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readychilledwine · 8 months

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Bound by Fate - part 3

Summary - Kaylee's life has been filled with training. But as her mate is left with no choice but to distance himself, it allows another connection to form.

Warning - none really? At least I don't think so? There's fire at the end?

A/n- you know that one song from lion king? Reflections of Mufasa? All I can hear at a certain point in this part is that dramatic build and crescendo that starts around 3:55 mins into the song. Hopefully the writing shows that.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Kaylee was panting, her hands on her knees, and sweat dripping from every inch of skin. Despite the two-piece cropped tank top and leggings Cassian had her training in, she was still so hot.

He handed her water his own sweat making his muscled forearm glitter in the sunlight. "You're doing great, Kaylee. The perfect little partner for me to spar with right now." She looked at his beaming smile, a brow raised, before sticking out her tongue and making the male laugh. "We're done for today, but Rhys and Amren will be coming to work on magic with you." Kaylee looked at Cassian, her brows raised, waiting for the information she secretly knew was coming.

Cassian sighed before continuing. "Azriel is still holed up with Nesta and Elain at the House of Wind. He's the only one Elain will respond to. I'm sorry, Kaylee. I understand your frustration." She knew Cassian did just based on the distant look in his eyes.

It had been two weeks since they discovered Elain would only speak or allow Azriel near her. It drove the new feral part of Kaylee's mind and soul to madness when he'd come to bed, reeking of Elain's soft floral scent. He would comfort Kaylee however he could those first few days, but at the start of the second week, a switch had flipped. Az stopped sleeping with Kaylee. He stopped eating lunch with her at the Riverhouse. He stopped sending his shadows to spend time with her.

Kaylee had never been a jealous person before this. She had never once questioned her self worth or value, but this had her wondering why her mate wouldn't spend time with her, why he actively avoided her, when she stopped being enough for him.

A hand on her shoulder ripped her from the void she was allowing herself to fall into. "Stop doing that to yourself," a soft voice said. "He misses you too. She just-" Rhysand paused to turn Kaylee to look at him. "Elain only eats when Azriel is there, and therefore Nesta will eat. I know it hurts, little bee. I am sorry." Cassian muttered an inaudible phrase before kissing Kaylee's forehead and moving inside. "Take a bath and a nap, Cass. It's an order." Cassian lifted a single finger over his shoulder as he moved inside.

Rhysand crossed his arms over the black t-shirt he was wearing. He was dressed casually today, indicating to Kaylee they were heading into the forest. "Once she is stable, Kaylee. He will be comfortable coming home." He offered her his arm. "Amren is already in the clearing we will be using." She took his arm, closing her eyes tightly as he winnowed her away.

They had left Kaylee in the center of the clearing meditating. She was acutely aware of every sound around her. From the rushing water in the creek, to every soft scurry of small rodents around her, Kaylee heard it all.

Even with her eyes closed, she felt as though she was seeing clearly. She was watching the forest move past her slowly from higher than she had ever stood. Strong legs carried what felt like her body. A stable mind moved her without thinking about it's path. She watched as hooved feet moved into a crystal blue lake, enjoying the feeling of the cool water on warm legs.

Two heart beats became one as Kaylee tapped further into that feeling. She focused solely on that rhythm beating into her own chest until it overtook every sense she had left.

And then, to Rhysand and Amren's shock and horror, Kaylee disappeared.

Rhysand ran the clearing, searching in the air for any signs of her, before landing and looked at Amren. "Did she just shatter the shield we had in place?"

Amren smirked, her voice light and airy. "She did. I told you she would. You didn't listen. Idiot."

Rhys immediately called for Cassian and Azriel, cursing himself loudly as Amren smirked and began to walk along the forest line, watching for any indication of the young sister.

While Rhys was too lost in panic causing him to only look for obvious signs, Amren had predicted this day's ago when Kaylee's power first tried to tap into her own being, and then Rhysand's beast form, only to have both of them turn her away. And this was confirmation to one clear thing to Amren, their beasts only turned them away because sweet Kaylee was not strong enough, yet.

Her silver eyes locked on several butterflies and bees, dancing together, twirling together, and flying into the same direction deep into the trees.

Azriel appeared first, his face exhausted from lack of sleep. "What happened?"

Cassian landed at the same with a loud thud, a brow raised at Rhysand. "It happened, didn't it?"

The High Lord nodded slowly before turning to Azriel to explain. "Amren and I have been working with Kaylee to distract her. She started almost tapping into the essence of an animal in the forest after she unknowingly attempted to tap into my beast form."

Rhysand held his hand to Azriel as the shadowsinger immediately began to try to speak. The sun had begun to set, and finding Kaylee was going to be impossible in the dark. "It was almost as if her powers made it so she and this animal could become one being, one mind, one body, one soul."

Rhysand paused. "Yesterday things came to a head. She almost tapped into it fully, but she could not sync something. She became frustrated and we could not figure out why, and she could not express why. Armen suggested quiet meditation today instead of us guiding her, and we learned today what it was. She needed to sync their hearts. As soon as she did, she disappeared. I could not tell what she was linking with before it happened, though."

Azriel felt anger setting in slowly and his shadows immediately left him to search for his mate. "So my mate with powers we do not understand is somewhere in the forest with Gods knows what? Why did no one tell me this was starting? I should have been here! I should have been with her! If you had not ordered me to take care of Elain, I could have been here."

Rhysand wanted to answer but he was interrupted as Amren whistled and pointed up and then to the ground. "The creatures are all heading the same direction." The ancient being began to slowly follow their path. "Are you idiots coming or are you just going to stand there with each other's dicks in your hands?"

They trekked for what Azriel's heart felt like was hours. Every snap of a twig, rustle of leaves, and song of a bird had him on edge.

His Kaylee, his sweet defenseless Kaylee, was somewhere in this forest, a forest he, Cassian, and Rhysand rarely even entered because of the dangers that lay in it. Not even the trees themselves in this forest could be trusted. They almost moved with minds of their own at times, trapping fae within the hallowed ground that these woods have become. It was filled with wildlife that had a taste for blood, lower fae that enjoyed harming others, and countless predators. This was not a safe place for his mate who had hardly begun to use her magic and hardly knew how to fight. Azriel had already made up his mind. If anything happened to Kaylee while she was alone out here, he'd kill Rhysand, and based off the look his brother had just shot him, the High Lord knew that.

Amren was far ahead of them. Watching closely as each bird flew further and further into the heavy bush. She had no choice but to believe they would lead her to the High Lady's youngest sister. After another few miles, she finally paused, stopping them on the edge of another clearing that surrounded a quiet lake.

They were all surrounded by countless animals who seemed to be watching with anxiety and anticipation. Rhysand moved to step closer for the ancient being to turn and growl slightly. "Not a single step closer, boy," her voice was hushed and tight.

There centered in the lake, her long blonde hair completely loose from the tie she previously had it in and blowing gently in the breeze was Kaylee.

She was waist deep into the blue waters, the sunshine was kissing every inch of her skin in golden light. It was as if she was radiating, as if she was almost glittering in her power. It was intoxicating for all of them. Seeing her like this had a small smirk forming on Cassian's face, it had Rhysand's breath hitched in his throat as worry and pride set in, it had Amren feeling her own soul almost buzzing, and something primal and deep in Azriel began to stir, something he hadn't even realized was there until now.

The sight was beautiful, but it was what stood before Kaylee that had Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys on edge. A great creature stood in front of her. It's head lifted in pride and dignity as it looked down at her form.

It towered before her on long sturdy legs lean with muscle, its dark red coat shone with health. It was at least triple her size and could easily harm her if it had wanted to. she barely reached its cream underbelly. The beast released a loud call, making the other animals all seem to flutter with joy. Itss antlers were twisted and numerous. Had they been in Autumn, this would have been a prized buck hunted for sport and hung above a mantle. Here, in its domain, though, it was clear this beast was the King of this forest, and on his head did not sit horns, but a crown.

It commanded respect, and clearly was testing Kaylee to see if she would offer it. Kaylee's right hand slowly raised, and she held it in the air, waiting for the red stag to welcome her touch, allowing it to make a choice. She would not force the being to her, but instead let it decide.

Not a single word came from the fae or animals as the King studied her, evaluating if Kaylee was indeed worthy for him in all of her glowing power. Azriel almost laughed as Amren's hand gripped Rhysand's wrist almost anxiously until Cassian's hand found his, gripping it tightly as well in support and worry.

In minutes that felt like hours, the great antlered animal began to move its head lower to Kaylee, and his decision was made as he put his long nose to Kaylee's palm.

Unknowingly to the four of them, the beast sent Kaylee a single message in the bond that was beginning to form between them. You are enough, little one.

Light came between the two as her skin made contact with his fur. It was white and almost blinding screaming of innocence, of untapped potential. It was warm, welcoming, but fierce in its own right.

"Beast tamer," Amren finally said slowly. "Kaylee is the Cauldron and Mother's beast tamer."

The two beings began to nuzzle each other closer, and Kaylee's forehead came to rest on the King's.

Azriel would have given the world to frame this moment. His mate shining as her powers were finally acknowledged and known. The happiness radiating from her soul. The tranquility between her and this monstrous animal was almost deafening.

His Kaylee, his honeybee, blessed with the powers long lost to the Cauldron.

And in turn, his Kaylee, his mate, cursed by the Mother with powers so ancient they had not been seen since the Gods of old roamed the lands.

Kaylee felt warm wet tears streaming down her face as the stag released another loud call, causing the other animals around them to begin to cry and call in celebration.

It is time to step into your power and responsibility. A deep voice rang into her soul. I am glad to be your first companion on this journey, Kaylee. Now go to your mate. He is terrified.

Kaylee turned around, seeing Amren and Rhysand smirking behind her. Cassian was wearing a beaming smile as he smacked a hand to a stunned Azriel's shoulder. The Little beings of the forest moved, creating a pathway. "Az, I made a new friend."

Azriel moved forward. Stepping into the water and getting close to her. "I can see that, my heart." He moved closer again slowly. "Am I allowed to come get you?"

The king, in response, pushed gently on Kaylee's back, throwing her into Azriel's arms. I will be in the clearing you normally train in tomorrow. He moved with another call, causing the animals to return to their normal lives.

Azriel held Kaylee tightly as they flew back home. Amren had opted to fly with Rhysand ahead of them, looking back at the two of them and Cassian.

Once they landed at the Riverhouse, Azriel did not give Rhysand and Amren a chance to ambush his mate and carried her up the stairs to her room.

He slept in her bed that night, his arms locked tight around her, wings cocooning them in. He fell into a deep sleep, accompanied by dreams of them living in a cabin near that clearing with three small children and countless animals.

Meanwhile, Kaylee's dream was filled with darkness, the only light source coming from the lit torch she was holding. Her footsteps were the only thing she could hear aside from deep, heavy breaths and her own humming.

A huge creature with scaled skin was suddenly looking at Kaylee with one of its black eyes. It roared loudly, teeth bared to her before turning its large head and neck up. Fire erupted along the ceiling, allowing Kaylee to finally see its gargantuan body, rows of jagged sharp teeth, and massive wings. Kaylee woke up screaming in terror for Azriel. Her heart raced as she sat in silence, hand clutched to her chest, breath coming out in uneven shakes.

Azriel was immediately up, comforting his mate as Rhys ran into the room, his eyes wide in disbelief and locked on Kaylee. The high lord and shadowsinger held eye contact. "Kaylee," Rhysand began slowly. "Did you feel a call before you ended up in that cave? Did it feel similar to the buck?" She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart. "Kaylee, look at me. I need you to make sure you do not sync with what you just saw until we have a better understanding of your powers and more control. Bond with it in your dreams, speak with it, but you do NOT sync with it. Am I understood?"

The young sister just nodded. Azriel looked between his brother and his mate before gently touching Kaylee's cheek and moving her head to face him. "Baby, what did you see?"

Kaylee's eyes met Azriel's, they were filled with fear and tears causing his heart to clench. "A dragon." Kaylee took another still deep breath. "I saw a dragon."

Bound by Fate taglist:

@impossibelle @luvmoo @wallacewillow0773638 @nightless @cat-or-kitten @knmendiola

@holb32 @mis-lil-red

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel multipart fic #multi part fic

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cherryredstars · 4 months

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“I’ve always seen this in you, ever since you were a little girl — this hunger to love other people into their highest selves and it’s what has made me irreversibly and just so forever in love with you.” ― Jennifer Elisabeth

WC: 5K

It’s raining. It always seems to be raining in Great Britain.

Perhaps it is because this small island yearns to be bigger than it actually is. It craves to be all consuming. To trick the eye into believing that past all the rain and bitter cold, there is something greater on the horizon. It wants to claim every corner of the mind, beating rain to the ground so it can echo off of dingy alleyways and broken cobblestone. This island, so powerful despite its size, tries to consume everyone in it through a single action. Hear me, it whistles, See me!

The droplets are fat and heavy, dampening and darkening his linen clothing. It causes ripples to form in the puddle Simon is playing in. The water is murky and dirty, filling a pothole in the street. It fills and fills until it overflows and spreads through the street. It’s in an alleyway next to his broken down house. Fighting through the beating rain, he can hear their yelling through the closed door. He pretends he can’t hear it, instead listening to the sound of hooves on stone as a carriage goes by. It makes him scrunch his nose up at his wavering reflection. His house, not home, is located near the England ports. It’s a gorgeous place, torturous in its beauty. Everyday it calls to him, waves lapping at the rocky shore and beckoning him to follow them as they recede. It taunts him with a freedom that makes his throat hunger for salted water. It taunts him with something he can never have. He pretends not to hear it calling. Instead, he focuses on other things the port can offer. It’s rowdy around the area with all the sailors and merchants loading and unloading merchandise. It’s a good place to steal from crates that aren’t looked after properly.

Today is not one of those days made for stealing. The weather makes sailors uneasy, even on land. It makes merchants irritated. The ground is too slick with water to make a silent and efficient getaway after raiding. There are too many important people on the port today in a bad mood that he doesn’t feel like toying with. On days like this, the punishment for stealing is tenfold. Today is one of those days where you enjoy being a boy. Today is the type of day that you can afford to ignore life. Simon stares down into the water, causing ripples of his own as he swirls his finger through it. His knees hurt slightly from being crouched down for so long, but he prefers it to the sound of his mother and father fighting. He would rather sit out in the pouring rain with creaky knees than sprawled on the floor as his father beats him senseless for walking too loudly. Simon sniffles and he lets out a cough that he muffles with the sleeve of his shirt. Today is one of the only days he can be a boy and ignore life.

Through the port chatter and ruckus, small steps on stone seem to approach. The sound of short heels clicking on cobblestone, muffled only slightly by rain. Simon keeps his head towards the puddle, but his eyes glide to the side. He only sees something blue and puffy fill his view. Full of fabric and lace and embroidery and layers. Simon’s face scrunches up again and his eyes fall back to the puddle. In the reflection, he watches a frilly sleeve extend and hold an overly fancy umbrella over his head. His puddle stops rippling. He looks up as the rain stops falling onto him, turning to look at the girl standing next to him. She’s young, maybe a year or two younger than he is. She looks silly, he thinks. She’s overflowing with layers of fabric until they spill on all sides of her. It makes him slightly furious. His mother can barely afford to buy a new petticoat, repairing the rips and tears with scrap fabric she finds around the house. Most of those scraps were stolen by Simon from the port and planted around the house for his mother to find. But here is this snotty girl, wearing enough fabric to make ten new dresses for his mother. He wants to take her umbrella and break it in front of her face. Her tears can be the rain.

“You shouldn’t play in the rain, you’ll get sick,” the girl says. Her voice is light and sweet. It doesn’t sound hoarse like his mother's yelling. It sounds as smooth as pearls and as calming as waves.

It’s the worst sound ever.

Simon ignores her, rolling his eyes and looking away. They sit in silence and Simon hopes she goes away. Even through the thick scent of rain and ocean, he can smell her perfume. It smells like candy and sea salt. It’s probably more expensive than her dress and umbrella and his house combined. Probably imported from some fancy place in France that he’ll never go to or know how to pronounce. Schooling is expensive and there isn’t any time between stealing from the ports and doing odd jobs around town to help out his parents. Not that she would know what that’s like. She probably owns the bloody ports.

She, in fact, does not leave. Instead, she crouches down beside him. The fabric bunches and bloats around her, the ends falling into the puddle. The light blue of her dress turns into a deep cyan, and the lace at the very tips grow heavy and turn a brownish gray from the dirt in the water. Later, when she goes home, her mother will punish her for soiling such a nice dress. She will throw it out and have another one made. The two of them will forget the dress existed in the first place. But for now, she doesn't care. He can see it on her face more clearly through the puddle, even with the slight distortion. She’s pretty. Face round with childhood and soft from easy living. Her eyes are doe-like, and they shine even in the dreary weather. There is a flush to her cheeks from fulfilling meals and there is a sense of maturity in her that is of the taught variety. She looks like a living doll. How ugly.

“You shouldn’t kneel on the ground, it’s dirty and my father says it's improper.”

“But you’re kneeling on the ground, aren’t you?” Simon shoots back.

At that, the girl scrunches her button nose. She shifts her hold on the umbrella, looking at her reflection in thought before nodding, “I suppose so.”

It’s quiet again between the two, and they stare at the unmoving water. Simon is overly aware of the smudge of dirt on the apple of his cheek, and his hand twitches to rub at it. His face is thinner than most, a sign of slight malnourishment. Where she is soft and round, he is bony and sharp. He does not look unhealthy, but it is obvious that he lives off a few pence. He can feel his cheeks warm and he’s tempted to push her into the puddle so they both look silly.

Simon begins to get up, finding it about time to go back inside to hide away. He is quickly reminded of his reasons for staying outside when shattering glass sounds from his house and the screaming gets louder. He’s quick to drop back to his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees. The girl tries to copy him as best as she can, her free arm trying to press her dress to her and she rests the side of her cheek on the fabric.

“Are those your parents? They’re quite loud,” she comments.

Simon shrugs, turning his head to rest his cheek on his knee too and stares at her. “And you’re quite nosy.”

The girl slowly smiles like it's an inside joke, and Simon thinks it's simultaneously the most prettiest and ugliest thing he has ever seen. “Your dress makes you look like a doll.”

The girl looks down at her dress, her hand smoothing out the fabric. “Thank you.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Oh.”

The girl blinks down at her dress, looking back at the reflections. Simon continues to watch her, and a sort of panic seizes his chest when she begins to get up. Simon gets up too, an apology on the tip of his tongue as she looks back towards the opening of the alley. But before he can say anything, a masculine voice calls. The girl sighs heavily from her nose as she huffs with a scrunched face. Her hand goes back to straightening out her dress and Simon watches silently. Once she is sorted out, she begins to turn, the man’s voice calling once again. But before she fully leaves, she turns back to Simon. Her smile is gentle as she hands him her umbrella, rain flattening her hair and water melting into her dress.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be taking what you said earlier as a compliment.”

Simon’s throat is dry as he watches her, his hand tightening on the end of the umbrella. She waits for a response, her smile dimming slightly when he doesn’t say anything. She finally turns away again when an angry shout of, what he assumes is her name, is shouted by the same man. She turns to look again after squeezing his wrist.

“It was very nice to meet you!” She calls back to him as she rushes out of the alley, turning the corner and disappearing.

Simon continues to stand there, his thumb stroking the handle in a daze. The sounds of hooves start again, rushing down the road. The carriage passes the alleyway again, and Simon’s eyes track the vehicle. Through the window, the girl and him make eye contact for a brief moment and then she is gone.

When Simon finally goes back inside, he cuts up the girl’s umbrella and hides the scraps of fabric around the house. The next day, he takes the whalebones to the market in exchange for a single shilling.

____________________

This time, the dress is lavender. There are still too many layers and too much lace. She still looks pretty and she still looks like a doll. She has brought the sun with her.

She’s taller now, but Simon has grown in the past year too. Now he stands a foot, and then some, above her. He will continue to grow in the next few days as he hits his growth spurt. Though, her height is not the only thing that has changed. She’s more refined too. Her dress layers are straightened to stack neatly over each other. Her corset is set tight and she stands with her shoulders pulled back. A shiny pendant sits between her collarbones and jewels hang from her ears. A high class lady who knows she is money itself. A stark contrast to the working boy appearance that Simon holds. His skin is always covered in a bit of dirt and rough calluses are beginning to cover the pad of his fingers. His shins are teased with cool air and his shirt is too tight under his arms.

The coachman helps her down from the carriage, and she looks around the port until her eyes land on Simon. Her face lights in recognition, and she stares at him even as her father speaks to her. She nods along to what he has to say numbly, and she rushes to Simon the minute her father turns his back to her. Simon sits on the crumbling steps to his house silently, his eyes staring as intently at her as she is at him. She stops before him, a wide smile on her face. Simon can feel his face twitch slightly, but he looks indifferent for the most part.

“Your parents are quiet today.”

All of England seems quiet today. But that isn’t without reason. Simon leans back on his hands, looking over his shoulder at the door. “They’re both at work right now.”

She nods in understanding, hands fisting the sides of her dress as she rocks back on her heels. She does not really understand, but she will pretend to. “May I sit with you?”

Simon hums dismissively, moving over for her. She walks up the steps slowly, lifting the ends of her dress so she doesn't trip on it. Even for her age, she carries a sort of grace that is fascinating to watch. As she sits, she fans out her dress in a way that still covers her legs, but is strategically placed to show off the abstract embroidery that announces its wealth. It’s a practiced stance. Simon scoots over a little more, scared to touch it and dirty it with his hands. She smells like flowers and salt. He smells like dirt and factory smoke. She smells like Nature and he smells like Industrialization. They do not belong in the same world.

She startles him slightly when she starts pawing at her dress. Her face is scrunched up, patting at the fabric until her eyes light up. Her hand digs into its layers, rustling as the under coats crinkle. When her hands appear, she produces a simple cloth bag tied in a knot at the top. Her slim fingers undo it with minimum struggle, laying it across her lap until it spreads open. Inside there are biscuits. The fancy kind with sticky jams and sweet creams in indented centers. They’re nothing like the hard, cracker-like type that his mother brings home on rare occasions or he steals at the market. She moves her knees, bringing the biscuits closer to him. The soft, shiny silk of her dress skims his shins and Simon wants to run away. Instead, he fists the material of his trousers.

She picks one up for herself, humming when the soft custard melts in her mouth. She looks at Simon expectedly, watching him through her chewing. Her head tilts at him, widening as she apologizes. It makes Simon’s head spin, watching her place the biscuit down and swipe her hands together to clear it of the soft dust coating her fingertips. Her finger hovers over the selection of treats, picking one up with utmost care.

“I’m so sorry, that was very rude of me,” She mumbles, looking back up at Simon sheepishly. “It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t want to pick them up with the condition of your hands. It’s very considerate of you.”

He has no idea what she’s talking about. Considerate is not a word that blankets Simon. He should ask her to leave. Fancy treats and expensive dresses and sweet smelling perfume in tow. But he should know by now that she never leaves when he wants her too. Simon’s breath hitches when she leans in close, holding the biscuit to his mouth. He gulps down the saliva forming on his tongue, the hairs on his arm rising. Her eyelashes are long, the same colour as her hair if not darker. With her so close, he can see now that the natural flush of her cheeks are made brighter with a light dusting of powdered pink. The shine in her eyes is the most natural thing he has ever seen. He wonders if his eyes shine as bright, or if they are dark and muted. He wonders if she can see how pink his own cheeks are.

He is hesitant, looking down at the treat in her hand with contemplation. He can feel his stomach grumble, and his ears glow red when he opens his mouth slightly. The corner of his lip brushes against her fingers, and he keeps his eyes downcast even as he pulls away. His tongue licks over his lip, trying to feel the ghosting of her touch. The sweetness of the jam coats his tongue, and his eyes finally snap up to her. Her hand is still hovering next to his face, the remaining end of the biscuit waiting patiently in her hold. He leans in again, mesmerized by her eyes as she places the rest into his mouth.

“That one was orange,” She tells him, picking up another one, this time with a creme. “This one has chantilly cream. It’s from France, I believe.”

He hums dismissively, letting her feed him biscuits of various flavors. They all taste good, and Simon’s mouth feels thick from all the sweets. They smell and taste like he’d imagine her too. Like melted butter and something sweet and fruity and soft. With each new biscuit, she explains what it is he’s tasting and if it’s from somewhere foreign. He feels slightly guilty, watching her pick biscuit after biscuit without having a single one. Instead, she gives them all to him in her excitement. But then again, somewhere within Simon thinks bitterly, she probably has the money to buy crate fulls. His guilt dies fast.

When she has finished feeding him the last of the sweets, she turns to the side and dusts the crumbs to the floor. She folds the cloth into a neat and packed square, putting it back into her pocket for safe keeping. As she finishes, the calling of her name in rough syllables catches both of their attentions. Her father stands next to the carriage, a frown on his face as he looks between his daughter and a pocket watch in his hand. She gets up, brushing her dress off again and deleting any signs of improperness. If his hands were not dirty and holding onto his pants for dear life, Simon would have helped her up and walked her down the stairs. He finds himself wishing he had washed them before she came.

She turns to Simon one last time, hand coming up to brush the side of his lip again. He can feel crumbs falling, but he says nothing and watches her. He can’t even be embarrassed. Her touch is feather-like. It melts into his skin and warms it more than a raging fire could. She gives him a soft smile as she pulls away, taking a step back and in the direction of her father.

“It was nice to see you again.”

“Simon.”

“Simon,” She says with a nod, like she’s agreeing with him.

He stands up as she turns her back to him, walking to her father. Even with the distance, he can see the way her father helps her up into the carriage and leans in. Can hear even from a distance how he hisses to her, What did I tell you about feeding stray dogs? Simon’s hands ball into fists at his sides, and he turns away when her father looks at him. Simon misses the way she leans towards her father, whispering something defiant that surprises even him. Simon only turns back in time to watch as the carriage drives off and past him. When it disappears, he walks down the steps and into the alleyway next to his house.

For the first time in a while, his stomach feels full. It hurts and he feels sick to his stomach. He spends the next minutes throwing up thick, foreign creme and dry heaving. A stray dog sick in an alleyway, how fitting.

____________________

“Who's that rich girl you're always… galvaring with? The one that looks like a fancy tent.”

Simon pauses, icy cold water spilling from the outside faucet and hitting the ground. It splatters as it hits the cobble, and droplets stain his shoes a dark brown. Sometime after her visit to the docks, Simon has found that he tends to scrub himself clean. He rubs at his face until the water drips down his chin and wets the hair closest to his forehead. His hands are red and numb from his vigorous cleaning with cold water. The pad of his fingers are wrinkled, and his pants have dark streaks from where he wipes his hands dry. The nail beds of his fingers are slightly irritated from the amount of times he picks under them to rid of nonexistent dirt. He gets rewarded for his efforts to be presentable for her when she smiles at him, pushing his wet hair away from his face and commenting on how pretty the water makes his lashes look.

Simon turns to his younger brother Tommy who stares at him from the entrance of the alley. He has a make-shift kite in his hands. It’s been ripped from trees and as punishment from their father, but just like his mother’s petticoats, it has been repaired with stray fabrics. One piece of fabric is a baby blue that used to be part of an umbrella. He got the kite from Simon, as a gift for his birthday. He had made it from his own hands, grabbing twine and sticks and cloth and interlacing them to make it for Tommy. All of it was stolen from the ports.

“There is no such girl, and the word you’re looking for is galavanting, I believe.” Simon says, going back to his cleaning.

Tommy makes a face, one that clearly shows he doesn’t believe his brother and that he isn’t too happy with his brother correcting him. “You even speak like her.”

Simon sighs, turning off the faucet and wiping his hands. He turns to his brother again, walking over with a small smile. He’s quick as he grabs his brother, looping an arm around his neck to get him into a loose chokehold. Tommy instantly cries out, dropping his kite so he can grip onto his brother’s arm. He protests as Simon’s knuckles rub into his hair, creating a slight burning sensation. Simon only pauses as a carriage goes past the two of them and comes to a halt a few feet away. Tommy’s face is bloated with a pout, grumbling at his older brother as he fixes his hair. But Simon isn't paying attention to him anymore. His eyes are focused on the girl who is walking towards them.

Simon’s arm is loose around his brother’s shoulder, and Tommy takes it as a chance to shove him. Simon stumbles from the unexpected force, turning to scowl at his brother. He opens his mouth to scold him, but he stops when she reaches them. She bends down, grabbing Tommy’s kite off of the ground. The two brothers seem to pause as they watch her. She dusts the kite off gently, like it’s something precious. Her hands brush over the baby blue fabric before holding it out for his brother.

“I assume this must be yours. You have a very nice kite. Are you… Tommy… by any chance? Simon speaks very highly of you.” She asks him in that honeyed voice. Simon can see how enchanted Tommy is with her already. He assumes that she has that effect on everyone she meets.

Tommy takes the kite tentatively. It’s almost as if he’s scared she will steal it back at the last minute to destroy it infront of his face. His eyes are wide as he stares at her, and his hands clench around the sides of the kite tightly. Simon is about to nudge him to reply, but Tommy beats him to it. “Your dress looks like a big tent.”

Simon wants her carriage to run him over. Simon’s eyes widen the same time her’s do, his lips parting in disbelief. Dread fills his stomach as he stares at Tommy, but Tommy even looks shocked that he said it. Simon turns to her with a furrowed brow, face burning from Tommy’s brashness. For a second, he fears that she’ll be offended and leave. Maybe complain to her father about his brother. But then, her mouth twitches. Her shoulders rise as she tries to fight off her smile, failing as she begins to laugh. Her eyes crinkle as her hand flies to her mouth, covering the wide smile she sports. Her other arm wraps around her waist, holding her stomach. Her eyes gleam and Simon’s breath gets stuck in his throat.

“Oh my, really? On the contrary, I’ve been told my attire resembles a doll,” She replies, eyes quickly darting to Simon at her cheeky comment. Simon can feel his face burn again at the tease, and he’s quick to look away and rub the back of his neck.

Tommy looks shy as he nods, and he takes the quickest exit when one of the neighbors’ boys calls for him to join them. Tommy whispers a quick goodbye before running off. She and Simon watch as he goes, a fond smile on her face. When they’re finally alone, Simon turns to her with a bashful smile and an apology on the tip of his tongue. But she holds her hand up and smiles slightly at him, shaking her head gently as if she already knows what he was going to say. Instead, she holds her hand out, and Simon is quick to step forward. He bends his arm, and she slips hers through. It’s a routine the two of you have started to pick up. Her other hand comes to rest on the side of his arm, and the two of you walk to the port.

“He’s very funny, your brother. I can see the resemblance,” She starts nudging him slightly with a cheeky smile before adding, “in appearance and mannerisms. Very blunt the Riley family seems to be.”

Simon sighs, hanging his head as he rolls his eyes. When he looks back at her, she has a bright smile and crinkling eyes. Her hold on him tightens reassuringly for a minute, relaxing again as they reach the port. The smell of salt air is strong, and she lets go of his hand slightly to grab onto the hat she’s wearing, holding it in place as a gust of wind passes by. Simon can’t help but watch. Her hair flows behind her, playing with the wind. The front of her skirt is plastered to her legs, delicate lace and silk swaying. And her eyes- god her eyes- sparkle as she looks ahead, reflecting the waves and ships and sun. The ocean seems to be bowing before her. The waves rise to glimpse at her, before falling in a form of respect. She is enchanting.

He has never felt his heart pound so heavily.

When the wind dies down, and everything floats back to their place, she turns to him. Her hand leaves her hat, gravitating to his hair as she fixes it for him. Her touch is gentle, raking through and breaking knots painlessly as she shapes it. She hums when she’s satisfied, smiling at her handiwork before tugging him to the right where her father’s ships are anchored. She begins talking to him about a new shipment of treats her father has ordered for the manor. She makes sure to mention that his favorite biscuits, the ones with chantilly cream, were included in the shipment. She fails to mention that she specifically asked her father to order them with the intent to give them to Simon. He half-listens as she speaks, entranced by the way her tongue moves and forms the vowels in her speech. Tommy had said that he was starting to sound like her. He thinks Tommy is wrong. No one can replicate the perfect tone of her voice, but he wishes his voice sounded as soothing as hers. He hopes that she finds it to be.

By the time she steers them back to the awaiting carriage, she has the sack of biscuits in her hands and she is speaking of a slight decrease in exports to the English colonies but does not mention why. She stops them at the carriage entrance, the coachman already waiting at the door. Her father is not there yet, tidying up conversation with his head merchant. She sighs as she turns to him, handing him the bag of treats so she can fix his shirt and shoo away nonexistent dust. She gives him a soft smile as her hands rest on his chest, and he’s scared she can feel the rapid beating of his heart. He clutches the bag tighter.

“It was very nice to meet your brother today. I hope to see more of him on my future visits.” She says quietly, as if it is a secret for them to share. Simon nods wordlessly, helping her up the carriage steps. He tries to give her back the bag but she only smiles and tells him to keep it.

“I’ll see you next time, Simon.”

“Til’ next time, Doll.” He whispers back.

Simon takes a step back when he hears footsteps approaching, turning his head to see her displeased father. Simon steps further back so he can enter the carriage, but he doesn’t miss the way her father looks down his nose at him. He doesn’t miss the way her father’s eyes fall to the bag in his hands that they both know he could never afford. Nonetheless, Simon holds his stare until her father looks away, entering the carriage and sitting across from her. The coachman closes the door, turning to nod a farewell to Simon that he returns. Simon stands and watches as the carriage begins to leave, flinching slightly in surprise when Tommy comes beside him.

“Her father seems like a twat.” He comments. Tommy has never been fond of people who looked down at his admirable big brother, and Simon has never been peaceful with those who mess with his little brother.

Simon’s mouth twitches at Tommy’s words, snorting as he throws an arm around his little brother’s shoulders. “Yeah, he does, doesn’t he?”

Simon’s eyes wander to the bag in his hands, and he fumbles to open it with the awkward angle his other arm is in. But when he does get it open, he offers it down for Tommy to take one.

“Want a biscuit? They have this thing in the center called chantilly cream from France, I believe.”

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lilmajorshawty · 2 years

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Venus, Moon And Romance. 💖🎶

Moon Or Venus In Aries - Moon or Venus in The First House: The Constant Hard on.

🎶Rosalia - Pienso Tu Mira

🎶Rosalia - Di Mi Nombre

🎶Rosalia - A Pale

🎶INNA - SIn Ti

🎶Clubz - Popscuro

🎶Buscabulla - Tartaro

For these natives romance and love itself is a heated and fiery expression, an art form a means of drama to the ordinary.They run hot and can seem temperamental, in your face and entirely too good to be true in terms of their passionate and rather blunt way of expressing desire. They don’t keep you guessing with the hot and cold, rather they invite a wild fire that’ll never cease right to your front door. They crave intensity and to feel desired, more than most they become a child in love and they are deeply seeking the type of love, desire and heat that can come from a romantic entanglement. Men and Women of this placement tend to crave something a little “bad” for them, and it can be quite hard if aries is present to solely pursue the good guy. They want someone to tame them otherwise if the person is lacking in tenacity or presence they'll get eaten alive by these natives and that is when they loose interest. Even with a chart full of Libra or Cancer, Aries being present will give them that edge, and fiery raw sexual nature that seeps through the skin like molten magma. Sexually they are easy to arouse but hard to keep consistently so. The reason is that they need someone who can keep up, change pace and catch every single one of their drifts, mental jumps and physical desires that change CONSTANTLY. they can be worse than Gemini in this sense because what fascinated them a moment ago can change at a moments notice. They are ferocious lovers and can have a strong jealous streak. the thing with them is though Jealousy, anger, sadness are fleeting emotions for them, so if you continuously hurt them, you’ll see the famous Arian detachment that puts even Aquarius and Leos to shame. They are very content with one lover but can play the field like no ones business when they’re single. They are also very picky about sex, the when and the where of it matter to them when they aren’t in love. They are magnetic, independent and time never makes them see father time. The youth and passion they bring into their unions can be draining but it can also feel like a never ending merry-go- round.

“I want it to kill me, Rip me up and leave me wasted, dead, aching”

Moon Or Venus in Taurus - Moon Or Venus In the 2nd House: Everything Taboo, Above And Below

🎶Clea Vincent - Chateau Perdu

🎶Clea Vincent - Retiens Mon Desir

🎶CLIO - T’as vu

🎶Claire Laffut - Verite

🎶Claire Laffut - Nudes ft Yseult

🎶Vendredi Sur Mer - Lune Est L’Autre

For These natives there is often a underhanded beat to them. they are conventional, but the moment you snag em, tug on those heart strings they try so desperately to hide you’ll see just how intense and obsessive these bulls can be. “obsessive” isn’t used here to be derogatory rather it’s to set the tone of the type of love these natives express. They want to devour their lover, in every aspect in every moment. They soak up the sweet talks, head rubs and sensual body touching like it was a blue star. they adore the mundane and subtle aspects of a connection more than most people and because of that they are easy to read. they are choosy and cold until they decide you are worth their time but the moment they set their hooves in the ground you become the bell they wont and can’t stop dancing around. they prefer a slow courting stage in most cases, but these Women and Men tend to be lovers and can’t help get swept up by the moment. Some might start slow and then be eaten up by the passion only a short while after. They are intense, dare i say even more so than Scorpios could ever be. The reason of the stark contrast in their level of intensity derives from the fact that unlike Scorpio, Taurus has their passions so deeply tied to the senses and the world around them that they become a slave to it. They can’t turn away from their desires or passions and are often ruled by lust in many cases that gets mistaken for love. They live in a world of infatuation more than they do one ruled by “true love.” they have a tendency of giving their hearts to the devil when their are angels all around begging for their love. Sexually in a union they are gluttons and can go and go, and go. The more they grow accustomed to you or your touch the orgasms they have tend to grow in intensity. They are loyal till death but are more on the conservative side even when they are single. they value long term over something that is one night unless they are severely lacking in any foundations in their life at the time. they can be overwhelming for some relationship wise because of how “real” they can be. They don’t play around and will be demanding lovers.

“I Feel you like vibrations along my nerves, It drives me crazy but please don’t stop vibrating”

Moon or Venus In Gemini - Moon Or Venus In The Third House: The Insatiable Want, The Constant Empty.

🎶Paradis - Hemisphere

🎶Paradis - Toi Et Moi

🎶Jacques Greene - Night Service(Fort Rameau Remix)

🎶Jacques Greene - Distance

🎶Polica - Little Threads

🎶Polica - Warrior Lord

For these natives the line between romance and Complete apathy is very thin. One moment they are feeling the highs and lows of falling in love, having a crush, having a desire so intricate and tight knit that they are practically engulfed by the sensation like a drug. Yet in less than a second, a moment or a few days all of that intensity can fade, erode or seemingly exhaust its enthusiasm faster than the speed of light. The reason being is for Gemini placements romance, sex, attraction is in the head, it’s not solely dependent on the flesh. they are enthused by bodily assets like a big dick, or a nice curve, or even mayhaps a pretty smile, but it isn’t what ties the deal in for them. they prefer a dance that is littered with words spoken and unspoken. they enjoy a quiet sound to the courting stage that does not involve a heavy reliance on intimacy in the way many of us are so dependent and expectant of. Many with this placement aren’t talkers when they like someone, rather they become mouse. yet when it’s someone they feel nothing for they can dance better than anyone ever could, you might even think they’re in love with you if you didn’t already know better. Similar to Scorpio(hence why the two are inconjunct) When these natives actually feel something for you, they become very quiet, very careful and cautious and very..Dare i say ATTACHED. Now for many of us this isn’t something bad right? well for Gemini placements this is a fate worse than death. they are intensely afraid of loosing objectivity when it comes to these matters which all becomes gone with the wind the moment these women and men begin to actually cherish their moments with you. For the Gemini mooners this can mean going mute or loosing the ability to start a conversation with the person which is a complete 360 from what they originally present to you which will have you wondering if they hate you. For the Venus sisters and brothers this can mean becoming concerned, attentive but “distant” Which will contrast how open, bubbly and childlike they just were with you. For these natives attraction goes from being something lighthearted, and a time waster to something consuming and mentally absent. as lovers, once they get over the mental dead space hurdle they ARE immensely loving and and emotionally responsive, often having no qualms about expressing their love and desire of you. In fact they are some of the most vocal lovers of the zodiac. they can have moments where they seem more distant and unavailable but really this stems from the fact that no matter how you look at it you will always be dealing with more than one person when you deal with Gemini. The first decan oscillates between care free and open to, serious and pessimistic. the second decan oscillates between independent and Dependent. the third decan oscillates between childlike and bubbly to cold and emotionally distant. So always remember they can switch at any moment and knowing which twin your’re dealing with is important. Sexually they can fluctuate, they’re similar to Pisces in this regard they want sex when you want sex, they are into what you are into, the only difference for this mutable position is that if you can’t stimulate their mind, the will loose interest in the sex within a second of the foreplay. they are very hard to arouse, and if you can’t get their head in it, the sex wont happen at all.

“Demonstrations of good and bad, leave me wondering why i can’t find myself playing either side solely, i’d rather play both”

Moon or Venus in Cancer - Moon or Venus In The 4th House: If a Heart Could build A home

🎶Amanda Stenberg - Let My Baby Stay

🎶Raveena - Honey

🎶Maye - Tu

🎶Japanese Breakfast - Boyish

🎶Moonchild - The List

🎶Odie - North Face

For These Natives love and Romance can feel like a game of chasing after what doesn’t want you and being chased after what you do not like. Their intense sexuality draws people in like moths to a fly, mainly because their aura is so earthly and divinely feminine and self assured no matter if they are male or female. They are impossible to meet in the realm of emotions mainly because they keep a very thick wall between what they feel and what they “intuitively” pick up from someone. Often i’d describe them as waves of the sea that never find stillness. Finding and maintaining interest in a lover beyond the initial physical attraction can be difficult for them, this is due to their inner insecurities linked to self love.Attracting taboo and mind games is always at the forefront until they master true inner self love, as when they haven’t mastered this crucial aspect everyone that gravitates towards them are reflections of this inner hate of the self. They can have a bad girl/bad boy complex that is shrouded in the sweet and innocent disposition. Part of them is dark and intense which is a stark contrast to what they outwardly portray to the world around them. Falling n love takes years for them and even if they do happen to let you in sooner you’ll feel as though you’re only getting part of them as these natives take the Scorpio ice out to a whole new level. Family and their relationship with their family will color how intimate or lacking in intimacy they may be. If much of their childhood was restricted they’ll challenge that theme by creating tension and seeking something dark in their love unions. if they were loved and protected they will be just as parental and tender as their upbringing taught them to be. Ociliating between committed and not committed can be the case with those who possess the lower vibrations of these placements but in most cases depth, emotional intensity and complete smothering represent the expression of their love once they truly let you in. Moodiness and emotional black outs are common as well especially the closer you get to them. They can seem lighthearted, fun and deeply detached one moment and then jealous, agitated and closed the next moment. They tend to be very sexual but can seem asexual most times due to how important emotional standings are prior to having sex can be for them. They need “Emotional Understanding” for sex to really mean anything to them which is often why sexualizing their “curves” or “body” is the quickest way to turn them off. These natives are intense and they can put Scorpios to shame a million times over so if you don’t have your emotions together be very aware they will tear that shit out of you.

“I wanted to feel you like the wind on my skin, and the welting nerves as i form tears”

Moon Or Venus In Leo - Moon Or Venus In The 5th house: If It’s Not Fire Or Desire

🎶Kaytranda - 10%

🎶Kaytranda - Do It

🎶 Ravyn Lenae - Sticky

🎶Kelela - LMK

🎶Lion Babe - Treat Me Like Fire

🎶Lion Babe - Hourglass Ft. Disclosure

Full Fledged Leo moon and venus/in the 5th housers tend to exude this powerful force, and energy that feels angelic yet ferocious like that of a fallen angel. Love can be exhilarating but Painful. For them love is like the forbidden fruit and one they tend to be frightened of eating. They can boist their self love, or self confidence and self reliance but it’s all a farce to protect themselves from the scariest part of life, the part one cannot control no matter how brightly they try to shrug it off. This Unknown killer of Leo’s is love. They can be a slave to it, no matter how intense they can be with the rest of life that is the only sphere of their life they have no counter too. They approach love with a level of heaviness, as if you where caught in a house fire. They literally devour their lovers, body and soul. There is no, “Half” when it comes to romance, they need it in bulk and by the trillions and even the slightest smell of insincerity or distraction in your tone will have them out of love faster than water droplets have time to hit the floor during a storm. Ultimatums is their love language and they constantly pose them as they often times find their romances or lovers failing to meet their incredibly high love demands. On it’s own this isn’t bad but they can often times attract power plays and intense dire combatants in their love unions that makes things incredibly unstable and tense. Now in many cases these natives are attracted to this sort of fiery back and forth but it can at times put them in grave danger if their appetite to be challenged isn’t dealt with in youth. The Lion spirit is very present in their actions and they tend to have their libidos sky rocket when they are in love as almost all of their instincts are telling them to preform, entice and seduce their lovers. They are insanely giving and “other” centered but despite this they can be A LOT to handle due to how much of “you” they want. For these natives they are independent and they expect this same ability to be “alone” from you, though if this is overdone they can loose interest. similarly to cats they like to be seduced and be left guessing,so if they grow to expect certain behavior from you they’ll grow bored, yet if you change the rules too much they’ll grow paranoid at you. A nice balance of wanting them, yet having outside things to do is healthy as it gives them time to miss you but also time to appreciate you being away. Chaos is the best way to describe their love style, as it can feel like being trapped in a volcanic explosion 25/8 and don’t even think about asserting dominance without being challenged, the men and women with this placement will dig your grave before listening to a single demand you give them. SEX and INTIMACY are intense needs for these natives once they let you in and this gets pretty exhausting if you aren’t a person who is normally used to so much “contact” that being said these natives are Loyal almost to a fault and don’t know when enough is enough but trust me if taken for granted too long you’ll notice their disappearance as it will feel like having all the fire, passion leave your body. it could be compared as too having the sun itself turn it’s back on you.

“The idea was to feel like i was already crowned, the flowers, and gold, the rosemary and wine, the inescapable desire, to feel totally engulfed by impulsive passion”

Moon Or Venus Virgo - Moon Or Venus In The 6th House: Something To be Fixed, Something Always Broken.

🎶Brent Faiyaz - Skyline

🎶 Brent Faiyaz - rehab

🎶Brent Faiyaz - Insecure

🎶FKA Twigs - Thousand Eyes

🎶FKA Twigs - Cellophane

🎶FKA Twigs - Hows That

These natives are well known for their melancholic, rather dreary expression. they exude innocents and sensitivity yet something deep in this lost girl, lost boy aesthetic seems like there is often a double meaning to this willingness to be of service to others. unlike the sun and mars of this position the desire to be of service isn’t all the tied up to self worth or their ego rather it is tied up to their need for the concept of perfect emotional fulfillment. as you can imagine this is a very high bar to place on every partnership as most often than not meeting someone whom you connect with so deeply is a rare sight in itself and maintaing the highs and lows of your differences is what we all must come to accept and understand as a part of unity with another. These natives can lack the ability to be patient in that regard often wanting that ideal faster than it’s often ready to present itself so they often move things forward by creating a mission or becoming the mission themselves. thats the dark polarity of these beautiful people, one could blame it on mercury. The difference being that while gemini are semi conscious of this polarity, Virgo compartmentalize these personas and in the realm of emotions and relationships it creates highs and lows that show up as rifts and chasms rather than outright ups and downs. This is the allure, often times they present a rigid, aloof, and cool demeanor. they can feel misleading, because after the lengthy courting period they will make you their project, their sword, their mask, their blanket and yes even their home. they are sensitive and EXTREMELY trapped in their head-space so many times over they are analyzing their actions as well as yours. they value space and sanctum so often times they try to keep away from your friends unless you’ve vocally expressed that you’d like them to converse with your friends. they wont tag along with you somewhere unless you personally invite them or let them know its something you’ll desire. they wont initiate sex unless you express the desire for them first. see with these natives it’s not flirty and blunt like fire it’s slow and sensual like earth. everything is slow building. These natives let you know in every natural and environmentally practical way that they want you. one example is the way they touch you, it’ll seem like you’re their patient in a hospital, it’ll be the way they pay attention to every detail as if you’re their first born, it’s the way they’ll handle you and your weaker personality traits with kid gloves and patients, and it’s the way they nit pick the mess out of you to build you into something great. these natives are slow to truly invest emotionally and you’ll always feel like you’re dealing with a shy teenager of the quiet variety but they are so loyal and so deeply sacrificing. Sexually they are beyond freaky, the live and breath your desires and are willing to compensate in any way to match those desires. they don’t run hot and cold so most likely they will be direct and upfront about their intentions no matter how shy they are. ironically the more they like you the more rational their mannerisms with dealing with you become. they also do the famous virgo stare but unlike the sun and mars counterpart it’s much sadder and plenty more vulnerable. they fall in love very hard and can be some of the sexiest of the zodiac, because 9/10 their innocent act is a gag and their real, plethora of other personalities are kinky, reckless, angry, sad, passionate, evasive, tension filled, rebellious, trauma all in one.

“to see all of your wounds and closed spaces, to live among them and bandage them, to watch you fall and stand again, that is the truest form of intimacy”

Moon Or Venus In Libra - Moon or Venus In the 7th House: The Mom And Dad Dynamic.

🎶Jungle - House In LA

🎶Jungle - Lucky i get what i want

🎶Toro y Moi - So many details

🎶Toro y Moi - Say that

🎶Zayn - BeFoUR

🎶Zayn - BoRdErsZ

These natives are often caught up in this interesting his and hers dynamic whether they are heterosexual or homosexual. the idea here is that they often seek their ID or their respective counterpart masculine to feminine. ironically their is a big concept on these natives needing their energy to be balanced otherwise their indecisive nature comes out full force. The sun and mars suffer from this to some extent but not as intensely as most often the source of their duality comes from Venus manifesting/diluting the sun and opposing mars. with moon and Venus what is happening is that the energy is caught in a feminine or masculine energy depending on the modality of their moon or Venus in the case of the houses and the decan their moon or Venus sits in for Libra. Libra decan is looking for the masc or female dynamic, Aquarius decan is looking for the emotional vs non - emotional dynamic, Gemini decan is searching for the characteristic opposite of their main personality type. The modality’s(Fixed: is looking for someone who is not rooted in security and is more free of spirit and changeable. Mutable: looking for someone with direction, a sense of self and known desire for what they seek to do, cardinal : someone passive, relaxed and emotionally cool. someone who isn’t as impulsive and is more levelheaded and not the type to do things on a whim.) these natives are very sweet, very gentle and kind hearted...but a lot of their nature is based on what they perceive would make them likable in your eyes. maybe it’s being a class clown, maybe it’s being the cocky arrogant posh girl, maybe it’s playing unfamiliar and innocent, maybe it’s playing up a darker more intense persona, maybe it’s the addict or the narcissist, they ultimately play up what they’ve already read from your personality. Libra are often more observant than even Virgos, So although they are the hardest people to peg a personality trait due to their many faces, you will often know they’re interested in you if they drop the Face and really act their awkward and shy selves. These natives in reality are passive and multifaceted, which makes them complex and rather hard to get to know deeply. They like what you like mainly because it causes the least resistance. Now are all 7th housers and libra moon and venus natives like this? yes its actually a trait that shows up the most when they’re truly in love. These natives can play up the independent, party girl or the sexual free spirit all they like but deep down they want someone who fits them like a glove and they will do just about anything to maintain that connection once they find it. They are careful yet also just enough as to not seem disinterested or dry. These natives are big filters but contrary to belief they are not the types to cheat unless they have harsher aspects involving Pluto, Uranus or Neptune on their Venus, doubly so if their libra moon or venus rest in the 8th, 11th, or 12th house. they adore beauty in relationships but this also includes the little things, the letters, or the times you forget to lock the door and have to drive all the way back home, and the nervousness of meeting parents. they love the long haul and tend to be long term oriented despite their outward fickle nature. The thing that i want to stress with these natives is that they will only do something if they want to do it, and the moment they feel pressured to act before they are ready without soft coaxing they’ll become unsure and shut down into a even more annoying state of indecisiveness. if you want them patience and slow building friendship helps to cool things down a bit. Sexually they are very sensual and extremely romantic, even if they don’t seem like the lot to be so. they prefer a stable sex partner as opposed to one nighters as they need to know what makes you feel good. they are romantic by nature so making you fall in love with them is always a secret goal of theres which makes the underdeveloped folks more dangerous. Sex and love are intertwined for them so the more they want to do it the more amorous their feelings are. now as im saying this please keep in mind everyone's desire for sex is different so even if the sex isn’t frequent but is still existent in a healthy range then they are all in.

“There is a madness to partnership, a sort of organized chaos between two people that starts one way and ultimately ends with their foot up your ass or the two of you doing the salsa on a gondola in Venice”

Moon Or Venus In Scorpio - Moon Or Venus In The 8th House : The Angel In Hell, The devil In Heaven.

🎶Cult Of Helix - Blood

🎶Koda & Bijou - There

🎶PVRIS - Hallucinations

🎶Hayley Williams - Sudden Desire

🎶Chromatics - Red Car

🎶Chromatics - Hands In The Dark

These Natives are tethered in a world and mental space far beyond anything that can be tamed or understood easily. They live in the pools of Pluto and the violent rugged storms of Mars pulling their energies too and fro like a flaming noose. On one hand they are penetrating, deep, cunning and so intensely consuming, another moment they are aloof, light Hearted, unassuming and detached. You’ll often read post about the famous Scorpio testing and their hot and cold antics,but, if i may tell you all a little secret. The hot and cold dynamic is due to their introspective nature. they analyze everything, a billion times over, negotiating aspects of your character with their “real” self, the one they still haven’t decided if you’re ready to see yet. The testing is a way to weed out the trouble makers before they plant rotten seeds in these natives already barren garden. By me saying this am i in no way implying scorpionic natives do not carry inner beauty, rather i am saying that due to the depth and intensity of their love they often are Hurt, broken and scar’d from having their love cast aside. These natives are their most vulnerable when they are young, Pluto takes from them very early on, introducing all of them to the idea of Loss, Love, Death, sacrifice, and the more sinful vs Love dynamic presented in their childhood. These natives see their love as something to be ashamed of in most cases and due to the way their intense love was received, in turn they learn to hide and withhold it. These natives are so loving and so endlessly sacrificing but more often than not they seek to protect themselves which at times stings those who are innocent or caught in the crossfire of the natives own unrealized trauma and pain. Projection is a big aspect to these natives as they often project their inner world on their environment and in turn attract people who karmically for better or worse will help them evolve. They can struggle with the concepts and lighthearted aspects that come with dating in its earlier stages such as the integral getting to know one another stage mainly due to the fact that these natives are hardwired to be distrusting of any applications of intimacy that serve the purpose of getting closer or opening up. To them the process can seem tense and stressful as an inner part of them feels like intimacy within itself is a ruse, for how could anyone truly connect to the perceived darkness behind the corridor that they themselves try to mask. There’s an instinctive duality to them that can seem like a constant storm, on one hand they are passionate, depth seeking and all or nothing, then at a moments notice they can be cool, aloof and disengaged at times hard to reach. This is their defense mechanism, they feel the pull of the connection and at times to restore stability and grounding they see you as the enemy, the danger to their solidity. There is a certain level of intrigue and awe that can stem from the way they express this hot and cold approach as it can genuinely leave you wondering where in the midst of that process lay their feelings for you. They can at times prologue this courting for days, weeks, months or years depending on the nature of their boundaries or trauma and even though they can crave the intensity and the soul bonding they would rather delay it even if it’s to their own detriment for the sake of ensuring the love and connection they feel towards you will be safe and will be genuine. Many with these aspects can attract wealthy partners or may benefit greatly from marriage due to the financial gain that will surely follow. The issue here is that on the negative end of the spectrum and especially with men of this position can marry or partner up soley for the material and financial gain that would follow the union. Chris Pratt is a perfect example of this unfortunately. That being said there is an endearing and painfully rewarding quality to the love these natives express and though it can at times lack the speed some may desire one must note that the loyalty and love that blooms for these natives is always so deep and true, much like a burning fire over a bed of ice.

#mine #venus #moon #Venus and moon in the houses

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ohtobemare · 10 months

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When Hell Comes, part 1 • Doc Holliday x Reader

Series warnings: attempted rape, time travel AU, swears, smut

Word count: 6k+

Part 2

Do I know what this is? Not entirely. This idea has been racing through my head like a thoroughbred, so I decided to tackle it. Stupid long, I'm planning a Part 2 because Doc didn't creep in here nearly as much as I wanted him to, so, next time 'round, for sure. moodboard by the lovely @your-local-crzy-lady

When Hell Comes, Part 1

Arizona wilderness courses by in a blur of gold and blue, the line where the horizon meets the sky nothing but a wash of shimmering heat and speed. Hell has come to this desert it’s so hot, the devil himself a stone’s throw of a few yards behind you.

Dry, sinful heat licks at your face. Stings your eyes as the animal beneath you shoots through the sand like time itself is running out, the horizon beyond the only salvation. The bones in your chest rattle every time hooves thunder against the ground, and you hit the saddle hard every heartbeat or so, th-thunk th-thunk, th-thunk.

Feels like you’ve been flying forever, outrunning the shadow of Tombstone that lurks behind you like a vision of death and despair. It’s maybe only been a few handful of minutes, but time is an illusion. Survival has spiked your blood with adrenaline, though the chill across your skin rattles your teeth, a wash of goosebumps the only evidence that you are, in fact, more alive than you feel.

Reins in your hand are slick. Either with the sweat of your palms, or the well-oiled love of attention, you’re not sure which. And your legs burn as if they’ve been simmering in venom. Muscles could, at any given moment, detach from your legs and hit the dust beneath Viper’s ground-moving hooves.

The first shot explodes from a pistol, filling daylight between you and the Cowboys. Zips past you to what you assume is your left, but you wouldn’t know regardless. It rips a shriek of panic from the back of your throat that could cut glass—they are shooting at you.

Moments before, in the sands beyond this wilderness they’d been coming onto you—and now they were drawing iron. Unbelievable.

Terror spikes up into the back of your neck like a tomcat, claws bared against your flesh.

You duck forward in the saddle, hoping it’s enough to make a smaller target. It’s difficult, being low over the horn that’s cutting up into your ribs every time Viper’s hooves find the earth. Your core is on fire with the effort to stay balanced. Stay in the saddle. White-knuckling the reins like they are a lifeline, you can feel Viper’s tense mouth—it ripples through the animal like water.

What you wouldn’t give for a cell phone right now, any sign of life in this wilderness. But reality digs between your ribs like a starving wolf—you remember where you are. How’d you arrived here, two weeks ago, like something from Dickens or Verne or a Disney epic.

It still didn’t make sense, but nothing had since being thrown back in time nearly hundred and fifty years. Tended to throw a wrench in things, even though wrenches hadn’t been invented yet.

Unappreciative of the added pressure in your hands, Viper snorts roughly; you feel it in the depths of his chest. Out of habit your hands relax, instead mix with the flow of his thick, sweat-slick mane for stability, the leathers now rubbing searing blisters in the webbing of your thumbs. Every ounce of upper body strength funnels into gripping the stallion’s thick locks, your shoulders burn with the hot buzz of muscular effort.

You haven’t ever ridden this hard, Viper has never carried you this hard.

Viper isn’t conditioned for this. Arizona heat coupled with your body mass is not promising for the horse. He isn’t a horse of 1881 western America—he is a horse of the modern world. Grains and air conditioned trailers, not trail broke and tack-fed is the life Viper knows.

His breed shouldn’t be anywhere near the desert, something Wyatt had so aptly noticed when you’d stumbled into town after two days of barely surviving the shrub and desolace of the Arizona wilds.

Another cruel joke in the twisted deck fate has dealt you.

Getting home is the goal, getting out of Arizona is the reality. But there’s nothing to bet on, no bluffs to call. No moves to make. This is a game of another kind, entirely.

Nobody in the history of the known universe has seen what you’ve seen, felt the jolt of time passing through your blood. You, and Viper, are the only known bodies in the universe that have even been wretched through the wormhole. And you hope you’ll be last—you wouldn’t wish this on any one.

Another shot pops off behind you, this time hitting the dirt to your right. Closer, too close and Viper knows it—he locks up, skidding to a stop through the thick, searing sands of the wilderness to throw back in a hard rear. You hear the party behind you, hooves of their animals barraging the earth like a volley of gunfire, their hoops and hollers ringing hollow off your ribs.

“Th’r she is, boys—get up there and get ‘er off that sonuvabitch!” You don’t have to see him to know who it is.

Curly will haunt your dreams for the rest of your living days, if there are any after today. Ringo alongside him. Together their cold fingers spin through your fear, like bloodthirsty dogs lapping at whatever show of terror you’ll throw their way. Wolves that lay at the door, haunting Arizona lines.

And it isn’t just you—everyone respects the presence of the Cowboys. Well, rather everyone fears them. They’re unpredictable, like snakes. Jumping any which way they please, nearly without warning.

They’d killed Frank, the sweet sheriff who’d opened his home to you. Word had it that one of them had offed Fabian, too. The beautiful actor who’d blown in with the winds of change that sweet soul Josephine Marcus had ushered in. They’d enraptured the entire living populace of Tombstone in their short time—they’d listened to you. In ways that only people of interest and compassion would.

The red sash has been a thorn in your side since arriving in Tombstone—more interested in Viper, having never seen anything like him before. Less interested in you, until.

Well, that was it. Until.

Until he had made a show of you in front of the entire casino. An object, a trinket of fanciful display—Holliday’s sweet little nothing that made his eyes blaze and your face light up like the fourth of damn July.

They’d seen. Ringo had seen, Curly had seen—the entire damn Cowboy posse had seen. And, like all men of this century, they lusted over what wasn’t theirs. One weak moment beneath Doc Holliday’s enchantment and you’d shown your entire hand, cards down and heart ripped wide open for anyone and everyone to study. Then it tasted sweet, like wine. Ended up a sour poison.

Poison currently rotting a hole through your gut.

Front legs cutting through the air as he launches back, Viper releases a shrill, blood-chilling cry that shakes his entire frame. You feel it into the fiber of every muscle as you white knuckle the horn, legs locked around his barrel in an effort to keep yourself up. Eyes pinched closed, every one of their horse’s hooves hitting the earth race up your spine, rattle off at the base of your neck as they get closer.

Sour bile jumps up the back of your throat as Viper starts beneath you, ripped with nervous energy and on the hair trigger of flight. God he’s never been this skittish. Unpredictable. He rears again, and when his front legs find the earth, you kick at his sides. Attempt to launch him forward again.

“C’mon, Vipe–we gotta move!” His head pulls down sharply. Down, back—stubborn thing, he won’t move. His protest is stronger than your will, he’s got nearly two thousand pounds on you, and he plants his hooves. Stumbles back into shrubbery that makes him huff. “No, no no we can’t do this right now—Viper!” The words are bitter, panicked on your tongue. Nearly cracking.

He’s beyond argument. And for good reason—attempting to circle him, he paws at the ground. One check down his side and he’s complete foam, like someone has lathered fine suds over his chocolate coat. Feathered hair about his shine, nearly gleaming like he’s crossed the swift waters of the Colorado. Sweat ravines down his sides, carved muscle of his physique, like rivers. Fat drops rain to the earth around him, he’s hot. Lathered.

There’s nowhere to go, no way you can get him to move. He is trembling with exhaustion as he gnaws at the bit rolling about his mouth, and you really can’t tell where the animal’s fear ends and yours begins as you watch the dry cloud of dust roll in with the approaching horses.

Eyes burning with the granules of dust, your hand slides down and back, to your saddlebags—but there are none.

Virgil had warned you, but you’d been stupid. So, so so dumb.

Crescenting around you in a half moon, their animals fall into order, stepping forward to press a tight circle around Viper as your attention whips between them all, trying to keep track of the sun-leathered faces, dark eyes all bearing down like hawks.

Curly is the first to break the line, spurring his animal into a crisp trot up to you. Angling, his leg brushes yours as he comes up beside your animal, smirk twisting his sweat-slick, dripping mustache.

“Well look what we have here,” he chuckles, head bobbing with the loose effort of effervescent arrogance he’s displayed since the moment you’d been so graced with his presence, “seems that stud finally caught up with you, darlin’—figg’rd you couldn’t keep a handle on ‘im, cock an’ all. Mighty big horse for a pretty thing like yourself.”

His hands fall over one other on the horn of his saddle as he sits deep and low, brows lifted knowingly. “Will give it to ya, though—made it a ways out here. I’m more impressed than I thought to be, pretty.”

“Surprised you managed a thought at all, Curly,” you bite back, pulling back a little roughly on Viper’s mouth. Your glower is firmly planted at the man’s smirk, as if it will viscerally rip it right off his face, “Seems it didn’t last long though. What was your fine plan there, cowboy? Thought you wanted my horse—he isn’t much good shot dead in the middle of the damn desert.”

Low calls and cackles around the circle snap Curly’s attention back to Johnny Ringo, who’s tongue skips through the seam of his mouth to skate his bottom lip. His gaze diverts down to the dust, tempest of dark eyes lost beneath the brim of his hat.

Curly quells the murmurings of the group with a hellish glare.

Without warning whatsoever, his rough hand reaches across the space between his animal and yours, for the reins. You snap back and away, Viper sidestepping. Unbalanced for a brief moment, Bill catches himself in the saddle, his hard glare hitting you between the eyes with the force of a locomotive.

Not rattled for long, he gathers up his own animal at rein, comes about sharply, and before you know it the back of his hand cracks across your cheek.

The smack of skin on skin is sharp. Echoes through the blood in your ears, white hot pain zinging through your face as your hand comes to cover the sure mark he’s left across skin. It stings triumphantly, your distraction enough for him to rip Viper’s reins from your hand.

Youwatch the animal attempt to look back at you, then Curly—he’s confused by the transfer of power.

Curly’s strength and bitterness in his mouth is unfamiliar. Different.

Pulling sharply, he brings Viper under collection. Only after a few heartbeats can you hear the group of them chuckling at you, ribbing and elbowing each other knowingly.

With a sharp pull, Viper is spurred into a brisk walk as he guides up beside Ringo, you little more than a bobbing trinket in the saddle, hands on thighs and probably looking as whipped, and raw, as you feel.

“Let’s get movin’,” Curly barks to the group, face pointed southwest, not even bothering to register his group of followers, “We’ll camp southwest’a here—move on tomorrow.”

“Aint’ we gonna make tracks?” That’s Ike, though you can’t see him. His grating whine is enough to shatter the rest of your confidence as you all but feel his gaze slide down your form. “Earp and his boys’ll come lookin’ for her, Curly Bill, and I reckon—”

“You reckon shit all, Ike,” Bill snaps over his shoulder, “If Holliday wants his pretty thing back, well the sonuvabitch can come get her.” Shifting in his saddle, dark eyes glint over you. Smirk twisted in a coy, wolfish way, “Or he can try. His sorry lunger ass couldn’t make it halfway out of town before needin’ a got’damn siesta.”

The mention of Holliday makes your chest fly with living color for all of lightspeed before the sensation crashes to your knees, Curly’s brows wagging lasciviously.

Chin lifting as you rub at the mark on your face, your gaze is sharp enough to cut the pistol at his side.

“Doc is more of a man than any of you idiots put together,” you hiss at him, eyes narrowing against the sun threatening to blind you over his shoulder, “And you will rue the day you cross pistols with Holliday, Wyatt, or any of them boys. History remembers them as great men—you, well. Any of you morons—not so damn much.”

Ringo snorts beside you, shaking his head as he adjusts whatever is rolling around his craw with the tip of his tongue, “That’s right,” he draws the consonant in that dark way of his, brow crooking up knowingly, “little miss time travel’rs got it all figured out, boys. Hear that? Nobody remembers us in the future.” He cuts his horse between Curly’s and Viper, and without any warning whatsoever, his thick hand lashes out to grab you fully by the jaw.

“Ain’t that right, desert flower? Nobody remembers us, huh. Well—books and shit may not ‘member me all that well, but let me just tell you, bitch—by the time I’m finished with ya, you won’t know a word other than John Ringo.”

His slow smile claws at your soul, cold as it rips the air out of your chest with all the force of dark, testing eyes behind it, “Sweetest name I reckon I ever heard, comin’ out the mouth of a sorceress whore like you.”

Fuming, you seethe at him and rip his hand off your jaw, pulling back sharply. Cackling catcalls and low whistles bristle down your spine as the group spurs their animals into a trot, the air shaken with the movement of horse flesh and muscle. Gaze shadowed by the brim of his hat, your jaw is nearly breaking as you set it firm, unwilling to draw his attention.

You bob to a stop suddenly as he pulls up. His horse fidgets, his arm brushes against yours harder than you appreciate, the contact like an inferno on your skin.

Flinching, you consider your bare arm—it’s already pink, sure to be flaming tomorrow with a sunburn. In your fluster you hadn’t even bothered with any of the clothes Wyatt had passed to you—you’d just gone. Little more than a t-shirt and jeans, boots to carry you through the desert. How far you’d get without protection hadn’t even been a thought in the empty canoe of your brain.

Getting out of Dodge had been the only thought, Viper the answer to actually make it happen.

Touching your fingers to it, the white of pressure vanishes immediately and your eyes flutter closed at the sharp zip of pain that flares across your skin. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand rubs over the sensation. And Ringo does notice, his eyes moving to your bare arm, canting to consider your choice of modern clothing—clothing he’s likely to have never seen.

None of them have—you’d all but dropped jaws when you’d staggered into town, Viper at reign, two weeks ago. Nobody could make heads or tales. Twenty-twenties fashion is a far cry from the elaborate gowns of yesteryear.

You notice his eyes fall to the cut of your hip, which is more than filled out in your favorite jeans. They do make you look sinful, that was the point of buying them. At least, in your world.

Now they were little more than an unwanted neon sign that called to attention the fact of your sex, your desirability. There’s one woman for every dozen men in the West, you remember hearing. And that’s never been more apparent than in the hollow, cold look of John Ringo’s face.

Shifting in the saddle, you can’t miss the rub of his fingers over his cock.

Before you know what’s happening, Ringo is bent over in his saddle, rummaging through a saddle bag. Seconds, maybe, and he’s flung a threadbare ball of something at you—it brushes your arm, falls into the cradle of your legs. Not daring to touch it, your gaze drops to it.

“Unless you wanna die’a heatstroke,” he gestures up to the sun with a nod, “no good to anybody if you're suncooked.” Snapping Viper back into compliance, his gaze pulls ahead.

Your abs are on fire the entirety of the ride southeast, low back burning as your legs buzz with hot ache from trying to keep yourself in seat.

The afternoon has been no less than torture—between the heat, the merciless ride, and the unforgiving gazes of the posse all but eye-fucking you in the saddle, you’re more than raw by the time Curly calls for dismount out in the middle of hell-all nowhere.

As if you haven’t been riding for hours, nearly starving and on a brutal pace, Curly and Ringo dismount to the ground on strong, unphased legs. Immediately setting to drop tack.

Hands numb from white-knuckling the Circle Y’s horn, you carefully release your grip. Fingers burning as you flex life back into them, Ringo drops the rein of his animal before gathering Viper’s into a short lead. The Clydesdale still hasn’t settled, foam all but cooked onto his flesh as Ringo’s hand smooths down his neck, whispering softly up into the animal’s ear.

With a snap of the reins, Viper’s head jerks up at alert, Ringo’s hot eyes cutting up to you all too quickly.

“Off,” he barks, jerking his head in a poignant way that indicates compliance. For a bleeding second you hesitate, uncertain if you can dismount without crumbling into the dirt on the gelatinous, goo-ish noodles your legs have become. But he doesn't give you a choice—”I said off!” His voice rips through the hollow of your gut as he grabs at your shirt, sharply tugging you out of the saddle.

You have no time to collect or swing off before he’s ripped you out of seat—your frame sinks off all 17 hands of Viper’s form, through the air, for all of a few seconds. Ground comes up hard, fast.

Head cracking against the dry earth, the air knocks out of you with a sharp whistle as your left side takes all of the weight of gravity—cheek roughly kissing the dirt, sand all but leaps up into your scalp as you slack into the ground. Ringo is amused, shaking his head at you as he clucks coquettishly.

Moaning, pain rings up through your arm and collarbone, slices from your hip to your ankle like a hypodermic needle through bone. Viper startles, huffing out a strong breath as he considers you, his trusted friend, in the dirt. Lifting your head to consider him, Ringo works at the latigo of your tack. Has Viper unsaddled and your thousand-plus dollar gear hitting the dirt in record time.

Before you manage to push yourself up on an elbow, thick fingers wrap through your hair and pull sharply, igniting your entire head with fresh, shooting ache that makes you shriek. White hot pain cocktails with the fear in the pit of your gut, which threatens to send up through your throat.

Clawing up at the hands tangled in your hair, spittle flies from your chapped lips as you attempt to writhe away from the effort hauling your ass through the said, “Let go of me, you disgusting cocksucker—let go of me!” Like a pig he is snorting at every attempt your body makes to snap out of his holds.

“Cocksucker? Ha! Hear that, boys? That’s’a new one—oooheee, ain’t that just sound like somethin’?” He goads you, creeping fingers cutting into the curve of your sides, attempting to brush beneath your ribcage greedily, “Head’s up—Billy! Get yer ass over her and grab her legs, fore she kicks the will out of the devil!”

Nails gouging at the hand buried in your hair, you realize it’s Ike that’s issuing orders, his comrade’s head snapping up to consider his proposition from his own animal. He drops you roughly into the dirt, your head kicking back into the crags of desert soil as Ike stares down at you, hands slung over his belt.

He licks at the spit across his chapped lips, heavy eyes dragging over you like frostbite slowly eating away at your flesh. Even fully clothed, he looks at you like you’re naked as the day you were born. Cold fingers of realization claw at the back of your head, attempt to throttle you as you can’t draw enough air into your chest beneath his gaze. Rung tight with adrenaline, fear chases through your blood, bringing new life and strength to exhausted muscle that’s flaming through every inch of you.

He drops into a crouch, nails scratching through the unshaven, slick stubble across his jaw. Crooked, infectious teeth appear through a thin, steely smile that’s meant to take you apart. It does, in all the wrong ways, and you work yourself up to crawl backwards, away from him. Any and all daylight between you and Ike will never be enough, and his eyes flick to your tits, which rise and fall with the effort of shallow, shaking breaths.

Every one of his movements are sharp and defined, like living color as Billy comes up beside him, hands lazily slung over his own belt as he stares down at you from beneath the brim of his own hat. Both of their intentions may as well be written as bright as Vegas neon across their faces, though Billy does a better job of containing himself. You swallow a thin breath when Ike palms over his cock, the quiet squeak that pops from the back of your mouth amusing them both to the point of chuckling.

Standing slowly, Ike swipes that hat off his head, passing it to Billy easily, brows lifted in the air as he considers you down in the dirt. “Think it’s some kind of bad luck to fuck a sorc’ress, Clanton?” His eyes drag over to the other man, who’s head cants to the side as he considers you on the ground.

He thinks about it for a minute, your eyes moving between the two of them. The rustle of leather and the clink of a buckle snap your gaze back to Ike, who’s already got his gunbelt, and chaps, well past still on. He wets his lips as you hustle back a few inches, fingers biting into the ground.

“You even think of touching me, and so help me God—”

“Shut yer fucking mouth!” Ike scrambles over you, stoops low, his stained fingers savagely taking you by the chin and squeezing hotly around the bone of your jaw, “You say one damn word other’n what I tell ya and I’ll cut that damn tongue right out yer damn mouth and shove it up your ass, fuckin’ whore.”

He releases you roughly before swinging from over you, ripping the hem of his shirt up and out from where it’s been tucked into his pants. Cutting Billy a look, the other man’s face is riddled with amused surprise, before he shrugs. Ike swings his belt off, moving to drop it beside his hat.

“Reckon it works the same way, sorc’ress or not,” Billy saunters up beside Ike, rubbing at his jaw before he squats and reaches for your booted foot, “And you ain’t one to worry over bad luck, Ike. Never met an unluckier sonofabitch than you.” His gaze breaks back over his shoulder to Ike, who’s glaring daggers at this cohort with enough weight that it may as well drag the sun from the sky.

You see your chance—distracted, you kick your foot up and slam the toe of your boot beneath Billy’s chin, the man howling and dropping back to his ass under its force as you writhe beyond reach, twisting in the dirt to haul yourself out of the sand. Rock and shrub and sharp sands grinds beneath your nails to the point of blood, but you can’t feel a thing except the buzzing electricity of adrenaline kicking like a mule through your veins.

Square-toed boots grinding through dust as you bolt for Viper, you barely make it to speed before someone attacks you from behind. Tackled nearly to the dirt, the arm that snags around your waist is like iron, clamping tight around your hips as the other swings home around your neck.

Tight, you can feel the constricting cut of muscle against your throat as the chuckle comes low over your ear, smelling like tobacco and whisky. You’re fairly sure your heart will launch out of your chest and to the ground beneath you at any second as you claw at the arm around your neck.

“Goin’ somewhere, desert flower?” It’s Ringo. His other hand dances over the low of your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the band of your jeans as you attempt to arch forward, away from his chest pressed hot and flush against your back.

“Anywhere that isn’t with you, you sonofa—” his hand clamps down around your mouth, and you attempt to kick your head back to break free of it. No such luck—his grip is like bronze, hard and warm, and his hand burns with the scent of gunpowder, sweat, and animal as it bites into your flesh.

His chuckle rattles around his ribs and you feel it more than you want to against your spine before his arm drops away from your throat. His arm at your hips loosens only enough for his fingers to find your belt hoops and bring you about sharply, any and all daylight that’s separated the two of you gone as he crowds you up against the side of his horse, his face merely inches from yours.

“I’ll give credit to Holliday,” he speaks in low, cold tones that feel like hot coals down the length of your spine as every fiber of your being attempts to reel back, against his horse, away from him, “good taste in women,” his tongue skates his bottom lip as his dark eyes flick down to consider your mouth, “tell me—you whore for that lunger? He tasted you with that poison mouth of his?” Face twisting with seething, dark anger, his hand shoots up from nowhere to grip your face again, his knuckles ghosting with the effort as his nails bite into the flesh of your face.

“Tell me, you cocksucker—you let Holliday part those pretty legs of yours? Fuck that tight little cunt of yours?”

That’s enough.

Wrenching out of his grip, you reel back far enough to land a sharp blow to his jaw—it isn’t enough to send Ringo reeling, but it's enough to turn his head. And within heartbeats the mark on his cheek matches the one that’s started to ache from Curly on your skin, and you offer him a sneer that curls your lips just enough to give you a flare of superior confidence.

Ringo isn’t rattled. Actually, he looks impressed as his hand smooths over the kiss of red lighting up the line of his jaw.

From nowhere, light eyes and fevered sweat cut through your mind like a dagger, for a moment separating reality with fantasy.

It’s impossible for your body to disengage Holliday’s hands at either of your hips, anchored like they’ve always belonged there. The way his heat rushes through you like wind. Enchanted is only a mild way to put it—you’d been enamored with him since he’d pulled you out of your saddle the first day Viper had wandered into Tombstone. You all but delirious, half dead.

You'd thought he was an angel.

“My, my—fortune does spring eternal. Wherevah did you come from, dahlin’? Pretty thing, blowing in on a shallow wind and tangerine skies an' all,” his chuckle had melted over you, feet finding ground, “Must be nothin’ short of heaven bound—and you’ll be closer still, if we don’t get you looked ovah.”

Lusty eyes and his arrogant smile had swiftly changed your opinion of him—he was the devil, you nothing short of temptation. In the best way, of course.

You can still feel his chest brushed up against yours, the th-thunk of his heart perfect between your ribs—the way he looks at you, crowded anywhere anyone else isn’t. Those inferno lips, sucking deep marks into your skin. Lewd, sinful. Unforgiving. With any and all strength God put into his soul he had kissed you and God, was it wildly magnificent, far more perfect than it had rights to be.

Your eyes blow wide thinking about him, knowing he isn't here. Can’t be here, won’t be here. He could be, perhaps would move heaven and earth—-if you weren’t foolish. So quick to run the hell away.

Holliday still on your tongue cracks a bolt of lightning down the length of your spine.

“Who I let ride this tight little cunt is my business,” you seethe at him, a hot smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth as his eyes track yours, discerningly, “there, Ringo—look at that. We match.” Proud at the mark on his face, your tongue skates over the bottom of your teeth.

Movement over his shoulder tracks your attention, and your eyes move to watch Curly’s feet weave a careful path to the two of you. Looking amused and smug, he rubs the cut of his hip. Deliberately.

His tongue clicks off his cheek, matter-of-factly. “Alright, Ringo boy, that’s enough,” a hand on John’s shoulder snaps him back a half step, opening up the air between the two of you. Only enough for Curly to angle in. “Had quite enough of your filthy little mouth, young lady. I suggest you play nice,” his index finger and thumb hooks your chin, tipping it up and back a little, “or I’ll feed what’s left you of you to my hogs, if anythin’.”

And before you know what happens, he clips you at the shoulder and shoves you forward, away from Ringo’s horse. You’re forced to the ground in a sitting position, Curly snapping sharp orders for you to be left alone until he gives word.

Ringo dishes out orders for camp, the men muster to duties as you attempt to will the throb of a headache out from behind your eyes.

You sit there, cross-legged and observed, trying to calm the heart kicking at your ribs. Watch as Viper is hobbled expertly into compliance, nose wriggling against whatever shrubs the desert has to offer as he investigates the night’s accommodations. Foam has all but melted off of him to the desert floor. He’s shining with sweat but has stopped heaving for air, at least.

Blinking the sweat from your eyes, Ringo drops the blanket by your side. Hesitation stops your breathe for a minute. Eyes scraping up his form, he smirks at you, shrugging a shoulder.

Dragging the back of your hand over your mouth, your fingers twist into the material. Draw it around your shoulders, bonelessly and complacent. It’s thin, tawdy, reeks to high heaven and back again. But it’s protection from the taskmaster sun hanging in the sky nonetheless.

Fortressed within the folds of the material, you can’t really say how much time slips through your fingers as red sash’s move to and fro about the makeshift camp. Bedrolls snap open, saddles are arranged for sleeping. Hard tack is passed around, booze and smokes. Horses passed handfuls of whatever trail provisions any of them have managed to pack, and much to your relief, Curly does order for Viper to receive rations.

Barely able to grip the hem of the sheet, though it may be a courtesty to call it even that, it takes herculean effort to stay awake. Aware. Alert. Because soon, every one of these Cowboys will be piss drunk and passed out, hopefully—and if you can manage consciousness, even for a while, there’s a good chance in hell you can swipe a pistol, mount up, and leave.

Once the heat of the desert acquiesces to the cool of night, stars make their way out among the canvas of black desert. Breathless sky hangs overhead and you sit motionless, staring into the twisting, licking flames of fire jutting up from the rocks and brush these idiots have gathered.

Your tongue rolls thickly through your mouth, over your bottom teeth as your toes curl and uncurl in your boots. Reminded that you’re alive, your skin is all but burning. Sweat has been chased even from beneath your clothes, but you’re slick with grime and the heat of the day as you sit, sunkissed and caked with dirt, on the desert floor.

You haven’t stopped studying Viper across the camp, who’s mingling innocently with the other horses. Standing like a behemoth among the paints and quarters of the herd.

Why Curly Bill wants him is no mystery–Viper stuns. Steals the breath from your lungs. Living color to a world that’s never seen his kind before. A glittering jewel. You’d mentioned how much he was worth to Wyatt that day in the stables and the entire town had nearly combusted—twenty eight thousand dollars was no small change, not in the 19th century.

“All the more reason to get you back where you belong, sweetheart,” Wyatt had looked at you with sympathy, rough hand clapping on your shoulder, “Helluva stud, though. Never seen someone ride nothin’ that big. Especially not a thing like you,” he’d winked at you and you’d blushed.

He didn’t let it slide. “Don’t you ever lose that color, pretty girl. You know what it does to us men? Cuts us at the knees—can’t hardly breathe when a thing like you lights up so nice.”

The corner of your mouth ticks up in an amused smirk. Wyatt is nothing short of character. Charming, enigmatic. Handsome in all the right ways, dangerous in many of the wrong ones. Walking antithesis of Doc Holliday, but they were a fine pair—a romance of opposites, apologetically friends but at distance, not much more than enemies.

Their friendship was the stuff of legend—history remembered them both fondly, and to know them? To have witnessed their revolutions around the same sun that is Arizona history?

It’s gripping, soul-changing. You’ll never be the same. knowing you.

Your throat closes a little as you pull in a slow breath, bottom lip rolling beneath your teeth for you to gnaw. Curling tighter into the blanket, your eyes close for a minute, the cool darkness immediately chasing tension from the base of your neck.

Ike and Billy’s game of cards is loud, but it fades beneath the kicking heartbeat between your ribs. Focusing on the blood in your ears, the tension rolls through muscle. Attempt to breathe—but it hurts. Locks up your chest, spins tightly through your lungs so much that the effort makes you cough.

Curling forward, your arms draw your knees as far forward as your body will allow. Head lolled to the side, your cheek rests against the muscle of your arm as you stare blearily into the serpent-like flames that bite up to the sky, smoke curling around them almost rhythmically.

Tongue skating between your lips to wet at chapped skin, you rake a hand down the length of your face in an attempt to stir life back into your veins. It does little, only ignites the hot burn on your skin. Dropping your gaze to your lap, your eyes slip closed.

And you wait.

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#doc holliday x reader #tombstone 1993 #tombstone imagines #doc holliday #val kilmer #writblr #tombstone fanfiction #tombstone #tombstone movie #doc Holliday imagine #doc holliday imagines

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mermaidchan05 · 9 days

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Vesuvia Weekly: "Let's take a moment."

Saw the "How to Cry" prompt and immediately thought of that one paid scene in Nadia's route, after the carriage crash in the forest (book IX chapter 2 for anyone curious) so... Scene Rewrite With My OC time!

2600 words, featuring Nadia, apprentice Chimalus, and their familiar, Skye the bluebird. Starts directly after the crash itself.

Slight mentions of blood and thunderstorms (and people reacting to both lol) but mostly Nadia angst and some fluff.

“Chimalus… Chimalus!”

Chimalus stirred. Someone was calling them. And there was a rather high-pitched sound right in their ear. They felt their brows crease. It took a moment for them to figure out how to open their eyes.

The first thing they saw was a blue and brownish blur. Skye. The bluebird was right in their face, chirping frantically with worry. Then Skye moved aside… and Nadia was right there.

Chimalus thought that the carriage crash must have rattled them pretty badly. They couldn’t think of any other reason for Nadia to look so openly worried.

“Chimalus, are you alright?” Nadia gasped.

Chimalus tried to move. Were they okay?

They didn’t get much chance to find out. Nadia wrapped her arms around them and carefully extricated them from… whatever they were tangled up in. By the time Nadia had set them shakily on their feet, they had enough wherewithal to notice that the collision had thrown them from the carriage entirely. They had crashed into some heavy branches. And belatedly, Chimalus heard the sound of hooves pounding across the ground.

The horses had broken free. Which was technically a good thing… but it did leave them all stranded.

“Nadia…”

Nadia ignored their call… or maybe she didn’t hear it under the crash of the pouring rain. She pressed a gentle hand to Chimalus’ forehead. When she drew back, her fingertips were stained crimson.

“You’re injured!” Nadia’s expression melted into sorrow. “This is my fault…”

Skye chirped sadly. She settled on Chimalus’ shoulder, finding the little gap between their cloak and their neck, and gently headbutted their cheek. Chimalus shakily brought a hand to their own head. There was definitely a gash up there. But they felt mostly steady on their feet. Their vision was as clear as it had ever been. They weren’t dizzy, and nothing felt broken.

“Nadia, I’m alright,” they assured her.

They had hoped Nadia would be relieved. But she looked almost angry.

“No, Chimalus, you are not alright,” she all but snapped. “Come here. Let me help you.”

Chimalus had no chance to protest. Not that they wanted to. Nadia simply scooped them up, carrying them bridal-style. That particular thought made Chimalus blush. They hid their face in Nadia’s shoulder.

Somehow, Nadia managed to open the door to the broken carriage while still carrying Chimalus. She carefully set them down on one of the padded benches. She lingered there for a moment, her fingers trailing along their cheek, before she finally pulled back and sat across from them.

“This is the second carriage this week,” Nadia sighed.

She nervously ran a hand through her hair. Then she shook her head, took a slightly deeper breath, and inspected Chimalus again. One glance at their forehead was enough to send her looking all around the carriage, searching for something. Eventually, she turned to her own torn, rain-soaked sleeve. She ripped off a strip of fabric.

“Hold still,” she said gently. “This may sting.”

She held the damp rag up to the cut on Chimalus’ forehead. She kept it there, staring so intently that Chimalus started to blush again. When Nadia pulled back, the bleeding had stopped.

“There,” said Nadia. “Now you are alright. Though perhaps we should have you see a palace physician when we return…”

“I’m fine, Nadia,” said Chimalus, completely unconvincingly.

Nadia’s lips twitched into a frown. She put a hand on Chimalus’ shoulder, gently easing them against the bench so they were able to rest their head against the carriage wall. Nadia still didn’t look fully happy even after that.

“Nadia, really, it’s alright,” Chimalus insisted.

Sadly, they were clearly trembling a little when they reached for Nadia’s hand. And Skye’s reproachful chirp didn’t help.

“You will be,” Nadia said firmly. “I am truly sorry that you were injured at all.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Chimalus. “Really. That creature…”

They trailed off. They weren’t sure if they wanted to talk about the figure that had appeared before them, the flash of white illuminated by a strike of lightning.

The cause of the crash.

Nadia’s expression turned more serious, if that were possible. “You saw it as well, then. I thought it was…” She stopped, almost looking annoyed. She stared out the carriage window for a moment before shaking her head. Her expression turned resolute. “We cannot stay in this carriage forever. I… suppose we should start walking.”

Chimalus sat up a little straighter. They were sure that they could get back on their feet. And finding some sort of place where any future thunder wouldn’t make the carriage shake was a very tempting idea. But Nadia didn’t look like she was ready to go.

“Nadia?”

Nadia looked up at them.

“We should take a moment,” said Chimalus. “Maybe the rain will slow down.”

For a split second, Nadia looked curious. Confused. Then a faint blush crept across her cheeks. She knew exactly what Chimalus was hoping for. But she wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

“Well,” she said slowly. “I suppose if you need to take a break…”

Chimalus had to hide a fond laugh. But their smile quickly slipped. Nadia was clearly tense. Her fists were clenched, pressed against her lap. Her mouth was set into a thin, tight line. She stared out the window again, practically glaring at the trees.

“Nadia… are… are you alright?” Chimalus asked.

The answer was obvious. And made all the more so by Nadia’s frown.

Nadia was silent for a long moment. Her expression softened just the slightest bit. And she let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping.

“No,” she admitted. “No, I am not. Everything is falling apart, Chimalus, and it’s only been three months.” She closed her eyes, grimacing. “The court is corrupt. The city is falling apart. Perhaps irreparably so. My sister is here. Portia has been lying to me, and I’ve no idea who to trust. Frankly, Chimalus, I am perhaps a little upset about all these very stressful things.”

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” Chimalus said gently.

Nadia didn’t even hear them. She took a deep, trembling breath. She kept her eyes closed as she attempted to compose herself. It didn’t work. She drew her knees up to her chest and hid her face.

“And now… I have managed to hurt you.”

Her shoulders were trembling. At first, Chimalus thought it might be because of the cold. They sat a little straighter, ready to put their cloak over her, for whatever little warmth a soaking wet cloak would offer.

Then Nadia looked up. A single tear trailed down her cheek, mingling with the rainwater.

“I suppose it’s only fair I pay for my mistakes.”

Words wouldn’t reach her in this state. So Chimalus acted. They slid off of their seat, carefully crossed the carriage, and sat down beside her. Just as carefully, fingers feather-light, they brushed away some of Nadia’s tears. They could only hope it helped. And Nadia felt so cold… but Chimalus didn’t quite dare to huddle closer. It might not have been proper, even after everything.

Nadia made that decision for them. She leaned against Chimalus, hiding her face in their cloak. And she cried.

Chimalus gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They didn’t say a word. Just then, they knew that Nadia needed silent support far more than she needed any sort of reassurance or platitudes. Though that didn’t stop Skye from adorably nestling on Nadia’s shoulder instead of sitting on Chimalus. Chimalus smiled at that. In their opinion, nothing was a better comfort than some extra-soft feathers.

They stayed just like that for a while longer. Chimalus wasn’t sure exactly how long. But eventually, Nadia took in one more shaky breath. And she sat up. She still looked sorrowful. But there was something thoughtful about her expression as well.

“Thank you, Chimalus,” she murmured. She carefully wiped her eyes. “I… I haven’t cried since I was nine. How nostalgic.”

“It looks like you needed it,” said Chimalus.

And it was really no wonder why. Nadia was under an almost inconceivable amount of pressure. She had an entire city to bring back from the brink of destruction, all while planning a giant event, and with many people she was supposed to be able to trust actively working against her. Then there was the debate on whether or not Portia was doing the same. And as Countess, and one who had lived her whole life as a princess besides, she had to put on a show for almost everyone. She couldn’t show weakness. She had to make it seem like she was in complete control.

It must have been exhausting.

Nadia was quiet for a moment, before finally nodding. “You’re right, of course. It’s not as if I am ashamed of my emotions. Quite the opposite, in fact. However… I usually experience them in solitude.”

“Well… nobody else is around right now,” said Chimalus, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “Does that count?”

Nadia gave a soft laugh. “Perhaps. Though one may want to show a bit more self-control in front of a renowned and powerful magician.”

“I wouldn’t call myself renowned,” said Chimalus, embarrassed.

They were more infamous than anything, if the odd looks they still sometimes received from people in the market were any indication. But they decided not to comment on that just then. It wouldn’t help Nadia.

“But either way, you don’t need to put up a front just for me,” they said instead. “You don’t need to be the Countess, or a princess, or anything like that. You can just be… yourself.”

Nadia’s smile was small, but genuine, and perhaps a bit playful. She leaned against Chimalus again, visibly relaxing.

“Perhaps not,” she said. “It may take a bit of practice, opening myself up in such a way. This may shock you, but I am used to doing most things alone.”

“You don’t need to anymore,” Chimalus said softly.

Nadia’s smile grew. It had become the smile that always made Chimalus’ heart pound.

“No… I suppose I don’t,” she said. Then her smile vanished, immediately replaced by a look of frustration. “Well, I might do to avoid giving you any more grievous injuries, lest I find myself alone once more.”

“You won’t,” Chimalus assured her. “I’ll always be there for you.”

They had no idea what had possessed them to say something like that out loud. Sure, they had thought those exact same words many times. More often than they necessarily wanted to admit. Just the fact that they had said them now made their cheeks flame. But still. Every word was true.

And despite not being able to give true facial expressions, Skye managed to give them a very knowing look. Chimalus decided to ignore it.

Nadia must have noticed. Or maybe she just thought that the way Chimalus had managed to utterly fluster themself was adorable. She smiled, giving a soft, humming sort of laugh. And she gently pressed her lips to the edge of the cut on Chimalus’ head.

“Thank you, Chimalus,” she whispered. “I assure you, nothing like this will happen again. I intend to keep you safe.”

Before Chimalus could reply, Nadia pulled slightly back. She straightened up her skirts, smoothed down her hair, and briskly wiped away the last traces of tears. Chimalus’ heart ached a bit. They wanted to say so much more. They wanted to keep her safe, too. They couldn’t be the one protected all the time. They couldn’t be another burden for Nadia to carry. They wanted nothing more than to help.

And to stay by her side.

At least she was still holding their hand. The two of them weren’t quite tangled up like they had been before, but their hands, resting on the seat in the little empty space between them, were still decidedly connected.

Nadia gently ran her thumb over the back of Chimalus’ hand.

“The world always looks a little better after a good cry, doesn't it?” she mused. “I had forgotten... thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome.” Chimalus’ voice came out a little higher than usual. “I know I always feel better after I let things out like that.”

“You do so often?” said Nadia, teasing.

Chimalus played along. When Nadia smiled like that, they simply couldn’t do anything else.

“Oh, yes,” they said with as straight a face as possible. “I cried yesterday.”

Nadia’s eyes widened. “Oh? Whatever for? I hope I haven’t given you reason to cry...”

“Well, your riding outfit was absolutely incredible,” Chimalus said casually. “You looked so powerful. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I had to let it out somehow, right?”

They did their best to hold Nadia’s gaze. Nadia was smirking again. It took all of Chimalus’ effort to hold back their own laughter.

Then Skye gave a decidedly exasperated trill. And Nadia burst out laughing.

Chimalus couldn’t hold it in anymore. They wound up joining her. The two of them collapsed against each other again, their shoulders shaking, though the tears had been left far behind.

“Well, then,” said Nadia when the laughter had finally subsided enough for her to talk, “if that is true, then you must remind me to talk to my tailor. I’ll get you a suit, too.” She smiled, both playful and somewhat alluring. “You’d look quite ravishing, I think.”

Chimalus would be surprised if their face hadn’t turned into a tomato at that point. “You don’t need to get me anything.”

“I would like to repay you for the compassion you showed me today,” Nadia said simply. “For the companionship as well. If there’s anyone I could have utterly broken down in front of, you are by far the best choice. If you ever need a shoulder to cry on... I hope you know that I am there for you as well. And if a shoulder is not enough, then I fully intend to shower you with gifts until you feel better. Including a riding suit, of course. And perhaps a horse of your own.”

Chimalus somehow turned redder. "Nadia..."

Nadia gently kissed their cheek again. “If I can offer you even a little comfort, I will be happy to give it.”

“Nadia, really, that’s very kind of you, but you don’t need to repay me,” said Chimalus. It was amazing how flustered they managed to get.

Nadia chuckled. “No, perhaps not. But I would like to. If you’ll allow me.”

Chimalus met her eye. She was smiling again, far more soft and sincere than the playful smirk from earlier. Chimalus found they loved this smile just as much as the other one. They loved all of Nadia’s smiles. They hoped she had reason to share those smiles more often.

Before they could say anything more, a clap of thunder shook the air. Chimalus jumped, nearly sending Skye flying. The carriage windows rattled.

Nadia sighed, scowling at the windows as though personally offended by the thunder. “It seems this storm has no intention of letting up. We’d best go find some real shelter.”

She stood gracefully, offering Chimalus her hand. Chimalus accepted. They didn’t exactly like the idea of trudging off in the middle of a storm. But they knew there was very little choice. And it helped to know that they weren’t going through this alone.

Chimalus put up their hood. Skye tucked themself in the little space between Chimalus’ neck and the edge of their cloak. Nadia smiled, more fondly this time. And she gracefully stepped out of the carriage, pausing to help Chimalus down as well.

The two of them set off. And neither let go of the other’s hand.

#vesuvia weekly #how to cry #the arcana fanfic #nadia x apprentice #nadia x mc #oc stuff #apprentice chimalus #scene rewrite #no beta we die like the apprentice #the arcana game spoilers

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centurieslove · 6 months

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Arthur barely spoke, which was thankful enough. Merlin didn’t think he could dredge it all up again, lie again, not this early in the morning. He let himself be carried back as his eyes glassed over, reeling silently as he swayed in his saddle. At first, he couldn’t hear Arthur’s voice saying the words, in his mind’s eye - but if he really focused, if he shuttered his surroundings away, he could just see it: the three hooded figures, Arthur in the misted cave, a promise. Each time the image materialised, it brought a sheer warmth that would start to weave itself along his arms, tingling into his veins- only inevitably to fall into his stomach and settle there, heavy and sick. His palms itched with sweat, the leather reins digging into his palms as he attempted to curb the urge to turn his horse around. The inside of his mouth ached where it had been bitten raw.

All too soon, the creamy faraway turrets of Camelot swayed into view above the treetops - and upon spotting them a violent clench of panic dropped onto Merlin’s chest. He kicked his heels quickly, gathering speed and rode up alongside Arthur. The king’s gaze remained on their path ahead.

"Arthur." Merlin started, firmly.

"Merlin.” Arthur returned, just as firmly.

Merlin kicked his horse a little more, definitely not pretending it was a certain blond king.

"Arthur," Merlin grit through his teeth. "Are you sure?"

Arthur’s sigh was just audible over the rough pad of the horses’ hooves on the forest floor.

"Are you telling me you'd rather see a friend die," the King replied, monotone, solemn.

A friend? Merlin had forgotten-

In a other life, maybe.

"No, but-"

"But what, Merlin. For god's sake." Arthur finally turned to look at him.

Excuses were drying quickly on Merlin's tongue. He dropped his gaze to where Arthur’s hands seemed to be holding back the temptation to rip the reins in two. Merlin held back the temptation to shake the king until he fell off his horse.

With an unsteady voice, he tried to push Arthur, asking, you’ll repeal the laws, then? Let magic return to Camelot? What did he want to hear?

"...is that what you really want?" Merlin said, then winced. The pathetic, pleading tone in his words; hopefully it wasn’t discernible. Arthur didn't respond.

A faint murmur of crowd rose from over the castle walls that swayed ever closer. He pushed again, throwing increasingly agitated comments across the space between them, like, how will the people react?, and- you can’t expect them to welcome back magic overnight, and after a while, it’ll be dangerous- you, you have to con-

“I know!” Arthur yelled, suddenly glowing with rage. “You think you know how to run a kingdom?"

Merlin held firm, his eyes burning.

"That’s not what I meant.”

Arthur’s gaze was just as solid, blue meeting blue. The crowd’s murmuring roar was cresting over the walls.

“Don’t let me stop you, Merlin.”

Fury buzzed in head. “You,” he started, “could have at least-”

“What.” Arthur snapped. “Spit it out, christ, it’s like talking to-”

“Don’t cut me off then!”

“You’re- you…”

“What. What! What am I?”

Arthur spluttered, “Impossible. I swear to gods…”

Merlin’s chest heaved. He glanced between the approaching gate and the king next to him. Camelot was breaking into view on their direct path now, forest peeling away into vast yellow fields. Merlin bit his lip.

All of my father’s work -

“Why did you change your mind?” he said finally.

Arthur just stared. A small line was creasing between his brows, and when he spoke, it was after a long moment of his blue eyes bearing into Merlin’s, and his voice was calmer, quieter.

Maybe the old ways -

“Who says I’d changed it?” the king said.

Merlin huffed and turned away.

#hello this is a little sample of my WIP disir fic that I've been trying to write on and off for about 4 years #you'd think it would be more than 10k in 4 years. but alas #will i post it to ao3? hopefully before i die #will i post more samples here? maybe #merlin fic #merlin fanfic #the disir #fic #helen's 5x05 fic

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belabellissima · 5 months

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flicker in the night - chapter 3

gift fic for @darling-archeron as part of the @acotargiftexchange

Pairing: Feysand Chapter Warnings: mentions of blood Summary: In her dreams, there is a beast. With scales like a lizard, leathery wings at its sides, and fangs the size of her head, Feyre knows she should be terrified. But the beast is too bleeding itself dry, too busy fighting some invisible barrier to ever turn those slit pupils on her. Until, that is, she touches its blood on the walls, and it stains her fingers silver. Suddenly able to see her, her beast has no intention of ever letting her disappear from its sight again.

Meanwhile in the waking world, a stranger has come to her village, one with hair as black as night, and blue eyes Feyre would swear shift purple the second before she looks away.

But that’s impossible - magic doesn’t exist in the human lands.

So why do her fingers still sometimes shine in the moonlight?

Featuring a modified curse, an overabundant use of the word “salt,” and a human!Rhys with a twist.

Read from the beginning on AO3 or tumblr Read Chapter 3 on AO3 or below:

Feyre was dreaming again, that same strange dream trapped in labyrinthine caves and tunnels. She still held her bow, her quiver empty of all arrows save one. She slung the bow back around her shoulders, keeping her hands free as she walked with light feet down the halls.

The torches still flickered and shadows still danced in the corners, following her and tangling around her feet like mist. Every few minutes, Feyre heard laughing in the distance. It was never a kind laugh, never one born from genuine humor. She dreaded the idea of running into whoever it was making that sound, dreaded seeing whatever event was prompting its creation.

Whenever the sound grew too loud, she would take a different tunnel, turn around and head away. Anything to steer clear of that horrible ruckus, the fear that dripped down her spine at the sound. She might not fear the beast, but that beast had feared the intruder. Feyre wisely decided she would do the same. She heard footsteps down the hall and ducked into a doorway alcove, pressing herself against the shadowy corners just in time.

A man walked by, talking lowly with another at his side. They were both dark-skinned with glowing white hair, and one of them had a beast trailing behind, his own creature of half-visible light that calmly walked in his footsteps. This beast was different than hers - it had scales more like a fish than a lizard, and those scales were blue, rather than black. A white mane ran along the back of its neck, and rather than ears, it had fins that stuck up. Gills ran along its neck, and a tattered, rotting fishnet was slung over its back like a saddle. Half horse, Feyre realized, and the lower half that of a fish. The fish half dragged along the ground, leaving a trail of salty water in its wake. The water never seemed to run out, and the scales on its thick tail didn’t seem dried out - a lucky thing in a place such as this.

Its eyes were fathomless, black as the depths of the sea, and its hooves on its front feet the same. And then it opened its mouth to heave a sigh, revealing rows and rows of needle sharp teeth designed for tearing flesh from bone.

Feyre didn’t dare breathe as it passed, eyes wide with her terror. This beast was dangerous - this beast wouldn’t hesitate to rip her throat out and drink her blood if she disturbed it.

It didn’t seem to notice her, too busy pressing its head against the back of the man it followed. Its head went right through the man’s chest, sticking out on the other side like it was a ghost, completely incorporeal. Without stopping his conversation with the other man, the first absently pet at the forelock of the horse until it settled, closing its eyes and dropping back again so that the two were once more separated.

Feyre turned her attention back to the man. When she saw his ears, she flinched backward, almost gasping and giving away her position.

His ears were pointed. The man was fae.

“He’s running out of time,” the other fae said, keeping his voice low enough that Feyre had to strain to hear him.

“He’ll succeed,” the one with the beast replied. “He has to, for all our sakes.”

“And if he doesn’t? There’s barely six months left. That’s hardly enough time.”

The one with the beast shook his head. “We must keep hope, Brutius.”

“We ought to try and escape,” Brutius said, and the other man shot him a look so severe that Brutius shrank back, dipping his head away. Feyre, risking it all to keep eavesdropping, silently emerged from her hiding place and followed. “Tarquin, please.”

Tarquin shook his head. “I will not risk our people when there is still a chance. After, if Tamlin fails us. Then we try. But for now, no more talk of treason.”

Feyre’s curiosity burned, and in her haste to catch up, her foot slipped audibly on the stone floor. The horse-fish beast flicked its ear fins backward toward her, bucking its head up. Feyre turned on her heel and ran, not waiting to see if the two fae would be able to sense her as well.

Feyre ran for minutes, ducking down hallways and through doorways, praying she wouldn't come across any other fae in the halls. She ran blindly, following the barest hint of a tug that promised safety, if only she could just reach it. Get there.

At last, she began to recognize the halls from her last dream. She slowed, her breaths coming harsh and loud in her own ears and the echoes they caused bouncing off the walls. But she heard the growling too, the pacing of her beast at that open cave mouth, and she allowed her heart to settle as she rounded the final bend and saw it there in all its glory.

It didn’t notice her again until she reached out and touched its heaving shoulder, smearing her hand across one of the slowly weeping wounds. The pressure of her hand made it still instantly, before it slowly turned its head on that long, serpentine neck until it could look her in the eyes again.

The silver blood still speckled the walls, still hung in midair on the invisible barrier that kept the beast trapped. Feyre pulled her hand off the beast, glancing at it to see her other palm was now fully silver. Bringing the two hands together, it looked like she was cupping starlight in her palms. She lowered her hands, looking back at her beast.

It pressed its chin into her hands, letting her cup its giant face as its eyes fluttered closed, the second inner eyelid moving a fraction of a second before the outer. A flight lid, just like a bird of prey had to protect their eyes while diving for fish and other game.

Feyre’s heart ached for the beast, its pain her own in that moment. The knowledge that it had wings, had a nictitating membrane on its eyes, and yet was trapped beneath stone, unable to escape into the sky it could see mere feet away.

Footsteps chasing after her startled both her and her beast out of the moment. It snapped its eyes open, lips curling back as it snarled at the intruder. It stepped over her, its foot and leg forcibly pushing her out of the way, so that the beast’s whole body was between her and the threat. But its tail - that lashed wildly back and forth, knocking into Feyre and sending her careening off balance toward the cave entrance.

She expected to hit the same barrier of resistance that her beast did, so it utterly shocked her when she fell right through the cave entrance, landing on her back on the rocky ground, staring up at the night sky.

Her breath had been knocked from her lungs, and she sucked it back in greedily as she pushed herself up, spinning around to take in the area.

The mountain.

It sloped downward toward that chilling forest and unsettling bog. But it also sloped up, and Feyre could see all the way to the peak, the stone clawing at the sky as if cursing it for being free, while it was trapped on the ground.

Someone cursed inside the cave, drawing Feyre’s attention back to the situation at hand.

Feyre crept forward quietly, until she could hear the same two fae as before.

“It’s just Night,” Tarquin said.

“It was a spy,” Brutius said back.

“It’s not anymore,” Tarquin replied, a touch sardonic. “Night is too territorial to let anyone get close without losing their life. Probably swallowed whoever it was whole.”

Feyre carefully looked through the beasts legs. The two fae stayed a healthy distance back, far out of reach of her beast, and therefore too far away to see her hiding beyond. Tarquin’s beast pawed at the ground, snorting its furious challenge at her beast, sea-mist billowing from its nostrils.

Tarquin backed up, never taking its eyes off Feyre’s beast, even as it pressed a calming hand to his own beast’s chest and gently nudged it backward.

“Still fighting to break free,” Brutius murmured, a frown crossing his face, white eyebrows drawing together over ocean blue eyes, just like Tarquin’s. “Who do you think is the High Lord?”

Tarquin shook his head. “I have no clue. I’d thought the majority of his whole court here, but it didn’t seek out any of them when…” Tarquin trailed off. “Perhaps the Morrigan had a son at some point and no one ever knew, and that’s why she’s not here. She’s off with him, keeping him safe until the power can return to Keir’s bloodline. Either way, some poor sod in the North has no clue he’s going to be the next High Lord. Assuming we ever get free,” he added a moment later.

“Come on,” Brutius said, reaching out to nudge Tarquin back and put himself between his friend and Feyre’s beast. “Let’s leave it alone.”

Tarquin held out for another long moment, before turning and following his own beast back down the hallway into the torch-lit darkness.

When at last their footsteps were inaudible, her beast turned to look at her, eyes wide and frantic as it pushed its head against the barrier to try and get to her. It bared its teeth when it failed, claws digging into the stone so sharply Feyre winced at the scraping sound. She cupped its chin again, easily stepping through the non-existent barrier to let the beast press its whole head against her chest. She had to brace against the force, but didn’t dare ask the beast to stop. Not when she swore she could feel its panic in her own chest, its fear that she would be hurt without it there to guard her at all hours.

It was bleeding again, old wounds torn open from its strain and sharp movements to defend her.

Feyre sighed, reaching out to trail her silver fingers along the edge of one such wound. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” she asked softly. “What did they mean about being trapped?”

She was certain she’d never had such an active imagination before. She wasn’t quite sure where this whole dream sequence full of fae and magic was even coming from.

The beast hesitated, holding her gaze with its own, its eyes a pitch black all the way through the sclera, with the iris itself the violet of the stardust that spilled across the sky.

Night. Hadn’t that been what Tarquin had called it?

The beast stretched its wings out in answer. Or rather, it tried to.

As it spread them, glowing copper chains appeared as if by magic, binding the wings closed and tight against the body of the beast. In the torchlight, the copper looked like blood. Normal blood. Human blood. The beast growled, biting at the metal and pulling, trying to free itself to no avail. A leash hung from the collar at its neck, trailing off in the same direction Tarquin and Brutius had departed.

She never would have known it was there if the beast hadn’t shown her. The moment it stopped fighting, the chain, collar, and leash all faded into nothing. Hidden, invisible to the eye but not to the heart. Not now that she knew.

“Who did this to you?” she whispered.

Her beast flicked its ears back, laying them flat against its head as it turned around and stared down the hallway. Feyre couldn’t stop herself from laying her hand on its flank, keeping close as her beast began to slowly limp away from the mouth of the cave. It helped her balance as they climbed the steeper slope caused from years of pacing, then curled its tail around her to keep her other side protected, keep her cradled within reach should another threat appear.

It led her down endless hallways. Feyre could have sworn her dream logic was changing the paths, that the fork they approached hadn’t existed even a few minutes earlier, let alone in the previous dreams she’d had.

More and more torches began to appear on the wall, illuminating the space without it actually feeling any brighter. Everything was still seeped in a miasma of misery, and it didn’t help that a warning rumble had taken root in her beasts chest a few turns back , not letting up the closer they got to their destination,. To the answer to Feyre’s question.

She heard the screaming first, then the laughter again, that same laugh that had gotten her lost enough to stumble upon Tarquin in the first place. It made her heart leap into her throat, and Feyre froze, stopping mid stride. The beast continued on anyway, until it paused in a large arched doorway. The room on the other side burned golden yellow from the flames, but a stench of blood and death coated everything. Whoever had cursed her beast, trapped it, they were evil. Feyre could feel it in her bones.

And she did not want to see them. Did not under any circumstances want them to see her. She took a step back.

In the hall, the laugh paused, trailing off.

“Oh,” said a feminine voice. “He actually stopped fighting and deigns to join the party. Are you finally giving up on him and searching for a new lord?”

The beast pulled its teeth back in a snarl. Along its neck and jaw, spikes flared up like hackles. Feyre hadn’t even noticed them before, they blended in with the scales so well. But then again, the beast hadn't faced something like that voice before.

At least not in her dreams, that was.

With one last snarl, one snapping bite at another fae that got too close for an instant, her beast turned tail on the open doorway and bolted straight for her.

#acotar gift exchange #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fic #acotar fic #bela writes #flicker!fic #secret santa

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nightfallgazer · 1 month

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Wanted to show my Charlie redesign. All my thoughts on the canon design, my take on Charlie’s personality, and development of my redesign is under the cut.

By the Way: ❌🔥I do not support Vivzipop🔥❌and if you do not like fans redesigns, block the tag and scroll along.

Do not repost/edit/steal my art, thank you.

My handwriting sucks ass lmao. Anyway, green text is design elements I like and blue text is design elements I dislike.

For my redesign Charlie in her based form:

I tried to make her look older like she is her 30s, not in her 20s. Even though canon Charlie is over 100 years old.

Less red!! I made her suit brown because brown and red look amazing together.

Gave her puffy shirt sleeves because those are my weakness and I want to give her a little bit of theater kid energy.

Her still has her hooved feet but I sucked at drawing regular feet, let alone animal feet but they are there I promise.

She is still 6'5 and dislikes being called ' Charlottle'.

In her Partial Demon Form:

I like that her horns ripped through her skin in the show, I keep that. It looks cool as fuck.

Her eyes became a four-pointed star and her cheek marks become scribbles when she is angry.

My Charlie has more of official title: Charlie Morningstar, Princess of Pride Ring but will earn the title 'Princess of Hell' over time by unleashing her true potential, showcasing her raw power, and developing her leadership skills.

Her personality: Charlie is still a kindhearted person but is not a doormat. If you double crossed her, you are on her shit list, end of story. Do not take her kindness for weakness. Charlie is snarky but is very low key about it. She likes to make sly comments under her breath. Does not swear in front of strangers. She likes to keep a professional appearance but does swear around friends. The only swear words she uses are ass, damn, bitch but when she is upsets, she will throw out a fuck. She likes to go around in Pentagram City to learn and understand the lifestyles of sinners.

For my version of Charlie. I want her to stand out more, like she is a child of the first woman and a fallen angel, she is one of a kind. So here is some of her quirks:

When she is excited, she 'baas' like a goat.

Sticks out her tongue at random moments. You can be having a normal conversation with her, and she will stick out her tongue. You can ask why she did that, but she would shrug and respond, 'I have no idea what you are talking about'.

Goats like stay in groups and cuddle up together when sleeping [according to a quick search I did] When sleeping, Charlie likes to surround her with a lot of pillows, V [I going to give her a different name when redesigning her] does not mind this and finds it cute.

Charlie is a very light sleeper and is not the nicest person when she does not get enough sleep, so you better not try to open up that one of those cakes with the plastic dome lid in the middle of the night.

Devlopment of my redesign:

Canon Charlie's her face reminds of a Sonic character. I think because how big her eyes are and having a black nose. Maybe that is the Sonic fan in me talking lmao. I made the shape of her eyes smaller but still keeping that apple shaped to her eyes. I have no idea what I struggled with designing her hair. I should not try to redesign characters when I am tried.

For her outfit, I just searched up 'hotel manager uniform' and picked the first uniform I saw.

#my art #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel rewrite #hazbin hotel charlie

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skxrbrand · 5 months

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Prev / Bloodfire Falls, Chaos Wastes

Even through mounting wounds, Kha'xanzyr was anything but an easy mark. The Huntsmaster was younger, with Khorne's determination burning in his eyes, but the Architect had experience. And sheer rage. Not the conflagratory fury of before, but a laser-guided hatred. The razor-sharpened blade, the fired arrow; Sure, implacable, deadly.

He had given up any notion of victory, but Ka'Bandha would not leave here without knowing he had seen battle.

The two Deathbringers, spent from hours of battle, sized each other up, each taking stock of the other's injuries. The Huntsmaster had lost an eye for his troubles, half of his nose cleaved from his face and deep rents scored in his armor. Deeper gouges were carved in his skin, the brass-flesh torn along his back and sides where the Artificer had managed to flank him. Electric figures were burned into his skin, along the lines of his veins, smoking the flesh of his wings. Kha'xanzyr had even done him the kindness of docking his tail.

" Now you look a true warrior instead of a mouthy whelp." The Architect had spat around a mouthful of blood, tossing the limb aside and rejoining the battle in earnest.

But he was not without his pains. One of his arms was broken. Several of his teeth, including one of his fearsome tusks, were gone, trampled to dust somewhere on the battlefield. There was an open wound in his gut, from which entrails threatened to spill. Standing upright had become a slim proposition and the Bloodthirster relied on his axe and remaining good arm to stay aloft. It hurt. But the pain was nothing to the satisfaction of seeing the younger daemon, once so assured and swaggering and disrespectful, humbled and not so certain of his victory. There was hatred there, but also due respect.

" I would leave you your remaining arm." Ka'Bandha started, answered by a growl from Kha'xanzyr. The battle was not yet over, he had not been put in the dirt, his head cleaved from his neck...but what other outcome could there be? In his state? With great reluctance, the Deathbringer willed the electrical storm brewing in his gullet to cease. He spat a gobbet off to the side, brass blood mixed with black saliva. The pool of liquid sparked.

The older Bloodthirster slipped from his bowed stand to one knee. He cast a lingering glance at Havoc, his treasured Wrath-Axe, but in the next moment he felt only hatred for it. What he could not visit on the Keeper of Secrets, he visited on her prison instead, all but throwing the weapon at Ka'Bandha's hooves. With his free hand, he covered the hole in his gut instead, hearing the daemon-metal skip over the earth before his opponent.

With bloody hands, the Huntsmaster swept down with his arm, picking up the heavy Great-Axe with some effort. Then he looked at the other warrior, finding blue eyes boring back into him. No warrior should have to suffer the indignities of what a Slaaneshi could visit upon a defeated foe, but the Huntsmaster had given his word and he intended to keep it.

And Khorne, not at all known for his patience, was waiting.

The connection ended with the turn of Ka'Bandha's heel, the Huntsdaemon sweeping the Greataxe over his shoulder. Over the din of battle, he could hear the other Bloodthirster commanding his forces to move on.

Steadily, the clang of swords died away. The ripping of flesh stopped. Overhead, the Chaos Furies and Harpies gave excited screeches at the meal to come. Kha'xanzyr heard the enemy army approach. Felt them walk past him, heard them sneer, and flared out his rage-born electricity whenever anyone came too close. Ka'Bandha might be able to fell him, but to them he was still quite dangerous, even in defeat. And then they were gone and he could hear the sounds of his own men, the daemons and mortals and beasts who had survived, regrouping.

Then they were gone to. They had spared Kha'xanzyr the dishonor of their offered assistance...or perhaps they thought him dead. No matter. He had only the Furies and Harpies for company now, hearing them battle over the choicest bits of flesh. Kha'xanzyr snorted.

How long do you plan to drag this out?

He lifted his head and, as if right on cue, the imposing figure of Tanakhuill stood far enough to be recognized and close enough that their approach would inspire terror. The Architect had been treated to many of their toothy, self-satisfied smirks in his dreams, but the grin she wore now was the widest he'd ever seen. Painfully broad.

" A killjoy as always." Purred the Keeper of Secrets. She came closer, each step punctuated by a hoofbeat. Slow, unhurried, clearly planning to savor this. To wring the Bloodthirster of each and every agony and luxuriate in each one. Her pincers clacked, held down at a threatening angle. She was practically salivating at the prospect of her revenge, her desire dripping on the ground behind her.

But she would find herself disappointed.

Kha'xanzyr took his good arm, moving it away from his wound and letting his entrails drop into a steaming mass upon the chaos-tainted earth. With gore-coated hands, he produced the pearlescent orb that Revel had given him after his ordeal with the much more dangerous N'kari.

Ignoring the wrothful screech that had emanated from Tanakhuill's direction, the Bloodthirster threw the orb to the ground. It was tiny in his claws, but did it's job, ripping a portal beneath the red daemon and into the Palace of the Arch-Tempter.

He looked up, just soon enough to catch a glimpse of the Keeper of Secret's beautiful taurine features twisting into a mask of rage and disbelief. She was quick, as all Slaanesh's brood were, but her kill-stroke hadn't come quick enough. Kha'xanzyr felt the razor edge of her pincers cut across his brow and even into one of his horns, but it had only grazed him. Nothing more.

He was falling.

Falling, buffeted by wind, brought mercilessly to the ground by gravity. But not before tearing a path of destruction into N'kari's palace grounds first, decimating several temples, towers, ripping up immaculate gardens, and killing several dozen lounging daemons. He came to rest at last, a crater in the earth, loathsomely alive.

Hatefully, spitefully alive.

#plot point #warhammer fantasy #KHA'XANZYR (THE ARCHITECT);#GUEST MUSE; TANAKHUILL #GUEST MUSE; KA'BANDHA

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heranubis · 2 months

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LAST HOUSE IN THE BAYOU: Infernal Alex Keller mini-series ◇ chapter III. FIREWEED ◇ img cred ◇

◇ CONTENT WARNINGS: alex bites out of aggression and wound is vaguely described being treated

- ◇ - ◇ - ◇ - ◇ - ◇ - ◇ - ◇ - ◇ - ◇ - ◇ -

The dreams and long, sleepless nights continue as time slowly crawls by. Weeks into months as you work on bringing life back into the old house. The demon torments anyone who tries to offer help - hiding tools, making screams far off in the bayou, even the shadows move like something evil and ugly. But you are not deterred - and simply take up the jobs yourself.

Many days are spent with you on your knees ripping up old carpets and humming along to your old radio as he stands in the doorway, his hooves clicking as he shifts his weight. You still don't have a name for him, nor does he have yours. He growls and hisses and speaks in a language that hurts whenever you try to call him anything other than 'demon'. You gave up shortly after the first nose bleed.

The next project is perhaps the most tedious and annoying. You decide to repaint the walls before installing new flooring - and every time you decide on a color, the nightmares start up again. Still you as a child, still those sharp claws digging into your shoulders. But the old woman doesn't save you again - you simply stand in the hallway with him behind you until morning arrives and the sun saves you from his touch. When you decide on a soft shade of blue, his grip doesn't seem as tight.

- ◇ -

You decide on carpet - picking a soft gray that pairs well with the blue on the walls; it also masks the sound of his hooves, gives your brain a moment to forget he's there and watching. He's not as hostile as he was in the beginning, and you think perhaps it's time mellowing out his temper - or maybe he finally realized you're not going anywhere.

And then... you have another dream. This one is different from the others, it feels like something you're not meant to see, but your eyes won't open.

It's a battlefield, and there's a gun in your hands - but this body is not your own. "Alex" you hear a voice call, and your head involuntarily turns to greet it. "Cmon, man - we can't save them. We have to go!" You don't know who they are, or who this Alex is, but you know the words hurt him. It feels like knives shoved between the ribs and twisted with an anger no man should possess. It hurts and it burns and you feel like you're dying.

Everything moves fast and slow, a blur and crystal clear. There's pain in your left leg and then suddenly... you don't feel anything. Your eyes open and you're looking directly at the demon as he leans over you on your bed. His clawed hands braced on either side of your head, his knees pressed tightly against your hips and his tail swaying angrily. His lips curl back in a snarl as he glares down at you.

"Stay out of my head. Or else" he growls - and then, in the blink of an eye, he's gone and you're alone in the bed.

- ◇ -

The demon doesn't disturb you for the rest of the month, but you see him in doorways and shadows. He never stays long enough for you to get a good look, but you know he's there. You almost... feel bad for him. Clearly he'd been through something traumatic as a human, and maybe it was that anger that kept him bound to this world. Privately, in the safety of your mind, you call him Alex. And you think the wallpaper matched his eyes almost perfectly.

- ◇ -

Making peace with the demon is far harder than you could even begin to imagine. The whiskey bottle you had hung in the soul tree for him constantly shatters, and yet you always find one to replace it. It's almost a daily ritual, changing out the bottles and silently hoping this one lasts longer than the others - but it never does.

You leave out sweets and desserts for him. Bottles of strawberry jam, a pile of honeysuckle blooms, even a spare bottle of moonshine you'd found tucked away in the cupboard. It seems this type of offering is accepted - as you find a ghost orchid resting on your pillow the next time you lay down for sleep. He doesn't stomp as often, nor does his tail lash so violently. He almost seems... demure, tamed.

- ◇ -

The first time you call him Alex is when things truly reach their peak - he bites you. Right on your shoulder, you feel his sharp teeth break skin and the smell of blood in the air and then he's gone. You're too busy tending to the wound to notice how he slinks into the bathroom behind you and places clawed hands on the sink, trapping you between his arms. "Don't call me that" he says - his voice soft and gruff; he hasn't truly spoken since that one time you'd told him to get out.

"It's your name, isn't it? Alex?" you mumble softly, tenderly wiping the blood from the bitemark, ignoring how his eyes burn into you. "Nobody's called me that for a long time" he whispers, his tail curling tightly around your leg, his head almost hesitantly nestling against the back of your head. "A thing like me doesn't deserve a name"

You pause at that, and make eye contact with him through the mirror. His eyes are the same blue as the walls that surround you - and he looks tired. But this is a tired no sleep can fix, this is the exhaustion of existance.

"I'm not human anymore. Don't call me that" he hisses again, his eyes now hard and pupils sharp - slitted like a crocodiles. "I don't want you here - why won't you just leave?! Like everyone else - just go! Get out!" he practically snarls, his voice inhuman and otherly as his words seem to claw down to your bones.

You look at him through the mirror - and you see the hurt, the fear. Turning around, you look down and finally notice why his hoofbeats sound off. Just below the knee, his left leg is metallic and skeletal - he notices your stare and shifts his body to remove it from your sight. His tail whips and he disappears, the smell of sulfur strong enough to make your eyes water.

- ◇ -

The next time you walk outside, the whiskey bottle in the soul tree is on the ground - perfectly intact, as if someone had cut it free. You kneel down and pick it up, glancing back at the other bottles, and you notice something. All of the other bottles have slips of paper in them - names written down with words of love and warmth scrawled across. Aged by the elements yet remaining - you know what to do now.

Brown glass shines dully in the sun, held up by a thick cord and deep in the belly of the bottle lays a paper with a name carefully inked.

Alex.

#heranubis #call of duty #alex keller #alex keller x reader #modern warfare 2

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theblackphoenixwritings · 3 months

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ᴅᴀʏ 𝟽 - ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs: ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ?

-ᴍᴀʀɪᴜs/ᴀᴍᴀᴅᴇᴏ -ᴀᴜ/ᴡᴇsᴛᴇʀɴ - ᴘᴀʀᴛ 𝟸

The trail led further and further into the canyon. As the sun began to set on the horizon Marius noticed, that up ahead someone had stopped in a recess of the rock. He dismounted from his horse and led Wise by the reins, to the small encampment, the traces of a fire and the scraps of a frugal meal were still visible. It was clear that someone had stopped there. Even clearer that the person in question was his Daniel, considering the unmistakable canine footprints, and the shape of the hooves, strong on the ground, a hard hoof, like that of Daniel's mustang. Marius removed his hat, running his hand through his long blond hair, stared, then, at Wise, who snorted in response.

"Damn...I missed it by half an hour at most," Marius mumbled, staring at the sky above him that was changing from light blue to dark blue. Considering that that canyon was the perfect place for an ambush, and that there was not much chance of survival if attacked from above, Marius considered moving on.

It was foolish of him to cling to the idea that he would make it out of the canyon before morning, but he could look for a more protected, and hidden, place. He climbed swiftly and with a single, fluid movement onto Wise, who resumed his march, spurred on by Marius, at a trot. A small cloud of dust followed their path, as the moon grew more fearless in the sky.

"Do you hear me?" shouted, at one point impatiently Marius feeling like an idiot. And he was, for a thousand reasons that was a really bad idea in such a place.

"Damn it," Marius repeated through clenched teeth. No response and the path deserted. He could only go on.

Marius had to thank his long experience as a sheriff, and his instincts, which led him to stop his horse a couple of hours later.

Before what looked like the outlet to a larger opening in the canyon. Something was wrong, and this was clear to him from the straight hairs on his arms, and the cold sweat on his forehead. Wise recoiled, another bad sign; his horse was strong and had followed him through many adventures and battles. This sudden nervousness of his,Marius remembered seeing him only in the face of impending and deadly danger. The thought was quick and the body even more so in executing the dismount from the horse, Marius aqquatted himself, leading Wise, behind a large boulder, with a caress on his muscular neck, he made it clear to his fellow adventurer to wait for him there. He took the winchester, from the leather pouch on the horse's back, checked that it was loaded, and did the same with the Colt Navy in the holster at his side, and following the path of the fallen rocks close to the one behind which he had hidden the horse, proceeded to the opening. It was at once a pleasure and a disappointment to find that his instincts were always in top form. There was a group of men, near some burning fires, strangely there was no smell of food or horses. Just silent, somber men. Marius, he could not shake that feeling of danger. There was something extremely wrong with that scene before him. Another confirmation was not long in coming the moment when by the light of the fire,boys were dragged into the midst of the group of men.

Marius pulled the small binoculars out of his saddlebag. He could see that those boys were not only emancipated but frightened, the long shadows on their white faces, and their eyes glassy with terror, the men around them were also extremely pale, but their eyes had a strange light and Marius could swear, a color that did not exist among humans. One of the men raised his hand to grab one of the boys, Marius' stomach twisted, were those claws? But it was not possible for a man to have such hands. Before Marius could recover from that thought, that hand ripped into the flesh of one of the boys and the five men pounced on him. Marius, he had seen endless unspeakable horrors during his service as sheriff, but never anything like this. He vomited. And when he returned with his eyes on the scene three of the four boys lay, the barred-eyed corpses dull against the living fire that burned in the night. Those were not men. And if they had been, they no longer remembered what it meant to be one.

The last boy stepped back toward the fire, his hair, a color Marius had never seen, was illuminated by the fire. They were red, but not a light red, like the one Marius knew well, for his best friend had them that color. It was a rich, iridescent red that looked almost like the color of the other boys' blood against the barren earth. Marius thought of nothing else at that moment except that no more innocent blood should be shed that night. He slinged the winchester and five shots rang out in the canyon, in that silence they were like a rumble of thunder. The bodies slumped, and Marius ran toward the boy; when he was almost beside him, he clearly saw him shake his head.

"It's okay," Marius whispered as he approached, but he realized late that the terror in the boy's eyes was not for him. At that moment turning around, he managed to avoid the claws, which would have mauled him. Backing away, Marius, stared dumbfounded at the man in front of him from whose forehead, copious amounts of blood was leaking from the perfect bullet hole Marius had just shot him.

Before he could even think, the other figures lying on the ground began to move. He felt something clinging to his duster, it was the dark red-haired boy, instinctively Marius pushed him behind him to protect him, but the boy grabbed his sleeve and at the same moment as the creature attacked again, the boy handed him a flaming wood. The creature's deep, creepy laughter made Marius shudder-how could he fight that thing? How with a flaming wood?

The creature laughed again, Marius could not see the blow, which came straight at him and threw him to the ground, only his stubbornness made him stay anchored to that flaming log. He understood that the creature was playing with him, as the cat does with the mouse, enjoying himself and savoring the moment of an inevitable end, the death of Marius. In an instant Daniel's smile and his violet eyes flashed past him, he could not give himself away, and an even darker fear enveloped him, what had happened to Daniel? Had he met those creatures? Had Marius arrived late?

No, he would have sensed it, he was sure, if Daniel had died, but was he safe? Or was he also in the hands of these creatures?

His thoughts suddenly cleared at the indescribable, heartbreaking sound of screams that sounded human but were not. Rising Marius saw the red-haired boy running toward him pursued by the flaming figure of two of the monsters. Their arms stretchedforward, their bones already compromised by fire, fell to the ground continuing their litany of screams. A moment later, where there were bodies before there was now only ash that was slowly worn away by the night wind. The other creature turned toward them and blew an ancestral growl burst from its chest, and leaned toward them, fiercely, Marius realized that this was an opportunity. There is nothing more foolish than believing oneself invincible or unassailable. Marius did not move, he stood to shelter the red-haired boy, and the creature's momentum, its mad rush, Marius used it to their advantage, at the last moment the flaming stick was used as a shield. The creature's momentum could not be restrained, and the result was that it was enveloped in flames and followed the same fate as the other two creatures. Marius stared in horror and amazement at the creature dissolving into the desert sand.

He picked up the flaming stick, ready to continue the fight, but the other two creatures had disappeared into thin air. Marius let go of the stick and turned to stare at the boy, who looked at him with his big dark eyes. Marius took off his duster and slowly with extreme gentleness wrapped the boy in it.

" Thank you, for teaching me about fire. What is your name?"

The boy stared at him, Marius noticed the blood under his nails the scratches on his face his thinness and the bruises on his body, the boy did not answer but threw himself into his arms. He was exhausted and wounded.Marius took him in his arms, whistled, and Wise came trotting in at once. The boy laid his head on Marius' chest with a sigh.

" Protected, kind, good....." muttered the boy weakly and then fell asleep.

Marius took a blanket from the bag attached to Wise's back and wrapped the boy in it. It was damn cold that desert at night. The boy would not have survived without care, and without rest. Marius stared at the clearing sky; dawn was near.

"Okay, I have to go back and reach the tribe of Teskhamen." He was the only one who could help and heal the boy. It would take another day's march to reach the place where the tribe resided.

" Maybe Daniel stopped by. I just hope he's okay." Marius had no choice; he could not risk the boy's death; he had to get him to safety.

With determination, he turned Wise toward the road they had traveled to get there. The boy safe in his arms, Marius followed the path back to the tribe that resided not far from there, of which Teskhamen was the leader, and the healer.

#VC #Au fic #Western AU #marius de romanus #armand #marius/armand #PART 2 #writing challenge #my writing

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applesaucesomething · 1 year

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They were all originally going to be facing forwards…but thats hard as hell so take this instead

Desicription under the cut:

A digital drawing of Noelle, Kris, Susie and Berdly standing next to each other as a reference sheet.

Noelle has curly blond hair with the front two sections on each side tied with a bobbled hairband. She is wearing a collared (supposed to be lace but I can’t draw that) shirt with a green and red Checkered sweater vest. She has one arm outstretched to the side and the other to her side she has hooves for hands. She is wearing a black pleated skirt. Noelle’s fur is lightening and thickening in patches for the winter. Her antlers are still present. She has a red nose and is also smiling happily.

Kris is standing next to Noelle they have shoulder length brown hair covering their eyes with the front parts changed to a blue colour because of the dark world. They are wearing a brown collared shirt with a baggy striped green and yellow jumper, their shirt is poking out from the bottom of their jumper. They have a chain on their right side. They are wearing baggy brown jeans and trainers. On their jumper they have four pins these include a non binary pin, aroace spec pin and a bisexual pin.

Next to kris is Susie she is a lot taller than the rest of the group and is facing the side smiling with one hand on her him and the other to her side. She has long dark brown hair that goes across parts of her face with the front two parts being purple from the dark world. She has yellow eyes, claws and sharp yellowing teeth. Her scales are darker across her skin except for her neck and palms of her hand where the scales are lighter and change shape slightly. She is wearing a light blue and white striped T-shirt with a long jacket overtop that she has rolled the sleeves up to. She has on jeans that are ripped at the knees with the legs rolled up and black boots underneath.

Next to Susie is Berdly he is also facing to the side with a smug expression and both wings on his hips. He is wearing oval glasses that are kept on with sellotape. On his forehead you can see smaller feathers that have fluffed upwards. He is wearing a black T-shirt with a white flannel shirt overtop. His tail is seen behind him.

#deltarune #art #my art #deltarune fanart #noelle holiday #kris dreemurr #susie deltarune #berdly deltarune #noelle holiday fanart

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glitterdragonthegreatprotector · 3 months

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Abaddon

Archangel of repletion

Seraphim (insect variant)

He was in charge of supplies for heaven/caelum, but started stealing some of the supplies for himself as there was no need for such large amounts of certain metals and crops. He also started roughhousing with some of the thrones for bets over food and shiny things.

Fell at age 8, not too long after his little brother Satan.

He/her, aromantic, genderfluid, and he shows sthenolagnia as a preference. He only liked to have children with anyone as strong or stronger than him (though not that many demons get to be very strong, so he often sneaks to the mortal realm during times of war to watch soldiers train, or caber toss games)

Slight inferiority complex, along with immense amounts of comfort eating. He often cries to Satan or Beelzebub over eating food meant for the people, as he has more trouble with impulse control. He occasionally pisses off other devils, due to a need to fight, and he runs off into battle during purges even though it’s better for everyone if he hides. His hallucinations involve taunts and unintelligible words that he mistakes for insults (he will randomly fight or cry because of these, depends on his mood.) He is cursed to inevitably destroy everything he touches, which is why he goes after the strongest, in hopes that someone will survive his curse, or that his children with whomever he mated with will survive.

Original look: blood red eyes, pale skin, black long hair, white wings, blue robes, brown sandals.

New look: a centaur with insect limbs bent to look like horse limbs, the front and back of his legs are ripped off below the joint, and replaced with horse hooves (god mocked his love for the centaurs with this form.), his head is a locus face sitting on top of a humanoid one that has lion teeth and mandibles behind his lips. He has a ring of his own face on the back of his head, with their eyes gouged out, and their hair covers them (these make him have an echo-y voice as he speaks with these mouths instead of his main mouth. He roars/screeches with the insect/lion head.) He has torn up locus wings on his back, a scorpion tail, along with his top dominant arms being Scorpion claws. He has two other extra pairs of arms that look like locus arms, with “fingers” that look like the claws at the end of a locus’s tarsus. Embedded deep in his skin, working like an exoskeleton, is hot iron, that eternally burns his skin (he has not grown numb to the pain, but he has grown better at hiding his suffering.) Around his waist is a belt of skulls, varying from human skulls to demon ones, these are his lovers from over the years, or how he puts them, his “Faces of Strength” as he does not marry for love, but respect for demons and humans that push against the odds and become the strongest despite everything being against them.

Full form: a swarm of flaming locusts, each plated in hot iron instead of their natural shells, taking the form of a flaming pterocentaur. His faces on the back of his head float around the “head” of the swarm that makes up his body, his original face missing their eyes is copied 20 times, with 9 on the top row and 11 on the bottom (Reference to when he shows up in the bible, in Revelation 9:11.)

#fnaftale #underverse #fnaf au #undertale au #underfazverse #abaddon #demon #forgot to draw his belt of skulls but his design is busy enough as is-#I'm tired of drawing him-#hddjdjsjksks #tw body horror #body horror tw

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steakout-05 · 8 months

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muffinsposting on main!?!?!?!??

so i'm a pretty longtime fan of the My Little Pony grimdark fanfic 'Muffins' (by an author i will not name for drama-related reasons. you can easily find it if you look it up, but i ask that you please do not discuss any drama related to them on this post), and i really like the character of Minkie Pie. in the story, she's Pinkie Pie's eldest sister, along with Inkie Pie and Blinkie Pie (maud doesn't exist rip maud). Minkie is her long lost sister who was trapped in a cellar since she was a filly and thus never developed a proper childhood. she's a very quiet and creepy mare who has a lot of passion for endgaming other ponies in the most overly violent ways possible. she has a very pretty design and i've always liked how creepy and timid she is.

she's always been a favourite of mine, but because of the fanfic's poor writing and general issues with Minkie's original character, people have been creating rewrites and redesigns and i thought i should make my own as well! i haven't gotten to properly drawing her yet, but here is a rough sketch of my Minkie redesign, 'Moonstone Pie'!!

this is Moonstone! she's a tall, slim earth pony who is very shy, timid and lacks a lot of crucial social skills. she bears a lot of religious trauma on her shoulders and has issues with properly trusting other ponies, but she's a really sweet pony once she feels like she can trust someone. she's named after a real rock of the same name, similar to how Minkie's birth name is Obsidian. i haven't gotten her special talent and stuff figured out yet since i've been mainly working on her design and backstory, but here she is :) i'm really proud of her and i'm really excited to develop her more as a character!!

her proper appearance is as follows:

Hide: a dark blue-grey sort of colour, with a white fade at her hooves. the sketch doesn't reflect it but Moonstone has peculiar black and white splotches on her fur all down her back that make her look like the night sky.

Mane: a very very dark purple that looks black in the dark. it's very long and straight, with a long fringe covering her left eye. one side of her mane and her tail are tied with thin black ribbons.

Eyes: her eyes are green, but change depending on what point of the story she's in. for example, when she was a child, her eyes were a bright Applejack-green to symbolise her innocence, but after being rescued from the cellar, they are faded and hollow.

Cutie Mark: a black key with a bow in the shape of two wings. this symbolises freedom and being able to unlock herself and fly free from her trauma.

Accessories: black ribbons that are tied to her hair and also hang loosely in it. she also wears a white dress collar.

her rough backstory is under the cut, though i'd like to give a warning that there are (albeit brief) mentions of religious trauma and parental abuse, as well as it being pretty dark. if that makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to read it and you're free to click off and go look at something nice and wholesome!! please take care of yourself :)

i don't have too much of her backstory done yet, so this is mainly a draft, but basically, Moonstone was raised in a cult that's something like The Family International and Jehovah's Witnesses put together. her parents, Cloudy Quartz and Igneous Rock, were very strict with her and would often enact bizarre punishments several incidents related to Moonstone's behaviour occurred, to which her mother, Cloudy Quartz (Pinkie's canonical mother), deemed her a devil and shunned her away into a cellar, where she would spend a majority of her life up until Cloudy "mysteriously disappears" one day.

Moonstone, having been heavily traumatised and weakened from being neglected in the cellar for so many years, is in a state of near-death and delirium. just when it seems like Moonstone is about to kick the bucket, the door opens, and she sees two figures obscured by the sunlight standing at the top of the stairs. she thinks these are angels coming to take her to salvation, but they are actually her sisters Inkie and Blinkie, who just before had literally sent Cloudy plummeting off a cliff until she went splat. Moonstone faints, and after a couple comatose weeks, is introduced into a new "family" run by Pinkie, Inkie, Blinkie and their newest victim recruit, Derpy Hooves. little does Moonstone know, however, is that she has just been dragged into another cult, one that takes ponies and turns them into baked goods in a not-so-cheery way. she basically gets indoctrinated again by ponies who are close to her and manipulate her by giving her a loving family and a stable place to stay. i want to portray Pinkie's baking group as something that's way more sinister than it's portrayed in the original Muffins because i feel like it doesn't address the mental strain it has on the bakers as much as it probably would be. the baker's cult portray themselves as a happy-go-lucky batch of bakers who love each other, but there's really a shitton of distrust and fear between the members of the cult. Moonstone and Derpy later realise this, and agree to escape together as newfound adopted sisters. this is a story about colourful horses by the way- 💀

at the end of the story, her and Derpy end up escaping, and this is when Moonstone finally gets her cutie mark; a key with a pair of wings symbolising her newfound freedom. OG Minkie's cutie mark is a lock, but i didn't really like the message that it represented and felt it didn't make that much sense for Minkie's character, and the concept of a pony getting their cutie mark late is interesting, so Moonstone gets a cutie mark that represents her destiny to finally break free and unlock her true self :)

and that's pretty much Moonstone's character! i'll probably make a proper colour palette for her in the future and i'll see how her character goes if i develop her further. this post isn't confirmation that i'm definitely doing a Muffins rewrite, but i thought giving a different twist on Minkie's character while trying to stay true to the original would be interesting and fun.

a couple other facts about Moonstone:

the ribbons in her hair change colours based on her state in the story. for example, when she was a little kid, her ribbons were white to symbolise her innocence. she later wears black when Moonstone got dragged into the baking cult to symbolise her further dwindling mental state and the horrible situation she was in, basically symbolising how she became a harbinger of death and agony. and at the end, she wears white again to symbolise her newfound freedom and a hope to regain her innocence and happiness now that she is truly free. they also become more flowy when she's wearing white, rather than the viney swirl down her hair when she wears black.

i was originally gonna have Moonstone's cutie mark be something like a wing in chains or a ball of light breaking through black chains, but they felt a little too on the nose. i do like the light breaking through chains idea though :)

thanks for reading all this way :) as mentioned before, please do not use this post to discuss any drama relating to the original author in the replies or reblogs. please also refrain from mentioning the name of the author as well as i fear it would just stir things up. i don't want my blog to become a place of drama, i just want to share my silly little ideas about creepy girl horse :P

#minkie pie #muffins mlp #do not mention the drama relating to the original author on this post please #moonstone pie #oh yeah forgot to tag this but #// spoilers #spoilers for muffins #tw religious trauma #tw abuse mention #tw cult #thought i should add those tags since those are a part of Moonstone's character and i don't want anyone to get uncomfortable :)#take care of yourself :)#a bit nervous to post this but here goes...!!!

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