Jan 21
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Russia
seen from Italy
seen from Yemen
seen from France
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Algeria
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from Norway
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
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seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
Based off from this.
@eddie-volt-multiverse
mentioning bc i remember the mod wanted to see the digitalized version, too.
"you wanna have a threesome with boothill and fem boothill?"
Rook, Line, and Sinker
Word Count; 6.1K Characters; Brian ( @flock-of-the-divine ) & April ( @marshallseries ) AU; Flock of the Divine
Warning; Scene of Drowning and CPR.
Fishing is superior to hunting; elegant in its craftsmanship, the knowledge, the required patience. This was why Brian found it amusing that April specifically wanted to have a fishing trip after being told she'd have a reward for good behavior. It's known she's skilled in that area: stalking, skinning animals, gun cleaning, trapping, etc. It's easy to see her connection to fishing.
Brian volunteered as her chaperone for the trip. He was the best option in the end—that was obvious. April had a hard time getting along with any lambs, getting herself into spats and cat-fights constantly that having her assigned with others was a chore itself. Oracles volunteered out of obligation to join April.
He finds many oracles like keeping themselves, land locked, without any tedious tasks. Though, Brian was going to enjoy a weekend fishing trip. Some reprieve from the monastery and their constant bleating.
Dressed in their skulls and heavy clothes, April was burdened with the majority of their gear. A bulging hiking bag, tied off poles, tackle box hooked to the back, more and more squashed inside. She hunched forward in the weight, her wolf-pelt coat making her look like a beast standing upright. Yet, she remained excited for the fishing.
In contrast Brian packed light. Layered in the preferable way with his change of clothes, chess board, tea set and herbals, his and hers journals and his bedding on top. Pockets keeping separate his hygiene products and food he packed from the kitchen. His black wool coat kept his warmth, stole overtop as is fashionable.
"Hopefully you didn't forget anything." He teased.
April didn't reply, captured by her own anticipation, hands gripping the bag of bait and coolers. She stomps through the forest, lamb skull tilting from side to side as twigs and leaves crunch beneath her feet. Mid-day sun makes the cool day enjoyable, the forest itself grabbing onto the brights of a fire in its leaves, broken by the evergreen that peeked out in their canopy.
Brian was the only one to have trouble with their otherwise straight path. Thickets extending to narrow it, roots twisting outwards. He heard a crows caw, laughing at him as he maneuvered in grace, noticing April unaffected.
The sun moves in pace, racing with their walk and beaming onto the hardened ground.
"Tonight we are get getting ready for the weekend. We'll be here all Saturday and Sunday, leaving early on Monday. We will wake up at 3 am, have hardy breakfasts and light suppers, and be in bed by 11 pm the latest after all the fish we caught that day are packed away." He stated.
April nodded along.
Brian sighed. "If you're taking a vow of silence that's fine but I do at least need a verbal agreement."
Her skull tilted at him.
Brian didn't mind her small rebellions. Knowing he was about to work her for all she was worth. He'd sit in that small cabin and enjoy his tea, his chess, and his snacks, then he'd fish and bring back his catches for her to pack away. She liked blood and guts anyways, Brian was sure she got some sadistic satisfaction in bleeding fish.
By late-afternoon they reached the lake. It's large body glittered blue, greedy to reflect the sky on its surface and present itself as one would to heaven. The trees holding up right to the edge, dotting away for a small beach where their dock was. A large mountain cliff blanched white and light-gray cutting off the other side of the forest. Isolating their part of the world to their weekend get-away.
"I'll go find the boat, please make sure the cabin and outhouse are clean, the wood is restocked, and organize the gear we'll take out tomorrow." He won't let her relax. A pawn like her would love the use.
She didn't voice a single complaint, like a good pet she hiked down to do just as he asked.
The interior of this cabin is dusty, all contained in one room with hooks by the door for hanging, a firewood pile that is low, a small kitchen with a thin extruded pantry and cabinets contained to the island. The iron wood-stove on a separate platform of stone, which April was starting the fire for. Two iron stools are neatly pushed under the light-wood counter top.
He deposited his bag on a hook, waiting for her to check for any critters before he claimed a bed.
The beds was two parallel to each other, with a single bed-side table at their heads, and two leather bound chests at their foots. The walls had game taxidermy on them, fish and deer and a hawk as well. But the impressive painting of the lake itself, merged across the four seasons that hangs above the hand-carved clock used to tell the time out here(it is half-past 4).
All covered in a fine layer of dust.
No one used these for too long, unless for a break or what Brian was doing. He walked outside, finding the boat where it was always stored (in a metal container further in the forest). He had no trouble carrying it out to the water, oars and all, a fine crafted piece still holding up; tied to the lake's dock with ease, water lapped below the boards, blanching the strong posts that have kept this dock up for just as long.
Back inside the cabin April was hard at work, he asked for bugs and she confirmed there being none. He checked his bed all the same. She is a great cleaner—only on her own rewards. He knows in the monastery she slacks so often they required it as a direct punishment which is a chore in-it-of-itself.
He hung up his coat and skull at the front, the cabin heating up wonderfully from the cast iron wood stove, seeing April had done the same with her sheep and wolf-coat. He will need to discuss removing it from her. He decided to do one last check of April's things, seeing it already stripped and gutted of several items they'd need for the morning: tackle, poles, rope, bait, etc. He knew April loved to sneak things around. Her knowledge to slip contraband around the monastery made an entertaining study to those who supplied to her. Her bargaining was rare, as she hated sharing, this also applied to stolen items.
She wouldn't report it, but she sure loved the hunt of punishment. Brian observed it first hand once.
Her doing that, he thought, gave her a high bar of feared respect and authority, annoyingly. Lowly beasts like her aren't even worth a lamb. She belonged under them that way, as it should be.
The bulge in fabric caught his attention, finding the cut she had made; inside was a small mint tin, popping open the top he saw her mix she would make herself as an avid smoker.
"Now, what do we have here?" Brian holds up the illicit item knowing full well it was her personal grade.
"My chew." She said, unbothered. Hovering in the small kitchen, a crackling on the iron stove.
"Bring any refreshments~?" Loe and behold as he checked their coolers she had carried, finding the bottles of beer under gel-packets and bags. She's oh-so predictable.
Her jaw clicked her teeth together, catching his notice.
"I, Brian, allow you to speak freely here." He smiled at her.
She didn't speak again, giving him a scornful look, finishing sweeping the kitchen floor and re-checking her supper.
Where did she get the food?
He turned his attention back to his own bag. Inside the stuff he had brought from the kitchen was missing ingredients he had planed meticulously for. He felt a flush on his cheeks, invaded by her pawing hands on the things he had brought. He saw her bed had her journal on it too.
"Did you go through my things?"
"I wanted to eat." The food sizzled in the cast-iron pan.
"You used bait?" He saw the open containers scattered on the counter, did she finally lose it?
"Yeah, it's pretty good."
She presents the meal before him, more repulsed by the second. Marinated chicken liver from their bait, mixed with sauteed ginger, onions, and peppers, garnished with a sauce she would not disclose and halved-pickled eggs.
Yes, one could use these things for a meal, of course they could, but the idea eating their bait made a nightmarish turn in his stomach. Unlabeled bottles and jars had been used as well. He only guessed two of them contained salt and pepper.
"Our bait." he repeated.
"That's right. We brought so much I didn't want to waste it."
He brought it separately for the purpose of it not being cooked. Not just that though, April had taken out his tea set. She made tea! She poured him a cup, drinking a beer for herself. One of his tea blends he kept in perfect monitor of its contents. He was taken aback. He watched her put the beer cap between her teeth and snap it off with ease. She ate that meal with fevered reverence. She even had seconds.
He remembered April's only time she cooked. The texture of that meal she had helped in, the rancid taste that brunt his mouth. Yet here she was. Eating something that didn't smell awful. If it did taste horrible he'll drown her in the lake.
Putting a small fork full in his mouth he hesitantly chewed. It was… savory, soft and juicy, the egg went fine with it from the spice of the sauce. He couldn't believe it. He finished it with his tea. That wasn't terrible, it wasn't good either. Too strong and not complimentary.
This is going to be a long fishing trip.
Supper finished at 7 pm, Brian reprimanding her for an hour after. He really could have bled her right there for the gaul of feeding him bait. She agreed to keep out of his things as if it were even up for discussion. But nothing else could be repeated enough to satisfy him. So, when April went to bed he stared at the small portion that had been left. He ate that too, even as he knew it was close to bed for such a meal. He wasn't going to waste it. That'd be ridiculous.
Then, he readied himself for bed; changing in the outhouse, provided by diffused light of glass encased candles on a shelf below the mirror. He caught its face in that mirror, its eyes and its mouth as he brushed teeth and hair. He took in a deep breath to see its nose move. There, he stared. Checking features. He washed the mouth, snuffed the candles and returned with his veil over its head.
Brian was up first—before 3 am—and started by refilling the simmering fire in the stove, ready to make himself a dark, smoky tea first thing. He didn't bring his coffee, which was his only blunder, yet he didn't idle. His morning routine had him presentable and ready for the day while he waited for the kettle to boil.
He started stewing his tea, when April woke. Her groaning form sitting up after the rude awakening of the kettle's shout. She groped around at her mattress, slipping on her glasses in sluggish motion. "Couldn't you wait?" Her voice scratched as she rubbed sleep from her face.
Brian found it a justified punishment for going through his things. If nothing else.
"I told you to be up at three."
She mumbled under her breath.
"What was that?"
April pursed her lips. "What's for breakfast?"
He hadn't started. The only thing that'll need to be used immediately is the meat he had in there. Yet, she made a passible supper—having also screwed up his meticulous portions, so he could off-load another responsibility which'd be fantastic.
"What would you like to make? It is your reward after all."
She stared at him in suspicion, eyes morphing into full awareness. Interesting.
"Yes, I know I had condemned you for it, but I am giving you permission this time to use my food."
She didn't waste the chance. Rigging up the inside of the iron stove with a tray to effectively grill kebabs, chunks of lamb shoulder slathered in spice she roasted, ground, and mixed with his red onions and garlic (fine minced) and cilantro, of all things.
"You know you should make some of those sheep into dairy sheep." She said without looking away from her meal.
Brian loaded up the boat with what they'd need for the morning in the meantime, unable to stay still. She ate without him (having also grilled potatoes, cut up tomatoes and crumbled feta cheese) when he came back in to eat. He took note of the meal in a different journal to his main one. A minuscule part of him, giddy.
"You do that with everything you eat?" April asked.
"It's important to know what you eat."
"If you say so."
He ate with confidence today, though not too much as he'd suspect it'd make him sleepy instead. He caught the spices of coriander and cumin, but once that cheese melted on it he could help it; it was mixed feelings all around.
"It would be easier to—"
"Do not give me critique with respect, Brother Brian."
His mouth twitched into a right-sided smirk. A beast with no manners.
"Yes, of course."
On that dark morning Saturday the sky burst with stars and a waning gibbous, not needing any light in the bright silver moonlight.
April loaded up the last of their items, hunkering herself down with clinking bottles, her breath puffing out from the sheep skull she had back on. The lake dark, the forest walling them in and the cliff looming before them. It'll be cold, but he didn't mind with every inch of him covered.
April rowed them out, wading across space, and once they reached far enough that no matter where they cast it would hit the water, they fished.
Brian was glad for his gloves especially, keeping fingers from the chilling temp which April wasn't so lucky for; puffing on her hands, stuffing them in her wolf-coat. That meal and their clothes kept them nice and warm, but so did beer, which April decided to crack open one to get herself warmer, again with her teeth.
He could make out her relaxed frame lazing on her side of the rowboat, watching the waters through the sockets while they waited for a catch. She was pretending he didn't exist with her in this moment. Such as her simple mind needed, full of hatred and madness. Yet, even in all this peace, Brian wanted to extend his kindness to this feral cat.
"Why don't we play a small game."
"I'm not interested in comparing dick sizes."
Brian stared at her, appalled. What is her problem?
"What?" She raised her beer, "Cheers! and all, but what are you doing?" April shook her head, the skull atop her face expressing her reserved feelings.
"What am I doing? I want to enjoy this weekend as much as you."
"I'm sure." She man-spread her legs, laying back in the boat. He couldn't even enjoy the view when she burped. Vile, vile, beast.
Brian dropped the subject.
Dawn sprouts over the sky and on puffy clouds in bright oranges and pinks of autumn. The leaves of trees having taken back their hues on the sun's spreading light, broken by the contrasting dark evergreens that kept a black hue. Their rods pulled in Walleye and Northern Pike, throwing them back in if they decided they were too small. The silence was enjoyable enough, the day warmed marginally with the sun, til April spoke.
"I think we caught enough for now, no?"
"Yes. I wouldn't mind a snack."
April dressed their fish out back by herself. Brian sitting inside enjoying another cup of peppermint tea and a light snack of crackers made by other cooks; watching April crouched over the fish she dressed outside. The only thing he wished he could of had was Belle's delicious sweets. Her pretty eyes in their ditzy flutter, her melting voice declaring herself busy. Oh, it really was a shame.
He didn't argue when she came back in, stating they'd take the residue of fish and blood for fertilizer.
"When did you start cooking?"
April sat herself next to him, laying herself on the counter and closing her eyes.
"Guess." She said, smug.
"Young."
"Oh, come on now, you'll eventually get it."
He patted his hands, cleaning up his tea and snacks.
"I'm sure every girl starts young."
She ignored that.
"Ten?"
"A little older."
"Twelve."
"You're cold."
"Eleven."
"Ten-and-a-half."
He scoffed. Very funny.
"What did you cook?"
She refused to answer even when he re-asked. "Okay. What was your favorite thing to eat?"
She looked at him. "Guess."
"Are we really playing this guessing game."
"Yep. Now guess."
"Human Meat."
She tilted her head, cheek pressing onto the counter. "No."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
He paused there, holding his teapot. He knew April had tried her absolute damnedest to eat human meat here. Hiding of bottles of blood, chunks of flesh missing from sacrifices (which she was then banned from collecting), even taking it out on another Lamb to the point he had almost died.
"Then, what?"
His fingers flexed when she said, "Guess" again.
He did, Beef, Chicken, Turkey, Lamb, Mountain Lion, Water Fowls, Bear, Rabbits, Elephants, Gazelles, Boars, etc., she rejected all of them. Too vague and she'd state so, specifics had him frustrated enough he took a break to drink more peppermint tea.
They returned to the water, not catching anything else that night—after eating a light meal involving some Pike, Brian decided to request a game, after April finished her journal. She liked dodging that task.
"Chess."
"Chess?"
"Yes, we finished earlier than I thought so I think a good round of chess was is in order." In which he was going to defeat her.
She had a bored look. "Okay, long as we can make some coffee, I'm tired."
"I didn't bring any."
"Yes you did."
He stands from his bed, ripped through his bag again, checking all the teas he brought, his extra pockets of inks and pens, his storage for hygiene, the folds of his clothes. Nothing. He picked up his chess board again to place it elsewhere when he heard it rattle—he froze.
It had a metallic rattle.
Placing his board on his lap he took care in pulling out the drawer that concealed his pieces. The velvet inlay had them all accounted for, and a metal tin. A hand snaked past his right, plucking it from the box.
"See?" April crouched behind him, arm arched over his shoulder to hold up that taunting tin, its silver matte surface glinting with the fire-light.
"You can set up the game, I'll go brew some coffee."
He gripped her wrist.
She didn't react as his hand viced tighter.
"Don't act like that's normal."
"Hm?"
"How did you get that in my box?"
"Well, it's not—"
"I command you, April, to tell me if you hid anything else in my bag."
Her face dropped in a dull expression, eyes full of disappointment.
"No. I did not."
"Nothing else."
"No, Brother."
He readjusted his shirt collar, taking in a shaking, deep breath. April couldn't see the entire expression, his anger boiling in flushed cheeks, his eyes scanning her for a lie that she can't make.
He wanted to say, drown, die. Because you have no respect. But he stopped short.
April had sat herself back down. He couldn't find the excuse of this. He couldn't even understand why she thought that was a good idea.
Why wasn't she fighting him?
She sat there obediently waiting for his answer. Is she expecting him to do that? To tell her to repent with her death? It must be.
"Go brew some coffee, April." His hand snapped open.
She stood, doing as asked. He watched her, his own movements stiff as he flexed his hands and wiped away sweat from his neck with a handkerchief he kept in his sleeve. He felt like screaming, he felt like deep diving into this feeling—taking it out on her.
This subversion she kept doing.
"Do you like strong coffee?"
"Yes." He stiffly replied.
She took this with a cautioned routine. He had imagined her sputtering and kicking and scratching, but she was just quiet. Unnerving.
He finally took enough deep breaths to remember he was sitting on the floor. Picking himself up with the chessboard. It reminded undamaged even with that tin being a snug fit. He hugged that board to his chest with some relief, setting up a game to play on the island afterward.
"I will be white, you will be black. Please do not scratch the board."
April poured the boiling water through a tiny filter filled with grounds, dripping into his tea pot she had cleaned out. When she finished she poured them both mugs.
"Alright." She dragged the metal stool to the other side.
She rubbed her wrist, patted down her coat, and didn't complain as he went first. The coffee was strong. She just knows how to brew strong then, yet he planned to beat her in this game as many times as it took to make him feel better.
She wasn't that hard of an opponent, just unusual. Most of the time it lead to her check-mate, but sometimes she was able to snake out her rooks and her king. Her play style was more about pressuring than protection. What he did know is the wins were helping his mood. Of course she is bad at chess. She isn't good at concealing secrets in the first place. She is reactionary and easy to read.
He didn't need to worry. Yet, he couldn't help but see her boredom for the game. Simple minds are always bored of these types of strategy games, of course she is.
♕♟♕♟♕♟♕♟♕
God. This is so fucking boring. April took another sip of her coffee, watching Brian across the table. Chess, she knows, is for egotistical losers. People who aren't clever and need to be good at something so they can feel better about how easy they are. All this man can remind her of is that chess nerd from her collage. The way he threw a fit because she won against him once and hated the fact a women beat him.
That's what this is.
She is having to babysit Brian because his pride is hurt. He didn't like the fact she didn't need his help to tie hooks or make bait. To even fillet the fish and make food. He doesn't like how self-sufficient she is. He has to be better than her somewhere.
She has not let his ego spoil her fun though.
Scratching her neck she moved her king and took his bishop.
Of course she then gets check-mated again. This is mind-numbing.
"Why do you move that way?"
April set her mug next to his. "In what way."
"With your king."
"What about it."
"You don't keep it safe."
April shrugs. "Why would I want to do that?"
Brian rubbed at his chin, deep in thought. Oh by god stop psychoanalyzing.
"Are you going to corner me again?"
"No." Brian removed his knight's cornering, as she could understand.
April yawned, coffee ineffective so late into the night she just wanted this to be over. "Is this your last game then?"
"Yes." He moves another cornering piece away.
It is at this point, pinching the bridge of her nose, she moves her King around as worst as possible. Brian started to look even more confused by it, but April ignores how he steals any of her pieces just to end the game. And when she loses, she stands, and turns to her bed. Falling into sleep the moment her head contacts with the flat pillow.
She doesn't care about his tantrums, his mind games or whatever else he wants to call them.
The moment she wakes, she's already setting up to fish again. She doesn't wake Brian, as it passed 4 am that Sunday morning. More than happy to nibble on the remaining orange tarts Belle insisted on her taking. They're still sweet, crunchy if a bit soggy in the middle. She had scones before they left for the trip, her soft grating voice wanting her have a good time, apparently.
She let herself sit in the silence of the lake that cold morning. Pulling out the fruit cake wrapped in wax paper. Nibbling on it she had her remaining beers as well. The pleasure of wind that bit at her face and caught her breath in swirling puffs. She applied chew below her tongue, the fruit cake mixing will with it.
She felt triumphant in her sweets.
If he wanted to eat, she'd let him fend for himself. By the time Brian awoke that Sunday afternoon April had completed their first round of fishing. Working outside in blissful peace. No watchers, no people, it surrounded her in a comfortable blanket of nature.
The shadow of antlers broke this peace.
"Enjoying yourself?"
April glanced up to Brian, who leans on the cabin's wall, his blanch white deer skull being his face.
"Yes."
He laughed.
This rang alarm bells. His personality is irritating, being as he refused to be anything but a charming delight to swoon woman with.
"Did you want something?"
"How about one last boat trip?"
"What for?"
"Why, I've been enjoying the boat and wanted you to join?"
"You're acting strange." April stood from where she cleaned, staring down Brian even when he remained unbothered.
"That I'm deciding to not hold a grudge?"
"Yes."
He laughs again, waving her to the boat.
Each step she takes is a feeling this is the wrong decision. She hovers at the dock, Brian waiting for her in the empty boat.
"Is something wrong?"
April takes the two steps she needs. Once they are both sat, Brian helps to paddle them on, but the further she is away from the lake the more she understands he isn't going to let her get out of this.
"Now." Brian reaches into his coat, pulling out a small wooden box that held Orange Poppy Seed Tarts. April internally cussed over. He sets it between them on the boat's floor.
"And today, I find crumbs in our boat. Now, what was that one?"
Brian sets the fruit cake's wax paper next to it.
April felt the sweat gathering in her chest and down her back. "They were mine."
He stands.
He lunges on her, feeling her back tip to the bow of the rowboat. She plants her boot on his waist—His hands latched themselves to her wrists.
She couldn't kick him off, but straining her muscles she kept him in his own stale-mate.
He tips them too far, the weight tossing the boat enough he loses balance, and down she's dragged with him.
The cold water punches her gut, forcibly stealing her breath.
Warmth sapped from her fingers. Her muscles stiffen, but the collar jolts her back to the forefront, her head breaks the surface with a gasp.
She coughs and sputters as she can feel the weight of Brian, the antlers prodding at her arms and abdomen as he tries to swim up.
The weight is keeping him under, with a deep breath she sinks in, hooking her fingers on his shirt. Nails dig at his ribs as she tries to pull him to the surface.
But he's panicking, he's sputtering, his hands grasp for her with rigid desperation.
She sees the boat floating off in the splashing, further and further. He drags them both back under.
She's not allowed to be cold.
She's not allowed to be in shock.
She's not allowed to die.
Brian is starting to struggle less, April yanks the skull off him, his veil with it. The piece of cloth waterboarding him.
She kept focus, keeping her head above water even as his weight doubled hers in turn. Tall bastard.
She tries to keep on her back, shedding her wolf pelt in the lake. From feel the bottom is deeper than either of them expected.
She can't turn him around either, so she goes to wading toward the beach. The rustling leaves, a crows call.
You're enjoying this aren't you?
Everything is so dark. She can't see anything but the lights in a blur.
Her leg catches an incline, she's back on the shore, sand in her hand and in her clothes. She yanks Brian onto his back.
He's not breathing, no shaking is making him aware.
Her throat burns. Everything is on fire. There's blood in her ears. Ringing on the wind.
She slaps her own face, her neck itches.
Focus.
She begins with thirty forced pushes on his chest, then two deep breaths through the mouth, then again another thirty. She keeps going till her arms burn.
Everything is so heavy.
He starts to cough, immediately April sorts him into recovery, tucking his left hand over his right shoulder and bending his left leg to roll him away. He's coughing up water. It's not a lot. His throat must of closed before it got in.
He's disoriented and getting colder.
She looks out to the forest. Warm lights in the distance diffused in her vision.
He needs to warm up.
She waits for a moment, then she picks him up. He needs to be treated.
The hike back in hard, even as trees crack like gunshots and roots twist from her feet. She can't help the melody of Death's birds.
The light grows with each step. She'd need to bleed the cut, otherwise the meat will spoil.
What?
Kicking open the door she deposits Brian near the iron-stove. She strips him and dries him. His eyes are distant, breath a raw whisper as he stares into the fire.
She tries to talk, her own voice a raw mess of burning charcoal, she gets him in his other clean outfit and wraps him in his extra coat and their blankets.
Go Fetch.
She kicks off her own boots by the door and foregoes her need of rest. Spikes of adrenaline keep her aware, keep her going. There's blood. There's a thumping in her chest that's making her dizzy.
She sets to the lake.
Staring out the cold bites in her wounds, it makes her body waver, but the dock's echoing wood as she steps to the edge keeps her aware enough.
She dives back in.
♕♜♕♜♕♜♕♜♕
The pieces are unorganized.¹ As he plays the scene over and over again he keeps running into a wall. The maze twists upon itself and all he can remember is the warmth on his face and the pain in his chest. Running fingers along his temple the damp hair is uncovered.
His face is missing.
The billowing black fabric mostly lost to his struggle. He glances out the broken front door. Its tilted hinges and broken frame incident from her lack of awareness.
He's calm enough now. The breathing hurting his throat but his lungs are thankful.
He tries to reconstruct the scene once more.
It's weightless, its water, its dark, then its warm and dry and light. He wraps himself tighter, blankets covering the whole of him. He wonders of April. She had to do it of course. Save him that is. His panic may have cost her, she could be sunk in the water.
He got what he wanted, but he feels unfulfilled in the matter.
Touching the mouth, feeling the teeth beneath, gums and enamel. The vague awareness he drowned. He curled himself closer to the heat, into the fabric. There's a taste of fruitcake and bitter mint.
Wind had picked up, dense thicket tunneling out to the lake. He could see the moonlight catching in, firelight only able to crawl so far.
Then, the bright of the moon catches horns when they emerge of the lake, the twisting antlers connecting to a blanch white skull. The figure grows from the lake, covered in fur and fabrics. Shambling with the howl of wind and the sound of choppy water and trees breathing.
It stalks down the path to the busted opening. Muddy feet mixed with algae, dead leaves, and debris.
It leans in, passing the entrance and trailing water with it.
The coat of fur splits open, a hand emerges and removes its head, placing it on the hook. The coat sinks off to reveal April. She steps over the wet fabric. Her shirt is ragged, scratches on her front that bleed.. Mixing in the cold water, blotching the beige dark.
She collapses before the iron stove.
She lifts her hand, clenched tight around the fabric he had lost. His face hangs in her fingers.
He holds out his hand, she deposits it. Her body goes slack.
Brian sat there for a while, watching as her wounds flow freely in her passed-out recovery. Her death is never to be easy and quick. It is revolting to watch as the wounds boil, stitching with supernatural speed, expelling dirt and pus in the process.
What a mess.
He wasn't sure what to do about it all. He was hesitant to think about this woman. He decides to take care of himself first. With muscles that ache, a face that contorts freely. The clothes are warm. He rummages through his things, stepping over April to set up a kettle for tea.
He helps her strip from the ruined shirt and muddy pants. Her body is cold as her chest rises slow. He grabs the damp towel, rubbing out the water, dirt, and blood as best he could. His eyes settle on her neck, the vicious groves and bubbled scarring the only thing to remain unscathed.
He pulls out his nightwear dressing her in the soft silk shirt and pants. He sighs. It's tiring, similar to wading across a thick fog, dragging himself to clean and dress her.
Why?
Why is he doing this? Holding on her arms to keep her upright, her head hanging back. Her scowl persists.
The fire is warm.
The kettle shouts at him. He drops April unceremoniously, focusing on helping his throat and getting warmer with his Oolong, the tart pomegranate and hibiscus floral taste making him warm.
He glances down at April, her body curling on itself to keep heat. He picks up the blankets and tosses them over her. He sits beside her, watching her as she sleeps. His cup cradles in his fingers.
When she wakes its a soft awareness. She blinks at the banisters above them. He sees her toss away the blankets, sitting herself up as though she hadn't waded in the waters and forced her body to keep going. Was she even aware?
She searched herself, the stood as if recovery wasn't required for what she did.
"What are you doing?" He asks.
"I can't see." Her voice is rugged.
"Are you tired?"
She was crouched over her coat, twisting back to him and slides back on her glasses. "Yeah."
He turns his attention back to the fire.
"Do you want tea?"
"I do."
He holds out his cup.
Its suspicious, but he waits.
She eventually comes back over to take and drink it.
He refills it and she gulps that one down too.
He wasn't sure what he was doing.
She wasn't either.
"I like sweet tea."
He takes back his cup, refilling it to drink from himself. "Sweet tea?"
"Yeah. Sweet tea is delicious." She flops down before him to bask in the fire warmth.
He laughs. He can't contain the confusion. Finally, she said something about herself and all it took is him drowning.
"Whats yours?"
"Chamomile."
"Wow." She laughed too.
They laughed.
She shoves at him, then he shoves back. He was surprised to do so, losing himself in the moment.
"What?"
"I don't know."
————————————
The report of the Weekend Lake Reward resulted in April being bled for Sin 2 of a High Oracle. She was suspended from hunting and fishing until further notice. She denied any Healing.
April is under scrutiny following the reward graciously given, overseen by Brian. Anyone caught with April under any violation will be handled by High Oracle intervention. Understand that she is a heretic who will break the boundaries of her very loyalty to subjugate you. Do not trust her under any circumstance.
Quick Yap Session 💕
I was just thinking about my darling little ocs and I started thinking about Ambrose and Zuix/their dynamic and like...I suddenly realized why people ship them 😭
Ok so- They are rivals, yeah, but fun fact; Zuix wouldn't want Ambrose to get genuinely hurt or In danger, and would definitely save him if necessary and vise versa. They both still care, like, for each other's well beings even though they fight and constantly bicker and whatnot.
"No one kills him but me" ahh relationship 🙏🙏
Of course Zuix would be too stubborn and prideful to admit anything, same with Ambrose, but they still have to work together and help each other (Begrudgingly of course)
No I am not making this an official ship, the toxic yaoi is not canon, but I understand where you shippers are coming from
there's literally only like three good quarter quell ideas
ev core in animanga......... yeah
This FFF comes courtesy to @what-the-fuck-adam and I's lost multiplayer world. Our home that we just found out is gone. This is... to commemorate it.
There was a lot more I wanted to include. There's an infinite amount of stories to be told in that world we shared and played in for what feels like years but was only half of one, but this is the story I decided to tell. Something that never got to happen, but could've, had the timing been right.
With that aside, a self-fic:
Find Me at Home (Catching Fish)
Characters: Bo and I (friends :D)
Wc: 900
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 262, “Run Far and Fast”
Ao3: Here!
“W-” Carime looked up from its watch to find no one around. How did Bo get so far so fast? They were just under the spruce trees, making their way out of the Portal Base when Carime decided to check the time and now it was alone. Speechless, it opened comms.
> BO WHAT THE HELL.
> what lol
> WHERE ARE YOU
> ??? past the mushroom base > where are YOU
> How did you get there so FAST! > Still at the portal base
> lmao
Carime growled at the non-answer and shut its eyes. If only they could fly, but even back when it had wings, it had never been able to. With a sigh, they ran down the staircase over to their little dock. Some other time, it might’ve turned around to appreciate the handicraft, how the two of them came together to make it a cozier place, Carime with the little decorative cave, Bo with… the entire dock, stone chiseled just right with just the hint of walls to elevate the design — they had truly become a great builder. But now, they rushed past it.
To be honest, it was always a rush, trying to catch up to Bo.
Carime jumped into its boat and started rowing. Once the river opened up into the ocean and they went past the Mushroom Base, in its top-heavy blocky glory, they looked down into the waters and jumped in, thankful for the dolphins Bo had inadvertently brought back from one of their explorations together.
Well, no. Bo had explored while Carime was off doing something repetitive, probably farming or trading, or something. But then Bo had taken them on a journey across the oceans far and wide, through hills of emeralds and of jungles, until deep within one, and deep under the earth and stone, they found a trail ruin and spent ages digging around it. Bo had stolen some terracotta before Carime could tell them to keep everything intact, but at least it managed to preserve… a grand majority of it.
After that, they took their valuables and came back, each with their own boat, Carime trailing behind its friend as dolphins swam and splashed around Bo without their knowledge. That was cute.
It took a picture and once they docked at their base (the Flower Base, Beachside Base, whatever name Bo had decided without telling Carime, their current home), it told Bo of what had happened. They found it funny and moved on. The picture stayed locked inside its comms.
Now, Carime broke the boat and let the dolphins’ grace flow through them to power through the ocean.
Eventually, the dolphins dispersed and it was left with no option but to call back the boat. So, now soaking and covered in salt, they continued on rowing.
The top of the house became visible, after a while, and with it, the rows of wheat fields at the right and the sheep forever stuck in their tiny decorative 2 by 3 wheat “farm”.
And at the left of the house, Bo was sitting on the dock, a fishing rod in hand, as it always was.
Carime swerved to the left and went over to them. It ed the boat to the dock and jumped up. Bo turned to look at them with a grin.
“Yo.”
“Fishing already?”
“You were taking too long,” they said and reeled in the line. They put the fish on a pile behind them, three cod stacked on top of each other.
“Not my fault,” Carime started, and then stopped, since they didn’t know how to continue that sentence. Instead, it changed the topic. “You wanted to show me something?”
“Oh, yeah!” They stood, fishing rod against one shoulder and scooped the three fish with their other hand. They walked over to the fishing cabin Carime had made for them and left the cod in a barrel, their rod on top of it. “I never showed you the base.”
Carime stopped, brain churning. “The… cherry grove one? I’ve been there.”
“No, the one in the nook. A cottage in the ice.”
“Oh,” it clicked. “Yeah, okay, I know where that is. Haven’t seen it, you’re right.”
Bo had already started walking back into their house. Carime ran to catch up to them.
Bo went for the chests across the entrance and Carime went down the ladder right next to the pot with a single cooked chicken inside. It had accidentally dropped it inside while trying to eat it, ages ago, and hadn’t figured out how to get it out without breaking the pot. That was just there now.
Carime got to the basement and started looking through their chests. “Did you get food yet?”
“Uh, yeah,” their voice came from upstairs. “Take some more. Don’t forget your bed.”
“Got it!” It scooped a stack of baked potatoes (potatoes it had wanted to trade… before they got baked) and put a hand on the ladder.
“It’s night!” Bo’s voice came from the other side.
Knowing what that meant, Carime let go of the ladder and walked through the chest room, over to the trading room, and then climbed the ladder. Bo was already lying in bed trying to make the night pass and Carime joined them in slumber.
Tomorrow, they’d visit Bo’s newest base. They’d traverse through ocean and rivers and set up camp on the way there.
But for now, they’d rest.
