#Obscura fic

[fuzzyclink]

Wrote a Cirrus x Vesper fic! I originally posted this on my touchstarved blog here but I've been finding that my posts from there don't show up in any tags currently, so reposting here.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, priest kink, eating, food, humiliation, violence, spitting, bad BDSM ettiquette, sadism, kicking, blood/pain. Reader gender not described(pronouns/body).

Cloying

As the last full moon of the year draws closer, the paths of the city buzz with excitement. Though not everyone under the mountain prays to the Lunar God, plenty are happy to join in the merriment or make a profit off of people who are celebrating the festival. This time of year people cluster around the usually isolated church - vendors crowding around the base of the building with their wares. You've decided to join in the celebrations yourself, donning a black seasonal mask that covers your nose to forehead, with a small, delicate depiction of the moon going through various phases positioned right above your eyebrows.

Tonight is the official start of the festival, though anticipation has been brewing for the last week. As it's your first year here, you haven't been able to attend a Lunar Cleanse service, only hearing about it in bits and pieces from people at The Leaping Bear. Privately, you're a bit excited to experience something new. You've been so caught up in your search for a cure that you think some merriment for once would do you good. And, you're curious to see Cirrus lead the congregation through the ceremony. You've never seen him in front of a large group like that before.

The ceremony is starting shortly, so you make your way to the church. The streets are alive with festival-goers milling around. The air, usually damp and still, is filled with sweet scents. It's more humid than ever, hazy air rising from delicious round buns, steamed and stuffed with savory meats and vegetables. You see a nearby vendor lay out pale sesame rice balls on small plates, sticking to the fingers of people who tear into them hungrily. Another vendor is selling marshmallow filled cookies, covered in a thin layer of white frosting. On your way to the church, a stall selling candy catches your eye. You purchase some quickly, grabbing a bag of tiny, glittering silver candies. You pull open the narrow bag as you walk, placing a candy in your mouth. As you roll the sphere around on your tongue, a delicate flavor of jasmine fills your mouth, and you crunch the rest of it between your teeth happily. It's a delight to see the backbreaking worries of the city fall away, even if it's only for a short period of time.

The sounds and scents of the busy street fade away as you enter the church. The church is busier than you've ever seen it before, the building crowded with devotees sitting shoulder to shoulder in the pews. Even though it's crowded, everyone speaks in hushed voices. The building has been decorated with gleaming ribbons, strung along the tops of the walls. The placement of the ribbon leads you to think that few other than Cirrus would be able to place the decorations. You snicker to yourself quietly, imagining him wobbling on the tips of his toes to secure ribbons around the building. Or maybe, you think as your smile widens, he stood on a small stepstool? Your exploratory gaze falls upon Cirrus himself, standing at the front of the room. You immediately avert your gaze, feeling as if he would be able to sense your daydreaming just from your facial expression. He has a way of drawing guilt to the surface of your thoughts, bobbing to the top unavoidably like a cork in water.

You find a seat at the back of the room and slide into the end of a pew, crowded rows of benches lining the chapel in front of you. Your neighbor gives you a quick nod, their silvery silk mask glinting under the light of the candles before turning back to the front of the room. You clutch your candy in your hands, placing the bag on your lap. The room quiets as Cirrus takes his place at a podium. He wears the robes you've always seen him in, but in this moment they seem almost ethereal, glowing and shimmering in front of the candles. Silver hair cascades down his back as he stands resolutely before the crowd. His shoulders stand strong and the power he emits reaches you all the way in the back of the room. The crowd leans forward in anticipation.

"At this time of year we are able to begin anew," he intones, sweeping his hands out to the audience.

"The moon is pale and shining- a reminder of the ending of one year, and beginning of another. All of us gather to praise it’s light.

"All gather to praise", the congregation murmers in response. You hastily mumble some words, wishing that the service came with a tutorial. You hadn't realized there would be a call and response.

Cirrus continues. "The Night Air pierced by Silver Light presses down upon us. The Moon shines through us. We ask for it to illuminate our darkest faults, to wash them clean. Each of you have made grave errors this year," he sternly states, gazing out into the room. "Each of you have mistakes that you wish to release." You swear you can feel his eyes upon you, and wonder nervously about any possible mistakes you have made recently. Does it count that you hadn't brought your dishes to the counter at The Leaping Bear? Or maybe you’ve been too rude to the vendors when, time and time again, they have no news for your cure?

Cirrus's voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Let the strike of bells pull your guilt from you and release it. Let each toll into your heart and feel it dredge up the turmoil within. Bring your darkness out and let it whither in the light".

He stands commandingly at the front of the room, a bell the size of his fist resting in his gloved hands. He carefully swings his arm, the sound of the bell crisply ringing through the room. It's medium pitched and sharp, startling you in the quiet. You jolt a little, shifting in your seat. As it echos through the room, he paces softly across the front of the church. Another toll spreads through the space as he reaches the left side.

"Bring your sorrows up through your chest and release them with your breath," he instructs, a lecturer to an obedient audience. You try to obey, but your breath catches in your throat at the next ring - the sound so sharp and striking that it tears your attention away and sends a shock through your body. He continues to stride slowly at the front of the room, each subsequent ring of the bell growing softer and softer until you can barely tell whether he's rung it again or if the sound still lingers faintly in the air from the previous strike.

"Let your breath serve as a reminder to you of the life given to you, and of the light that will always return to you, even when the darkness feels crushing and all-encompassing. Just as you inhale and exhale, the moon changes and is lighted anew." He pauses for a moment, solemnly surveying the audience. You feel light and unburdened, more at peace than you have felt in weeks.

"With renewed spirits and lightened hearts, let us learn from those who have walked before us. In the first book of the Lunar Scripts..." Cirrus continues onwards, describing to the congregation a particularly (in your mind), dry and archaic passage from historical literature written long ago. Your eyes begin to close as his voice continues slowly on, the soft light of the chapel blurring in front of your half-lidded gaze. Your head starts to drop and you jolt yourself awake, shifting nervously in your chair and eyeing Cirrus. You suspect that he might have been facing the other side of the room when you started to doze off. He continues through the text, emphasizing certain points with a strident tone. It's clear that he knows the text well - but due to your lack of familiarity you're having a difficult time parsing the archaic phrasing. At times, you're not even sure it's in a language you know at all. You shift in your seat, fighting against the drowziness that seeps into your bones. You hope that the service will finish soon so you, and the rest of the worshippers, can join in the festivities outside. Your fingers shift on the wrapped candies in your lap and your stomach grumbles quietly. On a whim, you ease the top of the bag open, pressing a candy silently into your mouth. Maybe this will help keep you awake and your hunger at bay until the service is over.

"Silver Light, shining down upon us. We are bleached clean in your light. Glorious Celestial One, we are grateful for your protection in the last year, and returning brightness in this New Year. Before we celebrate your fullness through laughter and festivities, let us take a moment of silence to honor your watchful guidance". Cirrus leans onto the podium with the passion in his words. Everyone in the congregation stills, and the room falls silent. Light falls on Cirrus, draping over him and illuminating his hair like spun silver over his shoulders. He bows his mask towards the floor. You sit quietly, and as the silence stretches onwards, your eyes start to close again. You desperately pry them open, but between the warmth of the building, the dim lighting, and late hour, you soon find your head tilting to the side involuntarily. When your eyes close shut a third time, you desperately reach into your bag of candy for a distraction to help keep you awake.

To your horror, your fingers catch on the edge of the narrow bag, and the contents spill out in front of you, countless candies clattering across the stone floor. They bounce and tumble, each movement sounding thunderous in the silent room. You watch helplessly as the round candies careen across the flagstones, the furthest coming to a standstill at the feet of people three rows ahead of you. Masked faces turn to you curiously as people glance over their shoulders to see what the fuss was. Cirrus's gaze snaps to your face, pinning you in place like a moth on a board. His mouth twists when he sees that you're the one who caused the commotion.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry," you hurriedly breathe, sinking to the floor to gather what candies you can reach without disturbing those around you. The color is high in your cheeks, your hands sticky as you grab the candies nearby and press them into your pockets. Your gaze flits between the candies in front of you, scattered between the shoes of the other attendees but out of reach. You barely hear the end of the service, too mortified to raise your head or focus on Cirrus' words. The back of your shirt is damp with sweat. The congregation rustles to life as the ceremony concludes, the congregation impatient to finally listen to the music and enjoy the celebrations outside. You hover anxiously by your bench, standing and waiting for the rows to clear so you can gather up the mess you made. As the final attendees file out of the building, chatting to each other, Cirrus comes to stand beside you. His irritation rolls off him in waves and you shrink besides him, falling back down onto the bench without a thought.

"It's rather disrespectful, don't you think?" Cirrus says tensely, his words clipped and short. "Bringing food into the service. Distracting the church members. Irreverence on a sacred day. Such gluttony, hm?"

You have never had him this angry with you before, and your hands tremble in your lap where you twist them nervously. "Cir..Cirrus.. Father... Ah, I'm so so sorry, please, I'll clean them up right away. You're right, it was so stupid of me, I shouldn't have brought them in...I - I never meant to drop them, ppplease let me pick them up, I'll do it now..." You chance a look upwards, and the last bit of hope inside of you shrivels. He is silent, his face unmovable.

"You want to pick them up?" He asks softly. You nod, eyes fixed nervously on his face.

"I think your insatiable fingers will simply betray you again".

Your face falls, and you gesture out to him. "Sir.. Cirrus...I'll do it, I'll pick them up. Please, I'll do it right away,"

You sink to your knees and quickly stretch for one candy that's most of the way under the bench nearest to you, fingers scrambling across the dusty floor in your haste. Your heart stops in your throat when Cirrus's heavy, booted foot is placed onto your wrist.

"I said no," he hisses, the flat sole of his foot cruelly twisting against your skin. The bones in your wrist shift under the pressure.

"Your hands are clearly unreliable. And with your voracious hunger and desperation? Hmm, it's only fitting for you to use your mouth".

You lean back on your heels and crane your neck to look at him, wrist still pressed to the floor. "My mouth?"

"Yes. As starving as you are, we had better not let them go to waste." He places his hands behind his back impassively. "Begin."

You nod nervously and he lifts his foot off of your arm. You lower your torso to the floor with your arms, carefully picking up the small candy between your teeth. You can feel his icy gaze on your back. Chewing it quickly, you stoop further under the seats to grab the next nearest candy, shuffling forwards further on your hands. Even under the shelter of the bench, Cirrus's presence looms ominously behind you. You've just picked up the second candy when he speaks again, derision dripping from his words.

"In fact, I think it would be better if you didn't use your hands at all, hm?"

You twist awkwardly from beneath the bench, shuffling your weight back onto your heels. When you pull yourself upright in front of him, you see he's pulled out a narrow black rope. He steps behind you smoothly, pulling your arms behind your back and wrapping the rope around your wrists. A few firm knots later and your wrists are securely bound. Cirrus briefly checks the tightness by sliding the tip of his finger beneath the ropes and then stands.

He peers down at you, his mask an impenetrable shield. He can't keep a sneer from pulling at the edge of his mouth as he speaks. His anger is still palpable. "It suits you, my star. Perhaps this will teach you some restraint, since you are clearly struggling to learn. Continue."

You shift your weight forwards on your knees, testing the rope on your hands. It's tight but not unbearable. If you let your shoulders hang forwards the weight of your arms forces the rope to bite into your skin. But if you clasp your hands behind your back, it's tolerable. You lean all the way forwards, resting your torso on your knees. The spilled candies stretch out before you, some scattered as far as three rows ahead of you. Awkwardly, you scooch forwards, trying to move yourself over to a candy on the right. Your knees already feel sore against the pavement. You have much less control without the use of your hands, and you bash your spine into the underside of the bench. Pain radiates from your back and causes you to lurch forwards. Resignedly, you fully lay down, your torso on the floor and legs stretching out behind you. The floor is gritty and cool against your cheek, and you can feel the solidity of the stone through your clothes.

"There are many more to gather, my star. Best for you to progress quickly. Unless you'd rather I give you some *encouragement*, hmm?"

From the malice in Cirrus' voice, you feel pretty certain that you wouldn't like whatever his encouragement would entail. His foot comes to rest next to your ankle. The threat of it spurs you into action. You gather the candies under this row of pews with haste, twisting and contorting your body around on the stone to gather them in your teeth. The sweet jasmine flavor fills your mouth, polluted now with bits of dirt and sand from the floor. You look from side to side, your neck straining as you peer in the dim lighting. As you go from candy to candy, you pant harshly through your nose, mouth occupied. It’s difficult to progress with any kind of speed despite your efforts, and you work your way slowly across the ground, twisting and bending to shift from place to place. Your knees are starting to get rubbed raw, and your back aches from the strain of your motions. Your movements are becoming less precise as you grow tired, and you find yourself lunging for the candies with little finesse, eager to finish the job. One such motion scrapes the skin off your chin as you fall a bit too heavily on the floor.

Reaching the gap between the benches, you rest your cheek on the floor for a moment. The candies are fewer now, only beneath two wide benches ahead of you. You can feel the sweat stick to your skin. Your back burns, muscles furious from the repeated motion below the pews. Through your efforts, you've gained abrasions on your chin and cheekbone to accompany those on your knees. You close your eyes for a moment, gathering your strength.

Your body jolts when you feel Cirrus' boot come crashing into your ribs. "You think you've earned respite?" He speaks to you lowly, cooly. You squeeze your eyes shut, and find that his voice cuts into you. "You're dirty. Pathetic. Snuffling in the dust for grub like an animal." His disgust for you drips from every word. "Just minutes ago, you begged me to let you clean up. Told me how *quickly* you'd do it." On the last word he swings his leg again, this time slamming it into your gut. You gasp out a choked groan, wheezing. He continues on in a biting murmur. "I suspect that you cared more about currying my favor than righting your wrongs. I am not someone who can be plied with desperate words".

You cough a little, feeling a bruise bloom in your ribs as you do so. "Nno, I - I really am sorry, Cirrus, please, I'll continue. I want to clean it..." You feel a bit disgusted in yourself, but your desire to appease him and shame from your mistake prevails. You inch your way forwards to the next candies, painstakingly making your way beneath the benches. Cirrus walks to the row on the other side of the bench and stands there, waiting for you. You can see the faint shine of his shoes out of the edge of your eyes. Gathering the candies beneath this bench is harder. Your mouth and throat growing parched from your exertion and the endless sugar. You gasp on dust that rises from your movements. At some of the candies you find yourself resting for a moment, before quickly glancing to Cirrus’ feet and continuing again. Your back trembles as you shift forwards and you find yourself using your knees and shoulders more, doing your best to ignore how your skin screams at the friction. You've stopped clasping your hands together and they slump forwards limply, wrists aflame where the rope restricts them.

You start to feel anxious about how much is left. You've finally made it past the second bench. How many more are there? Surely you must be finished soon? You curse yourself. WHY would you be so stupid to try and eat them DURING the service? The delicate Jasmine flavor feels foul and cloying on your tongue. Glancing up desperately, you assess how many you have left to gather and realize that you only have the candies past the third bench to remove. Cirrus has walked ahead of you and stands at the remaining candies that have rolled out from under the bench. You realize, as he starts to move, that he was waiting for your attention.

He carefully lifts his boot and places it on top of the candy, grinding it into dust beneath his foot. With horror, you watch as he does this to each candy one by one, crushing each delicate silver orb into a fine, sugary powder. He drags the toe of his shoe through the mess, gathering it into a pile before he walks to the side. The powder clouds the dark leather. Cirrus waits for you, his expectation clear. Your breath hisses through your teeth as you pull your weary and aching body forwards. Pausing brings greater pain, each point of agony alighting with renewed vigor after the miniscule rest. Your clothes stick to you, damp with sweat and blood from your efforts. Reaching the edge of the powder, you shakily press your tongue into it, trying to pull it into your parched mouth. Your lips crack as you try to clean the mound up, each time leaving dust and damp remnants. You keep returning to it, trying again and again to remove it but only succeeding in spreading it more broadly upon the floor. With how dry your mouth is and your level of exhaustion, you’re unable to pick it up.

Your face slumps onto the stone next to the pile and a sob breaks from your chest. It's too much. There's nothing to be done. Your eyes squeeze shut as hot tears spill down your cheeks, leaving tracks in the grime. You curl up on yourself raggedly, body in a defensive ball. You can feel Cirrus's presence as he comes to stand by your shoulder. His clothes rustle slightly as he crouches. He grabs your chin, fingers sliding slightly through your tears. It's impossible to look at him. His voice feels gentle. "Your efforts, my star, have almost convinced me of your repentance".

"*Please*..." You croak out. You're not sure what you're asking for. His forgiveness, an end to all this, his help, rest.. Ciruss's thumb falls to your cracked lower lip.

"If you need help, you only must ask," he whispers to you.

He pulls your lips open and you feel something cool and wet fall against your tongue. Your eyes spring open to see a thin strand of saliva falling from his lips and into your open mouth. In this moment, it feels like a mercy. His jaw works and you open your mouth further yourself, accepting anything he would offer you. His spit pools in your mouth, almost refreshing after the relentless dust and sugar from the floor. It glints wetly as it falls. His hands slide to the back of your neck, carding through the damp hair at your nape for a moment. He holds the full weight of your head in his hands. His voice is as soft and as firm his fingers.

"So close, my star. You will continue. Leave your guilt behind".

Your heart trembles at that, the promise of forgiveness and his kindness so near.

You feel filthy. You feel beautiful in his touch. You feel like the stone you've spent so long inching across. His fingers slip softly through your hair and lower your head back to the ground. You feel him straighten more than you see it. With the most weariness you've ever felt before, you roll yourself to your front and gather the pile of dust into your mouth slowly, mouthful by mouthful. Your tongue and throat burn and it feels more as if the sugar tears your mouth than it does dissolve. You drag your damp jaw along the gritty floor, realizing at last that the pile is gone.

"You've done well to make amends.", Cirrus says, looking down at you in a heap at his feet.

It's then that your gaze falls to Cirrus's boots, right in front of you. They still have a fine smattering of dust from when he crushed the candies in front of you. Hazily, you blink at them, watching how the sugar dulls the reflection of the lights. With the very last dregs of your resolve, you shift forwards and lave your tongue through the dust on his boot. The boot shifts minutely, a quiet huff of surprise coming from him. You can tell he watches you as you do the best to clean his boots. Your exhaustion means that in some ways, you simply press your face and lips against them devoutly, your damp skin carrying away more grime at times than your mouth.

"What a precious, obedient little bootlicker", he breathes rapturously. "My devoted, gorgeous toy.”

Warmth sweeps through you at that, padding over your many aches and pains like a soft balm. Satisfied with the appearance of his shoes, you lay motionless on the floor. Dimly, as if to someone in a dream, you feel Cirrus unbind your hands and carefully lower your arms by your side. He rubs them gently, hushing you as you mumble in protest. You feel him reach below you and, with a motion that makes the world swing on it's axis, heft you into his arms.

"Is it ok, now?" You can't help but look for reassurance, your mind and body clinging to him as he carries you.

“Yes, little star. You are forgiven.”

--------------

Thanks so much for reading! This fic was inspired by sitting through church services over the holidays and the full moon rn. I was also inspired by this ask to Rotten Racoons (https://www.tumblr.com/rottenraccoons/703263691996545024/will-the-lis-spit-in-vespers-mouth-if-they-asked), which stated Cirrus would spit in Vesper's mouth as a reward for good behavior:D I wanted to manifest the idea of "getting punished for being disruptive in church". If you made it to the end, thank you! I'd love to hear what you thought!

#obscura vn #Cirrus Obscura #Obscura #cirrus x reader #cirrus x Vesper #Obscura fic #Cirrus #obscura cirrus #cirrus x mc #rotten raccoons #priest kink #if u saw me post this earlier no u didnt #<3 #it's also on ao3 under my same name as here ^^ #it's my second fic ever owo

[playerkingsley]

in the end, perhaps the remnants of the circle of needle and thread take it upon themselves to handle the necessary funeral arrangements, though candela certainly has reserves for that very thing (rarely, however, is there much left to put to rest)

it might be a relief, then, attending to the rituals of careful breath-binding, covering with his own hands the cold neutrality of death that masks sean’s face, and next, marion’s—

but they stop there. rather, jean stops them, and gently returns marion’s arms to his sides, hands loose and face free, for his absent soul to wander back to one day.

#candela obscura #circle of needle and thread #me: fascinating faireland death rituals you’ve got there—how do I make them sad #technically this is another candela session zero post #fic tag

[elizabethminkel]

For my second fan culture column for Atlas Obscura, I wrote about Yuletide! (The first was on 18th-century sentiment albums as proto-Tumblrs.) This piece features several longtime Yuletide participants, including Dr. Anna Wilson, who wrote this great TWC article (partly) about Yuletide, and fic writers Sandrine and Petronia:

“What I really love about Yuletide is the potential for kismet,” says Petronia, “the story that, as a recipient, I always wished existed, [and] turns out to be the story someone else always wanted to write. The idea that I always had percolating as a writer, that was too niche to put energy into, turns out to have an audience after all—even an audience of one, which is all I need.” Sandrine echoes that love of serendipitous connections. “It’s great when there’s an obscure fandom of your heart which you thought was something only you cared for, and then someone else offers it—or requests it!—and you realize it wasn’t actually a fandom of one after all.”

(Also a note: I'm aware of the irony of a fandom juggernaut being the lead image for a piece on a rare-fandom exchange. 😭 While I did not choose the image myself, I do mention it in the piece—The Untamed was a Yuletide fandom its first year!)

#fanfiction #yuletide #anna wilson #sandrine #petronia #fic exchanges #gift economy #atlas obscura #my writing

[darc-la-farse]

“....Are you okay?”

“If I weren’t, you’d be able to tell right?”

“Sometimes...Would you still tell me if you weren’t?”

#candela obscura #sean finnerty #marion collodi #the circle of needle and thread #critical role #cr fan art #the fact the GM is ready to turn the lighting to ominous reds when the characters have meaningful conversations means so much to me #anyways I have brain rot for these two don’t mind me #collerty #thank u fan fic writers for keeping me sane while I wait for the next episode

[elemental-plane]

i think we as a society need to focus on the fact that there's a probability raj literally bailed elsie out of jail at some point while keeping distance but still keeping an eye on her

#critical role #candela obscura #the circle of tide and bone #candela obscura the circle of tide and bone #elsie roberts #rajan savarimuthu #ashly burch #noshir dalal #THE SESSION 0 VIDEO HAD ME HAND OVER MOUTH #fic writers come get ur food yall got FED today #had to pause #i was like WAIT WHAT #i KNOW its session 0 and things changed between then and session one but like.... #yall.......

[gunpowderraven]

cant believe i JUST realized that not only are rajan and oscar both cursed, but, specifically, they should both be dead. oscar is self-explanatory, but rajan literally has locusts instead of organs. living ghosts, the both of them. keepers of borrowed time. corpses that still breathe. as matthew lillard once said; symmetry, my friend!

#jupiter.txt #erin.txt #candela obscura #rajan savarimuthu #oscar grimm #savagrimm #<- only bc i realized this while writing savagrimm fic & also for organization

[captainofthetidesbreath]

TRAPP HEIR DROWNS must've been a headline the next morning. It must've been news. The eldest child of one of the city's richest and most powerful families is suddenly dead in a tragic accident. Not important enough to make THE headline, surely, but there's plenty of front page below the fold, more than enough space to cover the misfortunes of Newfaire's old money.

The Periphery must have archived with the case file an interview with Nathaniel Trapp, aged 9, brother of the decedent, only witness to the event. Did the officer try to reassure Nathaniel that he was not in trouble? Even if they did, Nathaniel certainly never believed them.

How far under and far downstream did the water pull his brother? Did the river not want to give him back? Did they have to recover his body from the river, Periphery boats and diving teams and all? A family as powerful as the Trapps, they could demand the entire river upended. For their golden child, they would too. How long did it take to find him? Did they ever? For how many days longer did they look for him than they did that South Soffit kid who vanished the month prior?

How long was this the talk of the town? Were there rumors of foul play? Bully pulpit speeches about the disparity in attention and care across social class lines? Small talk just to fill the space wondering if they found that Trapp kid? Unsolicited opinions of what people think really happened?

Does everyone over a certain age remember when this happened? When Nathaniel Trapp introduces himself to some, does this come to mind? Is this memory he tried to forget remembered by the historical record and social memory of Newfaire? Do they hear his name, see how old he is, and think: old money, the metro, dead brother?

#I started writing a fic exploring these concepts but I haven't finished yet so have a post cobbled together out of of the phrases in it #just thinking about the stuff like this that are fixtures of cultural memory both in the country and the world and even here locally in NYC #Nathaniel Trapp #Candela Obscura #Critical Role #Candela things #circle of needle and thread

[essektheylyss]

She doesn’t deserve it—none of them do, of course, but she’s the first one who turns, so she’s the one he has to worry about.

He’s not thinking about it though. He didn’t think back in the war, he sure as hell didn’t think when the lieutenant yelled at him to move in the path of an oncoming train, and he’s not thinking now.

But he is regarding her, like an animal regards prey—analyzing for weakness, and she’s got plenty of them—that nasty looking mass of tissue all the way up her back, between the hanging fringe of her jacket that she’s been gingerly holding together since the minefield, preserving what she’s got left of her dignity.

He doesn’t begrudge it of her. He’s glad, actually. Glad that she’s got some left to hold onto, because that is something she does deserve.

And glad that the fraying remnants keep most of the fresh wound obscured, the bloody pink mass of flesh that was sometimes all that was left of the guys that got marched into her tent, back in the day.

The hand, too, holding the pistol—her fingers aren’t shaking, still maintaining a surgeon’s precision, but her elbow trembles, probably from the way the pain from a spinal injury reverberates down the nerves at the slightest movement.

Mostly, though, he regards her eyes, narrowed and exacting. There’s not a question in her mind—not the way he follows orders, blindly and unflinchingly, but the way a good doctor doesn’t need somebody on their operating table to have paper skin to know where exactly to find the artery, the bone, the best place to make an incision, and the doc is good, the best.

And behind her, at eye level, Marion with those big puppy eyes, following her the way Sean follows LT. A split second after she knows, he knows, and Sean’s outnumbered.

Neither of them deserve it, but he’s got orders to follow, and “deserve”’s really got nothing to do with it.

She’s weak though; she can’t take much more. LT, Auntie Bea, he could probably knock out, but the moment she takes a blow to the head she’s gonna be on the ground and it’s gonna take way too long for her to go.

One shot, clean. That’s the least he can do. It’s also the most he can do, under the circumstances.

He doesn’t have the time to explain that though, that he’s making this as neat as he can, and he’s not sure she’d understand anyway—keeping Ma safe, sure, she’d get that, but Jean doesn’t really have the kind of skillset that requires hurting somebody to save somebody else. Surgery is messy and there’s not always enough drugs to go around, so it hurts, sure, but in theory the point is to stop the hurt.

He’s not a healer, and the kinds of things he’s gotta contend with can’t be stitched up clean.

A head shot’s about as clean as it gets with a shotgun.

Hopefully once she’s down, LT will come running, and Marion will stay right where he is, catch her body. Marion can’t take him, in the state he’s in, but LT might manage it.

He doesn’t have the time to say I’m sorry, but he wouldn’t mean it, really. He’s just doing what he’s always done, following orders.

A lot of the time folks get medals for that, just like Tony.

#candela obscura #co spoilers #critical role #sean finnerty #jinnah basar #cr fic #you know. this was supposed to keep going a bit. and the ending feels a little truncated. but imo it's appropriate so we're leaving it 😌 #OH I MEANT TO TAG THIS #gore #injury

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

~*~

Hello! I would like to recommend this amazing fanfic.

This work is amazing (like everything I've read from AvoOwO), it's set in the Cloud Recess arc, Wei Wuxian appears passed out on the grass of the backfields and at first everyone assumes that he got really drunk but after they check him out it turns out someone drugged him. Do read the warnings at the beginning of the fic please. I would honestly recommend everyone to read the whole series this one-shot is part of, it's amazing (♡°▽°♡) @menimimimeni

obscura: ink stain

by AvoOwO

M, 20k, Wangxian

Summary: It is cold and wet when he and Xiongzhang find Wei Ying, asleep and smelling of alcohol along the grounds of Cloud Recesses. There's dew on his cheeks, his eyelashes. In his hair. He's made an indentation within the grass. After finding Wei Ying within the grass of the back hills, Lan Wangji wonders. And worries. And feels. Wei Ying, meanwhile, begins to remember. In bits and pieces. Jagged and sharp.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#April 2024 #Wangxian Fic Recs #follower recs #follower rec #mdzs #MDZS #Mo Dao Zu Shi #CQL #Chenqingling #The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #The Untamed #Wangxian #Mature #medium fic 15k-49k #obscura: ink stain #AvoOwO

[turtleducknewton]

“This artifact was presented as a recent discovery. And the address is correct,” Edgar said, flipping to the page in his journal where he’d jotted down notes for this case. “Zora said the artifact was for sale at this shop, I don’t understand how that knowledge could be this out of date. Unless—” A feeling of dread settled over Edgar as the pieces fell into place. His gaze met Malcolm’s as they both seemed to realize what this was. But neither had a chance to warn the others before a strange voice cut through the silence.

An assignment goes wrong, leaving Grimoria injured. And Edgar, but he's far less concerned about that.

#candela obscura #circle of the crimson mirror #edgar lycoris #grimoria #leo amicus #malcolm trills #my fic #back on my bullshit #listen #edgar is a FASCINATING character #as are they all #and thus i must put in jar and shake around a bit

[vexing-imogen]

a warm embrace

Auggie leans back against the wall in Charlie's office with a sigh. He runs his hand over the left side of his face, feeling the weird texture of the rocks that are just part of his face now, apparently. He resists the urge to poke at his eye, to try and force sight back into it. It had been hard to tell in the bowels of Oldfaire, but the doc had confirmed it. He'll never see out of that eye again.

It could be worse. At least he's still got a face.

"Auggie?"

Arlo stands in the doorway, swaying slightly. It could be exhaustion, or it could be the nearly empty drink in her hand. Either way, he makes room for her on the cot, pats the space beside him.

She perches on the edge of the cot, staring into the amber liquid in her glass. "How are you?" she asks softly.

He shrugs, even though she's not looking at him. "I've been worse."

A noise escapes her, almost like a laugh. "I highly doubt that, Auggie," she says, finally turning her face to him. She looks like she's in pain, her black eyes shining in the dim light. She turns away just as fast, blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry."

Auggie frowns. "What for?"

"Your eye, Auggie," she says. Then softer. "I hurt you."

"Ah, c'mon, that wasn't your fault," he says.

Her hands tighten around the glass. "But if I hadn't destroyed that portal-"

"If you hadn't destroyed that portal, that Ficus dude would'a brought even worse shit through it." That gets him a ghost of a smile. "You did what you had to do, and if it weren't for you, we'd all be fucking dead." He puts a cautious hand on her shoulder, pleased when she leans into his touch rather than flinch away. "You saved our lives, plus a whole bunch of other people. You're a hero."

She turns back to him, raises an eyebrow. "Do I really look like a hero to you, Auggie?"

"Sure, why not?" he says, grinning. "I never seen one until now, so..."

She looks down, but not away. "You're very sweet." She downs the rest of her drink. Hiccups. "And I am quite intoxicated."

"Yeah?" he asks. "From one drink?"

"Two," she corrects. "And Charlie told Mr. Stinson to 'make them strong'."

"Jesus," he mutters. "How are you doing after all of that?" (He's pretty sure he knows the answer, but it feels rude to not check on her after she came to check on him.)

"Oh!" she says, as if she hadn't stopped to think about herself. She's quiet for a moment. "Very poorly."

Shit. "You wanna talk about it?"

Arlo shakes her head. "Not particularly."

"Okay."

They stay like that for a while, leaned against each other. His arm ends up around her shoulders, while her head ends up settled somewhere on his chest. He digs a handkerchief out of his pocket when he realizes she's crying, and she takes it but doesn't use it. Charlie eventually steps in to let them know that Alexandra is on her way, and should be there soon.

Arlo sits up straight as Charlie leaves, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief. "Eddie was there," she says, out of the blue.

"Oh," he says. "Like, one of the faceless bodies, or..."

She shakes her head, and she's crying again. "He was the one stealing faces." And I killed him hangs in the silence that follows.

"Shit," he whispers, taking her hand. "I'm really sorry."

She nods, dabbing at her eyes again. "I didn't-" Her voice breaks. She swallows and starts again. "I didn't realize how much I'd hoped he was still alive somewhere until I was watching him die."

Auggie doesn't know how to respond, and she dissolves into a mess of tears, so he just wraps his arms around her and lets her cry into his shirt. Howard is knocking on the door after a few minutes, letting them know that Alexandra is there.

He helps her up, both of them a little unsteady. "You don't gotta go out there if you don't wanna," he offers. "I can cover for you; tell 'em you passed out or something."

Her smile doesn't even begin to reach her eyes. "That's very kind of you, Auggie, but I'll be alright." She reaches up to smooth out his collar. "Thank you.

He shrugs, trying and failing to act casual. "Anytime."

#critical role #candela obscura #candela obscura spoilers #candela obscura fic #auggie james #arlo black #could be arlo x auggie if you squint #but really i just thought they both deserved some softness after that ending

[flyingwide]

is this the point where i admit i'm writing it? because i think, with several thousand words now, i have to admit i'm writing it

The room had long since gotten dark around him as he sat staring into the fire, brandy still in his hand. The scarlet he had dropped into it had curled like a drop of blood, twisting like smoke until it had faded into the deep auburn of the drink. Oblivion beckoned invitingly. It would be so easy to give into it, to drown decades of sorrow. But he didn’t want to forget. Not today. A locust crept closer and closer to the fire. He felt when it died, when the heat eclipsed all. From his study, he heard the front door open quietly. He closed his eyes for a moment in regret. Elsie. He had forgotten to tell her… forgotten to make up some lie about why, today of all days, she should leave him to his own devices… “Raj?” she called softly across the dark and empty (too empty, so empty, just him now, the only one left) house. He couldn’t reply but she found him easily enough. The door wasn’t closed and the only light came from his fire. He knew the moment she spotted him; the sharp intake of breath gave her away before her steps did. Elsie knelt at his side, taking the cup from loosening fingers. She sniffed delicately, her lips pursing. He braced himself for yet another fight about what he did to himself when she wasn’t looking but she only set it aside, the glass clinking when it hit paraquet floor. “Are you alright?” she murmured, taking his empty hand in hers. He looked down at her earnest, worried face and attempted a smile. “Little bird,” he said, voice rusty with disuse. “My darling. The only life left in this graveyard of a home.” That only seemed to upset her more. Firelight played over her face, casting long shadows over skin that seemed to grow paler by the day. She likely thought he hadn’t noticed. “What happened?” she asked, clutching his hand tighter. “Please talk to me.” Perhaps it was the way she begged that loosened his control. Perhaps it was the day or the drink or the drug. Perhaps it was the buzzing under his skin. Perhaps it was the misery that had dogged his steps for so long now. “It’s my birthday,” he told her with false levity. “Our birthday.”

#candela obscura #Lys Writes Fic #UGH #i cannot believe these two got me #rajan savarimuthu #rajan/elsie #elsie roberts

[silentassassin21]

the bottom table makes me a lil crazy btw

#critical role #candela obscura #brennan lee mulligan #zehra fazal #luis carazo #sean finnerty #jean basar #marion collodi #their dynamics just make me a lil insane. just a lil bit #them as duos and all three of them together #and the little touches and looks between them #i don't even mean this in a shippy way just everything they do makes my brain go brrrr #(but also: i ship them extremely hard ty fic writers for saving my life)

[scifrey]

What a kind and thoughtful article about people's amazing passions and crafting!💜

It's nice to read an article about a fan activity that doesn't deride or tease or make fun of the people who participate and love it.

#atlas obscura #fanbinding #fan binding #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic writing #this is so cool

[multifandom-damnation]

I'm curious to know how much Cosmo actually knows about this circle. Obviously, he knows about whatever Oscar has going on, and he is fully aware of Elsie's condition, but does he know about Rajan and the locusts?? Does he know about Madam Glask's secret? I am not convinced she is the 'normal' one in a group of supernatural anomalies. Does Cosmo know everything? Or are there things even beyond his knowledge?

#critical role #candela obscura #cosmo grimm #no this is not because i want to write a fic and don't want to get the details wrong what are you talking about

[heckblade]

is it even a trapperty sex scene if i don't compare the intimacy of their lovemaking to the act of cleaning a gun?

(aka an excerpt from the upcoming chapter of north star)

"Nathaniel takes him apart slow, piece by piece, with the same delicate, methodical precision that Sean uses to field strip his weapons. An intimate knowledge of every part, the way they fit together just so. A ritual that honors the complex design of a thing built to be efficient and elegant in its deadliness. He’ll reassemble him, afterward, everything in its right place, leaving traces of himself on each fragment like fingerprints on gunmetal. Not as a claim, but a reminder — I held you here."

#candela obscura #trapperty #sean finnerty #nathaniel trapp #candela obscura fic #my fic