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omgkalyppso · 3 years

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The Unforgotten King

A Dimimari drabble that fits into Fae's post canon.

The icy winds pouring down from the frigid Fraldarian mountains were starting to upset the horses with how cold they were. Many roads this far north were impassable for carriages; even the main roads, which in many cases were the only option, were made to constrict the approach of enemies and allies alike, venturing to and from the historically chaotic northern border, and the capital to the south.

They had come first by boat and then followed the trade routes carved out by the fishing villages on the eastern coast.

Marianne held her scarf against the chill, wincing and shaking her head about Dimitri, with his scarf pulled down around his smile as he spoke about his homeland. He'd long ago let his hat fall back around his shoulders, secured by a cord about his neck, and his bound hair was a tangle as a result of the gales. He was going home, and it was as clear in his person as it was in his temperament. His nose and cheeks were pink and frozen, and his beard was gelid with frost, but the Faerghan climate suited him. Marianne even suspected that the temperature might have been harsh on another man's injuries, but Dimitri was only livelier by the mile.

Some might have said he was as a boy gone to the fair, but she knew him too well now, and could see the flit of his eye as he watched the forests. He was fighting his hauntings and his memories of war, and trusting her and their guard with his insecurities. A vast improvement when compared to the dreary state of his heart and mind during the year or two past.

Marianne had worried that despite Dimitri's growth, that returning to Faerghus was going to upset him and his friends, when he and they found him without the crown, without the armour and attire one expected of a king, and with the continued trauma of never having achieved his vengeance. She was overjoyed that it was nothing so simple.

"Do you see how the trees have turned from green to blue here?" Dimitri asked, gesturing to the evergreens, brightening as Marianne nodded. "They say the Goddess took pity on the verdant evergreens of Fodlan after her first ice storm, and blessed all the trees north of Conand River with a piece of her home on the Blue Sea Star, that they might from then on weather the storms."

Marianne held her scarf from her face as she replied, "They're quite beautiful. I hear they house wildlife too? I would have expected we'd only find migratory birds out in these temperatures."

"It would be wonderful to hear an owl at night," Dimitri mused. "You are right, though. There are a variety of creatures in the underbrush."

"As stubborn as any Faerghan," Marianne joked. "Although I suspect, in regards to your tale of a blessing, that similar accounts are told of the seas themselves, rather than only of Faerghan forests. Anything blue."

Dimitri had blushed and laughed awkwardly at Marianne's initial declaration, knowing that it was true that sailors in Faerghus were revered and worried perhaps even that he had misremembered his own short yarn, but then he'd smiled and contributed softly, "It is a color dear to my heart."

"Because of your house banner?" Marianne asked as if to confirm, offering Dimitri no space to argue. "Perhaps a square or kerchief could be sewn in one of your pillows? Or some other secret space? I am sorry that you're only clad as one of my guards."

Dimitri shook his head. "An honor. I am glad to ride beside you, Mari— my lady, and ... maybe with the right materials, I could try to award myself with the gift you suggest. It would be a small and challenging project for a man of my extremely limited skill."

Upon their arrival at the manor in Fraldarius, they were escorted to the entrance hall, where Dimitri embarrassed Rodrigue with a bow and an embrace.

"Dimitri," Rodrigue said softly, as a reprimand and a prayer, testing the name, free of title and ornamentation. "It is good to see you again. If Felix had not seen you himself, I would have assumed a ruse or extortion." He pulled away, a hand still on his once and fallen king's shoulder. "To bury you, would be as burying another son—"

"Rodrigue—" Dimitri said, meaning to interrupt.

"Humor me," he begged. "Hear me. Not only am I proud to host you, in secret, in public, but should you ever need a home in Faerghus, we will never turn you away." Rodrigue swept a tear from his eyes, "Hm. I think you'll find my lack of decorum is your fault, for hugging me first—"

"My sincerest—"

Rodrigue chuckled. "Don't apologize. Just know that I intended to be more reserved, for the sake of Lady Marianne, if not for that of my son."

"Where is Felix?" asked Dimitri, as a door to the entrance hall opened at the top of a far stair, and Felix, Annette, Sylvain and Ingrid rushed out of it.

Although Felix had been to visit him in Margrave Edmund's territory three times, Dimitri could not suppress his joy at his friend's reveal, and after Rodrigue's admission, he could either hope that Felix too thought of him more fondly, or else worry that he needed to apologize to the younger Fraldarius for what he'd inspired in his father. "Felix!"

Dimitri spared a glance for Marianne, who waved him off delicately so that he could rush to his friends at the base of the stair. She shared a far more respectable greeting with Duke Fraldarius.

"Wait—!" Felix started to object, but too late or with too little conviction to keep Dimitri from fitting his arms around him and Ingrid and squeezing them to his chest.

Ingrid laughed happily, and Felix scoffed when Sylvain was greeted with only a joined hand and a clap on the shoulder, though Annette then jumped into Dimitri's arms.

"I half worried it was an exaggeration," Dimitri said softly. "That you all could make it."

"Mercedes and Dedue's boat is expected tomorrow," Sylvain said to assure him.

"Ashe won't be here for a week," Annette lamented as her feet hit the floor, "but I hear that will be long enough to see you?"

"I won't leave before," Dimitri promised. "It would break my heart if his journey from Gaspard was fruitless."

"Did you know that he needed to wait for Linhardt to take up residence in Gaspard?" asked Ingrid. "To deter the Adrestians from overreaching — even now."

"As well as general rebellion," Felix supplied. "Things aren't exactly settled that far west."

"You're helping him?" Dimitri confirmed, and a part of his heart stirred to be able to have this conversation with Felix in person, rather than over a period of days by letter.

"Fhirdiad's helping him," Felix said and then frowned when the others around Dimitri looked at him more directly, and corrected himself. "Yes, I'm helping him."

Fhirdiad had been Felix's home and his charge these past few years. He had taken up the title of Archduke and wielded his role with purpose. He always intended to return to Fraldarius, imagining that there would be an opportunity to suggest another lord be honoured with the capital region, but some days he worried he had sealed his fate. His father, and Sylvain, were less subtle in their matching inquiries about his return, but it seemed all others were slowly becoming accustomed to him sitting in that place of kings in the more temperate south.

"I appreciate it," Dimitri said carefully.

"There'll be plenty of time to worry about the shadow of dissent tomorrow," Sylvain said, looking to change the subject. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh," Dimitri said in surprise, looking down at himself, dressed as a Leicester soldier in wool and armour.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Annette, turning over a side of his cloak to assess its thickness.

Dimitri chuckled. "I'm plenty warm, I—"

"How many layers is that?" Ingrid inquired critically.

"Do the rest of Marianne's escorts have hats like this?" asked Sylvain, propping Dimitri's upon his golden hair.

"Four. No, most have wool lined leather caps."

"Four? Like this? That's not enough," Ingrid worried.

"We'll warm him with drink and games," Sylvain suggested. "Maybe dancing if Annette feels like singing?"

Annette squeaked in protest, but Felix spoke first.

"You're being ridiculous. Dimitri's had a long ride—"

Dimitri's lips tightened to hear Felix call him by name, and he spoke gently, worried he might break this simple spell of friendship when he spoke in favour of Sylvain's suggestions, "I think it would be nice to drink with everyone, but I might like to bathe first. I fear as soon as I loosen my collar my sweat will thaw from where it's frozen upon me."

Three exaggerated tongues of disgust extended in sympathy.

"Do you want to stay inside?" asked Felix. "Wood fires can heat baths in the lower levels."

"Oh, no, lets show Marianne the hot springs," Annette said, as if pleading with Dimitri, though he would have agreed without any provocation.

"I would like that," he agreed, looking at Felix for permission.

With an expression of vague annoyance, Felix nodded, and then he and Dimitri each glanced to where Marianne continued her conversation with Rodrigue.

There was a social element to the hot springs that Marianne feared, but Sylvain made a joke that set her at ease, and challenged her to try the new experience.

Dimitri half expected Felix to return home after dutifully guiding their group to their destination, and thanked him for his continued company and conversation, such as it was, while they sat together in the steaming water. Sylvain was kind and assertive, inspecting Dimitri's right side as he stretched his arm and took advantage of the heat, to massage strong fingers into his shoulder.

Elsewhere, Ingrid and Annette had Marianne giggling as the trio raced from the spring to the snow and back again each time they grew over-red from being boiled together.

Later, they drank and reminisced, and Ingrid pulled Dimitri aside, to reaffirm that she would have been his knight and protector ... and that she still would, if he wanted to pursue his place in Fhirdiad. She saw no reason to defer to the law in Garreg Mach when Faerghus could still have its own king, and if not that, then at least he could be recognized, as the rest of them were, within Fodlan's nobility.

The shock that overtook Dimitri frightened her, when she had only meant to offer him his ancestral home, and the respect many had died to get him.

Sylvain and Felix were in listening distance, and Ingrid had known that; the four of them looked to Marianne, weaving Annette's hair in a five strand braid, while they spoke of seals and bears and other creatures that plagued the harbours.

Felix hissed about how Ingrid would throw them from one war into another, reminding her that Dimitri was hidden away precisely to avoid what she was suggesting: that there would be people willing to die for their rightful king to reclaim his place in Fhirdiad.

Everything would change if Dimitri returned, and they'd lose the trust of the Adrestians, especially Ferdinand, when they had already been caught in another lie.

"You can't come back," Felix said to finish his argument. Aggressive, nervous, cruel.

"Dimitri should be given a choice now that he's recovered," Ingrid said, firm.

"He's recovering," Sylvain insisted.

With a great expression of self control, Dimitri maintained his volume as he declared for his friends' forgotten benefit, "I am right here." He waited for the shame to silence them before he went on. "And things are not ... how I envisioned them — how I wanted them? My mind and upbringing feel ... wasteful, at times; and yet I have been consulted," he sighed, "on strategy and trade, customs and etiquette — by Felix and Marianne both. My input is heard in Faerghus and Leicester, and if I willed it, I am sure that Garreg Mach is within my reach ... even Almyra."

Sylvain raised his tankard in salute as he walked away then, seeing that a fight wasn't about to break out, and that Dimitri had their conversation well in hand. He complimented Annette's hair, and strove to further distract the ladies from the dark turn of that other corner of the room.

"If Faerghus was threatened, I would find my way back here, lance in hand. But I trust the peace that's been building. And the crown, as it was, only invited duplicity and massacres. Faerghus will thrive without me." With one arm he embraced Ingrid, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And Sylvain is right, I have been recovering. I would not risk all of Faerghus' progress, all of your work," his eyes drifted to Felix for a moment, "because I could not accept the truth of what a minister said. I still struggle. I am more comfortable with smaller challenges ... and I would appreciate your reassurance of our friendship as I am."

"Of course, Mitya," Ingrid insisted.

"Thank you."

"I miss you," Ingrid clarified. "I miss... The lives I thought I'd have by now."

"Change is painful," Felix agreed, sharp and forgiving.

"Yours is a life worth celebrating," Dimitri promised. He drank at the same time as his old friends, and then fumbled after, worried about sounding too much like his healers, but still he added, "Take time to recognize success."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Marianne and Annette hollering with laughter, and Dimitri could not even imagine Marianne's disappointment in him if in returning to Fhirdiad he brought a new conflict to her doorstep. He could not imagine his own heartbreak if their peoples ever returned to bloodshed. Sadly, he had imagined his horror with the possibility of witnessing another day like the tragedy, his blue love desecrated, their hypothetical children screaming, and him again, a lone survivor.

He would not speak of this in casual conversation with his friends, though perhaps in private with Marianne at some later time.

He was grateful for his anonymity.

It was late in the night when they made for bed, and Marianne was as drunk as he, and Dimitri worried between her state and their locale that he shouldn't have followed behind the door of her rooms. They had lain together a handful of times, but not for weeks now, yet she pressed him against the door like it was a casual thing, delicate fingers curving over his hips.

They leaned close as if they might kiss, and then she turned her face away from him with a sigh.

"I hope I haven't made a fool of myself. Did you have a good night, Mitya?"

"Beloved," Dimitri beckoned, curving a large hand around the side of her face, his scarred fingers had been mended and shattered an embarrassing number of times in the early use of his Crest. He guided her to look at him, his shining blue eye, deep as the ocean in the dark of the room.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said, his tone deep and sincere. "The snow, the culture, my friends... I missed them more than I realized. I've had a very good night."

His last sentence was near whispered upon her lips, his thick lower lip tickling against her mouth.

Eyes closed, Marianne hummed her approval, bumping her nose against Dimitri's; narrow and then bulbous, a pretty princely feature that somehow he still maintained despite the violence in his life.

He bent to kiss Marianne, his hands finding her upper arms, her shoulders, her neck, and her twin braids, a gift from Annette that extended nearly to Marianne's waist.

"I should let you sleep," Dimitri whispered, though he felt how Marianne's hands wandered, pressing his shirt against the muscles on his chest and stomach.

Marianne looked from her bed to Dimitri. "Let me sit," she requested, "and I'll untie your hair. Stay with me a while longer." She swayed a little and Dimitri worried he would have to catch her. "Your friends are kind," Marianne confided, "but it felt a little strange as the night wore on, and maybe it's just me, and maybe it's just the building, but I know I can rely on you. Say you'll stay."

"A while longer," Dimitri agreed, drifting a thumb through her bangs as his hand rested on the side of her tightly bound hair again.

He sat between her knees while she pulled the ribbon from his fine hair, carefully carding through it with her fingers around the strap of his eye patch, and then allowing her hands to find the muscles of his neck, thick from stress and training.

One dainty foot made it's way over one of Dimitri's monstrous shoulders, and he brought the opposite one over his other side, leaning back into Marianne's space so her skirt ballooned out around him. They shared a soft laugh.

"Did you have any trouble today?" Marianne asked, gentle in her approach of his occasional visions.

"I thought of Glenn," Dimitri confided, "but I am uncertain if I saw him or imagined him today. There are many memories of him here. And ... at the gates, I ... I saw some violence that was not there, but I could not hear it. I'll write it down tomorrow."

"Tell me about Glenn? There must be a happy memory tucked into what came to mind."

"He would have made you feel welcome," Dimitri insisted with a smile. "He was very personable, and I was always glad to be in his company — though I was always closer with Felix, and so thought, like Felix, that I was in contest with him. Unless my Crest activated, I was always left embarrassed, and regardless of whether my Crest activated, I always lost. Felix was often disappointed in both of us."

Dimitri spoke of friends like family until well after Marianne curled up on her side. He stayed on the floor, and spoke with less frequency, though the memories didn't fade. He could picture Glenn on the opposite side of the room, a macabre spectre of the self from his memories, but it wasn't a hallucination this time, just a horrible imagining, the loss of a friend.

Dimitri kissed Marianne's forehead, and she mumbled that she was still awake, despite sounding as if she were miles away. Still, Dimitri smiled and kissed her lips, just in case, and then left for his own chamber.

#dimimari #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #marianne von edmund #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #long post #my writing #i made this #the fanfiction i mean #i'll probably put this on ao3 later #this is what i was writing to Maybe address things i find attractive about dimitri though it turned into something else entirely

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bjornthorsson20 · 3 years

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My Big Clumsy Knight

CW: Character death / Death of a loved one / Grief

One of my earliest memories of him is seeing his teary-eyed smiling face as he held me as a baby. The adoration that shone in those cobalt irises told me I was loved long before I was brought into this world.

The way I could make him cry so many tears of joy just from smiling in that silly way all babies do. How he would caress my hair gently and pepper my face with little kisses letting me know he treasured me more than anything.

I took my first steps in front of him. He looked so proud, clapping his hands animatedly to spur me on, growing more and more excited the closer I got to his waiting embrace. He held me high and told me I had made him the happiest he had ever been, with my only response being that single word he loved to hear me say each and every time.

Daddy.

Every birthday felt more special than the last. He would gather everyone he could to help make sure that it was the best day ever. We would dance and sing in a way that was just ours. He told me I was his princess. I told him he was my big clumsy knight. He gave me that laugh that was so contagious I couldn't help but follow along, and told me that he loved me. I never got sick of hearing him say it.

We would try out every new idea he had to make our days fun. We would dress up; roleplay a lot of adventures; learn a new language; invent a new way of speaking to make our conversations top secret; play pranks on others; write stories; doodle our family and friends in all sorts of scenarios; test jokes on family gatherings.

There were days he would honor his "clumsy" title. He would stumble, fall and then look totally embarrassed by his fumbling. I would always give him a hug to reassure him that everything we did was still perfect because it was with him, and I loved him.

Then one day, I was sent to Hogwarts, which meant I couldn't see him as much. But we always managed to owl each other whenever we could to come up with all the crazy things we would do once we were together again.

I knew even before going to Hogwarts that he was a big deal in the wizarding world, war hero status and all. But that never mattered to me and I never let that change who I was or took advantage of that. To me, he was my big clumsy knight and I wouldn't have him any other way.

He came back to working with Uncle George after I left for school, and whenever there was a Hogsmeade trip he would bring me a new product they had invented and were about to start selling, telling me I was their number one customer. I loved seeing his creativity in every single one of those inventions and kept them near to my heart.

The holidays meant time for new ideas to be explored and new experiments to be done. We learned to play guitar together, and he tried showing me a piece on the piano. He wasn't very good - told me the last time he tried it was before he and Mum were even together - but it was still music to my ears. He could make even a barely decent performance sound fun and engaging.

Years passed. We got older, but we never lost the drive for the fun times together. I graduated, got a boyfriend - Dad didn't like him much at first, but he came around eventually - and began making my way through adult life. I got a job and a place to live. My boyfriend proposed to me in an unnecessarily elaborate way, but it was perfect all the same.

My wedding is a day I can still recount vividly. Daddy couldn't take his eyes off of me, and he was trying so hard not to cry that it would almost be funny if my own eyes weren't completely blurred by tears. He walked me down the aisle, placed my hand on my husband's and told him to take good care of his princess. I told him he would still forever be my knight. My big clumsy knight, he finished for me with that infectious chuckle. The dance we shared later that night was so magical, I wish it had never ended. He held me close with the same graceful gentleness of the man who first had me in his arms two decades ago.

I started a family. He loved them just as much as he did me. We engaged them in our fun times and showed them all of the whimsical journeys we partook in years prior. Even after almost six decades of life, he still moved and breathed like a man in his prime.

But nearing his 80 years, we started to see the signs of frailty that signified that he'd perhaps leave us sooner than expected. At family gatherings, he no longer ran around the way he did with me, but instead his movements were weak, more patient. Seeing a man once so full of life become so fragile was a kind of pain that was hard to process.

We visited him even more frequently, his smile never faltering each time we came through the fireplace, but his eyes were tired and slowly emptying. He could still tell his grandchildren all kinds of stories and anecdotes about his life, as far back as his childhood, but now his voice was quiet and slow, with a distinct rasp. Mum looked so exhausted and the trails left by tears were evident on her face.

On his last day with us, I hugged him tighter than usual, being careful still, while he told me it was okay to let it all out. I cried the hardest I’ve ever cried while he caressed my hair the same as when I was just a baby. We played out one last tale, him as my knight and me as his princess. He kissed my forehead and told me he would be watching over me every day.

He passed away peacefully in his sleep at 81 years of age, just a month shy of my wedding anniversary. Mum found him later with a final smile etched upon his face. Seeing that coffin slowly descend into the ground was one of the hardest images that have imprinted themselves into my memory.

It's now been five years since he's been gone and I miss him every single day of my life. We visit his resting place every year and I can see Mum thinking when it's gonna be her time.

I take comfort knowing that wherever he is, I know one day we'll be reunited. He'll stumble and fall and look embarrassed by his fumbling. And I'll be there to hug him tight and tell him all is well because I love him so much. My big clumsy knight.

#romione #romione fanfic #romione drabble #ron x hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger #rose weasley #george weasley #family memories #childhood memories #family fluff #grief cw #death cw #character death #fanfiction #bjornthorsson20

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

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Begin Again

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Summary: Defeated and betrayed you don’t know what to do. And you don’t do anything... Draco does.

A/N: Hello all of my new lovelies! I’m so excited to see you all and to have so many of you despite me just starting this new blog for my new obsession. It means everything to me, your notes and comments and reblogs! I love you guys, enjoy this slightly angst, slightly fluffy part. (Also Hermione is such a bean)

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald

I ran.

I fled Down to Hagrid’s and seeing the tears on my face and the pain in my eyes, Hermione, Ron and Harry all ushered me into Hagrid’s hut.

“What happened?” They all demanded.

“It was Malfoy,” Harry spat. “He’s not here. He did this,” He hissed, pacing.

I yearned to shake my head and prove him wrong. To say that Malfoy didn’t do this, but I couldn’t. I hid my face in my hands and sank into one of the oversized chairs around me, panic running through my system.

“You two go back out,” Hermione said calmly.

“What!? No!” They both protested.

“She needs to talk about what happened and she’s not going to do it when you two are yelling at her about the one who made her cry!” Hermione spat venomously. “Now out!”

Neither of them was going to argue with Hermione then. She and I remained in the cozy warm hut.

“What happened?” She asked softly, kneeling down beside me.

“I... I’m so confused, Hermione. I know there’s good in him. I know that. I just... I’m terrified that I won’t be enough...”

“What happened,” She asked again, placing a blanket around my shoulders. “Start with leaving study hall.”

I recounted the events in Snape’s office, my heart falling when I had to think about it again. The feeling of unwantedness washed through me.

“You’re not in trouble though?”

I shook my head.

“Then Pansy... I don’t know what... She went off on me, called me...” I shook my head again in denial. “I went to walk away, and she cast a spell,”

“Oh no,” Hermione gasped, checking me over for the side effects.

“No, no... he was there! He... protected me! He stood between Pansy and me!” I cried, my face falling back into my hands. “Then he started to leave... we threw accusations at each other... I told him I was tired of fighting... the feud... and I ran,” I took a deep breath. “I ran away from a fight. Some courage I have.”

“He protected you?” Hermione didn’t believe it, and neither would I unless I was there. I nodded.

Quietness fell over the hut save the crackling of the fire, though the fire was barely lit, only glowing embers remained. They held my attention.

_______________________

Can’t you see that?

The question rang in his head over and over as he stalked down to class. He knew the answer to the question, and he wished that it didn’t take him so long to figure it out.

Yes, he could see that you didn’t want to fight. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

Of course, he saw that you didn’t want to fight. Your demeanor had changed so much in the past few weeks. You seemed to be enjoying the quips that the two of you shared, but in the quiet moments—like the one in the hall the other night—you looked tired. In the moments that the two of you were alone, the fight against him was gone. In its place remained what he saw when you spoke to others—boldness, and warmth.

He couldn’t ignore the hurt in your voice as you accused him of trying to get you expelled. The betrayal, as if you didn’t expect it. He didn’t want to get you expelled. Not anymore. Not since you sent him the letter... Not since he asked his father to do it.

Then you called him a hero. The title that never applied to him. The title no one used to describe him, to describe everyone else but him. And you had done it—you saw him to be a hero for the simple act of putting Pansy back in her place.

When he got down to the field and Hagrid’s lesson, you weren’t there, but neither was the Golden Trio. Then he watched as Ron and Harry stormed out of Hagrid’s hut.

You must be in there then.

Harry’s eyes met his and he could feel the hatred in the stare. He wanted to shy away from it. He wanted to explain. He wanted to talk to you if he was going to be honest with himself.

There was no hope of that with Ron and Harry around though. Perhaps Hermione would let him talk to you...

The lesson passed and you emerged as it ended, puffy eyed and looking defeated. He hated it. He hated that he did that to you. You didn’t look his way. You didn’t speak to him.

You hung your head, shoulders hunched, and walked back towards the school. And he watched you go.

For the first time, the chill of the air and the frostiness of the snow soaked him to his bones.

_______________________________

I was quiet during the rest of my classes and through dinner. Neither the teachers nor other students seemed to bother me or comment on the fact, they just left me be.

And maybe it was nice. I slipped into a feeling of numbness. That was nice too. Not feeling anything, even for a short while.

Ron and Harry seemed ever absent despite the situation. However, when they saw... him at dinner, they both stood, ready at my defense. There must have been something in my eyes that made them sit back down and sulk.

I dared to look over at him. Our eyes met as they often did, but I turned away, breaking the connection.

I wrote a letter to my mother, explaining what happened and sealed it off along with my emotions. I wasn’t expecting an answer back, so I started to comb through my Potions notes again and read through the lesson that I had missed in Creatures today.

A few minutes—maybe hours—later there was a tapping at my window. Half-expecting Penelope, I opened the window where there was a barn owl sitting, waiting with a note. I took the parchment and apologized for not having any food, and the owl chirped and flew off.

Staring at the parchment in my hands I had a good idea of who it was from. Not knowing what to do, I headed down to the common room, trying to find Hermione. The common room was empty.

Sighing, I threw on an oversized sweater and some socks as I padded down the cold halls of Hogwarts and to the library. I found Hermione and Krum together, laughing and looking at the same book.

Hermione caught my eye and sobered up quickly.

“Is everything okay?” She asked standing.

Wordlessly, I held up the letter. She came over and took it from my hands.

“I haven’t opened it. But I know it’s from him...” I whispered the confession as I wrapped my arms around myself. “I don’t know what to do,”

“Iz everything alroght?” Krum came up beside Hermione. “Are zu alroght Miz Y/n?”

I nodded and gave a weak smile.

“Give us a minute?” Hermione smiled sweetly and took my arm leading me into the hall.

She opened the letter, skimming it over, a smile growing on her face as she read it through. I fidgeted, wanting to know why she had reacted that way. She offered me the letter.

“Read it and go find him,” Hermione smiled as she headed back into the library. I frowned and my eyes started to read: ~ Y/n,

I told my father a month ago that I wanted you expelled, before...

I don’t want you gone. Not really. You push me to be a better wizard and student and I need someone like you around.

I’m sorry that I was such an asshole to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t see that you didn’t want to fight sooner. I’m sorry about what Pansy said. You’re a great wizard and an honorable pure blood.

I’ve never told anyone anything like this ever and I have no idea if I’m doing this right.

Please don’t give up on me,

Your hero, Draco

My fingers ran over the perfect script that wobbled here and there in uncertainty. Tears sprung in my eyes as I read it over and over. The words dove deep into my heart, igniting my spark again. I wasn’t numb, I was hopeful. I was smiling.

Hermione was right, I had to find him. But how?

Harry’s map.

I raced back to the Gryffindor Tower, but before I could get to the right staircase, my need for the map vanished. In my haste I had knocked us both over so that we were a heap on the floor.

“Draco,” I gasped, smiling.

“Y/n?” He seemed surprised. “You’re smiling again,” Confusion colored his tone.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “Some guy wrote me a really sweet letter...” I trailed off.

“Is it the guy you wrote to your mom about?” He seemed disgruntled as we both struggled to stand. “Heard Ron talking about you liking someone,” he explained. “Must have seen how upset you were today...”

“Yeah,” I righted my sweater and ran a hand through my hair. “He did notice,”

“Well, I’m... glad that someone here knows how to make you happy,” He scoffed, defensive.

“I got your letter too,” I nudged his shoulder—he dressed about the same as me, sweater and sweats with the Slytherin logo on them.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t see it, that was obvious. He wasn’t connecting the dots. I had told him that I had written to my mother about him. Couldn’t he see that they were all about him?

“Draco—” I started and stopped. “You’re smart, you’ll figure out who,” Was all I could say as I headed up to the Gryffindor Tower. “Tell me when you figure it out!” I called over my shoulder.

____________________

Draco gaped at you as you went up to your dorm. You must have gotten another letter from your secret admirer that made you happy. That erased what he had done to you and made you happy again.

So why in the world would you want him to tell you when he figured out who it was?

He sulked back to his room, determined to burn the letter that you had sent him. You didn’t need him. You had someone else to pick you up again, to make you smile. Someone else who was more worthy of your time and effort than him. Maybe it was Krum after all...

Taking your letter in his hands, he looked over it one last time as he went over to the fireplace in his dorm room.

You’re smart, you’ll figure out who, your voice was soft and gentle in his mind.

What did you mean by that? Why had you gone back to being cryptic again? After he had just told you the truth... The first time he had ever written what he had truly felt, and you fell for someone else.

My mother sent me a letter. I spoke to her about you.... I don’t want to fight you. Not really.

The words of your letter seemed to float off the page and surrounded him as it fell into place.

It was him.

You had told him already that it was him. He was the one that you sent a letter to your mother about and the response that you talked to Ron about—about some guy that you liked. It was his letter that you called sweet and that made you smile again. He was the one who noticed and the one you had chosen.

Why you didn’t just tell him that...

But that wasn’t you was it? You always pushed him to figure things out on his own.

He gripped your letter in his hands as a smile broke out across his face.

You had chosen him after all.

Part 6

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antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

Vanity and Wax (Ao3 | FF.net)

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: The black feathers my be Glen's crown, but they're Oswald's chain.

Notes: This was written for @phmonth2021, Tragedy Trio Day 7 prompt: Feather. Sorry it's so late!!

I really liked this prompt and wanted to see if I could take it to a darker/deeper place. So...have some more Oswald angst!

I hope you like it! It would mean a lot if you could tell me you enjoyed it in the comments!

(By the way, the title comes from Alesana's album title "On Frail Wings of Vanity of Wax")

What do you think of when you think of feathers?

Soft and light, surely. A gentle thing, floating down. A patchwork of flight. Separate they are merely a collection of little useless trinkets. But when sewn together with vanity and wax they allow little hollow boned things to fly.

Such a beauty. Soft, harmless, and benign. Tied to the backs of angels and songbirds and hope.

For Oswald they were something altogether more foreboding.

The feathers he knew were black. They were attached to birds, yes, but not the little ones who sat in trees and sang songs. Rather, ones who beaks spit fire, and whose wings called chains. Well, three birds, one creature more akin to a monster out of a fairy tale, and another something in between.

Perhaps this was just a sinister fairy tale after all.

He didn’t like the ceremonies. But he would never tell anyone that. He had no choice but to through them. It was a great honor.

There was no blood relation, no heredity. But he was the successor all the same. It wasn’t a job he could just refuse. Puppet strings. Something like destiny.

We like to think of destiny as some divine inspiring force, but maybe in the end, all destiny is the puppet strings we don’t like to admit are there.

For other kings and princes and dukes, succession is a grand and wonderful honor. It happens once, when they come of age. A harmless, gallant and gallivant affair. Like a bird being pushed out of the nest, discovering his light and gentle and marvelous feathers allow him to fly.

Whoever heard of a prince having more than one succession ceremony?

Oswald would have five, each more bloody than the last.

The first happened when he was very young. He drank the blood of the Raven, and accepted its fire into his veins. Raven was gentlest, that’s why they always started with him.

The mark appeared on Oswald’s chest then, and he wouldn’t tell anyone but his sister than he cried that night, and didn’t know entirely why. But it felt like something in him had died.

The feathers fell the day, like ink splotches on the floor, on the pages of his life. Inerasable. Sealing his fate.

These feathers didn’t allow him to fly. These feathers were Chains.

The next, a few years later, was the Dodo, and though the boy’s eyes had always shown him much more than anyone else’s, the illusions told him this wasn’t all sane, or the same. That sometimes people lied.

That would be an important lesson to remember later.

The next was the Owl. The little creature with the big, starlit eyes, and the night’s wings.

The darkness suffocated.

And the feathers. Every time. Always the feathers. At the end of the day, all that was left wasn’t the fire, or the illusions, or the dark. It was the feathers, like a hole in the pages, revealing the truth of who he was becoming. He may be becoming a thing with wings, but they were flightless wings, merely for decoration, and intimidation, like the eyes on the backs of a moth’s.

Next to last was Gryphon, the one that allowed him to open the way. It was bigger and scarier than the first three, but he accepted it, tamed its blood, like the rest.

The last: Jabberwocky—(and it’s true, this didn’t make any sense at all)—the one that’d allow him to erase all his sins.

It looked altogether monstrous that day.

…Or maybe he did.

He drank the blood, and he looked at his sister—a flower bud, disallowed to bloom—and he raised his hand to her forehead, and he tried not to break.

He was the prince of the breakdown. This was the price of the crown. Sometimes one must put down their family for their profession in the end.

The feathers sprinkled the world like blackened snow as the chains ran her through.

And she smiled, and she said something he couldn’t make out. Her spirit may have been devoured that day, but the ghost of her unspoken last words would roam these halls until he was torn apart.

The feathers were all that was left of her when she died.

The feathers became his mark, as they had been his predecessors; the knowledge that Glen had been here, and had done something wonderful, and possibly terrible. The moth’s eyes.

He didn’t have to use them often, but sometimes there were deals, and duels, and neither were quite fair.

He always won. It was five against one after all.

—(Until that day. When that one was a bloody black rabbit)—

When others saw those feathers, they saw the seal of a noble king. The proof that he flew, and he fought, and he knew, knew everything, knew a little too much—(Do I really know anything at all?). They were the signet that he was Glen, a more telling mark than any brooch, medallion.

When Oswald saw those feathers, he could only see Lacie’s blood, like melted wax.

Sometimes he even thought he saw a drop of red in the black, until he understood it was nothing more than the memory of her eyes pooling in his brain.

He used them all the same, and he tried to remember that these feathers were his crown.

The only day he saw them as something different was that day. The day when the Chains that held the world together came down, and the sky was falling. He sent his Chains to hold it back up, their feathers a trail of hope for any who came across them, knowing that the five would use their wings to hold the sky up if that’s what it took. He rarely had to use all five, nor understood why he needed so many. On that day he understood. On that day…they were beautiful.

But, sending them into the fray left their master defenseless and exposed to friends, and their scythes.

******

The family held each others hands tight, sweat carving tracks across their skin, breath shallow as a tide pool. They didn’t understand what was happening, but the Earth was shaking, and Sablier was burning.

They ran through the streets, unsure where exactly they should go—and, clearly, neither did anyone else—just trying to get away, wherever that may be.

A building crumbled before their eyes, falling with a deafening thud upon the street before them to a chorus of screams, and they skidded to a halt, looking all around.

The mother looked to her husband for guidance, and the father tried to look brave, like he knew where to go next, but pain and panic was infecting his eyes.

His daughter held tight to her parents, trying not to cry.

Even the son, who always liked to seem brave, bit his lip as he looked up at his parents.

But what could they do? Everything was falling apart, and no one had any idea why, or where to go. What hope was there? They didn’t even know which direction to run towards.

As they were standing there trying to figure out where to go next, and not lose hope, a great gust of wind rushed by them, and drifting down to them upon the ashen air, the light shape of a black feather.

“Papa what is this?” The daughter asked, reaching out to catch it.

“It’s Glen-sama,” he exhaled.

He looked into the horizon to see the wings of a great and terrible beast; a Chain that in that moment was the personification of hope. He wrapped his arms around his family, both a smile and tears breaking out across his face.

“He’s going to save us.”

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cursewoodrecap · 3 years

Text

Session 23: Medical Ethics

Y’all ever been to college?

Our new friend Vigdor has just pulled a pale, twitching human leg out of a poster tube, sheepishly admitting to Valeria that it’s his own.

Valeria blinks at it. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding demons, so that’s good?”

Shoshana sticks her head in the door, and has to pause to take in the sight. “Uh, bruh? Bruh? I have questions. Is that yours? I mean, like, yes, you HAVE it, but was it attached to-“

“That’s a bit tricky? It was amputated twice.”

“Twice?!”

“Once from me, and then, well, um. Once from an amalgam of sewn together body parts?”

(Gral and Shoshana pile into the room, because Oh, Lore?)

“When I was in the swamp, we were fighting a bunch of zombies led by this particularly nasty undead guy. We called it the Wailing Wight. At first it was just the usual undead hordes, but then a local leatherworker was found, torn apart and harpooned every which way, half his limbs torn off and stolen. After that, we started getting attacked by stitched together abominations cobbled together from human and animal pieces. I was there just trying to help the villagers, being a doctor and all. But that’s when I lost my actual limbs.”

“They got stolen, like the leatherworker’s?”

“I had to chop them off. Which, for the record, is not a fun time? The Wight’s harpoon has a kind of poison that rots everything it touches. So I had to amputate or, like, die. So I cut them off and his zombies, uh, stole them. And I managed to get one back? Kind of a long story. I don’t know how I recognized it, but – I guess I know my own leg like the back of my hand? Now I’m taking it back to Sturmhearst. There’s a weird fluid inside it; I want to study what’s going on with that so we can take care of the nastyboy in the swamp.”

“Well, I am generally against nastyboys,” says Shoshana, poking his foot in the ticklish bit. It squirms at her.

We’re headed to Sturmhearst anyway, so traveling together seems reasonable. We think about taking Fun Key Shortcuts, but that could backfire spectacularly, so we’ll play it safe and go the normal, boring way.

In the morning, we head downstairs. The inn is trashed. The stalwart barkeep Rene is not there; instead there’s a young elf sweeping out what debris he can. As we grab breakfast and the young fellow thanks us over and over for saving his friend’s life, Vigdor awkwardly wanders around casting Mending on chairs and tables that got a little too close to the tentacles and chainsaws. Shoshana doesn’t really do non-destructive magic, but she slips the barkeep some gold for repairs.

Vigdor’s too lopsided for a horse, so he’s gonna hop on in our cart. He’s very taken with the Eyegis, poking at it with fascination. “You can see the blood vessels in the eyes, despite no source for a blood supply! Do they have tear ducts? Have you ever seen the shield produce tears? Can you make it cry?”

Valeria gets very uncomfortable with this line of questioning and turns the eyes back into painted ones, put off by a Weird Stranger gettin’ all up in her business. Gral distracts him by asking about his fancy metal limbs.

Vigdor goes full technobabble on how the runes and machinery work. “Well, there’s three different kind of magical actuators on each joint, and they act as conduits for the dilithium crystals-” He knows the details secondhand from Bjork and none of us speak robotics, so if he ever needs serious repairs he’ll have to bring them back to Sturmhearst for the engineers to take a look at.

Valeria knows a bit about Jotunn runesmithing, but she’s never heard of it working to this degree of precision; before, she’d only heard of stuff like boats that row themselves, or a peg leg that has a little extra articulation. These are fully actuated limbs!

Val checks if the limbs are the same metal as our space wrench, but nope, they look like completely normal everyday metals. She’s not gonna inspect further, because she has RESPECT, unlike SOME people.

(“Hey, I didn’t try to pry the eyes open or anything!” Vigdor protests.)

She does notice one thing, though: Valeria recognizes runes from most magic systems even though she doesn’t know them well enough to use; her sister studied magic for a long time, so she knows what they look like. There’s one elaborate rune that appears on both Vigdor’s forearm and leg that is of no origin she’s ever seen.

“How long’d it take Bjork to build this thing?” Shoshana asks, squinting at Vigdor’s kneecap.

“Well, I was unconscious for a good bit of it so…between a week and 2 months? He was already working on it when I, uh, had to amputate.”

“…did you KNOW you were gonna wake up with those things on?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. It took a while ‘cause the original blueprints they found were for somebody, like…really short for a human or really tall for a halfling? Something in between. Bjork had to resize the whole model to fit a human.”

“He, uh, FOUND blueprints?

“I can’t imagine he’d have made blueprints for a person who didn’t exist? It was all proportioned very strangely. I don’t know too much about it, you’d have to ask Professor Bjork.”

(One of the players asks if the strange rune, perhaps, says ISTC in a language the characters don’t know. It DOES, and we’re all very pleased with ourselves for previous-campaign references.)

The long road stretches on before us, and we have plenty of time to talk as we spend a week or two heading north toward the coast. We fill Vigdor in on the four flavors of Curse and the concept of the Prisoners, and that we suspect there’s major Key nonsense going on up at the university. (Heh heh, “major key.”)

Vigdor and Shoshana bond over being locals. Why are foreigners so weird about trolls?

Vigdor really, really wants to look at Twombly’s glasses. We explain to him that the Key could take his desire for knowledge and turn him into a cackling, dimension-hopping madman with a few extra eyeballs. He still wants to play with the glasses. Valeria protectively hides the Key map, just in case, flashing her Hunt fangs at anyone who asks about it.

After like a week of pestering everybody, Vigdor gets to look at the glasses. Disappointingly, when not looking at the Key map, the colorful lenses just make everything look slightly more those colors. Maybe Gral’s lutestrings look weird, but that could be the placebo effect. He tries flipping around the many lenses in different combinations, and finds that all of them make him look absolutely ridiculous.

Eventually after many days of travel, we can smell the ocean and the distinctive stench of a large number of humans living in one place. Vigdor takes in the familiar sight of his college hometown. Shoshana is dumbfounded that this many people can live on top of each other, while Valeria thinks it’s a quaint little town.

Up to the west, Sturm Castle squats on a cliff above the city, like a big hippo of knowledge. It looks like it was once a reasonable castle shape, but it’s had new wings and towers built onto it haphazardly until it’s a weird sprawling network of jammed-together architecture. By the edge of the cliff, in one of the more sensibly-built sections, a majestic lighthouse beams out over the bay. In the city below, the largest building appears to be a grand temple, with its roof carved in the shape of an open book. The perimeter of the city is outlined by strange wooden and metal towers, two or three stories tall with conical brass roofs.

Eh. It’s only got one castle, so it can’t be that good of a city compared to Aurentium.

Our cart is briefly stopped for a quick examination at the gate by a friendly city guardsman. He’s flanked by two of the same enormous owl-masked guards we saw accompanying Quercus and Ulmus. “Hi, welcome to Sturmhearst, folks! What brings you here?”

We all awkwardly try not to look at Vigdor’s leg bag.

“I’m, uh, here to visit Dr. Emily Thorpe?” he tries.

“Oh, visiting the university. Don’t need yer life story. Where you stayin’? I can recommend some inns. Oh, and check out the Scholar’s Temple while yer here!” He hands us a brochure from the Sturmhearst Tourism Board and steps back. “ALL RIGHT BIG GUYS, LET EM THROUGH!”

The owl guards don’t move.

“Oh, uh, I mean –“ He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a whistle. “Lemme see if I can remember how the doc told me to do this.” He blows a few sharp notes on the whistle, and the owl guards promptly step off the road to let us through.

Huh.

Vigdor makes an investigation check on those guards, who definitely weren’t around back when he was in school. They’re pretty bulky for humans – no, honestly, they’d be bulky even for goliaths. He’d heard a story from Professor Bjork that the school was hiring goliath mercs and dressing them in owl masks, but the professor had sounded like he hadn’t believed it much. Supposedly they’re silent because they don’t speak the language, but Vigdor’s pretty sure Bjork speaks Jotunn, so that excuse doesn’t quite hold up.

Once we’re out of the guards’ earshot, Gral pulls a huddle. “Vigdor, the Key’s a more recent influence, so let us know about anything new or significantly more abundant – that’s where we’ll need to search.”

Vigdor hmms. “The big brass towers weren’t here before. And the owl guys didn’t used to be a thing.”

Gral cuts another glance back to the owl guards, considering. “…How much of a faux pas is it to remove a Sturmhearst person’s mask?”

“I mean, if you’re dealing with the plague, it’s kind of a dick move? And dangerous? But most people – it’s like, the same rudeness of grabbing someone’s hat or jacket. For some people it’s badge of honor or superiority, y’know, how amazing they were to get through the gauntlet of Sturmhearst. But mostly it’s a practical tool of the job. We’re not, like, afraid to show our faces.”

Gral nods. “So you wouldn’t have to duel them, then.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, with bards it’s like ‘you are not deserving of your title’ and you have to duel about it. You know, like, how dare you slander my name, I’ll have to fight you for my honor?”

“Oh, uh, no, nothing like that. The mask is proof of office, that’s all.”

Before we get investigating, though, it’s late and we should rest. Vigdor wasn’t a palling-around-town type, but he rolls a nat 20 and knows the best inn in the city – not one of those touristy places on the square; the best-kept-secret on a side street that only the locals and regulars know about.

We have a lovely night around the docks of Sturmhearst. Shoshana spends like fifteen minutes just staring out to sea, because they MAKE boats that big???? This much water even EXISTS????? There’s a dragonborn ship from Aurentium, a goliath ship from Jotunhein, a couple of Galwan freighters, and even a ship crewed by colorful macaw aarakocra. (History check: while the Aquilians mostly died out, some of the ground-based aarakocra cultures survived. Valeria’s met macaw traders before in Aurentium; they tell lots of stories and do GREAT impressions.)

Valeria, meanwhile, holies some ocean water. They say Galwan clerics swear by holy seawater; salt repels demons, right? It’s gross harbor water but, whatever, it’s holy now. She also beats a sea captain at Man-go, presumably dock style. The inn’s equipped for foreign travelers, so it’s got a whole bar of draconic and goblin spices!

Gral, meanwhile, discovers the inn is near a bath house and enjoys finding out what a sauna is.

Morning comes, and Sturmhearst U awaits. Vigdor knows the main campus has the colleges of Engineering, Science, and Medicine, while the satellite campus across the bay houses the college of Ethics, which includes humanities like economics and history.

Valeria rolls for Order of the Rose knowledge. The Order actually has an arrangement with Sturmhearst when they’re working in Valdia – whenever the Order is sent on disaster relief, some Sturmhearst ethicists are sent to help coordinate. Valeria’s never worked with them personally, but the impression she’s gotten from her fellow knights is Not Great. From what she’s heard, they’re supposed to do triage and help direct the knights, but it seems like they spend the whole time sitting around debating absolutely horrible things. “Hey, if we brewed up some necromancy, could we use the skeletons of plague victims to transport supplies without spreading the infection?” Apparently they just sit around in corners debating whether that kind of shit is kosher or not, without ever actually DOING anything.

Also ethicists wear white instead of black like most Sturmhearst scholars, which is just pretentious. We then poke fun at an Order of the Rose knight calling anyone else pretentious.

Vigdor studied at the College of Medicine; he’s a doctor. But that’s not where he’s taking the leg.

“Why not Medicine? I mean, it’s a human body part, innit?” Shoshana asks.

“It’s…I have some concerns…regarding the, um. So, along with this leg, my arm was stolen, right? Not long after the arm was stolen, the sewn-together amalgams got a lot, uh, cleaner.”

We stare at him.

“…as if whatever stitched them together had my medical training.”

…oh.

“I’m a little hesitant taking that info to the College of Medicine,” he admits.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of ‘for the greater good’ stuff with the College of Medicine sometimes. The College of Ethics keeps them in check. Anyway, there’s actually this thaumochemist I want to take a look at it.”

(We’d know the discipline as alchemy, but she hates that. She’ll go on a whole tirade about it. Somebody yells “Full Metal Thaumochemist” and we accidentally take a commercial break. We’ll never get tired of that joke.)

More of those owl guards are at the door, supervised by a businesslike white-coated member of the College of Ethics. His mask is a bit more abstract than the ones we’re used to; not modeled after a bird face like the regular scholars’. He lets Vigdor in with no problem, though he’s a bit suspicious of the rest of us. We’re with a doctor, though, so he’ll let it slide. “Welcome to Sturmhearst, may your visit be enlightening.” He does the same whistle we heard before and the guards step aside. Gral’s a string guy, he can figure out the notes easily enough but he doesn’t whistle.

“Nothing goes on here without Ethics knowing about it, huh,” Gral observes.

More owl guards are stomping around, some carrying heavy objects. Vigdor knows where he’s going, but asks an owl guard for directions, as an experiment. The owl guard doesn’t even notice him. He steps in front of the guard, who just steps around him very politely.

The castle is a nightmare to navigate, like Hoeska, but we have an expert tour guide. “The old keep, the part that used to be a castle – that’s where all the 101 classes are and the whole working hospital. All the additions are laid out super weird, and then there’s the tunnels underneath. The Chem students had WILD parties down there, they brewed up all SORTS of stuff. The lighthouse is a real lighthouse, but it’s also where admin is, and the dean’s and headmaster’s offices. Oh! DO NOT cross the librarians. Each college has its own library? Like, theoretically they share the whole collection, but which college keeps which books is kind of a blood sport…”

Shoshana and Gral hang back, feeling out of place. “Bards don’t really have a college, exactly?” Gral explains. “It’s more of a pilgrimage. I met the elders of each village and they imparted wisdom upon me?”

Shosh feels like an uneducated hick even by that standard.

We take a hairpin turn in one of the Science buildings and run into Professor Quercus! Or at least someone with a bird mask and a similar voice, chatting with some other masked scholar. “Ah! Yes! We made a lot of excellent discoveries before we started to run into problems – you see, there hadn’t been an event in some time, but if we could get in there to the source, we could really – well, my goodness! These are the people I was telling you about, who gave me such wonderful notes!” Quercus turns to us, sounding rather delighted. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. Welcome to the world of knowledge! What brings you here? I thought you were having adventures and derring-do!”

“Well, it turns out our adventures led here!” Gral tells him.

Quercus nods enthusiastically. “I’d show you around, but I rather need to speak to the bursar! If you need anything, I’m sure you can find my offices without too much problem. And please, if you’ve encountered any interesting monsters, I’d love to hear details! Especially if you have samples!” Despite his keen excitement, Professor Quercus rolls a four and fails to notice our Shusva accessories.

“If you ever need a cup of tea and a biscuit, you’re welcome to stop by my office! I’d be more than happy to speak with you! And if you could do me a favor – well, I wouldn’t mind having you with me when I speak to the bursar! See, our expedition to Holzog has hit a bit of a snag. The events with that mist stopped happening, you see. Luckily, we managed to identify which house you were going to, and we were all set to investigate, but then the Baroness put a squadron of those damnable Condotierri to prevent us getting in – “

Gral shrugs, deliberately casual. “I don’t know why you’d go back; there’s not much to see besides what’s already in the notes.”

(Vigdor immediately rolls insight to see if Gral is lying. Unfortunately for him, bards are excellent liars.)

“Anyway. The bursar’s giving me an earful about continuing to fund the expedition. I’m considering withdrawing from Holzog and asking him to redirect the funds into a different project! For example, lots of interesting monsters have been seen around Barroch lately!”

Yes, definitely, we want him to go somewhere that’s not a Tempting Key Portal. Valeria and Gral tag-team Persuasion checks to sell him on interesting cases of monsters we’ve heard of around Barroch. If we’re fuzzy on the details – well, all the more reason to have someone get out there and take a closer look!

Quercus is rather taken by the idea. “If you would, Mr. Duu –“

“Um, actually, Duu is the tribe, my family’s name is-“

“-yes, if you could write me some letters, I might find it useful making the acquaintance of the locals while setting up camp. Sturmhearst hasn’t established an official relationship to your people yet’”

Gral agrees to write up a formal letter explaining the mission of Sturmhearst and the expedition to make introductions a bit smoother; the word of a bard will go a long way in gaining the cooperation of the orcs of Barroch. He’ll do a personal letter of introduction for Quercus, and a general letter to Shieldeater’s administration to explain who the heck these weird bird people are.

“Wonderful! Bring it by my office!” He gives us directions that make NO sense to anyone but Vigdor. We’re pretty sure several of those compass directions aren’t real words?

“Oh, and if you see an angry tall woman stomping around, tell her I’m not here! She’s mad at me for some reason I can’t discern. Good day!”

He scuttles off, presumably to hide.

We definitely want the gossip on that – Ulmus was mad at him about funding, and she definitely dissed his field of study. Is this what academia is like?

Vigdor confirms that the professors have all kind of weird beefs, interdepartmental politics, and personal feuds. “One of my professors gave me a B- in amputation – shows what he knows – purely because I was taking some classes outside the College of Medicine and he got all offended. It’s a lot of politics and bullshit, they’re all more concerned about their careers and publishing than actually important stuff.”

We find a door with a brass plaque: Dr Emily Thorpe, Thaumochemist. There’s a paper list tacked to her door with a list of courses: “Intro to Potion Brewing,” “Principles of Alchemy Thaumochemistry”

Vigdor knocks. “Yes, who’s there? Come in!” a voice calls.

“It’s Vigdor! Vigdor Gavril!”

“Ah, Vigdor!” A halfling woman in the requisite bird mask waves from behind a counter where she’s handling a set of proper Movie Science bubbling beakers and flasks. “Yes, you sent me that letter! You had something ‘interesting’ for me!”

“Yes, and you will see why I couldn’t be more detailed!”

She notices his metal arm as he starts pulling open his heavy waterproofed case. “Oh! I heard that Professor Bjork was giving you his prototype! How’s it working?”

“They’re loud and heavy and uncomfortable sometimes, but I have limbs! Can’t complain! But then I, uh, found one of my limbs again.”

He goes over to an open table and pulls out his entire-ass leg with a flourish, plus vials of hair and blood and strange unidentified liquids. Her eyes widen.

“Ah, this is yours!” She watches his toes wiggle. “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

“Yeah, I found it stitched to some kind of unholy undead abomination.”

“And that explains the Knight of the Rose. Hello, Kyr.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Dr. Emily Thorpe, at your service as well, I guess? Pardon the mess in my lab, it’s not much but it’s home. Hand me that vial?” She pulls out a syringe and takes a sample of not blood, but oily black liquid, from the leg. “It will take some time, but I can write up a thaumaturgical profile without much difficulty. Do you mind if I keep it?”

“You can hang on to it. But I would appreciate discretion.”

“Yes, this will stay between me, your friends, and – oh, this is Hugo, he’s my teaching assistant. He’s been helping since the school was mobilized.” She turns to Vigdor’s clearly uneducated hick friends (not you, Valeria, you’re very fancy) and explains:

“In times of crisis, the University turns from education to innovation. Were this a disease, we’d be researching cures! If demonic, we’d be researching weapons or dimensional banishment. We haven’t really received direct orders this time, so everybody is doing their own thing, which I can’t say I mind. Mostly I’ve been helping other researchers with the practical application of their theorems.”

She scribbles out a hasty list. “Hugo, if you can go to the library and put these books on order? The Vigmar and the Auspelius especially would be useful, but don’t let the librarians kill anyone over them. And the Principles of Advanced Anatomy – tell them I won’t ask. But I do need it.” The grad student nods and hustles out of the room.

(Shoshana insights, out of paranoia. Hugo’s a good egg, though he might refer to thaumochemistry as alchemy.)

“Now, Dr. Gavril, do you want this leg back? How intact-“

“Want it back? Like, in the abstract, or on my body?”

She pulls out a vial of bubbling acid. “I’d like to put some of this on it and I’d like to see what happens.”

He blanches slightly. “Uh. Um. I have some proprietary-“

“Aw, no acid then,” she grumbles, stowing the acid with an audible sigh.

“Only do something you would do to living person’s leg. That they would survive!”

“How would I know? I’m a chemist, this is only, like, my second dead person!” She pauses. “…well, fifth.”

Shoshana starts looking around at all the alchemy equipment curiously. Everything here is clearly labeled with numbers, and letters that feel like numbers, and complex formulae, which hedgewitch potionery doesn’t really account for.

There’s a knock at the door. “Ah, that must be Hugo. Come in!”

Valeria instinctively body-blocks the leg from view.

It is not Hugo. In walk 3 white-clad ethicists. The gentleman at the front is in fancier robes – we suspect he’s the kind of fellow who has tenure – and he wears a powdered judge’s wig atop his mask. We immediately don’t like it. His two companions peer around the lab – one has a jeweler’s loupe built into the lens of his mask, and the other is carrying a big chime with runes carved into it, clearly a magic item of some sort.

“Dr Thorpe,” the leader intones.

“Sorbus,” she replies disdainfully.

“I see you have guests, is now a bad time?”

“Is it ever a good time?” Emily makes a point of tending to her samples and beakers busily.

“I suppose not. We have come to ask a few follow-up questions. Have you been visited at all by Professor Matthias Macker? Has he followed up on the project you were working on together?”

“I told you, no! I had no potions strong or precise enough for what he needed, and he’s never spoken to me since. That was months ago!”

“And no one has seen him since then. You understand why we need to know what you discussed.”

“Yeah, not since you quarantined the whole surgical wing!”

“That is not what I’m asking about. Has Macker’s assistant Greta Ruble visited you?”

“No. She’s a good kid, though, don’t hassle her.”

“We are simply making sure she is not a danger.”

Emily sputters angrily. “A danger to who?!”

“I cannot tell you that.” He turns to Valeria. “Kyr, it is always a pleasure to see a member of the Order here. I suppose if you’re here we can be assured nothing… unethical is happening,” he says, unpleasantly oily. “I am Professor Rigmor Sorbus of the College of Ethics; I lecture on legal and judicial ethics. These are my assistants, Charles and Pippin.”

Valeria bows with the precise degree of politeness required. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. In these times of mobilization, it falls to us as ethicists to supervise our colleagues’ noble efforts. Please, I implore you: if you see anything untoward or suspiciously unusual, I request you report it to the nearest representative of the College of Ethics.”

Emily butts in. “What happened to Eric Pelbort, his other assistant?”

“Mr. Pelbort has transferred to the College of Ethics and is assisting us with some research. We will let you know if that changes.” He tells her dismissively. “Kyr Argent, the College of Ethics has always been proud of our long association with the Order, and I would like to extend our deepest condolences for the tragedy of the Crusade. Should you have need of any assistance whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask. Our offices are on the satellite campus across the bay. If you were to visit, I’m sure many would love to speak to a paladin of the Order of the Rose.”

“We have business here, but I might be able to make time to stop by,” she equivocates.

“Very well. I will let you all get back to whatever it is you’re doing with that leg,” Sorbus says, turning neatly on his heel and taking his leave, his toadies hurrying in his wake.

(Yes, you guessed it: That was Professor Rowan, with his Tort Wig and his assistants Pip Loupe and Chime Charles.)

“Those guys give me the creeps,” Emily grumbles. “They used to be fine, but lately they’ve been doing this whole inquisitor act.”

Vigdor’s always known these guys as douchey blowhards. But now they’re douchey blowhards with AUTHORITY.

There’s always been a divide between Ethics and the other three colleges roughly the size of the harbor! The sciences don’t believe in debate, they believe in experimentation! Anyone who can spend an entire week talking without action is wasting time and breath. The College of Medicine thinks even less of them – they just get in the way of progress!

(IRL we all respect medical ethics, but Sturmhearst WAS founded on a fine tradition of graverobbing and leeches.)

Vigdor is primarily a surgeon, or he was, when he had two fully functional hands. (Two players at once: “HE GOT DR STRANGED!”) He had quite a few classes with Macker, the chair of the surgery department. Most people didn’t like the guy, except his surgical grad students who would defend him to the death. A bit of a hardass about proper procedure, but that’s probably not a bad quality for a surgeon. He was a local institution, so it’s pretty alarming he’s somehow gone rogue.

“His whole lab was quarantined?”

“The whole teaching wing, actually,” Emily tells us.

“Are there people in there? Some kind of sickness?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Ethics just put guards outside the labs and blocked everyone from going in. They’ve done it to a couple places around the school recently. The excuse is that someone was doing ‘unsafe experimentation’ that’s ‘poisoned the area’ or something?”

Wack. “How long have these quarantines lasted?”

“They don’t really end? A couple stopped after a few months, but some have been there for a year! Nobody goes in or out. Sometimes the white coats go in, but it’s pretty rare and they don’t stay long.”

“Is that what all the guards are for? Where’d they all come from?” Vigdor asks.

“Medicine used to be the ones, uh, hiring them.” (A quick insight roll notes that she hesitates on the phrase “hiring.”) “Lots of them still answer to whoever they were originally assigned to. But recently Dean Chidor from the College of Ethics took over that whole program, so a lot of the newer ones answer primarily to the ethicists. I mean, they all dress the same, so it’s kinda hard to tell? I haven’t asked a lot of questions, I’ve been trying to keep my head down since the whole thing with Macker.”

“What actually happened with him?”

“He’d been acting weird for a while,” she confides as she starts sticking pins in the leg and wiring them to a voltage generator. “He’d been working on something, some kind of extreme surgery – I think he was looking into a method of surgically removing Curse corruption. He was hitting roadblocks, though; he called in me and Alma Ulmus, who’s a College of Medicine bigwig.”

“Yeah, we met her in Bad Herzfeld!”

“I heard she’s here again, stalking around the halls complaining about funding. She knows more about his project than I do. Anyway, Macker sent me requirements for a healing potion he was gonna administer as part of some surgical procedure. I couldn’t get anything as powerful or precise as he needed. I’m a thaumochemist; I don’t know medicine that well. So it was beyond me to do that amount of gross tissue damage repair as controllably as they wanted it. I mean, I made some pretty nice innovations as far as the theory of potioncrafting, I’m hoping to get published as soon as it goes to peer review.

“But I couldn’t do what he needed, and eventually I got shut out of the project. Then one day he vanished. Alma set off for Bad Herzfeld and Macker stopped coming out of his lab. His assistants were still going in and out, but not long after that, the ethicists quarantined the place.”

“Has anyone else been quarantined?” Valeria asks.

“People from all three colleges got hit. I dunno about other ethicists, I haven’t heard about them quarantining anything of their own. But everyone else has. A group of engineering students were building a defense system to be deployed out to the Scar, and all of them got quarantined. Here in my department, Dr. Vilman – remember him? Stupid goatee, did a lot of stuff with crystals? – got shut down. Sometimes they quarantine the whole lab; sometimes they just shut down a project and everyone working on it gets a ‘guest lecture position’ over in Ethics. Sorbus said they got one of Macker’s assistants, Eric Pelbort. He had another one, Greta Ruble, but I guess she’s given them the slip.”

Emily’s got experiments to do on that leg, so we’ll let her get to it. As we head out, Gral asks one last question. “What’s up with those guards, by the way? Why do they only respond to those whistles?

“Uhhhh,” she says, as we fail our persuasion check. “They, er, don’t speak very good Valdian. Mostly foreigners, goliaths, the like. The whistles get their attention.”

Gral sighs and doesn’t push it. Vigdor’s already making plans to pickpocket a whistle. Valeria, since she has a direct invite to talk to the ethicists, considers the unheard-of paladin approach of Just Asking Them Directly.

First, though, Vigdor wants to check out the quarantine of Macker’s lab; he knew that professor well, and we’re all curious what’s been going down.

We walk on over to the surgical wing to case the joint. There’s a single owl guard blocking the hallway, presiding over a small barricade. A pleasant sandwich board sign states “Area quarantined by College of Ethics, apologies for the inconvenience.”

We try to walk in and the enormous guard holds out a hand to stop us. Shoshana tries to wiggle around him, like a cat trying to get at your dinner, but he impassively blocks her every move.

Gral tries a smoother approach. He begins with small talk; the guard doesn’t even twitch. He starts asking prying questions about the surgical ward. No response. Fine, then: he switches to Orcish, a sinister undertone weaving through his voice as he uses Words of Terror.

An insight roll reveals completely unchanged body language.

“Either they’re immune to fear or not a humanoid,” Gral reports back. “Not a single emotion. Definitely not goliath mercenaries.”

“Tryin’ to talk your way into the surgical wing?” says another chatty passerby. “Good luck. They got all the medical cadavers locked up in there and they won’t let us in.”

(Cadavers? Oh shit, we bet that’s the guard factory, theorize the players.)

“Oh, are you a med student?”

“Yeah. I work with Professor Herberts, or I used to, anyway. We needed a couple cadavers to do this comparison study about spleens; we got some weird ones from out in the wood, we compare spleens to see if place with thing don’t worry about it; need control spleen. And then these BIG DUMB IDIOTS wouldn’t let us in, and Herbert got transferred to the College of Ethics all of a sudden. He’s been gone a couple months.”

“How long do professors usually transfer for?” asks Gral.

“I mean, they usually pop over to give a lecture or two and come back by the end of the day.”

(Vigdor happens to remember that the College of Ethics also runs an asylum. They live in a big spooky castle and do dissections with guts and stuff, it can do a number on your head! Some of the ethicists have branched into the field of psychology. No reason to mention this when people are having extended stays on the ethics campus, of course…)

The student shrugs. “I gotta get to lecture. If you manage to get in there, any chance you can bring me back a couple spleens?”

We wave goodbye noncommittally, though Vigdor insists he can pop a spleen out of a corpse like a yolk from an egg. He’s a good surgeon!

Anyway, Vigdor went to school here, and the dice are on his side; he knows a side path through an old abandoned classroom into the surgical suite. He pops the lock on the door easily; all the undergrads used to go this way when slipping into lecture late, to get past the TA keeping track of tardies.

The guard is in earshot but facing the other direction, and he’s not even blinking, much less scanning around. Gral casts Silence on us and our very clanky party slips by easily.

Shosh sticks her head into the TA’s office. Nothing really stands out, but she swipes some interesting-looking notes from the desk drawers to look at later.

Meanwhile, Gral and Vigdor go into Macker’s office. The desk is an absolute mess, which is very unlike the guy Vigdor used to know. There are wheeled chalkboards crammed into the office, covered in scribbles and anatomical diagrams. Paging through the notes and glancing over the chalkboard, Vigdor makes a decent medicine check and can at least figure out what problem Macker was working on.

Based on what Dr. Emily told us, Macker’s trying to develop a surgical procedure. The issue is that whatever he’s doing would cause so much physical trauma that it’d kill the patient, and he’s looking for some way to prevent that. There are lists of healing options: formulas, spells, potions, nonmagical stabilization methods to keep the patient alive while various tissues are extracted from the body.

Gral’s unimpressed. Healing methods? That’s pretty tame for forbidden knowledge.

To Vigdor’s experienced eyes, this stuff looks mega-advanced and highly experimental, but Gral’s right – it’s not anything you’d scramble to censor.

Weirdly enough, the place doesn’t look ransacked, only disheveled and a little dusty. Macker’s notes haven’t been moved since he was here. Maybe this isn’t what the ethicists were after?

We head to cadaver storage while Valeria keeps watch. Cadaver storage is creepy as hell, but only because it’s, y’know, a room full of cadavers. A lot of the bodies, kept stable with Gentle Repose, appear to be Cursed, but that’s hardly weird. What’s so crazy they’d keep it hidden from everyone?

Vigdor opens the door to the dissection labs, Gral’s Silence deadening any ominous warning he might have had from the room beyond. Yes, the table here’s been recently used, and the bizarre symbols scrawled on the chalkboards have spilled onto the surrounding floor and walls, but Vigdor’s eyes are drawn to where the chalkboard peels away like skin to reveal a strange, multicolored, impossible space. The floor begins to take the shape of a stone hand that projects out into the shimmering void, joining a daisy-chain of enormous hands that form a walkway out to a marble platform floating in space.

Gral takes his Silence spell with him and runs to get Valeria.

Eyes starry, watching entire worlds and impossible shapes spinning through iridescent mists, Vigdor takes his first heady hit of Key taint.

As we cut session, Valeria considers that the ethicists may actually have a point.

#the cursewood #Session recap #sturmhearst university #gral omokk'duu #valeria argent #vigdor gavril #shoshana bat chaya #The key

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Stubborn Independence

TITLE: Stubborn Independence

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 1/10

AUTHOR: brightsun-and-darkmidnight

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine Loki struggling to adjust to someone who is independent and insists on paying for themselves all the time, even if it is a struggle sometimes. They need to do everything on their own. They never ask for help and refuse help. Just imagine Loki really wanting to spoil this person. Imagine how creative he would get to make life easier on this person who has captivated him.

Imagine being a talented singer at your local club. Loki comes in one night with Thor and the others (he’d rather be anywhere else but who turns down free drinks?) and gets ensnared in the voice of the beautiful singer on stage. Suddenly, his interest (and arousal) are more than piqued.

Imagine getting into a petty fight with Loki, so in retaliation, he puts everything on the top shelf where you can’t reach?

AUTHOR’S NOTES: College AU. Loki is determined to take over Odin’s company. He works hard and has a strict schedule for success. However, with the interference of Thor and the other four, Loki’s plans are often interrupted so they can play matchmaker.

My Ao3: brightsun_and_darkmidnight

~ ~ ENJOY ~ ~

Fandral smiled brightly with a loud laugh and in a desperate time to prove him wrong, Loki looked at his schedule with a smart remark on his tongue. Loki’s smile disappeared quickly. Damn. He did have the same class as Fandral.

Fandral smiled that bright smile and then winked to the side and Loki heard the high pitched giggles of flirting women, “Shall we walk together when classes start next week? Perhaps I could get you a date this year?”

With an eye roll and voice laced with sarcasm Loki replied, “yes because I want help from you."

Sif held her hand out to Loki for his schedule. Thor insisted earlier she could mark where everyone would be this semester for easy communication. So, unwillingly Loki handed it to her knowing he was sentencing himself to public outings instead of the comfort of his room with books. He pondered if he should get out of those outings or try to get out of his room. Perhaps he would meet someone, or a few people, to hang out with instead of his brother during meal times.

Thor clapped Loki’s back, "this is going to be the time of our lives. College is full of possibilities. Last year was such a great time for the five of us! There were plenty of people I met! Last year all you did in your free time was study. Lighten up Brother, and develop friendships.”

Siff spoke up after scribbling on schedules, “Or he could get the best grades, and the honors scholarship for extra money.” Sif gave Thor a raised eyebrow after he chuckled, then she shrugged going back to scribbling. She muttered, “graduate top class and make more money than you. Support himself and whoever stumbles into his life.”

Valstagg’s boisterous laughter caught everyone’s attention until his eyes darted in the direction of a food truck. He mumbled, “That would be quite the stumble for Loki to notice.”

Hogun’s lip twitches a smidge as he looked at the schedules with Siff and marking them. Loki’s schedule was back and he looked it over. He had the 8am class with Thor and knew the idiot would miss too much class from the way Thor groaned over a class first thing on a Monday. Loki had the damn extracurricular art class that Fandral was also in.

Loki was excited for art class because he practiced occasionally by drawing what he imagined a scene looked like from his leisure readings. Although Loki was terrible at drawing realistic details, nothing stopped him from trying. This class filled a block in his major which further helped him decide to pursue some knowledge for his little hobby. No one would ever see such things due to drawing being a secret… well, for now anyway. Fandral was likely to tell everyone of his poor skills once their shared classroom of a three hour long session two times a week.

Fandral inquired, “so…Sif are we going to come to your dorm room for lunch?”

Sif smirked, “the invitation goes to everyone but you.”

“How cruel to keep me away from the sight of your beautiful dorm mate.”

Loki turned as he claimed he would see them later. Loki strolled to the dinning hall. It was a typical day; annoying brother and his friends, people all around him talking animatedly with others, some more intimately touching with the hold of hands or lips locked together. Loki tore his gaze from those people and observed where he was, and why he was there and NOT for some romantic adventure.

The buildings seemingly new due to constant cleaning and repairs. The pathways that seemed to be expanding due to hurried people walking beside the sidewalk trying not to be late. His night owl of a brother for example was always in a rush and did not go with the pace of everyone else. Otherwise, the grass was perfectly manicured. There were areas for decorative flowers, bushes, as well as well placed trees.

Individuals gathered under trees seeking some comfort in the cooler shade. Loki glanced upwards to the sky that was currently cloudy. Then the sun shone thus pouring warmth onto him and momentarily blinding him.

Loki was sure he somehow ran into something but with a curse word flying out of someone’s mouth realization struck instantly this was not an object. Loki instinctively held his hands out to catch the person. Short hair in blended layers caught the sunlight in wonderful variations of browns. The hair seemed to flow slowly as Loki hastily pulled the person closer to prevent a fall. Warm leather in his hands that helped with the grasp. Once stabilized Loki glanced down and noticed the petite and plus size girl in his grasp.

Her eyes were shielded by huge sunglasses, her full cheeks framed by hair placed perfectly, except for a few strands dancing near her lips. A full lower lip pressed to her thin upper one as she pushed out of his grasp.

The trance seemed to end as Loki watched the girl pick up her phone. The glistening pieces around the device let Loki know instantly the screen was shattered. The woman ran her fingers through her hair and Loki was convinced that must be how her hair was supposed to be due to it looking better than before. Her eyebrows angled as she tapped on the phone and it seemed to be working.

Loki had money to replace her phone, even get his which was the newest model of over a thousand dollars. His parents had money due to his father, Odin, owning a software corporation that was supposed to be handed down to either Thor or Loki. Of course depending on who learned the most in college from their business majors. Loki actually had plenty of money he earned himself due to taking a position to work in his father’s business, a branch closest to the campus in an attempt to learn more. To inherit the corporation was the goal and was the reason he spent too much time in his room, practicing programming for his second major in computer science.

Loki quickly replied as soon as it registered, “I am sorry. I didn’t-”

The woman’s face turned to his with lightning speed and her lips parted with a harsh tone, “if you say you didn’t see me because I am short I will bring you down to my level with a punch to your gut.”

Loki blinked and finally noticed how short the woman was. He estimated a little over a foot smaller than himself due to him being able to rest his arm on her head easily, if he were to even attempt it. However with the fiery look he was getting, Loki stammered, “I can get you a new phone. Any phone you want.”

The woman was already tapping on her phone quickly as if sending a text. A few strands of her hair danced in her face but she seemed to ignore it. Loki however, needed to push back a single hair back in place to maintain his professional and clean appearance. Loki was not sure if she was ignoring him or not and he absentmindedly cleared his throat.

The dark haired woman placed her phone in a pocket, ran her other hand through her hair that parted in a different way..that was visually satisfactory as well. Her leather jacket protesting with sounds of attempts to stretch as she crossed her arms. Her eyebrows rose above her glasses and her bottom lip pressed to the thinner one. She seems to be annoyed, arguably she had every reason to have that right. She said nothing, nor did she make any attempt to even try to speak.

Loki wasn’t sure if this little ball of fire even heard a word he said. He spoke again as he took a small writing tablet from his inner coat pocket, “here is my information, we could meet later and you can pick out any phone you wish. There is a business not far from here that I work at-”

A casual, but with irritation mixed, voice spoke, “Not interested. I have the insurance on this one to have it replaced.”

Loki glanced up but did not see her. He turned and she was already walking away, quickly. Loki took long strides to her as he handed the woman the paper with his name, number, and location information to meet. The woman took the paper and seemed to be looking at it with a tilt of her head towards the paper but Loki already seen her eyelashes high up due to her obviously looking at the path she was on. The woman did nothing to stop her quick pace that Loki’s long legs easily kept up with.

As she crumpled up the paper and threw it in the recycling bin she spoke, “Thanks for the offer but I will pass.”

Loki’s eyebrows furrowed, “pardon?”

The small woman stopped as she replaced the sunglasses to her head. “Can you see now that I don’t want your help?”

Big eyes that were sharp and harsh with angled eyebrows. Eyelashes so thick they seemed to cast their own shadows among her face. Bright green eyes with flecks of dark brown and an inner iris of honey gold that stemmed into the outer green.

“You just cost me a ton of work to replace a dumbass phone. Nice work by the way to try to get me to call you. Clever plan, but it’s not something I fall for.”

“If you would let me help-”

The woman interrupted him, again with a scoff.

All Loki wanted to do was help her. Atleast to replace what he had broken. Everyone else would jump at the latest phone with the best camera and larger screen. Top notch software that had lighting quick responses. A phone that stored everything for Loki; His contacts, everything in his calendar, personal alarms for daily routines, apps that helped with maintaining his body physique, and importantly he had access to the school web pages for homework-In conclusion, Loki’s phone was his life.

Loki tries again for a chance to talk quickly.

She waved her hands, palms to him and waved them with her head down, “Uh huh. Nope. Go try to woo someone else with your good looks of, ‘tall, dark, and handsome.’” Her eyes met his as her hands gestured to him and her eyes skimmed over him briefly with the burning rage behind them. ��There are a ton of people out there to fall for someone to take care of them with your fancy handwriting that obviously comes from a prestigious schooling. As well as your expensive clothes.”

Loki’s mouth parted and then shut firmly. “You make accusations based on nothing but a few things. Maybe you should try not to judge a book by its cover.”

She rose an eyebrow, “how? Over dinner while playing some Q and A?”

Loki rose his eyebrows in shock and his mouth parted slightly. Loki did not miss a chance though, “If it could even things out. Perhaps.”

She scoffed and put her glasses back in place over her eyes, “I would pay for myself anyway.”

Loki gesture between them before she would turn, “You think that would make this even?”

“How about you just read my lips and understand you don’t owe me anything.” Her eyebrows rose over the glasses with a forced smile, “we good now?”

Loki stared at the woman in disbelief. “If you insist everything is ok but-”

The woman replied with a curt nod and side smile, “Everything is great. Try to have a good day.”

Loki looked elsewhere not believing he was going to let her leave, “I wish you well and give many apologies.”

The woman turned when her phone went off, “I have to go. Bye.” She did not look back but greeted the person on the other line with a happy melodic, “hel~lo! Sorry I am late. I bumped into someone.”

Loki raised an eyebrow at the odd change but paid no attention to it as he went to the dining hall for food. Loki was going to enjoy some of his remaining free time with a large serving of sweets before returning to his room in solitude before Thor, Fandral, and Hogun returned to their combined space. Loki thanked the school for having the set up of separate bedrooms, however cursed the common small kitchen and livingroom that he had to walk through to use one of the bathrooms.

They would always try to get him to join in their “fun” of watching each other play a fighting game while they drank energy drinks. Hogun would go to bed at a reasonable time but the other two would stay up talking loudly about the damn game until they went out to a bar.

Sometimes Loki would join in a few games of cards just to take some of their money. It got to the point where everyone agreed to use just change instead of dollar bills.

Loki smirked as he remembered to take the vase full of coins to the change machine, “Idiots…”

Loki ate alone and no one bothered him either. He did watch as others around him talking cheerfully. A friend might be nice to spend some time with once in a while. However, Loki’s phone buzzing in his pocket with his schedule alarm to start practicing programming made him remember he was not there for companionship. He was at college to get an education.

Loki picked up after himself and walked swiftly to his dormitory, swiped his ID card to get through doors and finally his pin password for his shared space with the others. Loki stomach sunk when the lights were still off and no one was there. He noted the feeling as odd while he walked in a daze to his room. He shut his bedroom door off to the rest of the world and readied himself for an hour of programming.

Loki programmed for about an hour and a half to figure out something new he stumbled onto. Loki needed a shower. Something about programming made him feel dirty, uncomfortable, and needing to feel fresh again. Loki’s cursed phone rang for the third time since he was getting ready to relax with a book. The most annoying sound he had on his phone was Thor’s ringtone. Loki purposely hit the end button to hang up and force the call to his mailbox. Grabbing a book and sitting in his comfortable desk chair Loki’s daily peace began.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #stubborn indepence #chapter 1 #brightsun-and-darkmidnight

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brightsun-and-darkmidnight · 4 years

Text

Stubborn Independence

TITLE: Stubborn Independence

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 1/10

AUTHOR: brightsun-and-darkmidnight

ORIGINAL IMAGINE:

Imagine getting into a petty fight with Loki, so in retaliation, he puts everything on the top shelf where you can’t reach?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: College AU. Loki is determined to take over Odin's company. He works hard and has a strict schedule for success. However, with the interference of Thor and the other four, Loki's plans are often interrupted so they can play matchmaker.

My Ao3: brightsun_and_darkmidnight

~ ~ ENJOY ~ ~

Fandral smiled brightly with a loud laugh and in a desperate time to prove him wrong, Loki looked at his schedule with a smart remark on his tongue. Loki's smile disappeared quickly. Damn. He did have the same class as Fandral.

Fandral smiled that bright smile and then winked to the side and Loki heard the high pitched giggles of flirting women, "Shall we walk together when classes start next week? Perhaps I could get you a date this year?"

With an eye roll and voice laced with sarcasm Loki replied, "yes because I want help from you."

Thor clapped Loki's back, "this is going to be the time of our lives. College is full of possibilities. Last year was such a great time for the five of us! There were plenty of people I met! Last year all you did in your free time was study. Lighten up Brother, and develop friendships."

Siff spoke up after scribbling on schedules, "Or he could get the best grades, and the honors scholarship for extra money." Sif gave Thor a raised eyebrow after he chuckled, then she shrugged going back to scribbling. She muttered, "graduate top class and make more money than you. Support himself and whoever stumbles into his life."

Valstagg's boisterous laughter caught everyone's attention until his eyes darted in the direction of a food truck. He mumbled, "That would be quite the stumble for Loki to notice."

Hogun's lip twitches a smidge as he looked at the schedules with Siff and marking them. Loki's schedule was back and he looked it over. He had the 8am class with Thor and knew the idiot would miss too much class from the way Thor groaned over a class first thing on a Monday. Loki had the damn extracurricular art class that Fandral was also in.

Fandral inquired, "so...Sif are we going to come to your dorm room for lunch?"

Sif smirked, "the invitation goes to everyone but you."

"How cruel to keep me away from the sight of your beautiful dorm mate."

Loki was sure he somehow ran into something but with a curse word flying out of someone's mouth realization struck instantly this was not an object. Loki instinctively held his hands out to catch the person. Short hair in blended layers caught the sunlight in wonderful variations of browns. The hair seemed to flow slowly as Loki hastily pulled the person closer to prevent a fall. Warm leather in his hands that helped with the grasp. Once stabilized Loki glanced down and noticed the petite and plus size girl in his grasp.

Loki had money to replace her phone, even get his which was the newest model of over a thousand dollars. His parents had money due to his father, Odin, owning a software corporation that was supposed to be handed down to either Thor or Loki. Of course depending on who learned the most in college from their business majors. Loki actually had plenty of money he earned himself due to taking a position to work in his father's business, a branch closest to the campus in an attempt to learn more. To inherit the corporation was the goal and was the reason he spent too much time in his room, practicing programming for his second major in computer science.

Loki quickly replied as soon as it registered, "I am sorry. I didn't-"

The woman's face turned to his with lightning speed and her lips parted with a harsh tone, "if you say you didn't see me because I am short I will bring you down to my level with a punch to your gut."

Loki wasn't sure if this little ball of fire even heard a word he said. He spoke again as he took a small writing tablet from his inner coat pocket, "here is my information, we could meet later and you can pick out any phone you wish. There is a business not far from here that I work at-"

A casual, but with irritation mixed, voice spoke, "Not interested. I have the insurance on this one to have it replaced."

As she crumpled up the paper and threw it in the recycling bin she spoke, "Thanks for the offer but I will pass."

Loki's eyebrows furrowed, "pardon?"

The small woman stopped as she replaced the sunglasses to her head. "Can you see now that I don't want your help?"

"You just cost me a ton of work to replace a dumbass phone. Nice work by the way to try to get me to call you. Clever plan, but it's not something I fall for."

"If you would let me help-"

The woman interrupted him, again with a scoff.

Loki tries again for a chance to talk quickly.

She waved her hands, palms to him and waved them with her head down, "Uh huh. Nope. Go try to woo someone else with your good looks of, 'tall, dark, and handsome.'" Her eyes met his as her hands gestured to him and her eyes skimmed over him briefly with the burning rage behind them. "There are a ton of people out there to fall for someone to take care of them with your fancy handwriting that obviously comes from a prestigious schooling. As well as your expensive clothes."

Loki's mouth parted and then shut firmly. "You make accusations based on nothing but a few things. Maybe you should try not to judge a book by its cover."

She rose an eyebrow, "how? Over dinner while playing some Q and A?"

Loki rose his eyebrows in shock and his mouth parted slightly. Loki did not miss a chance though, "If it could even things out. Perhaps."

She scoffed and put her glasses back in place over her eyes, "I would pay for myself anyway."

Loki gesture between them before she would turn, "You think that would make this even?"

"How about you just read my lips and understand you don't owe me anything." Her eyebrows rose over the glasses with a forced smile, "we good now?"

Loki stared at the woman in disbelief. "If you insist everything is ok but-"

The woman replied with a curt nod and side smile, "Everything is great. Try to have a good day."

Loki looked elsewhere not believing he was going to let her leave, "I wish you well and give many apologies."

The woman turned when her phone went off, "I have to go. Bye." She did not look back but greeted the person on the other line with a happy melodic, "hel~lo! Sorry I am late. I bumped into someone."

They would always try to get him to join in their "fun" of watching each other play a fighting game while they drank energy drinks. Hogun would go to bed at a reasonable time but the other two would stay up talking loudly about the damn game until they went out to a bar.

Sometimes Loki would join in a few games of cards just to take some of their money. It got to the point where everyone agreed to use just change instead of dollar bills.

Loki smirked as he remembered to take the vase full of coins to the change machine, "Idiots…"

Loki ate alone and no one bothered him either. He did watch as others around him talking cheerfully. A friend might be nice to spend some time with once in a while. However, Loki's phone buzzing in his pocket with his schedule alarm to start practicing programming made him remember he was not there for companionship. He was at college to get an education.

Loki programmed for about an hour and a half to figure out something new he stumbled onto. Loki needed a shower. Something about programming made him feel dirty, uncomfortable, and needing to feel fresh again. Loki's cursed phone rang for the third time since he was getting ready to relax with a book. The most annoying sound he had on his phone was Thor's ringtone. Loki purposely hit the end button to hang up and force the call to his mailbox. Grabbing a book and sitting in his comfortable desk chair Loki's daily peace began.

#brightsun-and-darkmidnight #Stubborn Independence #loki #college au

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starcunning · 5 years

Text

15. Travail

To be flame in the heat

For @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast’s FFXIVWrite 2019. [Title] [AO3 mirror]

The people of Ishgard are in high spirits, for another heretic has answered for his crimes.

The Ishgardian appetite for justice—and blood—has been met this day, another trial by combat concluded. According to one spectator, it was a spectacle for the ages, as the accused wielded a massive sword and worked his dark arts against his foe. In the end, however, he was no match for his opponent, who ran him through to a chorus of cheers. Seeing no need to afford someone who looks more dragon than man a funeral, the Temple Knights mean to dispose of the corpse by leaving it in the Brume. Intrigued by the spectator’s account, you consider seeking out the knights and seeing this draconic terror for yourself.

Kneeling before the body, you spy a crystal, and reach out to claim it. All at once, your body is wracked with shudders, and a strangely familiar voice echoes in your ears. You collapse, and when you open your eyes, you find the man standing before you, hale and healthy. He introduces himself as Sidurgu, and it would seem that reports of his death were greatly exaggerated. He gives pause when you tell him of the voice you heard, but before you can continue, a cry from the streets below draws your attention. You turn to leave, but Sidurgu grasps your shoulder and insists that you discuss the “changes” you are undergoing due to touching his crystal.

The license to give vent to your spleen—to punish the wicked and avenge the dead. This is the way of the dark knight, and Sidurgu offers to teach you. You need only to accept his guidance.

— — — — —

Sidurgu is ready to teach you. You need but to listen.

Sidurgu tells you of the first dark knight—a nobleman of Ishgard who cast off the trappings of his station in order to bring an untouchable man to justice. Too many are cowed by the consequences of such actions, and will never stand against those who would abuse their power, he says. Consider his words as you seek out the source of the earlier scream.

You come upon an old woman, who beseeches you to save her granddaughter—a spirited young woman who was seized by Temple Knights after an altercation. It soon becomes clear that she is not the first girl to be taken under such circumstances, and that the Temple Knights’ intentions are far less honorable than their office would imply. Sidurgu is of the opinion that the girl might survive the ordeal—but he is loathe to leave it to chance. He is resolved, and bids you follow, should you wish to learn aught of the art.

Sidurgu makes for the Tribunal—the very place of his own trial not so very long before. You ask him what he was on trial for, but he rebuffs you—whatever the real answer is, he’s not telling you. Arrested for buying bread indeed. Instead he tells you more about the way of the dark knight.

Rage, pain, suffering—these emotions form the basis of the dark knight’s arts, Sidurgu tells you. When the violence comes, you can draw upon these indignities to return them a hundred times over. Prepare for the worst. There’s no sense in hoping for the best.

They were angry at having their sport taking from them, but it did not take long for that to transmute to fear. Their screams echoed on the stone, and you made of the rectory an abattoir. This is justice of the purely Ishgardian sort—bloody-minded and absolute. You were content to terrify them into silence, but Sidurgu has no trust in their professed honor. They will not speak of what they witnessed … after all, the dead stay dead, and speak no more.

The girl does not linger long afterward. You call after her to ask who screamed your name, and her only answer is “no one.” Eager to be shut of you, she runs off back to the Brume, leaving you alone with Sidurgu.

He senses your hesitation, and reprimands you for being unwilling to do what is necessary. He says he will not ask you to trust him, only to listen and obey. You swallow your uncertainties, and you nod. When the time is right, he tells you, he will be waiting for you where you first met.

— — — — —

Sidurgu has been waiting.

The voice, Sidurgu tells you, is a dark knight superstition. Some say the voice belongs to someone you are destined to protect, but he tells you also that he doesn’t believe that. He believes the voice is simply the part of yourself you have learned not to hear. To improve as a dark knight, you must learn to listen—not just to him, but to that voice. Communion will serve to teach you. And Sidurgu will show you how to commune. He takes you from the city to Dravania.

“Kill for me,” Sidurgu demands. You wonder if this is because of the way you balked at the Tribunal, and ask him what he means. He says he doesn’t care, so long as it tests you. So long as you are afraid. He wants to watch you master that fear, and you want to show him. You resolve to ask the hunters of Tailfeather for a suitable target.

The hunters of Tailfeather are cowards barely worthy of the name—trappers, perhaps, and even those they regard as outlaws are mere poachers. But they serve at least to tell you of the lair of a she-coeurl nearby that has harried the wild flock.

You are not afraid, and tell Sidurgu of the she-coeurl’s cave. He goes with you, but stands apart. His eyes are hard and hungry. He expects something of you, something unspoken. Show him who you really are.

The she-coeurl is dead, and the stink of her blood is heavy in the air. Your own blood sings in answer, and Sidurgu is laughing.

The weak cannot save themselves, let alone you—a truth you have always known. Vengeance demands strength. You are ready to commune, and Sidurgu is waiting.

Sidurgu takes your bloodied hands in his and begins the rite of communion. The cave is iron and darkness, and you can feel something press against the inside of your skin. A second self, perhaps.

You hear a whisper in the abyss—a restless warrior, moving without respite, never ceasing. When you tell Sidurgu of the sentiment, he claims to understand. Stillness is the province of the dead, and he is ever moving himself. You ask if he knows what you are moving towards, and he says he cannot tell you, but you will understand if you but learn to listen.

— — — — —

Sidurgu seems pleased to see you.

When Sidurgu asks you if you have heard the voice again, you are forced to confess that you have not. His tone sours then, and you get the distinct impression he is annoyed with your lack of progress. He departs for the Hinterlands.

Perhaps he is not ready to abandon you just yet, because when you catch up with him he simply directs you toward a crazed Sharlayan familiar to make your offering of blood.

You kill the creature, but it is hardly a trial. It is your turn to be disappointed, and your resentment of Sidurgu for assigning you such a pointless task roils in your breast. Good. That will make you ready. Maybe it’ll even satisfy Sidurgu.

Sidurgu embraces you for communion, but the two of you are interrupted by one of the treasure hunters that still pick over the Sharlayan colony like vultures. They plead with you to go and rescue their friends, who have been captured by the goblins’ Blue Hand. Your anger only grows—how dare a stranger foist these burdens off on you? But there is no one else—save Sidurgu, who is eager to see you put an end to the problem, even at risk to life and limb. At least he’s coming with you this time.

Goblins are far better sport than owls, no matter what sort of magical intellect they’ve been imbued with. You give vent to your frustrations at last, and slay one of the Blue Hand. When you look back to Sidurgu for his reaction, there’s a sort of pride in his eyes. Little time to savor victories, though, when that first death only makes your foes angrier. You give yourself to your rage in turn, and it makes you beautiful, and glorious, and bloody.

The treasure hunters do not stick around long enough to thank you. Perhaps the blood-gilded sight of your blade unnerves them.

It doesn’t bother Sidurgu, though, who embraces you anew, and declares at last that you are a worthy pupil. How does it feel, he wonders, to kill something that can beg you for an undeserved mercy? You have no answer to give, but it doesn’t matter. There are no secrets left to you when you commune.

You let him anchor you, pull you into the abyss, and hear your heartbeat like a hammer and chisel, reshaping you from the inside. “Strength is sacrifice,” you are told. Sacrifice of the oldest kind. If the measure of living is in how one moves, it stands to reason one would want to shed their burdens, the restraints that shackle them and slow them down. You hear Sidurgu, but are you listening?

— — — — —

Sidurgu has been watching you.

Still you remain deaf to the voice, and to Sidurgu. But we’ve come too far to turn back now, so Sidurgu will help you listen. Will make you listen. Only communion will suffice. You will go to the Sea of Clouds, and you will make an offering of blood. A sacrifice of strength.

Sidurgu is just beginning to explain to you the mysteries of the abyss to prepare you for what’s to come when one of those damnable beastmen interrupts. How dare they! At a time like this, prattling on about legendary beasts and dark feathers. But you insist on listening to them, just as you refuse to listen to anything else. Let’s get on with it, then.

At the very least, they’ve offered up a suitable challenge. Legendary beasts indeed. These are Imperial machina—and soldiers besides. No need to stay your hand for them, eh?

You are never more alive than with a sword in your hand and a foe opposite. You kill, and you kill, and you kill, and it’s only when the island is silent and you are spent that you think to number the dead. There are more of them than you thought possible, and you and Sidurgu stand for a time, wild-eyed and gasping for breath. You are beautiful like this—is it possible that Sidurgu is, too?

You have rid yourself of your hesitations at last. You barely need Sid’s help to embrace the abyss—it wells from you to enfold you both, and you know that he is right. Strength is sacrifice, yes, but it is also freedom. The freedom to do what is necessary. To mete out what passes for justice in this cruel world. To embrace and to love the ugliest parts of yourself.

Sid will be waiting.

— — — — —

Where is Sid?

Sidurgu is not waiting for you in the place where you met. But you can’t believe he would abandon you now. You’ve come so far. Go and see what’s keeping him.

The people of the Brume seem afraid to speak to you, even though your armor is clean and your sword remains in its sheath. They seem equally nervous to speak of Sid. If only they knew all he had done for them … Never mind all that. The grandmother whose girl you saved at least has a civil tongue in her head. She says that when Sid left, he was headed for the Holy Stables.

Holy indeed. The stench of the place is anything but, and you wonder if that’s the birds or the sniveling souls that tend the place. They’ll tell you where Sid is for the pleasure of being rid of you—he’s gone on to Falcon’s Nest, they say.

The knights of the Nest regard you with open suspicion, and more so still when you ask after Sid. A half-dragon with a slab of iron is not exactly a welcome sight in Ishgard, and you wonder briefly why he wears no helmet. But why hide what you really are?

You follow the trail, and it leads to the Convictory. An apt name, given that Sid has condemned every damned nobleman and knight in it to death. White snow is stained blood red, and at the heart of the tempest, a black figure. You think you’d better do something.

Even now, you still don’t understand! You try to protect them—noblemen undeserving of the name; knights without honor. Them, and not Sidurgu, who has taught you everything you know. Who has set you free. Who loves you. You want him to stop, but there’s no stopping now.

Sid wants to know what makes them different from the Imperials you were all too glad to dispatch yourself. There’s no answer you can give that will satisfy him. The voice is no longer coming from the abyss; from within you—the familiar words spill from the man opposite instead.

There is no justice to be had. There is only death, granted in hopes of sparing more death. We are murderers of the foulest kind, and we had better accept the fact sooner rather than later. If you want to save a dozen unworthy souls, you’re going to have to kill the man across from you. If you’re not moving, you’re not living. Move or die, dark knight.

It’s not easy. Sid refuses to make it easy. But you are moving in opposite directions, no matter how much he wanted you to go together. He’s stopped moving, and you know what that means …

There’s a lot to think about now, with your mentor dead. With his last breath he tells you he’s been dead all along—since the man who founded this damned place killed his parents while they fled Imperial oppression. But you don’t think that’s all of what he means. Does it really matter? Can it really matter? He’s dead and you’re alive, though you can hardly countenance what you’ve done. But there’s one thing left to learn, apprentice.

It’s not a sin if I made you do it.

#ff14 #FFXIVWrite2019 #sidurgu orl #wol/sidurgu #roleswap au #DRK job quest spoilers #you know #kinda #original content #starcunning writes

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girlwithwolftatoo · 5 years

Text

Valerius x MC fanfic commision

Title: Or own perfect world

Pairings: Valerius x fem!MC

Summary: Slides of domestic life with half-retired consul at his vineyard with his wife, son and... something more.

Words: 1,481

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff stuff.

A few weeks passed since the harvest season brought the joy and sparkle of grape dancers and rolling barrels, the silence of the vineyard broken by the laughter and singing of the workers, the bright, pale sunlight bathing the shoulders of two dozen of people following the precious rhythm of her, the wildest and gorgeous dancer of all of them, his precious jewel, Rose.

And the best of that delicious country portrait was her, her red hair opening as a fan behind her head, and holding the hand of their little first born; he had the same untamed energy of his mother, but his eyes seemed to sparkle more calm and daydream than hers; the little boy wasn’t ready to dance in the barrels, he was too small to step on the grapes properly, but he wanted so hard to help Rose lifted them to her side and danced with him, the two creatures moving so fast the grapes juice stained their flesh and clothing but didn’t mind, they were like happy and rowdy fauns worshiping the season at the light of the afternoon.

“Are you done?” Valerius asked as they came out of the barrel, walking barefoot towards him. Finn’s hair was more than messy, the wild, dark curls resembling a nest on his tiny head. Rose smiled at her husband, nodding in silence. “Grape juice is not going to come out of the fabric easily, you know that.”

“Then I’ll have some hard time at the laundry tomorrow” she answered, shrugging. At the sight of Valerius sighing loudly, she barked a laugh and placed a hand on his shoulder. “What, afraid of a little stain?”

“It’s not just… stain…” he pointed, his eyes narrowing at his son. “You must learn to take care of your things, wear them with honor and treat them properly.”

“Yes, of course, it would be a huge loss if some… wine stains were spilled in such fancy clothing, don’t you think… consul?” she answered in a soft voice, raising an eyebrow as she stared at Valerius’s face, which started to get red. He coughed and gulped, diverting his eyes to the field, the last remains of barrels rolling into the dark cellar to rest and become, in a few months, the sweetest wine of all Vesuvia.

Winter was almost done, and by that time the little family’s issues were the need to wake up from their forced hibernation and prepare for the new season. Spring announced itself sooner than other years, with the estate’s trees and bushes exploding in little flowers and new, tender leaves.

But the spring came with a gift, one Valerius wanted to share with Finn before anyone else.

The boy was sitting at the stoop, surrounded by pieces of paper and thick pencils. On the paper, Finn had made scrawls that seemed like letters, probably in an attempt to write his own name, and he was putting so much effort the ex consul stared at him in silence, a soft smile in his lips trying to control his growing pride towards the child.

After a while he cleared his throat to call the boy’s attention. When Finn turned his head back, Valerius leaned over him.

“I see you’re a hard worker, Rovale” he used to call him by his second name, the one he choose for him when he was born. “Perhaps I’ll have to teach you to do the house accounting soon”.

Finn scratched behind his ear.

“I can barely do letters, dunno how to make numbers, papa” he answered. Valerius fought to shut a laugh and kneeled to stay at his son’s height.

“It takes time, but you’re a skilled, intelligent child. I’m sure you’ll figure it out sooner than anyone else. And besides…” he leaned towards Finn, caressing his head “You are my son, it would be a shame for our ancestors if you weren’t smart enough”.

Finn blinked at his father, waiting patiently. Valerius retracted his hand, preparing himself for what he needed to say.

“Rovale, you remember mama went a bit sick during winter, don’t you?” the child nodded. “You shall not worry about it anymore, she’s as good as she could be. And that’s because she’s not sick, but something else…”

It was so strange to him not explain straight to his own son what was happening, but the boy moved his head in demand as he replied:

“What is it? What is happening to mama?”

“Well… you know where the babies come from, don’t you? They… come from the mother’s womb, they grow up inside them for a few months and then, just like the grapes, they come out full grown and ready to become…”

“Wine?” Finn asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. This time Valerius laughed out loud.

“No, by gods’s sake! But, in a certain way, children are as valuable as any other thing that’s made with love and effort. Children are the only thing that’s left in this world when parents are gone, and they bear all of our mistakes and triumphs, our flaws and virtues, and that’s why they’re so important.”

Finn nodded again, but his eyes had the ghost of doubt.

“I don’t get it yet, papa.”

“No, of course, I’m missing the point… What I’m trying to say is your mama is having a small… tiny child… inside her womb. Now you understand?” but Finn’s eyes just blinked, utterly confused. Valerius breathed in before claiming: “That means your mama is gonna have a son, and it means you will have a little brother.”

The grimace of his son was a complete mistery for Valerius. Finn’s eyes went wide shut, his jaw opened a half and the ex consul could almost sense his boy’s brain working at full capacity in order to get the point and process it. He never had that problem at his childhood for he was an only son, but of course he knew about the threatening, negative feelings an older brother could have towards the younger: jealousy, rage, contempt… Probably Finn felt like he was going to be the second place at his parent’s heart from now, displaced by the unborn child, and he didn’t want him to have those feelings so he hurried to point:

“It doesn’t mean mama and I are not going to love you anymore, Rovale. Some people has more than two children and yet…”

But for the first time in his life, Valerius stared at his own son waving a hand in demand of silence, just as he used to do during his time at the palace. It took him so out of his place he shut and owl blinked, confused for the yet weird face of Finn.

“So…” the boy murmured “Mama is having a baby…”

“It’s… it’s correct, my son”

“And that baby is gonna be my… little brother”

“Or sister, we can’t know until they come out”

Finn nodded and remaint silent for a few seconds, frowning. Valerius was about to tell something else but his son lifted his head and claimed:

“I’m gonna take care of that baby? I’m going to play with them all the time and share my things with them, too?”

“Well, I think…”

“And can I help you and mama to dress them and… I’m going to do the grape dance with them when we are older?”

Valerius noticed his son’s eyes sparkling in pure joy. It wasn’t anger what he was feeling, was something more, something better. He smiled in relief and nodded.

“Of course you will, Rovale, you two will do all that things… with mama and me, of course.”

“Yes! We will… we…! I’m gonna be the best big brother of all, papa, I promise! I’ll teach the baby to write and dance and all that things!”

The excitement of his little child was so contagious Valerius had a hard time trying to control himself from rolling and clapping just as Finn was doing. And the rest of the months, as Rose’s pregnancy were more and more obvious, the feverish, innocent daydreaming of the now older son built up so quickly they had to explain the babies were more fragile than anything else in this world and he had to be careful when they arrived.

The next season came, and with it the dancers returned. Valerius and Rose stared at them, she with a small bulge protected by a silk blanket to keep the newborn protected of the sun. They named him Eli, and as they were supervising the harvest, Finn walked by his mother’s side, fascinated by the small shape of his brother, so happy and glad for this new starting even Valerius, whom life seemed like a hurricane just a few years ago, found himself suddenly surrounded by such beauty and peace he thought none religious paradise could compete with his own.

(A comission asked by @valkyrie-wilsonn I hope you enjoyed it!)

#the arcana #the arcana game #the apprentice #female apprentice #female MC #consul valerius #valerius #consul valerius x the apprentice #consul valerius x mc #fanfiction #comission

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megsironthrone · 7 years

Text

Twinkle in His Eyes

Anonymous asked: If youre taking requests can I request a reader x Jamie. she travels with him and Brienne after hes freed. When they return back to kings landing and Joffrey wants to have her killed cause he thinks she might be a spy but Jamie vouches for her and says she’s innocent no spy would deal with what theyve been through. They become close going for long walks together and talking late and eventually he realises he loves her and tells her he wants to leave the kings guard to be with her? Love the blog!

I do not own Jaime, Brienne or Joffrey. They belong to George R.R.Martin.

Warnings: Slight angst. Fluff. And it’s pretty long. I couldn’t stop writing.

Pairings/Characters: Jaime Lannister x fem!reader, Brienne of Tarth, Joffrey Baratheon

“Come along, Kingslayer. Y/N.” Brienne ordered and you rolled your eyes. You and your sister usually got along well, until you were tasked by Lady Stark to escort Ser Jaime Lannister back to King’s Landing. You didn’t care for the way Brienne had treated Jaime the first few weeks you were together. She still refused to call him by his name, even though he insisted. You, on the other hand, had no problem. He hadn’t done anything to offend or hurt you.

Now, you were so close to King’s Landing, you could have cheered. You could see that Jaime was beyond ready to be home. There was part of you that would miss his company. True, he was far from perfect and he could be downright crude at times, but he was witty and charming and he made you laugh. He even saved your and Brienne’s lives.

“How is your arm, Jaime?“ you asked him as you walked next to him behind Brienne. He smiled softly, but didn’t take his eyes off the city in front of you. “I can’t feel any pain, if that’s what you’re asking.” You nodded and followed Brienne into the city. No sooner were you in the gates, did two guards grab your arms and escort you to the throne room. You were dragged before the king and made to kneel in front of him. You could see the fire in Brienne’s eyes at their treatment of you, but you knew she wouldn’t do anything that could get you hurt.

"How do we know you aren’t spies for Catelyn Stark? Sent here to assassinate me?“ Joffrey was practically screeching like a barn owl. You shied away. You weren’t sure how to answer his question without him getting angry or without getting angry yourself. A spy? Why on earth would he think you were a spy? Luckily for you, Jaime spoke out in your favor.

"Your Grace, Lady Y/N is no spy. I assure you, no spy, no matter what they are paid, would have gone through what Lady Y/N did. Brienne of Tarth was tasked with bringing me and with presenting Lady Stark’s terms. Lady Y/N merely accompanied her sister and I. Nothing more, nothing less.” You noticed how careful he was not to use your name without your title, despite having called you by your name for most of your journey. You knew he was trying to help, but it stung a little.

Joffrey turned his gaze back to you. You kept your eyes downcast so you wouldn’t incur his wrath. You’d heard it was a sight to feared. “Very well.” You fought back the sigh of relief that threatened to bubble forth. “Get our guests cleaned up and escort them to their chambers.” You quickly rose to your feet and sent Jaime a look to say thanks. Jaime merely nodded once, but he had lost the warmth that had been in his eyes before you entered the city. It made you sad.

You didn’t see Jaime again for several days, much to your dismay, but you spent many hours exploring the Red Keep. It was vast and held so many secrets. You also enjoyed reading in the gardens. You were heading toward one of the many gardens, book in hand, when you finally saw Jaime again. “Where are you off to, Lady Y/N?”

"Have we resorted to formalities again, Ser?“ you quipped back, looking up into his green eyes. He had cut off the majority of his hair and beard. All that was left of the beard was a little stubble. It suited him, though you’d never admit that out loud. Jaime sighed. "There are a different set of rules here, Y/N.”

You frowned. “Then you should return to your post, shouldn’t you?” You turned away, only to have Jaime grab your arm with his good hand. Only then did you glance down to see the golden hand that had replaced the one cut off.

"Please, Y/N. I-I must admit that I have missed your company these past few days. I see your sister, but not you.“ You shrugged. "You and my sister have more in common. I am not surprised you have seen her out and about. I myself have found joy in exploring the Keep.” Jaime dropped your arm and sighed. “That could be dangerous for you, Y/N.” You shrugged again. “I can defend myself.”

Jaime nodded sadly and you relented. “Perhaps you would do me the honor of walking with me? I had intended on reading and it is such a lovely day I thought it would be nice to do so in the gardens.” Jaime’s expression brightened up a bit. If you hadn’t been paying attention, you wouldn’t have noticed it. “Of course.” You looped your arm around his and smiled up at him. The twinkling was returning to those green eyes you loved to look at.

The two of you walked the rest of the day and well into the night, lost in conversation. And, even though you carried it in your hand, all thoughts of reading your book were long forgotten. For the next several weeks, that became your routine. When Jaime was not needed by the king or Cersei, he was with you.

"So then, Brienne grabbed the boy by the neck and threw him face first in the pig trough,“ you recounted with a giggle. You had been swapping childhood stories that evening. Jaime threw his head back and laughed, a genuine laugh. You adored this side of Jaime. The side that only you saw. When Jaime was away from Cersei, he was a much more open and happier person. When Jaime was done laughing, he told you a story of a time when Cersei had done something and convinced him to take the blame. That was when the tone of your conversation changed.

"Why do you let her have such a hold on you?” you asked innocently. Jaime’s eyes hardened and his lips drew into a straight line. “You would never understand. All Cersei and I have are each other. We’ve been together since before our birth. We have always been together.” You shook your head. “That doesn’t mean you owe your life to her.” Jaime clenched his remaining hand into a fist. “Let it go, Y/N. You’re meddling in things you don’t understand.”

You stood up from your seat and grabbed the book you hand been reading before Jaime arrived. “I won’t understand unless you tell me.” Jaime shot up and yelled out in frustration. “Just leave it be!” he snapped and you scoffed. “Goodnight, Jaime.” You turned on your heel and headed to your chambers. You didn’t want to deal with his attitude. You walked away, fighting back the tears in your eyes. You thought you and Jaime were getting close. You thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way for you that you did for him. That he could be honest with you. Apparently not.

Jaime stalked out of the garden, his anger fading with every step he took away from you. In its place, heartbreak grew. He hadn’t intended on feelings developing. He had Cersei after all and that was enough. Or at least it had been. Now, Jaime wasn’t so sure. You had shown him that there was more to life that spending it in fear or conflict.

Jaime’s thoughts traveled to your time together. He had gotten to know you and had shared things with you that he’d never told anyone, not even Cersei. Where his thoughts used to be filled with thoughts of his twin, they were replaced with thoughts of you. It was your face Jaime saw when he went to bed at night and when he woke up in the more.

It was your (h/c) hair he wanted to run his fingers through. Your (e/c) eyes he wanted looking up at him as your head rested on his chest. Your lips he wanted to kiss. Jaime ran his hand over his face and groaned. There was no denying it. Jaime Lannister was in love with you and there was nothing to be done for it.

Jaime made it back to his chambers, removed his armor, and flopped down in the bed. He kept telling himself that he was being foolish. Jaime had never loved anyone this way, except for Cersei and even that was a twisted sort of love. Of course, after that night, Jaime knew there was no way you’d love him back. Then there were his vows. His duty to the Kingsguard.

That night, Jaime slept fitfully and he dreamed. Really dreamed. In his dream, he saw you. You were gazing up at him lovingly as he draped his cloak over your shoulders and vowed to protect you. He watched as your lips moved, promising that you were his forever. Then, the dream changed. Now, you were sitting on your bed next to Jaime at Casterly Rock, cooing at the babe in your arms.

Jaime bolted up in bed and grinned. His heart knew what he wanted and he knew he had to tell you soon, before your sister left and took your with her. Jaime quickly pulled on a pair of trousers and a loose tunic. He left his chambers quietly and walked toward yours. He didn’t want to wake Cersei or Brienne. He reached your door and knocked softly, yet frantically.

To his surprise, the door swung open almost immediately. “Jaime?” you asked in shock. He took in your form. Your eyes were red, although from sleep or tears, Jaime wasn’t sure. Your hair stuck out at all different angles and your beautiful lips wore a scowl. “May I come in?” he asked in a hushed tone. You nodded and moved aside.

The moment the door was closed, Jaime had you trapped between the door and his arms as his lips descended on yours. You pushed him back. “J-Jaime? What are you doing?” Jaime smirked. “I thought you would know a kiss when you felt one.” You rolled your eyes. “You know what I meant, Jaime. What are you doing in here?”

Jaime sighed and moved across the room so you could create some space between you. “I’ve been a fool, Y/N. I’ve been unable to see what was right in front of me.” You cocked your head to the side and Jaime laughed. "I want to make you mine.“ You straightened your head and gaped at him. He wanted you? "What are you saying?”

He walked over and placed his hands on your hips. “I am saying that I love you, Y/N. I want to marry you.” You let out a laugh, although it was hollow. “Don’t make jokes, Jaime. I am in no mood. Even if you truly wanted to, you cannot. You have your vows.” Jaime scoffed. “I will leave the Kingsguard. Father has wanted me to be his heir for years and now I have reason.”

"You mean that, Jaime? You love me?“ He looked into your eyes and you saw that familiar twinkle there. "I do. If you will have me.” You beamed and pressed your lips to his. “Of course I will. I love you too, Jaime.”

@silverwingedfox @line-viper @etherealpotter

#george r.r. martin #game of thrones #got #jaime lannister #jaime lannister x reader #jaime x reader

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vikingpoteto · 7 years

Text

call it home (AO3) - KuroDai Week Day 3

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

Chapter: 2/5

Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi, Sawamura Daichi & Michimiya Yui

Summary:Once upon a time a fearless knight whose best friend was taken by a demon king. Sawamura Daichi would do anything to save his princess, so he marches to the king’s castle ready to fight the demon. He wasn’t expecting to fall in love with him.

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Final Haikyuu Quest, KuroDai Week 2017, fairy tale-ish, Fantasy, Curses and magic powers, Fluff, Falling In Love

Word count: 4831

Daichi is the youngest of five sons of a noble family. His family has always been a wealthy oneand his older brothers were terribly spoiled. Despite being too young to even recall how things ended up like that, he became the voice of the reason among the Sawamuras. He was always looking after them, making sure they wouldn’t offend the wrong person or break something that shouldn’t be broken.

Sometimes Daichi’s spiteful nature would get the best of him and he would get in trouble himself. Unlike his older brothers, he didn’t have anyone to help him clean up the mess.

On the first time his parents took him to a royal party Daichi was upset with his brothers. Instead of keeping them under control, Daichi strayed on his own, deciding to enjoy himself away from his family. And then he bumped on a shy girl that looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

Despite his decision of not being a caretaker anymore, Daichi couldn’t resist the sadness in her eyes and took her under his wing. He didn’t think much of it. He was just a boy inviting a child his age to play. When he managed to get the girl out of her shell, he was happy he did. She was fun and nice and the two of them ran together through the gardens laughing like crazy. Daichi didn’t even notice that there was a well dressed servant and a knight watching them the whole time.

Later he would learn that the servant was the princess’s personal servant and the fun girl was the princess herself.

He didn’t get in trouble for sneaking out, like he expected to. Instead, his parents looked rather pleased and promised to take him to see princess Yui again. And they did.

Daichi didn’t realize what that could mean until years later when his mother pulled him aside and asked when he was planning to start properly courting the princess.

It was a shock. His eldest brother had already married a lady from a neighbor country and Daichi had read about courtship and love, but he had never imagined himself in such position. In theory, he knew that that was how things worked: men were supposed to grow strong, to honor their families, to find a nice woman to marry and start a family of their own.

Daichi considered what he knew about love and considered what he felt for the princess. He thought he loved her. She was pretty and funny and he enjoyed her company. He was always happy to see her.

However he had never felt the urge to pull her into his arms and the sight of her never took his breath away. She never made his stomach do somersaults or feel butterflies. What he felt for her… well, it wasn’t that different of what he felt for his brothers.

He didn’t dare ask his brothers about it, because they would make fun of him for years, but he did ask his father.

“Real life is not a book, Daichi,” his father had told him. “If the sight of someone makes your heart race, it is a sign not of love, but the need to look for a doctor.”

Respectfully, Daichi accepted that. He strongly disagreed, but he was taught from young age to never disrespect his elders. If his father said that that kind of love was something from fairy tales, who was he to go against him?

Nonetheless, when Daichi received a letter from a friend on the border asking for his aid in a conflict, he took the opportunity to run away for a bit. He had accepted his duty just fine - honor the family, court the princess, get married - he just… wasn’t fully ready for it.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and Daichi was nowhere near an answer. He reprimanded himself for wanting the impossible, but, despite his best efforts to be the perfect son, he was still a rebel at heart.

When he heard that his friend was taken by a demon, however, he dropped everything to go to her rescue. He tried to convince himself that this meant he was in love. That perhaps this was as far as love got.

He couldn’t hold that line of thought for long, nevertheless, for all he could think about was sweet and frightened Yui chained in a demon’s lair.

Daichi wakes up startled because there’s someone jumping up and down on his bed.

“Wake up, wake up, Daichi! I need to introduce you!”

The woman yelling and bouncing in front of him is anything but frail and frightened, her cheeks pink of sheer excitement and her smile so wide it must hurt her cheeks. She looks nothing like the shy little girl he met years ago. She looks a lot like a happier version of the girl that laughed louder than anyone else when no one but Daichi was around to witness.

“Yui,” Daichi groans sitting up. Like always, when they were alone, he forgot about formal titles.

“Up, up, up!” She jumps to the floor again. “Dressed and to the garden!”

And Yui runs out of the room, all bubbly laughter and excited noises.

Daichi smiles fondly despite the bleariness of his eyes. He yawns and drags himself out of bed. He frowns when the sheets and blankets start folding themselves while he gets dressed. On the first morning, that almost made him jump out of his skin. Now, three days later, he still isn’t sure how he feels about this. The giant demon cats and invisible cities he can handle, but he draws the line on sleeping in sentient beds.

However, the fact that the wardrobe of the guest chambers has clothes that fit him perfectly is convenient.

He’s still fastening his belt when Yui’s shrill voice calls him again from downstairs. He smiles again and walks outside.

He finds Yui bouncing up and down on the garden with her eyes glued to the sky. Daichi looks up too and almost falls backwards.

At first, he thinks it is just a flock of very big birds. And then he gives them a more attentive look: silhouettes too big to belong to a bird are majestically carried through the air by gigantic wings. Daichi tries to find a word to describe them - angels? Yokais?Human owls? - but he decides he doesn’t need to. He just watches in awe as the group of winged people fly in perfect circles above the castle and then calmly land a few meters ahead of them.

Yui screams in delight and runs towards. One of them - a woman with sleepy eyes and black and white wings - opens her arms and lets Yui jump into them. Daichi smiles at the sight. He still feels a little sting of jealousy, of course, after all he was Yui’s only friend for years. However he can’t begrudge her for her new life. She’s obviously happy. Thus so is he.

“Daichi!” Yui calls, her arms still around the owl woman. “Come here!”

"Oh? Who do we have here?” A large man with gray hair with black stripes that match his wings grins at Daichi.

“This is my friend,” Yui says proudly. “He came to see me! Daichi, these are the Fukurodani clan!”

“Ohoho it’s always nice to know a friend of Yui-chan’s!” Says - no, shouts - the man as he grabs both of Daichi’s hands between his. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou, the clan leader!”

Yui nods enthusiastically. “And this is Yukie-chan, and Akaashi-san, and Fukui-san, and…”

Daichi loses count of how many hands he shakes and forgets half of their names, too fascinated with their wings to pay attention.

“Well, well, look who came for a visit,” a smooth voice says behind them.

Kuroo walks closer with his crooked smile in place. He isn’t wearing his usual red coat and his black sleeves have been rolled up, revealing arms covered in dirt. Daichi forgets he’s still supposed to be shaking hands, because the sight of Kuroo’s forearms takes his breath away.

“Kuroo!” Bokuto hoots and pulls Kuroo into a bear hug. Or bird hug, considering how he involves the two of them in his wings.

Kuroo lets out a small chuckle and Daichi barely sees his genuine smile before he’s lost between feathers. Daichi’s heart starts doing funny things. Maybe this is indeed a sign that he needs a doctor.

“Bokuto-san.” Another owl - one with a face as beautiful as Shimizu’s - pulls Bokuto backwards by the collar of his shirt, willing him to let go of Kuroo. “You can play with Kuroo-san later. We’re here for business.”

"That’s right!” Bokuto shouts as if he’s only now remembering. “We were traveling south when we met king Oikawa! We have a message from him to Shimizu-sama! Also we thought we could rest here for a bit.”

“You know you’re welcome,” Kuroo says. “Shimizu-sama is in the library now.”

“Perfect! Let’s go see her, then!” Bokuto gestures for the rest of his clan before he marches towards the castle. The beautiful one - the one Yui called Akaashi - follows him. Yukie goes right after them, one of her arms still resting over Yui’s shoulder and Yui lets herself be carried along, apparently forgotten of Daichi. The rest of the owls start to scatter around, although one or two stops to greet Kuroo or smile at Daichi.

“I’m sorry, Sawamura, I think you were just ditched.” Kuroo smirks as he watches the three owls disappearing into the castle. Daichi shrugs.

“Don’t take it personally,” Kuroo says. “Yui-chan gets along too well with Yukie. She forgets about everything else in the world.”

"As long as she’s happy,” Daichi says honestly.

Kuroo stares at him briefly and then nods to himself. That’s a habit of his Daichi noticed on the first day: Kuroo likes to read people and he’s good at it. Daichi doesn’t know how he feels about being read by Kuroo - especially when he’s still having trouble tearing his gaze away from his forearms - so he tries to attract his attention elsewhere.

“Who are these people in reality?”

Kuroo snorts. “I figured the princess wouldn’t explain properly. The Fukurodani clan is a clan of nomads. They’re not the king’s subjects, but they’re our allies and friends. They visit us whenever they can, although it’s rare to see them flying under daylight.”

Daichi watches as the rest of the owls lie on the grass to enjoy the sun, talking lazily to each other, while others fly without worry toward the towers of the castle.

“Sawamura. Since the princess is busy today, would you help me with something?”

For the past three days, Daichi had done nothing but follow Yui around. She had showed him every chamber of the castle, her favorite books in the library, told him stories about the people she met and promised to take him for a tour around their capital.

Sometimes, Shimizu would join them, offering very little to the conversation, but being pleasant enough. Daichi met her loyal minions, Tanaka and Nishinoya, two loud men whose endless energy made Daichi think of his troublesome older brothers.

More often than not, Kuroo was there too making sly remarks and smirking a lot. It’s clear that Yui trusts him and Daichi finds himself trusting as well. He ends up laughing at Kuroo’s jokes, even the ones that make Yui raise her brows in confusion, and he’s thankful that Kuroo is there to translate Yui’s over enthusiastic explanations into something comprehensible.

It’s pleasant. Daichi realizes that he can easily call Kuroo a friend, despite his initial reservations. This, however, would be the first time Daichi spends time with Kuroo alone since the first day.

Since Kuroo is but a friend, there is no reason for Daichi’s heartbeat to jump the way it does.

“Of course,” he says as casually as he manages. “What do you need me for?”

“Over here.”

Daichi follows Kuroo, leaving the Fukurodani clan behind. No one seems to mind them.

Kuroo takes him to a part of the garden that he remembers Yui calling Kuroo’s and that caught Daichi’s attention for its exquisite plants. Waiting for then, there are three wooden boxes neatly piled up. Inside them, there are leaves and roots carefully organized.

Apparently Kuroo had been working on the garden for a long time, which would explain his dirty clothes and arms.

“You’re taking these somewhere?”

Kuroo nods.

Without further questions, Daichi picks up the two boxes on the top and adjusts them in his arms carefully. It is heavy and the boxes are big enough that he can barely see where he’s going, but it’s manageable.

“Where to?” He asks.

Kuroo is staring at the boxes in his arms with an empty expression.

"Kuroo?”

“Huh? Oh. I mean…” Kuroo averts his gaze, his cheeks flushing. Daichi is confused by it, but he’s too fascinated by Kuroo’s red face to worry about it just yet. “My workplace.” He picks up the last box quickly. “I’ll show you the way.”

Daichi follows him back to the castle, curious about Kuroo’s said workplace. If Daichi isn’t mistaken, Kuroo said he’s the king’s counselor. What a counselor has to do with a bunch of leaves is beyond him, but he decides to wait to find out.

Kuroo’s chambers are located in the east wing and Daichi has yet to see them. For a moment, he thinks Kuroo is taking the plants to his room. When Kuroo opens the door, Daichi’s eyes widen in surprise.

The rest of the castle is decorated with lively paintings and rich tapestries. Marble statues and intricate chandeliers. This room’s walls are completely covered by shelves and more shelves full of bottles and glass vases, there are long tables with mysterious instruments that you might find in a kitchen or a torture room, a large wood oven, pots and caldrons hanging from the ceiling and piles and piles of books everywhere. The result is chaotic, a little bit overwhelming , a lot oddly cozy.

“I beg your pardon, but I have to ask… what kind of royal counselor are you?”

Kuroo laughs, a rich and clear sound that Daichi wouldn’t tire of hearing. “I am the king’s counselor. That is a job I inherited from my father. In my spare time, I study alchemy. That’s what I inherited from my mother.”

Kuroo puts his box on top of a table and gestures for Daichi to do the same. Daichi watches as he sorts the herbs and puts then away in their respective bottles.

“You guard the castle, your spell protects the city, you aid the king and, on top of all that, you’re an alchemist. Is there anything you can’t do, Kuroo Tetsurou?“

“I can’t swim. Cats dislike water,” Kuroo answers with a wink. Daichi laughs. “And it is not my spell. I had the idea and helped to create the formula, but the king and Shimizu-sama did all the heavy work. I don’t have any magic powers like theirs.”

“I don’t know where you come from, Kuroo, but where I was born the ability to shapeshift into a giant feline is considered witchcraft at least.“

“That’s just a consequence of my curse. A perk, if you must.”

Daichi doesn’t know if Kuroo’s curse is a subject he should avoid. Kuroo often jokes about cats and makes comments about his shapeshifting abilities, but there is something private about the way he talks. As if what he’s already saying is as much as he’s willing to share. It might be Daichi’s imagination, but he thinks no curse is as convenient as turning into a powerful monster at will. There must be a downside, one that Kuroo keeps to himself. Before Daichi decides whether to ask or not, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” says Kuroo.

One of the owls of the Fukurodani clan opens the door, but before he can say anything, a young man rushes into the room.

“KUROO-SAN!” He yelps. He looks remarkably like Tanaka, but with a weird stripe of yellow hair on the top of his head.

“Taketora-san came to see you, Kuroo-san,” says the owl with a playful grin.

Kuroo lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Konoha, I noticed.” And then, to the other man, “What do you want, Yamamoto?

“Kuroo-san! We lost Hinata!”

"How do you- no. You know what? of course you did. Can’t you be more careful? Shrimpy might be loud, but he is really tiny. If you don’t pay attention, of course you’ll lose him. Have you asked Kageyama already?”

“Well…”

“You lost Kageyama too, didn’t you?”

Taketora whines. Kuroo pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. Daichi vividly remembers the one time when his brothers tried to build a fort on the top of a tree and ended up stuck there. Daichi remembers wanting to murder them as much as he wanted to help them. Kuroo seems to be feeling something similar.

“How?” Kuroo asks.

“Inuoka and Lev challenged them and I was the judge…”

“So you were playing in the woods, the odd duo got overexcited and went somewhere they shouldn’t go.”

Yamamoto nods miserably. “We were near the Saeko-san’s territory. Kenma-san is going to get so mad if he find out…”

“Yes, Kenma specifically asked you to be more careful, didn’t he? It must be awful to be you right now.”

“KUROO-SAAAAN!”

“Oh, Kuroo, don’t be like that,” Daichi intervenes, between amused and sympathetic. “He’s asking for help nicely.”

Kuroo looks between Daichi and Yamamoto. He huffs impatiently.

“Fine. I’ll find them. But keep an eye on Lev and Inuoka and make sure they stay out of trouble or I’m telling Kenma and Yaku.”

Before Kuroo even finishes speaking, Yamamoto is already yelling his thank yous and promising he’ll beat Yaku and Lev to a bloody pulp if they ever cause problems again as he hurriedly leaves before Kuroo changes his mind. Daichi feels it is an empty promise.

"I suppose you’re not waiting for Bokuto-san to tag along?” Konoha asks, watching Yamamoto disappearing outside with an amused experession.

"Then I’d have three lost children to find. No, thank you.”

Nodding and laughing, Konoha walks away.

“Yui wasn’t lying when she said things are never boring here. Your visitors are quite something.” Daichi smirks. “Who are Kageyama and Hinata?”

"Two of the people who helped break the king’s curse. They are good kids, but they’re also a pair of idiots,” Kuroo says. “I can usually find them without problems. Do you want to come along? It’s a nice day to go outside.”

Anoter pleasurable twist in his stomach. Daichi smiles. “Of course.”

Daichi was too distracted by flying people and exposed forearms to realize he hadn't eaten anything since he got up, but he remembers his hunger when he leaves Kuroo putting away the rest of his herbs. He makes a quick stop by the kitchen before heading to his room.

Back at home, the servants would have the food ready for him. Here, he has to make his own breakfast. It’s a weird change of pace, but not a bad one. He still finds a little odd to have living furniture, but there was something fun about watching the kitchenware cleaning itself as soon as he stop using it. Today he wastes no time playing with magic, though, and just swallows a piece of bread and grabs some fruit before he goes get his riding boots.

When he arrives at the stables, Kuroo is already waiting for him and saddling his own horse.

“Are you a good rider?” Kuroo asks him.

“One of the best.”

“Oho? Then pay attention to where we’re going. After we rescue the odd duo, we’re racing back.“

“The loser has to clean the stables tomorrow, then.”

Kuroo grins widely. “You bet high. I like your style, Sawamura Daichi.”

Once they’re on the horses, Kuroo leads the way slowly at first, as if testing Daichi. He didn’t need to. Daichi wasn’t lying when he said he was a good rider. And, if he doesn’t get to enjoy the sight of the city, well, that’s something that can be fixed later. They gallop through the streets feeling the wind on their faces and carrying the sound of their delighted laughters.

Kuroo looks back only once to yell, “Keep up, Sawamura!” With a wild smile and he goes even faster.

Daichi enjoys the ride, but he wonders if he can convince Kuroo to show the village around later, without any horses or kids to save. His chest fills with warmth when he realizes that the answer is probably going to be yes.

Daichi sees a mountain in the horizon and they head towards it. It isn’t until several minutes later that Daichi first sees the trees. They only stop when they reach the forests edge.

"Say,” Daichi starts as he dismounts the horse, “you don’t look too worried about these kids.”

Kuroo shrugs. “They can handle themselves. They would probably find their way back at some point even if we didn’t come to their rescue. Besides they do get lost an awful lot.”

They tie their horses to one of the trees. Usually, Daichi would worry about them being stolen, but Kuroo promises no one would touch a horse with the royal symbol on their saddles. Daichi believes him.

"Do you usually go after them?”

"Not always. But it is easier for me to locate them.” Kuroo’s eyes sparkle with an emotion Daichi can’t name. “I was born a hunter, after all.”

They walk together in silence for a few more moments before Daichi’s curiosity gets the best of him. “Born? You said you were not a demon,” he says.

Kuroo looks amused. “What made you think that I am?”

"Well, you do serve a demon king. You also are inhumanly good-looking and can transform into a giant cat.”

Kuroo stares at him with eyes wide and his cheeks get slightly pinker. Daichi doesn’t realize at first what could possibly have caused such reaction.

"This honest side of you might kill me one day, Sawamura.”

"What?”

Instead of explaining, Kuroo says, “I was born a hunter because my mother was one before me. She was the originally cursed one.”

“You mean… you’re cursed because she was? That… doesn’t seem fair. She got herself cursed and you have to pay for it?”

Kuroo’s smile is borderline sad now. Once again, Daichi is sure that Kuroo’s curse doesn’t consist of just shapeshifting powers and feline manners.

"Come on, I need to focus so I can find Kageyama and Hinata.”

Daichi remains quiet after that. Kuroo ending the conversation like this confirms his suspicions that he shouldn’t pry. He can’t stop his imagination, however, and the questions start popping one after the other in his mind: was Kuroo born in the castle? What happened to his parents? What happened to everyone while the king was cursed? While Kuroo took upon himself all of that responsibility - royal counselor, royal alchemist, protector of the princess, finder of stray kids - who was being responsible for Kuroo?

Daichi bites his tongue. He never appreciated when people made comments about him and his duties, making it sound like he was making a big sacrifice. Maybe, for Kuroo, these are his own duties. Daichi won’t dishonor him with pity.

Instead he starts looking as well. Just like the magic trees that hide the capital, there’s something supernatural about this forest. He makes sure to stay close to Kuroo and watching where he’s stepping.

Soon he hears the sound of water.

“Can you hear the river?” Kuroo asks. “Yamamoto said he last saw them around here.”

The deeper into the forest, the more scarce the trees grow until they find the river. Its clean waters run beyond where they can see and Daichi wonders if this is the same river he saw from the castle three days ago.

“Your friend Yamamoto said this is someone’s territory. Isn’t there any problem…“

“None,” Kuroo interrupts him. “Saeko-san is a witch that lives near the mountain. She’s a very sweet lady, actually. You met her brother.”

Daichi blinks. “So are you sure–”

"Yes, Sawamura, there isn’t any danger in- AH!”

Daichi blinks in confusion, because on a moment Kuroo is there, calmly speaking with him by the river, and on the other he simply is not. And then water splashes on his chest and he looks downward.

Kuroo had slipped into the water. He thrashes and struggles, his red coat spiraling beautifully in the clean water and making it even harder for him to get up. And then Daichi sees the small green creature firmly gripping at Kuroo’s leg.

Kuroo had been pulled into the water.

"KUROO!”

Daichi doesn’t even have time to thank a higher power for the fact that he isn’t wearing an armor as he promptly jumps into the river. He can’t say he’s an experient swimmer, but he manages not to drown. He has to help Kuroo.

The green creature - a kappa - open its beak like mouth, revealing a row of pointy teeth and blowing bubbles at Daichi’s face. The creature pulls Kuroo deeper and deeper and Daichi kicks, struggling and desperate, not fast enough to keep up and he’s almost out of breath.

In his desperation, Daichi pulls the dagger from his belt and tries to swim with the current. Kuroo is still kicking and thrashing and one of his feet painfully hits Daichi on the side when he gets too close. Ignoring the pain, or doing his best to do so, he grabs the kappa by one shoulder and thrusts the dagger towards it.

It might not be the same as stabbing someone out of water, but he does hit something, considering the flow of bubbles as the kappa hisses in pain. It finally lets go of Kuroo’s leg and swims away, probably cursing Daichi.

Kuroo doesn’t stop struggling. Cats hate water, he said. He wasn’t joking when he said he couldn’t swim.

Daichi foolishly tries to convey that it’s fine, but there’s nothing fine about being dragged by furious waters. It takes more than one try to get an arm firm around Kuroo’s chest and he gets an elbow on the jaw for trying.

Finally he firms his grip and starts trying to emerge against the force of the water that threatens to pull them deeper and deeper.

Then the river takes a sharp curve. Kuroo hits a rock so hard Daichi can feel the impact, but there’s little time to worry for that is the moment they manage to reach the surface. One blissful wave of air is quickly overpowered by more water, but Kuroo seems to finally realize that the one holding him is Daichi and stops struggling too much - that or he lost his consciousness, which would be bad, so Daichi decides to think it’s the first option.

They are going to drown.

Daichi tightens his hold on Kuroo. His legs are starting to feel numb. Then he feels something. Under his hold, Kuroo seems to grow and grow and Daichi thinks it’s an illusion until the red coat gets ripped off under his arms and Kuroo’s dark clothes give place to damp black fur.

Daichi manages to not let go, but just barely. Kuroo roars and reaches for the edges and his claws anchor them to the land. The water manages to pull them for a couple of meters more, leaving trails shaped like Kuroo’s claws before he gets a grip strong enough to pull himself closer and, with him, Daichi.

Kuroo drags them out of the water and collapses in his human form as soon as they’re out of danger. Wheezing and coughing and spitting water by his side, Daichi takes a couple of seconds to recover.

"You… coff… were saying?” He croaks.

"N-no danger at all…” Kuroo wheezes.

They stay there, weak and tired, for a couple more moments. Daichi starts to think he won’t bother getting up again when Kuroo suddenly sits up.

"Sawamura, can you hear-”

"Hey, isn’t that Kuroo-san?” A voice asks.

Daichi looks up. The voice belongs to a small boy with bright orange hair and big brown eyes. He can’t be older than 19. Behind him, a taller boy with inky hair eyes them with curiosity. They are followed close by a blonde woman in a black dress.

"Kuroo-san!” The first boy yells and runs to them. “What are you doing here? And why are you wet? Is Kenma around?”

”Why aren’t you lost, Shrimpy?” Kuroo rasps.

“Ah, yes, we were lost. But then Saeko-neesan found us. She gave us some food and she was about to take us back to the city.”

Kuroo groans loudly as Daichi starts laughing. He usually would be upset, but he trusts Kuroo is angry enough for the two of them.

"It’s rare to see you around here, Kuroo.” The blond woman stalks closer. “Did you want something?

"Yes!” Kuroo roars, his voice similar to a panther’s even in human form. “I want to skin Yamamoto alive!”

At that, Daichi laughs harder.

#kurodai #kurodaiweek2k17 #kurodaiweek #day 3 #poteto writing

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amer-ainu · 7 years

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First Fish - First People, Traditional Ainu Life: Living off the Interest

Kayano Shigeru Translated from Japanese by Jane Coddry Langill with Rie Taki

To the kind readers of this book, Shigeru Kayano sends his warmest greetings from the large island at the north of Japan known in the Japanese language as Hokkaido and know in the language of Ainu people who have lived here for centuries as Ainu Moshir, “the peaceful land of the people.”

In the Ainu language, the word ainu means “human,” and it could only be applied to a respectable human being, so the word ainu was very important in our society.

But after the Japanese began their colonial invasion of Hokkaido, our Ainu Moshir, the once-proud designation came to be seen as discriminatory. We ourselves did not like to be called “ainu,” and even the Japanese were reluctant to say the word.

This was quite unfortunate, but today we are gradually coming to understand the true meaning of Ainu, and the situation is slowly improving.

The Ainu word for salmon is shipe. It comes from shi-e-pe, which means “the real thing we eat,” - our staple food. As the name suggests, salmon was the principal part of the Ainu diet, and it was caught and eaten with care. In particular, when we caught salmon before they spawned we took only the amount we needed to eat that day. One reason is that before they have laid their eggs salmon are very fatty, so if split and dried they turn brown with the fat and taste bad, no matter how they are prepared. Knowing this well, the Ainu never caught salmon before they had spawned if they intended to preserve the fish.

This practice was based on long experience and cooperation with nature, and in the years when Ainu managed the rivers and fish, they ate only the “interest” on the returning fish, so there was never a worry about the “capital” of main stock of fish disappearing.

But then, from the mainland of Japan to the west, the people we called the Wajin moved in like a landslide, without offering so much as a word of greeting to the Ainu people.

The Japanese who immigrated into our land in overwhelming numbers unilaterally imposed a ban on the harvest of salmon, an act of Ainu-killing foolishness that robbed our people of the right to a living, and thereby the right to life.

Forbidden to catch their staple food, the Ainu fell into indescribable hardship, with many starving to death. This accelerated the precipitous decline in the population.

When I was a child, our fathers secretly caught salmon in the dead of night, cooked it right away and fed it to the children. We were warned that if a stranger ever asked us if we ate salmon, we must not admit to it. In other words, to children of my generation, salmon was a food to be eaten in secret.

For human beings, the right to live is closely akin to the right to eat, so whoever you may be, you do not have the right to deprive others of their staple food.

Nevertheless, the Japanese invaded the land of the Ainu, calmly took from the indigenous Ainu their main food, and even made catching salmon a crime – poaching – subject to arrest. Similarly, taking a single tree from our forest was also made a crime – timber theft – also grounds for arrest.

I would like to tell a personal story which took place around 1932. One day, the old wooden door to my house was rattled open. A policeman stepped inside, looked at my father and said, “Shall we go, Seitaro?”

My father prostrated himself on the floor and said, “Yes, I’m coming.” Without raising his head, he let large tears fall onto the wooden floorboards.

I witnessed this as a very young child, not yet a schoolboy. My first reaction was, “An adult is crying!” My next thought was “Tears are falling where I can’t see his eyes!” But most upsetting to me was what happened next.

My father was being taken away by the police for catching salmon, the fish he caught and told us to eat without ever telling anyone, the fish you weren’t allowed to catch. As my father was being led away, I ran after him, sobbing. I remember this as clearly as if it were yesterday, and the memory always brings tears to my eyes.

More than seventy years have passed since my father was led off, but today, Ainu rights to salmon are not yet recognized, and if we attempt to catch a single fish without permission, we can be arrested.

According to the December 1995 issue of the Hokkaido News, approximately fifty-two million salmon were caught off the shores of Hokkaido that year, and the November 1997 issue of the same paper reported that the annual harvest had been forty-seven million.

Of all these millions of salmon, the number legally allowed to the Ainu community living in Noboribetsu was five fish, and until a few years ago, the number legally caught by all the Ainu is Sapporo was twenty fish.

Whenever I talk about the small number of fish that can be legally caught, my acquaintances say, “But Kayano-san, if you would just fill out the application forms, you could get permission to catch fish,” But to this I reply: Ainu should be allowed to catch salmon freely in our homeland without any paperwork!

From the age of the gods, from the age of the ancestors, the Ainu people have lived on salmon. So I raise my voice to say the Japanese who invaded our land and stole our fish, “Give us back our staple food!”

I have taken out my passport and traveled to foreign lands some twenty-two times, and I always make a point of meeting with the people who are indigenous inhabitants of the place I am visiting.

I have learned that some kind of treaty was usually made between indigenous peoples and the Europeans who came to colonize, although these treaties were not perfect and were not often honored.

By contrast, there is not even a scrap of a treaty between the nation of Japan and the Ainu people. Instead the “Former Aboriginal Protection Act” was unilaterally imposed in 1899 in the name of protecting the “unenlightened” Ainu.

That law remained part of the Constitution of Japan for nearly a century before it was removed just this past July 1, 1997.

At the same time as the “Former Aboriginal Protection Act” was removed, a new law was promulgated with the rather lengthy title title of “Law Concerning the Promotion of Ainu Culture and Dissemination and Preservation of Knowledge Concerning Ainu Traditions.”

More popularly known as the “Ainu Culture Promotion Law,” this act focuses primarily on the transmission of Ainu language from the remaining speakers to young inheritors of the traditions, and some progress is now being made in this area.

While if goes without saying that language is extremely important in the transmission of culture, I would like to say that Ainu should be able to catch salmon freely for the sake of transmission of our food culture.

One salmon catching tool of the Ainu that I believe may be unique in the world is the marep, a spear with a revolving hook. The marep is just one of some fifteen special salmon-catching tools and devices we have developed.

I should also mention that there are at least two dozen traditional ways of preparing salmon to eat, and these traditions must not be lost. Only by going to the river and catching fish with our own hands, using our own tools, can Ainu begin to understand our traditional food culture.

So for this reason as well, I would like the Ainu to gain back the right to catch salmon, the staple food of our culture from the age of the gods, the age of ancestors.

I have explained that when catching salmon, we took only enough fatty salmon with eggs to eat that same day. We also harvested, split and dried salmon to help us through the long winter months. For this we only took fish that had already fulfilled their mission. The leaner flesh of these fish was not quite as tasty, but more than adequate for preservation. In other words, the Ainu took from nature the optimal amount and type of fish to feed themselves without damaging the fish runs. This practice of “living off the interest” of the natural world is an attitude that perhaps we can embrace in our modern society.

The Ainu of old considered nature to be sacred because they saw the sea, the rivers and mountains as divine storehouses of food. If they wanted to eat fish, they ran to the rivers or the sea. If they wanted to eat meat, they went to the mountain forests.

For this reason they celebrated the god of the sea, Atuykorkamuy; the god of the mountain forests, Shirkorkamuy; and the god of river waters, Wakkauskamuy. These gods fed us with food from nature and kept us alive.

No sensible person would destroy or pollute their own food storehouse (nature), and the Ainu people have always been acutely aware of this.

As I write today, in December of 1997, I look at the natural world around me and see dams on the rivers all over Hokkaido, many considered unnecessary by experts, and many with no passage for fish. In so many of the streams of my homeland, not a single salmon can swim upstream.

It is as if we have felled a massive timber across the mouth of each river, a barrier which fish cannot cross. As I am fond of saying, there are hungry creatures waiting upstream – the fox, the crow, the owl, the bear, the ainu. For their sake – for our sake – we should move these “timbers” that are blocking the rivers.

When human beings, myself included, continue to contribute to the ongoing destruction of nature, it reminds me of an old teaching. If we look up into the face of heaven and spit, we can expect it back in our own faces.

Kind readers in foreign lands, I appeal for your support in restoring to my Ainu people the right to catch salmon freely and thereby to preserve our traditions of food culture. I also urge you to come and visit in my home village of Nibutani in Biratori, Hokkaido. As we say in Ainu, i-yay-rayke-re. Thank you, very much!

#Ainu #Ainu Mosir #Ainu Moshir #Kayano Shigeru #Shigeru Kayano #Indigenous #salmon culture #fish culture #food culture #Hokkaido #Japan #Japanese

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