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abigail-pent · 3 years

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TLT Theory Redux: Secret Doors and Heists

gather round the fire, children, for I have finished my third reread and I have theories to spin. they are interconnected. they will also take the form of "a listicle, kind of". This is not as tightly written/cited as I hoped it would be, many thanks to tumblr for eating the first version of this post.

THEORY #1: HARROW WAS RIGHT

About what? Probably lots of things, but specifically about the secret door. You remember Harrow's "secret door theory," right? On GTN p. 303, Harrow and Palamedes are having an argument about what is going on in Canaan House. Harrow makes fun of Palamedes' idea that there is such a thing as a Lyctoral megatheorem. Pal lightly mocks Harrow's "secret door" theory, about which she says:

"But all this is more than unsustainable, Sextus. The things they've shown us would be powerful -- would bespeak impossible depth of necromantic ability -- if they were replicable. These experiments all demand a continuous flow of thanergy. They've hidden that source somewhere in the facility, and that's the true prize."

The action picks up pretty quickly after this, and you just sort of forget about Harrow's theory since Pal's theory is so quickly proven correct. It's set up to make you think these theories are competing, but they're not. Harrow and Pal are both right.

Proposition 1: An entrance to the River -- or perhaps the part of the River on the other side of the stoma -- is hidden under Canaan House.

Evidence for Proposition 1:

1A) On GTN p. 191, Teacher says, about Silas siphoning Colum in the facility: "He cannot empty anybody here, lest they become a nest for something else!" This is highly reminiscent of HTN p. 98, when Mercy says: " A Lyctor's body, empty, with its battery intact but nobody in the driver's seat? Do you know what could take up residence? Anything could get inside you -- any horrible or evil or lonely thing, any miserable revenant, or worse." These two places are described very similarly; they may well be the same.

1B) I'm missing the citation, exactly, but I'm pretty sure it's textual that the first time the Lyctors + John ran from RBs, they ran by dropping into the River. Quite possibly from Canaan House itself.

1C) Teacher. We know he hates the water (GTN p. 325), we know he was created for the "sole purpose of safeguarding the place" (GTN p. 373). Of course, the whole place is surrounded by saltwater.

1D) When Ianthe and Cytherea are fighting and Canaan House is disintegrating, "brackish water from the fountain spattered across the floor and trickled into the cracks" (GTN p. 418). It's been well established already that 'brackish' is the word used to refer to River water. It's also the word used to describe the water that emits from Colum's mini stomae when he dies (GTN p. 393). Why is the fountain water brackish when other water in Canaan House -- for example, the pool -- is saltwater? Seems like a clue!

Proposition 2: Whatever is behind the secret door is the source of John's power.

Evidence for Proposition 2:

2A) During the big confrontation with John in HTN (p. 478-479), Augustine's suspicions echo Harrow's from GTN p. 303, when she's describing the secret door theory. He says:

"You've offered us explanations for everything over the years. But -- some of them didn't hold up on examination . . . It was the power I could never get my head around, you know? I follow power back to its source, John. It's the skill you asked me to perfect. And the longer I looked at yours, the less things added up."

Leaving aside for now the fascinating question of why John would ask Augustine to cultivate this skill, he goes on to ask:

"You're God, John. But -- as the Edenites are fond of pointing out -- you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time. And then Mercy said to me -- in a moment of true Mercy vileness -- she said, What is God afraid of?"

Proposition 2.1: The source of John's power is not exactly Alecto, but is Alecto-adjacent. Alecto is from the space behind the secret door.

2.1A) Alecto is called a saltwater creature (HTN p. 328).

2.1B) The oldest parts of Canaan House are where the power emanates from (citation needed, but I’m sure it’s there). They are also the parts closest to the sea. As Teacher says (HTN p. 110): "The base of Canaan House dates back to before the Resurrection. We first built upward, to get away from the sea; then we built outward, to strive toward beauty."

2.1C) The Sleeper is identified with Alecto. Like Alecto, she carries a weapon, she sleeps in a coffin, she can’t be killed, and the River bubble crew is warned that the worst and most cataclysmic thing in the world would occur if she were ever to wake up (HTN p. 112, 185). Since the Sleeper is so clearly identified with Alecto, and is also identified as the presence that’s haunting the River bubble version of Canaan House, it suggests the connection between Alecto herself and the physical version of Canaan House.

Proposition 3: John has dammed the River underneath Canaan House by trapping the Earth Resurrection Beast there.

3A) Per HTN p. 43, we know there's one missing RB, since 9-5=4>3.

3B) Abigail thinks something is messed up in the River and it's dammed, and spirits cannot get across. On HTN p. 396-397, she says:

“A spirit can be trapped, trapped as every spirit in the River is trapped . . . I think there is a whole school of necromancy we cannot begin to touch until we acknowledge its existence – I think these centuries of pooh-poohing the idea that there is space beyond the River has stifled entire avenues of spirit magic, and I believe the Fifth House is waning entirely due to us reaching a stultified, complacent stage in our approach . . . Something has gone terribly wrong in the River, Harrow, and I wish you’d find out what.”

She’s describing a dam in the River that traps ghosts there. This is extremely consistent with what Teacher tells Harrow about what’s down in the facility (see 3E).

3C) On GTN p. 213, Cytherea suggests that "something has been lurking [in the Canaan House facility] forever", and when Harrow insists that "[A spirit] cannot sustain itself", Cytherea replies: "But what if one could?" We know that Resurrection Beasts are revenants, and a revenant is a type of spirit; and if any spirit was going to be self-sustaining, it would be an RB.

3D) HTN p. 172: "The card up the sleeve of the revenant, and the Resurrection Beast, is that it can inhabit anything it's got a connection to. Anything thanergetically connected with their death." So what killed Earth? Climate change, plus a massive nuclear fission chain reaction. Historically, early nuclear fission chain reaction tests took place underneath the ground (see, for example, the facility at the University of Chicago). So an underground or underwater facility could very well be thanergetically connected to the death of Earth.

An RB may very well be a continuous source of thanergy; and if this is the case, John may want to kill or neutralize the other RBs to keep other people from rivaling his power. Or better yet: harness the other RBs the same way Earth's RB was harnessed.

3E) On GTN p. 152, Teacher literally tells Harrow that the ten billion are haunting the facility. Harrow says she is “repeating exactly – to the word—what Teacher said to [her]”:

“Down there resides the sum of all necromantic transgression. The unperceivable howl of ten thousand million unfed ghosts who will hear each echoed footstep as defilement. They would not even be satisfied if they tore you apart. The space beyond that door is profoundly haunted in ways I cannot say, and by means you won’t understand; and you may die by violence, or you may simply lose your soul.”

For those of you following along at home: ten thousand million = 10,000 x 1,000,000 = 10,000,000,000 = 10 billion, or the exact number of people who died in the Resurrection. This is of course completely consistent with the Earth RB being down there, somewhere in or under the facility, because the revenant of a planet includes the spirits of every living thing on it when it was murdered.

Proposition 3.1: Alecto is one of the physical anchors for the Earth RB.

3.1A) HTN p. 454: “The only sure way to banish a revenant is to destroy the physical anchor it inhabits before it can escape the shell.” If John’s cavalier is the physical anchor for the Earth Resurrection Beast, which is the source of his power, then this would justify the characterization of Alecto as the “death of the Lord”: if she’s a physical anchor and she is destroyed, then so is the source of John’s power.

3.1B) She was the first Resurrection, and it’s plausible that she would be thanergetically connected to the death of Earth.

3.1C) HTN p. 495: Pyrrha notes that the stoma “must think [John] is a Resurrection Beast.” Which is a super interesting mistake for the stoma to make! But if John’s cavalier is a physical anchor for a RB, this mistake becomes more understandable.

Proposition 4: The other side of the stoma is not a trash space, and John actually can access it. He uses it as a battery for his necromancy. It’s a storage space for RBs, and now I guess for Lyctors too. (this is the most galaxy brain proposition, and evidence is slim)

4A) On HTN p. 340, John says: “It is a portal to the place I cannot touch -- somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless.” But this is the kind of shit John lies about on the reg, so take what he says and apply opposite day rules.

4B) if the other side of the stoma is related to the River Beyond, it would be to John’s advantage to keep the Fifth House scholarship from treating the River Beyond seriously (see 3B). If they don’t take it seriously as a branch of scholarship, they can’t learn anything about it, and they can’t let the RBs out from where John is keeping them.

4C) this could be why John condemns soul siphoning (GTN p. 340). If soul siphoning sends the cavalier’s soul to the other side of the stoma, and the power that floods into the empty body is from the other side of the stoma, then soul siphoning threatens John’s monopoly on use of power.

This brings me to Theory #2, born out of a delightful discussion with @mayasaura: the heist in ATN is not going to open the Tomb at all. Instead, it’s going to open the part of the River underneath Canaan House, and the goal is to free the Earth RB. After all, the Tomb has been open for seven years already.

Extant questions:

1) Mercy seemed so sure that the RBs were coming back and targeting Alecto in particular. But Alecto stayed in the Nine Houses, and didn’t get eaten by any RBs, and the Ninth House is still there. So why does Mercy think Alecto is a target, or makes the rest of them into targets? If she was lied to, what is the purpose of this lie?

2) Why does John want Augustine to hone the skill of following power back to its source?

3) If RBs eat Lyctors and both RBs and Lyctors are in the hammer space on the other side of the stoma, then, like… hey Augustine and Ulysses… are you guys ok??

#tlt meta #tlt spoilers #locked tomb spoilers #locked tomb meta #gideon the ninth #gideon the ninth spoilers #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers

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writingdumpsite · 3 years

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Of silence and mermaid’s voice (g.w.)

Summary: George still has to meet the girl who works in the music shop in front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

Pairing: George Weasly x fem!Reader

Words: 2k

A/N: just pure fluff because don’t think I’ve ever read of music shops in Diagon Alley

At that time of the day, few people wander in Diagon Alley. Probably because the sun has yet to completely rise and most shops are still closed. And though there’s a light breeze, George Weasley loves roaming along these streets he knows so well. Because of his hectic job, he has started to wake up way before Fred to enjoy the quietness of the early morning. Every morning he wakes up, gets dressed, has breakfast and then spends the rest of his free time walking. All this in complete silence.

When he was at Hogwarts he couldn’t stand the silence and everything that came with it. It meant that the class was taking a test and everyone needed to be quiet. Over the years, George had also started to associate it with trouble because in a school with hundreds of student, it was uncommon to hear silence.

As he approaches his shop, ready to start another day, George comes to the realisation that he likes the silence that every morning welcomes him. It’s the moment of the day where he can think without the fear of being interrupted. Where he can appreciate everything that surrounds him. Every day, since he has started waking up early, he’s happier. More focused on what he has to do, and at night he goes to bed calmer, ready to start over the next day.

All his thoughts come to an end the moment someone passes him and goes towards the music shop in front of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. His eyes follow the figure as he finally takes a look at the shop, almost worried. Usually, it is already open when he reaches his joke shop but it’s not today’s case. The lights inside are still off and the usual soft music is replaced by the same silence that accompanies him every morning. As he stops on the doorstep of his shop, George can’t help but observe the figure. Now inside the shop, he is surprised to notice that the someone switching the lights on is a girl, a rather attractive one. So he spends the next few minutes looking at the good-looking girl, hoping not to be caught. It wouldn’t be the first time. And the silly yet constant fear of never finding someone to love starts to resurface the more he stares at the girl in the music shop. It seems like everyone around him is ready to take the next steps in their lives, finding partners, settling down and making a family of their own. And it isn’t that George doesn’t feel ready or isn’t friendly enough to socialize. In fact, George Weasley is exactly the type of guy who can strike a conversation with any living being in a room. The truth is, he doesn’t have time for love right now. If he isn’t refilling the shelves f the shop, he’s perfecting new inventions or doing paperwork or talking to investors. And when he eventually gets a day off, he usually spends it catching up with his family and close friends or with his sleeping schedule.

He’s sure he has never seen her before because he could never forget someone as gorgeous as her. Soft hair and welcoming eyes, or at least those are the things that have attracted George in the first place. Though he needs to head into the shop, he feels like he can’t wait to learn something more about the mysterious girl. He has this strange urge to approach her and introduce himself, to make sure she knows who he is. He's also wondering what her hair smells like and if it is as smooth as he imagines.

“Already in love with the lovely Y/N?” asks Fred from behind him and George is suddenly brought back to reality. How long has he been staring at the girl? She’s now nowhere to be seen and he can’t help but wonder if his gaze went unnoticed. He hopes so, otherwise, he will never be able to look at the girl in the eyes.

“Y/N? Is that her name? How do you know her? When did you meet her? Why didn’t I know about her existence?” questions are so quick to escape his lips. But he doesn’t give Fred time to answer as he enters the joke shop and starts getting everything ready for the day. George is confused because they are brothers. Or better, they are twins and best friends. They have always shared everything so what exactly has he missed? Of course, Fred would tell him if he dated someone, wouldn’t he? He hasn’t even noticed his face going from pale to red but he definitely feels the warmth spreading across it. A loud laugh is all that comes from his twin’s mouth.

“I’ve always thought you were not one of those who could fall for a girl with just one look.” Fred is trailing behind him, joking. “And to answer your questions, I met her last week. Do you remember those delicious biscuits we ate one night? Well, that day she saw me outside the shop and gave me some. She told me she had baked too many and didn’t know what to do with them.” concludes Fred before going behind the register, leaving his twin alone. George sighs in relief, happy to know that the assumptions he has made in his mind are not true. Now happier, George goes towards his office.

George is not surprised when he reaches his shop the next morning and finds the music shop already open. Of course, that morning was an exception for the girl. But now that he knows about her existence, he can't simply forget her and go on with his life. So, like the day before, he observes her from his doorstep. It doesn’t take long for Y/N to catch him staring at her. And if George makes every effort to hide, she smiles wide and waves at him from her spot in the shop.

One day he notices her clothes are colourful and comfy. He believes that long skirts aren't the most practical ones to work in but the way she wears them makes every move seem effortless. Another day, he focuses on her behaviour around the shop and on the way she treats customers. From his spot, he can only see how she uses her arms and her hands to talk to people. And the passion for her job makes her eyes sparkle with joy. But it’s on a warm and sunny day that he seriously starts to think he may already have developed feelings for Y/N without even knowing her. While waiting for Fred outside the shop to have lunch together, George starts to hear strumming from the music shop. It’s almost inaudible but it’s there, light and constant. He knows it's her. He knows she's the only one in the shop that day. After some seconds, a voice follows and George cannot believe he has lived for so long without a sound so sweet. He remembers from some muggle book about Greek mythology he has read, that mermaids use their voices to attract men and kill them. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found out Y/N is one of them. He's so fascinated that starts to ponder the pros and cons of not eating lunch at all to listen to her. If Fred doesn’t come out now, I’ll go see what she’s doing. He’s repeating the sentence like a mantra, too hesitant to act. Fred joins him after only a couple of minutes so he has to put his plan aside.

As the day goes on, George keeps repeating to himself that he should at least introduce himself if she has already met Fred. In his head, he tries not to plan their first real meeting. But he knows he’s failing miserably. That night, the only thing he does is tossing and turning because of the thousand scenarios that alternate in his dreams.

Because of the terrible night, George is not exactly in a good mood the next day and not even his usual walk seems to help. He also notices that Y/N is not in the shop (and if she is, he can’t see her) and that only makes his mood worse. So he decides that he'll focus on his shop. It’s only at lunch that he manages to go outside to enjoy some fresh air. And like the day before his attention catches the sound of strumming coming from the music shop. This time Fred isn’t here to stop him and before he can think about it too much, George crosses the street and enter the music shop.

Stepping inside, he thinks that he has never seen a shop this beautiful. It’s so much more colourful than his and Fred’s, though he must admit that it is more chaotic. But Y/N doesn't seem to notice him because the strumming doesn't stop. Instead of drawing attention to him, George starts wandering around the maze of shelves and instruments. He’s never been into music, even though he knows the most famous artists. His focus has always been on pranks and how not to get in trouble for that.

“Has anything caught your attention?” Y/N has suddenly appeared behind him, making him jump at her words. George isn’t the type of guy to get clumsy easily. The initial redness on his cheeks spreads further on the rest of his face when he turns around to face the girl. Struck by the girl's beauty and the sudden closeness, he knocks a whole shelf of books and music supplies down.

“Merlin, I didn’t mean to...” he tries to apologize but Y/N is quick to show him a warm smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says before taking her wand out to put everything back in its place. “Besides,” she continues once she’s finished “I’ll take it as a sign that I have to rearrange the shelves”. She chuckles after the last sentence and proceeds to lead George somewhere a little more spacious. All this time, George remains silent. He admires first the precision used to tidy up and then the grace with which she carries herself around the shop. He’s aware that the girl works there, so of course, she's familiar to every corner. But he’s entranced nonetheless by the way her hips sway trying not to bump into anything.

“So, is there anything I can help you with?” Y/N asks once they have reached the front of the shop. What is George supposed to answer? Oh, I wanted to see the gorgeous girl who plays the guitar so well. Or Oh, nothing, I just wanted to come in and say “hello” and apologize for staring at you from afar. That wouldn’t be a strong beginning, would it? Instead, he introduces himself as “the twin who you still haven’t met”.

“It’s a shame I only have seen you from my shop, you seem like nice” he adds. The girl laughs at his words, throwing her head back. Her laugh so contagious that in a matter of seconds George finds himself laughing with her.

“Well, I’m quite busy here, you know? And if I'm not here, I'm teaching. You know, how to play the guitar and stuff. It’s a miracle I manage to wake up early and open the shop on time. I’m such a heavy sleeper.” from that moment conversation between the two flows so easily. And when he goes back to his shop, George wonders why he hasn’t introduced himself before. Y/N is so easy to talk to and in the short time spent together, he has discovered so many things about her. From her favourite colour to all the details of her dream house. He now knows her parents' names and how she takes her tea in the morning. She has told him all about her passion for music and how she has learnt how to play the guitar.

George feels so good once he's in his office again. He can’t even hide the huge smile on his face and it’s only when Fred notices something out of the ordinary that he’s brought back to earth,

“Why did you buy a guitar?!” Fred’s voice can be heard from outside the shop.

“She’s so passionate about music, I couldn’t leave the shop without buying something!” is all George can answer because now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure either why he has a guitar in his office. Though he’s sure, he’ll pay Y/N another visit to ask her to teach him how to play it.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley oneshot #writing #harry potter

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

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Mate in Three

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 2653

Summary:

It's not a matter of if Beth can seduce Benny, it's a matter of when.

The first thing Beth decides is that it doesn’t matter whether Benny knows she’s doing it on purpose. Not for a moment does she believe herself to be wilier than him, therefore her attempts to seduce him cannot go unnoticed. She’s already revealed her intentions—at the bar in Ohio—and he’s made his own position clear. Both halves of it. He wouldn’t have needed to put an unambiguous ban on sex if it weren’t at least partly for his own benefit, as a reminder to keep their relationship professional, trainer and trainee. She still smiles to herself over how he reacted when she swept the hair from his eyes. All he’s done is silently place a handicap on her play: she’ll have to accomplish it all without touching him.

The drive to New York is for revision, repetition, exercises, and, amusingly, bonding. Benny’s still Benny behind the wheel, but this is something more straightforward than playing Benny Watts for fans and the press. He’s at ease. He even unstraps the knife from his belt ahead of them setting off.

“For comfort,” he claims, explaining that he doesn’t want the sheath digging into his leg the entire trip.

“Does this mean you don’t believe you need to protect yourself from me?” Beth jokingly inquires.

He holds her teasing stare a second too long and clears his throat as he redirects his attention to the road ahead of them.

It takes her a couple of days to find her feet after arriving at Benny’s apartment. She’s never been to New York and the noises outside are as jarring as the grim interior. Her host trailing the end of that open robe around feels like the equivalent of the smug smirks some of Beth’s earliest opponents wore when they mistakenly supposed they’d made a brilliant move against her. She wiped those smiles off easily enough; proving that Benny’s no match for her shouldn’t be any tougher.

Once she adapts to the lack of natural light inside the space and having to blow up her bed every evening, Beth is ready to commence. Benny’s already training her, started the first morning, but now she shifts to playing a simultaneous. This is the game beneath the game. Sure that she can win, what she’s most curious to discover is how many moves it’ll take. Though the apartment is unelaborate and their lives within the unadorned rooms routine, she finds opportunities. Poverty, followed by the monk-like existence at Methuen—every space communal, precious few meaningful possessions scattered between nearly two dozen girls—has made her wickedly resourceful.

Taking responsibility for feeding them is straightforward. It makes sense for her to buy the groceries as a way of repaying him for letting her stay, plus her numerous pointed looks upon opening a cupboard or the refrigerator to expose the slim pickings have Benny half-convinced before Beth even asks to take over food shopping duties. The only things he’s really attached to (besides coffee) are his morning eggs. She notices. She plots before falling asleep, unfurling scenarios in her mind as she stares at the ceiling and folds her hands over the placket of her satiny pink pajamas. Then, she starts eating his eggs.

“Why do you buy all this other stuff if that’s what you want to eat?” Benny questions, standing next to her at the stove, using a greasy fork to gesture towards the egg she’s frying.

Beth shrugs, surveying as he goes back to scraping at the bacon where it’s sticking to his pan. Even now, his upper body is bare under the robe and she’s suppressing the urge to warn him about the pain of hot splatter. She transfers her weight onto the foot farthest from him and watches the bacon sizzle.

“Maybe I just like eggs,” she says.

And, truly, she doesn’t mind them. However, Beth, who has preferred her eggs scrambled since childhood (a common breakfast at the orphanage and the most tolerable meal they offered), unfailingly prepares every egg at Benny’s over easy.

They take their positions across the table and the board from each other, plates on their laps, coffee always just shy of being knocked to the ground by their propped elbows. She lets him ramble. He seems to enjoy beginning every session with a little chess history—and, of course, the Benny Watts perspective on it. Finally, he moves his first piece with a decisive tap, but Beth concentrates on her egg. She splits it with the side of her fork and quickly moves the bite to her mouth.

Confused by her failure to respond to his opening move, Benny looks up. Beth feels immense satisfaction in witnessing the impatient gaze he shoots at her eyes melt as it drops to the yellow yolk dribbling from the corner of her lips. She wipes at it with feigned embarrassment, as though she hadn’t been pressing the egg against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until she felt the gush.

He blinks and shifts in his seat.

“You going to play or what?”

“Yes.”

Benny wins the first match by too much because she was distracted, but Beth’s loss is bearable to her. She gained ground in the other game. Although he recovered promptly, what she now thinks of as the Egg Variation did get his attention.

When devising the second move of her endgame, she thinks of Harry. His love for her was as plain as the nose on his face, but she suspects that this next tactic will work just as well on someone far less blatant about their feelings. Watching a woman dance must be where concealed lust and transparent devotion meet. Just as she stripped Benny of his queen at the Ohio tournament, she aims to strip him of the persistent disinterest in her that hangs from him like one of his necklaces.

He has a small radio. She’s only ever seen him listen to it in the morning, either sitting on the steps across the room from where she sleeps (presumably trying not to wake her with the noise) or at the table while she’s frying up her provocative prop/breakfast. One night, Beth waits for Benny to turn in, then grabs the radio. She has it on low at first, swaying her head side to side. But when she starts inflating her mattress, the thump of the pump depressing drowns out the music. Well, there’s only one thing for her to do about that.

Eyes on the closed bedroom door, Beth twists the dial to increase the volume. She swiftly sets the radio on the floor and places her foot on the pump, heart fleetly beating. Benny doesn’t come out, so she finishes her task, anticipation mounting. She adjusts the volume again.

Because they left right from Ohio, she traveled with a limited wardrobe. Taking pleasure in both strategizing and dressing herself well, Beth made sure to have the correct clothes clean on the correct day—including today. Especially today. That’s why, when the music sufficiently interferes with his attempt to get to sleep, Benny storms out only to halt in his tracks at the sight of Beth dancing, the navy skirt she wore the day before she trounced him twirling around her thighs.

“Sorry,” she says when she catches him staring. She’s grinning. “We sit all day and I… needed to move.”

“Right now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He taps a finger against his arm and she notices he’s removed his bracelet and ring. It’s oddly intimate to view him without jewellery.

“Well, you don’t give me any other time.”

“That’s because I’m training you to be a chess champion, not a ballerina.”

Benny tilts to rest his shoulder against the wall. He’s still watching her and she’s still dancing, wiggling her shoulders and hips in place, though no longer hopping around. Just meeting his gaze has her out of breath. Do something, she dares him with her eyes.

“Relax, Benny,” she impishly commands. “I promise this won’t make me worse at chess.”

“Will it make you better?”

Beth shuns his challenging tone, swinging around to put her back to him and dancing more vigorously. She almost thinks she hears the smack of his bare feet crossing the floor to join her, but when she turns, Benny’s about to step back into his bedroom. He stops himself though, hand braced flat on the wall. She quits dancing as, slowly, he looks sideways at her. His eyes race over her faster than she can be sure of what he’s taking in. Her skirt and her plan, or just her noisy presence, keeping him awake? As he turns his head and disappears for the night, she spots the way he smiles to himself. She wants to drag him back out here. Instead, with a sigh, she shuts off the radio.

She can feel it—she can always feel a victory. Her self-assurance in this talent has never been rattled. When Benny beat her in Vegas, it didn’t surprise her. No, she watched it coming from half a dozen moves off, which was enough to lend his win the same terrifying inevitability as the oncoming truck that met Beth’s mother’s car on a bridge and killed her on impact. Beth was as incapable of escaping defeat at the US Open as she was of grabbing the wheel from the backseat and steering her mother to safety. The sense of an approaching victory is free of what-ifs and regrets. It simply is.

Following the employment of the Egg Variation and the midnight dance, she’s certain the seduction requires a single move more. And she’s US Champion Beth Harmon. She has just the thing.

The abominable dearth of privacy where the shower is concerned makes it an obvious choice. Too obvious? In her mind, no more obvious than engaging Benny in a trading of queens in Ohio after being defeated by him in that same manner in Las Vegas. His ego made him believe he was invincible, blind to the fact that Beth would never make the same mistake twice. Equally keen to avoid a blunder here, she gives the backdrop of the strike that will be her last a good test run. And tries not to enjoy it too much. (Outwardly.)

Usually, she collects her clothes for the day—or pajamas, when she showers at night—and places them next to the shower. Close enough to reach, far enough to avoid the rogue spray that makes it past the curtain. Hidden by that same curtain, Beth towels off, then sticks an arm out to snatch up her clothing and dress in everything but shoes before stepping out. During her test run, Beth forgets to bring her clothes. She dries herself like normal, then, when she hears the door to Benny’s bedroom snap open, presents herself with his threadbare towel twisted around her, the end tucked in beneath her arm. She blinks at him as though startled and laughs with modest embarrassment.

“Forgot my—”

“Oh,” he says and steps back, practically trips back, slamming the door.

Beth waltzes across the room, head held high to breathe the air of imminent conquest. She almost begins to hum. What must he be thinking as he keeps himself caged in his room? Is he frozen or pacing? Running his fingers through his hair or his palm over his mouth? Has he flung himself to the far back of his bedroom, as far from her as he can get, or does he wait just inside the door, battling every second against the compulsion to wrench it wide?

“Just you wait,” she singsongs under her breath, smiling as she wrings water from her hair and pops on a headband.

After the trial comes the play for all the marbles (as her mother would’ve said). Beth doesn’t wait, doesn’t grace Benny with any time to cool down and get a handle on his refusal to acknowledge her as a potential sexual partner. The very next time she showers, she forgets the towel.

“Benny?” she shouts.

She’s knows he’s preoccupied; he was reading a book—on chess, what else—when he retreated to his bedroom for her privacy. His belated answering shout confirms that she’s only won a piece of his attention. Beth bites her lips together to discourage herself from smiling.

“…Yeah?”

“Could you come out here? I need your help.”

Controlling her expression, Beth pokes her head around the edge of the shower curtain.

“Well,” she hears him say loudly as his door opens, “that’s the first time you’ve said—”

His eyes scan the room for her and, locating her, he sighs. She gives him a delicate wave, just a fluttering of her fingers.

“Hi, Benny.”

“Yeah,” he responds heavily. “Hi.”

“I forgot my towel.”

“I bet you did.”

“And? Are you going to get it for me? I’m getting cold.”

She sees him slide his lower jaw to the side in frustration and contemplation, but, raising his eyebrows in a quick flick, he nods. The towel isn’t hard to find; she left it perfectly visible on purpose so he wouldn’t have to waste time searching. He walks towards her, shifting his gaze from her face to the floor and back. She understands the look—it’s that of a person trying to find a way out. They’ve alternated wearing it when sitting across from each other at a chessboard. He stops in front of the shower and extends the towel towards her, wearing a different expression: a man accepting that he’s been outmaneuvered.

“Thanks.”

Her arm shoots out as she takes it from him and snaps the curtain shut again. The reaction is clearly not what he was expecting because she hears him chuckle to himself.

“You’re cruel, Beth.”

She frowns, drying herself with unprecedented speed. She can see his silhouette through the curtain.

“How so?”

“You finally get me right where you want me and then you decide to toy with me.”

The sound of his feet scuffing across the floor reaches her as he walks away. Draped in the towel, she jerks the curtain open and chases him in stuttering steps. He turns and she freezes. Instinct makes her cross her arms behind her back, a habit from childhood that Mrs. Deardorff once told her to break as it made her appear secretive. Which she was.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to stretch it a moment longer. I don’t know what made me do it.”

“I do,” Benny tells her, squaring himself to face her fully. He grins. “Revenge.”

“Revenge? But I already—”

“Sure, you took the title from me, but you never got me back for discovering the flaw in your game against Beltik.”

Beth opens her mouth to argue only to close it again in a smile.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am, you know. Some of the time.”

He doesn’t disguise how his gaze rides a water droplet running down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, and into the towel after following the swell of her breast. She lets him look, then extends her hand, businesslike.

“Do you resign?”

Benny smiles and grips her hand.

“You play ruthlessly.”

“I play to win,” she corrects.

His fingers tighten around her hand and he tugs her in. Their first kiss has the force of a merciless endgame assault—true to form for them both. The noise that escapes her as the pressure of his mouth on hers tips her head back farther calls out to him. He clutches her against him and she feels the imprint of his hand distinctly through the towel. Unable to push him, she pulls instead, guiding him around until she advances on his bedroom backwards, fingers hooked in the neck of his black t-shirt.

In lieu of a king, Beth topples Benny—straight into his bed.

#my writing #The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #beth x benny

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e-one-seven · 3 years

Text

I did some researches on the Beholders because of Lucien's eyes and I found out about the existence of the Beholder's god, an entity known as The Great Mother. Please click on Keep reading to lose your sleep as I did.

This is the personality of the Great Mother as described in the Forgotten Realms Wiki:

Those that studied the Great Mother typically concluded that she was completely insane, lacking in the ruthless logic possessed by mortal beholders. In truth, she was dangerously intelligent, the method behind her madness simply being beyond the ability of most beings to understand. Ironically, her mind wasn't even divided into two halves, like most beholders. Still, while not crazy or mindless, the Great Mother was a creature of utter chaos and capricious whimsy, acting primarily on instinct and impulse. Often times, the Great Mother philosophized to herself about the nature of chaos and evil and was rumored to be the greatest sage on the subjects. She was said to be omniscient and did possess exclusive hidden lore, but seemed to be so knowledgeable that she was incapable of sharing it with any but the most intelligent entities, much less inferior beings. Some scholars speculated that she was not unable to convey such knowledge, but simply wouldn't provide it to lower-lifeforms, and indeed the Great Mother was a jealous and egotistical intellectual that refused to acknowledge even the notion that she could be mistaken. Befitting the deity of eye tyrants, she was said to have her own strange standards for her creations and would destroy or devour any that she found displeasing.

The objectives of this entity and hers followers are described as such:

Aside from birthing more beholders, the Great Mother's only other activity was drifting enigmatically in solitude throughout reality, particularly in the darker planes. She inexorably cruised through space deep in thought, always incomprehensibly gibbering in an alien protolanguage while experiencing bizarre visions. The purpose of her aimless journey wasn't to gather knowledge or magical secrets since she believed that she already knew all that was worth knowing.

The Greyhawk Wiki gives this description of her dogma:

The Great Mother exists to remake the multiverse in its image by filling it with its spawn, replacing all forms of life with monsters that resemble the Mother itself. It does not bother to acquire knowledge, because it has always known all that it could ever need to know. However, it cannot or will not communicate this knowledge to lesser beings, including its own offspring. It neglects its children, not bothering with omens or portents. Sometimes it will allow beholders to be entirely wiped out on a given world, while other times it will become enraged when even a small beholder community is threatened.

1d4chan.org gives us this about the Great Mother not-beholder followers:

Ocular Adept is a prestige class for humanoid followers of the Great Mother. To become one, they first have to approach a Beholder and convince it not to eat or disintegrate them. After the hard part is over they enter into a surgical pact, where a Beholder-kin eyeball is implanted in their forehead. This provides them a link to the Great Mother's power and allows them to perform eyebeam attacks similar to true Beholders. [...] Ocular Adepts have a separate divine spellcasting progression up to level 5 spells, which is in line with that of a Cleric. However, the Great Mother grants more low-level spells than a Cleric and only a few high-level ones. This is because while the Great Mother is "happy" enough to accept followers from non-Beholder races, she prefers to reserve high level spell power for those who really deserve it.

I know the Somnovem is a hive-mind created by nine ancient wizards, but beside that, the similarities between what it is implied being their purpose, how they act and how they give powers to the mortals are too many to be ignored. After all, if Lucien's abilities are really inspired by Beholders, why can't the Somnovem being inspired by the very being behind the creation of the Beholders in the official D&D lore? Which is not a group of deranged philosophers, but an actual god? If that's the case, it means that Lucien is not as unique as he believes, and the Somnovem actually wants to create more beings like him, just like the Great Mother wants to create more Beholders to shape her ideal vision of reality.

This is my theory: the Somnovem is a hive-mind, and they give eyes to the people who read into their scripts or got touched by their stream of consciousness. But some people are strong enough to retain an autonomy and freely use the powers of the hive, and they have the potential to become a Nonagon, a sort of Avatar of the Somnovem. Strong of will or powerful enough to retain their full autonomy is hard to tell for now. Those who can't retain the autonomy become part of the mind-hive, sleeping agents for the Nonagon and the Somnovem to be used as they please. They retain autonomy most of the time, but they are mentally conditioned to execute the will of the Nonagon in case they need their help. But if a person strong enough to resist, they can decide to try and murder another Nonagon to have that power for themselves, like Vess DeRogna did. If this is the case, when a Nonagon dies the Somnovem doesn't even care: the previous Nonagon comes back to be part of the City, and the new, more powerful one executes their will just like the previous one did. But when Lucien died it was different: Lucien was willing to spread their knowledge and add more minds to their hive, but Vess DeRogna wasn't. She just wanted to reach them into the Astral Sea and that was it. So they decided to guide Cree and bring Lucien back to life once that Mollymauk Tealeaf died. They gave him the chance to get his revenge and complete his mission.

Vess DeRogna killing Lucien might be circumstantial, but it might as well be a side effect of the wish of the Nonagon to join the perfect mind of the Somnovem: a person able to retain autonomy might corrupt the Somnovem with their imperfect human mind who was graced by a power they can't comprehend, and therefore they need to be destroyed. This would be just like when two Beholders meet each other: they see themselves as perfect beings and the other as a loathsome impostor who needs to be eliminated. This only if they retain autonomy: if they are a part of the hive-mind they are nothing more than an extension of themselves, therefore there is no danger into letting them live.

What does that mean for Beau and Caleb? That they might be the Somnovem's plan B in case Lucien fails. One of them might be forced to become the new Nonagon unless the Mighty Nein don't stop the process in time (and Artagan confirmed that there is a way to invert the process, but they were not able to access it at Level 13). And they will have to do it: have you read the part above about the Ocular Adepts? What 1d4chan doesn't say is that the Great Mother can Disintegrate an Ocular Adept at any moment through their third eye if they displease her. But the Somnovem and the Nonagon seem to prefer blasting the brain with psychic energy, so probably if they have a way to kill someone from a long distance it might not be a potential permadeath. And it might not be activated until all the nine eyes will be implanted, which is unlikely to happen before the battle with Lucien in Aeor.

(If this fail-safe exists, why did the Somnovem let Vess DeRogna live if she was unworthy? Because if she died at the wrong time the book would have been lost, and there were no other Nonagons in charge because the Somnovem cult is so little known. They needed Lucien to be alive again to retrieve it and go in with their plan. And suddenly her dying from a single attack makes sense: that neck-lift blast is not powerful enough to kill a person unless something already weakened them before. It was Lucien and the Somnovem who killed her.)

#critical role #caleb widogast #beauregard lionett #lucien the nonagon #the somnovum #vess derogna #speculations #and now I'm scared

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akaluan · 3 years

Text

Erich/Kisuke: One Night Stand Turned Serious + Balcony Wooing Scene Part 4

It’s a week before he leaves the safety of the shoten, a week spent focusing on anything (everything) except Erich.

The connection still remains between them, is still an unerring compass pointed in Erich’s direction, but unlike before, Erich doesn’t approach him. He can tell that Erich is still moving about — likely to different towns in his territory — but the man never heads towards him.

And maybe it’s nothing, maybe he’s just… just outside Erich’s territory at last, but he can’t help but wonder at how deliberate the avoidance seems; Kisuke’s been holed up in one location for an entire week, and Erich’s presence has never once drawn nearer.

(Maybe Erich simply doesn’t want to see him again.)

(It’s fine, it’s fine.)

(This is what he wanted anyway, isn’t it…?)

It only takes Kisuke a day of testing to figure out that the avoidance is deliberate; whenever he begins moving towards Erich’s location, the man changes direction to head somewhere else. It’s— it’s—

It’s exactly what he wanted, Kisuke reminds himself sternly, before wrenching his mind back on task. He has work to do, evidence to find, monsters to kill, and all manner of other important things to deal with. Tessai and Yoruichi are enough for him.

(They have to be.)

(They’re the only ones who stayed.)

(The only ones who believed him—)

(No.)

(Focus.)

Still, it nags at his mind like a loose tooth, and he keeps circling back and back and back again to the idea that… that maybe this isn’t what he wants. Maybe he’s just a liar-coward-fool.

(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try and trust—)

(He’s a worse fool for thinking that.)

Kisuke shoves the urge aside and gets back to work.

(He doesn’t have time for this.)

(He doesn’t.)

(…does he…?)

\\\

Kisuke manages to put the thought (mostly) out of his mind. He goes about the area, fights monsters, clears out nests, stems Invasions, and all without once running into Erich.

(It’s fine.)

(It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine!)

Sometimes… sometimes he thinks Erich might have been nearby — Kisuke certainly doesn’t remember how he got out of some situations — but he’s never found direct evidence. He might just be getting lucky, or maybe there’s another person in the area capable of fighting monsters, or maybe he’s just… maybe he’s just being wishful about something he shouldn’t. It’s fine. He’s alive. He’s surviving. Everything’s fine.

And then it isn’t.

The steady connection stretching between them suddenly dims one day, wavering like a candle flame about to go out, and Benihime snaps to attention like a cat after prey.

(*Kisuke,*) she prods, insistent-focused-intent.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops the hunt he’s on and turns, honing in on Erich’s direction, and runs. Runs like his life depends upon it. Runs like Erich’s life depends upon it. Prays that whatever is happening will give him time, time that he doubts he’ll have—

He’s too far away. Has wandered too much, too far, and now he can’t— he can’t—

He falls upon the battlefield like a fury. Tears through the remaining monsters. Tries desperately to find any sign of Erich.

There are townspeople holding the line, fighting back to back to try and save their town. They cheer ragged-exhausted-joyful when they spot him, but Kisuke has no time for them. No time for the monsters in front of him, or the Otherworld Tear looming overhead, or the—

Or the three Grand Behemoths laying dead in front of it.

(Heavens above, three?)

(Things are beginning to escalate.)

(No, no, he’s not ready, none of them are ready!)

(If this is what’s happening here, how are the rest of the wild-lands coping?!)

Kisuke shoves those thoughts aside — they aren’t useful here and now — and focuses on clearing the stragglers and forcing the Tear closed; some escape, he sees them escape, but he doesn’t have time for them. Not when his sense of Erich is still wavering like a guttering flame. Not when Erich might— when he might—

Kisuke grits his teeth and turns away from the battlefield, stalking towards the exhausted defenders. He means to question them, means to find out where Erich is, but before he can even ask, one of the older men steps forward to greet him.

“Thank you,” the man says with a brittle, tired smile. “Once Erich fell, we didn’t think… thank you.” He shakes his head and then jabs a thumb over his shoulder towards the town proper. “Coupl’a kids managed to get him back to town, so our healer should be with him now.”

“Thanks,” Kisuke forces out, trying to not be rude when all he wants to do is find Erich and assure himself of the man’s wellbeing.

The townsman huffs a soft laugh and steps aside. “They probably brought Erich back to his place,” he says, which is good enough for Kisuke.

He knows this town — or at least knows where Erich lives in this town — which means he hurries past the group of townsfolk and down the street, aiming right for the building Erich lives in. He takes the stairs two at a time, hurries down the hallway—

A young man steps out of Erich’s home and closes the door behind him, looking almost as if he’d been out on that battlefield. He’s probably the healer the townsman mentioned, Kisuke decides as he assesses the young man and frowns at what he sees; the young man — boy, really — is pale and exhausted, his brown hair damp with sweat and his shoulders drooping. Either the boy is a terrible healer who cannot pace himself, or he’s a poorly trained healer doing his best with what little he has.

(Or Erich is wounded worse than ever.)

(Kisuke knows which option he prefers, and it’s certainly not the third.)

“How is he?” Kisuke asks before the healer can do more than take a few steps in the opposite direction.

The young man freezes and spins back around, his eyes widening at the sight of Kisuke before immediately honing in on Benihime and narrowing. “And your interest would be?” he asks sharply, pulling himself up as he does. It doesn’t make him look intimidating in the slightest, but the thought is certainly there.

“I’m a… a friend,” Kisuke answers, praying that Erich won’t take offense at the presumption.

The young man purses his lips and fixes him with an assessing stare, then huffs and turns away, one hand gesturing sharply for Kisuke to follow him. “I take it you’re that ex-Shinigami he’s mentioned a few times lately,” he says as he heads down the hallway. “Erich’s sleeping right now, and I won’t have you bothering him, so come on.”

Kisuke grimaces and lengthens his stride to catch up with the young man. “You know, I could have been anyone, actually,” he can’t resist pointing out, even though it damages his own chances at being believed. “You handed me the perfect cover right there.”

“I really hope there aren’t any other Shinigami around, ex or not, with your horrible taste in clothing,” the young man grumbles as he casts a sidelong look at Kisuke. “Look, everyone around here knows that Erich’s been sulking over a blond ex-Shinigami, and someone matching your description has been seen hunting monsters all over Erich’s territory. I’m pretty certain you’re who I think you are.”

“Aha, well… when you put it that way…” Kisuke rubs at the back of his neck, then grimaces at the feeling of sweat and grit against his fingers. “Sorry, but I should probably stop to wash somewhere—”

“My home is small, but I have a bathing room,” the young man says firmly. “If you think I’m letting you get away before Erich wakes up and can talk with you, think again.”

Kisuke huffs in exasperation, annoyed that he has a reputation, especially when he wasn’t planning on running anyway.

(He needs to see Erich with his own eyes before he feels comfortable leaving.)

(He needs to assure himself the man is fine.)

The young man leads him to a small place not far away, then unlocks the door and leads him in. “Bathing room is through there, second door on your right,” the young man says, pointing down a short hallway. “There are towels in the little closet in the room itself, and I’ll…” he pauses, eyeing Kisuke up and down, then sighs and finishes with, “Find something to lend you. Somewhere.”

“I’m used to it,” Kisuke tells the young man dryly. “Just do what you can, I’ll deal with it.”

“I imagine you would be,” the young man says, then shakes his head and shoos him along. “Go on, get clean, I’ll be back shortly.”

Kisuke quirks a tired smile at the young man, then turns to do just that.

(It’s not like he has anything better to do.)

\\\

By the time Kisuke is clean and dry, the events of the day have finally hit him in the face; he’s hungry and exhausted and wrung out the way only a combination of combat and emotional turmoil can leave him.

He really wants to just eat something and then fall into bed, but he can’t just yet, not with the worry gnawing at his stomach and the fact that he doesn’t even know where he’s going to sleep.

Someone knocks on the door frame, and then the young healer says, “I found something that should fit you decently well,” as he slips the door open a crack and passes a bundle of clothing through. “If you pass me your clothing, I can have them cleaned up for you.”

“Thanks,” Kisuke says as he accepts the bundle and sets it down, then wads up his dirtied clothing and passes it back. “Don’t worry about getting those spotless,” he says with a hint of amusement. “Clean and dry is all I care about.”

“I can tell,” the young man drawls as he pulls his arm back and closes the door. “I’ll… be back. Feel free to wait at the table in the main room.”

Kisuke makes an agreeable noise as the young man walks off, then washes his hands off and gets dressed; the clothing is a… snug… fit, but it’s manageable so long as there’s no combat in Kisuke’s immediate future. Which is unlikely, given the home he’s in, but is still something he needs to keep in mind.

Once he’s as decent as he’s going to get, Kisuke steps out of the bathing room and wanders back towards the first room the young healer led him through: he’s pretty sure that’s the ‘main room’ given the layout he’s seen so far.

Thankfully, there’s a table and cushions already set out, and Kisuke settles down on one with a sigh of relief then drops Benihime at his side and slumps over.

Maybe he’ll just close his eyes for a moment.

That sounds… good.

(Darkness takes him between one blink and the next.)

#erich/kisuke #erich von rerugan #urahara kisuke #prompt fill #whoooo wants to guess who the healer guy is??#(people NOT on my discord i mean =P y'all already know)#i bet no one else can guess #it took my discord a long while to figure it out bc he's a bit char but he IS canon

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daydreaming-nerd · 4 years

Text

I Can’t Control Myself (Anakin Skywalker x Reader)

Another great Anakin smut request! I’m currently working on the other one right now and plan to get it done tonight. I hit a road block with that one but this one came to me pretty quickly so I’m hoping that this will get my juices flowing for the other one!

Request from Anon: “Hi I just found your blog and it rocks darling 😘 Could you do a smut 5 with an akin skywalker please (I love my baby ani❤️) but also adding fluff 1 at the end please Thank you so much. P.s I understand if you cannot do it 💙💕”

“If I start, I won’t be able to control myself”

“Have you always been this beautiful?”

Summary: y/n, a princess and Anakin, her Jedi protector have been agonizing over each other for a long time now but what happens when one of them finally takes the first step? (This doesn’t cut right to the chase I’m sorry)

Warnings: Smut, light teasing, fluff

For about a month now Anakin had been my body guard. After rumors of a uncertain attack on me grew with the intentions to kill me so I could never rise to power as queen one day. At first hew had stayed in the background and watched from afar. But as I grew more comfortable with his presence I found myself asking little favors of him like helping me get stuff off the top shelf.

When everything really started was when I had a meeting with neighboring planets and I asked him what dress I should wear and he replied with.

“I prefer the blue one, but in my opinion you will be equally as beautiful in either your majesty,”

After that day I fell hard and fast for the young and handsome Jedi. If only there wasn’t that stupid code.

Today was a peaceful day, I woke up and wrapped myself in my morning robe and quietly walked to he terrace outside my room to find Anakin standing on the balcony meditating like he always does. I tiptoed my way to the garden patio to have my breakfast as I always do. I’ve lived in this palace my whole life and I can’t think of a day where I didn’t have breakfast in the rose garden. As the maids brought me my breakfast I felt another familiar presence approaching.

“Good morning your Majesty,” said Anakin

“Good Morning to you as well Master Skywalker, I hope I didn’t disturb you while you were meditating.” I said taking a bite of my pastry.

“Quite the opposite, your presence helps me focus,” he said with a smile “Though I felt a disturbance this morning.”

“Oh, is everything alright?” I asked.

“Don’t worry princess no harm will come to you,” he said sitting down next to me while the maids also brought out his breakfast.

“I’m not worried as long as you’re here,” I said with a smile.

----------

The day was simply too beautiful not to be outside. I grabbed my scissors and went into my beloved rose garden to cut roses to bring into my room while Anakin watched me from the terrace. The whole garden was somewhat of a maze, with rows and rows of different colored roses as I disappeared from Anakins sight to pick the pink roses I suddenly felt as though someone was watching me. I turned around to see a man in a mask who made a cold chill of fear run down my body. Before I could even scream for him Anakin jumped out from behind me ignighting his lightsaber before I knew it the masked man lie on the ground lifeless.

Panic began to set in me as I realized what might’ve happened.

“Your majesty are you alright?” said Anakin turning towards me. My breathing became shallow and I slowly started to sink to the ground. My knees would’ve hit the damp grass if it weren’t for Anakin pulling me into his arms. “Shh it’s alright now you’re safe.” he said pulling me into his chest attempting to calm me down.

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

After the incident Anakin and my father decided that it was no longer safe for me at the palace and so my handmaidens packed my bags and we took a discrete transport out to the beach house where my family used to vacation.

As soon as I finished unpacking a grabbed a basket of fruits and bread as well as a blanket and made my way over to Anakin’s room where we was also unpacking.

“I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch on the beach with me?” I asked.

“I’d love that,” he beamed.

We made our way out to the beach and set up for lunch. I cut up some apples and pears and set them on a plate but before I could even think about digging in a gust of wind blew sand onto the blanket and onto the fruit.

“No!” I said in frustration causing Anakin to laugh. “don’t laugh at me!” I said smacking his arm.

“Don’t worry your majesty, I was only thinking about how I was just about to tell you how much I hated sand,” he said with a smile on his face.

“You know you don’t have to call me your majesty right?”

“Yes Princess,” he said cheekily.

“No!,” I smiled “y/n, call me y/n.”

“alright, y/n” he said.

The rest if that day was spent eating lunch and frolicking on the beach Anakin was even able to take a pink seashell he found and make a necklace for me.

That night after we had gone to bed I snuck out in my pajamas to the balcony that overlooked the sea. The air was cold and it caused the hair on my skin to rise, but I didn’t mind. Out here I could breathe, and think. I sat on the floor and leaned against the mansion of a beach house as I looked out over the moon reflecting over the tranquil crashing waves. I thought about what transpired in the garden that day. The feeling I got when the masked man stood behind me. never in my life had I truly thought about death and dying and what came next and all of the sudden that all seemed so real the second I saw him. I had never been so scared in my entire life.

“You scared me half to death, I couldn’t sense you sleeping and I thought something had happened.” said Anakin from behind me wearing nothing but a pair of pants and his Jedi robes over his bare chest.

“I’m sorry Ani I guess I just needed some air,” I said.

“You shouldn’t be out here all alone it’s dangerous,” he said.

“Well then have a seat,” I said patting the spot next to me. “See it’s not dangerous anymore.”

“you’re freezing,” he stated taking his robe off and draping it around my shoulders.

“Ani I’m fine really,” I said trying to give it back.

“Nope my job is to protect you from everything from bounty hunters to the flu,” he said making me smile.

There was a short silence as we sat there looking at the ocean before us.

“Ani, have you ever been afraid of dying,” I asked out of the blue.

“Only once, when I was little I used to go pod racing and one time my pod went out of control and I thought I was going to crash.” he said “Why? Are you still shook up from today?”

“I suppose so,” I sighed “I just can’t shake the feeling I got when I turned around and saw him standing there.”

“You know you don’t have to worry anymore right? I’ll never let anything happen to you.” he said.

“I know,” I sighed putting my head on his shoulder.

We sat there in silence for the rest of the night until I finally fell asleep on his shoulder. The lat thing I remember was Anakin carrying me back to bed, covering me up and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

----------

The next afternoon we went up to the prairie for lunch where the wild tauntauns lived. The whole prairie overlooked the sea and thousands of wildflowers grew in beautiful vibrant colors that contrasted the ripe green of the grass.

“This is much better than that sandy beach,” said Anakin

“I think there is beauty in the sand that is often ignored for the the beauty of the ocean. When you think about it sand is incredibly useful, we use it to make glass and in it we find beautiful shells we can turn into beautiful jewelry.” I smiled holding onto the necklace Anakin had made for me the day before causing him to smile.

“So you could say that you and the sand have very little in common,” He started “Your beauty cannot be ignored, it is something unbelievable. It not only pleases my eyes but warms my heart.”

I smiled at him and looked down to hide my flushed cheeks.

After lunch Anakin tried to convince me that he could ride one of the wild tauntauns but I told him it was impossible which he took as a challenge. The next thing I knew he was on top of a raging tauntaun holding on for dear life. I laughed as his face became more and more worried. The wild creature eventually bucked him off and I laughed until it stepped on him. I looked closer and he was trying to get up but couldn’t.

“Ani!” I cried fearing the worst.

When I got there I dropped to my knees and tried to roll him over. When I did he was laughing. I smacked him in the chest and he grabbed my arms pulling me down to him and rolling down the hill.

---------

That night after Anakin went to bed I snuck out again and went down to the beach. I walked until my feet were submerged in the water. In the moment the sea was calling to me. I untied my robe and let it fall into the shallow water. The cold breeze hit my bare body. I waded further into the water till it almost covered my shoulders. I stood where I could still touch the sandy sea floor and I let the water wrap around my naked form. For once I felt completely free. I heard splashing behind me and I saw Anakin swimming out towards me, my heart stopped as I realized he would notice I’m completely naked under the dark water. I frantically looked for my robes on the shore only to find a similar pile next to mine.

“If Master Obi Wan knew I was swimming around like this he would kill me!” Shouted Anakin from a couple yards away causing me to giggle.

We both floated around ignoring the tension between the two of us until I stepped off a drop off and gravity pulled me to the bottom of the four foot drop. Almost instantly I was pulled up by my arm and into Anakin’s strong arms.

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” he said reassuringly as I coughed up a little water.

We sat there for a second, the tension was greater than it had ever been in this past month. Without thinking I put my hand on his cheek and pushed a piece of wet hair away from his face. I looked down at his lips and started to move in but he stoped me.

“If I start, I won’t be able to control myself,” he said.

“I don’t want you to,”

With that his lips slammed onto mine and my arms wrapped around his neck. His hands wandered up my waist pulling me closer to him. The kiss was hot and needy. Tension from many weeks finally being cut. He brought his hand around my thigh and pulled it so I would wrap my legs around his waist and he began to walk towards the shore. We never broke the kiss even as he walked past our forgotten clothes, up the stairs and into his bedroom.

He gently laid me on the bed and began kissing my neck.

“Oh Ani,” I moaned out.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said in between sloppy kisses moving his way down my body till he got to my heat. He peppered kisses along my inner thighs before licking a strip all the way up my sex causing me to scream out in pleasure and tug his hair.

He began eating me out vigorously, absolutely ravishing me. He sucked on my clit as his arms hooked under my thighs to burry his head even deeper. I felt my self getting closer and closer as his tongue began lapping at my clit at a relentless speed. I felt my orgasm build up and within a matter of minutes I was a moaning mess for I had felt pleasure I had never felt before.

“I’ve been waiting a lifetime to hear those sounds leave your mouth,” he said making his way back up to me. I could feel his hard dick rutting against my thigh. “are you ready?” he asked. I nodded.

With that simple gesture he began to push his rock hard cock into me causing me to scream out in both pleasure and pain. I grabbed his neck and pulled him down to kiss me again, a kiss full of heat of the moment passion and with that he bottomed out in me causing us both the moan into the kiss.

Breaking apart he gave me a minute to adjust before he started a slow pace.

“You’re so warm and wet,” he said building up speed it wasn’t long before he was pounding into me making me scream in pleasure. I ran my hands down his back leaving scratch marks making him let out a strangled moan.

“You feel.. so good,” he cried.

“I’m so close Ani,” I said.

“Me too,” he breathed out “On three...one”

“Fuck Ani!” I screamed getting closer.

“two...THREE!” he screamed as he bottomed out in me burying his seed deep inside me setting off my second orgasm of the night.

He sat on his elbow above me and looked down at me like I was the world.

“I love you,” He said out of breath.

“I love you to Ani,” I beamed and he went in to give me another kiss.

He finally rolled over and pulled me into his chest. I looked up at him with stars in my eyes.

“Have you always been this beautiful?” he asked innocently.

“You’re too good to be true Anakin Skywalker.” I smiled.

There was again a silence as he started to fall asleep before I finally asked him.

“Ani what about the Jedi code?”

“Let’s not talk about that now. You’re finally all mine. I wanna enjoy the moment you’re finally in my arms.” he said pulling me closer.

I agreed with him. Troubles can be left for tomorrow. Right now I finally had everything I ever wanted.

AN: guys I’m sorry that it didn’t cut right to the chase I just wanted the tension to build and got carried away.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker fluff #hayden christensen

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

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Guardian Angel In Disguise

Alternate Universe, Guardian Angel AU, TimKon, Angel Kon, Developing Relationship, Slow Burn.

Summary: With the threats of being removed as Tim’s Guardian Angel, Kon has one final chance to redeem himself worthy of being Tim’s protector.

Taking things to the next level, Kon becomes human to physically be by Tim’s side in hopes he can protect him more so than before. However because Tim is a vigilante Kon’s job is more difficult as Tim constantly puts himself at risk, he’s always running headfirst into danger and is always willing to sacrifice his life for others.

A/N: This story is follow up to "It's my job to protect you." A lot of people showed interest in wanting to see that story developed further so this is the result of that!

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

Once a human vessel had been created for him, Kon accepted it graciously. After adjusting to being in a physical form for the first time, Kal sent him down to Earth to start his self-proclaimed mission of looking after his human.

Kal sent him to an apartment, stating that’s where he’ll be based for the duration of the mission, it’s also where he’ll keep in contact with the superiors by keeping them updated with regular check-ins. Kal also mentioned that there will be a briefing document waiting for him in the apartment once he arrives, Kon is to read the said document so he can gain further understanding of the details of his mission and to get an idea of what capabilities his vessel has.

As crazy as it sounds Kon needs to learn how to be “human”. Having a human vessel is only a minor part of the job, it simply allows him to look like one. It’ll be down to him to act and blend in with the human population.

Kon already has an idea on how to act human, he’s been around them long enough to pick up their various of mannerisms, how some of them speak and how they act towards one another. He’s been around them enough to know what most agree with and what they don’t, what they class as right and wrong. He’s got the general idea and now it’s about putting that knowledge into practice.

As a Guardian Angel (GA) it’s Kon’s job to protect his assigned human to the best of his abilities. He has to make sure his human is getting through their life as safe as possible and is making the most of it.

Most of the human population are assigned a Guardian Angel, not everyone gets one but most do. A Guardian Angel is assigned to a human from their 10th birthday and the angel stays with them until they reach early adulthood of the age of 25. Only with special circumstances does the angel stay with their human after they turn 25.

Depending on the rank of the Guardian Angel depends on how many humans they are assigned to at a time. Lower rank GA’s get assigned one human at the time while higher ranked GA’s are assigned multiple at a time.

Humans do not know Guardian Angels exist. Some believe in them of course, where human religion comes into play and where they may prey and give offerings to the angels, but the angels never give physical evidence to the fact that they do exist in the world. They let the humans believe what they want. On the other hand some humans are just completely oblivious to their presence altogether.

Kon’s mission starts from the very moment he arrives at the apartment set up for him. He’s stationed in the city of San Francisco as that’s where his human happens to be frequenting the most recently. It’s a reasonable sized apartment with many different rooms for various of functions, it’s clean and tidy, rather bare as it has no personal touches to it and it’s hidden away in the city, providing perfect privacy as its easily blended in with all the other apartments around the block.

He takes a moment to get familiar with his surroundings, learning what room is where and where certain things can be found. Of course everything inside the apartment is to accommodate a human, Kon won’t need a majority of this stuff because of what he is. Unlike humans, Kon doesn’t need to eat or sleep or go to the bathroom. Everything here is just for show.

When he enters the living room he finds the briefing document lying there on the coffee table unopened and waiting to be read. Next to the document is a human device, Kon believes it’s called a mobile phone. He recognises it of course, he always sees the humans carry one around with them, each one if different and comes in different colours. His own human has one himself, though he often changes it every couple of months.

Settling down on the sofa, Kon picks up the document. He doesn’t necessarily want to read it but he knows he has too, it’s too important to ignore. The document contains information about his mission and details about his vessel.

Kon is in a peculiar situation. Normally GA’s don’t have human vessels, they are free spirits with no physical ties to Earth and its only in rare and special occasions where they may take up a human vessel and have a presence on Earth.

The reason Kon has a vessel is because he’s on a thin line with his superiors as he’s been failing his job of protecting his assigned human. His human has been hurt multiple times in the last few months and with how frequent his injuries have been Kon’s superiors have taken notice. In result of that his main superior, Kal-El, had threatened to remove Kon as his assigned human’s GA. Not agreeing with the idea, Kon retaliated, exclaiming that he would have better chance of keeping his human safe if he were physically with him, but because of the rules that isn’t allowed. Kal considered the situation and in the end made a deal with Kon.

Kon is to spend 12 weeks on Earth to keep his human from being drastically injured or killed. If Kon manages to keep his human safe in that time then he will be kept as his Guardian Angel, however if something happens in that time then Kon fails and he loses his position as his human’s GA.

So all in all, his mission for the next 12 weeks is to keep his human safe from harm.

One would think that’s relatively easy right? Well wrong. Because Kon isn’t assigned an ordinary human, no, he’s assigned a human who works as something called a vigilante. His human, Timothy – Tim – Drake is known as the vigilante Robin. As much as he admires his human it frustrates him to no ends. Without meaning too this asshole makes Kon’s job so much harder than it needs to be because he constantly puts himself in danger. He’s always running headfirst into danger and is always willing to sacrifice his life for others.

Kon knows he can’t stop Tim from doing his job. At the end of the day Kon has seen him grow into the role he has now, he’s seen how hard his human has worked for it and despite the injures he receives Tim is brilliant at what he does and Kon doesn’t particularly want to stop him from doing it. He just wants to make sure Tim is as safe as he can be while doing it.

Kon’s best bet is to join his human on his crusade, to get close to him and offer physical protection and watch his back that way. What he needs to work out now is how he’s going to get close to Tim.

As a vigilante Tim is naturally more suspicious, he’s very paranoid of things, is well guarded and cautious. His life outside of vigilantism is just as hardcore, he’s the adopted son of the famous Bruce Wayne, that alone makes Tim a target for more reasons than one. The Wayne family is very close and very private.

If Kon has any hope in getting close to Tim he feels like trying to reach out to Tim as Robin would be the best approach. Perhaps he could form a working relationship with his human and make connections with his team, the Teen Titans.

As Kon thinks through his tactics he continues reading through the document seeing what else it says. It makes it very clear that Kon cannot give away what he is and the real reason why he’s there. If Kon fails to hide this then he also fails the mission and will be removed as Tim's GA. This rule certainly makes his mission harder but Kon understands it.

Kon reaches the section about his vessel in the document. He studies the section with a keen interest. It’s important he understands his vessel early on, he’s never had a physical form before so there are things he needs to learn and be mindful of.

Thankfully when Kal made this vessel he allowed Kon to keep some of his powers and according to the document he even has some additional ones. Kon has the power of flight, telekinesis, he’s got super strength, super speed and super hearing, he’s got x-ray vision, heat vision and apparently he’s invulnerable.

That all sounds great, it makes him sound almost unstoppable, but the document states he does have a weakness. If he's ever exposed to something called kryptonite, then Kon will become weak, he’ll get nauseous if he’s near it and if he’s exposed to it for too long then he could even pass out from pain. Kon’s never heard of kryptonite but he really hopes he never crosses paths with it.

As well as kryptonite, Kon can exhaust his vessel if he uses too much power. He needs to rest regularly, not necessarily sleep, but rest and recuperate when he can. That being said the document brings up that he won’t need to eat, sleep or go to the bathroom, these being his GA abilities that’s transferred over to the vessel. Kon already knew this but it is good to see it confirmed. On the other hand, it also mentions that he will have to pretend to do these things to keep up the façade of being a human. Apparently if he does end up eating anything it won’t actually hurt him in anyway.

Kon reaches the end of the document and chucks it back down onto the coffee table. He sighs and leans back into the sofa thinking about what he needs to do.

He has 12 weeks to make sure Tim stays safe. At the moment he knows his human is currently laid up on an infirmary bed suffering from a few injuries from a recent mission that went sideways. After all that’s what’s gotten Kon into this situation to begin with. Tim won’t be leaving the medical bay in that Tower for another couple of days and he won’t be going out on any missions for a good three weeks, that at least gives Kon some time to plan and come up with something for when Tim does go back out into the field. Realistically Tim shouldn’t be doing any vigilante work for a good six to eight weeks but Kon knows how stubborn Tim can be.

Kon needs to come up with a way for how he's going to get close to Tim. His human will be suspicious of him at first and Kon needs to show him that he's a friendly face with no ulterior motives, even though that’s exactly what he is.

Kon sighs and runs his hands over his face. This is so frustrating! He really didn’t think this through fully when Kal presented the opportunity of having a vessel, now he's stuck here with no clue on how to proceed with his mission and it’s only just started!

A high pitched noise gets his attention. He pulls his hands away from his face and frowns trying to work out what it was. Was he hearing things or did that sound actually happen? When it happens a second time Kon jumps off his sofa and starts searching the apartment for the source of the noise, at least that is until movement outside the window gets his attention.

Kon moves over to the living room window and looks out of it. At first all he sees is the busy streets of the city and the sunshine of the day. Just as he’s about to shake it off as his imagination a blur passes his window. Kon blinks and looks down the street trying to focus on what it had been. It’s too fast for the human eye to notice it but when he focuses his attention on it, using his abilities, he finds that it’s a girl flying through the air heading downtown. Kon blinks again when he sees another blur race through the streets on the ground, this time it being someone running at high speeds.

It takes a moment but he soon realises that they are members of the Titan’s. He recognises them as part of Tim’s team!

Now his attention is on the city he finally notices how there seems to be some sort of battle happening. Some kind of creatures were coming out of magical swirls that appear randomly down on the streets below. The high pitched noises he had heard were coming from humans on the street who were running away from the strange creatures that kept appearing. Kon’s never seen anything like that before and sure enough he’s seen some weird things in his time and especially recently since he’s been Tim’s GA.

Downtown he sees the Titan’s tackling the creatures as they jump out of the glowing portals, they knock them down before they could make it further into the city but they kept coming, seeming to never stop.

Kon takes a deep breath. Well when the opportunity presents itself, he has to go after it right? This could be his way into getting close to Tim. He could fight alongside the Titan’s, gain their trust, introduce himself as someone new and go from there? He’s got the powers to do it so he may as well go for it.

With that in mind Kon rushes to the front door of his apartment and starts making his way downtown to join the battle. He’ll just have to work out everything else along the way and hope for the best.

#Guardian Angel AU #alternate universe #timkon #Tim Drake #Kon-El #angel kon #developing relationship #slow burn #Sequel #do people want this published on tumblr as well as archive?#I may only upload to archive for this one #let me know what you think!#fanfiction

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meldy-writes · 4 years

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Luckiest Girl in the World (Daryl Dixon X Wife! Reader)

Context:So I have an alt AO3 because for some reason I didn’t think a walking dead fic fit with the fanfictions I had under my Pen Name’s account, but at this point, I don’t think it really matters. Anyway, there’s this Daryl X Reader fic I’m writing on this alt account and I’m at the point where I’m writing two ways the story could branch, and there’s this little scene from the path I didn’t take that could work as a drabble. If you like this, or if you want to read the fic for context, it’s here. Be warned, it’s pretty long.

Summary: The Reader has been with the group since the CDC, and along the way, she fell in love and married Daryl Dixon. Now they’re in Alexandria and Aiden, one of Deanna’s sons has begun to harbor a crush. He doesn’t seem to realize that she’s taken. (Daryl’s not really mentioned until the last couple of paragraphs, but I thought those paragraphs were cute enough to warrant this being tagged as an x reader fic.)

Aiden sat at the top of the fence with her, casually leaning back in his seat. The front legs of the plastic chair were off the ground, his feet planted as he rocked back and forth.

“You’re gonna to fall backwards, you know.” (y/n) stated.

“You worried I’m going to get hurt?” he teased, leaning even farther back.

“No. In fact, I think it’d be funny. I just don’t want your mommy to yell at me.”

He let out a snort and put his arms behind his head as he began to rock back and forth. She rolled her eyes, amusement dancing on her features as she eyed the back legs of the chair in anticipation. As she predicted, they eventually snapped, and Aiden promptly fell backwards just as she’d cautioned.

She let out a barking laugh, and a few people passing by stopped to look up at her as the flushing boy tried to shake off the embarrassment.

“All right, all right, it’s not that funny.”

“Oh, I beg to differ, that was the most entertainin’ thing I’ve seen all week,” she argued, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Then your life must be very boring.” He countered bitterly, his pride hurt just a tad from how demeaning her tone was and how promptly she’d always shut him down.

“Oh, no. it’s not borin’, it’s just not fun, either.”

He finally recovered from his little mishap, tossing the broken chair down into the grass below to be fixed later, and choosing instead to sit against the wall. (y/n) kept to her perch, eyeing the expanse of pavement in front of the fence gate.

“You know, if you can’t find fun, you can always make it. There’s a game a lot of us play when we’re on watch to pass the time, want to play?”

She rolled her eyes. “I gotta keep my eyes on the gate”

“It’s a talking game. You can still keep watch. It’s called The Worst. We each share the worst experience we’ve ever had with something, and the one that’s the most terrible wins the round.” He continued, eyeing her with a charming smirk that, despite his best efforts, she hadn’t registered as flirty, yet.

He was an attractive guy, and after she’d saved his life on that run, and yelled at him, they’d bonded. He’d even swallowed his pride and let her train him. They’d gotten close, and they were both attractive, sarcastic, and confident people, so he couldn’t understand how they weren’t together yet. No matter what he did, she always shut down any plans he tried to make to hang out alone outside of the occasional look-out duty, and she always spoke to him like she was talking to a child. A very stupid child.

He didn’t let it deter him, though. No matter how much it hurt his pride. She’d eventually come around.

She turned her nose up at his suggestion, looking at him like he just told her the sky was green, and she was about to gently tell him he was a dumbass.

“That sounds like a game you don’t wanna play with me.”

He asked her why she felt like that.

“Because you’d always lose.” She stated simply, turning back to the scene past the gate.

“Okay, you don’t always have to play the jaded soldier. This world is shit, it’s fucked us all over one time or another, quit acting like you’re the saddest sack in the world.” He scoffed, smacking her shin with the back of his hand playfully.

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders.

“Alright, then. But if this ends up bummin’ you out, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Internally, he celebrated. This was the first time he’d ever gotten her to agree to something she initially said ‘no’ to. Slowly but surely, he was winning her over, he was sure.

“Alright, easy. Worst night of your life. Mine was that time I left that supply run group behind. Usually, we’d go into detail, explaining what happened, but, you already know about that night ‘cuz I told you about it.” He stated sadly. She’d talked a big game, so he was pulling out the big guns. “What about you?”

Let’s see you top that, Debbie Downer.

She smirked, sensing the challenge in his voice.

“A long time before we all came here, we were stayin’ on Maggie’s dad’s farm. One night, it got overrun by a horde, an’ everyone got separated. I was with Carol, an’ a walker fell on top of me, tryin’ to bite into my shoulder. She thought I was bit, so she left me behind, but I was wearin’ a real thick jacket. I was fine, but I had to cut it open and drench myself in its blood so the herd wouldn’t sniff me out and tear me to shreds. I had to slice my way through a sea of those suckers, an’ then stumble through the woods covered in gunk for a whole day and a half ‘fore I found my people again. That was the first walker I ever killed on my own. Damn terrifyin’.”

He was quiet after that, face white as a sheet as he shuttered and coughed awkwardly.

“Y-your turn to come up with a topic.” He finally uttered.

“Worst walker encounter you ever had. Mine was this time at a mechanic shop out in… It had to be North Carolina. A guy tried to--well, it’s not important what his intentions were, the point was that he had me handcuffed to one of those automatic levers they use in autobody shops to lift cars, an’ I was hoisted off the ground. He had the keys in his front pocket, an’ I’d managed to get his head ‘tween my thighs to snap his neck. I was tryin’ to reach for the keys with my feet when he re-animated. I was strugglin’, I couldn’t go anywhere, I couldn’t use my arms, the only reason I got out of it was ‘cuz he accidentally bumped up against the control for the lift, and his head ended up crushed under the mechanism. I’ve had a lot of close calls, but I think that was the only time I ever truly felt like I was gonna die.”

Aiden let out a low whistle, letting her words settle. Maybe she’d been right after all. Still, depending on how she saw things, his might still be worse.

“Mine was right at the beginning. My girlfriend was with us while we were traveling for Mom’s campaign. I left for twenty minutes to grab some lunch, and when I got back to our hotel room, she was a walker. I don’t know if she was bitten, or if she had an accident, or if someone… I don’t know. All I know is that I had to kill her with my bare hands just to stay alive. I... dropped the hotel room tv on her head.”

He shuttered at the memory, and to his surprise, he felt (y/n) place her hand on his shoulder and squeeze comfortingly. He grabbed for it, but she pulled away before he could.

“Let’s uh, choose a more up-beat topic,” he continued weakly, “Worst date you ever went on. Mine was this girl Cierra Mauldry in sixth grade. I kissed her goodnight on her porch, and our braces stuck together.”

She laughed at first, but a long-suppressed memory resurfaced at the mention of dates, and instantly she was somber again.

“A guy I worked with at the CDC,” she started softly.

“He’d had a crush on me for a while, an’ I’d just learned that my dad died, so I was in kind of a vulnerable spot. I said yes to grabbin’ dinner together, an’ takin a walk ‘round the facility. When we got back to his room, he wanted to sleep with me, but I didn’t. I didn’t really like him that way, an’ I didn’t think it was fair to him to string him along, so I told him ‘no’, an’ that we should just remain professional from now on. Next day, he didn’t show up in the lab, an’ my boss sent me to go get ‘im. I found him as a walker hangin’ from his closet.” She took a hiccupping breath, reliving the memory in her mind, and scrunching her eyes shut. “Worst part is I cannot, for the life of me, remember his name.”

They were both quiet after that, and soon, they heard Spencer calling up to relieve (y/n) from her shift. She grinned sympathetically down and Aiden, and gave him the goodbye of:

“Told you it was a bad game to play with me.”

Still, when she got up, he scrambled to his feet as well grabbing her arm to stop her before she made her way down the ladder.

“Well, hey, I still had fun. I got to know you a bit better. I’d like to continue doing that, maybe you could come over for dinner and eat with my family tonight.”

She smiled the smile she usually did; like she was talking to a slow, and simple child.

“I’m sorry, Aiden, but tonight’s not great. Daryl’s gotten kind of close with his recruitn’ buddy, and his husband wants us to come to dinner tonight so he can finally properly meet me.”

Aiden scrunched up his eyes in confusion.

“What? What does Daryl getting close with them have to do with you? If they wanted to get to know you, couldn’t they just approach you without having to go through him?”

She smiled wider like he’d said something adorably stupid, as she clarified:

“I didn’t explain it very well, It’s more like a couple’s dinner party sort-of thing.”

Aiden blinked. What? What the fuck? Was she insinuating that she and Daryl were… she couldn’t be, right?

“You and Daryl are together?”

She nodded as if his statement was beyond obvious, “we’re married,” she corrected.

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to picture the violent, mean, constantly dirty guy with the long, long hair together with the clever, beautiful, and secretly caring woman he’d been trying to flirt with for the past week and a half, but he just couldn’t picture it.

“How?” he blurted out.

“How do people get married?” she teased flatly.

“No, how did you two end up together? You’re so different!”

She smiled softly, looking down at her fingers as she began to twiddle them. This smile was different than any of the ones he’d reluctantly wrangled out of her. This one was genuine, and bashful, and affectionate, and dazzling. Aiden knew it wasn’t for him, and it almost felt like he was intruding on something he shouldn’t be just by looking at her.

“He an’ I are a lot more alike than people realize. We’re more alike than even he realizes, I think. That doesn’t matter though. These days, it’s not about whether you’re similar, or if you’ve known each other for a long time, it’s all about who you can trust and depend on. It’s about who you’d die for, and who’d die for you. We might not have ended up together in the old world, but in this one, we’ve got somethin’ strong. Somethin’ special.”

She grinned brightly, practically knocking the breath out of her companion as she looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

With that, his grip on her arm retracted, and she finally made her way down the ladder. He watched her walk down the street and run into the man they’d just been discussing. He watched as she strode over to him, and gripped his leather vest, trying to pull him down for a kiss.

He noticed how Daryl grinned fondly and put his hands on her waist, placing a quick peck on the tip of her nose. He noticed how she leaned into him with her whole body. He noticed how the sun reflected off the ring on her finger, the ring he had not gathered was supposed to be a wedding ring until that moment. He noticed how soft Daryl was for her when no one else was around.

Or maybe, he was always like this around her, and Aiden had just been too absorbed in himself to realize.

#walking dead x reader #Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon x reader #Daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader

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smiting-finger · 4 years

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this exists because I love Wen Ning

The period after the Yiling Patriarch's return is rife with rumour. They spread like wildfire throughout the Wizarding world, each seemingly wilder than the last: Wei Wuxian put part of his soul into a baby so his followers could bring him back to life, Wei Wuxian was alive all along and living under a different identity using Polyjuice (accounts of the precise identity vary) - soon even tales of the Ghost General being seen again begin to spread.

The students of Gusu Academy are taught not to put any stock into idle gossip (and frankly, it's a little too convenient that the Ghost General has popped up right now, when he's had any time within the past ten years to make an appearance), but who among them didn't grow up on stories of the Yiling Patriarch's right-hand man, so thirsty for blood during the war that he'd risen from the dead to continue killing? And yes, it's a little ridiculous that sightings have been reported in so many places (he's a ghost, but even poltergeists don't move fast enough to travel around the Burial Mounds, Koi Tower, the Nightless City and Lotus Pier within a week. What’s he doing, anyway, taking a Grand Tour?), but that doesn't make it any less interesting, so the stories continue to circulate within the school grounds.

And then the ghost turns up right outside.

Someone is immediately sent running for the Headmaster, but it's Professor Lan who comes to the gate, Little Apple perched on his shoulder and looking curiously at the students crowding along the edge of the wards.

"Ah!" the ghost says when he approaches, speaking for the first time. "Lan Wangji! I- I don't know if you remember me, but, uh, I'm-"

"Wen Qionglin," Professor Lan says in greeting, and furious whispers travel up and down the line of students.

The Ghost General!

"Oh, you do remember!" the ghost - the Ghost General says, sounding quietly pleased. "I heard that - that he'd returned, and that he was here, so I…'

He trails off, looking hopefully at Professor Lan, who nods.

"He did. But he's away on a trip."

"Oh."

The Ghost General's entire figure seems to deflate.

"Then-"

"You may come inside and wait for him here," Professor Lan offers, raising a hand and holding out a small jade token. "If you'd like."

Twenty-odd pairs of wide student eyes suddenly zoom towards him.

The Ghost General's pale eyes are also wide with surprise, but he smiles and nods tentatively.

"Y-yes, I would. Thank you."

It just goes to show how well-grounded in principle the Gusu Academy rules are, because just a week of having Wen Qionglin among them unequivocally proves to the students that common knowledge is completely and utterly full of shit.

While no one actually believed that the Ghost General ate babies (being a ghost and therefore incapable of eating anything), most people did take it, and the other stories like it, to be illustrative of his general ferocity and cruelty, since even the conservative estimates of his bodycount in battle are alarmingly high.

Now, a general sentiment is growing amongst the student body that the influence of Jin Guangshan's self-serving propaganda must be stronger than they'd thought, because Wen Qionglin is - well.

(To be honest, they should already have known this. According to Jin Guangshan, the Yiling Patriarch was power-hungry and evil, and in the end the power-hungry one was Jin Guangshan, and Professor Wei is only evil at exam time.)

He is very strong for a poltergeist, that much is true, but he mostly uses his abilities to help Professor Lan cart around class supplies, or stop over-burdened students from dropping their books in the hallways. He can always be found hovering around the Quidditch pitch when practice is in session, waiting to catch anyone who falls off their sword and rush them to the infirmary if they've sustained any injury heavier than a bruise. He spends most mealtimes sitting next to Professor Lan and smiling nervously at anyone who meets his eye, and is terrified of Senior Professor Lan, who apparently taught him in school and left an impression.

(The students can sympathise. He's left much the same impression on them.)

In short, the poltergeist Wen Qionglin is lovely and a student group has already formed to protect him from being bullied.

And then Professor Wei Wuxian comes back with his group of fourth- and fifth-years.

"Young Master Wei!" Wen Qionglin exclaims, zipping through the students towards the dusty figure in the doorway, Professor Lan and Little Apple following behind him at a much more sedate pace.

"Wen Ning?" Professor Wei exclaims, halfway through shrugging his cloak off, his mouth already stretching into a beaming grin. "Where did you come from? When did you get here?!"

"I-" Wen Qionglin begins, and that's when he catches sight of Lan Sizhui walking in the door and turns even whiter than his usual ghostly pallor

"Young Master," he whispers after a moment. "Is that-"

Professor Wei smiles crookedly. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

He beckons Lan Sizhui over with a wave. "Sizhui, why don't you introduce yourself to our guest?"

"Lan Yuan," Lan Sizhui says obediently, bending into a beautifully-correct bow. "Courtesy name 'Sizhui'."

Lan, Wen Qionglin mouths soundlessly, and his gaze immediately flies to Professor Lan, who nods.

"Sizhui," Wen Qionglin repeats softly, turning back. "So your courtesy name was given to you by-"

"Professor Lan," Lan Sizhui confirms with a nod, and then shoots a curious glance in his direction.

Instead of explaining anything about Wen Qionglin, Professor Lan nods a second time and says, cryptically, "Names are for things we intend to keep."

But it must make sense to Lan Sizhui, because he lets out a soft oh!, cheeks dusting with pink and Professor Wei grins.

"You should make some time to spend with Senior Wen," Professor Lan tells Lan Sizhui. "After you've had time to rest and settle back in. He has a lot to speak to you about."

"There's no hurry, though," Professor Wei says, leaning in to rub the top of Little Apple's head, and then tug gently on the end of Professor Lan's hair ribbon. "Unless Wen Ning's got somewhere to rush off to - which I don't imagine he does - Hey Wen Ning, you're staying a while, right?"

"Um," Wen Qionglin says. "I - yes? If it's all right. I'd - I'd like that very much."

And these exist because I had headcanons with nowhere to go:

5 Things Lan Xichen knows about his nephews

The reason their uncle did nothing when he discovered the boys with Little Apple was that it was just so ugly. Had Little Apple been cuter, their uncle would have had no qualms in telling them to get rid of it, or at the very least punishing them for their rule-breaking. As it is, the little bird is so pitiful that their uncle simply cannot bring himself to do anything but turn a blind eye.

Wei Wuxian refers to the newly-returned Little Apple as Sizhui’s 兄长 so much that Sizhui himself starts doing the same, which is fine until the new teacher, Luo Qingyang, overhears him telling Jingyi that his 兄长 likes to nibble on his ear to get his attention.

Little Apple’s new favourite perch is Wangji’s shoulder (Wei Wuxian moves around too much), and the visual impact of this when Wangji walks through the Gusu halls has their uncle wondering what, exactly, has caused the sudden surge of student interest in the jelly-legs curse.

The Gusu house-elves like Wei Wuxian. Theirs is a friendship built on frequent, late-night kitchen visits; food provided without question and in exchange for much-coveted goods smuggled in from the muggle markets. They love Wangji because he is a Gusu Lan, raised in their domain (instead of the more usual Cloud Recesses) and under their care from the first. But they love Sizhui because he is theirs; because when Wangji brought him back, tiny, feverish and much too skinny, it was a parade of house-elves that helped a heartsick Wangji nurse him back to health. It was they who taught Wangji how to see to his needs, who rocked and soothed Sizhui to sleep when Wangji was exhausted from calling out to a ghost who never answered. It was they who comforted and cossetted Sizhui when he came back crying but didn't want Wangji to know it because someone had teased him about being adopted - about being an Outsider, about not being a Lan.

(Wangji knew. Xichen had had to intervene in a great many confrontations with other Lan parents because Wangji knew.)

5 Things Luo Qingyang knows about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji (one of which is actually about Lan Xichen)

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji meet in first-year, on the first day of class, when they're assigned as potions partners for the year.

They become enemies approximately ten minutes later, when Lan Wangji discovers that Wei Wuxian is equally likely to follow instructions as not and Wei Wuxian discovers that Lan Wangji is a lot of fun to rile up.

They become friends the following month, when Lan Wangji comes across Wei Wuxian in the hallway, mid-scuffle with two of the Wen boys. As fists and knees go in all directions, one of them blames something or other on the fact that Wei Wuxian has no parents, and Lan Wangji stops short, says, "I also have no parents. Would you like to say something to me?" and throws himself into the fray.

When Gusu is paid a visit by its British counterpart, and the Headmaster (flanked by Professors Lan and Wei) steps forward to receive their guests, Lan Jingyi asks Lan Sizhui (in what he no doubt fondly believes to be a whisper) whether the foreign teachers are kind of….uglier than he was expecting? and receives a swift elbow to the ribs for his trouble.

(When Qingyang tells the Headmaster about it, he glances at the copy of The Thirty-six Strategems* on his bookshelf and smiles.)

*Specifically, 美人计 or the Beauty Strategem

#The Untamed #wangxian #mo dao zu shi #HP AU #fic

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chroniclackofselfpreservation · 3 years

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Creatures of the Night

Chapter 1 - for it is important that awake people be awake

Next chapter >

AO3 (go to AO3 for complete list of tags for this fic)

Masterlist

(TW: violence/graphic imagery, guns, snakes, fear)

(The title for this chapter comes from “A Ritual to Read to Each Other” by William E. Stafford.)

Roman's gut twisted painfully and his eyes snapped open. He sat up. His room was still dark, the heavy curtains blocking out whatever moonlight would have fallen across his bed, but he didn’t need it. He’d lain his clothes and equipment out before going to sleep a few hours earlier. The routine was so ingrained into his mind at this point, light became arbitrary.

Roman’s movements were almost mechanical as he folded back the covers and slipped into his shirt, pants, and armor with long-earned efficiency. The armor was a gift from Logan, who stood as the only person Roman had ever told about his nightly endeavors. It was made of a tough but flexible leather that wasn’t as protective as metal, but far quieter—which Roman found worked to his advantage most nights. Logan, being the obsessive problem-solver he so often was, hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to alleviate the curse. It had been sealed in Roman’s own blood—against his will, of course, but it made no difference. According to the dragon witch, whose brilliant plan it was to have Roman fight a demon for the rest of his life, had told him that he was the only one capable of keeping it at bay.

Yeah, right, he thought sourly as he wrapped a ruby amulet around his bicep. Another “gift” from that blasted dragon witch. Roman had given up pestering her for a remedy for the curse several months ago, finding the long haul up into the mountains far too much work just to be rejected. He couldn’t even kill the stupid thing. It was immortal. He could weaken it, sure, and make things easier for himself for a few weeks, but it always came back.

Sometimes stronger.

What did the dragon witch expect to happen? Eventually, he would die. Whether it was the demon’s doing was yet to be seen, but he definitely wouldn’t outlive it. What then? Would she simply pass the curse on to another? Continue the viscous cycle of torment? Stop complaining, he scolded himself, pressing his lips into a thin line and cinching the leather guard tight about his forearm. It’s been a year. You should be over this by now.

Picking up the pace, Roman holstered his two pistols on either side of his belt, slipped a dagger into a sheath secured around his stomach beneath his shirt, and picked up his sword. He was best with the blade, though he wasn’t foolish enough to go in without back up weaponry. He despised the guns most of all. They were loud and clunky and gave him a headache to use, but more often than not they got him out of perilous situations, so he kept them. The sword was heavy, though Roman was so used to it now, it felt comfortably weighted.

Doing a quick double-check to make sure he had everything he needed, he opened his door and stepped out into the hallway. He closed the door behind him with a soft click. Roman had grown accustomed to traversing their house in silence, dreading the possibility of Patton or Virgil discovering him sneaking out loaded with weapons. He turned a corner, about to head down the stairs, when he noticed a warm amber glow trailing up the wall. Someone was still up—or they’d left the light on, at least. Was Virgil having trouble sleeping again? Or was Patton indulging in some late-night baking? Both options were likely. Could Roman manage to sneak by without being noticed? Thoughts raced through his head a mile a minute. Something inside him pulled, like someone plucking a bow string drawn dangerously taut. The curse compelled him forward, and he nearly stumbled down the steps as he pulled back. He had no choice; he had to leave. Could he sneak out his room window? It was a long way to the ground and the only tree was by Patton’s bedroom window. He’d risk injuring himself by jumping, which could put his life in jeopardy later. He’d have to try and sneak past whoever was out there. It wasn’t worth having to face the demon with a twisted ankle. Perhaps he could knock them out and convince them it was all a dream? He shook his head. He couldn’t attack any of them. It would eat him up inside.

Slowly, he peeked out over the banister. A short reading lamp sat on an end table beside the couch, barely light enough to keep the shadows in the corners of the room at bay. Bathed in gold light, the figure in the chair turned out to be Logan, hands clasped in his lap and eyes staring vaguely at the wall, deep in thought. Relaxing somewhat, Roman straightened and continued down the stairs as quietly as possible. The third one down was always squeaky. Logan hadn’t noticed him yet, and even as Roman approached, he stared at the wall, chewing on his bottom lip and mouthing silent thoughts to himself. Roman couldn’t help but smile.

“Logan,” he said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Logan jumped, startled. “Wha—oh, it’s you. I was wondering when you’d leave.”

“What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.”

Logan cocked his head to the side, considering. “The sun sets at nine p.m. and rises at seven-fifteen a.m.. By all accounts, we are less than halfway into the night,” he said, gesturing to the otherwise dark and empty house. He cleared his throat. “I, er, wanted to see you off before you... left.”

“I’ll be back before the sun rises, Lo,” Roman said, waving a dismissive hand and trying to hide the strain in his voice. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you can’t stay up like this every night.”

“I think you’ll find there are many things I can do,” Logan said, his normal sternness hardening into something akin to anger. “One being making sure you arrive back home in one piece. Are you positive I cannot accompany you? I’m sure there are options we haven’t explored yet.”

“Logan, you—“ Roman tripped forward into Logan as the curse tugged at him once again, endlessly insistent. Logan caught him, but Roman quickly righted himself again, struggling to keep the pain from showing on his face. He cleared his throat. “You know I can’t do that. You being there would only distract me and put me in more danger. I’d be too worried about you getting hurt.”

Logan studied his face for a moment before sighing and letting him go. “Very well, but you better come back.”

Roman put on a smile, chuckling. “Of course I will. Have a little faith, Lo.”

“I shall try,” he muttered as Roman opened the front door. He glanced back one last time only to see Logan lower himself back into the arm chair and lose himself in pained thought.

* * * * * * * * * *

The forest was only two blocks away from their house, so Roman didn’t have to walk very far. He’d devised a route through the neighborhood that led him behind houses and between backyard fences to lessen the probability of someone spotting him waltzing around dressed like a walking armory. Most nights, however, were largely uneventful save the occasional barking dog. The sudden noise used to scare Roman.

Now, he had bigger things to be scared of.

The forest dampened every noise as soon as Roman stepped through the tree line. Though he could still see civilization through the trees, he felt a thousand miles from any sort of help were something to happen. The curse wouldn't allow him to leave until the first signs of dawn—he would know, he'd tested it. Many times. The beginning was always the most dangerous part. The demon knew exactly where he was, and at what time he'd be there. The trick would be escaping into the darkness of the woods and losing him along the way. He shook off the nerves breeding in the pit of his stomach, and trudged deeper into the darkness, sword at the ready.

Ah, the darkness. He’d brought a flashlight only once before, and had barely escaped the night with his life. Turns out, a bright beam of light does more to give oneself away than to help locate a possible predator. He never made the mistake again. Since then, he’d become quite familiar with the dark. However, it was less of an old friend and more an impartial entity desiring entertainment regardless of who ended up on the wrong end of it. He took no solace in it, but rather treated it with deference and wary reverence.

Something shifted in the trees above him. Roman froze. Dense fog clung to the ground, curling around his legs like ghosts desperate for living touch. The moon was nothing more than a sliver, denying Roman what little light he usually counted on. The heavy slithering bounced around him, as if it couldn’t decide which direction it came from. Roman pressed his back up against a tree and held his sword in front of him.

“So brave,” a chilling voice hissed. Roman’s stomach dropped. “Have you not bored of this constant battle, yet, little prince?” Roman kept his eyes on the canopies and his mouth shut. He’d never figured out why both the dragon witch and the demon called him a prince, but he’d rather that than his own name. Roman refused to give it that power.

“I tire of this endless game. You drag out the inevitable,” the demon sighed. It sounded vaguely human, though if that human had swallowed shards of glass and gargled with shrapnel. The sound of the beast dragging its enormous body through the branches still eluded Roman, jumping around his head like he wore headphones that kept shorting out.

“Why?” it breathed so close to Roman’s ear, he could feel it. He tensed, swinging his sword around. It sunk into something solid. It took Roman a split second to realize that it wasn't a giant serpentine head, but the tree trunk. He tugged. It didn't budge. Terror swept through him in the same second as a grating laugh echoed around the trees. He abandoned the sword and hadn't so much as taken a step away when a wall of cold, hard scales slammed him back into the tree. He could feel the creature's muscles undulating and constricting beneath the smooth plating, slowly crushing him into the wood. It was dark, yes, but Roman had seen it before on nights with a full moon: a gold scaled beast with a body several times thicker than the trees and a head the size of a small car. Eyes like pools of molten lead the size of Roman's whole face and fangs longer than his arm. He'd only been caught by it a few times in the last year. Each time he'd nearly died. Though, he was ashamed to admit, they didn't usually happen quite this fast.

He'd definitely set a new personal record.

Luckily, he'd managed to pin his arms in front of his chest, so he could somewhat resist the creature's constricting. He took short shallow breaths and pushed outward with all of his strength, but it was a futile effort. The constricting halted, and the monster lowered it's head to meet Roman's eyes.

"Tell me why."

"You think I want to be here?" he spat. "A dragon witch cursed me."

"Dragon witch?"

"Yes, the dragon witch named Ursula. You know, after a whole year of barely five words to me, you're suddenly really chatty," Roman said derisively, hoping to distract the beast from the fact that he was slowly reaching for one of his pistols. Not exactly easy when your arms are being crushed by a gigantic reptile, but progress was being made nonetheless.

"All this time and she still holds onto that ridiculous nickname. You'd think she'd have learned to imprison me with more than a sniveling child," it hissed, baring its enormous fangs. Roman paled, wriggling his arm toward the holster a little faster now. It reared up its head and tightened its hold. Roman cried out, the air slowly forced out of his lungs. He saw stars.

"I am no troublesome pixie that can be held over by a simple curse. She will pay for this insul—"

BANG!

Roman drew and fired the pistol faster than he'd ever before. It hit just below the demon's eye, ricocheting off its scales and off into the night. The snake hissed angrily and released him, retreating in a spiral up the tree and into the canopies once more. It knew better than to stay in close range while the guns were out, regardless of it's tough armor. Roman may not like guns, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to use one. So far, the mouth and the eyes were the only weak spots he'd located.

He dropped to the ground, heaving and retching. Roman scrambled to his feet. There was no time for recovery. He tore his sword from the tree and sprinted deeper into the forest. He needed to find shelter or somewhere to hide. While he couldn't see the serpent as well when it was in the trees, it couldn't move nearly as fast. If he managed to lose it, he may just have a chance.

Calm down, Roman. You've been doing this for three hundred and sixty-five nights, and you haven't lost a single one. Don't make tonight any different.

The battle was nowhere near over, and the night had only just begun.

* * * * * * * * * *

Roman fumbled for the key beneath the place mat. It was almost five-thirty in the morning, and though the sun hadn't technically risen yet, his curse had seen fit to release him as soon as the first hints of light played at the horizon. It was still relatively dark, the skyline glowing a pale blue-green against the starry indigo above it. His ribs ached, his knees and elbows were scraped, his clothes and face were streaked with mud, and he was covered in blood up to his elbows. Not his own. Last he checked, his blood was red, not black. It was the demon's, from when he'd driven his sword through the underside of its mouth. He hadn't seen his reflection yet, but he could imagine the horror show that was his appearance. The stuff never really dried, either. It remained sticky like tar and was an absolute nightmare to try and get out of the leather armor Logan made him—not to mention his own hair.

Eventually, his sloppy fingers found the spare key and managed to stick it into the lock. He turned it, replaced it beneath the mat, and pushed the door open. The house smelled of cinnamon and happiness, due in great part to Patton's baking yesterday. The lamp still sat on in the living room, illuminating Logan's sleeping features. His glasses hung askew across his nose and some fancy-pants scientific book lay open on his lap. Roman closed the front door behind him as softly as he could manage, then froze with his foot inches above the floor. Virgil had just mopped last night. If Roman took one step off the front rug, he'd track mud, dirt, and demon blood through the entire house. Cursing under his breath, he leaned forward, reaching for the coat closet. He nearly fell on his face and woke the entire house, but in the end he'd acquired what he'd been looking for: his old jacket. It was worn, fraying, and impossibly comfortable, and would do exactly what Roman needed it to. He could always wash it later, right? Laying it open on the floor, Roman stepped onto it and proceeded to shuffle his way down the hall toward the stairs. True, he could have simply taken off his boots, but they were laced up tight and sticky with blood he didn't have the patience to deal with in the middle of the house. He'd see to it once he got to the bathroom and didn't have to worry about anyone seeing him. He passed by Logan, who had fallen asleep in the arm chair, snoring softly.

It was a long, tenuous journey, but he eventually made it to the base of the stairs. There, he was met with a new problem. How was he supposed to make it upstairs on his jacket?

"Roman?" Logan muttered groggily, squinting at him.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," Roman whispered, waving a hand at him.

"What's all over your—is that blood?"

"Yes, but be quiet!" Roman hissed. "You're going to wake up everyone else!"

Logan stood. "What do you mean yes? Are you hurt?" He reached a curious hand out toward the black goo covering his arms.

"Don't touch it," Roman snapped. His temper was worn thin after the night he'd had, and the last thing he needed right now was a scientific analysis of demon blood. He sighed, "Sorry, Lo. I just... need to get to the bathroom. Could you get some towels or something to lay on the stairs so I can—" he started, but Logan apparently had other ideas. In one swift motion, he hooked an arm under Roman's knees and scooped him up into his arms.

"What are you doing?" Roman demanded, "You're going to get it all over you."

"Irrelevant," Logan said, though his nose crinkled slightly at the stench of death covering his friend. "I shall simply carry you upstairs. It will be faster and more efficient. Don't worry about the jacket, I'll take care of it. Now," he shifted his grip, "are you sure you're not hurt?"

"Yeah," Roman said, though it came out as a strangled gasp. The way Logan was holding him put pressure on a bruise he'd gotten while the overgrown worm had tried smothering him in a swath of mud. Logan cocked an eyebrow and didn't move. Sighing dejectedly, Roman instructed him where he could place his hands to cause him the least amount of pain. After a few moments of readjusting, Logan set off up the stairs. Roman was impressed at how steady Logan was despite carrying his entire weight up the stairs.

"Watch the wall," he grunted, and Roman tucked his feet in to keep from leaving streaks of mud down the hallway. They passed Patton's room, then Virgil's, then arrived at the bathroom. Logan set him down on the tile flooring, promising to fetch him a clean pair of clothes and a bag to place all of the blood spattered articles in. After one last concerned look, he closed the door and left Roman alone in the bathroom.

He grimaced as he glanced at his reflection. Roman looked like he'd been run over by a garbage truck. Blood, dark and glossy as pitch, speckled his face and neck and clumped in his hair. It covered both forearms up to his elbows, as if he'd dipped his arms in black paint. Contrastingly, his own crimson blood had dried across his upper lip and chin from the bloody nose he'd received when flung into a tree. Sickly gray mud clung to the rest of him like plaster. Carefully, he peeled his clothes off and tossed them into a pile near the door. He'd had hopes of the washing machine saving them, but looking at them in a pathetic heap on the floor, he doubted anything could be done. He'd have to burn them later.

Returning his attention to the mirror, his throat constricted. His torso was mottled with a myriad of purple and green bruises, or maybe that was just more mud. They certainly felt like bruises. His eyes trailed down his shoulders, then came to rest on the grimy amulet still tied to his upper arm. He turned it over in his hand, wiping the dirt from its surface.

Think of it as insurance, the dragon witch had written in a nice, instructional letter on how to handle his curse. Insurance that you don't go dying on me too soon. Any injuries you sustain while wearing the amulet will heal as soon as you take it off. You won't even need to sleep, my prince. Easy as that.

Scowling, he undid the clasp and pulled the necklace from his arm. Immediately, burning cold energy coursed through his body. He bowed forward and rested his elbows on the counter, biting his fist to keep from making a sound. It took a considerable amount of self control not to collapse to the floor and itch his gradually healing skin bloody. It felt like a million spiders with needles for legs crawling around inside him.

Some healing magic, Roman thought venomously, breathing hard through his nose. Feels worse than healing normally.

But it was faster. And Roman couldn't risk Patton or Virgil finding out simply because they touched a tender spot. There was a knock at the door.

"Roman? I've got some new clothes and a trash bag, can I come in?"

"Hold on," he choked through gritted teeth. The sound was more like a whimper than Roman would have wished, but there were far more pressing matters for him to deal with than a measly voice crack. An entire year of this, and he still wasn't used to the feeling. How pathetic. He stumbled into the shower and pulled the curtain.

"All right," he said, leaning heavily against the tiled wall. He wasn't going to pass out. He been in worse shape on previous nights. This was nothing. Roman heard Logan open the door slowly, then silence. He heard the faint scrape of him picking up the amulet. Roman had explained its purpose to him the night he'd found out. Mainly because Logan had demanded to know how he wasn't a pile of mush every single night. No one could take a beating like that every twelve hours and still be walking, let alone acting like nothing was going on.

"Are you going to be okay, Roman? Do you require any assistance?" He came closer to the curtain.

"I'm fine. Thank you, Logan." Please don't look, you'll only worry. Don't look.

A pause. "Very well. I will await you downstairs when you are done cleaning up." Another long silence as Roman clenched and unclenched his fist as the healing magic completed its circuit around his body. The feeling eventually faded into a dull prickling. Logan sighed, set the amulet back down on the counter, and left.

Roman let out a breath and cranked the faucet as far to the hot side as it would go. The water was scalding, but he didn't care. The demon blood slowly dissolved from his skin and hair, swirling down the drain in a disgusting black soup of mud and dirt. He wished he could wash it all away, scrub the demon from his pores and the pain from behind his ears.

Clean water streamed down Roman's face in the place of the tears he did not shed.

Thanks for reading!! You can find the rest of this fic on AO3, here.

8 notes · View notes

mnthpprt · 4 years

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Chapter 27: To Be A Mistake

[WARNING: Mentions of suicide, self harm, and disordered eating]

[Here’s a super angsty chapter that’s been on my mind for a while. It goes without saying that I do not condone any of the things mentioned above, and even though my MC engages in them, she is far from perfect, and definitely not an example to follow. As someone who has struggled with these things in the past, I think it is important to portray them realistically and without romanticizing.]

Our conversation is suddenly interrupted by Mozart barging into the room. The expression on his face is the most emotion I’ve ever seen him show, but I am not happy about it. I can tell that something is wrong.

“It’s Jean,” he says, and I feel the urgency in his tone. Le Comte stands up from his armchair and walks towards Mozart. I follow. “He’s starving himself again. Leonardo is trying to talk him out of it, but it’s taking longer than usual, and I don’t know what to do.”

He’s panicking. Well, as close as someone so stoic can come to it. I reach for his hand and squeeze it tightly to reassure him, and to my surprise, he does not flinch away from my touch like he usually would. This is bad.

“Is he in his bedroom?” I ask. Mozart nods. “Let’s go. Comte?”

“I think it is better for me to stay here,” he explains. “My presence might just make things worse. Jean isn’t exactly fond of me.”

I silently nod and usher Mozart out of the study. He lets go of my hand and begins running through the hallway, in the direction of Jean’s bedroom. Shit, this is really bad. I sprint to catch up to him, and we finally come to a stop in front of Jean’s closed door. I lean on the wall to catch my breath.

Through it, I can hear Leonardo’s voice, pleading for Jean to please drink some rouge before he gets worse. I have not seen what happens to a starving vampire, and I do not want to.

“Stay away from me, you monster!” I hear him yell. “You cannot force me to live like this, I refuse.”

And then, a glass breaks.

Leonardo comes out of the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes look darker than usual. Mozart looks at him for an answer, and he simply shakes his head. It didn’t work.

“I’m going in,” I announce, full of determination. “Wait here. Do not come in.”

Before Leonardo has time to stop me, I slip into the bedroom and lock the door from the inside. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The curtains are drawn, blocking what little evening sunlight is left in the sky outside. I spot the source of the noise on the floor: a broken bottle of rouge, shards of glass surrounded by a deep red puddle. Over it stands Jean. His hands are shaking, and his dark blue eye is wide open. Oh no.

“Jean?” I say softly, approaching him like I would a wild animal. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Please leave,” he mutters. His eye remains fixed on the puddle of blood seeping through the floorboards. “I am cursed, an abomination. I must repent for living a life gifted by the Devil.” He joins his hands and starts to pray, falling to his knees. There are tears on his cheeks. “Forgive me, my Lord, Heavenly Father, for I have sinned. For I have become sin itself-”

I kneel beside him and wrap my arms around his body in an attempt to calm him down. The rouge on the floor is staining my light blue dress, but I do not care. This is more important.

“Jean,” I whisper. “Jean, listen to me. You are not sin. You are not a sinner, okay?” He trails off halfway through his prayer, and his breathing slows almost to its normal pace. “That’s it. Focus on my voice. Good.”

I gently lower his hands and begin to stroke his hair. Though he is calmer now, he keeps shaking uncontrollably, and the way his eye darts around the room is almost feral, unhinged. Is this what hunger does to him?

“Jean, you need to feed. This can’t go well, for you, or anyone else,” I softly tell him. My right hand keeps running through his hair, which seems to soothe him slightly, while the left reaches for the puddle. I dip two fingers in the rouge and slowly bring them up to his mouth. “Here. Have a drop, at least. It will make you feel better.”

“No!” Jean yells, abruptly pushing me off of him. “This... this is sinful! You will not convince me otherwise,” he snarls at me.

I sigh and get up from the floor. Clearly, talking does not work. At all. I don’t know what else to do. I spot a dagger on his nightstand, and carefully reach for it. I have an idea. An incredibly stupid one, at that, but it is better than nothing. It is better than letting Jean starve himself into oblivion.

“Is this how you want to do it? Fine,” I declare, staring defiantly at him across the room. I push my hair back, baring my neck, and point the sharp blade at my own throat. The metal feels cold against my skin. “It’s either your fangs or the dagger. We both know which option is more likely to kill me. The choice is yours.”

“Anaïs, don’t!” Leonardo yells from outside the room. I hear the clattering of the door handle behind me as he uselessly tries to turn it.

Meanwhile, Jean looks at me, incredulous.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, his voice shaking. I flinch when I press the tip of the dagger into my flesh. I can feel a thin stream of warm blood run from the wound and pool onto my collarbone. Jean gasps.

“You would,” I say, “so what makes you think we’re so different? You have ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight...”

“Stop! This is madness!” He yells at me, unmoving.

I press harder, clenching my teeth. More blood begins pouring out.

“...Four, three, two...”

Finally, he lunges forward and runs towards me before forcing the blade away and sinking his fangs into my neck. My hand lets go of the dagger, which falls onto the wooden floor with a loud clatter, as waves of pleasure expand from the bite like an electric shock through my body. I somehow manage to stay conscious enough to hear Leonardo break down the door and barge in.

“Ahh...! Stay... back...!” I force the words out of my mouth with all the strength I can muster. Leonardo’s footsteps stop. My body goes limp, and I fall into Jean’s strong arms. He holds me upright as I let him drink from me, and my eyelids grow heavy. I slowly become swallowed by darkness, a cold ocean, the waves of which pull me in, dragging me deeper and deeper. I let it take me.

I wake up in my bed and attempt to sit up, but I am too lightheaded, and fall back onto the plush pillows beneath me, uttering a curse in Spanish.

“Cara mia.” Leonardo’s eyes shoot open and he abandons the chair he was sleeping on to sit on the edge of the bed, by my side.

“How long... was I out...?” I struggle to ask. I try to sit up once again, this time aided by Leonardo. My head is spinning.

“Shhh... Take it easy, cara mia,” he tells me. “You lost a lot of blood.” He tightly holds my hand in his, big and calloused and pleasantly warm. “What were you thinking? You could have died!”

His voice breaks when he says it. It pains me to make him worry like that. I run my thumb over his knuckles as I reassure him.

“I’m fine. See?” I smile. “Where is Jean?”

“Mozart is with him. He had to hold me back, you know? I could not bear the thought of anything happening to you.” He leans down to lay a tender kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t worry about me, Leonardo,” I say. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

He looks at me with sadness in his eyes and shakes his head.

“Why?” he whispers. “Why did you have to risk your life like that?”

“I did it for Jean.” He does not seem satisfied with my answer. “It’s okay. It’s not my first time...”

“What do you mean, ‘your first time’? Do you want to die, cara mia?”

“For the longest time, I did... I tried to... But then I came here,” I smile. “When I met you, everything changed. Being with you... it makes everything else go away. Dying is no longer the only way to... make it stop.”

I lightly pull on his hand, motioning for him to come closer. When he does, I grab his collar and pull him into a kiss. He returns it gently, as if he is afraid that I will break under his touch. He pulls away, and I speak again.

“At the ball, Mozart and I talked. He said I sounded like Jean,” I recall. “Now I know what he meant. What I did... I would do it again if it meant I could help someone like that, even if it costs me my life. I’ve been there, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Cara mia,” Leonardo breathes out. “You are too kind for your own good. For the love of God, never scare me like that again, do you hear me?”

I nod and bring his hand to my lips. After I kiss his fingers, he cups my face, and I lean into it, closing my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I kiss his palm. “I am so sorry for making you worry. I love you too much to make you feel this bad...” The words pour out of my mouth without me even noticing. I am so tired.

“You should rest, amore mio,” he whispers. I lazily nod and drift off to a dreamless slumber.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen vampire jean #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire mozart #ikevamp mozart #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte

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varsitycult · 3 years

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Shapeshifting: Solaris and True Alienation

In Stanislaw Lem’s 1961 novel of the same name, Solaris is an alien planet that “materializes physical simulacra”— any members aboard the space station slowly circling the planet will begin to have interactions with figures from their pasts, those figures that left the greatest impact on their psyches. The ocean itself manifests many forms that fall under different categorization, such as mimoids, symmetriads, etc., which arise mostly as singular architectural feats and ever-evolving foamy, stretchy-then-solid, growing-and-shrinking structures that can be many miles in dimension; those that study these phenomena are called solaricists. The study of Solaris developed from a more esoteric theorization of what the ocean actually “is”:

“For some time one popular view, eagerly disseminated by the press, was that the thinking ocean covering the whole of Solaris was a gigantic brain more advanced by millions of years than our own civilization, that it was some kind of “cosmic yogi,” a sage, omniscience incarnate, which had long ago grasped the futility of all action and for this reason was simply maintaining a categorical silence towards us.” (Lem)

This evolved into a decidedly scientific investigation of how Solaris ‘works,’but no matter how many studies were done and how much a desire for First Contact might’ve been present aboard, the ocean didn't attempt to reveal anything about itself — to the crew, it seemingly only sought to essentially conduct psychological experiments on them by creating “empty” doppelgängers of critical figures from their pasts who cannot die.

The book centers around Kris Kelvin, an at times neurotic, at times deeply detached psychologist. In his youth, he knew and was in a relationship with a young woman named Harey, who ultimately ended up killing herself after Kris ended their relationship and implied she was weak. Once Kris begins seeing, speaking and interacting with the simulacra of Harey, he questions his own sanity, and conducts experiments to prove to himself that he is sane — and when in the lab, realizes the other crew members have done the same. We never learn the details of the other crews simulacras beyond an interaction in the beginning of Kris’ stay, and fleeting glimpses of identifiers — but it is implied that they’re haunting enough to drive the crew to madness and suicide, such as in the case of Gibarian, a former professor of Kris’ and fellow crew member who committed suicide right before Kris arrived on the station.

Harey is Kris’ appointed simulacra, or shapeshifter, if you will. What is a shapeshifter? Basically an entity with the ability to change into a different shape or form; It can be the act of a human turning into an animal (commonly seen in creatures such as werewolves, vampires and the like); an animal shapeshifting into a person; a person into a plant or object; and on, including gods turning into clouds, gods turning other gods into any myriad of animals or objects, etc. Shapeshifting is key in shamanic practice and totemism, and entails transformation into a different f o r m, precipitated by an altered state of consciousness within the shaman, aided by substances, rhythmic driving, and the like:

“[S]hamanism and hypnosis … use … the same dissociative state of consciousness, which in shamanism is referred to as the shamanic journey, or ecstatic flight, and in hypnosis is called the hypnotic trance, or simply trance. Neurophysiological and empirical evidence support the view that the shamanic journey achieved without the use of hallucinogenic substances, that is, with the aid of musical instrumentation, chanting, and similar phenomena, elicits the same EEG profile as the hypnotic trance state. In addition, experiential phenomena characteristic of the shaman’s ecstatic flight, such as shapeshifting, contact with imaginal agents, and the like, can likewise be achieved in hypnotic trance” (Walter).

  For this entry, shapeshifting is one conscious entity shifting into another entity who is, by necessity, conscious to some degree. We find shapeshifters from stories that span the world and millennia — such as the character of Merlin from Arthurian Legend:

“In the Arthurian cycle, the wizard Merlin enchanted Uther Pendragon, making him look like the husband of Igraine so that she would gladly sleep with him. Merlin knew through augury that this mating would conceive the child who would later become King Arthur. One tool for accomplishing such shapeshifting was the spell known as fith-fath, used to transform one object into another and also to confer invisibility.” (472, Walter)

(I just really enjoy the word fith-fath)

In the Cherokee tradition, there’s the story of the “Stone Coat,” a monster covered with scaly armor from head to toe who could take human form; Stone Coat ate the livers of his victims while in the shape of an old woman, after puncturing their skulls with a crooked finger (136, Young). Stone Coat took the form of an orphan, who then ate other children’s livers, and was subsequently banned from town. Knowing Stone Coat is approaching, 7 menstruating women lay along the path in wait — he vomits blood crossing them, and, knowing he is dying, asks the people to build a fire and burn him. As he burned, he sang songs, songs that eventually became traditional Cherokee songs; “His death, he said, would unleash disease in the world, but the songs he taught them would cure it.”

In the case of Old Norse, with regards to Berserkers, shapeshifting more closely approximates a shared state of consciousness generated among animal cultists, leading to murder and rape under the influence of rage:

“It is proposed by some authors that the berserkers drew their power from the bear and were devoted to the bear cult, which was once widespread across the northern hemisphere … To "go berserk" was to "hamask", which translates as "change form", in this case, as with the sense "enter a state of wild fury.”

In Asia, the kitsune (🇯🇵), huli jing (🇨🇳), or kumiho (🇰🇷) are mythical foxes with 9 tails, that are at least 1,000-years old and have attained the boon of shapeshifting. These creatures are known for turning into young women who eat the hearts or livers of young men. In Korea, the kumiho is always malignant, while the Japanese and Chinese variants are morally ambiguous. Across cultures, if a kitsune can last 1,000 days without killing or eating a human, they can become fully human.

There are myriad reasons why Solaris is a unique shapeshifter experience, considering shapeshifting so often relies on either mythical entities with mythical powers, or altered states. With Solaris, we have an “entity” who can never be perceived directly, and we never learn how Solaris does what it does — Lem intentionally chose an ocean as to avoid personification and thus satisfaction of “First Contact.” Solaris creates an experience of True Alienation — because Solaris can “[see] into the deepest recesses of human minds and then [bring] their dreams to life,” but the observer knows that wish-fulfillment is impossible, making the experience of Solaris a deeply disturbing one which highlights the limits of our physical systems and of our human comprehension.

We never come to understand the intent of the manifestations that haunt the crew observing Solaris, though later in the book, Kris ventures out onto the planet itself for the first time ever, after Harey has finally died indefinitely of her own accord; This experience changes his perception of the planet itself, realizing it is actually slightly timid, if not a bit naive, observing and reacting to new information, interacting momentarily with Kris’ hand. In the absence of understanding, there was forgiveness of the planet itself, and the psychological torment endured by Kris and the simulacras.

Often, whether in literature about shamanic rituals or on galaxy-🧠 backwater forums, you will find discussion of shapeshifting paired with possession. Shapeshifting and possession are parallel phenomena, though possession is internal. Harey is both real and not real simultaneously; Harey knows she is and knows she isn’t; and Harey can never be far away from Kris, at least in the beginning. If Kris is not visible to Harey, she will enter a fugue state until she is reunited with Kris again, at times causing herself fatal physical harm to remove obstacles to him — this possession “reveals” Harey to truly be Solaris itself, her body receiving a hard reset via near-death experiences.

In the beginning of the novel, Harey has a truly amnesiac response to notions of “the past” — she quickly creates an excuse for her behavior or her origins whenever she materializes on the station. As time goes on, Harey noticeably becomes perturbed by her inability to know herself and comes to realize that she is not “Harey”at all. As opposed to following the natural progression of a developing consciousness, arguably going from tabula rasa “nothing” to “something,” Harey goes from believing she is “something” to knowing she is “nothing,” a figment created by the parsed memories of another living being, in a way mirroring terrestrial Harey’s timeline.

Solaris functions as the embodiment of what Rudolf Otto called the Mysterium Tremendum et Fascinans; the numinous, the unknown. Under electron microscope examination, blood samples from simulacras are devoid of electrons, instead being composed of neutrinos, and a specialized machine is ultimately needed to kill Harey at the end of the book because of this. Nothing like Solaris has ever been seen before, let alone conceived of by human minds, and when 106 members of the space station die in one freak accident while exploring a spontaneous formation on Solaris long before Kris ever arrives, humans subject it to nukes in “retaliation”. Humans had a stronger desire to destroy the unknown than to allow the unknown to exist at all. But Solaris was seemingly unscathed, and afterwards, public interest in Solaris waned, and the simulacras began to appear onboard the station.

What makes the unknown of Solaris more exaggerated is its observation, even experimentation, on the crew. It is always learning about You — You cannot learn about It. And we can never know if it is learning from its experimenting, if its experimenting is leading to something, some conclusion, at all. It becomes a true black mirror, reflecting back at the crew that which has psychically harmed or affected them the most to try to understand that hurt, because hurt sticks the most :’ ).

Very often in shapeshifter stories, the concluding action is to kill the shapeshifter because it is deemed malevolent. Shapeshifting is obscure, it is dark, and it is unknowable except to those shapeshifters with access to it. Shapeshifting physicalizes the Shadow, and conceptualizes the existential chicken-and-egg of knowing decay, death and rebirth are inevitable, just maybe not in the ways we’d hoped — bask in the Shadow and temper the compulsion to kill the darkness.

Bibliography:

Lem, Stanisław. “Solaris,” Walker, 1964.

Walter, Mariko, and Eva Jane Neumann. “Shamanism: An Encyclopedia of World Beliefs, Practices, and Culture,” ABC-CLIO, 2004.

Young, William A. “Quest for Harmony: Native American Spiritual Traditions,” Hackett Pub. Co., 2006.

& Wikipedia lul

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dark-selfship-imagines · 4 years

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royal imagine

(condensed this super long imagine into one post for your imagining pleasure)

You have a royal f/o. They’re powerful and rich; have some enemies. They are kidnapped by thugs or bandits while traveling someplace. The kidnappers, seeing all their valuable possessions , strip them bare—jewelry,clothes, any identifying things so no one would know. They still keep the f/o, because maybe they can ransom them off for more money. The thugs sell those things 1/?

So the bandits sell all the kidnapped royal’s possessions, leaving them with literally nothing. They tie up the f/o, seeing as maybe they’ve escaped before a few times, so they are bound and gagged so they can’t scream for help. It’s been maybe a day or two. Whomever is the royal’s right hand, hires you to find them seeing as they suspect they’ve been Kidnapped. You take some basic supplies with you, food, weapons wtc /2/? Skull emoji)

3/?While you try to find the royal; they are stuck with the bandits. Who mock them, hurt them, and humiliate them simply for their position and to feel better. Now if they’re a bratty f/o—mine is—imagine them defying their captors and spitting in their faces. Of course they don’t like that, so they rough them up some more. Maybe the poor thing has been broken by the rough treatment. Or they are holding out hope for someone to rescue them.(Claim skull em)

4/? Royal anon. It’s longer than I thought sorry hon. So it’s been a few days; you’re trying your best to track them down. Like before, the royal is probably suffering the bandits care. They’re not used to the harsh conditions, having lived such a posh life before this. The bandits simply keep them tied up, naked and bruised when they aren’t abusing the poor thing. Their shivering, and cold, and hungry from not eating much. Either cuz they hate the food because of the refined palette/stubborn.

6/final(?)

So your royal f/o is not having a good time. Hungry, beat up, cold from being splashed with freezing river water in lieu of a proper bath so they can’t escape again, mentally abused, exhausted, and humiliated from being stripped naked for the bandits to poke fun at. Either cuz their are wimpy looking compared to the larger men who took them, or not well endowed, whatever you want. They may have tried to escape a few times, only to be taken back and beaten, and maybe tied up with stronger bonds. Maybe the bandits denied them food, drink or the chance to relive themslves.(whatever you’d like)

Anyway, they’ve maybe given up hope now, or they’re holding on. They don’t know they have someone looking for them. It’s been days, maybe a week. You’re starting to get a bit forlorn yourself, having followed the trail for a while and not finding too much. But then you see it, the light from a campfire and noises of revelry. You heart beats in your chest; you’ve found them at last!

Now this can go a couple ways; if you’re powerful, maybe you’ll storm the camp and murder all of them. Or if you’d rather be sneaky, you could wait until they fall asleep, slit the neck of the guard watching your royal f/o and carefully drag their limp body out of there. Or you can eskew the killing altogether and sneak your f/o out of the camp. It doesn’t matter; when you see your target, your heart swells in pity for the horrible things that have been done to them. They might look like a mess, beaten and bloody but to you they are actually nice looking. You want to protect them, and tell them it will be ok now that you’re here. And it will be; you’re just that awesome!

Your f/o might be awake or even asleep during this time. If they are sleep, maybe the commotion wakes them up if you tried the slaughter approach. Or maybe you quietly tapped them on the shoulder, not wanting to alarm them so you could sneak them out. However you did it, they are surprised and alarmed to see you. Maybe they nearly cry out; you covering their mouth so they can’t make a noise. They didn’t think anyone was going to find them after all. You are their savior in their eyes, the only hope they have to get out of this desperate situation.

You try to cut their bonds, but either can’t with the equipment you have in hand or their limbs are too weak to walk from malnourishment after you do so. Carrying them bridal style or no, their mouth agape as they do their best to not move so you don’t drop them, you spirit them best you can out of that hellhole. You don’t stop til the two of you are far, far away from the camp. Making sure the bandits didn’t follow you, in case you didn’t kill them all, you hide yourself and your charge in a deep, dank cave.

Finally able to calm down and take a breather, you quickly prepare a fire to keep them warm. They might grumble if they’re a brat, maybe rubbing their cold body or hurt ankles/wrists, wondering why you took so long to save them. They are probably freezing after all. Sadly, you didn’t have time to see if there was anything in the camp they could wear; or maybe it was all too destroyed, or not the right size. You’re clothes don’t fitor else you would have offended them soemthing to preserve their dignity.(most of my f/os have hige size differences so there’s now at they’d fit). So unfortunately(?) for them, they’re still exposed to you, naked as the day they were born. You can’t help looking; they are attractive despite everything they’ve been trhough. And god, when you see their junk, you can feel your face heat up. It might not be huge or whatever, but it suits them so well. You also might not have really seen one before; I’m going with this cuz it’s me) so you admittedly catch yourself staring more than you should.

You sheepishly try to lie and say that you’re checking to make sure their wounds aren’t too serious. And you are doing that, after asking for permission of course, carefully touching their wrists where they’ve been/are still maybe bound, their ribs where they might have been kicked, checking for broken bones and the like. If their naive; they might fall for it. Or if they are coy/flirty, they might waggle their brows and play it off as a dirty joke. That’s really the only thing you can get out of them for a while; they are quiet, not really looking at you, turned away from you and doing their best to preserve their modesty. Probably traumatized from the whole situation. Maybe they can’t believe it’s real, and are thinking they’ll wake up back in the camp.

You gently reassure them it’s not, and that you’ll make sure they won’t be captured by that group again. Maybe they believe you; maybe they’re skeptical. All in all, it’s been an exhausting night for them, and they wish to go to sleep. They move closer to the fire, needing its warmth since the cave floor is cold on their skin. You ask if they are cold, if they’d like to lie next to you; and you really have no ulterior motives but they are stubborn and refuse. While you keep watch for any trouble, you can hear them shivering and their teeth chattering despite you doing your best to keep the fire bright and warm. After a while, you decide that no one is going to bother you and that you should sleep as well.

Looking at your vulnerable charge, you feel pity for them, carefully moving closer to them. You whisper an apology into their ear, and they grumble something that sounds like ‘yes’ pretty coherently. You spoon them, doing your best to transfer your warmth to them by wrapping your clothed limbs and body around them. They stop shaking a few moments later, and let out a contented noise. You wait for a little while, wanting them to be comfortable, and only when they begin to snore heavily do you fall asleep.

The both of you wake up more than a little confused and dazed the next morning. It takes a few moments for everything to click, but when it does, your f/o quickly scampers away from you, face beat red and stammering something. You too are embarrassed, but the pair of you know there’s not much you can do until you get back into a proper town or village where there’s supplies. You simply try to ignore the fact that they aren’t wearing anything, getting breakfast and such prepped for the morning. You even ask them what they’d like to eat; maybe you try to go out hunting for some meat, but they cry out for you. They don’t want to be left alone in case the bandits find them. You agree and give them what little preserved foods you have from your travel sachel. They take it gratefully, though you have to help them eat since their hands are bound behind their back. Every time you feel their wet tongue against your palm, or their stomach against you, you feel your face heat up. Even if your f/o is stoic and cold, or stubborn, they still blush at you being so close to them when they are so exposed. You help clean their wounds as well, taking them to the river where they can try and wash up. Depending on how much help they need or if they trust you, you gently use your hands to wash off the dirt and cuts on various parts of their body. They might make pained noises in protest—at least that’s what you assume they are—and you feel your heart break. It’s not much, their bruises still cover their body but at least they aren’t covered in so much dirt. After it’s done, you can feel something press against your body, before they quickly turn away from you and mumble something about needing to be alone behind a tree. You assume they have to relieve themselves so you let them go, staying close by but not enough to intrude on their privacy. When they come back, their face is flushed red and parts of them are shaking. You check if they are sick, but they shake their head no, and tell you that they feel fine—certainly better than they were before!

You attempt to cut their bonds again, but find you cannot, and give up after nearly slashing their wrist, apologizing horribly. They only sigh, lamenting the fact before, suggesting that maybe the pair of you get a move on. You agree, getting rid of any traces of your having been there, before you lead them out of the cave. You carefully lead them towards a path you know will eventually lead to civilization, making sure to protect them from any hazards or helping them do things they cannot in their current state. (Think like Yorda from ICO; going across gaps, jumping ledges climbing things etc) They depend on you, either complaing the whole way because they are a brat, want your full attention on them or taking it stoically. Getting food for them, making sure they don’t get hurt anymore, keeping them warm with your body heat, and hiding them from bandit patrols that pass by if they are still looking for you. Even just talking to them in general and learning about them is a good way of distracting the both of you. And talk you do, and you find you do like them despite their status or if they started out by being cold and distrusting towards you.

Finally, you reach some town or village of a sort. Your f/o immediately cowers behind you, wanting to preserve their modesty from prying eyes. You do your best to help them; part of you jealous and angry that anyone else dares to look at them while in they are this state. It feels like their taking advantage of f/o’s vulnerability to sate their own horrible desires. You quickly usher them away from prying eyes, helping them buy and put on several pairs of clothing using your own personal funds. They might complain about how drab they are, or some such compared to their usual finery, but they are grateful to finally be wearing clothes again. They might tease you about it; joking that you probably liked seeing them like that. Whether you deny it or shamelessly say yes is up to you. You finally also get a blacksmith or maybe local mage to look at their bonds, which were impossible for you to break even with your best weapons and dismiss them easily. Your f/o is more or less free now, and the first thing they do is either wrap you in a grateful hug or quietly thank you, depending on the type of person they are.

Yet, seeing as they’re still possibly wanted, they stick with you for a while longer. The pair of you are tired; and you both want a hot meal and bath before sleeping in a real bed. So you go to the nearest inn or tavern, renting out a room for the night. The pair of you eat, your f/o and even yourself scarfing down the first warm meal they haven’t been allowed to eat in weeks. You get a room with two beds, but find your f/o has moved one of them over to make one large bed. If you ask them about it, they scoff and say they’re not used to sleeping in such a small space. While taking a bath, they curiously ask if you’d like to join them; after all, you’ve helped them several times before. Even if you decline, they still want you by the doorway to keep watch and talk to while they are bathing. Finally, the two of you sleep, your f/o not even bothering to hide that they need to cuddle you. Now. Your mere presence is a huge comfort for them, helping them sleep, and they tell you this. You’ve become such a great friend and possibly even more in the past week or so, though they are scared to tell you. What if you don’t like them back? What if you thought they were needy or too demanding with their requests? Or pathetic for being reduced to such a state despite their royal nature and pedigree?

I can’t write anymore atm. Sorry but it’s a cliffhanger for now.

#submission #f/o imagines #selfship #its definitely worth the read #suggestive

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justjessame · 3 years

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Silence Chapter 8

The silence, so rare when Negan was present, blanketed the cabin. Only the flicker and crackle of the fire he’d started before I’d arrived broke it. I waited him out, letting him collect himself, his thoughts, and lose himself in his memories. He held me tight the entire time, and I wondered if he really remembered who I was, or that I was even alive and human. Or if I’d taken on a surreal tint of inanimate human shaped teddy bear?

Negan’s story, while so far removed from my own, caused the memory of the call alerting me that all was NOT right in my world so very long ago. My grandma asking when the last time I’d talked to my daddy, then more troubling asking for my permission to breach the privacy of our home, a privacy my dad had held so tightly guarded that I knew something terrible must have happened.

When the professional who’s been leading his patients away from the darkness threatening to swallow them whole for years and years finally gives in to his own darkness, what do those same patients take away from that? The ruckus, as my grandma muttered under her breath when I came home, would be horrendous. She worried more about the ripples, rumors, and rude comments that might come flying her way in the aftermath of my father finally giving in to the pull he’d felt to join my momma from the day she’d left her mortal shell giving me life. Me? I felt incredible guilt that he’d held on so tightly only for me. That he could have ended his suffering and been at peace so much sooner, or better still he could have talked to a version of himself and found a peace that kept him alive and pushed him into the light, with a promise of the reward he’d yearned for once he’d lived long and happily.

So lost in my own morose memories and the quiet that I’d once found comfort in, I didn’t notice dawn creeping up on us. The fire was dying, the day breaking cool and brisk, and I hadn’t slept a wink. From the groan that Negan released, I wondered if he’d managed any rest either.

“I want to go find her,” muffled, quiet still, his words fluttered my hair while his arms were still clutched around me like I’d disappear if he let go of me. “You touched my scar the first time you let me strip down full monty,” a hint of humor, but the pain from his burden was heavily coating it. “She’s where I got it.” He wasn’t making a hell of a lot of sense, but we were sleep deprived and full of painful nostalgia. “Will you come with me, Elara?” His face was pressed into the back of my head, the words pleading, and I sighed.

“Of course,” I had to agree, but I had to also wonder at what price was all this coming at? And at what point would I finally feel the cost was too high?

A tree on a slight hill is where Negan leads me, shovel in one hand, my fingers linked with his holding him tethered to the present in the other. He releases me only when he realizes he cannot dig without doing so, reluctant, eyes looking far more haunted than I care to consider he does and I step back, but he asks that I stay close to the tree.

“It’s safer,” he promises, but whether it’s a promise to me or himself, I can’t say.

Negan digs like a dog who forgot where he buried his bone, and he mutters about being told that she’d been left out here, where they’d discarded her like garbage. A man on a mission, fevered, but purposeful. Just when I think that perhaps, with the approach of one of the unlucky former freaks that he’d so charismatically joined, he’s admitted defeat he pulls something free from the soil.

A small part of me fears bones, or some other proof that the person who gave him his scar had gone further and truly destroyed Negan and everything he loved, another person named Lucille, but no. I couldn’t have been further from the truth. I would have made a comment or snorted, but while Negan was studying his ‘girl’ reverently, the groaning and snapping Whisperer was growing closer and before I could protect him, he reacted and Lucille took the brunt of the blow, even as she saved his life. Again.

We were back in the cabin, the fire crackling and bright, but I was sitting alone in the rocking chair while Negan cremated Lucille and said his final goodbyes.

As he had his moment, I had my journal on my lap and I wrote, since I had neglected it while I worked among the people who Negan wanted so badly to belong to. I’d lost track of the days, and that was far more annoying that I cared to think about. I tried to count back, the nights and days weren’t so similar that I should be able to make an educated guess.

I worked, and then my pen met paper, but instead of the normal stream of consciousness, I found myself asking more questions than I’d allowed before. Questions about people I hadn’t allowed myself to think about since the world seemed to collapse in on itself. Things I dared not think about, unless I wanted to feel the same crushing sadness that I’ve felt over the years, the same feeling that there wasn’t a fate or hope that made any of it worth it.

Why bother with communities and connections when at the end of the day, it all goes to shit and we’re all going to end up either truly dead or walking around trying to eat the ones who aren’t dead yet?

I didn’t notice when Negan finished his memorial service. I wasn’t really THERE when he came closer and his shadow fell over the chair. Too busy in my own thoughts and the urge to move, to pack up and GO again was growing in me like a gnawing need.

“Hey,” his voice, still so quiet didn’t register, not at first. He told me later that he’d said my name, called ‘hey’ more times than he cared to count, and finally had to touch my shoulder. “Elara, let’s head out.”

Moving sounded perfect, so I was up with my pack on and my bow and quiver ready before Negan could wrap his mind around my movements. He grabbed only the minimum, which should have warned me about our destination, but the nomad in me just wanted to go, damn the ending.

As we walked, Negan reached for my hand and I twitched, moving to grab a loose and low branch or pick a berry, dodging the contact. Movement, forward, and silence that’s what I needed now. And by some miracle he managed to give all three to me, at first. My sense of direction engaged soon enough to realize we were heading back.

“I’m not giving up, Elara,” he saw the shift in me, subtle or not. “Come back with me, we still have your list,” a teasing tone still laced with worry, but less pain.

The mention of my list caused a small flutter deep down inside of me, but then a flare of the night before and the community that banished him to that - with me along simply because of association. This is what people did, and have always done. It’s what my own grandmother expected when my dad committed suicide after all.

Negan stopped moving and so did I. Facing one another, not far from Alexandria, he was eyeing me like I was a scared animal. “What’s changed?”

“Why were you really banished?” Damn my curiosity, but there had to be more.

His eyes were locked on mine. “I killed Maggie’s husband while she was pregnant, in front of her.” I swallowed hard, waiting because there had to be more. “She - The sentence, when I was imprisoned, was that I’d be in my cell for the rest of my life. I’m not.”

“So she wants you dead.” He nodded. “Is that all?”

“It’s what I figure the real reason is, but -” he shook his head. “Lydia’s been treated like shit by these people, Elara. And I caught three assholes going after her and -” he sighed. “One died, so of course, I’m a murderer.”

“Just looking for a reason to get you out of sight out of mind?” Now that we were face to face, out of the darkness of the cabin, with the trees and sunshine around us, I wasn’t quite as flight focused. “And what am I in this mess?”

Negan took a step closer, just one and it was small. “Elara, just be beside me?” A plea, not a demand, but almost begging. “I have no one. Not a single person who is beside me, but you don’t look at me like -”

I moved closer to him and sighed. “Like you’re Negan? Just Negan?” I shook my head and let my cheek meet his chest as he opened his arms for me. “Don’t get us both killed? Please?”

Negan’s soft chuckle ruffled my hair as his arms wrapped around me. “No promises, Elara.”

“Great,” I muttered, leaning my head back so I could look up at him. “This is why I’m NOT a joiner.”

#negan x ofc #the walking dead #alternative universe #mention of suicide

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