#the priest at the wake when saying a prayer for the family before everyone else started ushering in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tma-ficrec · 3 years

Text

Five All Time Mod Recs

To start off this blog, we decided to submit ourselves to the mortifying ordeal of being known and show y’all our TMA top fic recs!

These are fics of very different premises and categories that stayed with us and soothed our souls. Feel free to ask for more recs (or more specific stuff) because we’re definitely not done. Enjoy!

Mod Ami:

Statement Ends by @martivist 4k words. Jonmartin. Angst. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. S5 AU.

"Final statement of Jonathan Sims. The Archivist. Statement given… I think it’s June? We haven’t done very well counting time since the days stopped. Summer 2019, call it that. Statement begins.

We’ve found a way to send them back where they came from. All of them."

Forty-some years after the apocalypse abruptly ends, the final acts of Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood come to light.

Mod note: This fic... goddamit this fic. I read it halfway through s5 and I genuinely think this is one of the best endings the show could have had. It hit all the points Jonny made and then some. This fic is pain, yes, but the best kind.

Ninety Feet To Home by @judesstfrancis 33k words. Jonmartin. No Powers AU. Baseball Players AU. Fluff. Pining.

Jon isn’t really Martin Blackwood’s biggest fan. And he knows it’s a him problem, because it’s not like Blackwood is a terrible person or like he loses on purposes just to ruin Jon’s life, but he can’t help it. In his defense, if you were on a hot streak and the same person kept coming in and ruining it for you every single time, you'd harbor a bit of resentment towards them, too.

Mod note: I’m so obsessed with this AU that I broke my vow of not making fanart for TMA and made fanart of it. Yeah. Sue me. It’s the perfect levels of pining, ridiculousness and it brought me (an argentinian whose only baseball reference is the HSM musical number) tremendous joy. As the us-statians would say: home fucking run. ALSO, MARTIN BLACKWOOD IS LATINOOOOO.

Maybe not the stuff of legend by imperfectcircle. 14k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. S5 AU. Ending Speculation. Lore speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending.

Martin forgets slowly at first, and then all at once. One moment he's grasping at memories, desperate without knowing why to retain even a single image of an angry, scarred stranger saying incomprehensible things about eyes, and the next, nothing. He can't even remember what had him so anxious just now. A car alarm, probably, or a dog barking in the distance. He's always startled easily.

Mod note: I still quote it to myself from time to time. ‘’Martin, you ate the megalodon’’ makes me giggle and also terribly sad. This is an excellent way of exploring entities lore, as well as grief and hope.

the garden of forking paths by @bibliocratic. 49k words. Jonmartin. Post-canon AU. Ending Speculation. Angst with a Happy Ending. Use of Spiral Doors.

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

Mod note: I’m argentinian and the major element in this story is a Borgues book. OF COURSE IT’S HERE. This fic is an absolute ride and so so so beautiful - multiple universes and Jon and Martin doing the same thing over and over and over again, with hope of finding each other.

Family, Found by Dribbledscribbles. Gen fic. 9k words. S4 Divergent. Canon Divergence.

It’s Basira who catches onto it.

The collective shift that seems to come over them when heading in or out of the Institute. Not just the oppressive sensation of being observed, their every move catalogued for the voyeuristic cravings of some unseen Eye(s). That feeling remained with them even when they left the Institute these days, but it was always stronger inside its walls. That wasn’t the change. Nor was it the point.

The point was: making life worse for Jonathan Sims.

Mod note: Do you want to hit the Eye? Do you want all the Entities’s plans to be twarted by the power of found family? Do you want everyone who blamed Jon for everything in S4 to sit down and apologise? This is your fic.

Mod Ebby:

the apple of the eye by gocrazygostupid. 2.8k words. Fluff. Lore speculation.

TELL ME, ARCHIVIST

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SONG?

i'm not sure. i don't really get the chance to listen to music

if i told you, what would you do with it?

Mod note: I am absolutely weak towards any fic that gives the Entities some form of sentience, no matter what canon said. Especially when these interactions are so surprisingly soft.

I WOULD PLAY IT

I WOULD LISTEN

in the chillest land and on the strangest sea by imperfectcircle and raven (singlecrow). 19k words. S4 Divergent. Canon divergence, in the space between 159-160

Jon remembers a statement he read years ago given by a Jesuit priest, who said that the shortest prayer he knew was, just, fuck it, as in fuck it; it's in God's hands. He takes Daisy's hand and trails on after her.

or; hope is a thing with feathers.

Mod note: Everytime I read this fic, I end up at least a little teary eyed. It’s not exactly happy, more bittersweet, considering, but I still love it.

Come Love This World (Come Hate It, Too) by cedarbranch. 3.3k words. Character Study, fluff and angst, spans s1-5. Canon Compliant.

Jon never liked poetry, until Martin.

Mod note: Yes I am picking fics that personally came for my heart one way or another, not much else to say, besides that “it feels like loving you” haunts me still to this day, in a good way.

i love you, i'm glad i exist by kissyourlocalmoth. 1.7k words. Scottish safehouse period. Fluff. Established relationship.

Martin was thinking of a poem. It’s name sat on the tip of his tongue, aching to get out. It was a lovely one, too: something about how life felt easy now, at peace; how the small things felt like everything, a poem about… the importance of the little moments. These last few days had been like that, he thought. He couldn’t stop smiling to himself recently, and even Jon teased him about it sometimes, though he was hardly less giddy. He thought of the immense joy the little things brought him now, the mugs of tea they made for each other, how he would lay in their bed late at night staring at the ceiling, his love nestled against his chest, overflowing with so much contentment and fondness he did not know what to make of himself.

Mod note: Short and sweet, it was the first time I read that particular poem, and now it’s forever intertwined in my head with little scenes of jon and martin in the scottish safehouse before 160 happens.

exit wound by autoclaves. 3.1k words. Post-canon AU. Ending speculation.

Suppose there is a house on a hilltop. Suppose there is a story. There is always a story, and every universe is always expanding.

Mod note: I would’ve liked to tag this more, but it would probably spoil the twist it has. Reading back on it, the narration reminds me of the statement from 196, which I find fitting and a funny coincidence, considering.

#the tags used for each fic are tags we plan to use in the future #authors: feel free to ask us to untag you if you wish!#mod rec #fic rec #tma #magnuspod #the magnus archives #fanfiction #fic rec list #the fanfiction archives #list: mod rec #tag: jonmartin #tag: post canon

72 notes · View notes

cyhyr · 3 years

Text

Whumpmas In July: Closure

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~3950

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: Wakes & Funerals, Angst, fluff, smut, blow jobs, hand jobs, moving in together

A/N: BUT LIKE THIS IS JUST P0RN WITH *~*FEELINGS*~*

Conclusion, Starting from "Sleep"

Read After “Hope”

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read on The Archive

Kakashi sits on the edge of the bed and watches Iruka dress. Black on black on black formalwear; he’s dressed similarly. Iruka is fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt, watching himself in the mirror that hangs on the closet door. His hair is still loose, slightly damp at the ends from his shower and curling at his shoulders. It’ll straighten as it dries, Kakashi knows.

“Love.”

Iruka drops his hands. He’s been fumbling the same button for a few seconds.

Kakashi stands and crosses the room. He reaches around Iruka, drawing his back to his chest, and finishes the line of the shirt. With gentle coaxing, he turns Iruka around and then pulls him back into a tight hug.

“We don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this.”

Iruka rests his forehead on Kakashi’s shoulder, his hands light on his waist. “No one else will,” he says quietly.

“That doesn’t mean it’s your responsibility.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just let his spirit float aimlessly?”

Kakashi doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how. He just holds Iruka tighter.

“I need this,” Iruka murmurs. “I need to do this.”

“Alright,” Kakashi kisses his hairline. “Alright.”

He stays at the edge of the cemetery, watching Iruka and the priest speak. He’s too far away to hear. He doesn’t care.

The fuck died a traitor to the village, a rapist and an abuser to the end.

All around this cemetery are the ancestors of civilian families who have lived in Konoha and the Land of Fire for decades, centuries. This… he doesn’t deserve to share the same space as them.

But.

Iruka fought for it. He petitioned Tsunade, and spoke to the priests, and arranged for as many of the funeral rites as he could reasonably be allowed. Mizuki’s name won’t go on the Stone, nor was he allowed to be enshrined in the cemetery with other fallen shinobi. And Iruka was… he accepted the terms.

So this morning they picked up Mizuki’s ashes and bones.

And now they’re here, with incense and candles and one lone white chrysanthemum in Iruka’s fingers. When they’d gotten here, the priest had asked if they wanted to wait for anyone else, but Iruka had sadly murmured to just get it over with. No one else was coming. Iruka had sent out notices to their classmates, old coworkers, the woman that Mizuki had after Iruka; no one had responded.

Kakashi had held Iruka through the disappointment last night. Iruka had hoped that the woman, Tsubaki, would at least show. But yesterday was just like today; nothing and no one else.

So he watches. The incense is lit and prayers are said, the bones and ashes are laid before the gravestone, covered with the wooden marker and one of the few photographs Iruka still has of Mizuki, one taken back when they both had finally completed their first year of teaching.

“This one,” he had said, picking it out of the album. He had put his fingertip lovingly over Mizuki’s face and held back tears, continuing, “We. We were happy, then… I think. Maybe it wasn’t real, but it felt—right.”

Finally the priest finishes the prayers and rites, and the ashes and bones are buried, the marker placed. The priest seems to offer Iruka their condolences one last time, and then leaves. Kakashi holds up a hand to stop them as they approach, and takes out a heavy envelope from his inner jacket pocket. With a slight bow he offers the envelope to the priest, and they accept it silently.

Iruka had told him he could cover the expenses for the service.

Kakashi needs to do this for him, though. It’s all he can do now, really.

Because he’s trying. He’s trying to be objective at least. But this dick abused his lover for years, conditioned him into acting certain ways under stress; and now Iruka takes a small cocktail of medication everyday to keep himself stable. And he can’t forget that, let alone forgive. He won’t.

He’s glad Mizuki’s dead. And also, he’s of the opinion that Mizuki doesn’t deserve the same rites that the dead typically receive. He doesn’t deserve to be treated with the same dignity that everyone else is—Minato-sensei, Obito, Rin.

(Not his father. He. He never did this for Sakumo. He was too young, in too much pain, and the village was all too pleased to see Sakumo gone. He regrets that now, but he can’t… well. The bones and ashes are still in the family shrine. Maybe…)

So instead he pays for the service, and for the cremation, and for the burial, and includes a significant donation to inspire the priests to come by and pray over Mizuki’s grave for the next year or so. Because that’s what Iruka would want. He would want someone to help this poor fuck, even if it couldn’t be himself.

Kakashi wonders if Mizuki knew how lucky he was, to have the devotion of the one person in the entire village—likely the entire world—who knows only how to see the good in people. He wonders if Mizuki knows now how lucky he is, that even though Iruka killed him, even though Mizuki raped him and beat him and brutalized him… Iruka is here, when no one else would step up, praying over his ashes for his soul to find peace.

Because—and it hurts to admit it—Iruka loved him.

Iruka smiles and the sun comes out; Iruka leans on Kakashi and the south winds warm him from the inside out; Iruka kisses him and it’s a revelation. And it’s his capacity to love, and especially to love broken people, that’s given Kakashi the chance to have this. Not his humanity—though that is such a bonus—but this unending fount of love Iruka seems to be made of; that’s his strength.

It’s also his most dire weakness. And Mizuki took advantage of that. He took all the love Iruka gave him and twisted it into something dark and bitter. But instead of running or fighting like any other shinobi should have, Iruka’s response was simply to love Mizuki harder. Maybe they drove each other to the heights of insanity they eventually reached.

Kakashi will never know. And after today he won’t care.

He enters the cemetery to go and stand silently beside Iruka, still praying. Eventually, Iruka picks up his head and leans against Kakashi’s thigh.

“It wasn’t all bad, y’know,” Iruka mutters.

Kakashi doesn’t respond, only carefully places his hand on Iruka’s hair and petting gently.

“After the Kyūbi attack, we roomed together until we graduated from the Academy,” Iruka says. “Sometimes the heat would go out and he would come and huddle with me with all the extra blankets we had.”

He was probably just cold too.

“He stayed up all night with me to practice the clone jutsu before our final test, so we could graduate together.”

He was using your natural ability to teach to learn a last-minute technique.

“He taught Naruto how to roll omelets. That was. That was a nice morning.”

He… hmm.

“He wasn’t always a monster,” Iruka sniffles. “I… He was there, Kakashi.”

“I know, Love.”

“I never wanted this.”

“I know.”

“I thought… For so long, I thought we would be together forever. He was everything. And it was… it was okay. I didn’t know it could be any different.” Iruka looks up at him, tears stuck in his eyes. “He had it easy, didn’t he? I forgave everything he did to me.”

“But he took you for granted.”

“What he did was underestimate my protectiveness,” Iruka sighs. “Both times. It ended our relationship, and then it ended his life.”

They stay in the cemetery for a long time. Kakashi listens to Iruka tell him stories about Mizuki the boyfriend and tries to meld that with his own memories of Mizuki the abuser. When they leave, Iruka drops the chrysanthemum on top of the marker with a finality that screams where the rest of the cemetery is silent.

They go home later, and Iruka stops on the sidewalk looking at his house while Kakashi pushes the fence open and starts down the path to the front door. His black jacket is slung over his shoulder, and the sunset warms his skin and casts a reddish-orange glow onto his pale skin. He stops and turns, one foot propped on the second step up to the porch, and smiles back at Iruka.

That Iruka can tell he’s smiling with three-quarters of his face covered and three meters of space between them… Iruka realizes he’s so far gone on this man. He has been for months.

But Kakashi looks so perfect, waiting for him outside the house.

“Coming, Love?”

Iruka flushes, scratches at his scar, and walks up the path. When he’s close enough to Kakashi, he murmurs, “Hopefully later,” and passes on to the door to unlock it and release the wards. He leads the way inside and looks back over his shoulder to see Kakashi looking at his ass hungrily, still standing in the same spot and position he’d been when Iruka had passed him.

He grins. “Coming, Love?”

Kakashi looks up at him and whines, “Don’t tease.”

Iruka laughs. He turns and goes inside, leaving the door open for Kakashi to follow him. He tosses his keys onto the table in the genkan and begins toeing off his shoes.

Kakashi comes and stands behind him, putting his nose right in Iruka’s hair behind his ear. “Love you,” he mutters.

“Love you too,” Iruka responds. He twists and kisses Kakashi on the cheek, still masked.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Not hungry,” Iruka says. He finishes getting his shoes off and steps out of the genkan. He holds out his hands for Kakashi to take, and grins when he has Kakashi close again, now in the living room. “Though, if you’re on the menu…”

Kakashi takes down his mask, groaning deep in his chest. “I thought you said no Icha Icha lines.” He slips his arms around Iruka’s neck while Iruka’s hands go to Kakashi’s hips.

Iruka leans in slowly. “Are you really complaining?”

“No. No, gods, no. Please kiss me.”

Iruka deliberately kisses Kakashi on the corner of his mouth. And when Kakashi tries to turn into the kiss, he trails kisses away from Kakashi’s lips, across his jaw and down his neck.

“Iruka—!” Kakashi whines.

He walks them back to the couch, licking at Kakashi’s neck the whole while. He sits down and Kakashi falls after him, straddling his lap and cupping his face.

“It’s okay? Can I—?”

“Kakashi, please keep kissing m—”

He does. He dives in and coaxes Iruka’s lips apart so their tongues can glide together. All the while his hips are slowly rocking against Iruka’s; he grabs Kakashi low on his hips and urges him to grind faster.

“You and your—oh, gods—fucking suit,” Kakashi pants into his mouth. “Gorgeous. Godsdamned gorgeous in this.”

Iruka tips his head back and lets Kakashi kiss and lick down his neck. Fingers grapple at his tie and collar, fumble with his shirt. Iruka’s own hands squeeze Kakashi’s ass, full and warm in his palms.

“Want you,” Kakashi murmurs against his throat. “Want. I want to see you come. Can I do that for you tonight? Please, please let me make you come.”

Iruka pushes Kakashi’s head up with two fingers under his chin and kisses him. Kakashi’s hands stop their pursuit of stripping him out of his shirt and instead cup Iruka’s face, still muttering please, please, please, all the while rocking and grinding in Iruka’s lap and—

And—

Oh, how’s he supposed to say no to that?

“Okay,” Iruka kisses him. “Um. Okay. Just. I don’t…”

And then Kakashi says, "I want you to fuck me."

And something in Iruka stops.

“Want to—hmm—feel you move in me,” Kakashi rambles. He continues unbuttoning Iruka’s shirt, exposing more and more bronze skin. Iruka's chest is broad and muscled and perfect, just like the rest of him, and Kakashi slips off of his lap to settle on his knees between Iruka’s thighs; he leans in and laps at Iruka’s clavicle, down his sternum, drifts aside to catch a nipple in his teeth. Iruka’s soft hum and fingers in his hair tell him he’s doing good so he flicks his tongue against the bud between his teeth. His own eye rolls back to hear Iruka’s cry of pleasure.

Down further, he keeps undoing buttons and parting fabric. He lays kisses all over Iruka’s belly, cups his erection through his pants, and glances up at Iruka before he goes for his belt and trousers.

“Please.”

“What—um—what are you…?” Iruka can’t seem to get the words out, but his chest is heaving with his breath and the flush on his cheeks is staining his flesh all the way down his neck. He’s-he’s beautiful.

“I. I really want to suck you off,” Kakashi says. “And then, if you’re up for round two, I want you inside me.”

Iruka takes his cheek in hand and smiles and says, “We can. We can definitely try that.”

“I love you.”

Iruka kisses him again, soft and sweet. “Love you too. But let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Kakashi can agree with that. He stands up and pulls Iruka along by the hands. He’s giddy and excited—almost as much as when Iruka lets him eat him out, but this excitement has the twinge of newness to it. He’s wanted to get Iruka’s cock in his mouth since the first time they had gone to bed together, and now, finally, he’s getting it.

He’s a bit lightheaded by the prospect, if he’s honest.

Once they’re in the bedroom, Iruka begins unbuttoning Kakashi’s shirt, while Kakashi plays with Iruka’s buckle. Iruka moves to the cuff buttons at each wrist, and then returns to Kakashi’s chest to part the fabric and slide his palms over his undershirt and up to his shoulders. He pushes the shirt off and pulls it down his arms, dragging his palms and fingertips along his pale skin and raised scars. The shirt is tossed and Iruka returns to the undershirt, lifting slowly from the bottom and smirking at how Kakashi’s abs jump at his touch.

The undershirt and mask join the shirt on the floor, and Iruka goes for Kakashi’s belt, but is halted by his own belt and trousers being undone. Kakashi let Iruka have his bit of fun; but he’s really got to get that cock in his mouth.

“I love you,” he murmurs again. He leans in and kisses Iruka’s cheek, down to his jaw and back to his lips; traces his ribs with his fingers and groans at the dips of muscle definition on his abdomen. “You’re perfect, and I love you.”

Iruka’s panting lightly, his eyes closed and his lips shiny with spit—his or Kakashi’s, who’s keeping track anymore? Kakashi swallows the whimpering moan he pulls from Iruka’s throat as he finishes stripping both of them, their clothing a pile of fabric on the floor.

He urges Iruka to lay down on the bed, takes hold of his underwear once he’s prone, and asks again, “Is this alright?”

Iruka’s response is to raise his hips and tip his head to the side. He has a wet, red mark on his neck that may bruise by morning if Kakashi’s not careful.

He slips the last bit of fabric off and throws it aside. Iruka’s cock, hard and reddened, bobs onto his belly and smears precome across his skin. He blushes furiously, and it’s perfect.

Kakashi crawls onto the bed, spreading Iruka’s legs and settling himself between thick muscular thighs. First he kisses the soft, darker skin of his inner thighs, then trails his nose up through the thatch of hair around the base of his cock. He darts out his tongue to taste and relishes the whimper he receives. One hand joins his mouth in worship, gently cradling the thick cock while his tongue licks all around the base.

“K’shi. Love.”

The most subtle of shifts has him positioned above the head of Iruka’s cock. He licks up a bead of precome at the tip, closing his eyes to savor it. Continuing to cradle this precious member in one hand, he begins to press open-mouth kisses all along the shaft. His thumb caresses the tip and spreads the precome that keeps leaking.

Then Kakashi licks a wide stripe up the underside, base to tip, and sucks the head into his mouth—

And Iruka sobs.

Kakashi lifts his head, letting Iruka slip from his mouth but still holding him in one hand, and checks in—”Iruka?”

“Don’t stop,” Iruka whimpers. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

Relieved, Kakashi kisses his navel, his hips; strokes his cock with a slow, steady palm; and only when he hears Iruka cry out again—

“Gods among us, Kakashi, please!”

—does he slip his lips back over his head and take Iruka as far into his mouth as he can. He’s not long, but he’s thick and Kakashi’s jaw aches to hold him on his tongue; a slow breath out has Kakashi sliding the very tip of Iruka’s cock down his throat and relishing the fresh, louder cry he receives for the motion. He can hold Iruka in his throat for twenty-four seconds before needing to pull back. He’s not like Iruka, with no gag reflex and a penchant for swallowing long cocks and holding them in his throat. He bobs his head, drooling over the thick shaft and moaning at the taste of more precome in the back of his mouth.

Kakashi had been braced on his elbow, holding Iruka’s hip with a careful grip. But now he shifts, settles his weight more on his knees, places his forearms on Iruka’s spread thighs. He continues holding Iruka’s cock with one hand, stroking where his mouth can’t reach and keeping him from jerking up into Kakashi’s throat. With his newly freed hand, though, he cups Iruka’s balls and presses his thumb just barely against Iruka’s hole.

“Love you, love you, oh-oh-ahh, so g-good, K’shi, fuck.”

That’s it. That’s it, Love.

He lets Iruka thrust into his mouth just the barest amount, knowing unfortunately that he’ll choke if he lets Iruka take what he wants but also. Also, gods, Iruka is panting and moaning and it’s driving Kakashi higher and higher.

“Want. Oh. Kakashi, Love, wanna come with you,” Iruka taps at his shoulder, “Please, please come up here and kiss me.”

He lets Iruka go, swallows the last bitter traces of precome on his tongue, and crawls up Iruka’s body. Iruka takes him by the face and pulls him the rest of the way to his mouth, kissing and nipping at his lips and groaning all the while.

“Why,” Iruka mutters into his mouth,”are you still wearing your underwear?”

“Good question.” Kakashi licks into his mouth and continues kissing him, fingers his nipples, rocks their hips together—

“Off. Get them off,” Iruka whines.

“But then I’d have to stop touching you.”

“You can take three seconds to strip.”

Kakashi sits back and shoves his underwear down his thighs. The cool air on his dick is a shock, but not as much as watching Iruka reach for his own cock and begin to touch himself.

Kakashi stops to watch.

His fingertips glide along the underside, up and down and up and—they stop and Iruka takes himself in a light grip, swirling his thumb against the tip while his other hand drifts to his chest to pinch and tweak at his own nipple.

Iruka licks his lips, moans brokenly, and says, “Are you going to make me do this myself, or are we doing this together?”

He fumbles the rest of the way out of his underwear, saying, “I. Well.” He settles back, kneeling between Iruka’s thighs and watching his hand move and his chest heave. “Gods, Iruka, I could come from this.”

“Watching me?”

“You have no idea. How godsdamn sexy you are right now.”

Iruka’s blush is sweet and gorgeous.

“Want us,” he pants. “Want you.”

Kakashi leans back down and kisses him, deep and lovingly, pressing their bodies together, hips to navel to chest. Iruka’s arms encircle his neck and keep him close, keep them kissing. He reaches between them for Iruka’s cock and takes him in hand again, pumping his hand carefully.

Iruka shakes his head. “Together, Kakashi, please.”

He shivers. “I won’t last,” he murmurs.

“Don’t care. Wanna feel you.”

So Kakashi leans up on his elbow, adjusts his hips and pushes his own cock alongside Iruka’s into the circle of his hand and they both sigh and moan and Iruka begs him to move—

“K’shi, please, please, I’m so close, just—little more, please!”

Kakashi ruts, smoothing precome along their cocks with his palm and easing the friction. Iruka’s leaking steadily but Kakashi’s pulsing, damp squirts from his tip with each thrust. His eyes are shut tight and his lips are parted and kiss-bruised.

“You. You’re so beautiful,” Kakashi whispers.

And Iruka comes. Splashes of come slip over his hand, pooling on his stomach and chest. Kakashi stills his hand to feel the pulse of Iruka’s cock against his own and it’s glorious. His jaw drops in an almost silent cry, interrupted only by soft Ah-ah-ahh as he pants. And when he starts to come down, Iruka moans and gasps, “So good K’shi,” and then.

And then he opens his eyes, just the barest amount, and says, “You too. Come for me, Love.”

Like he could resist. Kakashi’s hand doesn’t even move again, still gently holding them both; he comes on command, adding to the mess on Iruka’s belly as his hips rut against Iruka’s.

His mouth is dry and his throat aches when he comes back to himself. Iruka is holding him against his chest, the mess mostly wiped away by a corner of the blanket. Kakashi nuzzles into Iruka’s neck, breathes him in, and relishes the soft touches to his back and arms.

“Move in with me.”

Kakashi opens his eye and picks up his head. Iruka is staring at the ceiling, like he’s not sure how Kakashi's going to respond.

As if there’s any other response he could give.

“Alright.”

“I just thought, y’know, you’re here all the time anyway, and I miss you when—” Iruka looks down at Kakashi and furrows his brow, saying, “Wait. Alright?”

Kakashi smiles. “Alright.”

“You. You’ll live here. With me.”

“I would love to.”

Iruka frowns, turning his gaze away from him and instead to the wall. “I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“I’m realizing that,” Kakashi chuckles.

“I expected to have to convince you.”

“Convince me? To live with the love of my life? To live with the man who makes me bad omelettes but perfect pancakes? To live with you, who makes sure my weapons are sharp and designs seals and tags specifically for my use?”

“Kakashi…”

“I’d get to live with the same man who opened up his heart and his home to my sensei’s son, who the rest of the village had turned their back on, and showed him what love is with no desire for reciprocation or payment. You just. Did.”

“Gods, love, stop.”

Kakashi does. Because that word is important and he won’t tarnish it by disrespecting it. But he could go on. And on. And on.

But Iruka smiles and kisses him again and says, “Okay. We’ll get you moved in tomorrow?”

Because it’s getting late.

And he’s home.

#whumpmasinjuly #final prompt #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #kakairu #my writing

12 notes · View notes

gubes-sweaters · 3 years

Text

Mind, Body, and Soul 3

Authors Note: This is a Spencer Reid AU inspired by @subspencer . This is their original idea and thanks again to them for letting me use this AU. Also, side note I was thinking what type of hair cut Spencer would have in this AU and I’m thinking season 10/11 hair is the most fitting. Just to remind everyone that Lindsey Vaughn, Cat Adams, Spencer Reid, and Penelope Garcia aren’t canon to Criminal Minds, but any other character I mention is.

Content Warning: Drug use (weed), swearing, that’s all I can think of but if there's anything else don’t be afraid to let me know.

Word Count: 3K

You can find part two here

Chapter 3: Snooping Roommates

I wake up to loud banging on my door, a screaming roommate trying to wake me up, and the dead weight of Spencer’s arm that practically has me in a death grip.

“(y/n) wake up I need my straightener that you borrowed. I need to straighten my hair before class and I don't want to be late!” She’s shouting while banging on my door. I turn over and look at my alarm clock and see that it’s only ten am. Great, I’m only going to get four hours of sleep when I feel like I could sleep for a week. This loud banging isn’t doing any favors for my headache either. Then it suddenly hits me that I need to wake up Spencer and get him to hide in my room somewhere because no doubt my friend Stella will barge in. I mean normally it isn’t a problem we’ve been best friends since kindergarten, but when I’m trying to hide a plug that just spent the night, even though he is practically a stranger to me in my room it’s not an ideal time for her to snoop.

“Sorry, I’m awake just give me a second!” I holler back at her, so she’ll stop banging on the door so loudly. I know I’m not going to make her super late because she doesn’t have class until twelve, but she takes forever to get ready nonetheless. I manage to wiggle out of Spencer's grasp, so I can sit up and wake him up. “How is he still asleep or maybe he’s dead that would get rid of one problem at least.” I think to myself while I’m trying to shake him awake and even though I’m joking for a sliver of a second I think he might actually be dead. It wasn’t until he snored ever so slightly and turned away from me I knew he was actually breathing.

“Spencer, Spencer you need to wake up and get in the closet.” I say to him while shaking him even more aggressively.

“Wow, I haven’t thought about being in the closet in a long time.” He mumbles back to me.

“Spencer this isn’t the time for jokes now get in my closet.” I say as I continue to shake him to make sure he doesn’t go back to sleep.

“Wait, I have to do what now.” He finally sits up and ponders my words for a second.

“You have to get in the closet my friend needs something out of my room, and she’ll never let it go if she sees you in here.” I repeat to him for the third time while pointing at my closet.

“Okay, okay fine.” He says putting his hands up surrendering to my ridiculous request after collecting his stuff off the nightstand and pushing his shoes under my bed.

“Hey is everything okay in there or did you go back to sleep?” Stella asks while pounding on the door once more.

“No, I’m just trying to get dressed. Give me a second to grab the straightener and you probably should stop pounding on the door before we get a noise complaint my dad would murder all three of us.” I say before making sure that Spencer is in the closet with the door closed. I hurry and grab the straightener and do a quick once over of my room to make sure that nothing is out of place. I open my door to one peeved friend with her dark brown curly hair going in every single direction. I hand the straightener to her hoping she’ll take it and leave.

“Thanks, also do you have that book you said I could borrow? I’m going to have two hours to kill between classes and I can’t be bothered to drive back home” She asks right before I was about to close the door.

“Oh yeah, it’s in the drawer of my left nightstand.” I say before making a gesture pointing towards it with my head.

“Okay?” She says probably because of my odd demeanor. I quickly shuffle over to my closet basically guarding it with my life. At the same time, she makes her way over to the nightstand and when she looks at it, she lets out a weird chuckle and picks something up. She turns to me as I’m standing in front of the closet. When she turns around she’s holding up a condom. “Goddammit, Spencer!” I think to myself while I think about excuses for why that would be in my room.

“Did somebody get a boyfriend and not tell their friend. Even more importantly, did somebody lose their virginity and NOT TELL ME!” She says in a more excited manner than upset that I wouldn’t tell her something like that. I mean we’re adults not in grade school anymore so it’s not a huge deal.

“No, I didn’t it must be Raven’s. It’s certainly not mine and even if I did you wouldn’t need to announce it to the world, so can you keep your voice down.” I say while partially whispering in hopes that Spencer didn’t hear any of that because I’m not in the mood to be teased, and I’m especially not in the mood for the million questions I get when people find out.

“Raven come here! We need a family meeting!” She shouts oblivious to the company we have with us. Of course, she’s going to run with this and think it’s hilarious because we’re friends it’s what we do. I know she would never do this if she knew that Spencer or anyone else was here because she wouldn’t want me to be embarrassed. Raven walks into the room with her black hair swinging back and forth in her ponytail in unison with her skirt.

“Yeah what’s up?” She asks quickly peaking her head in the doorway because she has a class at eleven.

“Would this happen to belong to you? We know it’s not mine because I have no need for a condom and I think my GIRLfriend would find it odd that I have any. If it’s not yours there’s only one other person in this house that it could belong to.” She manages to say between her giggles putting an emphasis on the girl part, so I can’t use the excuse that it might be Stella’s for whatever reason.

“Guys fine it’s mine but let it go because no I don’t have a boyfriend and no I didn’t lose…you know...it” I trail off trying to be as quiet as possible.

“There’s no need to be ashamed of being a virgin at twenty, but excuse us if we pick on you because you’re the only one out of us who hasn’t lost their virginity. Don’t even try to use the catholic school excuse anymore. It might’ve worked when we were in high school, but it doesn't anymore.” Raven chimes in clearly also having fun in this awkward situation.

“Okay, thanks mom now get out of my room. I didn’t wake up to play twenty-one questions.” I say trying to get them out of my room as fast a possible because I hear chuckles slowly becoming louder and louder from inside my closet.

“We’re only teasing you because we love you but I still kind of want to know why you have only one sitting on your nightstand.” Stella says while sitting it back down and finally picking up the book before making her way out of the room. She stops at the doorway turning to look at me clearly wanting an explanation. Raven being the snoop she is as well raises her eyebrows wanting an explanation too.

“Okay fine I may or may not have thought I was going home with somebody last night and Penelope practically threw one at me trying to get me to go home with him but last minute I chickened out. Are you guys happy now?” I pull the most bullshit excuse out of my ass, but they seem to believe it because they both give a silent nod while walking out and closing the door behind them. I run to lock the door while Spencer opens the closet with his hand over his mouth trying not to laugh.

“That sounds like the most cliché porn plot possible. A sweet little virgin catholic school girl what do you need me to dress up as a priest?” He says in between deep breaths trying not to bust out laughing.

“Don’t even start I won’t hesitate to kill you. No one knew who you came home with I bet I could get away with it, I’ve watched enough crime shows and I listened to my dad talk about it growing up.” I look at him giving him the stink eye trying to be a little intimidating even though I’m obviously joking, but it just makes him laugh more.

“Okay, we’ll see about that squirt.” He says while trying to control his laughter and lays back on my bed. I roll my eyes at the sudden usage of the nickname.

“I’m going to get ready don’t move and if my friends knock on the door don’t answer it. I can drive you back to your apartment after they leave.” I tell him trying to move on while making my way to my bathroom after grabbing clothes from my closet.

“Yes ma’am.” He says mocking me because I’m talking to him in the same way a mom would scold her toddler. In some ways, Spencer acts like a toddler, so I’m justified in the way I talk to him.

As I finish up taking a shower and running a brush through my hair to not look like I was hit by a truck, I get changed and walk back into my room. I walk out and see that Spencer is once again passed out in my bed. I sigh trying to figure out what to do and for the first time in the past fourteen hours, my prayers have been answered because both of my friends shout their goodbyes as they leave the apartment. As soon as I hear the lock click signaling that they left I open my door checking to see if the coast is clear. Once I make sure I’m safe I walk out to the kitchen and make breakfast. I sit and relax on the island for a second taking in everything that’s happened since last night. I close my eyes and bask in the warm sunlight coming through the window and take in the smell of coffee brewing. I go back to breakfast and I make sure to make enough food for me and Spencer. After I’m done I go to ask him if he wants any food and as I make my way to my room I smell something odd. I can’t place the smell at first over the smell of coffee and pancakes, but as soon as I open my door I immediately recognize the smell. Then I see him laying on my bed smoking a joint.

“Oh hey, you want a hit.” He offers after he seemed surprised to see me as if he wasn’t laying in my bed in my apartment.

“No I don’t smoke sorry, but I made breakfast if you want some.” I say before turning around and making my way back to the kitchen.

“So you don’t smoke, you don't have sex, and you don't really drink or party so what do you do for fun?” He asks while catching up with me. As I plate our food I wonder if I have anything actually interesting to tell him. It’s boring to say “Oh I go to class, then to work, then I study, and sometimes I get more bored than usual, so I knit.” When I figure I don’t have anything remotely fun to talk about I just shrug and give him a plate with pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

“How do you take your coffee?” I ask while pulling two mugs out of the cupboard before grabbing creamer and sugar.

“Like three teaspoons of sugar, but don’t try and change the subject. If you don’t know how to have fun that’s how I’ll make it up to you for helping me out last night. We’ll spend a day, it doesn’t have to be today, but we’ll spend a day where we have a day full of fun.” He says with a proud look on his face, and I can’t help but giggle at the look on his face it’s like he just had the idea of the century. You can tell he’s someone whose smart but is only very book smart because at the same time he has no sense of self-preservation and no common sense whatsoever.

“Okay, well I have to work tonight, but tomorrow I don’t have anything going on. What do you have in mind?” I ask while passing him coffee before joining him at the island with my food and coffee.

“That my dear is a mystery. It’s much more fun when it’s a surprise.” He says while booping my nose before reading what’s on the mug I gave him.

“The BAU? Who do you know that works for the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit or is this just some cute little souvenir?” He asks while looking at me with an eyebrow raised.

“My dad used to work for the BAU but it’s been a while. Right now he’s on a book tour.” I say trying to be brief as possible when talking about my dad.

“So are you super close with your dad is that why he pays for your apartment and gets you gifts like this?” He asks before taking a bite out of the bacon.

“It’s not really an extraordinary gift it’s just a mug first off. Second off how did you know that he pays for my apartment? Were you snooping through my room while I was making breakfast?” I ask genuinely curious how he drew that conclusion. I mean he’s not wrong but still.

“I heard you say and I quote “stop pounding on the door before we get a noise complaint my dad would murder all three of us.” I doubt that you would care what your dad thinks unless he pays for the apartment or this is his apartment, but I’m not sure why your mom and dad would let two other loud ass girls live in this apartment with them.” He says with a smug look on his face as if he cracked a seemingly unsolvable mystery.

“Good detective work Sherlock. I mean yeah you’re right my dad pays the rent for this place, but he and my mom aren’t together anymore, my mom happened to be unlucky wife number four, and to answer your question from earlier no I’m not extremely close with my dad. He was always at work, traveling, or working on his new book I’m pretty sure this apartment is how he chooses to make up for it.” I say very matter-of-factly like it’s nothing I think I’m just numb to it at this point.

“Well, welcome to the absentee fathers club. It’s full of daddy issues and forgotten birthdays.” He says before turning back to his food. Not having a dad around clearly doesn’t bother him, or he’s putting up a pretty good front like it doesn’t bother him.

“Anyway moving away from the subject of childhood trauma let’s move on to our day of fun. I’ll pick you up here at ten am sharp. I will tote you around all day until you learn how to have fun.” He says while doing a horrible impression of Steve Irwin as if we're going on some sort of adventure through the jungle. I just giggle in response as I go to clean up both of our plates.

“I’ll be ready at ten now are you ready for me to take you back home because I have to go to work soon.” I ask turning to face him while I rest my elbows behind me on the counter.

“Yeah let me go get my shoes and I’ll be ready.” He says before hopping off the stool at the kitchen island and makes his way back to my room. I laugh to myself because we just met, yet I get along with him like we’ve known each other for years. I quickly make my way to the laundry room, so I can grab my work shirt out of the dryer and change into it before we leave. I slip off my shirt and slip into my work shirt and tuck it into my jeans, before making my way back out to the living room. As I grab my keys and slip on my vans Spencer makes his way back out to the living room.

“Ready?” I ask him before opening the door. He just nods before slipping a piece of paper into my hand. I didn’t open it at the time. I didn’t even open it until I got off work that night but it was his number.

Me: hey, I just got off work and realized you gave me your number. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Good Night :)

Spencer: i’ll see you then. sweet dreams <3

As I’m sitting in my bed that night I just chuckle to myself before I turn my phone off and turn over trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. As I get comfortable and I’m about to shut my eyes I spot that damn condom on the corner of my nightstand once again. Soon enough I finally shut my eyes and I’m able to get some sleep.

——————————————————————————

Taglist: @rexorangecouny @haylaansmi

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid au #plug spencer #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader #spencer x you #plug!spencer

75 notes · View notes

srchng4answrs · 3 years

Text

Absolution of sin isn’t easy. Every year in my Catholic high school they would bring in priests to listen to our confessions. We would sit in the auditorium an empty chair in between each person and one by one walk to the back of the auditorium where a man in vestments would sit ready to tell us that we are still God’s children. I never went.

“Before religion” isn’t a concept that exists for me. This is strange for many reasons, the primary being that my family is not religious in the slightest. We went to church out of obligation every Christmas and Easter, and stopped following that tradition when I was in 4th grade. I don't know what my mother thought I would gain from going to a religious school for 10 years.

Catholicism is the particular sect of Christianity that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to reconcile with. The preaching of love and tolerance. The acts of service and the good deeds. Is it still a good deed if you’re doing it for personal gain?

Defender of Mankind. In Ancient Greek that's what the name Alexandria means. That's what My name means. I learned that at church. It’s ironic, the places that tell you you are meant to defend, are the same ones attacking. I wasn’t equipped to defend myself from the teachings of a group that I thought had my best interest at heart.

Eulogies in religious services are often delivered by the clergy member who is officiating the service. A religious eulogy will focus on the role of God and faith in the life of the person who died, rather than any secular accomplishments. I often write eulogies for people in my head. I have never once written something religious.

Father Sean was an odd man. Nothing against him but I wish he would stop sending me friend requests on Facebook.

Gabriel is a Hebrew name meaning “God is my strength”. He told Mary to not be afraid, but he was also the angel sent to destroy Jerusalem. Which one of those is real strength.

Half human, half divine. The manifestation of God in the flesh. How terrible it must’ve been to be crucified for telling the truth. To be needlessly slaughtered for the sake of people that want to see your organs fail as you slowly suffocate and bleed out. Father forgive them they do not know what they are doing.

I often wish I understood. I want to be able to walk into a church and feel god. I want to wear my Kairos cross without feeling like a liar. I don’t think religion was meant for people like me.

Jesus was not white. He didn’t have long flowing hair or a long beard. He was shorter than we think. Is it more disrespectful to put someone on a cross or to purposefully make their physical appearance more palatable for a racist audience.

Kairos may have been the closest I’ve ever been to experiencing god. For three days you sit in small groups and listen to people talk about their most traumatic experiences. Religious retreats are made to break you. To make you flood the earth with your tears. To make you turn to god because there’s no one else to turn to. I wish I could say with any level of certainty that my experience was real.

Love is such a funny idea. God “Loves” you. I still don’t understand the double standard of preaching love and then telling people they love wrong. I think there are bigger sins to worry about.

Matthew was a tax collector. One of the most sinful professions they lied, cheated, and stole from the poor. The Lord will not let the righteous go hungry, but will thwart the cravings of the wicked. I find “sinners” much more real than the righteous. At least sinners don’t go out of their way to tell everyone they sin.

No one in my philosophy of god class chose to walk away from Omelas. I remember it perfectly. You get to stay in a perfect city where everyone is happy, at the misfortune of one child. I spoke last. I would walk away. I still get chills thinking about it. I don't know why I made that choice.

Often my friends and I debate the existence of god. One philosopher said that you might as well because if you believe and god is real you gain everything, and if he isn't you lose nothing. But if you don't and he is real, you lose everything. We all know there's much more to religion than that. Simply believing in the omnipotent power that destroyed cities and flooded the earth has not, and will never be enough.

Prom was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of my life. I was the first person since my schools founding in 1957 to go to prom with someone of the same sex. That year three of my friends did the same. So much easier to just split the bill with a friend. I had to make a case for why I should be able to. Would the outcome have been different if I told them we were dating.

Questioning whether the omnipotent and all knowing being in the heavens that we cannot see, hear, smell, or touch is apparently against the rules. I got quite sick of the Lord’s Prayer.

Raining from the sky was blood. Thicker than water. Did it bring the people together or did it turn them against each other. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Blood can bring people together, but I’m not sure it can wash you clean.

Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed by sulfur and fire because of their wickedness. The two cities associated with homosexuality were burned to the ground. We have a history with fire. Fire cannot cleanse what isn’t dirty, but the ash will stain your hands for eternity.

Time stands still as I sit in the pews at my cousin's wedding. It seems like the hands on the clock are moving backwards. Instead of looking at them I stare at the sculpture of Jesus, crucified, blood coming out of his wounds, hanging roughly 10 feet above them. It isn’t alive. I’ve seen the same type of sculpture in a hundred different churches. But in this moment I can hear him gasping for breath. It was a beautiful service, I told her.

Uriel is the angel of repentance. In the Christian text the Apocalypse of Peter he is as pitiless as any demon. The devil himself was once an angel. What's the difference between angels and demons other than name.

Vanity was the reason the devil was cast from heaven. Born an angel and a king, free from sin he became proud of his beauty and intelligence and was struck down by God. I’m still unsure why he is considered the villain. Was it not God who leveled cities and murdered millions.

Without religion I’m unsure of what my life would look like. As hard as I try I cannot cleanly separate myself from it. Like a mouse stuck on a trap, when it gets free it either leaves its skin on the trap, or escapes covered in glue. I’m unsure if I can escape without leaving a part of myself behind, or taking something with me I did not ask for.

X appears 1,436 times in the King James version of the bible, but never at the start of the word. It is the only letter in the english alphabet that a verse does not start with.

Younger me used to enjoy church. I’m not sure why. I could never sit still, the sermons were boring, the pews were uncomfortable, and I couldn’t wait to go home. But without fail every Sunday I would wake up and get ready. I wish I could go back and tell myself that I don’t need to force myself into places I know I don't belong in order to be loved.

Zion shall be redeemed with judgment. I wonder if the same applies to me.

13 notes · View notes

chvtcxsangria · 3 years

Photo

“I’m no longer a daughter, no longer a girl with dreams and no longer with hope. I’m a WEAPON.”

(ELIZABETH OLSEN, 345, SHE/HER) We have been waiting for a while, but ALINA ERIKKSON was finally spotted in the village today. People heard whispers that they are a HERETIC that is hellbent on FIXING the veils. Will they succeed? Only time can tell. Until then we will keep a close eye on them as they listen to CONTROL BY HALSEY.

trigger warnings;; torture, death,

P L A Y L I S T

our solemn hour by within temptation X madness by ruelle X paint in black (cover) by hidden citizens X trip the darkness by lacuna coil X again by flyleaf X fly on the wall by thousand foot krutch X creeping in my soul by cryoshell X ashes in the wind by straight line stitch X lovely (cover) by lauren babic X can anybody hear me by adona X when it’s all over by raign

“Do you remember the sweet innocent girl? The one you thought will be so easily manipulated? The one you thought won’t fight back? Yeah, me neither.”

Alina Erikkson was born in the year of 1667 on Ole’ Hallows Eve and was brought into this cruel, cruel world as an orphan. Her father had died months earlier due to a mysterious illness and her mother? She died shortly before her daughter was brought into the world.

Evelyn Wilson was found in the woods, laying in the middle of an altar with the village’s Priest found her in the knick of time. He saw she was already gone but her swollen stomach still had movement in it and he acted. Saying a quick prayer to God, the Priest took his hunting blade to the woman’s stomach and cut into the flesh - moments later the screeching cry of a newborn baby filled the cold fall air.

Distraught over how the baby was brought into the world, the Priest’s wife begged him to allow them to keep the child for themselves since God had yet to bless them with any of their own. Eventually though .... the family did. At the age of four Alina became a big sister to twins William and Winnifred.

For a short time things were good with the family but when Alina reached the age of nine is when things started to get weird around her and not long after caused her to be withdrawn from the family. She found solace in the church of the attic her Father preached at. It was safe and quiet -- away from civilians.

Keeping herself at a distance and staying away from the mundane did great for Alina. There was no more accidents and she thanked God for that.

Fast forward to Alina recently turning twenty six years old and yes, she still hid away in the church attic and kept her distance from mostly everyone. When it got night time she would venture off to the hospital and attend to the sick patients there, usually the ones who are doomed and left to die ALONE. Alina kept them company until death came for them.

The last patient Alina attended too was dying of a mysterious illness. She had fever, chills and could not stop coughing up blood. Of course she kept her distance from the woman in fear of infection, but it never stopped her for putting flowers in the dying crone’s room. On her last night of life the old woman lifted her arm from the bed and gripped onto Alina tight. She doesn’t know what happened but instantly she felt powerful and before Alina could say anything to the woman or ask her what just happened, the old crone mustered up a ‘thank you’ before passing away.

After that Alina quickly left the place and acted fast in disposing the clothes she wore and bathed in the village’s river. The entire time she just kept replaying that moment in her. Desperate and becoming afraid of what happened, she ran to her family’s home after putting on some clothes.

When arriving to her family home, Alina found no one there but her sister Winnifred. The favorite daughter -- everyone’s little ray of sunshine and the one person who didn’t make Alina feel weird when talking about anything that is not mundane.

Though this time .... this conversation was different to Alina. When explaining to her sister of what happened, Winnifred became afraid -- very afraid and asked Alina to go back to her hole and stay there. Hurt by her words and even more so when Winnifred began to shove her out of the house something else happened.

When Alina grabbed a hold of Winnifred, something happened just like at the hospital but instead of a thank you from a dying crone this time it was Winnifred screaming in pain. She almost felt like she was sucking the life out of Winnifred and when Alina let go -- it was too late.

Their Father had came home to find Winnifred on the floor, nothing like her old bright self but was a shell of it and just kept muttering Alina’s name. Becoming officially fearful of his adoptive daughter he lead a manhunt against her and by dawn Alina found herself doomed to hang come sunrise of the next day,

As she laid in her dark cell and awaited for them to come and bring her to Death, Alina dreamt about a particular man she had come to recently meeting. He was tall and mysterious, a man who seemed particularly interested in her and her gifts. His name? Leo Ryan and unknown to her this man was an ORIGINAL VAMPIRE.

The Original became drawn to Alina and the nature of how she kept to herself all while ignoring the whispers of the village people. Something in her gut told the witch to trust him and she did. Prior to running to her family’s home after the death of the crone, Alina ran to him completely scared she could’ve caught the plague. Even though she kept mostly to herself she wasn’t ready to die -- not yet.

Realizing he had fell for the siphoner, Leo gave the woman some wine laced with his blood before Alina ran off to her family’s home before he himself left to attend to something that caught his attention. Of course before they went their separate ways, Alina promised to meet him in two days time.

Due to this and unaware of what was in her system, Alina screamed and tried to run when being dragged to the noose. ‘Please, I won’t touch anyone ever again!’, ‘I didn’t mean too, forgive me!’ They all ignored her and the cries only gotten worse as the rope hanged around her neck.

She stood there as the Mayor listed her crimes and many of the villagers began to whisper, saying she deserves a more cruel death than the rope. Some of them were saying she should be burned for she was a slave to the Devil himself. When asked if she had any last words, Alina knew this was the end and she looked to the villagers before settling her eyes on her so called FAMILY.

As she kept her eyes on them, Alina felt something build up in her and it was familiar to her. It was the same energy she felt course through her after touching the crone and Winnifred. The executioner asked her once more for she knew it was pointless to beg for her life. What life did she even really live anyways? Some words that Leo had said to her came to mind, telling her to embrace the energy she felt within her and to not deny it or eventually it will take control of her. “You want a witch? FINE.” If she was going to die, why not leave them all scarred and tarnish the family name?

‘Burn her!’ some of the villagers finally spoke up and chanted it. Alina closed her eyes and thought hard on the fire, on how the flames felt, the way they danced in the fire pit her family owned. Screams became heard before her which made the woman open her eyes to see a fire erupted all around her. After that everything went black to the woman.

Her first memory when waking up was standing in a burnt field and had no piece of fabric on her. The only thing she had on her was the soot smeared across her body and her throat burned, desperately begging her body to drink something. What Alina didn’t realize at the time was she was reborn as a vampire (she later on learned she was a heretic). Stumbling through the field she eventually made it to the village with no memory of who she was and became disgusted seeing bodies all over the small town. Throats ripped out among other things.

As she navigated through the bodies Alina managed to find a simple dress to wear and wondered what happened to everyone. Her answer soon came when she caught someone running at the corner of her eyes and with her newfound speed Alina suddenly found herself at the source of the sobs. It was a man in his early twenties: it was William.

William stared at her and it was like seeing a ghost with Alina before him. He was completely scared and kept his distance from the woman. “Your ... your suppose to be dead, Alina! How are you alive?” This was how she learned over her name. Remaining quiet, the newborn tilted her head and before she could say anything -- something caught her attention. Well really it was what her ears picked up and the sound of it made her throat burn more. “Shh ... it’s okay.” Those words randomly came out of her as she walked closer to him and without realizing her Alina found herself tackling the man and ripping into his throat. His blood is what called to her and when she was done, the newborn wanted MORE.

This was the start of something darker in Alina and over the years she became labeled as a Ripper. She enjoyed the art of killing those all around her with a pulse and my red was such a damn good color on her. Eventually though the blood she spilled came back to haunt her, causing the woman to turn her humanity back on and face the music. As a way to pay for her penance and to right the wrongs she’s done over the centuries, Alina eventually went into med school and found her calling in Trauma Surgery. She loved the thrill of helping those and having to make quick decisions. I mean she made quick ones in killing people, so why not in saving them?

Hearing about Wildemount and the residents there, Alina decided to move to the town and be around others such as herself. She never really met anyone else like her but has heard stories she wasn’t the only heretic. The woman wanted to start to embrace her witch side and not fear it like she has all these centuries.

Headcanons;;

Throughout her time on Earth, Alina came to fall in love with many different cultures and can speak several languages.

She is a major travel bug and claims to be bitten with wanderlust.

Alina might not look it, but she is a big nerd when it comes to superheroes and is a huge fan of horror movies and murder documentaries.

She also has a degree in Forensics and is just a nerd for anatomy and mysteries.

Wanted Connections;; friends, enemies, mentor in magic, someone from her ripper days. Anything tbh, if you think Alina will fit it then hmu and we can def plot something out!

#alina about ; she’s the type of flower that can still grow after a forest fire.#veils:intro #// one million years later in posting this skdjfhdf #//woow i feel like this might be trash

11 notes · View notes

cheshiresense · 4 years

Note

Oh, can I ask for Ichigo in a Witcher AU (if you've watched the show ? Medieval Fantasy Generic AU if you haven't...)

I’m afraid the only thing I know about the Witcher is that the main character is this really strong antisocial grumpy dude that nobody likes, who goes around killing monsters for money, and one day he saves a guy who becomes like his PR manager/best friend or something. That’s it. So I’ll have to go with a generic medieval fantasy AU instead.

1. Ichigo is a mercenary, a monster-killer-for-hire (which is the only bit of the Witcher I can incorporate lmao). But yeah, he’s a mercenary, trained by his family, who have been hermits in like the Forest of Menos or something since before Ichigo was born because the Kingdom of Seireitei exiled them ages ago for dabbling in dangerous magic. Oh, normal magic is fine, the healing chants that their clerics learn, the potions and elixirs that their druids make, the purifying prayers their priests all know to defend the kingdom from ghosts and demons.

But the Shibas had always been a little too curious for their own good, more interested in pushing the boundaries of magic than being afraid of it, and even before their exile, they’d been fairly well-known for their summoning magic, which already made them powerful, one of the biggest noble families of the kingdom with a specialized branch of magic passed down through their line. But then they discovered elemental magic, and even worse, they refused to hand over their research and knowledge to concerned parties who would’ve been able to monitor its usage more responsibly. That was the last straw, as far as the church and the other nobility and the government were concerned. Some wanted that magic for themselves, others wanted to erase all traces of it. Most of the Shibas were hunted down and killed, the rest scattered, and summoning magic was banned in their wake. Elemental magic left with them, not a single page of notes left behind in their wake, a final fuck-you to the kingdom they’d once served so faithfully.

Decades down the road, the Shiba name is barely remembered and never spoken of. Ichigo’s left home after deciding the hermit life really wasn’t for him and he’d like to see more of the world. He knows his history, knows to stay out of Seireitei, so he makes his living by wandering the lands around his ancestral kingdom. Mercenaries like him can find work so long as there are monsters, and there are monsters everywhere, and Ichigo is good at his job, especially with his family’s magics at his disposal. There was a reason Seireitei drove the Shibas to death and ruin the same way they annihilated the Quincy kingdom in the east, too scared of the exorcist warriors they trained to tolerate their existence. Fear has always been a powerful motivator.

2. Meanwhile, back in Seireitei, a huge fuss is kicked up when one of the Kuchikis’ youngest up and coming officers ends up freezing the entire sparring yard one day at the Academy after snapping under the stress of constant bullying for coming from lowborn roots. She collapses immediately after, but there’s no taking back all the frozen trees and grass and buildings in the vicinity. Incorporating ice magic into her blade definitely counts as elemental magic, one thing leads to another, and by the time she wakes up, she’s been locked up in a cell somewhere because half the kingdom wants to know how she did it so they can do it too while the other half wants her dead. Everyone agrees that they can’t risk her falling into the wrong hands or under the wrong influence. Weeks later, when her execution seems imminent, her brother-in-law and head of house manages to sneak her out of the prison and back to the Kuchiki estate, where he then practically throws her at a portal gate already open and waiting for her.

“You cannot remain here,” Byakuya tells her, cold and aloof like he doesn’t care at all, but the grip he has on her shoulders is almost bruising. “Seireitei is not kind to those who are too different.” He shoves a bag into her arms. “This is all I can do for you. This portal will take you to the outer edge of Rukongai. Do not use ice magic. Do not come back. If you are found within Seireitei after tonight, I will not save you again. Do you understand?”

Rukia wants to cry and rage and beg Byakuya to make this all go away, she’s actually still not entirely sure what she did wrong, accidental magical outbursts don’t happen every day but they’re pretty common in students just beginning their magical studies. What did it matter if she froze a few things? She didn’t even hurt anyone! Was ice magic really so terrible? She’d never even heard of anyone using it before.

But she also promised herself that she wouldn’t do anything to dishonour the Kuchiki name after Byakuya was kind enough to continue looking after her just because he’d loved her sister.

So she swallows down her protests and takes the supplies, and they both pretend she doesn’t have tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

“Will I see you again?” She can’t help asking.

Byakuya’s face looks carved from stone. “I sincerely hope not.” And then he pushes her through the gate.

Rukia staggers out somewhere on the outskirts of Rukongai, the surrounding expanse of land that lies between Seireitei and the other kingdoms. The portal snaps shut behind her, and then she really is well and truly alone. It isn’t as if she’s never been in Rukongai before, she and her sister were born here after all, but she’d never been here, so far out, so much closer to the rest of the world than Seireitei.

So she does what she’s wanted to do for weeks but wouldn’t let herself when there were guards watching - she spends the next ten minutes or so huddled on the ground sobbing her eyes out, because now she has no family, no home, and no idea where to go from here. She’s no stranger to survival - at the very least, she knows how to barter and trade, look out for pickpockets and navigate towns without standing out too badly, which is actually more than she can say for a lot of highborn kids, but she’s also completely alone, and she wasn’t even out of the Academy yet. If she stumbles on monsters, which is more likely the farther away she is from Seireitei, she’s probably going to end up very dead.

Eventually, she stops, scrubs her face clean, and digs through her pack to see what Byakuya had given her. Money, clothes, a bit of food and water under preservation spells, a map of Rukongai, a couple daggers, and some healing salve and bandages. It’s better than she expected, less than she hoped for, but anything less than a magic wand to turn back time is less than she hoped for.

In the end, all she can do is shoulder her pack and begin trudging her way towards the nearest town. Whining about the unfairness of it all isn’t going to help her, and night will fall soon. The last thing she wants is to be caught out in the middle of nowhere when the sun goes down.

3. Of course, it’s just Rukia’s luck when two weeks later, trouble runs into her. One moment, she’s counting coins in the room of another inn (she’s already running low, with no real job prospects in sight), the next, there’s shouting and screaming from outside, and in the distance, a lone wolf’s howl splits the night.

In the room next to hers, Ichigo’s eyes snap open. Oh good, his meal ticket has arrived.

By the time Rukia’s good sense is overridden by the desire to figure out what is going on, someone - from the room beside hers - has already leapt out the window, more shouting and screaming and running footsteps have stampeded through the streets below, angry snarls has followed, and Rukia bursts outside with a dagger clutched tight in her hand just in time to see a cloaked figure whirl around the fangs and claws of a beast, a werewolf, a blade of silver in his hand, and Rukia barely even sees the rise and fall of it before the werewolf has lost both arms. It barely has time to howl in agony as it collapses to the ground, and then orange light sparks at the stranger’s fingertips, and a moment later, the werewolf has burst into flames.

Rukia gawks like an idiot because she’s definitely never seen a spell like that before, and more than that, the stranger made the whole fight look easy. Against a werewolf.

The street is silent once the werewolf dies. No one else is around, and the stranger simply straightens and turns. It takes her a few seconds to realize he’s leaving.

It takes her less than that to run after him.

If this man knows fire magic, surely he would know something about ice magic too? But, more than that, he is strong. If she can be half as strong as him, then maybe, maybe, even if she can never go home again, she might at least be able to make something of herself.

4. Ichigo would like it to be known that he had not agreed to this. But this stupid, ridiculously weak girl won’t stop following him around, and the one time he’d shaken her and left her behind in between towns, his conscience had forced him to double-back when he’d heard from someone in the next town that there’d been a pack of wargs roaming the surrounding hills. Of course, because either his luck was shit or the girl’s luck was shit, he’d arrived just in time to prevent her death-by-warg.

She really was useless with those daggers.

“So teach me how to be better then!” The girl demands, a humiliated flush high in her cheeks but a stubborn tilt to her chin. She looks scruffy and tired, and Ichigo has no idea what she’s doing on her own because it’s pretty fucking clear she’s not used to nomadic life. But she seems to want to get stronger, and everybody has to start somewhere, so Ichigo supposes he can’t begrudge her ambitions, whatever they might be.

Still, “I don’t do anything for free,” Ichigo tells her, even though that’s not strictly true considering he’s already saved her life for free.

The girl glares at him because they both know full well she barely has enough money for meals and a roof over her head these days, but then she offers, “Teach me, and once I get strong enough, I’ll become a mercenary too. Then, I’ll give you a portion of my pay for however long it takes me to clear my debt.”

Ichigo stares dubiously at her, at her dirty but expensive clothes, at her daggers that would probably cost Ichigo half a year’s worth of bounties, at delicate hands unused to the wilderness. But he also takes in the way she crosses her arms and scowls back with a desperate sort of defiance and steel in her spine, and in the end, he heaves a sigh.

“You better keep your word,” He warns her. “Or I’ll take your head myself.”

The girl brightens. Ichigo already regrets everything.

But from that point on, he gains a travelling companion/pseudo-apprentice. Her name is Rukia - no last name - but it becomes pretty clear why when he starts her magic studies by telling her to show him what she already knows. It’s all basic stuff, and she’s not even that good at it, but then she also haltingly admits to an uncontrolled burst of ice magic, and Ichigo gets a pretty good idea why she’s wandering around like a ruffian.

After that, he tells her of Seireitei’s glorious history, specifically the parts the kingdom has swept under the rug, and the consequences of using elemental magic even outside of Seireitei. Not illegal, but not wise to flaunt either.

“But you know it too!” Rukia points out. “Fire is elemental magic, isn’t it?”

Ichigo grunts an affirmative. “Yeah, and I either make sure nobody’s around, or if they ask, I show them some matches and pretend they just didn’t see it.”

And then, fed-up with talking, he shoves her into the river at their feet. She screeches the whole way in and the whole way back up. “ICHIGO!”

Ichigo smiles meanly. “If you want to learn elemental magic, you need a better foundation first. Let’s start with meditation.”

If she gets good enough one day to even halfway succeed in murdering him the way her furious black glare tells him she wants to, he’ll consider these lessons worth it.

5. And basically I just want these two to become badass mercenaries together. Ichigo was totally fine and prepared to spend the rest of his life alone, with maybe the occasional trip home to visit family. But then Rukia barrelled into his life and refused to leave, and as he gets to know her and vice-versa, he supposes there are (significantly) worse people in the world. She’s a quick learner, and she doesn’t complain, she works hard, and their somewhat antagonistic relationship smooths out with time, enough that eventually it becomes second nature to look for her first. And even after Ichigo deems her good enough to strike off on her own, all she does is remind him of her debt to him and refuse to leave. He feels like that’s going to become a theme in their lives.

Their little group probably expands over time. They bump into a Quincy exorcist, one of the last of a lost kingdom. Ishida is even pricklier than Ichigo but he can shoot a target blind and he takes to following them too after the three of them lay waste to a cave full of vampires with a combination of elemental magic and fancy arrows. Apparently, the scholar in him just can’t leave a completely unknown branch of magic alone.

They pick up more people - Kisuke and Yoruichi, two survivors of a caravan train that had been travelling from Seireitei to Las Noches (”Shihouin,” Rukia whispers to Ichigo the moment she lays eyes on Yoruichi’s eyes and hair and skin) that had been overrun by nightwraiths. For apparent nobles, they don’t seem to be in any haste to return to their kingdom or call for better aid than three suspicious mercenaries. In fact, Yoruichi seems overjoyed to cut her hair and purchase a concealment tattoo for her eyes from Ichigo and basically take to monster-hunting with the enthusiasm of a child let out to play for the first time. Kisuke didn’t even look like nobility to begin with and won’t stop pestering Ichigo about his magic the moment he spots him making a campfire without flint.

They get Mizuiro, a bard who smiles through the massacre of the bandit camp that had abducted him, and the enhancements he hums in battle are impressively efficient in speeding up their movements or strengthening their blows or reinforcing their shields. Then they get Inoue, a healer with spells in her repertoire as unknown as elemental magic, and her friend Tatsuki, a martial artist without a drop of magic in her but can give Ichigo a run for his money in a spar.

They probably bump into another group of bandits except this one’s a bit weird (”We’re not really bandits,” One of them, Yumichika, claims), but that’s the label people have slapped on them, it’s what happens when you loot the rich (”They can usually afford strong fighters,” The leader Kenpachi grouches) and give to the poor (”What the fuck am I supposed to do with a mountain of gold?” Kenpachi demands). And somehow or other (obviously when Ichigo wasn’t fucking looking), Kenpachi and his people don’t leave either, and by this point, they’ve pretty much gained a bit of a reputation as some kind of mini-organization of protectors roaming the countryside, it’s fucking ridiculous and Ichigo regrets all his life choices but especially when Renji and Ikkaku and Rukia and Tatsuki get into another knock-down drag-out fight at an inn or a tavern and Ichigo’s the one who has to pay for the damages.

But anyway, eventually, Ichigo probably takes them all home where they can be his family’s problem instead. Needless to say, they get on like a house on fire, Kisuke invents like three new branches of magic in the Shiba library in the space of a week, Yoruichi and Kuukaku take to each other like long-lost soulmates, and in general, there’s just a lot of Found Family Feels. Kenpachi is in heaven, he’s never had this many people who can knock him on his ass and be down for another round.

And EVENTUALLY, someone from Seireitei probably comes to poke their nose into where it doesn’t belong because How Dare some lowborn mercenaries go around taking all the monster-hunting business away from the kingdom? Also Kaien may or may not have started spreading rumours of elemental magic and summoning magic and other never-before-seen-or-heard-of magic that makes Seireitei Very Anxious. It devolves the way it always does and results in the usual - Seireitei sends a bunch of their military in to seize everything that should be under their control and to get rid of any loose ends.

Ichigo, already stressed from the madhouse inmates he lives with (THIS IS THE WHOLE REASON HE LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, AND THEN HE CAME BACK AND MADE IT TEN TIMES WORSE), and he is Absolutely Delighted when Seireitei gives him the perfect excuse to blow off some steam.

And then idk there’s probably a revolution cuz the citizens and surrounding kingdoms are sick of Seireitei’s shit, none of the Shibas want to be crowned though because wow, what a waste of time, sounds boring, so Rukia is like maybe my brother can do it, he’s responsible and stuff, so they give the crown to him, and Rukia gives him an awkward hug, no hard feelings but she’s not sticking around, and the Shibas are given a place back in the city and everybody knows not to fuck with them and Kisuke starts publishing all their inventions and spreading them so even normal everyday people can learn. And then Ishida’s probably like I wanna rebuild my kingdom but there’s an asshole living in it at the moment who leads a cult and pretends he’s a messiah come to save us all so we need to kill him first, and Ichigo’s like DID YOU SAY MURDER AND AWAY FROM HERE I AM SO DOWN, and then basically Ichigo’s Menagerie of Misfit Mercenaries go to take back Wahrwelt from Yhwach, but that’s another story.

#headcanon meme: answered #bleach #fantasy au #medieval au #kurosaki ichigo #kuchiki rukia #headcanon #why did this turn into a friendship palooza?#i have no idea #for some reason they just fit together in this au

479 notes · View notes

unorthodoxx-page · 3 years

Text

Blurb #2 - Numbers and Monsters

I’m not going to lie, this one was hard to write. I couldn’t really find a voice or figure out what story I really wanted to tell. I’ve given myself a time limit when it comes to these blurbs as to not over think them, and I used every last second.

All in all, I think its ok, but not really great.

As always, let me know what you think!

P.S: This was also a book idea but idk. It’s not really speaking to me.

THE BEGINNING

It started in Andorra, or that’s what the ICTF tells us, it’s hard to be sure. It happens like this. Twenty years ago, an Andorran boy named Biel posts a picture of a mysterious tattoo on his arm. It’s a simple tattoo really, just eight small numbers going down the length of his forearm. In the post he claims to have no idea where it came from or what the numbers represents; and he asks if anyone else experienced the same phenomenon. The post receives little attention, a few comments mentioning dates and hoaxes, but doesn’t break over fifteen likes, and why would it? There’s nothing interesting or remarkable about the post, just a blurry candid shot of his arm. So, it gets lost in a sea of viral hopefuls turned losers, their account holders sighing in disappointment when their special moments are deemed mediocre by the world. There’s nothing about it after that, and there’s a half-hearted vacation pic on his Facebook the following day.

Ten days later an avalanche in Arinsal buries Biel and his mysterious tattoo along with him. His accounts are deactivated, and the world keeps scrolling.

Sometime later, a blurry picture comes out of a small town near Konkan Hills, India. The picture shows a ritual of some sort, capturing a man praying over a child. Old as the land he kneels on, mouth frozen in hymn, he sprinkles the girl in vibrant dust. this picture captures the hearts of a small group of photographers. Some call him a Pujari, due to the religious nature of the ceremony, while other academics are hesitant to label him as such since no one really recognizes the ritual. It’s a small argument and it gains some traction in a tight circle of religious scholars, but the influence is negligible. Either way, the priest gains some notoriety as a testament to older and unknown practices still being performed in isolated areas, but he’s not important.

What’s important is the child. The young girl, no older than 10, sitting before the man. She is surrounded by flowers and incense and shrouded in a simple white gown. Her head down and posture demure, she accepts the prayer with a rare grace that’s not typically found in one so young, but that’s not really important either. What is important are the eight black numbers peaking just above her dress collar.

A mudslide swallows the town two weeks later.

This keeps happening.

Barbara goes missing in Yellowstone, Lucas disappears in the Australian outback, Hiroto’s tragic death in Toyama Prefecture. Akim. Kofi. Camila. Daiyu, and many, many others. No one takes note but a fringe conspiracy group called The Knowing. They saw the important parts, which were the tattoos of course. A few of the victims took pictures of these new additions to their bodies before their timely demise. Posts and text messages claiming that they woke up with the numbers on their bodies. Each laughed off by loved ones or the internet labelling them pranks or hoaxes. Which isn’t unusual, there was an epidemic of pranks that crossed the line back in those days, so it was easy to write them off as such. The placements weren’t identical, but the eight digits is what connected all the victims. The Knowing talked about it day and night, cataloging each new victim they could, trying to map out a pattern. They were close, but unsuccessful. Both in their investigation and attempts to spread the word. There was a huge global problem happening, and the world was none the wiser.

Until Anderson Keery.

Two years after Biel, an up-and-coming actor is invited to an up-and-coming talk show. Vivian Lance has worked hard to get where she is, toiled and struggled in every network she PA’d and Anchored for to finally get this reward. It’s her debut morning and her first guest matches the infancy of her career. Anderson’s not a nobody, but he’s definitely not famous enough to draw a significant audience. They have less than a hundred guests in attendance, but for right now it’s enough. It’s a standard interview, going over his ups and downs until the big reveal of his casting in a major studio franchise. The crowd will go wild and hopefully her ratings will too.

Vivian is ready to launch herself into history. Oprah didn’t become Oprah in a night. It takes time to become a legend, and Vivian Lance was on the road to becoming one.

The interview goes smoothly until it doesn’t. Vivian receives a note from her PA that a fight broke out between Anderson and his team before he came on set. She doesn’t need to guess why they’re telling her this.

“So,” she begins. The interviews been going well, but now it’s time to shake things up a bit. “A little birdy told me there were some issues with your team? Is everything ok?”

Anderson’s smile stretches and she knowns she’s asked the right question. He cuts her a look, aryan features twitching in anger before he controls himself. Ooh, a temper problem. She definitely needs to poke at this.

“Oh,” He laughs, “It was nothing. My team just played a little prank on me.”

The crowd chuckles and oohs on que and she leans forward, smiling conspiratorially. “Don’t hold out on us. What was it?”

His glare is scorching, yet polite. Anderson didn’t want to be here anymore than she wanted him as a guest. Both believed that they were better than where they were at that precise moment. Or at least that’s what history tells us.

“They put a fake tattoo on me while I was sleeping.” Anderson smiles sheepishly, throwing a shy look to the cameras. “I kind of flipped because I thought it was real.”

“Really!” Vivian laughs, leaning back to really sell it. The crowd laughs with her. “Can you show us? Or would it be……..inappropriate?”

The crowd whistles and catcalls. Anderson laughs again and turns his back to her, pulling down his collar. “Here. I hope the back of my neck is safe for TV.”

“One..one..two,” she leans forward to read the rest, “three…two…zero…two…four?”

“I know,” He deadpans, “It doesn’t make sense to me either.”

Vivian sits for a moment, before jumping up, shocking her audience and guest. “Wait! Its eleven, twenty-three, twenty twenty-four. That’s today date!”

“Wow,” Anderson replies, and the crowd burst into laughter. “I guess you’re right.”

“Why todays date?”

“You’ll have to ask them. I’m still-.”

The building shakes and the camera falls, throwing Vivian and Anderson onto the floor. The crowd screams and someone shouts “Earthquake!” before a bone chilling, tonal wail fills the building. It cuts through the noise and leaves nothing but silence in its wake.

Vivian is the only one still fully in frame. Her face is wide in fear and confusion, “What-?”

The building shakes again, debris starts falling, the air is filled with screams of fear and despair before the camera goes black.

The reports after that are a little fuzzy, but here’s what we know. During Vivian's first live broadcast, in the middle of the day, something destroyed the Studio. Conflicting reports from eyewitnesses will say it was a bomb, another will say a plane, but most will say a Hand. An open palm reaching from the heavens itself to crush the tiny building out of existence.

Everyone in the studio dies and just like that, Vivian becomes a legend overnight.

It’s a mad scramble after that. All major governments and internet sleuths were turning the world upside down to figure out what happened. It took no time at all to find The Knowing, they weren’t exactly being secretive and before you knew it, they were everywhere. Every news station was talking about it. Outraged that the world governments hadn’t noticed an issue, even though they missed it as well. It took one hour to figure out that the numbers were dates and two to connect that they were expirations.

The story was everywhere, and then more people started posting their numbers. A lot were fakes, but the ones that were real? They didn’t stand a chance. Many hid. Some disappearing to never be heard from again and others taking whole building and towns with them. People were getting desperate, but what changed things again was Amanda Edmund.

Amanda was a regular girl. She had no special talents, had average grades, average looks and average friends. The world would have never noticed her if it was for two things. One, the most important, she was the Presidents daughter, and two? She was marked. There was no hiding it, how could you when the girl was branded across her forehead. Some were relieved, believing that if anyone would survive and end this madness, it would be the President. There’s no way he would let his daughter parish. The other half of the country held their breaths.

The day after Amanda’s date passed, the media converged in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. They presented, voices stuttering and palms shaking, the death of the president and his daughter. They reported in front of a massive hole where the president and his family had been hiding. The aerial photo proved a lot of theories. No one could deny the obvious finger scrapings around the edge. To most, it looked like god himself plucked the bunker out of the dirt, but the survivor’s testimony will prove the opposite.

They spoke of the darks creatures first. The ones that preceded The Grasp. Gnarling, drooling things that held no shape. They dripped, one said. Dripped straight through the ceiling. The smell of death and rotting flesh filled the base, another described. They were small at first, the size of a wolf, then they got bigger. It was a bear, the last one screamed, eyes deranged, and no sense left in his being. With a row of teeth, a shark would be jealous of. Nothing we threw hurt it, in fact, they absorbed it. I watched it tear a man to pieces before eating his heart.

The three survivors’ stories were horrific. A gruesome retelling of an unbeatable foe because what else could it be? According to them, nothing worked on these monsters, and if the president couldn’t stop them?

More people died. Politicians, poverty stricken, sinner and saints, no one was safe. Before the world knew it, twenty years have passed by, and we are no closer to ending the threat. The Numbered are cast out now. They live in peace up until the night before expiration and the cities, towns and villages walk them out. Lead them somewhere remote and their story added to the remembrance board.

It’s sick. It’s routine, and it will keep going for years until Ahadi.

Twenty years after Biel, a boy named Ahadi woke up with eight numbers above his knee. He knew the process, and so did his town. The town cried over the unfortunate boy and threw him a celebration to honor his life. His mother sobbed day and night and his father held him tight, praying for him to survive. That night, the entire town walked him to the edge of the Congo Forest. An Honorist took his photo, and he shared his final goodbyes with his family before walking to his final resting place.

Two days later, he walked back out.

The town was shocked. The world was shocked. No one had ever survived an expiration. The ICTF and world media outlets descended on the town, each wanting to know how he survived and what it meant. Now this where things get a bit redacted. The ICTF didn’t release a lot of details, but what we know is that the tattoo is no longer a stark black, but a faded grey color. The world took that as a sign of the boys safety and a beacon of hope. That there is a way to survive these creatures. When asked how he did it, Ahadi would only say one thing.

“I held my breath.”

He would say nothing else. The world theorized that he couldn’t say anything else, a price for surviving, some whisper. A hint, others shout. That’s all the world needed, hell that’s all she needed, because history won’t help her here.

Aniyah doesn’t have time, in fact, she has very limited time. Her dates been stamped, and she refuses to be one of the Remembered.

#blurb #blurbs #writing #writer #writeblr #writblr #creative writing #monster #monster story #fiction #Author #writing prompt #original work #original characers #original writing

1 note · View note

dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.87

Mami seemed happy to be getting out of the nursing home for the afternoon. Lance was happy to have here there, as Keith and Krolia hadn’t spoken... Krolia waited by the car, while he and Keith had headed in to see Mami. Sitting up in the activities area, his mother’s face lit up as they walked in to a fresh bout of whispers about them. Keith managed to get himself groped, by one of his mami’s friends, his poor boyfriend didn’t know what to do other than blush.

When Keith and Lance had gone home to change, Krolia had too. Now dressed in a loose black shirt and jeans, the woman didn’t look capable of having a 26 year old son. Lance could only assume Keith took after his father, but that family had some good genetics. Leaning against her red sedan, Krolia smiled as they approached, Lance very carefully elbowing his mother, desperate for things to go well

“Hey, Mami. Your walker matches Krolia’s car”

His Mami nodded, Lance happy she remembered him saying that Keith’s mother was joining them today

“Red does go faster”

“That’s what they say”

“I reckon I could take her with my walker”

Lance groaned

“Mami, you can’t race every red car in Platt, I’d never see you”

“One of the perks of being old, everybody never expects it. I could take’m”

“For now can you at least try to be nice to Krolia and not fight her for her car”

“Phooe. Let me have my fun”

Lance sighed again, shooting Keith a defeated look. Keith wasn’t exactly smiling yet seemed in a better mood with Miriam around

“Yes, Mami”

Keith felt like he didn’t belong at church with Lance and Miriam. He didn’t understand why Krolia had come with them, nor what she was getting out of being there. Lance and Miriam both knew what was going on, what the Bible verses seemed to mean and what the priest was on about. Unlike in the movies there was no singing of hymns, and unlike Rome, the service was conducted in English rather than Italian. For the most part Keith let his mind wander and tried not laugh at the idea of a vampire in a church. There was no way you’d get James into one, though with how much of a dick he was, he’d probably burst into flame. Keith wasn’t sure he could believe in god with all he’d experienced, but he wasn’t about to judge people for their faith. Not unless they were using it to be arseholes. Miriam seemed happy, that being the main thing, and so far his mother hadn’t been too weird.

The drive hadn’t been awkward for him at least, he and Lance were in the back where they could hold hands as Miriam and Krolia talked. They seemed to have hit it off, chatting back and forth, his mother smoothly skipping or changing topic when Miriam seemed to get a bit confused. Lance added a thing or two to the conversation, Keith remaining quiet. The words never came easily around his mother, and he other things on his mind like the way Lance vampired out with Lotor, and that he was going to have to play the role of pet again. He couldn’t ask for a better “owner” than Lance, because Lance didn’t see him as a pet. He had confidence in Lance that he didn’t have in Krolia. That’s what it came down to.

When the service ended, Miriam and Lance stayed a little longer, Keith excused with a gentle smile from Lance that tugged at his heart. Waiting for them near Krolia’s car, he soon realised his mistake when his mother approached. Sensing he was on the defence, she raised her hands in surrender

“I’m not here to pick a fight”

“I didn’t say you were”

Krolia moved to lean against her car, Keith didn’t know why she smiling but it annoyed him

“I’ll go wait near the door...”

The smiled faded, something he didn’t know clouded her expression

“Keith... Look... I don’t want to fight. You’re my son... I know it wasn’t there when you needed me to most... but I never stopped loving you. There hasn’t been a single moment since I found out about you, that I haven’t loved you”

What was that supposed to mean? She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there for any of it, and when she was, she didn’t have time for him

“Right... that’s why I’ve proven repeatedly to be nothing but a disappointment. I know how you feel, mum, you don’t need to keep up the lie of caring”

“You’re not a disappointment”

Keith sighed. He didn’t know how to do this

“This is a bad idea...”

“I’ve wanted to talk to you... You left without saying goodbye... Keith, I know... I know I wasn’t the mum you needed, and I know you think I don’t care but I do. I always have. I’ve always been proud of you. I never wanted this life for you. I wanted you to grow up free from it all...”

“You mean you don’t want me to date Lance”

Krolia stretched back against her sedan

“I didn’t say that at all. Lance is... He wouldn’t be my first choice for you, but this is your life. He brings out something in you that I wish I could. He makes you happy”

“I don’t understand what you want from me”

“I want to know you. I want to be part of your life and not hearing from Shiro the things you like and how you are. I’ve wanted to be part of your life since before Shiro brought you in”

“That’s why you’ve ignored me for years”

“I never wanted to ignore you. I know you hate me. I know you don’t forgive me for not being there. I truly believed you’d be safer with your father. I loved both of you so much... It broke my heart when he died, but I couldn’t take you with me. I wanted you to have a good life... I wanted you to grow up normally and be happy. You... You are son and I... I love you. I know you think I’m here for work, but I applied for mission lead here to see you. When we first got reports on Lance, I sent you here because I thought you and Shiro would be safe after what happened with Adam. Coran’s been running this place for years and I was never blind to how you were treated. I never knew you’d fall in love with a vampire. Not after what happened with Adam. Lance has been good for both you and Shiro”

“Lance has gone through hell because of me and Shiro... He had his whole life ruined because his brother reported him. He refuses to say anything about it because he seems to think his brother has a right to be a dick”

“He seems quite smart”

“You mean smarter than your son who didn’t graduate high school”

Krolia sighed deeply, stepping away from the car and moving so she was standing in front of him

“No. I know you’re hurting and angry. But Keith, I don’t know how to tell you what you want to hear. Leaving you broke my heart. You... You never knew but I never once stopped thinking of you. I sent money because I... I couldn’t have you caught up in this life so I wanted you to have the best. I know it was a mother’s dream, but I truly prayed you’d be taken care of and that someday we could be together again. You are not a disappointment. You being with Lance... I support it because I can see your happiness. I can see how he looks at you. He sees you. He sees more than those stupid rumours. He sees who you are. You’ve never disappointed me. Even if you don’t believe me, I want you to believe that”

Keith felt flustered. He didn’t know what he felt. Lance would have understood. He would have happy they were talking... but Keith... He couldn’t do it. He didn’t know how to. He didn’t know how to have a mum

“Lance and Miriam are coming back. Just think about what I told you. I do love you. I did love your father. And no matter what happens, you will always be my son. I’ll drop you and Lance back at VOLTRON after this. I’ve taken enough of your time today”

Now she was saying that, Keith didn’t want her to go. The feeling was weird and foreign, stemming from his abandonment issues. It had to. He didn’t understand why he’d feel that way otherwise.

Dropping Mami off, Lance tried not to feel guilty about parting with her. They didn’t have time to stay, though he would have liked to. His Mami seemed to like Krolia which was a weight off his shoulders, other than the fact Keith had been off since he and Krolia both left before them. Lance needing to getting the stealing off his chest to God and his Mami spent extra time praying for their family. She didn’t need to say it out loud. She said a prayer for all their family each time they visited. Making sure she was settled in her room, Lance wanted to curl up in bed with her. Feeding his ego and letting it go a tad out of control left him feeling sick to his stomach. He hated that side of him. He hated being a nasty show off. Being rude and insulting. And he hated Keith seeing it. He’d scared him and Allura... Allura who’d seen and dealt with worse than him... She probably had been hurt by his ego being such a dick to the guy she liked... or no longer seemed to hate.

Returning to he car, Lance climbed in beside Keith, opting not to take the vacant front seat. He was hopelessly in love with Keith. Aware they were in that honeymoon phase, where everything was simply made better by being next to each other. Lance so badly for things to stay the same between them. For Keith to never wake up to the fact that he wasn’t as great as he seemed to think he was. Keith was human and now he had to dress him as a pet and not like the actual amazing human being he was. Lance didn’t like it. He’d need a new outfit, something without everyone else’s scents on it... which want taking Keith shopping... The vampire slightly scared they wouldn’t be able to find that balance between pet appropriate and offending Keith, and that Keith would judge him for having to spent money he didn’t have on a suit he’d probably only ever wear once.

“I’ll drop you boys at the front. Make sure you get receipts and then I’ll see to it you get reimbursed. Thank you for agreeing to help us out here. The fact that you know Platt and are close with Coran carries a lot of weight, even though it might not seem so”

Lance blinked, raising his gaze he found Krolia smiling at him in the rear view mirror

“Oh... it’s fine. I know I’m the enemy here, but out of control vampires is something that needs to be stopped as soon as possible”

Krolia laughed

“I’m glad you understand. We do have other vampire we could contact, but you’re nothing like them. I mean that as a compliment. You’re remarkably human”

“He is human”

Bless Keith. Always quick to jump in to defend him

“I get it. I’m sorry you had to see my ego today... that’s one side that I really hate”

“Nonsense. Did you see Lotor’s face. He never expected that from a breeder. I shouldn’t find it funny, but we Blades have quite an unusual sense of humour. Don’t let Kolivan get to you. He’s under a lot of pressure at the moment”

“I imagine so. He also seems to have his hands full with your werewolves”

“They’re very driven. They’re effective agents, though I don’t know for the life of me why there needs to be such a rift between them and the rest of the Blades”

Lance guessed that was Krolia speak for the way James and Keith acted like mortal enemies

“Ego will do that. I’m learning how to live with werewolves at the moment”

Krolia nodded

“Matt and Rieva. Rieva certainly put up a fight. Some of the Blades can be over zealous... We hadn’t wanted to apprehend her, only talk to her thanks to Shiro’s connection with Matt. She’s certainly a live wire”

“She’s more settled than Matt. They’ve kind of become part of the furniture at home”

“That’s good. Okay. Here’s where I leave you both. Lance, if you can come in early on Wednesday for briefing that’d be appreciated. Also, if you need help disgusting yourself, don’t be afraid to dress how you please. We know you don’t tend to associate with vampires, if you feel the need to completely change your image, we’ll reimburse for things including piercings and accessories. Don’t be afraid to go all out”

That didn’t sound good... a valid point seeing his looks wouldn’t be forgotten... they’d all have to be careful. Krolia parked in front of the bookshop, Keith scrambling to get his belt undone as Lance smiled politely

“Thanks, Krolia. It was nice to see you again... without being shot”

“It was nice to see you again too. If you have the time, I would love to go to dinner with you and Keith. Naturally Shiro is invited too. Please let him and see if the three of you can decided upon a time”

“Sure. Sounds good. Come on, babe. We better get this done”

Keith ignore him as he let himself out Krolia’s sedan. Lance couldn’t exactly say no to Krolia, nor could he spirit Keith away, or assist in him running from his problems. Hopefully by the time they finished shopping, his boyfriend would have figured out what was on his mind and understand that Lance wasn’t trying to pry.

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid

6 notes · View notes

silvensstorycorner · 4 years

Text

Undercover atheist

My dad’s friend from college got married to his long-time girlfriend five or six years ago. It was just them, a priest, and an Elvis impersonator in Vegas (they lived in Massachusetts), and that was their wedding.

On their one year anniversary, they held a reaffirmation of vows that was essentially the real wedding ceremony/party, but chill because they reserved the sheltered picnic table area of the local park for the event.

Now, my family’s Christian, but I don’t know shit about practicing religion. Mom grew up Protestant, and for the first 10-12 years of my life, she used to say a prayer before I went to bed, but that’s about it. Dad does even less; his family is hella Catholic, but the most I’ve seen him do is cross himself at a wake.

So even though it’s in a park and a reaffirmation thing, it’s essentially a Christian wedding.

So there I am, hanging around two tables on the side with my dad and his friends (whom I like; they give quality sci-fi recs at the annual meetup). Then the priest starts the ceremony, giving a speech and reading Bible stuff and whatnot. And then, at one point, he says, “And now, let us pray,” and everyone bows their head and folds their hands, and I follow along to not be rude.

And everyone at once goes, “Our father--” and I go oh! I know this one! and join in to say, “--who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

But then they keep going, and I’m like, there’s more???

And I’m just sitting there feeling awkward as everyone else continues with this secret chant, feeling like a secret atheist failing to blend in. That was the mood the whole time, really: wanting to be respectful because I like this man and his wife but with no idea what was going on, and no one explained because it’s like second nature or smth to all the older adults there.

To make matters worse, later in the ceremony, my mom leaned over and whispered, “This is like in Supernatural when [biblical reference]” and I’m like Mom, you’re supposed to be the good Christian in this family, what are you doingggg

#story #Family Times #wedding #Christianity

1 note · View note

the-siren-saga · 5 years

Text

Scenes from the Diary of Ollistra Andelyn

also known as “@penthepoet always gives me the most terrifying ideas for oneshots and I hate love it.” anyway big CW under the cut for child indoctrination

Hi! I'm Ollistra, and I just got this journal for my birthday! Amah said it was to help me work on my writing before I go back to school so I’m not behind everyone else, but I don’t think she’ll get mad if I draw a few pictures in here too. She said everything I write in here is gonna be secret, and she won’t ever ever read it.

----

Amah had some friends to visit today. Well I think they were her friends. It was two women and a man wearing all purple and white, and one of the women said something about a “Family Interview Screening.” They made me and amah sit in the living room and answer a bunch of questions. They asked her a lot of weird questions I don’t remember, but they asked me a bunch of stuff like how old I was, how many friends I had, if I liked school, what I liked to do for fun, you know. They were really nice but I was also scared.

After they left, amah told me to pack my bags, that we were gonna move to the big city and I was gonna go to a new school. I don’t wanna go to a new school. I like my friends and my teacher.

I think I'm gonna run away if we move.

----

We did move, and I didn't get to run away. We live in a big purple building now with lots of other people, and I don't get to see my amah anymore. Instead I live in a big room with lots of other kids like a slumber party, which is kinda fun but also I wanna see her. They said I couldn't because we both needed to learn the rules and seeing each other would just make that harder. I'm so scared and I dunno what's going on and I think I need a hug.

Grownups keep calling me Ollie. That's not my name. My name is Ollistra. I keep telling them that and they just pat me on the head and don't do anything.

----

First day of school was today. It was really weird. We learned songs and prayers like at the temple back home but different because they weren't about the Hethe. My teacher, Miss Falstaff, said we aren't allowed to talk about the Hethe here. Instead we have to pray to… Elu–something. [Crossed out. The word "Elucidis" is written above it in much neater, curly writing with a purple glitter pen.]

We also watch really weird cartoons. I was excited because we didn't get to watch TV at my old school but I don't think I like these. There's one about someone called the Page who has to learn not to be anxious, and there's one about someone called the Isolator who has to learn that he doesn't need to be lonely. In all of them there's a flower man who teaches the other characters their lessons. I'm kind of scared of him and I don't know why.

Miss Falstaff told us that we're having an extra special visitor tomorrow and to be on our very best behavior. I'm nervous but I'm also excited.

----

We had a visitor in class today. I think he's the Flower Man from the cartoons because he has the same voice. He was really nice and wore a purple and gray suit and I couldn't stop looking at him. He said we were all part of a really important project that would help him figure out how to help lots of other people love him as much as he loves them. Being around him feels really nice. It's almost like I'm floating. But it also makes me feel kinda sick and jittery and makes it hard to think, like when I eat too many sweets before dinner. I dunno if I like this or not.

----

Miss Falstaff read my journal. I'm so mad. Amah said no one would ever read it… I miss her so much. When will I get to see her again?

----

[This entry is written in neater handwriting, indicating that Ollistra was a bit older at this point.]

Sorry for not writing for so long. I like it here a lot more now than I used to. The rules aren't so bad, and I don't even remember much about my life before. I still don't get to see my amah very much but I don't even really miss her. I'm having so much fun here. I'm not scared of the flower man on the cartoons anymore. I've even gotten used to the weird sticky jittery feeling. Miss Falstaff said that feeling is normal and that it gets easier to think if you only think about Him. It does get easier. I don't think I've ever been this happy.

----

Got to see my amah today. My class got to sing with the choir during an initiation today and I ran up to her afterwards. She didn't even remember me. I guess that Miss Falstaff is right. The Heart of the Purple Rose is the only family I need.

----

I got in trouble for leaving the group after the initiation last night and had to spend the day in a little room by myself. It was cold and lonely and all I wanted was to be back with my friends. When Miss Falstaff came back to get me, she made me recite one of the texts we’ve been learning, about “acting as a unit in harmony with the One Flesh.” I don’t really understand all of it and I think I got a few words wrong.

Is this Re-education? I don’t like it. I don’t ever want to have to do that again.

----

We have a substitute teacher for the next few weeks. Her name is Miss Debroux and I think I like her better than Falstaff. She doesn't make us sing songs about being “held within the Heart” or watch weird cartoons. Instead she teaches us about the world outside and takes us on lots of fun field trips. She also sneaks us books from the outside now and then. She brought me a book of fables from around the Lathrym and I don’t think I’m supposed to have it but I’m keeping it a secret. It’s hidden inside my pillowcase.

I like Miss Debroux, but I feel like I’ll get in trouble if I like her too much. Dimitri says she’s trying to lead us astray and he’s gonna tell the High Priest on her. I told him that he’s never even met the High Priest.

----

Today we went to a park in the College District and got to play outside. Jacqueline and Amar and I played hide and seek and Jac kept cheating by climbing trees when it was her turn to hide. I haven't been able to play outside since my amah and I joined Purple Rose.

We had a picnic in the park for lunch. The food at the High Cathedral is always really sweet and not that filling, but Miss Debroux got us good food.

I don't want to go back to the High Cathedral. Everything looks so clear and bright right now. I don't want this to end.

----

I tried to give my journal to Miss Debroux so she could read it. She said that it's supposed to be private and she's sorry anyone made me think otherwise.

...I definitely like her more than Miss Falstaff.

Also she doesn't call me Ollie.

----

It's been a few days, but I'm soooooo excited!!

Miss Debroux said she's gonna take us on a really big adventure, but she can only take a few of us at a time or else she might get in trouble. She seemed sad when she said that only me and my friends could go this time. I don't think she should be sad about it– it's just a field trip, and everyone's gonna get to go eventually.

----

FIELD TRIP DAY!!!!!! It's supposed to be a long trip so I packed a few changes of clothes and all my favorite stuffed animals. Amar and Jac are coming with me.

----

I don't think this is a field trip. Miss Debroux is talking to someone called "Sentinel" on the phone and saying something about an assignment. I'm scared.

We've stopped. We're in front of a big metal dome in the middle of the desert. I don't want to go in but I think I have to.

----

[This entry seems to be from a few years later.]

Oh, hey! I haven’t written in this thing for a LONG time, have I? Then again, in fairness to me, A LOT has happened since then. I’ve found out a lot more about Purple Rose and… it’s INSANE. “The flower man” is a Dekn Master and apparently he kidnapped some Ersisbound girl and…

I hope my amah’s okay. She apparently got rescued by the same agency that rescued me about a year after I did and I’m so concerned for her, but at the same time, what was she THINKING bringing me to a place like that? I was a kid! I’m still a kid!

My foster parents said she’s almost ready for me to visit her, but I’m not sure if I want to yet.

I still dream about the flower man sometimes, and I still feel all jittery and unfocused when I wake up. My foster parents are always there to help me come down. I think I want them to adopt me.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that things are better now. Mostly. Jacqueline still talks a lot about Purple Rose. I think she still wants to go back. I wish I could help her so she doesn’t decide to do it.

#arkn legacy #..................might have been slightly inspired by milo's journal here doN'T JUDGE ME

6 notes · View notes

believerindaydreams · 5 years

Text

further scenes from a GBU/Rawhide AU

yeah this is gonna be one of those things where a good working knowledge of the movie as written helps, or I’d be here until Christmas getting the details finely lined up.

…Angel Eyes is up to something.

Tuco’s sure of it, suspects he would be even if he hadn’t kept an ear out for the rumours and muttered legends- that’s the trouble with his ex-partner’s sense of style, it always had the damnedest way of landing them both in the soup. It sounds good, fine, to be the kind of man who can stop a room dead just by walking through the door. In practice it drew targets on their backs and made it impossible to find boltholes from the law, frightened away the kind of people who trusted him when he was just a solitary bandit with a long foolish charge sheet.

And breaking Angel Eyes of that habit, chances are the man would have broken him first. Angel isn’t the kind of man who takes correction easily. What he is, is a man with a good nose for opportunity- and if he thinks that the nonsense about Carson’s gold is worth pursuing, well, that’s a rainbow to try chasing.

“May I ask,” the gunshop owner asks, managing to stutter on just three syllables. Some people would have killed for that out of hand.

But hey, he’s in a good mood; alive and with a whole skin and armed with a gun that sings a good tune, that’s a fine thing. “You want to know why I needed a weapon at all? I didn’t have one before, that’s why.”

The man moans. Tuco takes a final swig of gooey red liquor and kindly shoves it across the counter.

“See, you get a few men together for a gang, you know? Trustworthy, the kind who won’t shoot you in the back for your gold teeth, so everyone can sleep at night without worrying. All working fine, until they get a sniff of two hundred thousand in gold and then suddenly it’s every man for himself and somebody steals my horse when I’m having a siesta. Bastards.”

“You have two hundred thousand dollars in gold?” For a frightened man, he’s looking very greedy.

“Not yet,” Tuco admits. “But I will- hey, when I get it I’ll come back here and buy a set of your best silver plated revolvers, how’s that?”

No harm in promises, with that kind of money floating around.

Hell, he might even do it.

**********

God must really hate him, to let him find the one stagecoach in this whole stretch of desert but have there be no water inside it.

“Water,” the lone survivor croaks, longingly, and Rowdy can’t even answer him at first; his own throat’s too choked and dusty. “Water, I’ll give you anything- I’ll give you gold.”

Gold, what does he care about that when he’s dying of thirst too? “Where?”

Carson misunderstands him. Babbles a lot of nonsense about a cemetery while Rowdy searches frantically, turning over bodies and upending dry canteens with scant respect. It’d be all too likely an end, if he were to just keel over right now and add one more to the pile of corpses.

“Out there,” Carson gasps, pointing.

He runs out, and finds it- hot, alkaline, but blessedly liquid. Drinks too much but so satisfying, whooping in delight. Dampens his hat and lets the water run down his face, soothing his sunburns.

When Rowdy comes back, hat brimful of water, Carson’s stopped breathing.

And there’s another man here now. A loudly-dressed bandito of all people, with tears in his eyes and a prayer on his lips.

“Hey. Hey, Carson, don’t die…don’t die! Two hundred thousand in gold, how can you give up with so much to live for? Santa maria-” and the rest is all a blur, Spanish and maybe something else.

There’s something greatly horrible, about walking towards this scene of private agony- but innocence left him when Favor did. Gently, Rowdy reaches over to close the staring eyes.

“I’m sorry….was he a friend of yours?”

“Him? No, no- I never saw him before, and I curse my luck for it- who are you?”

The memory of Favor’s hard horse sense stops him telling the truth; Rowdy runs a hand through his sun-bleached hair, self-consciously. “These days I go by- Blondie. Uh, what’s your name?”

The bandito looks rather pleased. “Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez.”

“Uh.“

“My friends, I let them call me Tuco. You’re a friend, if you don’t shoot me and you were with Carson before he died- did he say anything to you, about the gold? But- say, you don’t look so good. All that mess on your face. Been out in the sun too long?”

“My-“ boss, captain, friend all run through his head, and none of them are right. “My partner, he got scared. Took all the water and left me to die in the desert.”

Tuco clucks his tongue like a schoolmarm or a mother hen; but there’s a shifting wariness in his eyes that speaks of quick, haunted understanding. “Can’t trust anyone these days, eh? Same thing happened to me, isn’t that funny….”

At the end of a quarter hour, they’ve gotten three things straight.

One, he’s got half the secret to a fortune in gold.

Two, none other than the famous Tuco Ramirez has the other half.

Three, it’s only a little way from here to a monastery where they’ll take good care of him, quiet grey stones and cooling darkness, and as Tuco says, they can hash out the rest of it when he’s better.

“But you have to live and get well first, eh? Don’t worry. Tuco will be a very fine friend to you…”

Might just be the gold; but he has a funny feeling he can trust Tuco.

Then again, he’d thought that about Favor…

*************

some time later

“He’s not a good man, my brother,” Pablo says to him.

Rowdy can guess why. A good man wouldn’t have taught him how to smoke cigarillos (“not my favourite, but you smoke what you can get”). A good man wouldn’t have played that nasty trick telling him he was about to die, or got into a shouting match with a priest.

A good man wouldn’t have saved him, probably. “But he’s your brother. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“Christ’s love exceeds all other,” Pablo intones. “I am trying to warn you away from him. Though it seems clear that you have few other choices of company, should you leave.”

“I guess so...”

“But perhaps you won’t have a reason to leave. In this war, there are always more wounded men, more casualties who come crying to our doors for help- we could use a man with your charity and compassion.”

Rowdy can’t help a little bitterness. “What compassion?”

“For one, you put up with Tuco.” The smile passes quickly, but in that moment it lays the family resemblance bare. “That’s a task to tax the most stalwart patience.”

“He was saving me, though. A stranger he didn’t know at all, he was just playing Good Samaritan.”

If there’s pleasure in Pablo’s expression, it’s hemmed in by caution. “That’s…not wholly characteristic of my brother. Is there something he wants from you? Something you’re not prepared to give, perhaps?”

“No. No, nothing.”

He knows what Pablo’s asking, knows well enough why the man suspects an ulterior motive- but he can’t bring himself to say it. Not after seeing Tuco’s tired stupor after that fight with his brother, sitting up until dawn and drinking himself bleary-eyed. To cut off that solitary bind, that’s a cruelty he’d shoot a man sooner than commit.

It’s too much like him and Favor, and he’d gladly have given up any share in this impossible fortune if somebody had lied like this, soothed their path smooth again.

“That’s a greater kindness than I think you might recognise,” Pablo says, staring straight into his eyes. “But I- I thank you for telling me this.”

“You will go and make it up with him, won’t you?”

The holy man mutters something that sounds uncommonly like a groan. “He’ll want to toast our famiy in six kinds of liquor- which wouldn’t be such a problem, if he didn’t expect me to keep up. The other brothers will not approve.”

“If I had a brother, I’d risk a hangover for him,” Rowdy says.

Pablo looks dubious. Says he’ll think about it; but the sound that wakes Rowdy from his siesta later is, he’s sure, the sound of two glasses ringing against each other.

#the good the bad and the ugly #rawhide

2 notes · View notes

anastpaul · 6 years

Photo

Saint of the Day – 21 May – St Eugene de Mazenod O.M.I. (1782-1861) Priest, Bishop, Founder of the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, Evangeliser, Missionary Preacher, Apostle of the poor and marginalised – born Charles-Joseph-Eugène de Mazenod on 1 August 1782 at Aix-en-Provence, southern France and died on 21 May 1861 at Marseille, France of cancer. When his body was exhumed in 1936 it was found to be incorrupt. Patronages – refugees, missionaries, families.

youtube

Eugene de Mazenod was born into an aristocratic family, on 1 August 1782 and baptised the following day in the Église de la Madeleine in Aix-en-Provence. His father, Charles Antoine de Mazenod, was one of the Presidents of the Court of Finances and his mother was Marie Rose Joannis. Eugene began his schooling at the College Bourbon but this was interrupted by the events of the French Revolution. With the approach of the French revolutionary forces, the family was forced to flee to Italy. Image below - St Eugene aged 5.

He became a boarder at the College of Nobles in Turin but a move to Venice meant the end to formal schooling. With their money running out, Eugene’s father was forced to seek various employments, none of which were successful. His mother and sister returned to France – eventually seeking a divorce so as to be able to regain their property that had been seized. Eugene was fortunate to be welcomed by the Zinelli family in Venice. This is how it happened:

One day when Eugene was playing at the window of his house, Fr Bartolo Zinelli (1766-1803) appeared on the other side of the street and asked him, “Are you not afraid of wasting your time?” “Alas, responded Eugene, it is really awful, but what can I do? I am a foreigner here without any books available to me.” “Well, then”, replied Don Bartolo, “I am right in my library at the moment and here I have many books in Latin, Italian and French.” Having said this, he took up the stick that was used to bar the shutters and put a book on it and passed it over the narrow, approximately one and one half meter street.

After having read the book, Eugene, following the advice of his father, went to Don Bartolo’s house to thank him for this kind gesture. “Well,” said Don Bartolo, “do you see this lovely library? All of these books are available to you as well.” Then, Don Bartolo showed Eugene his study where he and his brother Don Pietro used to study and told him, “You can take the place here of my younger brother who has died.” Eugene could not contain his joy. “Well, then, you can begin tomorrow already.”

Fr Bartolo Zinelli took special care of Eugene and saw to his education in the well-provided family library where the young adolescent spent many hours each day and was a major influence in the human, academic and spiritual development of Eugene.

Once again the French army chased the émigrés from Venice, forcing Eugene and his father and two uncles to seek refuge in Naples for less than a year and, finally, to flee to Palermo in Sicily. Here Eugene was invited to become part of the household of the Duke and Duchess of Cannizaro as a companion to their two sons. Being part of the high society of Sicily became the opportunity for Eugene to rediscover his noble origins and to live a lavish style of life. He took to himself the title of ‘Comte’ (“Count”) de Mazenod, did all the courtly things and dreamed of a bright future.

Spiritual journey of conversion At the age of twenty, Eugene returned to France and lived with his mother in Aix en Provence. Initially he enjoyed all the pleasures of Aix as a rich young nobleman, intent on the pursuit of pleasure and money – and a rich girl who would bring a good dowry. Gradually he became aware of how empty his life was and began to search for meaning in more regular church involvement, reading and personal study and charitable work among prisoners. His journey came to a climax on Good Friday, 1807 when he was 25 years old. Looking at the sight of the Cross, he had a religious experience. The sight of the oblation of Jesus on the Cross, with his arms outstretched in love, led Eugene to respond in love: “What more glorious occupation than to act in everything and for everything only for God, to love Him above all else, to love Him all the more as one who has loved Him too late.”

Priest In 1808, he expressed his desire for dedication to Jesus the Saviour by beginning his studies for the priesthood at the Saint-Sulpice Seminary in Paris and was ordained a priest at Amiens (Picardy), on 21 December 1811. Since Napoleon had expelled the Sulpician priest from the seminary, Eugene stayed on as a formator for a semester. As a member of the Seminary, notwithstanding personal risk, Eugene committed himself to serve and assist Pope Pius VII, who at this time was a prisoner of emperor Napoleon I at Fontainebleau. In this way, he experienced at firsthand, the suffering of the post-Revolutionary Church.

On his return to Aix, Father de Mazenod asked not to be assigned to a parish but to dedicate himself fully to evangelising those who were not being touched by the structures of the local church: the poor who spoke only the Provençal language, prisoners, youth, the inhabitants of poor villages who were ignorant of their faith. His constant message was, to invite people to enter into the same experience of Jesus, that he had at his conversion. Looking at everyone and every situation through the eyes of the Saviour, he showed the poor the human and spiritual dignity that was theirs and taught them how to live in relationship with the Saviour. The goal of his priestly preaching and ministry was always to lead others to develop themselves fully as humans, then as Christians and finally to become saints.

Oblates of Mary Immaculate On 25 January 1816, “impelled by a strong impulse from outside of himself” he invited other priests to join him in his life of total oblation to God and to the most abandoned of Provence. Initially called “Missionaries of Provence,” they dedicated themselves to evangelization through preaching parish missions in the poor villages, youth and prison ministry. In 181, a second community was established, at the Marian shrine of Notre Dame du Laus. This became the occasion for the missionaries to become a religious congregation, united through vows and the evangelical counsels. Changing their name to Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate, the group received papal approbation on 17 February 1826.

Foreign Missions In 1841, Bishop Bourget of Montreal invited the Oblates to Canada. At the same time there was an outreach to the British Isles. This was the beginning of an inspiring history of missionary outreach to the most abandoned peoples in Canada, United States, Mexico, England and Ireland, Algeria, Southern Africa and Ceylon during the Founder’s lifetime. In 200 years this zeal spread and took root in the establishment of the Oblates in nearly 70 countries.

Bishop

From 1837 to 1861, he was the Bishop of Marseille, in Provence (south-eastern France). During his episcopacy, he commissioned Notre-Dame de la Garde (image below), an ornate Neo-Byzantine basilica on the south side of the old port of Marseille . He inspired local priest Joseph-Marie Timon-David to found the Congregation of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in Marseille in 1852.

Towards the end of his life, Eugene had become very free. Faced with the prospect of the Cardinalate which had been promised and which slipped away from him because of political considerations, he had this to say: “After all, it is all the same whether one is buried in a red cassock or a purple one; the main thing is that the bishop gets to heaven”.

Shortly before his death on May 21, 1861, in keeping with his temperament, the elderly and seriously ill bishop said to those around him: “Should I happen to doze off, or if I appear to be getting worse, please wake me up! I want to die knowing that I am dying”. His last words to the Oblates were a testament that summed up his life: “Practice well among yourselves charity, charity, charity and outside, zeal for the salvation of souls”. Saint Eugene died on Pentecost Sunday, to the prayer of the Salve Regina. It was his final salute on earth to the one he considered as the “Mother of the Mission”.

St Eugene was Beatified on 19 October 1975 by Blessed Pope Paul VI and Canonised on 3 December 1995 by Sr Pope John Paul II.

21 May 2017 – more info from Vatican Resources on St Eugene: https://anastpaul.wordpress.com/2017/05/21/saint-of-the-day-21-may-st-eugene-de-mazenod-o-m-i/

Above - On the 150th anniversary of the Death of St Eugene in the Basilica he built, Notre-Dame de la Garde. Marseilles

#steugenedemazenod #may21steugenedemazenod #catholic #catholicism

18 notes · View notes

teambakerst · 6 years

Text

I miss my grandma so much. I keep thinking I’ll write in one of my journals and put down all the feelings I haven’t been able to express with family or friends, but then no one will read it, so what’s the point? The same could be said about strangers on the internet reading my personal posts, but whatever. Talking to family just makes me cry and talking to friends doesn’t happen, because no one asks about it anymore. At the same time, I don’t want to put a burden on them, they have their own lives to deal with. It’s too graphic, traumatic, etc. So, I don’t know what else to do but lay it all out here.

My grandma died in March from multiple forms of cancer, all diagnosed too late, and at different times. First, the doctors found black spots on her lungs. Then it was pancreatic cancer. Then we found out it was in her bones.

I couldn’t even react when I found out about the bone cancer. My dad called my mom to tell her, and she told me and my other grandparents. At the time, my mom was in the hospital for an infection, which can be deadly for someone going through chemotherapy. Surprise! Two family members with cancer. They caught mom’s at stage 2. She’s doing better now, about to start radiation...

So she told me my grandma had lesions in her skull. We knew she was dying, but this was terrifying. Cancer’s a fucking monster.

I left the hospital a while later, not feeling well. I caught pneumonia, which sucked by itself, but had another impact on what happened next. The doctors told us my grandma might have two more months to live. They don’t offer real hospice care unless a patient needs a qualified nurse around the clock, so they set us up with a hospital bed and some other supplies in our own home (and a nurse who visited once every couple days). We rearranged our living room for her and brought some of her clothes, pillows, and stuffed animals over from her house. She really, really, did not want to stay with us. Not because she didn’t love us, but because she loved her house and was used to being independent. She’d been suffering from dementia for a long time, so she was often confused about the state of her health and couldn’t understand why we wouldn’t take her home no matter how many times we explained it.

Everyone agreed I shouldn’t be around my mom or my grandma when their immune systems were compromised, so I spent a lot of the time I was sick in my room upstairs. My grandma only lived for two more weeks.

I was so mad for most of that time, mad I was sick, mad the doctors weren’t doing anything for her. And I mean, anything. Apparently, my diabetic grandma didn’t need insulin anymore, because cancer feeds on sugar. Except when her blood sugar spiked too high and they had to take her from our house on a gurney to a rehabilitation facility (??? not a hospital?) to try to bring it back down.

I had a bad feeling when they took her. And nothing but bad feelings every time I went to bed, afraid she wouldn’t wake up the next morning.

During the week she spent at our house, she started hallucinating from not getting enough oxygen. And she was seeing weird things. Squiggly lines and pictures on the walls, rays of light, strangely negative biblical phrases (something about her being a sinner). Hearing things, too. A man behind her calling her name. Her dad, who passed away a long time ago. She would talk to people who weren’t there, sometimes in Spanish. We got her some oxygen tanks, but her condition only improved mildly. She was in and out of sleep all the time. I just tried to reassure her she was safe, especially when she thought she saw smoke in the house. She had a hard time moving and it usually took a long time to get her from the family room couch to the bed. I made sure she was comfy and we would usually talk a little bit, just us two, before I went to bed.

There was one good day where I gave her interview questions and she was lucid enough to answer them. Stuff about college and her friends and vacations. I wrote it all down.

But there was a shift when they took her to the rehab place. I worked the next day. I was taking pay at the drive-thru window when I felt my phone start buzzing in my pocket, over and over. I didn’t want to answer it, because I knew it would be bad news. Then the DQ phone rang and my coworker brought it over to me--my sister called. She said Nani wasn’t responding and I better come over there quick, because it might be the end. I just started sobbing at work. My coworkers/managers were nice and they told me to go. So I cried while driving to the rehab place, too, I couldn’t stop it--don’t cry and drive! My dad called on the way over, he’d noticed me a couple cars ahead of him. That was a little bit reassuring, and I calmed down.

My dad and I met up in the parking lot and found my sister and my other grandma with Nani in her room. Nani was sleeping and wouldn’t respond to her name or her arm being shaken. We thought it was a coma. Hours went by, she had some of her friends visit and leave after sharing their prayers. And then suddenly, she gasped and raised her arms and she was awake!

We’d thought that was the end. The rehab staff weren’t very helpful, not offering an explanation one way or the other. Come to find out she’d been given strong painkillers (or sedatives? Hard to know). It was hard to understand her when she spoke after that, she was very quiet and mumbly. She did say she wanted a “little hug” from everyone, and that made me happy. She asked my uncle to play a song for her. He’d brought his guitar and sung something special for st. patrick’s day. It was very beautiful and I ran to the bathroom in her room, because I started crying again and I didn’t want her to see.

She stayed at that center for a few days, but because healthcare is weird and sucky they said they couldn’t keep her there. It was a rehab place, not a hospice, after all. (I’m still pissed they wouldn’t give her an IV when she stopped eating and drinking. AND they forgot her insulin and claimed they’d given it to her even when I told them I hadn’t left the room and never saw the nurse return with it. High blood sugar was the reason she was there in the first place.)

So they moved my grandma to another rehab place. This one wasn’t as nice. I visited her after school, because through all of this I was still trying to finish off the semester... The doctors helped my grandma into a wheelchair and we took her to a dinner table where the other patients could eat together. My grandma “ordered” some tea and did a little dance--I think my phone’s ringtone went off or something. She was almost normal. That was the last time I saw her alive. My dad, sister, and I let her have dinner with my uncle because he hadn’t gotten a chance to be alone with her.

They moved her, again, to what’s called a group home. My parents and sister visited her there, but I had school and work again. I got a text from my dad at work, saying I should probably leave now and come home. I knew she’d passed.

It was a strange feeling. I guess it would be called numbness. My sister was home and confirmed what I’d thought. My parents were on their way home from a family wedding. I went up to my room and kind of stood there.

Then my parents got home and we went to the group home. It was the first time I was seeing it. It was nice. The people there said they were sorry. I didn’t really realize we were going to see her body until my sister led the way to her room. I kind of lingered back, not knowing if I wanted to see. We all went in and my grandma was there on the bed, with her mouth open and her lips blue. My dad tried to “wake her up.” Kind of like before, when she hadn’t really gone. He blamed himself, outloud. But there was nothing we could’ve done differently. He told me she was still warm if I wanted to hug her or give her a kiss, but I couldn’t. I just wanted to remember what she was like alive. I knelt beside her and said a prayer instead.

I don’t remember what it’s called right now but we had a ceremony before the funeral where we prayed the rosary with my grandma preserved in her coffin. The priest had everyone make the sign of the cross over her forehead. I was the first to do it. I didn’t like it because her skin was cold and hard. I petted her hair, which felt the same. Soft. The funeral director gave my sister and I paper to write Nani a letter, which we folded up and put in her coffin. I thanked her for everything and all the time we spent together.

The funeral was very nice and I didn’t cry then. Lots of tears during the before-ceremony. I don’t know what it was at the funeral, but I’ve cried a lot since then. I still wish I could go back and not get sick. Go back and see her in the group home. My parents said she wasn’t really lucid or talkative when she was there, but I still want things to be different. I wish the hospital had given her a damn CT scan during the many, many times I took her there for her uncontrolled blood sugar, hernia, etc. Good to know the blood sugar thing is a sign of pancreatic cancer.

My mom having cancer at the same time is still something I’m dealing with. And she’s dealing with. And dad’s dealing with. On and on. I don’t like thinking about cancer in my future. We’re all trying to eat better and use natural products. Mom’s breast cancer isn’t genetic, but they never tested my grandma’s.

Everytime I think of a happy memory with my Nani, it’s followed by “and you’ll never see her/hear her/be able to do that with her again.” I would like the second part of the thought to disappear. I’ve been having weird dreams with her still. Not the kind where a family member visits you and bestows upon you wisdom, a friendly greeting, or an I love you. Instead, it’s her as a restless ghost, a corpse, or the confused version of herself before she died where in the dream I’m still aware she’s gone. I want her back, I want to forget all this sadness. I want the dreams to end. Or at least give me some peace.

#personal #cancer #a really long diary entry really #I'm tired and sad

2 notes · View notes

rannadylin · 6 years

Text

Soul and Shield: Chapter 6

Previously: Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5

Violet is reunited with her father, mother, and uncle Patli, her mentor in the church of Eothas here in Citlatl. Five years have brought many changes, but one thing has not changed at all...

This is the sequel to Clan and Court, in which Watcher Violet, Priest of Eothas, welcomed her enormous clan to Caed Nua just in time to go investigate things in Dyrford. If you haven’t read that yet, start there and meet a few of her siblings who are recurring characters in this sequel. Bonuses in the sequel include: Aloth! Lenneth! (but not as a Watcher) More of Vi’s siblings, including Garivald being the mayor of their city! And plenty of mysteries to solve, Leaden Key to interfere, relationships to navigate, and oh yes, they still have that betrothal contract to deal with, technically.

Chapter 6: The Vigil

Word Count: 1.6K

Rating: PG for discussion of impending death...

Read it here or on AO3

Chimalli Itzli, patriarch of the clan and Administrator of the tlatoani’s Advisory Council, showed up to breakfast the next morning just as Violet and Edér walked into the dining room with trays of her questionable muffins.

“Papa!” Violet exclaimed, setting down her tray and going to hug him. “How are you doing?” she whispered in his ear. “You looked so haggard last night.”

“Well enough, dear, given the circumstances,” he whispered back. “You look to be flourishing yourself.” He leaned back to look her over with a gentle smile.

“Oh, well,” she ducked her head and smoothed the fur at her wrists, “yes, I suppose. Caed Nua is in good order. And I --” she glanced at Edér, but he was busy teasing Audie about something, while tossing muffins to Violet’s youngest siblings, as the girls giggled shyly and Yaretzi pestered a very uncomfortable looking Aloth with questions. “Well,” Violet shrugged. “I’m happy. But I’ve missed you all.”

“It’s good you’re back,” he said, patting her hands before taking a seat at the table. “Your mother will be so relieved to see you safe and sound.”

“I’m relieved we weren’t too late for that,” Violet admitted, finding her own seat between Edér and Audie. “How is she?”

“The pain is constant, but she bears it well,” Chimalli began, as Xipil brought him a muffin and a glass of juice. “Thank you, my boy. Oh my, what an interesting shape.”

“My doing,” Violet sighed. “Someday I’ll get it right.”

Edér smirked, reaching for his second muffin already. “Tastes fine, though, long as you don’t look too close.”

Chimalli took a cautious bite, then nodded. “So it does. You know, Eréndira has been doing much of our baking lately. Or had been; she’s married now, of course. Lives nearby, though. You might ask her about it.”

“Yes. Well,” Violet said. “About mother?”

“Ah, yes,” her father continued. “Your uncle has kept up her strength with prayers and some concoction he brings every day for her to drink. Gives her a few hours of lucidity to enjoy what time she has left with us. She still does her best to keep the whole family running, even while confined to bed,” he chuckled, “but it can’t be much longer now. The effort tires her quicker every day, so she sleeps most of the time.”

“Oh, papa,” Violet said, her ears sinking with the weight of the family’s burden. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, dear,” he said, lowering his head with a slight smile and eyes nearly drifting shut. “It is what it is. The years have caught up with us. She has lived a full life and will send her soul on in peace, when the time comes. And in the meantime, it has been a blessing to have these last weeks with her, saying our goodbyes.” Then at the last, his voice caught, and he lowered his gaze further, his hands clasped over his plate.

Violet ventured quietly, when her father did not speak further, “Is she….May we see her now? Would she be awake?”

“Best to wait until Patli brings her draught for the day,” Chimalli said. “That will make everything easier.”

So they ate as if it were merely an ordinary breakfast, despite the undercurrent of urgency as they listened for Uncle Patli’s knock at the door. Chimalli cast many a curious glance at Violet’s tall companions, whose names had been given last night before the patriarch retired again to his wife’s bedside, but whose reasons for accompanying Violet home had been largely unadressed in that brief time. Violet grew tense, wondering if she should announce here and now, in front of everyone, that she was courting Edér, or if that conversation was best had with her father later in private. Everyone else at the table already knew, after all -- well, not the children. But they and Chimalli might have heard it already from those of the clan who had visited Caed Nua but not stayed along with the twins and Audie and Anselm, so --

Her father, however, hurried through his meal and excused himself to again take up the vigil at his wife’s bedside until Patli should arrive. Edér found Violet’s hand under the table, gave it a squeeze, winked at her ever so slightly. She sighed out the tension and nodded. Later it was, then.

Nearly an hour later, when they had barely finished washing up the breakfast dishes, a knock at the door signaled Patli’s arrival. Zoe and Yaretzi raced each other, clamoring to answer it. By the time Violet caught up, they had the old priest surrounded, patiently answering their questions and slipping sweets into their waiting palms. When the children ran away satisfied, Patli looked up and beamed to see Violet across the foyer.

“Well,” he nodded, opening his arms. “So it’s true. My little candle. Home from your pilgrimage.”

Violet smiled and stepped forward to embrace him. “Hello, Uncle. Yes, and I’ve so much to tell you.”

“Good,” he answered. “I’d have to send you out again if you didn’t, I suppose.” He leaned back to look at her. “First, however, let’s see to your mother. You’ll come find me at the temple while you’re in town, and we’ll talk.”

Violet nodded. As Patli turned to the staircase leading up to the second floor, Violet glanced down the hall to see Audie and the twins hurrying from the kitchen to join them. Together they followed their uncle up to their parents’ room.

It was quiet in the bedchamber, quieter even than the rest of the house, whose somber, expectant hush was broken only by the restless energy of the youngest siblings and their excitement at having the others home from Caed Nua. Chimalli sat in an armchair drawn up to the bedside, his head bowed over hands clasped, elbows balanced on his knees. His wife Izél lay propped up on pillows. Five years had certainly taken their toll on her, even before the sickness: her hair and fur had gone all grey, when Violet recalled elegant strands of silver alternating with gold the last time she saw her mother. The skin of her face had taken on a greener tone than Violet recalled, as well, and drew tight against her cheekbones. But her voice, when Patli approached her side and woke her with a quiet word of greeting and a hand on her shoulder, was as rich and warm as ever, though it too conformed to the hush of the room. “Ah, brother. One more dawn, then?”

“Sister,” Patli murmured, stepping back from her line of sight just as Xipil, the last to enter, closed the door behind the group. “Look who’s come to see you.”

Izél followed his nod to the cluster of her children. She smiled to see Audie, Xipil, Yolotli, all home after several months away. But her eyes grew wide as soon as she saw Violet. “Oh!”

“Mama,” Violet said, drawing closer. “It’s so good to see you.”

Izél stirred in her nest of pillows, reaching out. “Oh, baby. It’s really you? It’s been so long.”

Violet went to her and bent to embrace her. “Too long. The years pass so quickly.”

“That’s how you know you’re grown up,” Izél said, her voice warming with humor. “When you’re counting not the days left till you can do something but the years that sneak past you when you’re occupied with living.” She raised a hand to pat Violet’s cheek as she leaned back from the hug to sit on the edge of the bed. “And my, how grown up you are now, daughter of mine. I have heard stories of your adventures, you know.”

“Oh. Good,” Violet laughed, as the rest of the siblings gathered closer, drawing up chairs or perching on the bed as well. “Then I don’t need to go over all of that again.”

Patli returned to the bedside then, holding out a glass filled with a blueish liquid. “Ah, now let the day begin,” Izél smiled, taking his potion and draining it down in three quick gulps. She sighed with relief as she handed the empty glass back to him. Indeed, some color already was returning to her face as she said, “Now, my girl. You’re not getting out of this so easily. I want a full accounting. I’ve had bits and pieces from the rest of the clan after they visited you, but secondhand stories are more fun for seeing how wrong everyone gets the details than for the truth of the events. Tell me everything.” She glanced around at the others. “And that goes for the rest of you too.”

So they sat and told her about their months at Caed Nua, from the adventures in Dyrford to the more mundane anecdotes that followed the rest of the clan’s return to Citlatl. Then Violet told a little of her years alone on pilgrimage and the surprises and challenges of the Dyrwood and Awakening to find herself a Watcher, though she omitted much. Some of her travels, learning from priests of Eothas throughout Eora and carrying home their greetings, were for her uncle’s ears. And some of the things she had learned -- from Iovara, from Thaos -- were best told cautiously if at all. Violet was still, years later, working out what to make of those secrets herself.

They filled their mother’s waking hours with their stories, till Izél began to tire again, her eyelids fluttering and muscles tightening in pain as the potion wore off. Between stories, Patli interposed gently, “That’s enough for now. Time to rest, my dear.”

They all bid her farewell as lightly as one can when knowing at the back of one’s mind that it might be the last such farewell, then filed out of the room. The last to leave, as Violet followed her uncle out she just caught Izél’s sleepy whisper to Chimalli: “It’s good that she’s speaking to Anselm again. I should so like to see that wedding before I die.”

#pillars of eternity #pillars of eternity fanfiction #PoE fanfic #eder #aloth #watcher violet #itzli clan #soul and shield #csi: citlatl #ixamitl plains #orlans #from the desk of ranna

9 notes · View notes