enough space to swing an axe. Instead, he slowly lifted Dex, until his blade was at one height with their thigh. He set the blade against their leg, then slowly moved it upward. He applied just enough pressure to cut the fabric of their pants and nick the skin beneath. Just enough to draw blood, but not to injure. That would come later.

Qin remained calm. They neither pulled away from Dex, nor pushed themself into the blade. But the whipping of their tail, and the gleam in their yellow-in-black eyes betrayed their excitement.

He kept the pace slow, wanted to tease them a bit. When he finally arrived at their waist, where their shirt was tucked into their dark pants, blooms of beautiful dark red spread out over the white linen as it soaked with their blood. He sliced over their side, only stopped when he reached their shoulder.

Their hands had burrowed into his hair. Now they were pulling him a bit closer. They bit their lip, about to say something, but before they could open their mouth, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the cut. They let out a gasp.

He kissed their wound until his lips and beard were covered in their blood. He could feel their tail wrap around him, their hands pressing him closer, claws digging into the back of his neck until they drew blood. He sighed against their torn skin, then slowly stood up, leaving red kiss marks all over Qin’s chest and neck and cheeks.  

Qin took his chin in their hands, and pulled him into a hungry and bloody kiss. They bit his lips, almost too gently, then licked over them.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” they said. They looked into his eyes. Their bloody thumb playfully drew something on his face. And then the gleam of mischief in their eyes faded for a moment to sincerity. “I love you.”

He let Dex fall to the ground to take Qin’s head between his hands and kiss them, as deep and long as only two people with no need to breathe could.

someones feeling affectionate.

starting ockissweek with a little Qeo shoulder kiss! Teo belongs to @elanorniennandil-me!

#my writing #oc writing #ockissweek #ockiss24 #qin livoré #teo dagger #qin/teo #qeo #gore #gore with feelings #couldn't help writing a continuation inspired by the thoughts nox sent me uwu #your honor i love them

[niennandil-me-writes]

OCKissWeek 4: Minas/Teo (Mörk Borg)

cn: suicide mention, dementia analogies, cannibalism mention

[Minas belongs to @ghoulcaro]

They had started to call them good days and bad days. It wasn’t entirely accurate, as what actually was good or bad depended on who you asked and when you asked them. Today way one of the very good days, one of the best days even, or that’s how they would have called it out loud. One of those days where neither of them craved violence, and where they could almost pass as normal, whatever normal meant in the apocalypse.

These good days were a shock as much as they were a relief. Shock at the memories of the days that didn’t fall under good, didn’t even fall under okay. Shock of what they were capable of. Teo didn’t feel horrified by what he did, though, not on an emotional level. But in his rational brain, the tiny part of it that was still left to him and that sprung back into action on these days that he described as his good days, he knew he should have been horrified. He knew horror was a normal reaction to it, which meant that it was mostly Minas feeling horror. Sometimes his stomach churned at the thought what and whom he had eaten on a previous day, and then he turned away from the memory because he didn’t want to consider whether it was disgust or hunger that turned his stomach.

Some of these good days, Qin and him spent together, trying to make sense of their interwoven insanity. But right now, Qin was talking with Israh, and so Teo sat alone in a grove of mostly-dead trees, his back against a grey stump, cleaning Dex – cleaning his sword with a torn rag. The task helped put his mind at ease. That was something that didn’t change between the good and the bad days.

He stopped in his movement for a moment when he heard footsteps approaching from behind and groaned. He wasn’t ready for this again. He never was.

“We were wondering where you were,” Minas’ deep voice cut through the silence. When Teo didn’t answer, he came a step closer. “Israh was afraid you’d run off, with nobody holding your leash.”

Maybe it was supposed to be a joke. Even on good days, Teo had trouble reading people. Except Qin. Qin was different. He wished they were here, for a moment considered reaching out to the connection forged by blood, but thought better of it.

“I needed some alone time,” he said instead.

“I see.” Minas showed no sign of leaving anytime soon.

Teo tried to focus on his task again, then gave up. He had seen his reflection in the blade, and he didn’t like what he saw. He put the Zweihänder on the ground, then pushed him – it away, out of his reach.

“Do you mind if I sit with you, Teo?”

Teo flinched. This was a bad idea. But how, after everything that had happened, could he deny Minas anything?

“Minas…” he started, his voice sounding more threatening than he had intended.

“No, I get it,” Minas said quickly. “You need some alone time, and I’m interfering.”

“You’re not – “

“I just wanted to use one of the few good days we – you have left to talk to you a bit. I thought you had time. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Minas!”

He stopped talking. Teo hesitated, searching for the right words. He had never been good with them, and now it was so much worse. How to explain with a mouth that was formed only for biting?

“This…,” he started, gesturing, still not turning around to Minas. “This isn’t good for you.”

Minas scoffed. “For you, you mean.”

“For both of us.”

“Is it the guilt?” This time, Teo was sure it was meant to sound accusatory, but it came out as sympathetic, and that was exactly what he couldn’t bear.

“I wish it were.” He shook his head. “You need to stop pretending like it can last.”

“What do you - ?”

“Every time I have a good day, we talk, and we cry, and we make ourselves believe that it will change things.” He shook his head again. “I can’t keep apologizing to you for things we both know I will do again and again.”

“You want to kill me again?”

Teo winced.

“Sorry, that wasn’t – “

“Don’t apologize to me, Minas.” He stood up and turned around to look at Minas for the first time. The man was bigger even than him, made even more huge by the wolf features that took over the left side of his body, a constant reminder of what Teo had done to him. There was a dull shimmer of fear in those wolf-like eyes, making Teo realize the aggression in his stance. He tried to relax, leaning back against the tree again.

“Let’s just not apologize to each other,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He was tired, afraid of what sleep might bring, who it might bring out in him. “Just… ignore me. And tomorrow you can tie me to a tree and hope Qin doesn’t notice I’m gone before you’ve put a couple miles between us.” He tried to smile but it came out in a baring of his teeth.

A tired chuckle escaped Minas. “Maybe I want to pretend, though. That this is – we are – back then. That you’re still that man I met in a bar who was trying to work through his issues.” He stepped a bit closer.

Teo frowned. “But it isn’t. And I’m not. And you never knew that man.”

“You sound a lot like him.”

It was his smile that almost broke Teo. This wasn’t fair towards Minas. As much as everyone in this group seemed to have their own issues, it always seemed to be Minas who was left picking up the pieces. How long could he keep doing that before he broke? Teo knew that it would have been best to remove himself from Minas’ life, and he would have done so on any sane day. But with him being tied to Qin, and Minas being tied to Israh, and Israh and Qin being tied to each other by their own stubbornness, which was a force stronger than any pact blood could forge, it wasn’t as easy as simply leaving.

Now Minas looked up into the dead leaves still clinging to their dried branches. “I wish I could have done more to help that man.”

“I said don’t apologize to me.”

“I wasn’t apologizing. I just said – “

“There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I was trying to help – “

“And you did, and I’m grateful you did, and I wish you hadn’t because then at least you wouldn’t have suffered me.” He ran his fingers through his hair. Even on good days, he never knew what to do with his hands when he wasn’t holding that damn sword. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I know that it’s nothing you could have fixed. Maybe I could have, but I was too weak.” And if my life wasn’t tied to Qin’s, and if I didn’t love them with all my dirty black insane heart, I would fall on my own blade right now. He left that part unspoken because Minas didn’t need to hear it.

“I could have done more,” Minas insisted, more agitated now.

Teo shook his head. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Teo, I… If I hadn’t sent you off, hadn’t told you you were doing better!”

Teo needed a moment to understand. He frowned.

Minas started gesturing wildly as he kept talking: “I could have helped you, Teo. I could have been there for you, given you the help you needed. I was stupid, and selfish, and I wish – I just wish… I’d been better.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Minas shook his head. He laughed but tears were glistening in his eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

And just as Teo thought he couldn’t be any more confused, Minas took another step towards him and kissed him. His eyes open wide in surprise, Teo stared directly into Minas’ half-closed wolf eyes. Minas’ tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Before he knew how to react, Minas let go. He stepped away and stared at a tree far to the left. There were a million things Teo could have said, but what came out eventually was:

“Oh.”

And then, after a short moment: “I didn’t know.”

Minas laughed humorlessly. “Of course you didn’t. You’re so oblivious, you need Qin to jump on your blade to realize they’re into you. How you ever landed a husband is beyond me.” He still wasn’t looking at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought we were done with apologies?”

Teo worried his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand. It all made sense, but nonetheless, it was all too confusing. All too much.

“I wish I could be what you saw in me,” he finally said.

“You’re still in there somewhere.”

Teo shook his head. “You’ve got to stop believing that.”

“Maybe you need to start believing it.”

“You can’t save me.”

And here he had thought he had already hurt Minas in all the ways he could. The man’s face said otherwise. But he didn’t let off just yet.

“Stop pretending you can. You’ll only get hurt. And I’ve already hurt you enough.”

With that, he turned, picked up Dex and left, to go looking for Qin, or for solitude, he hadn’t decided yet.

#my writing #oc writing #ockissweek #ockiss24 #teo dagger (mörk borg) #minas (mörk borg) #minas/teo (mörk borg) #mörk borg #questionably undead #angst #this was supposed to have a bittersweet ending but sorry sir they are doomed by the narrative

[niennandil-me-writes]

OCKissWeek 3: Tony/November/Wilhelmina

[November belongs to @constantlytiredghost, Tony belongs to papp_n_paper on twitter/cardboardbird on bluesky]

It wasn’t the wonderful summer morning, the birdsong, or the green grass under the blanket she was sitting on, or the warm breeze, that distracted Wilhelmina from her task of noting down the newest findings of her research trip in fine calligraphy in both her university notebook and her Book of Shadows. It wasn’t the smell of the delicious breakfast her companions were cooking (or rather, one of them was cooking while the other was trying not to burn things), or even the prospect of a small lake that was supposed to be situated close by.

What was slowing down her note taking profusely, though, was her company. She had become better about this. Her heart didn’t skip a beat anymore whenever someone looked her direction or asked what she was doing. If it hadn’t been for this particular company, she might have been able to work as usual. But like this…

She didn’t flinch as Tony sat down beside her and laid their head on her shoulder, but she knew the shadows drew deeper over her face.

Seemingly not noticing, Tony put their tail around her hips and commented: “That looks interesting. You could get all that from what we found yesterday?”

Wilhelmina cleared her throat. “Y-yes. And from what you could derive with your religious rituals. And what November divined from the spirits, of course.”

Like on cue, November flopped down in front of them. Wilhelmina quickly grabbed for her inkwell and papers, even though November had of course been careful not to bring anything in disarray. Wilhelmina felt a bit bad for her reflex. November looked over the notes as well, her big hat providing shadow from the rising sun. “You wrote all of that this morning?”

“I mean, I started… Yes, more or less…”

Tony and November looked at each other.

“You deserve a break,” November decided.

“Soon,” Wilhelmina said quickly. “I just want to write that last part about…”

“But Wilhelminaaaaa,” said Tony. “We wanted to go to the lake after breakfast.”

“Yes,” November said. “Tony suggested we go skinny dipping.”

“Well, you can go ahead already, I’ll –“ Wilhelmina faltered as the words sank in. She stared at November and Tony, mouth agape.

Tony nodded innocently. “Yes. We realized we both forgot our bathing suits.”

“And underwear,” November nodded along.

Wilhelmina, too flustered to say anything, stared down at her notes. “I – I’ll be done much quicker if you don’t distract me like this.” Her face was burning.

Tony squeezed her arm and laid their head on her shoulder again. They whispered: “We can also stay here for now, though. If you want.” Wilhelmina shuddered as their lips brushed her skin.

“Yes,” November said softly. “We can keep you company while you work.” Wilhelmina looked up to find her face inches from November’s. November tilted her head and smiled, and for just a moment, their lips touched. When she sat back up, Wilhelmina tried to follow, but Tony held her tight, pressing another soft kiss to her neck.

Wilhelmina bit her lip. Those dirty conspirators! Now she knew what that look they had exchanged meant.

“Come on, Tony,” November said suddenly. “I think we really are distracting her.”

Tony lifted their head. “You’re right.” They got up and shuffled over to November, curling their tail around her. “We better leave our professor her peace.” And they planted a big kiss on November’s mouth, right in front of Wilhelmina’s papers. November responded in kind, pulling the blue Tiefling closer and burying her hands in that wild dark hair.

Wilhelmina looked on in shock as her two partners wildly made out. She just couldn’t help but stare, couldn’t tear her eyes away from those wonderful, beautiful, hot people. But why should she feel bad?, she realized with some indignation. These were her partners, after all, and she was allowed to look at them, and watch them kiss each other and imagine all the things they would do together…

“Well?” November suddenly asked.

“I wasn’t staring!” Wilhelmina yelped. It certainly didn’t help that her eyes were still caught on Tony’s lips that were kissing down the exposed part of November’s chest.

“Wouldn’t it be more fun to join in?” November grinned.

“How long have you been planning this?” Wilhelmina grumbled.

“Since last night,” November said innocently.

“You’re both horrible.” Wilhelmina pushed aside her books and pens and crawled over to the other two. She grabbed November around the hip and pulled her away from Tony to kiss her square on the lips. She held her face between her hands. Tony hugged Wilhelmina from behind and kissed the nape of her neck, interlocked their tails, while November littered tiny kisses all over her face. Wilhelmina turned around and kissed Tony as well, then moved between both of them, kissing and feeling and tasting.

“And just so you know,” she mumbled into Tony’s chest. “I forgot my bathing suit as well.”

#my writing #oc writing #ockissweek #ockiss24 #fluff #november la morte #astony fogspire #wilhelmina twist #tony/november/wilhelmina #blu babes

[niennandil-me-writes]

OCKissWeek 2: Ulysse/Yetelanc

cn: drugs, addiction, fantasy racism, drowning mention, violence, gore

[had this one lying around for a while, and it's a pretty good summary of Yetelanc's side of this relationship]

The first time you saw him, he was wearing a servant’s mask. He seemed comfortable in it at first, and only when he took it off when you were alone together did you realize how much he despised it. Until you knew him well enough to wonder if he really did, or if that’s just what he wanted you to think.

The first time you saw him without a mask, you had already understood that he wore them constantly. That he’s an ocean of lies and pretenses, that all his words are weighed before they leave his lips.

The first time he kissed you, your body was pumped full with drugs, adrenaline driving you mad and the knife in your hands right into his abdomen. His lips tasted of salt, and his eyes were flooded with desperation and pain. He didn’t let go until the Aelfir he shielded you from had passed by, and a part of you wished he wouldn’t. The drug cocktail must have taken its toll on your body then because you couldn’t breathe anymore and passed out in his arms.

The first time you were in his bed, you thought he would betray you, sell you out to the Aelfir for some more of the drugs he kept in his room and which he now gave you to counteract the Dagger in your bloodstream. Yet for some reason, he kept you safe instead. And when you asked him what he wanted in return, knowing he never helps anyone without a self-serving reason, he didn’t answer.

The first time he says I love you, you don’t believe him. Lies stick to him like the smell of fish. But you don’t question him either. By then you have realized that you are both fucked up, as much as he pretends he isn’t, and you pretend you have a reason for the things you do, and that you both need something to distract you from the misery that is a drow life in Spire.

The first time you see him drop the mask, he is sitting in your bathtub. A glass vial of Malak and a bag of sea salt, both empty, lying on the wet floor beside crumbs of Godsmoke and a bottle of Chum. Submerged in the water, he only broke the surface when you entered the room. Face dripping with shame, he avoids your eyes. He smells of old fish and drugs, and the salt on his face is not just from the water. His hair feels damp and matted between your fingers. He’s trembling when you help him out of the tub and drape a blanket around him. And when you kiss him, he holds on to you like you are the only solid thing in a cruel storm-tossed sea.

#my writing #oc writing #ockissweek #ockiss24 #ulysse moreau #yetelanc lévy #ulysse/yetelanc #heart the city beneath

[niennandil-me-writes]

OCKissWeek 1: Keglir/Qudan

cn: tentacles

[I haven't finished Goretober yet, but I still want to participate in OCKissWeek. No prompts, no real goal, just vibes.

Keglir belongs to @norfrosch and is part of their On Stranger Tides oneshot.]

SPOILERS for that oneshot.

“You’re leaving.”

Keglir hadn’t even turned before making its assertion. Now it turned to look at Qudan, who had donned her travel clothes and slung her backpack over her shoulder – what was left of it after the chaos of a few days back, anyway. Qudan realized she didn’t even know if Keglir had spoken the words aloud, or if it had been a sensation transmitted via mindlink. By now, it had become something like second nature to her. Qudan had never minded silence, and had always enjoyed talking to people. This was something in between.

“I’d love to stay,” she said now, half-turning back to their camp, where the others – some of them – still held out, recuperating from their adventure. “But I’m needed elsewhere. I need to tell my husband I’m not dead.” She shrugged, as if it were no big deal, then touched her wedding band on her right ear, to clearly show it was. “Have to do some Silent Voice work…” Here she trailed off, communicated in thoughts, feelings, her desire to spread the message of this small organization she’d joined.

Keglir bristled at that. Qudan felt wavering emotions wash over her, like a trembling wind. It was clear that Keglir was still shaken from everything that had happened, that it had experienced. Qudan took a step closer.

“You already know quite well how I… I feel about the experiences you’ve shown me,” Keglir said into the mindlink. “There is still much to consider. To learn.” It looked away and its tentacles played around its face.

Qudan nodded. She hadn’t expected much more of a goodbye from the Illithid. All the more surprise when Keglir picked up the conversation again: “What is it like… to fall in love with a creature who is so different in body and spirit and custom from you?”

Qudan halted as she saw images of Ufthak before her. Images she had shown Keglir during their first conversation. The green-skinned orc, who was twice as wide as her, talked much faster, moved much wider. Ufthak smiling at her over two big tusks. Ufthak cutting through the ropes that kept Qudan tied to the chair she was tortured in. Ufthak’s dark eyes gleaming with excitement as she talked about politics and diplomacy as Qudan was only half-listening.

Then the images were gone, and Qudan found herself again near the camp opposite Keglir, smiling, as she thought of her wonderful, revolutionary, forbidden wife. They should have been enemies, but they both refused. And that brought her thoughts to Brezan, her caring, loving, weak husband.

She kept up the mindlink, pulled herself closer in to Keglir, as she stepped forward. Towards this strange creature, who ate brains, who could control a spaceship. Who felt abandoned and alone, and couldn’t even shed tears over it. Who had shown Qudan the beauty of the Astral Sea…

She reached out and gently took one of Keglir’s tentacles into her hand. Despite her thoughts, it only now seemed to fully understand what she was doing. Its tentacles bristled, but it didn’t pull away. Qudan lovingly cupped the tentacle in her other hand, then pulled it up to her face to press a soft kiss to it. She felt a hesitant touch at her cheek, as another tentacle cradling her face.

Another wave of emotion rolled over her. It was still this melancholic heartache, but now that heart wasn’t just hurting, it was beating, like a small bird in spring, like a fire that had just been lit, like wanting to jump because your feelings were too big for your own body.

When she came back from this overwhelming feeling, Qudan found herself held and hugged close by Keglir’s tentacles. Its hand had wandered in her hair to play with the loose strands of her topknot. Qudan kissed her again, less softly now, moving closer to where she assumed the Illithid’s mouth was.

“Like this.”

She didn’t know if she had said the words or thought them. And it didn’t matter.

#my writing #oc writing #ockiss24 #ockissweek #keglir #qudan mesk-mrdar #keglir/qudan #kisses #angst

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 19: Eyes

cn: eye gore, fingernail gore, fantasy brain parasites, torture, war, drowning, mentioned child murder

Mild Spoilers for the On Stranger Tides oneshot by @norfrosch.

The brine closes over her in a wave that threatens to wash her away. It stings. Her eye stings. The right one, the one that isn’t even there anymore. Under her eye patch. Like something clawing into it, burrowing inside it, inside her empty eye socket. It burns and stings and forces its way inside. And this time, it’s memories that wash her away.

“Where are they hiding?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are they planning to strike?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do they have spies?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s all she ever says, “I don’t know”. She doesn’t even know if she knows anymore, the words just a mechanism, a prayer to a God of War who doesn’t care for her, and who she isn’t sure she even believes in anymore. She doesn’t know.

Every incantation of it – “I don’t know.” – is followed by pain.

“Where are they hiding?”

“I don’t know.”

A punch into her abdomen.

“Where are they planning to strike?”

“I don’t know.”

Slices into her arms and legs.

“Do they have spies?”

“I don’t know.”

Torn out claws.

“What do they know?”

“I don’t know.”

Minutes spent with her head forced down into a bucket of water.

And always just “I don’t know.”, until they give up for the day, leave her behind tied to the chair to stew in her pain and tears and spit and blood, and she drifts into something that almost resembles an uneasy sleep, to be woken in the late afternoon, magically healed, and the whole thing starts anew.

At the beginning, she still held the smugness to wonder what her higher ups, who called her a borderline traitor for the crime of not killing orc children, would think if they saw her now, so valiantly denying her tormentors the answers that would get her whole squad killed. Now there isn’t any room for that thought in her brain.

Then one day, the leader of the group of torturers – she calls them the Chef because of the long meat skewer they use both to pierce her and to point as they order the other orcs around – loses their patience.

“Will you talk today?” they ask.

“I don’t know.”

Because she doesn’t know why she keeps going. Why she doesn’t just give them what they want.

No, this one she knows exactly. The people – hobgoblins, bugbears and goblins – she serves with aren’t innocent, nobody knows that better than her. But their death would serve no cause. It would just mean a pillaged village on the other side of the border. Maybe the village her husband came from. Maybe another. That was one thing she’d learned since serving across the border: The Goblinoid Empire and the Orc Tribes deserved each other.

“You could make this so much easier on yourself. Have you ever considered that?”

If she talks, will they keep her as a prisoner of war or just kill her?

“I don’t know.”

Their green face scrunches up with rage, eyes narrowed so she can only see their pupils, nose flaring.

“Hold her face up.”

Someone behind yanks at her hair and pulls her head upwards. The Chef kneels down in front of her. She can smell their garlicy breath. She can’t remember when she last ate.

Their lips part in a dirty grin as they lift the skewer. “I’m getting real tired of you, Red.”

She’s staring directly at the tip of the meat skewer. She tries to twist away, can feel hair ripping out off her scalp as she turns away, but immediately two hands grab her chin from behind and hold her head in place. They don’t do it quick. She watches the skewer inch towards her eye. She screams before it even touches her. She closes her eyes. Another hand, roughly holding up her eyelid.

It’s strange. The only thing she can think of is Brezan. “Your eyes look like gold coins.” “You’re such a flatterer.” “I mean it, though.” She can see the insecure smile playing on their lips, eyes darting away.

And then the metal pierces her eye.

She screams.

It’s still going at that slow pace, drilling into her eye millimeter by millimeter. Something hot and fluid runs down her face, and she can’t tell if it’s tears or blood or something else. She can feel the tip at the back of her eye now, where it stops, and for a moment she wishes it would go farther, that they’d just kill her.

The moment passes, and the orc starts moving the skewer again, but not forwards or backwards, but around, like they’re stirring soup. More fluid runs down her cheeks, and she cries and screams and struggles, and then she passes out.

And just like that, the little thing from the poison water is now stirring inside her eye socket now, wriggling inside. But unlike the skewer, it goes deeper, delving into her brain. She can feel it’s stinging, and the images flit through her mind, like it is uncovering from deep insider her mind.

The Chef waking her up with a slap. She doesn’t know if seconds or hours have passed. Her eye is still smeared all over her cheeks. Her head feels like it’s on fire.

“Talk?” is all they ask.

Her prayer failing on her lips, she shakes her head. The orc steps closer. They don’t have their skewer on them. They grip into her hair and tilt her head back roughly, and then stick a finger into the eye socket. They don’t stop her from squirming this time, but that makes it hurt even more. They dig their dirty finger deeper inside her, as if trying to scrape her secrets out of her. Rendered mute, she opens her mouth in a silent scream.

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #gore #violence #torture #qudan mesk-mrdar

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 28: Holes

cn: romanticized violence, suicide , (ritualistic) self-harm

It was high noon, but the field of the Necropit was shrouded in eternal shadow, as Marta and Qaireth, future Pit Siblings, were led to their ceremony. Marta shuddered in her dark woolen cloak. She, like many Necrolancer apprentices before her, had anticipated and dreaded this day. She cast a glance at Qaireth, whose calm focus seemed unbreakable. Marta tried to find solace in that. Qaireth, three years her senior, had always looked out for his younger training mate. It was a relief to have him as her Pit Brother.

Finally, they arrived at the Necropit. It was a hole in the barren ground of the field, 15 feet in diameter and going 20 feet straight down, like a well. But it wasn’t water that waited down there. The earth and rocks were dyed a brownish red by decades worth of blood. Blood of their forebears, which Marta and Qaireth would soon add their own to.

They received their blessings and initiation rites, which Marta passed as in a trance. Then they both discarded their cloaks and any clothes other than shirts and trousers, made of flimsy grey fabric, before being let down into the pit with rope ladders.

“Draw your weapons, children,” chanted the leader of the ceremony.

Qaireth drew his rapier in one fluid motion, while Marta, less artfully, held her twin handaxes in front of her in a fighting stance.

“If you are to finish your journey to become a Necrolancer, you must neither survive, nor perish,” the woman continued. “At your call, the ladders will be lowered, and you will be allowed to leave the Institute forever. Should you die, the Institute will cover your burial.”

If there’s anything left of me, it shot through Marta’s head. Her heart was beating faster and faster, as if it knew it would soon stop.

“Bow before your sibling.”

Marta lowered her head, while Qaireth flourished.

“A good fight, and a Gentle Sleep to you,” was the last thing the leader announced. A death bell was beaten, and it began.

They circled each other, neither striking. Qaireth had promised to let her attack first, but now Marta was unsure. She held her weapons in front of her in defense. Qaireth tilted his head barely noticably, and she took the sign, striking out with her right axe. He gracefully evaded. He hadn’t promised her attack would land. But he also didn’t counter.

Despite his grim face, Marta knew she was safe with him. And that was what encouraged her to strike again. It didn’t land either, but it didn’t have to because he didn’t expect the strike with the left axe to come almost simultaneously, right where he had meant to dodge. He managed to twist away, but he was off balance now. She could have hit him in the side, maybe even done damage to his organs, but instead she drew back, and immediately Qaireth was back in his balanced position. This time, he struck out, stabbing his rapier forward. Marta managed to catch it with the haft of her left axe and twist it away at the last second, only because she had trained with Qaireth for years and knew his moves. His expression was worried, and Marta understood why. If they kept going with these training moves without shedding blood, the officials around the pit would deem them unfit.

Nevertheless, when the next strike came, she twisted away. She realized the feint one breath before the rapier pierced her side. Burning pain shot through her. She gasped. She hadn’t been wounded in a fight for years, and then, it had always been an accident.

This wasn’t an accident.

This was real. Her lip trembled.

Now that the first blood had been spilt, the Necrolancers standing around the pit were starting their chants. Marta tried to ignore the pain in her hip and lifted her axes, slashed at Qaireth. Her stance was sloppy, and so Qaireth managed to evade easily and strike at her in response, inflicting a shallow cut on her arm. Marta cried out, attacked again, and this time, she managed to hit. She could feel the flesh rip under the blade, could feel the blood flow from the wound and drench the gray shirt, before she could even see it. Qaireth barely made a sound, but he stepped back into a defensive position. Another short break.

Marta was breathing heavily. Her whole body trembled. She had never hurt someone before, not even in training.

This was real.

The realization hit her like a rapier to the gut. This was real. And it didn’t matter what she did. No matter what, this would end with both of them dead.

She flexed her fingers, shifted her hold on the twin axes. And then she dashed forward, hacking down with both blades. Qaireth barely managed to hold his rapier above him to guard, had to hold it up against the force with his off hand, cutting himself on his own blade. Marta hooked the rapier under the blade of the left axe, pulling it down, then struck with the right. This time, Qaireth screamed. The axe sliced into his shoulder.

Marta tried to wedge the blade even deeper, but he darted forward and hit her. She ignored the pain to strike a third time. A slice at his neck that might have been a decapitation, had it not been for a quick swerve backwards on his part. Another swipe at his side, which he couldn’t dodge. She would have kept going, but suddenly, Qaireth hooked his foot under her leg, making her stumble. He held his rapier in front of her, so that she wouldn’t be able to keep her balance without getting hurt. Marta decided to stay on her feet and let the rapier pierce her through.

Qaireth’s brow was furrowed in something she knew all too well: worry. Not at the wounds, not at the fight... Marta realized she was grinning.

This was real.

And she liked it.

At this point, she gave up on any kind of defense entirely. Holding her weapons far away from her, she attacked, again and again, beating down on Qaireth, swinging her twin axes round and round. In their training, he had always had the upper hand, and if it hadn’t been for his other promise, she would have believed him to be the one to deal the finishing blow. He always did, and he kept his perfect technique throughout. But now she caught him off guard. Because she wasn’t fighting like she usually did, keeping the blades close in defense, going back into her stance after every strike, playing it safe. She was fighting like she had nothing to lose. Because she didn’t. She was fighting like a Necrolancer.

At the top of the pit, the chanting Necrolancers were opening their veins now with their own weapons, letting their blood flow down to mix with the fighters’. The chanting grew louder.

Qaireth still landed as many hits as Marta. When she launched at him, he stabbed at her leg, and she let him to get another two hits at his arms. He used the short moment where she toppled to escape backwards, giving himself more room and regaining some composure. Marta threw her left axe at him. He dodged, barely, and it stuck in the wall of the pit where just a second ago his head had been.

Marta laughed. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe it was just the freeing realization of how little her actions here mattered. She could barely feel her wounds, but what she felt, she liked. She had been scared so long. Of hurting, of being hurt. And now, all of that was gone, and all that remained was this light feeling of relief.

By now, the blood was ankle deep. She remembered that there had been incidents of students drowning each other in the pits. In this moment, she found the thought charming.

She jumped at Qaireth again, who instinctively dodged back, right into the wall behind him. She bore his counterattack and then gripped around him, pulled the axe from the earth and in the same sweep hit him in the back in something that would have been considered very bad form in training but did its job at inflicting a big unclean gash. More blood streamed into the pit. It reached to their calves now.

Qaireth put his pain and frustration into his next thrust, piercing Marta’s shoulder. She screamed out in laughter. One axe hit the ground. The other swiped around. This time, Marta felt more than flesh give way under her force. The rapier fell into the sea of blood, and Qaireth’s right hand with it. He dove down, swiped his legs at Marta to pull her down with him. The world turned red.

Warmth enveloped her. She sat up, saw another shape of red, covered in gore before her. Qaireth seemed a lot less calm as he was frantically splashing around in the gore to find his weapon. Marta reached around as well, searching for the comforting wooden hafts of her axes. She found her own ear, right as Qaireth rose out of the sea of blood, dripping red, rapier in his remaining hand.

She knew he was left-handed, so the thrust came as no surprise. As she rolled away, she felt something sharp bite into her leg. The next attack she took with a grunt, so she could pick up her weapon. She answered with two quick swipes at Qaireth’s legs, then rolled away again and stood up.

On opposite ends of the Necropit now, the two opponents stared each other down. Marta could feel hundreds of wounds burning in her body. She stood swaying, could barely move her left leg anymore. Her breath went whistling, hinting at a damaged lung. Qaireth didn’t look much better. He was bleeding everywhere, missing a hand, his entrails were hanging out of his belly. But he was still standing. As was she. The next few moves would decide it all.

Marta lifted her axe, and Qaireth launched forward. His thrust was aimed at her heart, her swing made for his neck. One landed.

Marta had never seen such shock on Qaireth’s face. She grinned. Laughed.

The blood reached to her knees. Then to her hips as she sank down, the rapier lodged deep within her chest. She had never felt anything so warm.

Qaireth knelt down next to her. Dutifully, he took her hand in his. Her hand that was still holding the axe, a hold he was tightening with his own hand, intertwining their fingers. He did what was asked of any student who dealt the killing blow in the Necropits, and lifted the blade to his own throat. And as she was sinking away into the embrace of her first Gentle Sleep, Marta knew that he would never forgive her.

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #gore #marta periar #qaireth xaes #necrolancer series #this is a backstory piece for a concept i am kinda sorta working on

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 26: Burns

cn: religious indoctrination, power imbalance, burning as penitence, suggestive

The floor of the cell was cold beneath her naked feet, a draft chilling her in her chaste but flimsy nightgown. The praying chambers, she knew, were sweat-breakingly warm, even at this time in the night, heated by the proximity to the hall of the hearth, and the devout praying even now, and the Flame herself.

When she knelt, she shuddered, and not just from the cold. And when she started sweating, it wasn’t just the heat of the fire she kindled.

When she had managed to get the fire properly going, Priya set up her prayer wheel, a cylinder of thin sheet metal, stenciled with lines of letters. When she put it over the small fire, the room grew darker again, save for the rays of light falling through the holes in the metal, projecting the prayers onto the walls and onto Priya’s body.

For a while, her hands hovered over the heating metal, as she struggled to find words. Her tongue seemed to be stuck to the top of her dry mouth. All she had was the shame she had woken up with.

Eventually, she fell back on a prayer she had learned in her early years in the temple.

“Gentle Flame, hold me tight, protection of wickedness give me…”

She laid her hand to the prayer wheel. The hot metal stung her skin. She gave it a spin, and the prayers started dancing across the room.

“Cleansing Flame, burn in me, take my sin away...”

She gave the wheel another spin, with her lower arm this time. As she kept reciting prayers, the metal burnt her skin deliciously. White, hot, pure pain that distracted her from the images in her head. The prayer wheels weren’t primarily intended for penitence, that was what her fellow disciples were for, but using it like this was not unusual, and it served its purpose.

Soon, the room smelled not of musty cold air anymore, but of burning skin. Blisters covered a large amount of Priya’s arms. Tears streamed down her face. Tears of pain and of frustration, as the burning feeling failed to keep the content of her dreams at bay, seemed to stoke them, rather.

“Cleansing Flame, free me from sin,” she pleaded and stuck her hand directly into the burning coals. “Deliver me from wickedness and temptation.” And then she started begging, louder: “Douse this burden, I beg of you. I will give you all of me, but free me from these sinful images that haunt my dreams.”

“What dreams, Priya?”

She darted around, and all warmth left her body as she beheld the shape of the Flame herself, her Lady and Goddess, standing in the doorway. Priya threw herself on the ground so hard that she almost bumped her head on the stone floor.

“You are far from your cell. Or the praying chambers,” said the Flame, her beautiful head tilted to the side, such that her hair fell over her shoulders in streams of white fire. “Nor are those simple praying burns, if I am not mistaken.”

“Forgive me, my Flame,” Priya said. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

The Flame stepped closer, and Priya’s heart caught in her throat. “What are you repenting for, Priya?”

“My Flame, I do not wish to cause you any unrest – “

“What dreams were you talking about?” Her voice was magnificent, and her words were cruel in their grace. They didn’t allow for any avoidance.

“Sinful dreams, my Flame,” Priya said, cheeks burning.

“I see.” The Flame walked around Priya until she stood behind her, and Priya didn’t dare turn around to look at her. “Shall I deliver your penitence, then, Knight of the Flame?”

“I… It would be an honor, your Grace.” There was no way to deny her. Priya sat up and slipped her upper body out of her nightgown. She said the words, and the Flame responded, as she always did. And as always, burning hot hands set down on her shoulder, burning her already blistering skin. More hot tears streamed down Priya’s burning cheeks. She felt like the flesh was burned from her bones, and yet she didn’t want the touch to ever stop. The Flame leaned forward, and her silver-white hair fell over Priya’s shoulders and her chest, burning up her torso.

And then Flame did something she never did. Her hands wandered down, and as they did, the grey-white skin cooled down from a burning heat into a warmth that might almost be called comfortable.

“My Flame…” Priya’s words caught in her throat, so it sounded more like a whimper.

“Have you any objections to the penitence, my Knight?” asked the Flame.

Priya trembled her head rather than shaking it. “My Flame, I…” The words burnt up within her, as the flames caressed her body, white-hot fingers leaving trails of red on her skin. A hand took Priya’s face under the chin, tilting her head up and backwards so she had no choice but to behold the face of the Goddess, crowned with silver flames and gleaming from within. All Priya wished at that moment was to be consumed by those flames, burnt up in the brilliance of her Mistress’ glory.

But between dried up and burst lips, she forced out: “I am sworn to celibacy, my Lady.”

“Am I not free of sin?” demanded the Flame.

“Yes, but…”

“Would you call anything I chose to do sinful? And are you not sworn to me, Ser Priyanshi Varma, Knight of the Flame, most loyal among my disciples, who delivered me from certain death? Is not the sword you wield one carried by many a Saint of mine? Have I not just burnt the sin from your mortal flesh? How then, can this be sin?”

“Mistress, I am yours.” And then, when she screamed, it was not for her Flame, but – “BAI!”

There was another scream, coming neither from Priya, nor her Goddess.

“Ser Priyanshi!”

Priya opened her eyes to find the world consumed by fire. Not the white fire of the Flame, but red and orange. Someone pulled at her midst, and the light receded a bit, but the burning pain stayed. She found she was still screaming. The smell of burning flesh and hair tickled her nose. More noise around her, more screams. The fire burned itself into her flesh, into her shoulder and scalp. And she found it a cruel fate to die like this, without beholding Bai’s face one last time.

Then a shocking cold and darkness enveloped her, crueler still, driving away the flames. Priya coughed up the water, but remained lying in the puddle.

“She is breathing!”

“Ser Priyanshi, hold out just a moment longer! We already sent for a healer.”

She recognized the voices of the faithful. Bai’s was not among them.

“My Flame?” she murmured, trying to sit up, but someone pressed her down again, and then let go when she screamed out in pain as the hand touched her burnt flesh.

“Ser Priyanshi, please remain calm. The Flame would not wish you to die.”

“What…” She coughed up fire this time, her lung burning from within. “…happened? Where is…”

“You fell asleep while praying, Ser! We found you toppled over your prayer wheel, your hair already ablaze!”

Priya curled in on herself and wailed out not just from the pain.

Despite the healers’ best efforts, that night did leave its marks on Priya. Multiple burn scars stretched over her face and shoulders, and her already heavily scarred back. She felt humbled by them, as disciples were discouraged from showing scars received by fire openly. To flaunt one’s burn scars was a form of pride, which was a sin, of course.

But Priya’s worry would soon be lifted when she next knelt in front of her Flame to receive a task. She was already anxious since her mission would send her far away from her Lady for quite a while. Priya was hanging her head in humility and sorrow. But when she was about to dismiss Priya, the Flame said: “Look at me, Priya.”

Priya winced, but did as she was told. The Flame lifted a hand and slowly reached it out towards her face. One of her fingers ghosted over the scars, never touching them, but oh, oh, so close, closer than ever outside a penitence. Priya didn’t move, transfixed by the gesture.

“I could heal them, you know,” spoke the Flame. “But they suit you. They are a sign of your piety, your discipline and your humility.”

Later Priya could not for her life remember whether the last sentence had been uttered by the Flame, or whether she had imagined it, or whether the Flame had not spoken but thought it, letting it hang there in the hall: “It shows who you belong to.”

Priya bowed her head, and left in silence. But inside, she was wailing again. For how could it be that even after burning her flesh down to the bone, her sinful thoughts were still not burnt out of her?

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #gore #priyanshi varma #xingyun bai

[niennandil-me-writes]

something new, something blue

cn: anxiety, abusive parents mention, cannibalism mention in an academic context, nsfw at the end

[my secret santa gift for @constantlytiredghost. November belongs to them.]

Wilhelmina sat bent over her studies, trying to take notes, trying to compare three different sources, trying to stay focused. She had always struggled with working while someone else was in the room, preferring the solitude and silence of her empty study. Not that she would have preferred to be alone right now. It had turned out she was even more distracted when the person with her was one she actually liked.

Last time Wilhelmina had looked behind her, which was about five minutes ago, November had been sitting on her bed, surrounded by the books she had brought from the library, most of them on funerary rites (“Wilhelmina, did you know about this clan of Yuan-Ti that eats their dead?” She had known about it, but still listened to November read her the passage and talk about similar accounts she had heard, wondering aloud whether the souls of the dead were watching over their cooks’ shoulder…).

Now she heard November stand up, walk around the room. She realized she’d been reading the same sentence for the tenth time, when she felt something graze her left horn. A bit puzzled, she looked up at November, or rather at her hat.

“Sorry,” the blue-clad cleric said. “I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“You aren’t – I mean – Don’t worry about it. I should just…”

“It’s just that you said you’d be ready in ten minutes, and that was half an hour ago.”

“Oh, right…” Wilhelmina bit her lip.

“I don’t want to interrupt your work,” November said gently. “But I’m getting hungry.” She tilted her head, winced, no doubt remembering their talk a few days back. “Or at least, I could do with a snack right now.”

“Uhm, sure, let’s go.” Wilhelmina stood up quickly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Let me just get my bag. I think the cafeteria has zucchini cream soup today. It’s my favorite, I’m sure you’ll love it as well! Is something wrong?”

November had stopped in her tracks suddenly, frowning. “Not really,” she said, hesitantly. “I just thought we might go eat somewhere else today?”

“Do you not like zucchini soup?” Wilhelmina asked, alarmed.

“No, it’s nice. Just… you already showed me the cafeteria when we cooked our chili there.” November smiled. “I thought maybe you want to show me some other place?”

Wilhelmina avoided her gaze, looking out the window instead. Despite studying in this city for 8 years and working here for another 2, she had never been to any of its restaurants, except for the rare occasions where someone explicitly invited her, and she hadn’t found an excuse in time. Even then, she remembered mainly how nervous she had been. Not the food, or the address or name of the establishment.

“You don’t think it’s still dangerous to go outside, do you?” November asked carefully. “I’m sure the whole thing has blown over.”

“I’m not worried about that. Anymore,” Wilhelmina added quickly. Then, finally, she had an idea: “There’s the food vendors! Uhm, there’s a place on campus with a bunch of food tents, I’ve heard. I’ve never been, but, you know, we could try it out…”

“Sounds great,” November beamed. “I love street food!”

Wilhelmina was glad it was around midday, so all she had to do was follow the groups of university students to find this place she had heard of and walked past sometimes, but never really visited. Too scary was the prospect of a colleague walking over while she ate her lunch, or a food vendor making small talk.

The tents were arranged in a semicircle around a cluster of wooden tables and benches, where students sat together chattering, discussing their studies, some with their notes scattered across the table next to their wooden plates. It wasn’t just students, though. Wilhelmina recognized some of her colleagues among them, and quickly turned away.

November, meanwhile, had been looking around the yard with big eyes and an even bigger smile. “I don’t even know what I should get, those all look so good! Do you have any recommendations, Wilhelmina?”

“Uhm, not really,” she murmured. “I’ve never eaten here.”

“Hmmm…” November looked around again. “Do you like curry?”

Wilhelmina nodded courtly, and November took her hand to guide her towards a red tent staffed by Tabaxi stirring in big pots and turning skewers and dumplings on a grill.

“Anything I can do for you, love?” one of the servers asked Wilhelmina.

She looked helplessly to November, whose gaze was fixed on the blackboard spelling out the different foods on display. Wilhelmina felt the shadows drape deeper over her face as the Tabaxi looked at her impatiently.

To her relief, November finally looked up: “I’ll have the vegan curry with samosas. And extra spicy, please.”

The Tabaxi nodded and then looked at Wilhelmina expectantly, who mumbled a “the same”, and then quickly fumbled for her money before November could pay or argue. They got their food quickly. Not being able to find an empty table, and despite Wilhelmina’s protests, November spread out her cloak on the grass, so they could sit there comfortably.

“Can I have some of your carrots?” November asked.

“Hm?” Wilhelmina was pushing around her food. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

November tilted her head and looked at her bow. “Didn’t you also order samosas?”

“Wh- Yes, I did, but…”

They both looked down at Wilhelmina’s very samosa-less bowl.

“They probably just forgot it,” November said. “Should I come with you to ask for them?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Wilhelmina said quickly.

“But you wanted samosas, right? And you paid for them? So you should get samosas.”

“Really, November, it’s okay.”

November quickly made a grab for Wilhelmina’s bowl and stood up to walk back to the food tent. Wilhelmina followed her, but then halted indecisively. In horror, he watched November tap the Tabaxi who had served them earlier on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, my friend ordered samosas with that?”

Wilhelmina wanted to call another “it’s fine” but could barely move her lips. Her entire body shrouded in shadows as the Tabaxi looked over to her with a furrowed brow. This was it. She would get yelled at. And she would yell back and maybe hurl a sliver of her psychic magic at the server and then run away and hide in the library, never to be seen again, never to see November agai–

“Sorry, love, I’ll take care of that right away.” The server took the bowl and went back inside the tent. November turned around and shot Wilhelmina a smile, soon rejoining her with the fixed order.

“Thanks,” Wilhelmina said meekly. “Uh, thanks for doing that for me.”

“No problem,” November beamed. “Just pay me back in carrots.”

The curry was delicious, the samosas even moreso. Spicy, but not too much to handle for Wilhelmina’s fire-resistant Tiefling body and November’s deadened nerves.

“Maybe we could go here more often,” Wilhelmina said hesitantly. “For as long as you’re staying, at least. This is much easier when I have you with me.” It wasn’t just the heat of the food that drove a blush to her cheeks.

November smiled. “It’s really nice here.” She had made herself comfortable in the grass, looking around. “What else have we planned for today?”

“Planned? What do you mean?”

“Well, you did say you’d show me around the city. And today seems a good day for that. Unless you are too busy?”

Wilhelmina had said that. Though she had mainly referred to the university, and had hoped she could put it off for a while.

“I… actually don’t know that many places here. I can show you around the university, though,” she suggested.

“That would be nice. But maybe, we could go some other place? I’ve already been around the university a bit.”

Wilhelmina contemplated what she could show November, while her partner sat patiently, cleaning out the last of her curry from the bowl.

“There’s a couple of parks,” Wilhelmina said hesitantly. “Oh! There’s the museum.” She lit up. “Numerous museums, actually. There’s the history museum, and the museum of arts, the museum of magic…” She looked at November, who was listening, smiling, most important of all: nodding.

“Sounds fun.”

“Erm, is there something specific you’d be interested in?” Wilhelmina asked.

“The museum of magic sounds interesting. But I’d let you choose.”

After returning their plates, Wilhelmina led the way through the streets of the city. November kept skipping ahead or falling behind to take in the sights, or even just a shop window. The second time she returned from such an exploit, November took Wilhelmina’s hand in hers, and the Tiefling was too flustered to launch into her lecture about the historical figure depicted by the statue November had just returned from.

It was strange. Wilhelmina had lived in this city for almost a decade – since she had started her studies. And yet right now, with November’s hand in hers, and her tail hesitantly laid around her partner’s hip, the ways seemed to stretch so much longer. The colors were brighter, the shop fronts more enticing and the attractions more exciting. There was a bittersweetness to it. Wilhelmina caught herself evading November’s eyes and quickening her step just a bit.

Walking into the well-known shadow of the old museum felt like a relief. She waived both November and herself through with her university sigil.

“Don’t we have to pay?” November asked.

“The university – the Librarian, that is – donated some artifacts to the museums in the past,” Wilhelmina explained. “University people and their companions have free entry.”

November looked around the room they had entered, which held ancient wands and staffs on the walls and in locked glass cabinets.

“Is any of the stuff here from you? I mean, did you bring something here back from an adventure? Like the Kryschos in the library?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Wilhelmina said. “I did help with the identification of a magical cloak, however.”

“Well, then lead the way.”

Wilhelmina needed a moment to understand before November took her hand again. She nodded and together they walked into a room displaying magical clothing. The cloak of interest was hanging spread-out at the wall among many others of a similar kind. All of them were frayed at the edges and had a few holes, which had made it hard to identify what magic exactly they held, especially since they couldn’t be used anymore without running danger of destroying them or oneself. With the artefact in question, it had taken weeks to even say for sure whether it was magic at all, or just had residue from a spell stuck to it in a very peculiar way, until they had figured out that the magic ran through one single strand of one single thread of the elaborate embroidery. After that discovery, the delicate process of analyzing the fibers one by one without damaging the fabric had been Wilhelmina’s job, which had taken the better part of two weeks.

“So what does it do?” November asked as Wilhelmina ended her description of the work.

“We, uh, still don’t really know,” Wilhelmina said a bit meekly. “The thread has way too many tears in it to say for certain. It’s almost like a text with words or whole paragraphs missing. We assume it’s a form of protective cloak. The magic is mostly Abjuration, with trace amounts of Evocation. There might be fire involved, though whether it protected from it or summoned fire in some way we cannot say for sure. The motives of the embroidery led us to believe it might be a part of a set of 5, or perhaps 6, though as far as we could find out, no others like it have ever been found. Further studies … what?”

November was grinning from ear to ear. Now she tilted her head. “What ‘what’?”

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“You’re really good at this,” November said. “Explaining things I mean. You’re like a walking book.”

There was that familiar sting in her chest. A feeling that made her want to lash out, want to hide away in a dark room, a shadow within shadows. It was an instinct she still couldn’t fully let go off. Sharp words at the tip of her tongue. Words she held back. But when did speak, it still came out a bit harsher than she had wanted it to: “I must be boring you. We should just look at other stuff.”

November’s smile didn’t disappear, but turned softer. “But I like hearing you explain things.”

Wilhelmina didn’t look up. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Why else would I be here?”

Yes, why were they here? Right back in her comfort space, surrounded by silence and musty air and relics, like they had never left the library at all, when November had wanted to see the city’s sights. Wilhelmina bit back those words as well, and instead looked around the room. “What do you want to hear about next?”

That was how they moved through the museum, room by room, November pointing out artifacts, and Wilhelmina recounting what she could remember of their history, meaning and the magic they held. They looked at a variety of magic foci, enchanted cloaks (“this one looks a bit like Tony’s, don’t you think?”), studied spell scrolls and books locked behind special glass that prevented them from being used to cast, and spell-storing stones and jewels. They spent about half an hour looking at different magic hats as well as normal hats that used to belong to powerful magic users, including a fedora that allegedly used to belong to Melf himself. November stared at that one for quite a while.

“Who do you think has better style?” she finally asked.

“You, undoubtedly,” Wilhelmina said.

“Hm? Oh, I meant between that witch hat over there and Melf’s,” November clarified. “But thanks, much appreciated.”

“Oh, I just meant…,” Wilhelmina stuttered.

“I still think I need some more trinkets and thingamajigs,” November said, considering the brim of the witch hat bending under the weight of various pieces of decoration.

It was only after a while of walking and talking her way through the museum that Wilhelmina noticed they were being followed around by four people. She halted in her explanation of a specific magic broomstick. Helplessly, she looked over at November, who laughed: “I think you got an audience.”

“Am I talking too loudly?” Wilhelmina whispered.

One of the other visitors, an Elf holding a notebook, lifted their hand: “Sorry, does it cost extra to join the tour?”

Wilhelmina felt the shadows drape over her face. “I’m not – I mean…” She trailed off as November took her hand.

“Should I tell them to leave us some space?” she asked in a low voice.

Wilhelmina bit her lip. “No. I mean, if we’re here anyway…” She cleared her throat, then said louder: “I’m not a guide, but you can stay if you want.”

Wilhelmina had become quite good at holding presentations over the years at university, but she had never been comfortable during them. This was similar, now that she was aware of the eyes directed at her. At first, at least. But whenever she felt November close to her, touching her hand for just a moment or brushing shoulders, it didn’t put her on edge like any other proximity would have in that situation. She focused in on her and found the speaking just as easy as before. She wrapped her tail around November’s leg, not caring that everyone saw. She had given up on that at the ball. There were a lot of things she cared about less now, she realized.

By the time they left the museum, it was already getting dark, the sun having disappeared behind the skyline a while ago. They walked through the shadowed streets, Wilhelmina choosing a longer way back to the university.

“We can go window shopping until the stores close if you like,” Wilhelmina said. “And then pick up some food to take to my room.”

“What’s that commotion over there?” November asked.

Wilhelmina followed her gaze. It had indeed gotten louder, voices and distant music and joyful screams echoing through the streets. In that direction, the house walls and cobblestones were lit in various colors that replaced the waning light of the sun.

The closer they got, the more they could recognize: First, small stands on either side of the street, offering snacks and sweets. The farther away, the more people bustled about, until the street led to the entrance of a park, which seemed to be the center of the commotion. Between the trees, a wide array of tents, booths and big stalls had been erected, lit by the colorful light of lanterns hanging from the branches, both mundane and magical in nature.

“Win your prize at the ranger’s hut!” an Elf holding a toy-sized bow and arrow yelled from within a booth. “Just hit the target three times!”

“The best waffles in the city!” barked a Halfling from a stand laden with sweets.

“Get your fortune told at Madame Mertha’s!” a Gnome called over from a tent.

Wilhelmina and November had stopped at the park entrance.

“Looks like a fair,” Wilhelmina said. “I heard one comes to town sometimes.”

“Well, then we’re in luck,” November said. “I haven’t been to one in ages!”

Even though she was tired and usually avoided large crowds, Wilhelmina joined November without complaint as she walked inside the park to have a look around. As if she knew the place, November casually guided their way to a big hut that was shrouded in an intense sugary sweet smell.

“You want some candyfloss, Wilhelmina?”

Wilhelmina jumped as November’s question drew the attention of a Tortle who was selling the sweets. She mumbled something, and kept looking around the stand, noticing gingerbread hearts in the back, different kinds of candy sticks and chocolates…

November tapped her shoulder and she turned to see two giant blue-and-white clouds under the big hat of her partner. Wilhelmina smiled shyly as she took her candyfloss. As she turned the stick to tear off a small wisp with pointed fingers, she realized that the sugary threads were glowing from within.

“Nice, isn’t it?” November said, her eyes glowing almost as bright as the candy. “The vendor casts a Light cantrip on the inner part. It looks almost like a will-o’-wisp, don’t you think?” She smirked. “So it fits you.”

Wilhelmina stopped with the sugar halfway to her mouth, looking down herself, then at the glowing confection, then at November. “It also fits your colors,” she said sheepishly. “And, um, thanks.” She finally put the sugar in her mouth. It melted in a sticking sweet intense flavor, with just a hint of blueberry and vanilla.

November furrowed her brow. “Have you never had candyfloss before, Wilhelmina?”

“Um, not that often. Why?”

November grinned, and Wilhelmina realized that her eyes had widened as she took the bite, and that her tail stood up rather than subtly hanging down as usual. She quickly wrapped it around November’s leg, and then felt even more embarrassed.

November took her hand and smiled at her calmly. “I saw some interesting stalls over there, wanna see?”

Wilhelmina let November guide her on. “I, uh, never was allowed much candy by my parents,” she explained. “And I’ve only ever been to a funfair once. My sister, Ramona, snuck us out for it. We were grounded for a week after that. But she found a way to pass letters under my door, and some candy she got there for me.”

“At least you have one family member that allows fun,” November said. “We had a small fair coming by the town once a year. My family would even do their own stand sometimes. Basically a haunted house.” November smiled in reminiscence.

Wilhelmina turned the candyfloss around in contemplation. “Were any of the ghosts real?”

“That’s a family and company secret.”

They had arrived at a bigger stall with a particularly large crowd gathered around it. At closer inspection, it seemed to be selling trinkets and toys that had weak magical properties, which explained the amount of children pulling at their parents' sleeves and begging for what had caught their attention. But older customers were examining the wares as well.

There were music boxes with dancing figurines inside, endlessly spinning tops, hairbands that promised to increase the effects of studying (Wilhelmina looked at that for a moment longer), chalk that wrote in rainbow colors, sending stones (of particular interest to a group of teenagers), brushes that dyed your hair, and much more.

One particular object caught both Wilhelmina’s and November’s attention at almost the same time, as they called out to the other with fingers pointed.

“You know who that would be perfect for?” November said in excitement, looking at the metal orb the size of her head. The metal had some holes and etchings, such that Wilhelmina for a second had wondered if it was the making of magic or artifice, but at least the silver light streaming from within seemed to be magical. The corner it stood in wasn’t lit, except for the little dots the object produced, projecting star clusters and constellations at the wooden wall, exactly like the real ones in the sky above.

“Tony would love that,” Wilhelmina agreed.

The vendor, a Gnome standing on the elevated floor of the stall, had noticed their attention. “You can change the hemisphere and plane it shows,” they explained, turning a lever on the orb to switch to a sky Wilhelmina had never seen before.

“We have to get that for them,” Wilhelmina and November said at once.

“Costs a small fortune, though,” November added, glancing at the label.

Wilhelmina, who had already reached for her wallet, hesitated. “I mean, I can…”

“We will split it,” November said. “And then we have to find a way to send that to Tony’s ship.”

After making their purchase and carefully storing it in November’s bag, they walked on, Wilhelmina keeping her tail around November as if to steady herself. They arrived at an area where there seemed to be a lot of competitions and prizes to win.

“Those are always rigged,” Wilhelmina mumbled, an echo of her parents’ opinion, looking at a game where participants had to throw very small rings around very big cylinders.

“Wanna find out how rigged?” November asked.

“What?”

But November was already pulling her towards one of the games, and Wilhelmina didn’t really have a choice but to follow or get lost in the crowd. November looked around a bit at the games. “Which should we try?”

“Um…”

“Want to try out the Dwarf Strike?” a gruff voice called over to them, and they both turned to look at a Dwarf woman standing next to a wooden construction three times her size, with markings up its length labelled from “Halfling Baby” and “One-Armed Kobold” over “Strongest Elf” and “Weakest Bugbear” up to “Orc”, “Dwarf” and “Dwarf-Orc”.

“Ya just have to hit the base with this here hammer and if ya get to one of t’ upper ones, ya get a prize.”

“Bit stereotyping, don’t you think?” November remarked, pointing at the labels.

The Dwarf flinched. “Get that a lot. It’s an older model and I’m too lazy to think o’ something better. Now, does one of ya beauties want to try ya hands at it.” She pointed at a shelf laden with prizes behind her, mostly brightly colored plushies and little bundles filled with candy. “Maybe win one of them stuffies for yer lady friend?”

November looked at Wilhelmina, who shook her head.

“I’ll try it,” November said and walked up to the wooden tower to pay for one attempt. Wilhelmina stood to the side and watched her pick up the large hammer. She weighed it in her hands and tried to pull it up before stopping. “Oh, almost forgot, Wilhelmina, can you take my hat for me?”

She quickly walked over and put the hat on Wilhelmina’s head. As she leaned closer to pull it over her horns, she winked at her and whispered, “Try to distract her a bit for me, okay?” She was back at the tower before Wilhelmina could say anything. It seemed to take her some effort to lift the hammer into the air and over her shoulders. She winked at Wilhelmina again.

Wilhelmina bit her lips. She stepped a bit closer to the Dwarf. “Is, um… does this fair come here often?”

“’bout twice a year. Big cities are always happy to have us.”

Wilhelmina took a deep breath. Made a little gesture with her hand as if to draw attention. Then she started talking, weaving enthralling magic into her words, talking without interruption to capture and cage the Dwarf’s attention. She talked about this being her first time here, about Ramona taking her to the fair back home many years back, the pressure her parents put her under, and she was about to start talking about her growing discomfort at this place when there was a loud BANG as November struck the hammer to the base with full force, followed by a louder GONG sound as the puck was thrown upwards to hit the third highest mark. For the fraction of a second Wilhelmina saw the outline of a silvery shovel around the hammer, then it was gone.

“Did I do it right?” November asked innocently.

The Dwarf scratched her head, but apparently, she hadn’t seen what Wilhelmina had spotted, and so she just grinned and said. “Congrats, lass. Didn’t think you’d have that much power in ya.” She walked back to the row of prices, picking out a big blue stuffed owl with a large pink heart on its chest. “That one right for ya?” she asked and handed the prize not to November but rather to Wilhelmina, who nodded a bit befuddled. “Looks just like you,” the Dwarf winked. “You sweethearts have anything else planned?”

“Not really,” November said quickly. She took Wilhelmina’s hand and turned away, but the Dwarf was still talking.

“There’s a ferris wheel over yonder. My brother is manning it. Can see the whole city from the top, so it’s nice if you haven’t been to the city for long. Might be something for you lovebird- whoa!”

All the lights had gone out all of a sudden, the place cast in shadow. Yells and murmurs and complaints came from the crowd around them, getting more confused as it became clear that it wasn’t just the lights, but that a bubble of total darkness had taken over a small part of the park.

Having let go of November’s hand and drawn in her tail, Wilhelmina ignored her companion’s calls and left. She stepped outside the darkness, past the confused crowd. When she left the park, she consciously recalled the spell that she had unconsciously cast. The walk back to university was like a haze, her vision blurry from tears, hands cramped into fists, face draped in shadow, staring down anyone who dared come close to her.

Finally, she stepped inside her room, closed and locked the door behind her, and threw herself on her bed. It took only a few seconds for the anger bubbling up in her to simmer into a shallow guilt. She shut it out. It didn’t matter. She was more comfortable in her room anyway.

She jumped when there was a knock at her door.

She stayed silent. Didn’t move. Face pressed into her pillow.

Another knock. “Wilhelmina?” November’s voice, soft and concerned.

“Go away!” Wilhelmina called. “Don’t let me ruin the fun you were having!”

It was silent for a while. Wilhelmina sat up, only now noticing the hat that had fallen on the floor. She had forgotten she had been wearing it while fleeing. She picked it up and walked to the door, unlocking and opening it by an inch. She half expected November to be gone, but she still stood there. Her brow was furrowed with what might have been worry.

“Sorry for stealing your hat,” Wilhelmina said meekly. She tried to pass the hat through the gap and immediately close the door again, but November was already holding it in place.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

“Don’t you want to go to the ferris wheel?” Wilhelmina didn’t look at her.

“Not if it’s not with you.”

Wilhelmina chewed her lip, anger bubbling up inside her again. “Fine.” She let go off the door and sat down on her bed again. November followed her and let herself fall down beside her.

“You forgot your plush,” she said, sitting the owl on the mattress next to her.

Wilhelmina didn’t look at it or November. “I got you licorice.”

“What?”

“At the candy stall. I got you licorice.” Wilhelmina pointed at her bag on the floor, holding a paper package of licorice sticks. “I think you’ll like it. It has an intense flavor.”

“Ah,” November said.

A silence fell over the room that was neither save nor comfortable.

“Soooo,” November said after a while. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, or do you just want to sit there and pout?” And when she didn’t get an answer: “I wouldn’t have a problem with that. You have a very cute pout.”

“It’s not – “ She stopped herself and pressed her lips together.

“Yes, it is. Your ears turn downwards when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting,” Wilhelmina pouted.

“Yes, you are. And it’s cute.” She reached out to Wilhelmina’s face, who flinched away, staring her down.

She could feel the shadows darken, was about to send a mind sliver in November’s direction to get the thoughts that were muddling her mind like ink blotches on the page of a book to leave, and November along with them. If she didn’t get it, she could feel it, and maybe then she’d understand it, and maybe then she would leave her alone, leave and never come back, and she’d be alone and in peace again.

But then something turned softer about November’s expression, and she turned and pulled her legs up to her chest, so she was facing Wilhelmina. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanna know what’s wrong.”

There was something about her that let the walls Wilhelmina had built around herself crumble. About her and Tony both. But where Tony was a wrecking ball, November seemed like a magical brew that dissolved the adhesive sticking the bricks together.

Wilhelmina looked away, draping her face in shadows in shame rather than anger this time. After everything, her first instinct was still to lash out. Hurt people before they could hurt her. Keep them at a distance so their words could never sting. The truth was that she liked those walls she had built, and that she felt exposed without them.

“Sorry,” Wilhelmina said meekly. “I was being an idiot.”

“Nobody said anything about that,” November said. “I just want to know what happened.” Wilhelmina felt November’s cold fingers gently brush her own hand, and this time, she didn’t pull away.

“It’s stupid,” Wilhelmina said again. “You will laugh at me, or get mad, and both would be justified.”

“Now you’re being unfair towards yourself,” November said.

Wilhelmina hesitated, as if trying to find the right words, as if they hadn’t been echoing through her mind all the way home. “It’s just… You wanted me to show you the city, but I had nothing to show. I don’t even know the city I’ve lived in for years.”

“You showed me the museum,” November interjected.

“Yes, and as soon as we left, you wanted to see something else, something more exciting,” Wilhelmina said, turning to her. “And I get it, I have nothing to offer. I’m… boring. You are amazing! You always tell me about your adventures, of guiding lost souls into the afterlife, of beating people up with a spiritual shovel, or forcing them to dig their own graves, of escaping death itself! You talked to that … experiment? creature? – when I didn’t even know what to do.

“And Tony as well! They’re traveling the world by ship. And what do I do? I sit here in my study and read old books! I’m a glorified scribe! I spent all my life trying to please my parents, or – or some Archfey I sold my soul to, without mattering to any of them at all, and now I’m 28 and I feel like I haven’t lived a single day of my life. I can’t even show you anything exciting in this city that’s worth doing. I must be so boring to you.”

November had listened with her head tilted. Now she reached out both hands to take Wilhelmina’s face between them, preventing her from looking away again. “You’re pretty amazing as well.”

Wilhelmina flushed. “You’re just saying that.”

November didn’t relent. “Wilhelmina, when I first met you, you killed a guy with your own negative thoughts. I’ve seen the stuff you brought to the Librarian, and the stuff you analyzed for the museum. That’s not boring, that’s great. Amazing even.”

Wilhelmina wanted to contradict her again, but she couldn’t even open her mouth before November had leaned forward and, still holding her head in place, pressed her lips on it. A silent squeal escaped Wilhelmina, and in response November’s lips curled upwards. Then, Wilhelmina relaxed, closing her eyes to sink into the kiss. November’s fingers brushed over her cheeks. Wilhelmina gently laid her tail on November’s back, then wrapped it around her midst as the kiss became something more intense. Her hands burrowed into November’s hair. On the edge of her mind, she noticed that November’s hat had fallen off, and she didn’t seem to have noticed at all. November’s skin and lips and mouth were cold, but never would she have called that cold lifeless. If anything, it was calming against the heat of Wilhelmina’s cheeks and embarrassment and –

“Wilhelmina,” November whispered as she pulled away. “There is something else you can show me that I haven’t tried yet.”

“What?” Wilhelmina, who, unlike November, needed to breathe, panted.

November reached down to the stacks of books that were piled up beside the bed, pulling up a thin booklet, which Wilhelmina recognized in horror.

“That’s not mine!” she said quickly. “I mean, I have never seen that before! I mean – “

November laughed. She started flipping through the pages, which were filled with drawings of featureless bodies of different races tied up in various compromising positions, with instructions written in between the sketches. “I just thought it might be fun to try out, and that maybe you have some more experience with that than with fairs?”

Wilhelmina called the shadows intentionally this time to hide her flushed cheeks and caught expression. She bit her lip. “Well… I mean – I – We could try something out. If you want. I assume.” She looked up at November and managed a smile. “Do you, uhm, does any specific variant strike your interest?”

November kept flipping through the pages. “The ones where you hang from the ceiling look wild.”

“Those… probably aren’t the best idea for a complete beginner,” Wilhelmina cautioned.

“Yeah, thought so,” November said. “I might be dead, but I don’t know how I feel about playing vampire right now. Maybe when Tony comes over, we can try that with them, I bet they’d have fun.” She chuckled and turned to a page at the beginning.

“These are pretty easy,” Wilhelmina said. “To tie and to experience, I mean.”

“This one seems good,” November said, pointing to one.

Wilhelmina considered the sketches and accompanying instructions. She nodded.

“Do you have rope here or should I get some from my pack?”

Wilhelmina, who had already bent down to retrieve the equipment from under her bed, stopped dead in her tracks. “Um. No. I don’t.”

November chuckled. She slipped her shirt over her head.

“Wait, what are you – “

“All the people in the pictures are nude,” November said innocently. “I thought it was the point?”

“I don’t – I mean – you don’t have to if you’re not comfortable…” She couldn’t keep her eyes from trailing back to November’s now exposed chest.

“Wilhelmina.” November stood up and put a hand to Wilhelmina’s chin again. Somehow, despite it meaning a closer proximity to breasts, it calmed her down. “How about I just tell you when I’m not comfortable with something? And the same goes for you.”

Wilhelmina nodded again. “Sit down and give me your leg.”

Following the instructions meticulously, Wilhelmina set to work. Starting with a knot at the ankle, she first tied November’s thigh to her shin. She then passed the black rope around her hip and chest, before continuing on the other leg. Although she had been nervous at first, not being used yet to being this … intimate with November, Wilhelmina found the process calming in a way. She soon forgot she had the naked body of her girlfriend in front of her, all her attention being taken up by the knots and ties and careful technique. Once or twice, she had to work backwards to untangle a mistake, apologizing for the holdup. But November remained patient, encouraging.

It took some time, but finally, it was done. Wilhelmina stepped away to consider the work. She discovered a few more mistakes she had made, but now the thrilling sight demanded back the attention Wilhelmina had put somewhere else for a while.

November’s arms were tied behind her back, legs bound calve to thigh and affixed to the arm in a way that forced her to keep them parted. In addition, there were some aesthetic ties around her upper body, the tightness of the rope pushing out her cute small breasts.

November was grinning. “Well, how do I look?”

There were a thousand words jumbling together in Wilhelmina’s mind: Beautiful. Cute. Sexy. Pretty. Hot. I want you. Adorable. So bad. Stunning. Right now.

What came out was an incoherent mumbling mess.

November chuckled again. “Well, watching you tie me up was fun, but I gotta admit, I don’t really see the appeal that much? I can’t even move.”

“That is… kind of the point,” Wilhelmina murmured.

“Yeah, I know, I just don’t really see how that would help in getting it on.”

“Well.” Wilhelmina had caught herself a bit again. She tried to sound mischievous: “Now I can do with you whatever I want?”

November’s smile turned into a smirk. “Like what?”

“Like this.” Wilhelmina knelt down on the bed in front of November and kissed her. November kissed back, tenderly sucking on her lips. She struggled, trying to touch Wilhelmina, but the binds kept her in her helpless position. Wilhelmina put one hand to the rope at her chest and pulled on it, gently for now, to get her closer. Her lips wandered down November’s neck, and the other couldn’t follow. She kissed along her collarbone. Her fingers brushed the scar over November’s heart.

Wilhelmina brought her lips to November’s ear, whispered: “Are you still comfortable?”

November nodded. “Like I said, I’ll tell you if I’m not.” She sounded almost out of breath.

Wilhelmina took the words as a full invitation. She put one hand on November’s right breast and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her tail wrapped around November, under the ropes, interweaving with them and holding her even closer. One hand wandered farther down. November gasped in anticipation.

Wilhelmina kissed the cold skin over November’s heart as she pushed two fingers inside her. There was so much more she wanted to show her.

#my writing #oc writing #secret santa #november la morte #wilhelmina twist #november/wilhelmina #blu babes #comfort #fluff #light smut

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 22: Accident

cn: dismemberment, burning, losing a family member

[still dedicated to finishing this. Wrex belongs to @noxachi]

Candlelight crept into the workshop from behind Charlie’s shoulder. For the first time in what might have been minutes or might have been hours, she looked up from the apparatus she was working on. Turning around in her chair, she blinked the sleepiness from her eyes, until she could clearly see Wrex’ unmistakable shape entering the room, holding a big plate and a steaming mug of what smelled like hot cocoa in their hands.

“You’re up early,” Wrex remarked, their soft smile playing on their lips.

Charlie blinked again, realizing that the light wasn’t a candle after all, but the rising sun looking in through the window. Instead of admitting she hadn’t gone to sleep yet, she shrugged her shoulders, and received her breakfast gratefully.

“How is your work going?” Wrex asked as they sat on a chair near the workbench, and then added hastily: “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Charlie nibbled on her bagel. “It’s almost done.” And then she lit up. “You can help me test it, if you like?”

Wrex’ eyes widened. “Oh, uh… if you – if you want that? I’d be happy to help. What is it?”

Charlie turned to her work and picked up the circlet of intertwining sheets of aluminum, welded together, and inlaid with tiny plates of silver for transmission. “It’s supposed to empower spells. In theory. I’m not sure yet if I calibrated it correctly. So you’d actually be of great help.”

“As much as I can,” Wrex nodded. “Uhm, what do I need to do.”

“Hold out your arm.” Wrex did as they were told, and Charlie slipped the bracelet onto Wrex’ forearm, folding it together until it sat skintight. She pushed a button and the casing holding the battery started glowing in dulled green.

“And now?” Wrex asked hesitantly.

“Try casting a spell.”

Wrex held up their hand and focused. Energy coalesced around their arm. The bracelet started creaking. Then started humming. A crack. Then -

BANG!

A flash of green.

Charlie was lying on the ground. Ears ringing. A scream, silent and dull, like underwater. A familiar smell. Charlie sat up. Her ears popped. Sound returned, just as the scream faded into mumbling whining, then stopped.

Splatters of red on the floor. A broken machine in front of her. No…

No!

Finally breaking out of her stupor, Charlie darted forward. Her arm prothesis had overloaded, hanging heavy and useless at her side, but she didn’t let that stop her. She threw herself over Wrex, grabbed their shoulder with her left arm, rolled them on their back.

“Wrex!” Her voice sounded like an alarm bell to her, scared and high-pitched. “Wrex!”

Mum!

They only moaned in response. Their arm – the arm she had put the circlet on – was clutched in their hand, and looked weird. She needed a moment. The sight was so familiar. The arm ended in a bloody stump, singed at the point where the metal had touched it.

“Wrex!”

Mummy!

The smell of fire, of smoke, of burning meat. Heat on her cheeks. The room was burning. She kept shaking Wrex, begging them to get up, to say something, to be alive.

“Wrex!”

Mum!

“Wrex!”

Mummy!

“Wrex!”

Mum!

“Mum!”

Her sobs were shaking her. Once again, she didn’t have the strength or power to save them. Once again, she was lying helplessly. Once again, she had killed her family. Hunched over, she held them close, crying and waiting for it to end.

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #wrex #charlie wallner #angst #gore

[niennandil-me-writes]

why you should(n't) rob a jewelry store in the middle of the day

[birthday present for the amazing @krissinonstop, who this canon belongs to. Big SPOILERS for Benjamin's Wagon 1-6]

Redd didn’t know what he had expected when he was called to the most prestigious jewelry store of Benjamin’s Wagon. His boyfriend grinning at him from behind the store window, held in place by the hulking store detective on his right, with Mrs. Peters, the owner of the store standing at his left with an expression on her face that could curdle milk, had been in his top five guesses – and only failed to rank higher because he hadn’t expected him to steal from a store Yasmin frequented.

He closed his eyes for a moment, mentally preparing for the scene that waited for him, before sighing and opening the door. A bell chimed cheerily as the door was pressed open, building a stark contrast to the shrill voice of Mrs. Peters assaulting him before he had even stepped inside.

“Finally! I can’t believe how long it takes to get a so-called professional on this crime scene! What does one have to do in this town to have justice be served? Imagine if this – subject – had drawn a weapon on me or my customers, or my employees while we were waiting for you to show up!”

Redd bit back a snide remark about having to stop a murder on the other side of town – a lie. Bit back another remark about the store detective looking perfectly capable of beating up anyone who’d try to threaten her, seemed in fact like he spent his time beating up people for no reason at all – an observation. Bit back yet another remark about the biggest threat to her employees’ physical health, mental health, and financial stability being Mrs. Peters herself – an undisputed fact.

He said: “What is the matter here?”

“Good that you’re here, sheriff,” Christopher said. “This guy has been following me around ever since I entered this shop, and now him and his accomplice – “ he tilted his head at Mrs. Peters, “ – won’t let me go.”

Mrs. Peters ignored him. “He tried to steal from us!”

Redd looked at Christopher, who didn’t even try to look innocent. “Do you have proof of that?”

“Bob caught him red-handed!” said Mrs. Peters, who seemed to talk exclusively in exclamations.

“That’s racist,” Christopher said. “And I’m not even indigenous.”

“We found this necklace on him,” Mrs. Peters said, holding up a silver band with an amethyst pendant.

Redd looked at Christopher again, who shrugged. “Must have fallen in my pocket.”

“Arrest this man at once! He should be in jail! Or prison! For 10 – no, 20 years! He should not be near polite society.”

“I’ll take care of this, Mrs. Peters,” Redd tried to calm her down. He took Christopher by the shoulder and led him to the door.

“Why are you not arresting him?” yelled Mrs. Peters. “He stole from us!”

“And you got back your property,” Redd said. “I’ll just have to take his information and clear some things up before bringing him to the Sheriff’s Department.”

Redd led Christopher outside and into a narrow alleyway between the shop and a burger joint before he let go of him.

“Do your parents know you’re here, young man?”

“They’re too busy pretending I don’t exist,” Christopher said, unbothered. “Aren’t you gonna handcuff me, sheriff?” He winked.

“I didn’t see it as necessary.”

“Too bad. I like the handcuffs.”

Redd smirked. “That would have made Peters shut up. But it would also have made her way too happy.”

“You got a point there.” Christopher leaned back, his shoulders and left foot pressing against the brick wall behind him.

Redd fully turned now, to face him. He crossed his arms. “A necklace? Really?”

“Dee’s birthday is coming up,” Christopher smiled.

“I’m sure she’d be happier to get something you didn’t steal.”

“Incidentally, my birthday is coming up as well,” Christopher said. “And I thought maybe dear Mrs. Peters might gift me the price of the present for Dee.”

Redd couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Really, I’m surprised you got caught. You’re better than this.”

“Maybe I wanted to get caught.”

“Do you like the handcuffs that much?”

“It’s more about the person who puts the handcuffs on you.” Christopher pushed himself off the wall and shot Redd a smirk that begged to be kissed off his lips.

Redd sighed. “You know we can do that without you committing petty crimes.”

“Petty? That thing cost over two hundred dollars,” Christopher exclaimed. “Really, it’s Peters who is robbing people. Besides,” and he took another step closer, “since you’re always busy with work, I thought I’d become your work for the day.”

Redd sighed again but couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Fine, but that means I still need to do my job. Did you steal anything else?”

Christopher shrugged. “You could search me to find out,” he suggested.

“Christopher…”

“Come on, humor me.”

In the end, Redd let himself be swayed – not that he needed much convincing. He started patting him down.

“Is that a knife?”

“No, I’m just happy to see you. Oh, wait, that is actually my spring-knife. Uh, be careful with that.”

Redd confiscated the weapon for now, then resumed his task. He stopped at a bump in Christopher’s jacket pocket. He slipped his hand into the pocket and pulled out the small object.

“I’m assuming this isn’t yours,” he said, turning the small plastic box in his hands. An overexaggerated print on the dark velvet casing marked it as the property of Mrs. Peters’ store.

“She didn’t seem to be missing it,” Christopher said.

“What is it?”

“One way to find out.”

Redd sighed, opening the delicate box with a twist of his fingers. It sprung open to reveal a single small object made of unadorned silver, encased between two velvet cushions. Redd gaped at the ring, which sat unassuming in the box he had found on his boyfriend.

When he finally looked up from it, he found Christopher no longer standing but instead kneeling in front of him. His smirk had gained the subtle edge of satisfaction over an accomplished heist, but there was a softness around his eyes.

There were a lot of thoughts in Redd’s head, the words “really, like this?” somewhere on top. But, really, there was only one response:

“Yes.”

“I haven’t even asked you yet,” Christopher said. He was full-on grinning now.

“Yes.”

“Do you think the ring is right for Farley – “

Redd ignored him and grabbed him by the arms to pull him up and kiss him. Christopher didn’t resist his arrest as he was pulled into a strong hug. He answered the kisses just as hungrily.

“Yes,” said Redd again between kisses.

When he finally pulled away, he said: “I’m making us a nice dinner tonight.”

Despite his general mischievous attitude, Christopher seemed relieved by the answer he had received. Then he was right back to his smirk: “So, does that mean I can keep the earrings I stole?”

“What?”

“You won’t believe this, but Charlotte also has a birthday.”

#my writing #fanfic #benjamin's wagon #redd #fluff

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 23: Candy Gore

CN: body horror, cannibalism, demonic possession

[Glass belongs to @arocalyptic]

Glass was sitting in the old dusty armchair in Vincent’s living room, not exactly sleeping, but at least resting their aching bones. When they heard the floorboards creaking, they lifted their head a bit off the backrest, but relaxed once they saw Esra approaching in the dark. They looked at her questioningly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” the Halfling’s voice carried through the dark.

Glass tilted their head. “Is it because of the d-d-deal Steve offered?”

“A bit, yeah. More what happened with Golo. I’m not the biggest fan of murder, you know?” Dust spread through the air as Esra’s body leaned against the armrest of the chair.

“Do you want to t-t-talk?”

A shrug. “Do you want to make out?”

Glass tilted their head to the other side. “Shh-ure.”

She climbed into the chair and on Glass’ lap. Something was off, but Glass didn’t have time to figure out what it was before her face met theirs, almost violently, crushing their lips together, entangling their limbs. Esra’s eyes were closed, and the kiss was intense. Glass was less energetic, but still enjoying themself. They felt something wet on their cheek. Was she crying?

Then her eyes opened, and Glass froze. They tried to pull away, but her hands were holding them tightly, pressing them down with more strength than Esra should have had. Her lips curled into a grin at their lips, while big, glowing, violet eyes stared into theirs. Only then did they notice the missing choker and paint.

“Sorry,” said a voice that was Esra’s but didn’t sound like her at all. “The annoying little ant isn’t available right now.”

“What have you d-d-d-d-done t-to her?”

“You should be more worried what I am about to do to you,” Steve said. “The little shit hasn’t let me eat in ages. And I am very hungry.”

Glass lost their chance to cast a spell, as in the moment they needed to consider which one they could use without hurting their friend, Esra – no, Steve put a hand over their mouth. They bit down, but Steve just chuckled.

The eldritch god Str’vlthoqalkhrov – also known as Steve – started feeding on its victim. First, it devoured the psychic energy of the humanoid. Glass felt themself becoming weaker, until they had to stop struggling. As they became weaker, Steve seemed to become stronger. Glass saw scars spanning Esra’s cheek which then parted to reveal two more mouths.

Steve leaned down and bit into Glass’ arm. Razor sharp teeth tore through their green skin. Their cry of pain was muffled by Esra’s hand. A huge piece of flesh was torn out of their arm. Glass stared in horror at the translucent green meat in the maws of the thing that used to be Esra, watery liquid running down her cheeks and chin.

All three mouths swallowed without chewing. Tentacle-like tongues licked the blood away. Four more violet eyes opened on Esra’s shoulder, all looking down at Glass’ mutilated arm. Under the skin, the flesh was translucent, slimy, like a plant torn apart.

“Looks a bit like candy,” Steve commented. “And almost tastes like it as well. Don’t you think so too, Esra?”

And for just a moment, Esra’s eyes turned green again, expression horrified, mouth twisted in a silent scream. And then it was gone, and the demon continued its feast.

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #gore #demonic possession #glass #esra scheele #str'vlthoqalkhrov #hey i'm back (after having no time to write the last days) #i'm gonna finish this goretober but probably only in november

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 17: Torture

CN: vomit

[Liu Xinyu belongs to Eli.]

The aromatic smell of freshly brewed tea filled the room. Liu Xinyu carefully set out the earthen cups on the low table.

“The leaves I am using for this brew are very hard to come by in Doskvol,” he explained. “If prepared just right it has a slightly stimulating effect, heightening one’s focus and strategic thinking. I like serving it for business meetings for that reason.”

“I don’t know what business you would want to do with me.” The man sitting on the other side of the table seemed remarkably underdressed for the upscale tea house, in a dirty shirt and shabby trousers. He did his best to seem nonchalant but kept nervously shuffling on the cushion he was seated on.

Liu smiled. “No need to rush things. First, may I offer you some tea?”

The man’s eyes darted from the kettle to Liu. He licked his lips. “No, thanks.”

Liu sighed. “A shame, really. But as you will.” He raised his voice but didn’t turn as he asked: “How about you, Boyko?”

“I could use a cup, Mr. Liu.” The big person standing at the door with her arms folded was appropriately dressed for a job at this place, but she still seemed like she was in the wrong part of town, like she would belong much more with the sweating man on the other side of the table than Liu Xinyu.

Liu smiled and poured two cups of tea as Boyko walked over. He handed her one of the cups, which she took with a thank and a court bow before walking around the table to stand behind their guest.

Liu picked up his own cup and inhaled the fragrant steam. Boyko slurped his tea in two quick gulps and then set down the cup on the table.

After a minute of silence, the man asked quickly: “So what did you bring me here for?” He was straining his neck not to turn around to Boyko.

A tranquil smile spread on Liu’s lips. “I see we are getting to business. Well, since you asked: You happen to have information in your possession that I am very interested in. And I am more than willing to pay a fair price for it.”

“I know nothing!”

“A curious assertion, given that I haven’t even specified what information I am after.” He finally took his first sip of tea and hummed with approval. “I assume we can stop dancing around the subject then, since you are already aware.”

The man shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, man!” He almost jumped up as Boyko’s big hand settled on his left shoulder.

Liu took another sip and looked into the corner of the room in contemplation. “Have you ever heard of Lingchi?”

“What?”

“It is also known as the Death of a Thousand Cuts,” Liu explained as he set down his cup. “It is a method of execution. The executioner cuts into or slices off the flesh of the restrained victim, bit by bit. The death can last hours, depending on the skill and mercy of the executioner. I have witnessed one such incident myself, in fact. The man conducting it was quite compassionate, slitting the criminal’s throat after just three cuts. A shame, really. But then again, the poor sod had lost his voice from screaming half an hour ago.” He picked up the cup again and turned it around in his long fingers. “I have heard of one particular case where the executioner worked with such a skill and delicacy that the wounds couldn’t be seen or felt at first. Only when she was finished and set the last cut did the flesh separate, and in a rapid chain reaction the skin and meat peeled off the bones within seconds.” He laughed, startling the man who had turned chalk white over the course of his talking. “How lucky you are that I am not that cruel.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.” The man tried to stand up in a panic, but this time, it was an iron hook that settled on his shoulder. “If I tell you, she’ll kill me!” he hissed.

“I am sure there are ways to prevent that. Boyko is quite an experienced bodyguard. Isn’t that right?”

“Sure, Mr. Liu.”

“I ain’t telling you!”

Liu sighed and set down the cup. “Well, then you leave me no choice.” He gestured to Boyko.

This time, the man did turn around. He saw Boyko take off his glasses and carefully fold them before she set them down on the table. Then she grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him backwards, to the back part of the room.

“Wait, no!” His voice got swallowed by a breathless scream as Boyko’s fist met his stomach with full force. He spit and gagged, no longer wondering why one half of the room had seemed much dirtier than the other.

Liu poured himself another cup of tea as he watched Boyko beat the crap out of his guest. “Speak up if you’d like to return to our business talk, my dear.”

Boyko ceased his abuse for a moment to let the man talk, but he just shook his head again. “She’ll kill me.”

“You must be one dense motherfucker to think what’s happening here is better,” Boyko said. He delivered one last punch to his face to keep him to dizzy from getting up, then turned to his boss: “I think some more force might be necessary.”

Liu nodded and Boyko got up to take a hammer from off the wall.

“No, please!”

Another scream and a loud crunching sound. Blood drenched the shabby trousers at the knee and stained the hammer.

“Ready to talk?” Boyko asked.

The man shook his head and whimpered. Boyko crouched down next to him. “Primary hand?” The man looked up in fearful confusion. She sighed and grabbed his left wrist to hold it against the floor before bringing down the bloody hammer again.

Boyko stuck his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “So I’m not a physician, but I’m pretty sure that hand is done for.” She smirked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.” She held up her hook. “But we can move on to the other. Make it more challenging.”

The man shook his head again and then squirmed and threw up over the floor. “please,” he gasped. “i’ll talk… whatever you want…”

“How nice to hear,” Liu smiled. He had taken out a paper fan to waft away the putrid smell of the vomit. “Boyko, please bring our esteemed guest closer to me so I can hear what he has to say to me. But not too close,” he added.

Boyko clicked her tongue and grabbed the man by the shoulders to pull him back to the tea table, where he spilled all he had to say.

At the end, Liu nodded, seeming content. “I thank you for your cooperation. Boyko, did you catch all that?”

“I’m your bodyguard, not your secretary,” Boyko said. “Memorizing stuff isn’t exactly in my skill set.”

“That is why I have you for other things,” Liu smiled. “Thank you for your help. I think that will be all.” He rose from his cushion.

“And our guest?” Boyko asked, pointing his chin at the disheveled crying man.

“Small fish,” Liu said dismissively. “Let him take a swim in the Dosk.”

The man paled even more as Boyko nodded. “On it, boss.”

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #liu xinyu #svetja boyko #blades in the dark #gore #torture

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 16: Impaled

CN: war, body horror (plant growth)

[Vanya and Leonidas belong to @constantlytiredghost]

Dead people don’t dream. At least you don’t. Instead of sleep, you lie in silence, as your mind retraces the moments of your death. You still aren’t sure what exactly happened, and in your dreamstate, the details change, though the important parts stay the same.

Tonight, it happens like this:

You stand together, at the edge of camp, looking over a battlefield. Ghosts move over the bloodied ground between the broken weapons, or maybe people, or maybe just wisps of mist in the night. You don’t pay it too much mind, your eyes focused instead on the radiant being next to you, shining golden light over the grim and grey field, wings spread out. You never minded being in his shadow. After all, his shadow is much brighter than the sun is at times.

Now that angel seems contemplative, lost in thoughts you don’t want to interrupt. He turns his sword in his hands, and then he looks at you and says: “Wait for me here.”

And he takes the sword and jams it into your chest in one graceful thrust. It cuts through your armor like it is nothing, skewers your beating heart in your chest. You kneel, and he forces you farther down, until you are lying on the ground, staring up at his beautiful face. He pushes the sword farther down, until the tip plunges through your back, and then farther, into the ground until the hilt hits the metal of your armor.

The angel turns away. You try to sit up to look after him, but the sword holds you fixed in place. Soon, the light of the golden halo disappears.

And like a good little soldier, you do as you are told and wait. Your heartbeat counts the seconds until his return, pumping blood through the wounds on your chest and back, where it flows to the ground and seeps into the earth, feeding plants that you can feel grow against your back. Green growths climb through the hole in your back, wrap around your bones and drink up your blood, before they grow out of you and around the sword hilt, where they open into poppy flowers with blood red petals. Once the angel returns, you think, you’ll be able to present him with an entire bouquet.

Your eyes stare up at the sky, where the sun, the moon, and the stars go by in what seems like seconds, and yet seems like an eternity. The flowers wilt. You heart grows tired of counting.

Then, finally, you hear footsteps coming closer. You recognize them.

You can hear your bones creaking as you move your arm in the first time in an eternity, to take the sword by the hilt and pull it out of your chest. Dried up flowers fall off a blade that is brown with rust. You stand up.

The footsteps come to a stop behind you. You turn around and ram the sword into his chest. He goes to the ground.

You need a moment to realize the person in front of you is not Leonidas. But you know him. He looks a lot like you, but younger. Your echo.

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #gore #vanya wolkow #leonidas vangelis #mildly inspired by the steven universe movie

[niennandil-me-writes]

Goretober 15: Masochist

CN: abuse, abusive power dynamics

[Aravel belongs to @yakyuu-yarou]

Aráto wasn’t even hiding his rage as he left the council. Teeth gritted, he stomped through the corridors of the fortress. He didn’t know where he had found the patience to stay as long as he did, after every one of his contributions was brushed off, gently but firmly, as if he were a child giving the wrong answers in school.

He could hear Aravel panting, trying to keep pace with him.

“Who do they think they are?” he asked no one in particular, quickening his steps. His cloak billowed behind him, and his armor creaked at every step, giving his pace authority. “Crusty old people. Ha, old! I’m older than half of them, and yet not as senile.”

“They don’t know you yet,” Aravel said quickly. “Once they do, they will listen.”

Aráto ignored them. “Old in experience they may be, but not in wisdom. They deem me a child! Don’t they know who I am?” He had reached his room, entered, and slammed the door shut, almost into Aravel’s face, who, unfortunately, stepped to the side at the last moment.

“Aráto,” they said meekly.

“I am the chosen one!” He threw his cloak in the corner.

“Aráto!”

“I am the one destined to defeat the forces of evil!” He took the glaive from the holster on his back. “And this is how they regard me?”

“Meldamir!”

He wheeled around on them and thrust the glaive forward, piercing them right below the chest. They screamed out and tumbled backwards from the force. Aráto followed them until they were forced against the wall, and then pushed the glaive deeper into the wound, until he could feel the tip hit the stone wall behind them.

“Do not trifle with me today, my angel,” he growled. “I’m all out of patience.”

Aravel gritted their teeth into a smile. “I know.” They reached up their hands to grip the weapon lodged inside them, absentmindedly tracing the point where it entered them and smearing the blood running down. “They are fools not to listen to you, Aráto Cilhatal. But soon they will see what I see. They will know how special you are.”

Aráto found his scowl transforming into a lopsided grin. After today’s council, he had really needed to let of some steam. Only now did he realize why Aravel had done what they’d done. They truly were the only one he could depend on, the first person to ever believe in him. Not that he’d ever tell them that.

He pulled the glaive from their flesh, which was met with a disappointed sigh from Aravel, and then an excited gasp as he used the blade on the side of it to cut them once across their entire body. Their pretty pastel pink gown was stained with shimmering golden blood. He smirked and grabbed their rose strands of hair in his hand.

“You think I’m done with you already, angel?”

They bit their lip. He yanked them closer, and then kicked them in the stomach to send them sprawling to the ground.

“Get up,” he commanded as he stepped on their sternum. They strained against him, almost managed to push themself off the floor before he put his entire weight on them. They grabbed his boot, which seemed more like a sign of adoration than an attempt to push him away. He laughed and thrust the glaive downwards, into their chest, just below their heart. They screamed and shuddered and threw back their head.

He looked down on them, that perfect angelic creature, now covered in blood and mutilated, knowing he had put them in that state. Knowing he could do that to them. Knowing they had let him do that to them. It made him feel powerful. And he needed to feel that after the humiliation he had lived through. Not just today, but his entire life. He had always felt so small, so insignificant and without meaning, until Aravel had come into his life, presenting him with the glaive and the prophecy attached to it.

Aráto twisted the glaive around and watched the angel squirm under him. No longer weak. No longer insignificant. If he wanted, he could kill them right now.

His whole body went cold at that realization. He could do that. They would let him. That excited him, made him feel more powerful than ever before. And yet…

It frightened him like nothing else.

They were the only one who had ever believed in him. Who had handed him a destiny. Who had made him strong and important. Who listened to his talk and valued his thoughts. If he killed them, yes, he’d feel powerful for a moment. And then?

He’d have lost all that they were to him. Who was a chosen one without his prophecy? He’d go right back to being weak, insignificant Meldamir.

He was nothing without them. And he hated them for it.

Aráto pulled the glaive out of them and leaned it against the wall. Their silence was filled with questions, which he chose to ignore. He pulled them up by the hair and let healing magic close their wounds. Then he let go of them, letting the slump to the ground again. Turning away, he snapped his fingers.

He started undoing the clasps of his armor. After a moment, Aravel joined him, already all cleaned up by magic, and helped him doff his armor.

#my writing #oc writing #goretober #goretober 2023 #gore #violence #aravel #aráto cilhatal #gore without affection? on this account?