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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 5 months

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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part six - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: gore ; violence against women ; death ; vomiting

“This actually looks great,” she says while covering up the slash in his gut with less gauze than it usually needs. “It’s much smaller.”

He hums. It feels better, too. Her magic touch has given him the ability to breathe and eat and move without horrible pain.

She remembers when she first saw him and thought he had pale skin, but she realizes now that that sallow color was because he was in agony and probably dancing tiptoes around sepsis. He turns more golden-toned by the day as he heals.

“Bet you can’t wait to get out of here and move around more,” she comments, pulling his shirt back down. He savors the feeling of plump, gentle fingers brushing his skin.

While the thought of a good stretch and a couple hundred crunches to bring back his wasting body does sound good, he dreads the thought of not being able to see her again. He would have to start fights on purpose - accrue broken limbs and bloody wounds - just to get back down here. It doesn’t sound so bad. He’s used to getting the shit beat out of him, after all, and, if it’s on his own terms, staying handcuffed to a bed and injured is a fair trade for seeing his nurse.

“I would like to feel the sun,” he says, honest enough.

She places her hand on his shoulder. Even through the cotton fabric of his shirt, he feels the comfort of her skin. He leans a bit into her touch. “You will,” she says softly.

What good is feeling the sun, though, if she is still underground?

It’s 4PM. She’s usually asleep right now, but she picked up an afternoon shift and plans to work 16 hours until 7 AM the next morning. Usually, pick up shifts are the shittiest ones, but John is her patient again and she has an easy assignment. Plus, free lunch today for all staff and no Benny.

You can’t get much better than this.

She sits down to chart with her deli sandwich by her side, and notices that no one is in the hallway, which is strange for this time of day. It’s a bad idea, to just shrug that off, but she finds herself lolled into a false sense of security.

It’s the shiny red hue that catches her eye. Everything is so white and grey in here that it’s hard to miss the bright liquid puddling on the floor around a corner. She blinks, rubs her eyes, convinced that it’s a trick of sleep deprivation at first.

She gets up, pushes in her chair out of habit and because she’s afraid to walk over and look.

See enough dead bodies - stuff enough of them in bags while you’re busy and overworked - and it becomes natural not to balk at them. This is not the kind of dead body she’s used to.

It’s a guard, she can tell by the dark blue uniform, but his face is bludgeoned in so much that he’s unrecognizable. A spike of brown hair sticks up from the black and purple viscera that is his face.

Blobs of pale flesh dot the floor around his body.

She fights the urge to vomit on his corpse, swings around the corner and presses her back to the wall with her hand over her mouth so she doesn’t have to look or scream.

It takes her a moment of holding back bile to remember that there’s a code button on the desk at the nurse’s station. She tries to run to it but her feet feel like anchors and she doesn’t make it two sluggish steps before there’s a gun pressed to her face.

“Hello nurse,” the rogue inmate greets. “I think you should sit.”

She looks at the blood speckled floor, hesitates, he taps the barrel on her cheek. “Sit.”

It’s cold down here, but she barely feels it, too consumed by the adrenaline that comes with having a gun level with your brain.

She hears loud shouting from somewhere down the hallway. The man with the gun kneels down beside her, shading himself behind the desk. “Shut up, or I’ll fucking kill you,” he hisses, droplets of sour spit landing on her cheek.

More shouting, gun shots, yelling. Footsteps running in the opposite direction.

The guard gets on his heels to peak over the counter, and she watches the gun bob sideways in his hand. There’s barely enough time to contemplate taking it before he’s trying to haul her up by the arm.

“Come the fuck on!” He hisses as she tries to stand quickly on slow, shaking legs and stumbles forward.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” There’s another inmate. The only thing she notices about this one is that he’s bigger.

“This is called leverage,” the man holding her arm tells the other, jerking her again.

“That’s called liability weighing you down.” The other one doesn’t have a gun that she can see.

“So kill her?”

Her heart blips.

“I don’t give a shit.”

“I got keys.” This from another prisoner behind them.

The two others look at him like he’s an idiot.

His eyes widen when he sees her. “Thought you locked them all up?”

“We had to kill one,” gunman says, looking directly at her. “They got violent.”

It would be comical if she were watching this in a movie. Three prisoners bumbling around and arguing about what to do with a stray nurse.

“I think we should use her, they’re not gonna shoot us if we’re holding the gun to her head.”

“If she were a tiny girl, I’d say sure,” the other argues, “but making sure she stays with you is more trouble than she’s worth.”

“So lock her up,” third inmate shrugs.

“Too much time. Give me the gun and I’ll kill her.” The bigger of the three tries to reach for the gun but gets the barrel pointed at his head instead.

“Get your own,” he growls.

John grabs the biggest one by the back of the neck and smashes the front of his neck with heavy metal. His whole body folds in half, and, as he goes down, his face smashes off John’s knee.

Her eyes are focused on the blood pouring from his nose and mouth instead of the fight happening between John and the other men.

He twists a wrist until it breaks, grabs the gun, and then her attention is back on the fight when the shot goes off into the guys head. As quick as the bullet is out of the barrel, John is aiming at the other man and pulling the trigger. The gun clicks empty. He uses it to hit the other man in the face while the metal tube clears his feet out from under him.

The original gunman tries to grab him, but he’s too quick. He brings the metal to his temple and smashes again.

She watches him join his colleagues on the red concrete.

Then she mistakenly looks up at her savior and remembers why you never meet your heroes.

Handcuffed to that bed, he had begun to seem so docile and helpless. Standing here in front of her with blood - not his own - splattering his face, he is tall, broad, angry, unchained, transformed into something bestial.

She feels herself hit the wall without realizing she’s been backing away from him.

Blood pounds so hard in her ears she has to focus when he talks, but something about the way he speaks tells her that she needs to listen like her life depends on it.

The commanding baritone of his voice captures her like a deer in headlights.

He says her name and grips the metal in his hand harder. Her eyes dart from the makeshift weapon back to his face. She tries to swallow the dryness in her mouth.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” She squeaks, gripping at the wall.

“Are. You. Okay?” John takes a few steps toward her and she cowers under his massive shadow.

“I.. I don’t know.”

He loses patience, stalks up to her. She braces for impact by screwing her eyes shut and turning her head.

Leaden, calloused fingers touch her face without harmful intent, spreading a feeling into her skin that makes her shiver despite the furnace of his touch. She opens her eyes, looks up at him, and sees he is focused on her left cheek where a bruise is almost faded away.

“Tell me,” he presses, using three fingers on her chin to turn her eyes level with his own.

“I’m okay,” she whispers.

Loud shots pop down the hallway. Two prisoners round the corner with guns in their hands, running so fast they hit the opposite wall and tumble into one another.

John’s head snaps to the commotion. The two men lock eyes with him. She tries to shrink back into herself, become invisible, but it doesn’t work and they see her, too. Here she is, caught in the middle of a prison riot in her baby blue scrubs, a fragile case of soft meat ready to be pulverized.

“Is that your hostage?” One of the men asks, motioning toward her with the gun.

John turns around to face them while pressing her back into the wall behind him.

He smells like sweat and metal and damp earth. She becomes sandwiched between his balmy body and the freezing wall, overwhelmed and unable to breathe with any sort of stability.

“Can we borrow her?” The other asks. Neither of them stop walking toward John. She can’t see around or above him but she hears the thick footsteps of them getting closer.

Five guards run around the corridor, guns raised.

He is perfectly still, her human shield, almost as if he is building up or waiting for something. She tries to stay just as still as him while tucked behind his body like a coward.

“Put your weapons do-“ the security guard can’t finish his sentence before a bullet bites into the flesh of his shoulder. Messy shot from one of the inmates. Blood rains, and John moves.

Most of the things he does are too fast for her to see, but the crunch of bone is unmistakable when he twists an inmate’s arm around until it snaps and grabs the gun from his limp hand.

The man screams, drops to his knees. His companion swears, scrambles, points his weapon at John, but there’s already a palm slammed into the bones of his nose. Another sickening crack. She fights the urge to vomit.

It’s like the guards have as much trouble seeing his movement as she does, because they are dropping and screaming and wild-eyed. It’s hard to understand what’s happening to them until she sees blood flowing and spurting from bullet holes in lower limbs.

Eleven men on the ground, and John still stands unharmed.

Ringing ears, the steady roll of hot blood, screaming. Bodies.

Loud, sudden sirens rip her from the heavy descent of shock. She snaps back into reality when John grabs her arm and pulls.

A millisecond later, he tosses her into a treatment room, slams and locks the door. Gunshots ring in muffled sequence behind her.

She wonders what is wrong with her, why she can’t find moving legs underneath her. She feels slow again, almost like she’s trying to get somewhere important in a dream and unconscious gravity is weighing her down with debilitating force.

She slides down to the floor, puts her head in her hands, the room tilts and distorts around her. She shuts her eyes as tight as she can, but she still feels like she’s riding a tiny boat in a huge, angry ocean. She leans to the side and vomits from sea sickness.

Bile splatters up from the floor onto her scrubs and hair and skin.

She puts her head down to stop the spinning, folds into her own body for some kind of comfort. At least she doesn’t realize that she’s crying right now.

John presses himself into an alcove, reloads, thinks. It takes a second. He catches his breath. How does he get her out of here? He can’t leave her in the infirmary. Someone with enough force can easily break down the door that she’s behind and get in. If he drags her along while he fights through the prison, that’s still her neck on a silver platter no matter if he’s confident he can protect her or not.

He could barricade himself in the room with her, wait for things to settle, but he doesn’t know how long this will last. He guesses two to three days at most before enough people are dead that the police can infiltrate and kill the rest. Too much waiting for something to go wrong. This has to be quick. If he didn’t have to keep one eye on the door he left her behind, he could easily incapacitate everyone in here in decent time. If he brings her with him, he can’t do things efficiently or quietly. It will have to be succinct, sparing, a running sprint - he will hurt her from the manhandling he will have to use in order to keep her major organs and arteries safe.

At least she’ll be alive.

No more disabling shots, now. He can’t afford them. Lethal hits: head, femoral, mesenteric, radial arteries.

He exits from the bloodbath into her clean room, shuts the door, leans down and grabs her shoulders. He measures. Carrying her, although viable, would slow him down and make him sloppy. He calls her name, makes her look at him.

Sick stains the corner of her mouth and her clothes and she looks like she already got the piss beat out of her.

“John,” she says like a tiny, terrified child, huddling away from him.

He grimaces. Her shell-shocked stare makes his heart burn. He pulls her into his lap, smooths her hair. She resists initially because of fear, but easily gives and sobs into his chest. He holds her to quell the screaming child. He understands this cry all too well.

“Listen to me,” he tells her, and immediately she quiets.

His voice captivates the chaos, brings her down into the atmosphere. She clutches at him, urging him to keep talking, tell her it’s going to be okay.

“I’m going to get you out. But you have to stay beside me, keep calm, and do as I say.”

“What about you?” She asks. “Are you getting out?”

He looks at her incredulously, baffled by the concern she still has for him despite everything she has just seen him do.

He doesn’t know why it takes him this long, why the realization just hits him now. Sitting here with her holding onto him like he’s the only thing securing her to the earth, and It’s right there in her face, as clear as spring water. She is completely infatuated with him.

He tilts his head down at her, studies the look on her face, memorizes it, tucks it away for later, then does something irrational and born from basic instinct and ancestral need.

She doesn’t understand why he’s wiping the vomit off her mouth until his lips touch hers. She stills, pulls back for a minute, but he grabs the side of her neck and holds, takes. She gives. There is no prison, no violence, no fight here once her mouth agrees with his own.

He tastes like copper and sweat. His tongue is as much of a weapon as his hands are. It pushes past her lips and tangles in her mouth.

Life pulses weak and out of focus, a dying heart in the background of their embrace, until he releases his grip and she pulls away.

Her heart tries to run out of her chest, and she’s not sure if it means to flee toward or away from him.

She’s suddenly very aware of her body invading his space. He is solid and strong; lean, long thighs supportive under her bottom. She still feels self-conscious, though, wonders if he thinks she’s too heavy and is just too polite to say so. At the same time, she’s clinging to him so tightly that she thinks he’s the only thing holding her down to earth.

He cradles her cheek in his palm, keeps her eyes on him. “You follow me, you listen to me, you let me put you where I want you. Understand?”

She nods, eyes wide, brought back into the present by his pressing tone.

“What are you doing?” He asks, urging her to repeat his demands.

“Following you, listening to you, going where you want me to go.”

“No,” he says, “staying where I put you.”

She looks confused.

“If I put you on my back, you stay there. If I shove you into a corner, you stay there, if I pull you, you keep up, even if your feet drag and your body hurts. You move how I move you.”

“I’ll slow you down.”

“You will if you don’t listen to me,” he corrects.

“Just leave me-“

He cuffs her on the cheek, not enough to hurt, enough to stop her from talking and startle her.

But it does hurt, the faintest sting on her already sensitive skin, and she recoils, scared. He pulls her back. “Do you understand me?” He punctuates her name.

“Yes.” It is a quiet whimper from her mouth.

It’s hard to watch people die, even more difficult if the person you admire is doing the killing. He’s been through this, what she experiences now. Reluctance to kill turns into blood lust while trust and reliance turn into trepidation.

Even though they are traveling up, it feels like a journey to hell. He murders easier than he breathes. Limbs are twigs, heads are targets, and she feels like a suitcase that he has to carry around a busy airport

She wishes this were a quick blur, but instead the fighting and the screaming seem to move in slow motion. John does what he says he’s going to do, and she experiences every bit of his raw strength as he pulls and pushes her body. At one point she feels envious of the dying men because at least they only get a few seconds of his fury before it ends.

And as much as he attempts not to hurt her, he fails. Still, when they get out into the dying wintery sun, she holds onto him. Bruises are forming on her arms and her collar, her light blue scrubs are scuffed with dirt and blood, and her face turned from crying to stoic and lightless a long while ago.

He takes her phone from her pocket while they sit on the curb and his warm arm wraps around her shoulders while he dials 911. Her blunt nails dig through his shirt into skin as she clings.

“You did good,” he says. “You’ll be okay.”

She hears him, but she’d rather cling harder than answer. She’ll only be okay if he stays with her.

He cringes in her silence, pulls her closer, ass numbing on the freezing wet sidewalk.

He grabs her ruddy blue hands and tucks both under one of his own. As the city sun goes down and leaves them in shadow, her shivering increases. Just as he’s about to carry her to warmth, the ambulance and police arrive outside the prison.

She knows he has to go, so she holds him tighter. He untangles her hands, kisses her on the head, and then he’s gone like he never existed in the first place.

She looks for him in the crowd of people that surround her and flash lights into her eyes and ask her if she’s okay. She searches even as she’s being loaded into the back of an ambulance. As they drive away, she watches them bust down the prison doors and wonders where John Wick has gone.

#john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #john wick x plus size reader #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic

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bloodycassian · 3 years

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IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE - QUICK ONEOFF READER X AZRIEL +

From the day you were chosen by the heretics, you hadn't known peace. Chosen perhaps wasn't the correct term. Stolen in the night as if you were a prized horse was better. Over the torturous years, you'd learned to manage the pain well. On days like these though... it made you long for the place you'd once called home.

Plucking the sharp quills from your arms, you readied for the trek into the forest. The hot springs weren't too far off, but in pain, and sore... it made the walk much worse. The poison in your system, you began trudging through the light dusting of snow on the ground.

Once you'd plucked all the poison tipped quills from your puckered skin, you took off the damp clothes you'd been wearing for a week straight. The steam rising from the water melted the light snow that floated down. It was nearly searing hot, but it burned away the aching deep in your bones. It filled something inside you with a sort of joy that reminded you of home.

The small bloody holes where the quills had been healed quickly, but left your arms itching. The half Fae magic always had its downsides. Sure, there were perks, but anytime you actually attempted to use the ''powers'' you had been 'given' by the Mother, it always went wrong.

You didn't consider it a gift anyway. It was a curse that landed you with the heretics of the north. They had heard your call, sensed your power...and struck at nightfall. The screams of your village still rang through your mind at night. Bitter curiosity pricked your mind, and reluctantly.. you followed its call. Raising your hands from the water, you summoned it to follow you. It was a strain, but thankfully the rising droplets obeyed your command. You let it fall, and the splash from the droplets were near freezing cold. It splattered on your face, drawing a gasp from you. Tears stung your eyes, the heat of anger pulsed in your veins. The rising steam from the bath around you stopped. Your body went cold.

+ Azriel heard the screams before the cold, bone chilling noise of ice cracking. And he started running. Adrenaline pumping through him, his wings ached to carry him where he needed to go. But he knew flying would likely get him caught by any nearby forces he was stalking.

The scene he came upon would have taken the air from his lungs if he had any. He panted from the run, slicked in sweat even though the cold wind nipped at his angular face. He stared, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

A woman- no... a female. Naked, blasting flame from her palms and setting a pile of dead trees on fire. Her delicately pointed ears were similar to his own, and the dark look and scars she carried made him think she may have been Illyrian if it weren't for the feathered wings instead of leather ones.

His hand lingered on the hilt of his sword, not knowing how to proceed. He sent his shadows out, to their delight. They whisked around the female, doin their damndest to get a read on her. And they skittered back when she turned, pointing those blazing flames at them instead. Her lips were blue, and gods... her body..

Azriel's throat dried up at the sight. And his hand fell from his weapon. She was shaking, and seemingly in no shape to be fighting. The damaged wings on her back prickled with ice forming on the tips of each feather. "What are you?" She demanded, settling those flames back into her palms. She never let them rest though, on guard. Ready for an attack. Azriel noted the way she didn't bother to hide herself, but her eyes scanned him, top to bottom. Taking in those wings, the weapons he holistereed. And her lingering stare at the shadows that swirled at his feet made him feel naked as well.

"I'm a shadowsinger." He said casually, luring you in to ask more. To lower that guard and speak to him, gods did he want to know what the hell you were. "And you are?" He put on the tone he'd heard Rhys use a million times over the years, trying his best to throw on his brother's mask of seductiveness laced with danger.

You scoffed, and lowered those glowing hands. "Nothing. I am nothing."

"That show of power may disagree with you."

"And what of it?

"You could be of use. A power like yours could turn the tide in this war." He knew he was revealing too much, knew that he was risking your life by telling you. But he also knew that anyone who knew of the threats in this forest wouldn't be out here bathing. That is... unless they were aware of it... and didn't care.

"What war?" You asked, trying to hide the chattering of your teeth. The shadowsinger's face revealed surprise - only for a flash of a second. He held out his hand, ignoring every instinct that screamed at him to stop, to turn around and leave... and with a devilish voice he spoke "I can show you." +

#reader x azriel #azriel x reader #acotar fic

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papers4me · 3 years

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Fruits Basket, Se03. ep 6.(Part 1)

The main female protagonist who, has been the “mother /psychiatrist/ fixer/curse-breaker” for 57 eps & 2 seasons, has finally had her own “I’m a real person with my own issues” ep !!!! YESS! So happy!!! also, so underwhelmed. Tohru has been painted to be this utterly selfless & altruistic character for long, that when she’s finally a balanced character it’s presented in half an episode? Don’t get me wrong, I like the ep, but there’s also the same feeling of bullet train that I felt in momiji’s ep! ugh!! I hated that feeling! Go away~ oh well.. I’ll quickly state what I didn’t like, before jumping into what I liked, in order to end with a happier note~

What I didn’t like:

Tohru’s monologue after leaving shigure & Isuzu felt more like a background exposition more than a true character’s thoughts. The reason is that It is quickly narrated with quick flashbacks from the past with intentional pieces missing from the flashback. Pieces like” how did Kyoko hurt tohru? She said to kyo, in se02, ep “ I feel like I’ve only caused her sadness” & tohru’s flashbacks in se02 of her mother leaving/ closing a door. All these things not included in tohru’s 1st ever personal monologue made it seem like quick fill in for the audience more than tohru’s main struggle. Compare it to Yuki’s 3 ep monologue in se02, filled with all his own background info, hence, we as audience sit back & just feel. With tohru a little brain work is needed of putting things together in the puzzle is needed because NOTHING abt her trauma has ever been explained to us prior to her monologue . Also, compare this kyo. A character who ONLY have 2 eps dedicated to him in 57 eps, yet even without monologues & with hidden secrets for climax purposes, his emotions are clear cuz his background was explained early in se01, ep24 & se02, ep9. Compared to them both, her monologue felt a bit lacking.

What’s up with the following scene? Her crying & kyo comforting her mid-street. He saw her crying, asked what’s wrong & she couldn’t say & he gave her a comforting advice. All good. Kyo always give the most needed advice for tohru to be herself & feel comforted. Se01, “complain more, be selfish” Se02, somen table scene & asking her abt her future plans & the hiro incident. Kyo has tried to guess whats wrong first. Here he saw her cry in the middle of the street & just gave her an advice? couldn’t he at least guess wrongly if it is her granpa? school? anything? This scene is AMAZING but it feels off a little.

Kyo’s “ now I remember” EXCUSE ME?????? se01, ep14, valentine ep, he got a nightmare, then when shigure talked to him, we saw a quick flashback that we didn’t now what it is but now it IS kyoko. se02, the entirety of ep9 & the “ I won’t forgive you” & the flashback of young him with kyoko talking abt tohru. se02, ep 22 his fight with yuki & the clear face of kyoko telling him abt something regarding the hat. His entire shutdown of tohru IS abt kyoko NOT abt him being a monster cuz tohru accepted monster kyo in se01 ep 24! so.. REMEMBER WHAT????? the accident?? I feel like being hit with a rock. I mean, it makes sense that kyo will get PTSD after seeing the hat, cuz he remembers the bloody accident vividly. But it is the dialogue that IS weird. “ I remember” ?? it makes no sense? unless it is another hidden secret & will be revealed later. If so, then forget this point.

Kagura (more on her below). Now, let’s talk abt what I liked!

-Grief (the most difficult theme to express in literature): Excellent writing!

Grief is one of the most diverse human emotions. ppl who grief a loved one either erase everything abt them in order to cope with the pain of loss & live on, or drastically engrave everything, not want any memory to slip away, or hold the deceased on a pedestal, or hate them irrationally in order to forget abt them, some deny that the loved one is gone, others talk to them daily, some act & live normally for years & suddenly it hits them that this loved person is truly gone & they breakdown. Others, direct their disbelief of losing a precious one into the envy that other bad ppl are still living, why my precious one is dead?. Thats why, it is a difficulty emotion to understand by others. Ppl watching you will always think that comforting you is enough & that the longer you take, the more impatient they are with you. Tell me, watching tohru this ep, didn’t you feel that:

Come on. tohru, you can love your mom & kyo! who says only ONE person can be your precious?

Umm, why she cries for her mom NOW? 2 years after her death? Is she over it already?

Tohru~~ your mom aint going no where cuz you loved a guy? she’s in your heart, girl. Ugh!

Compared to yuki who was abused by his parents & kyo whose mom commit suicide in front of him, tohru’s trauma is meh~

Feeling this way abt tohru is exactly how many feel abt ppl struggling with grief. You are NOT a bad person if you felt this way. It means that thankfully you weren’t struck by grief to tohru’s extent or that your grief went about differently than tohru. Grief is a crippling feeling. It is valid, strong, overwhelming, paralyzing & above all very unique to the person themselves. Tohru feeling that her mom is slipping away from her memory is so realistic & utterly heartbreaking. Grief hurts & moving on from grief hurts more!!!! The more you go on & live your life, the more you feel like you betray your loved one.

Tohru’s entire existence is for her mother & so her mother LIVES inside her:

Finishing high school cuz it’s her mother’s request.

Getting a job to sustain herself cuz she has no one to support her financially.

Giving her mom’s wisdom & teachings abt life to others.

imitating her dad’s speaking style to prevent her mom from “leaving”.

Being the perfect girl in order to portray that her mom, who is a gangster & is hinted by the ugly relatives to be unfaithful to her husband due to tohru not taking after her dad, actually raised a respectful girl!

Talking to a dead cold lifeless picture as if it is a living human being & going into panic attacks when she looses such pictures.

Suppressing all her true “ ugly, negative” emotions & only giving the fake smiles & positive attitude.

She fears that ppl will leave her if she isn’t “comforting, happy”, hence, the whole facade of “ i’m okay, I’m okay”.

Immersing her self in ppl’s issues so she won’t face her own feelings of utter loneliness, fear of the future, & being left behind when everybody moves on with their lives.

Thinking that having selfish desires contradicts the “ hopeful, kind” girl images, hence, the fear to actually wants sth for herself. Everything HAS TO BE for the sake of the others.

Tohru is deeply traumatized & her complex, unhealthy but extremely realistic attachment to her mom must be broken. Tohru must learn to LET GO.

-Kagura’s character’s assassination. aka (violence heals y’all!)

The show wanted to express the emotion that kagura is still in love with kyo, but is learning to let go & accepting kyo/tohru love. I love that. Her speech with kazuma abt not being able to face tohru cuz her face will show her emotions is so relatable & it hit ME personally. Loved that. Then, she learns that tohru truly loves kyo & should confess to him not talk to Isuzu & I get that, it make sense that she lashes on thru & teach her the value of being open abt your feelings & dont loose him. all cool & understandable. BUT:

How dare you slap tohru like that? you don’t know what she’s going through? tohru is wearing funeral clothes for God’s sake! she just visited her dead mom, you insensitive woman! How dare you assume that all tohru is struggling with is love love, romance romance yay~ confess, kiss, be happy?

Tohru & kyo’s issues are deeper than typical, normal, shallow shojo love. It is related to child trauma & abuse. To their own individual identity & self-image! Their romantic love is meant to guide them towards better choices for the future, not magically heal everything. Their mutual love is NOT the answer to their issues.

How dare you slap someone to make them go back to their senses? this is such an anime move! ugh!~ it cheapens the emotional weight of character’s emotions.

“ I’m not apologizing to tohru. We communicate thro fists” excuse me? you arent even communicating with kyo thro fists! he sees you & run! the only time he thanked you for, was when you didn’t “ communicate thro fists” & played with him as a child! Not only make her hit tohru but not apologize??

No one told her off? are you foreal?? Isuzu pouting lips is no match for Isuzu powerful emotions when she’s embarrassed, & kazuma! where you at? Happy at the “ open confrontation”? Why do you kill kagura’s character like that?

Side Notes:

I hate how this went by in half an ep like they did with machi!! tohru is THE main character for God’s sake! But it looks like the show is not so fond of the true tohru who wants stuff & screams & talks to herself, alas she isn’t the angelic, innocent girl that is saturating the heck out of all shojo amines. Oh well~ perhaps tohru’s issues will be visited again in the finale?

Kyo gets PTSD reaction in front of tohru. great. Now what’s next? I won’t ever forgive the anime if next ep, kyo & tohru are all normal or worse the episodic theme prevents the continuation & jumps elsewhere. Nearly all the eps that didn’t end with a happy note, started the next ep somewhere & totally forgot the cliff hanger. such as, Isuzu’s ep in se02, it ended with tohru’s nightmare & next ep started yuki’s issues with tohru all smiley & bright. Another example, the Cinderella play ended with kyo/tohru torn symbolism where each is awkward with the other, next ep machi !!!!!! & kyo/ tohru all normal in kazuma’s house. But this time, it will be an epic mistake to do the same. Kyo going full traumatic in front of tohru to the point of her screaming is not sth you skip & start over erasing. Don’t disappoint me show! you can’t screw that, can you?

I love the symbolism of kyoko disappearing from the picture & the crack of her framed pic at the end with it still continued in he ED. Good job.

They are building for a hug clashing scene between kyo & tohtu. it must hurt. It is designed to hurt. I wanted it to hurt. It is not abt romance. It is abt mental & emotional trauma. I’m excited. But I’m scared. After today’s ep, I can confidently say I don’t trust the director. I’m an anime-only, but tohru’s part in the story is the least touched upon, the quickest to get over with & has the wackiest animation. They just don’t know how to depict an emotional tohru~ sigh~

Tohru is written to be a unique protagonist in the sea of innocent, selfless & always happy shojo heroine & opposed to the badass, physically strong female protag in shonen. She is the most realistic, but so much of her potential is wasted so far~~

“ saving the sohma’s. breaking the curse for others is a lie, in reality I wanted to do it for kyo” This line is supposed to be liberating for tohru cuz for once she is putting herself FIRST! It is not abt kyo. It is abt herself! it is cuz SHE wants him. See the difference? See how this line gives tohru the biggest character development!! but still sth is missing. I duno..

I have lots to say abt tohru, kyo, shigure, the grandpa, kyoko, Isuzu & even kazuma! I’ll do that in part 2.

I still liked the ep tho. It is solid. I”ll like it MORE if they continued from here & didn’t cut it cold.

#Fruits Basket #Anime Only #Exhausted paper #final season #Tohru Honda

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poesparakeet-fics · 3 years

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The hurt/comfort fill from the prompt votes. (Accepting submissions re: names. The prompt Olympics? But you don't really vote for the Olympics. Idk. Help.)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Summary:

After the Mighty Nein are saved by some of Caleb’s most dangerous spell craft, they’re left to nurse their repeatedly self-sacrificing wizard back to health. In the end, they give him everything he asks for and more. For his own good, of course.

This one’s SFW, so the whole text is under the break. Or go read it on AO3! You have options!

The Nuclear Option

For once, the Mighty Nein were ready.

They knew what the spell could do. They’d run drills on how to use it, this hair-trigger safety net of destruction. Caleb made them practice the dry-run over and over. So when it happened for real, this time, they were ready. Unlike most of the plans the Mighty Nein concocted, this one went off without a hitch.

They were a mile underground if they were an inch. More chittering voices were flooding in from all sides. Beau and Veth were down, balanced in a still-raging Yasha’s arms as she tore herself away from battle at the sound of Caleb’s voice.

“Nein! Gather!”

With Yasha carrying the two unconscious women, they all made it to his side, grouped carefully close with Caleb at the centre, hands pressed over their ears.

“Foris” The incantation was followed by a moment of vacuous silence, like all the sound had been sucked out of the air. Light seemed to collect on Caleb’s skin until he was a pillar of radiance, and then–

Boom.

The sound rattled in their skulls even as they were magically sucked away from it. All the air was gone, it was hard to breath, each heartbeat could be felt in their temples. Then relief. Breathing and tumbling onto soft carpet. Jester was crying. Caduceus was doing a headcount.

“We’re good,” He pants, “we have everyone. Here, uh, I’ve just got little stuff but we can rest now.” He started to cast, and Beau’s eyes fluttered open while Yasha kissed her hair.

“Don’t use them on Caleb!” Jester cried, “Don’t forget, they’ll hurt him!”

“No, no, just these two. Someone put the wizard in a bed, get the water boiling…” He cast on Veth, too, who popped up a moment later.

Mollymauk, perhaps the most hurt out of all those who made the trip conscious, collapsed on his back on one of the hearthside furs with a pained groan. Yasha crawled over a moment later, leaving a recovering Beau to gulp from a waterskin. She laid her hands on him, and a few of his smallest injuries healed up.

“Oh…” He groaned. “Thank you, love.”

“Might as well use them on someone.” Their eyes met in mirrored worry.

In the meantime, Veth had crawled over to Caleb and cradled his head. The problem with turning yourself into a planar bomb was really all in the side-effects. Caleb was unconscious. His lips were blue and frost gathered at the corners of his hairline and on his lashes. Arcane sparks were still shooting along his skin, following the path of his vascular system. Any additional magic now had a decent chance of stopping his heart, or worse.

Fjord started to build a better fire and boil water. Their little safehouse had a long, wide hearth surrounded by fine fur bedrolls and fluffy pillows. One large wooden bed lined the back wall, and a kitchen table long enough to fit them all filled the far end.

A fretting Jester dragged Caleb over to the large bed closest to the hearth, hurriedly pulling his coat off. Every piece of fabric she tugged away was frozen stiff, and when she got down to the last layers she grew gentle, worried for his skin.

Veth hopped up on the bed next to them, yanking the blankets down to make room. Together they bundled him in. Veth grabbed furs from nearest the hearth and piled them on top too.

Fjord appeared with several rubber-stoppered skins in his arms, each filled with hot water. He pulled back the blankets to place one on Caleb’s chest and arrange the others around him before tucking the wizard back in and pulling the still-sniffling Jester into his arms.

“All here.” He murmured into her hair. “All alive.”

Caduceus sat down on the opposite edge of the bed, his hands reaching for Caleb’s underneath the covers to press icy fingers between his warm palms. Caleb’s breathing hitched into what could have been a sigh of comfort.

The game was waiting, now. Something they were not used to, having travelled for so long with two powerful clerics. They ate, some of them bathed, and they fell into an exhausted silence.

Caduceus worked carefully, applying a balm to frostbitten fingers and toes, as well as Caleb’s nose and ears for good measure.

Veth helped Caduceus before curling up at the foot of the bed, just like the old days.

Jester and Fjord sat next to him on the bed, her entirely in his arms, both watching and waiting. Catching their breath.

Beau lay collapsed and half-asleep by the hearth, Yasha sitting next to her with one big hand slowly, rhythmically rubbing her back.

Mollymauk crawled under the covers with Caleb, fresh from a steaming bath with all of his already-plentiful infernal body heat. It earned them their first real sign of stirring when he tugged Caleb into his arms and the man mumbled in unintelligible Zemnian through a relieved sigh.

The little sound was enough to make them all look up. Something about it broke the heavy, cold feeling of waiting, and let the rush of relief that they’d all made it and they were all alive pour through.

Caduceus made tea.

Veth started to snore.

Jester wiped her eyes and crawled out of Fjord’s lap to take a bath. Then she put her warm self on Caleb’s other side, Fjord budging up behind her.

Yasha lay down next to Beau, letting the monk wrap around her while she pulled the furs across them both with a sigh.

Molly shivered for a bit in the burrowing embrace of a frozen, half-dead wizard before Caleb’s skin temperature evened out, as did everyone’s breathing. They slept.

The bed wasn’t actually big enough for four people, was the thing. It’s what led to Fjord rolling out of bed in the morning with a groan, one hand moving to support his back as he hobbled over to the dining table where tea and toast was starting to make an appearance. Jester followed, a healing word passing between them with a chuckle.

Mollymauk woke at the commotion and witnessed the fluttering of bright blue eyes from the wizard drooling on his chest. It took a second for Caleb’s eyes to focus, his gaze meeting Molly’s..

“Hello!” Molly murmured quietly.

“Hi.” Caleb returned, face twisting into a grimace the second he tried to move.

Molly supported him by the shoulders to help him get comfortable. He moved like a rusted Golem, every joint and muscle pulling a groan or whimper from deep in his chest. They finally got him onto his back, Molly helping him prop himself up with pillows.

“Did it work?” Caleb rasped.

Molly gave an irritated sigh. “Yes, your bloody martyr spell worked.” Then his face softened a little. “Thank-you.”

…

The point of the teleportation bomb was to let them escape, alive, while leaving a firestorm of damage in their wake. It had worked perfectly, no matter Molly’s bitching about Caleb’s ‘martyr complex’. He was alive, so if he was a martyr he was a bad one.

The spell was… unpleasant, for the caster. It collected every little bit of latent energy, most particularly heat, and used it to ignite an explosive force. He wondered if they could go back and see what damage they’d done to the caves. The aberrations there certainly hadn’t survived, but he was curious to know if the cavern did. Even if the Nein didn’t want to, Essek might help him check.

Caduceus had a theory that the Bomb spell also collected chemical energy, meaning it sapped all of Caleb’s body’s resources. It was his explanation for why every muscle ached afterward. It was also, Caleb suspected, a convenient excuse to force food on him. Which would happen momentarily, from the smell of Caduceus’ soup on the hearth.

In the meantime he was propped up on pillows, eyes closed with his head rocked back in ecstasy. His lips parted with a small groan. Fine-boned tiefling fingers held his hand, thumbs rubbing firmly at the small muscles and tendons from fingertip to wrist. The smaller muscles were always the most painful, and his fingers had suffered the cold as well. The massage ached and tingled, but the flood of endorphins that came from the relief provided drowned any unpleasantness out nicely.

“Does it hurt?” Molly asked.

“Yes.” Caleb sighed.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Molly chuckled, crawling over him to take his other hand and start the process over again. A kindness. If his hands worked he could read, write. Entertain himself for the few more hours that the magic was still battering his system, before Cad and Jester could heal him up safely.

Jester appeared at the foot of the bed with a pounce and a bounce.

“Oh, poor Caleb! Here, let me he– Hey!“

Caleb’s eyes shot open, his legs bending to snatch his feet away from Jester’s clutches.

“Nein– absolutely not–”

“But you’re letting Molly help!” Jester whined.

“I assure you I wouldn’t trust him there either.”

“But whyyyyy?”

Caleb’s face broke into an exasperated smile. “Because I am not fool enough to let a tiefling handle my feet–”

“Rude!”

“Fine then, how about ‘because I have long term memory’ and ‘I occasionally learn from past mistakes and experiences’, hmm?”

“Humph. Still rude.”

“Or…” Fjord walked up to join them, bearing soup for Caleb. He delivered it before turning around and swinging Jester up into his arms. “Completely reasonable and good thinking. He’s still hurt. You can tickle him after he’s better.”

Fjord carried a giggling and protesting Jester over to the table for dinner. If Caleb had the strength, he would have tossed a pillow at their backs.

Drinking the soup was a lot like the massage. He had it from one of Caduceus’ huge earthen teacups, so warm that it scalded his hands a little. The liquid itself felt molten, like it was cutting through his frozen insides. It hurt a little, but the near-instant relief from the bone-deep chill of the spell’s after effects made him savor it.

Molly’s hands– also hot against too-cold skin– started to work on the larger muscles at his shoulders as he drank, planting the occasional kiss on top of Caleb’s head. Once the soup was done and the world started to haze in the warm, bright way it only did around the Nein, Caleb gave up the cup to Caduceus and burrowed into Molly’s arms once more.

The tiefling shivered. “It really is upsetting that you’re still so cold. Like you’re dead and we just haven’t noticed yet.”

“It fades when the arcane disturbance does.” Caleb mumbled into his chest before shifting to hide a coy smile in Molly’s shirt. “Would a corpse do this?”

Admittedly icy fingers, now functioning for all of Molly’s hard work, started to spider-climb up Molly’s side.

“Ha! Heh. You do realize– hehe– that your tickle immunity ends the sehehecond someone can lay a heal on you?”

“Mhmm.” Caleb mumbled, his eyes closed in an entirely false show of angelic sleep while his fingers kept teasing Molly under the covers, “sounds like I better enjoy it while I can, ja?”

Molly still wasn’t quite laughing, just breathless and twitchy, still holding Caleb in his arms. “Oh me oh my, your future self is gonna– heh!– regret this grave you’re digging, dear.”

“If he had a ticklish tiefling who couldn’t retaliate, I think he’d do the same.”

“Heh– haha! Has it been so long? Are ya just aching to be tickled out of your keeheeheen little mind that bad?”

Caleb just gave him a smug little smile and tweaked his hips. The human man’s fingers started to slip and slow as his exhaustion took over, and soon he was asleep with his face buried in Molly’s chest once more.

He woke up pressed between two tieflings. It felt a bit like being wrapped in a sauna. He was drooling on Molly’s chest again, with Jester’s softness pressed against his back. Was he overheating? He sat up, pushing the many layers of blankets and furs away. The air felt refreshing, cool against his skin. His muscles still ached, but his skin was still, free of the arcane sparks.

“Do you feel better, Caleb?”

He quickly realized that both tieflings were looking at him, having interrupted the conversation they’d been having quietly over his sleeping form.

“Ja. Still sore, but the cold is gone. I think the sparks as well?” He extended his limbs to show her.

“Yeah, I think they’re gone! Here, let me take care of the rest.”

He looked around while she cast, catching sight of a card game over at the table that was getting a little rowdy as several bickering quips were traded between players. Caduceus was watching, looking very amused but without cards of his own.

The Heal spell done, Caleb tested his muscles and joints. “Much better Jester, thank you.”

“So, you’re all better?”

“Ja I think–”

Caleb cut himself off with a wince, not even making an effort to try and avoid the two-tiefling tackle that upended him. He wound up on his stomach, each leg pinned with a tiefling body while whip-quick tails took turns poking his sides and ribs.

“So, we obviously need to talk about how rude it was, when Caleb said we couldn’t be trusted!”

“Aye, that was mighty rude.”

The tails prodding at his back and ribs already had Caleb jittery. “S-so you’re going to prove me wrong, ja? By being very trustworthy and nice?”

“Sure we’ll be nice,” Molly said with a smile that was anything but, “we’re gonna give you exactly what you were askin’ for.”

One of Jester’s pointed nails circled his heel. “Can you feel that OK, Caleb? Any numbness?”

“Ha! N-no they’re fine!”

“And how about here?” Molly teased, one finger tracing an arch.

“Ah! No! I’m fhihihine, they’re fine, please!”

“We have to check them over carefully Caleb. To prove how responsible and trustworthy we are!”

“Nein!”

Then they were both tickling the balls of his feet, and Caleb’s attempts to hold it together collapsed into a mound of cackles. His upper body jackknifed and flapped, expressing the desperate squirming his pinned legs couldn’t.

At some point Molly’s tail had managed to slip up the loaner shirt Caleb was wearing (much too large) and start writhing underneath his belly like a snake. Caleb wailed like he was dying, trying to paw at the tail under his shirt without being able to roll over.

“Hey! Uh… you did heal him first, right?” Cad strolled over to them and away from the increasingly loud card game.

“Yes of course! Now we’re just making sure it worked!”

“It worked! Bitte, bitte! Pleaheeheese!” Caleb cried through his laughter, one hand reaching out to Cad in desperation before yanking the arm back with a yelp to try and block Molly’s tail as it tried to crawl into his armpit.

Cad watched Caleb laugh for a moment, seeming thoughtful.

“You know,” he finally spoke, directing it at the tieflings, “It’s really the toes you’ve gotta worry about, with frostbite.”

“Nein!” Caleb cried before they even started. “Mercy!”

“Ooh what a good idea Caduceus! Caleb, what about this toe, can you feel this one?”

The only answer was a squeal like a rusty door hinge and increasingly desperate laughter. The process continued with two more toes before they got bored and went to town.

Caleb was so busy burying his face in the blankets and beating his palms helplessly against the mattress that he almost didn’t notice Cad lower his large frame onto the bed beside him. He didn’t have the breath to talk, so he just mouthed “Why!?”

Caduceus chuckled, leaning in close to rumble in Caleb’s ear.

“You know I don’t approve of martyrdom.”

Then there were thick, soft, careful fingers combing Caleb’s ribs, and he was lost to hysteria.

At some point beyond the edge of Caleb’s conscious thought, Cad called the tieflings off, citing exhaustion. At some point they pulled Caleb back under the blankets. At some point he fell back asleep to the sounds of tea, a raucous card game and quiet conversation.

Lucky martyr.

#Critickle Role #Fic #Poes Prose #Hurt/Comfort #h/c #widomauk #The Poly Nein #All Tieflings Are Knismos #M9 #Tickle fic #TK fic

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thatboomerkid · 3 years

Text

Giff -- SpellJammer Race for Pathfinder

Giff -- SpellJammer Race [19 RACE POINTS] for First Edition Pathfinder

Known to the gnomes of Markovia as the nilski konj vojnici, to the Hin plantation-owners of Covington Farms as los mercenarios gigantes del río, and to the human field-workers laboring near New Arvoreen most-often simply as “those big goddamn bastards,” the giff -- as they are called in their own guttural, roaring language -- represent a recently-contacted species of huge, violent, powerfully-built, terrifyingly-focused, and dangerously cagey combatants.

In the little-over-a-century since their discovery by the Hin, platoons of giff have already carved a bloody name for themselves across the wilds of Verdura -- and far beyond -- as unparalleled river-guides, rowdies, strike-breakers, mob debt-collectors, private enforcers, heavy-weapons units, siege engines, bodyguards, and elite soldiers of fortune.

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

original image by the incredible Claudio Pozas, here

Type: Monstrous Humanoid (3 RP)

Ability Score Modifiers: Mixed Weakness (-2 RP)

+2 Strength, -4 Dexterity, +2 Constitution, -4 Intelligence, +2 Wisdom

Size: Large (7 RP)

Giff gain a +2 size bonus to Strength and a -2 size penalty to Dexterity (already included above). Giff also suffer a -1 size penalty to their AC and a -1 size penalty on all attack rolls; they gain a +1 bonus on combat maneuver checks and to their CMD, and suffer a -4 size penalty on Stealth checks.

A giff takes up a space that is 10 feet by 10 feet and has a reach of 5 feet.

Base Speed: Normal speed (0 RP)

Languages: Standard (0 RP); giff speak their own eponymous, curiously poetic language, and most are -- in the modern day -- also conversant in Low Kozah-Talosii (usually spoken with a thick, pompous Verduran accent).

This bastardized dialect, the so-called “Common tongue” favored across Pyrespace for use in international, intercultural, and interplanetary trade, is a degraded mongrel variant of High Kozah-Talosii: the ancient root-tongue of both Arvorean and Brandobarin, still employed by the Church of Yondalla for use in sermons, hymns, and in all official records.

Big Damn Guns: Giff are treated as gnomes for purposes of the Experimental Gunsmith Archetype. (0 RP)

Darkvision: Giff have 60 ft. darkvision (0 RP); giff have relatively poor eyesight while out of water, which is easily corrected with simple lenses -- such as a monocle -- for use while reading. This vision is not poor enough to impart a mechanical penalty on Perception checks or attack rolls made by the giff.

Natural Armor: Giff have +3 natural armor (4 RP)

Natural Attack (Headbutt): Giff receive one natural attack, which is treated as a gore attack that deals 1d8 bludgeoning damage. (1 RP)

Natural Swimmers: Giff have a swim speed of 30 feet and gain the +8 racial bonus on Swim checks that a swim speed normally grants. (1 RP)

Powerful Charge (Headbutt): Whenever a giff charges, it deals twice the standard number of damage dice with its headbutt plus 1-1/2 times its Strength bonus. (2 RP)

River-Sense: Giff can sense vibrations in water, granting them blindsense 30 feet against creatures that are touching the same body of water. (1 RP)

Slow On Land: Giff often select the Clumsy, Easy Target, Magically Inept, Nearsighted, and Slow Reflexes Major Drawbacks (0 RP)

Spell Resistance (Greater): Giff have spell resistance equal to 11 + their character level. (3 RP)

Sporting: The species-wide love of warfare exhibited by the giff draws a sharp line of distinction between “sporting” and “unsporting” combat (see below). (-1 RP)

Sporting combat includes arm-wrestling, fisticuffs, darts, cards, dice, checkers, chess, billiards, cricket, rugby, skeet shooting, tennis, and golf, alongside tests of boasting, carousing, headbutting, toast-giving, swimming, push-ups, and a complex, ritualized sort of thunderous, unarmed mixed martial-art performed solely while stripped down to breeches & undergarments, usually in ankle-deep to waist-deep water, ending in pin or submission, which -- up to a point -- also serves as a type of flirting.

The military mentality of the giff even makes special allowances for a variety of “sporting” duels to the death. Establishing a proper duel requires a huge number of complex ritual elements that -- in the end -- mostly boils down to both giff formally acknowledging that:

Both giff are armed with approximately the same quality of weapons & armor (warhammer, combat knife, pistol, full plate, etc.)

Both giff have equal access to military support, including healing

Both giff have a grievance, no matter how petty

Both giff are suffering approximately the same level of injuries

Both giff have made arrangements for their estate, and for the treatment of their body after death

Once a “sporting” challenge to the death has been agreed-to by both parties, anything up to and including outright murder of one’s opponent is considered fair game.

Several major holidays each year celebrated by the giff include a “violent dueling festival” as part of their celebration; to outsiders, these events have a very bizarre, genteel, 1800s-Victorian-Teddy-Roosevelt-meets-The-Purge sort of feel to them:

“Happy holidays, friend; best of health this year to you and to your kin. And I say, old chap, don’t suppose it’s high time for a kukri-duel, eh, wot wot? Seeing as you got drunk on my finest brandy, made a pass at the missus, wiped your prodigious buttocks with my table linens, and micturated in my hedge-row as of Christmas last, well ... in lieu of an apology, what say I have Jenkins fetch the carving blades, eh? See which of has the moxie, shall we? Cheerio and have at thee then, old sport?”

If this formal challenge to a lethal sporting-duel is declined, the challenger must make all possible accommodations to guarantee the immediate physical safety of the giff she just challenged (at least until such time as the two giff part ways once more): providing the giff with weapons, armor, food, water, medicine, reading materials, a place to sleep, liquor, smoking tobacco, and anything else a gentleman or lady of high breeding could reasonably expect to have access to (even while imprisoned).

In short: if the challenged giff dies immediately after declining a duel, it is considered very embarrassing for the challenger.

For his own part, the declining giff must treat her challenger with the very utmost level of respect ... or risk being guilty of unsporting conduct, a fate far worse than mere death.

Any giff who finds herself about to violate the terms of properly “sporting” conduct instantly becomes aware of the error, just as if she were wearing a phylactery of faithfulness and, at all times, actively contemplating the thought of doing bodily harm to another giff: this behavioral limitation is not built as a trap for players to accidentally stumble into, but -- instead -- as an interesting roadblock to navigate around.

If two or more giff find themselves forced into a position of armed conflict against one another on a battlefield, both groups traditionally retire for at least a day of drinking and sorting-out ranks; on rare occasion, one platoon will join the other; more likely, all giff involved in any part of the operation will quit their current hirings and look for work elsewhere.

Any giff who engages another member of her own species in any type of unsporting combat -- attacking another giff with a weapon, for example, or with magic -- immediately suffers a -2 penalty on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls and saves; she continues to suffer this penalty until such time as she is able to make amends: presenting her victim with a formal written apology, or seeking our her victim’s family to beg their public pardon.

Each month, this penalty increases by 2. Guilt is a poison that grows by degrees, after all: ever-gnawing.

While she is suffering penalties in this way, if the giff is presented with the chance to punish herself – or a non-giff opponent! – while presented with something that reminds the giff of her betrayal, she may find herself compelled to do so regardless of the consequences:

Any time her betrayal is directly brought to her attention, the giff must make a Will save (DC = 10 + her character level + the Charisma modifier of the wronged giff). Failure means that the giff falls into a rage of abject self-loathing, completely focused on her own guilt for a number of rounds equal to the DC, above. Until she has finished with this exercise in hate, the giff can take no action other than to harm the reminder of her failure or enable herself to harm it: grappling a human shipmate who mentioned her old friend so that she might headbutt the human while strangling them, for example, or calmly loading a shotgun so that she might shoot the human dead in cold blood.

Note that the giff, while wracked with guilt & grief, is not required to do anything or harm anyone: she may simply stare at an old photograph and feel sad, for example, ignoring everyone around her.

During the fury of this black tempest, the giff suffers a -2 penalty to her AC.

Once the giff successfully makes amends, either with the wronged party or with the victim’s next-of-kin, all of the above penalties are removed. Entire subsets of giff society -- mediators, arbitrators, and negotiators -- are explicitly adapted to making absolutely certain that any errors in sporting conduct among giff are resolved quickly, and to the satisfaction of all parties.

Should she fail to make amends before her death, any giff who has harmed another giff in an unsporting way invariably rises again as an undead horror of some kind (often a blood knight or graveknight): reborn as a rotting, lurching mountainside of infinitely destructive hated.

Note that the Sporting Racial Trait is not purely social, but rather acts as a species-wide ingrained psychological virtue: two giff living on Fenris who never expect to see the wide rivers of Verdura again are still bound by the rules of “sporting” conflict; neither could shoot the other in the back any more than either of them could grow wings and fly to the moon.

Undead giff do not possess the Sporting Trait, which is seen -- by living giff -- as the most abhorrent and disturbing quality imaginable.

Note, also, that the desire to behave in a sporting manner extends only to fellow giff: Chaotic Evil giff will routinely massacre unarmed non-giff by the thousands, bellowing with laughter as they do so, and even a Lawful Good giff will rarely think twice before sucker-punching a crude human making drunken threats and impolite remarks at the bar.

-------

Giff Timeline:

1603 A.D. (118 years ago): The colony of New Arvoreen is established on Verdura; giff make contact with Hin (and their human servants) for the first time.

1620 A.D.: First generation of giff who have always known about the existence of Hin, humans, and -- most importantly! -- firearms fully comes of age.

1636 A.D.: New Arvoreen is significantly expanded.

1667 A.D.: Nation of Markovia -- the technological-marvel nation named for its Founder, Monarch and Supreme Leader, Dr. Adlai Markovitch -- founded on Verdua; diplomatic trade established with New Arvoreen.

1669 A.D.: City of New Arvoreen significantly expanded.

1702 A.D.: New Arvoreen significantly expanded; land officially cleared for Covington Farms, soon to be the largest agricultural facility in the system; rates of forcible immigration of indentured humans to New Arvoreen tripled.

1721 A.D.: (current year)

original image here

Giff Ranks: Lieutenant, General, Colonel, Major General, Lieutenant General, Lieutenant Colonel, Captain General, Brigadier General, Field Marshall, Major, Captain, Sergeant Major, Commandant General, Wing General, Lieutenant Colonel General, Staff Sergent, Master Sergent, Master General, Grenadier General; note that “Lord” may be added to any military rank, alongside the designations of “First” and “First Class” (for example, “First Lord Brigadier General First Class”)

Giff military ranks are, effectively, meaningless noise to everyone except the giff themselves: every member of the species is a decorated officer of some complex rank within some elite military company or another, but such ranks are largely ceremonial and may be inherited, purchased, or passed through elaborate, bombastic ritual.

Further, the only thing preventing a young giff from forming an entirely new military organization & immediately naming herself -- of example -- Supreme Acting Field Commander and Secretary General of the Armies and Navies at Wartime is -- up to a point -- her own willingness to do so.

Male Giff Names: Any invented male Hin name.

Female Giff Names: Any invented female Hin name.

Giff Family Names: Any invented male Hin first name

Society

The giff are military-minded, and organize themselves into squads, platoons, companies, corps, and larger groups. The number of giff in a platoon varies according to the season, situation, and level of danger involved.

A giff "platoon" hired to protect a gambling operation may number only a single soldier, while a platoon hired to invade an illithid stronghold may number well over a hundred.

The giff pride themselves on their weapon-skills, and any giff carries a number of swords, daggers, maces, and similar tools on hand to deal with troublemakers.

A giff's true love, however, is the gun. A misfiring weapon matters little to the giff (occasional fatalities amongst soldiery are simply to expected); it is the flash, the noise, and the damage that most impress them.

Even unarmed, the giff are powerful opponents. Against non-giff, they’ll often wade into a brawl just for the pure fun of it, tossing various combatants on both sides around to prove themselves the victors.

Once a weapon is bared, however, and the challenge becomes “unsporting,” the giff consider all restrictions off: the challenge is now to the death.

The giff prize themselves as top-quality mercenaries, and to that end take great pride in owning -- if not always wearing -- elaborate suits of full-plate armor. These suits usually include massive helms featuring hyper-detailed, semi-realistic images of exotic monsters on the crests, inlaid with ivory and bone along the largest plates.

Armor repair is a major hobby among the giff, although great skill at the craft is surprisingly rare.

The giff are deeply suspicious of magic, magicians, and magical devices; their legendary foes, the Five Tiger Princes, are despised for their esoteric abilities as much for their wicked deviltry.

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Family

The giff are, for the most part, happiest among fellow members their own race, intermingling broadly with the Ghoran -- whom the giff utilize as an edible, inexhaustible workforce -- and the Tengu: another unofficial “servitor race” of the giff, most often used as messengers and household servants.

Ghoran living on giff lands are stoic: dutifully tending the fields of the giff in exchange for protection from ten-thousand other, vastly more predatory dangers. For all that giff treat the ghoran as disposable -- a ghoran living on Verdura produces one seed each year, and can grow a new member of the species in a single month -- the giff do not want the ghoran hunted to total extermination. That, for the ghoran, is saying something,

Tengu, on the other hand, are deeply prized by the giff as staff, usually in the roles of personal assistants, groomers, decorators, butlers, bartenders, man-servants, attaches, major domos, and maids. Since all giff are “wealthy land owners,” to one degree or another, the true power & prestige of a giff can be accurately measured by the number of tengu he employs.

Giff otherwise consider anything larger than them deeply threatening, yet also complain bitterly -- in private -- about the fragility of the smaller races. Outside their own platoons, the giff are happiest among military organizations with a strong chain of command.

For this reason, giff hold the Church of Yondalla in exceptionally high regard.

Giff especially despise the catfolk: although they don’t speak of it to outsiders, a century ago the giff were on the verge of extinction: hunted for sport and trophy by servants of the Five Tiger Princes, their people nearly cut to nothing and their lands held by only a few remaining families. Since their acquisition of firearms -- and the arrival of the Hin -- the catfolk have broadly retreated.

Every giff -- male, female, and giffling -- has a rank within their greater society, which can only be changed by a giff of higher rank. Within these ranks are sub-ranks, and within those sub-ranks are color-markings and badges. The highest-ranking giff gives the orders, the others obey. It does not matter if the orders are foolish or even suicidal: following them is the purpose of the giff in the universe. A quasi-mystical faith among the giff -- who claim to worship, in a vague way, the Golden General Bahamut, who was killed and eaten by the cowardly Five Tiger Princes in order to steal his strength -- confirms that all things have their place, and the place of the giff to follow orders.

This makes the giff very happy.

Giff platoons can be hired from their sprawling, palatial riverside plantations and mountain hunting-lodges by anyone looking for muscle. The social leaders among the giff are contractors: these specially-trained giff review prospective employers according to ability to pay, then make a recommendation to powerful warlords and famous adventurers among the giff. The leaders, in turn, consider the danger of the job, and whether taking it will enhance their giffdom.

Giff jobs are usually paid in firearms & gunpowder, though they often will accept other weapons and armor. Aboard ship, the giff require their own quarters, and will often request to bring on their own large weapons. They favor fire-projectors and bombards for ground work, and will happily blaze away at opponents regardless of the tactical situation.

The giff require the ships of others because they have -- for the most part -- no spellcasting abilities among them.

Giff of both sexes serve in their platoons, and both fight equally well. Giff young are raised tenderly until they are old enough to survive an exploding arquebus, then are inducted fully into the platoon.

The giff practice equality among the sexes in battle and in childrearing. They live about 70 years, but do not take aging gracefully. As a giff grows older and begins to slow down, he is possessed with the idea of proving himself still young and vital, usually in battle.

As a result, there are very, very few old giff.

#pathfinder #SPELLJAMMER #race #options #1st edition

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sleepylixie · 4 years

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The Gumiho God-King (Bang Chan)

\\ 구미호/Gumiho is a Korean folk legend of a nine-tailed fox. It is said to have magical shapeshifting abilities, a knack for mischief and an almost seductive nature in some legends. The Korean gumiho is believed to have similar characteristics to the Chinese huli jing and Japanese kitsune.//

Word Count: 1.4k

Genre: A bit of Angst, a bit of warm fun, a lotta Supernatural

Warnings: Betrayal, mentions of stabbing, blood and attempted murder. NOT EXPLICIT AT ALL.

A/N: The GO LIVE poster had me feeling some kind of way, with that hanbok and that eye scar and the double coloured eyes.. Chan makes me feel some type of way all the time, eh well. To be clear, I’ve taken some liberties with the historical and mythological details of it all- This is entirely a work of fiction so please don’t come for me T_T ( @rebecca-noona you said you’d want to read it if I ever actually wrote it so >.<)

Requests Open for SKZ and BTS! || Masterlist

//He was the first prince of the Goryeo dynasty, the first son of a king who rose from a bloody past to set the foundations of a dynasty that lasted almost half a century, the inheritor of a new world- until suddenly he was nothing at all.\\

Prince Bang Chan was the doted-upon son of the Queen mother’s undivided attention, the apple of the emperor’s eye, the beloved young royal of the palace and the country he would one day grow to rule.

He grew up unconfined, learning more from the wild outdoors than the teachings that his father’s brood of scholars could try to impart. He’d sneak out of the palace at the early hours of the night, climbing the highest trees in the grove beyond the western gate and watch the falling of the night’s moon.

People watching fascinated him- he’d wander the crowded marketplace with guards in disguise, watching the uncountable faces betray and hide emotion as they passed by.

Chan, the name the palace fondly called him, was as quick on his feet as he was with his mind. Sword fighting, archery and wrestling came to him easily and so, when he was of age, he left his home to fight wars with his people.

The war taught Chan even more- everything that was wrong with his country. The festering politics, the blatant bias and nepotism, the plight of the downtrodden left an effect on him, a fire to fight the injustices his people faced.

Determined to make a change, he rose through the army’s ranks, commanding respect, trust and power because of his seemingly endless skills. There was not one soul, general or soldier, who was immune to the Crown Prince’s incredible charm.

He took lovers almost as easily with that exact charm- He’d grown up well, the young Crown Prince. Along with the mysterious dark eyes, sensuous lips and broad shoulders, he brought wit honed like the gold-hilted dagger he always kept on his person.

Maybe it all worked too well, for the love he received from the world brought him enemies who were not happy with the changes that the headstrong, quick-witted young prince could bring to the country and the court- the foremost of them being his younger brother, the 2nd prince.

Chan was posted in the particularly volatile western border, it wasn’t too difficult for the 2nd prince and the prime minister to arrange for an accident in the melee that ended with Chan stabbed in the heart and left in a copse of bamboo trees to bleed to death.

It was the entirety of a heartbroken army that sent a message back to the Goryeo capital, mourning the loss of the beloved Crown Prince who had his whole life and ascension ahead of him. Little did they know the betrayal that had brought them to that day.

If only Chan had died that night, his own gold dagger in his heart and his blood in his mouth.

It was Autumn’s Eve. The full moon night and the spiritual significance of the day brought together the elusive Gumiho clans every year, at a spot not too far off from where Chan’s almost dead body lay.

The scent of blood brought one particular young Gumiho named Jihyo to the bamboo copse and to the armored, bloody of the crown prince. It didn’t take even a second of thought for her to notice the goodness and the streak of willfulness in him.

Jihyo decided to give him part of her magic, healing Chan and effectively turning into a Gumiho himself. Contrary to the mortals’ beliefs, the gumiho was a race of benevolent, if not slightly fun loving half-humans with supernatural powers.

Maybe it was the strength his body and mind held or just sheer luck, but Chan survived the worst, biding through his injuries under the care of Jihyo’s Gumiho clan. He took days to recover even otherwise, his body still accepting the new magic that ran through his veins.

Chan awoke 2 weeks later in a whole new world from the one he closed his eyes on- eyes that were now one blue, one black. He was no longer a crown prince, no longer a royal, no longer entirely even human.

It was all too new for him, too shocking, to be something that he had believed to be figments of bedtime stories until then. It was almost impossible for him to look at the back of a shiny copper plate and see the fox-like tilt to his eyes, the sharp tips of his ears, the canines looking slightly longer than before.

The weight of the tails near his tailbone left him imbalanced and struggling to walk for days after he woke up, even more before he could understand his new magic enough to hide them.

Jihyo and her Gumiho clan watched the vigour with which Chan’s strength came back to him, the willful streak pushing him to learn more about his new form; it was almost like he was pushing himself to the limit, to some goal that he wasn’t ready to voice aloud.

Chan did have a goal: To get back to his old life as fast as possible. It didn’t matter that he’d have to expend his magic to keep a pretense alive for the rest of his now immortal life, he had too much to go back for.

“You shouldn’t go back,”Jihyo reasoned with Chan. “Mortals aren’t very.. accepting if they find out about our true forms.”

and she was met with a glint in his eyes and found herself levelled with a gaze that belonged to a future king, the jilted leader of a bloody empire.

“It will kill me if I didn’t try.”

And try he did- the guards fainted when they set eyes on him. What else would they do, when the crown prince they’d mourned for weeks suddenly appeared, beyond hale and hearty in the dead of night?

His mother welcomed his back with tears in her eyes, already looking years older in the few months he had been away.

Before he could meet his father who’d been sent to his deathbed, he was stopped by the same person who had put him in this plight. The second prince, his own brother sneered at him, asking him what black magic he’d used to survive the dagger he’d poisoned himself.

The shock ravaging Chan’s system almost made him lose control over his carefully constructed mask. In the seconds of him processing the betrayal, the 2nd prince drew his sword on Chan, leaving him no option but to retaliate, the military training over the years kicking in.

A fierce tango ensued and soon, they found themselves with locked blades, snarling in each others faces, until his younger brother uttered the most atrocious sentence.

“The throne will be mine, brother. I even poisoned our father for this.”

The snarl of pure rage that rippled from Chan’s throat had his magic exploding outwards, destroying his human face and throwing his brother backward.

The terror that chilled the 2nd Prince’s spine at the sight of the Crown Prince growling at him with double colored eyes and fangs had him screaming for the guards.

and chaos ensued.

It was a miracle Chan even got out alive, as injured and broken as he was.

It was all too much for him, the hope he had for being a change in the world melting away with the realization that he was too late, humanity was too far gone already, that he would never be part of that world again.

He found his way back to Jihyo and her clan who accepted him with open arms, allowing him to find solace in the company of souls who had felt the same as him in their past.

The clan healer’s magic was enough to remove any scars that his injuries could leave, but Chan asked for one to not be touched- a single wound that swiped a thin red line down his left eye, cutting through his eyebrow and stopping just below his eye.

It would serve as a reminder of everything he’d faced and lost as a mortal, and an assurance that he’d never allow that kind of ice-cold corruption to mar the society he was now a part of.

Now almost 900 years old, Chan holds a position of power in the supernatural world, not too different from the one he was meant to hold all those centuries ago as a mortal.

Everybody knows the story of the Gumiho King from a forgotten era, a cautionary tale for the evil and a legend for the downtrodden, a half-mortal with a moral compass that would never stray from the light.

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screamingatanemptyroom · 4 years

Text

Restricted Magic Arc 3 pt 8

On October 13th, 2018 I wrote a short story based on a Fictober challenge. That ended up turning into a 3 arc fantasy adventure story of Erin and Gerald, and my first ever long running series on this blog. Before that I had pretty much only done short stories. Unfortunately about a third of the way through the last arc, I hit major writer’s block, and abandoned the story.

Until now.

2 years later, I’m posting a new part. I won’t promise steady or frequent updates to this, but I am going to definitely try to finish this story. It was one of my favorites, and I want everyone to be able to enjoy it to the end with me.

Masterpost is linked here.

Arc 3 pt 7 linked here in case you want a quick refresher on where I left off.

Enjoy!

_____________________

“We’re running out of time.”

Elsinore whispered to herself, crossing her arms across her chest as she shivered with cold. Her fingers dug into her arms, the skin breaking along the tips of her nails. Rivulets of blood ran down, soaking the sleeve of her prison uniform, the pain of the injury dulled by her inner panic. Pacing back and forth around her cell, she stepped in the fluid dripping off her clothes, tracking red footprints on the well-worn floor.

The illusion of Sophia sat on her bed, watching her with a bored expression. “Pretty sure we have nothing but time, living contained in a cell like this.”

“SHUT UP!” Elsinore glared at her sister’s image. “You heard her! Erin is going to MERION!” She threw up her hands. “Merion! Why would she do this to me? I swore never to return there!”

“Is that what happened?” Sophia tapped a finger to her cheek, “Why do I seem to remember that you were banished?” She grinned, jumping to her feet and walking towards her. Her ghostly image tracked over the pooled blood without disturbing it. “But sure, you can pretend it was your choice to not return. Definitely not your punishment for betraying the country… and selling me to the Devil.”

Elsinore clutched her head, trying to ignore the voice of her dead sister, knowing it was her own illusion magic, her own delusion. “Roderick is planning something… why else would he bring her there of all places? No! We have to kill him before its too late!”

“Is that what you told my daughter?”

“She’s betrayed me.” Elsinore paced faster, her eyes wildly looking around the room. “She’s lost focus. So many years. So many sacrifices. And now she’s forgotten everything and abandoned me?!”

“You mean she’s finally looked to a future beyond killing her father? Wanting to survive, get married, have a life that’s about more than just one horrible man?”

“IT’S ABOUT AVENGING HER MOTHER’S MURDER!” Elsinore screamed at the figment of her imagination. “AVENGING YOUR DEATH! THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS!”

“Elsinore…”

“SHUT UP!” She waved a blood stained hand, unsure if the dripping fluid was real or not, her gaze focusing inwards. “I haven’t lost sight of the goal. If she won’t kill him.”

“Sister…”

“Then I will. “

There was a moment of tense silence, broken finally by the screams of the guards outside.

“Fire!”

“The whole building’s burning!”

“Here, this way!”

The door to her cell opened, several armed men ran in, their eyes wide, staring at nothing. Elsinore smiled, spreading her hands widely.

“Why thank you, gentlemen. You’ve served your purpose beautifully.”

The men looked at each other with confused expressions, that slowly changed into ones of horror as their minds fell prey to her magic.

“The witch escaped! Don’t think you can run away!” Facing off, they drew their weapons, each striking the other accurately, and slumping to the ground. Even as they died, their faces were confused, unsure of what was real and what was not.

“Illusion is so close to reality, isn’t it.” Elsinore chuckled, stepping over their quickly cooling bodies and walking out the door. “You really shouldn’t be fooled by such simple lies.”

“You’re one to talk!” The image of her dead sister snorted with laughter, but she ignored her.

“Let’s go.”

She walked down the hallway, her pace casual, unhurried as if she were walking in her own home on her way to tea rather than a bloody hellhole.

Along the way she was attacked several times. They never got near her, striking uselessly in the air as they were caught in her magic again and again. One man brushed passed her, and slumped with shock as she restricted his magic. He had time to scream in fear before dying under the confused attacks from his fellow guards.

The building was burning around her, the heat singing her hair as she passed by.

Elsinore passed by the bodies, the carnage, the destruction of her captors, and she quietly began to laugh.

“Sister…” The illusion of Sophia tried to reach out, but Elsinore could no longer hear her as her laughter grew louder and louder.

She walked out of the door, turning briefly to enjoy the sight of the government building that had been her prison going up in flames.

The fire burned brightly against the quickly darkening sky, the smoke filling the area. Elsinore watched it with fascination, unsure if it were truly burning or not. The guards had fired multiple blasts of flames, it was possible that one of them had begun it accidentally, destroying her former prison. But it could still be her illusion magic, Elsinore simply wasn’t sure.

Not that it mattered either way.

Beyond the crackle of the flames there were no other sounds, everyone else beside Elsinore was dead. She leaned her head back, taking a deep breath to calm herself as her laughter died out.

“Roderick… I’m coming for you.”

Finally he would pay for his sins.

Only then would she truly be free.

_____________________

Olivia and Frederick sat in the front car of the magical transport, each enjoying the trip in their own way.

Olivia was looking out the glass window, watching the scenery as the large metal locomotive moved forward, skimming across the sand as if it were as slick as ice. Resting her chin on one palm, she was a picture of calm. However, every once and a while she would shoot an annoyed glance further into the metal car where a banging noise could be heard.

“Frederick I swear, if you break this transport and we have to walk to Merion, I will destroy you.”

CLANG!

An even louder noise filled the small space, as if to mock her threatening words, and a grease-stained Frederick poked his head up from a small compartment in the floor where he had been happily working.

“Really, you will destroy me?” he grinned. “You and what army?”

Olivia studied her nails, ignoring his sarcasm. “It’s strange…I seem to remember during our last sparring session one of us being defeated… badly.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Like, so badly it was humiliating.”

“Ugh, please don’t…”

“I wonder who that was again?” Her grin was vicious.

Frederick glared. “Fine. Point taken. But keep in mind, I’m not breaking anything!”

“Really? That banging noise I heard was you just passively observing?”

“No, but all I’m doing is trying to get a closer look at this mechanism.” His eyes brightened. “It’s incredible to see a magical artifact like this, something so huge but it moves so smoothly!”

With one hand gesturing further down into the space below the floor, he continued to excitedly explain. “A level 5 earth artifact like this is the stuff dreams are made of. It actually combines several different magics involving the connection between the vehicle and the ground as well as speed adjustment, terrain variability…”

“STOP!” Olivia gave up. “It’s so boring. Please don’t make me listen to another hour long lecture on the wonders of artifacts!”

“This isn’t just an artifact!” He argued back. “This is a work of art!”

“Still boring.”

“How about we compromise? You listen to me gush about how awesome this artifact is, and in return, I’ll let you talk as long as you want about a topic you want.”

“Fashion.”

He winced at her immediate answer. “Really?”

“It’s that or we talk about the many horrifying and disgusting ways the human body can break down and how to fix them with healing magic.”

“…” Frederick sat their silently with a pained expression.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking!” He gave a long sigh. ”Fine. Fashion it is.”

Olivia rubbed her hands together. “This will be fun!”

“Okay, but first I get to talk about this artifact.”

“Deal.” She stuck out her hand, which Frederick grasped and shook briefly.

“So, the first thing I love about the mechanism of this particular artifact…”

“Hey you guys!” Christopher interrupted Frederick’s impassioned words as he walked into the car with a pleasant smile. “Enjoying the trip so far?”

Frederick and Olivia didn’t turn to face him. Frederick looked back down at the hatch with a frown, while Olivia pulled out a filing board and began touching up her nails. Neither bothered to respond.

“It looks like you were studying the engine?” Christopher noticed the open hatch in the floor, his cheerful expression fading a little. “That could be very dangerous, I really wouldn’t advise that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Frederick snorted with laughter. “I know what I’m doing. If I want your opinion on something that you actually know something about, I’ll ask for it.” Rubbing his head with one hand, a trail of grease was left on his forehead.

Olivia pulled out a handkerchief, cleaning him off. “That’s bold of you, assuming he knows something about any topic.”

“Don’t be silly!” Frederick flinched at her scrubbing, but rolled his eyes and finished letting her clean off his face. “He knows a lot about a ton of different subjects!”

“Like what?”

“How about flirting with everything that moves like a dog in heat?”

She nodded solemnly. “You’re right! How could I have forgotten?”

“There’s also harp playing.”

“How about fiancé stealing?”

“Puppy murdering?”

“Hey!” Christopher broke into their back and forth with a frustrated groan. “I thought we had agreed to put that awful nickname behind us?”

Frederick nodded seriously. “You’re right. It was getting old. We need a new one anyways.”

“That’s not what I…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. I’m looking for Erin. Where is she?”

Olivia and Frederick glanced at each other, and then answered simultaneously.

“She died.”

“Who’s Erin?”

Christopher’s face was twitching, he seemed to force himself to hold a friendly expression.

“Guys, can you tone down the hostility? I’m her fiancé. It’s not like I’m trying to hurt her.”

“You think this is hostility?” Frederick laughed. “That’s cute.”

“I’m really a friendly guy once you get to know me.”

Olivia laughed. “Just keep telling yourself that, Kitten Killer.”

“Ooh I like the new nickname!” Frederick politely applauded.

“I thought the alliteration would give it a certain flair.”

“It certainly did.”

“WE’RE GETTING OFF TOPIC!” Christopher’s voice was raised. He paused, seemingly shocked at the crack in his normally impervious polite mask. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he continued in a more reasonable tone. “Look. I’m just asking a simple question. Do you know where Erin is, or not?”

Olivia stood up, her face grim. “I’ve been wanting to say this for a while.” Her finger raised in the air, poking Christopher’s chest hard enough to force him to step back. “Erin is a better person then you or I will ever be. She’s my best friend in the whole world and I would crawl naked over broken glass before betraying her again. So no, I don’t know where she is, I will never know where she is.” She glared. “At least as far as you’re concerned.”

Christopher stared back at her, confused. “What do you mean again?”

“Olivia, you don’t have to tell him…” Frederick tried to interrupt, but Olivia quickly took over.

“No. He should understand this.” She turned back towards the golden haired young man with a frown. “I made a mistake. I let myself be used by Erin’s enemies. I used an artifact to steal other people’s powers and let her take the blame. I even kidnapped…”

“YOU USED WHAT?!” His earlier calm completely erased, Christopher reached out and grabbed Olivia’s shoulders, shaking her back and forth, silencing her. “You stole other’s powers, leeched their magic, and she FORGAVE you?” He snorted derisively, his face still red with rage. “Impossible. She must not have realized what you were doing! Otherwise she would have left you, there’s no way…”

BAM!

Frederick had moved, almost faster than the eye could follow, and pushed Christopher away from Olivia, slamming him back against the wall of the transport. His fist slammed against the wall, fire magic blazing around his fingers.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Frederick looked calm, but his eyes showed the anger just underneath the surface.

“What, no quippy jokes?” Christopher raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconcerned by the burning fist mere inches away from his face. “How unlike you.”

“Just keep going in this direction, and I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

The young man sighed, looking tired. “Fine, fine, I can take a hint. I’ll go away. You can stop threatening to set my hair on fire.”

Frederick stepped away slowly, the flames around his hand sputtering out, and Christopher turned and left through the door towards the next car without another word.

“…” Olivia stepped forward, a complex expression on her face. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem.” Frederick shrugged with a grin. “It’s not your fault you’re so weak that you get bullied by everyone else… but it’s more fun if I’m the one who gets to do it.”

“…”

“Olivia?”

BAM!

“OW!”

_____________________

“You okay?” Gerald reached over from his seat across hers and held Erin’s hand between his own. They had grabbed their own passenger car after Frederick loudly complained about their public display of affection blunting his cynicism and hatred for the world. Erin had rolled her eyes at the time, but was now appreciating the space. The car was quiet, with only the low rumble of the engine moving the transport to break the silence.

She shrugged, staring out the window as the land raced past.

“I’m not sure what’s ahead, but worrying about it won’t change anything. We have to face it.”

“Hey at least the worst is behind us.” At his words, she turned to look at him incredulously.

“What do you mean?”

“EXAMS ARE OVER!” He pumped his fist in the air, a goofy smile on his face. “I’m so happy we survived.”

Erin sighed. “Even ignoring the fact that you somehow have placed exams as the worst thing after we have faced murderers, assassins and entire ARMIES together… you do realize we still have to take final exams at the end of the year before we can graduate?”

“…” Gerald stared at her, looking shocked.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

His only answer was a sad groan. Chuckling, Erin patted his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you prepare.”

“Well at least there’s that.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, both watching the scenery from the window.

“Gerald, I’m worried.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, taking comfort in his warmth.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m starting to lose control.” She rubbed her forehead. “It used to be easy to keep things hidden, keep things restricted, but now… It’s like something is unbalanced inside me. How many times have I destroyed whole buildings since we’ve returned?”

“I mean, I’m just saying, if your father and that brat of a fake fiancé would leave you alone you could stop rearranging the school architecture, …”

“Maybe it’s from using Aunt Elsinore’s magic for so long… maybe it’s something else. I don’t know…”

“Well maybe we can ask her… have you heard anything from Aunt Elsinore?” Gerald asked her quietly.

Erin shook her head. “No, not since our last conversation, even though I’ve tried several times to contact her.” Her hands curled into fists. “Do you think…”

“Think what?”

“Think my father got to her?” She closed her eyes. “She’s never been out of reach before… and now I worry…”

“Erin…”

“That she’ll end up just like my mother.”

“ERIN!” At Gerald’s shout her eyes sprang open. The window next to them was cracked, the seat around her torn to shreds. It looked as if a storm had raged in the tiny passenger cabin. Erin stared around her, feeling shocked.

“You see?” She reached out, gently touching the cracked glass. “Ever since we fought that army, even the artifact isn’t doing much anymore.”

Gerald sighed. “Your magic flows a lot more easily now then it ever did. With my level 5 Insight you glow like a sun. The amulet holds back less and less each day.”

“It was always supposed to be a temporary solution. But I need it to shield things for a little bit longer. A foreign country is not exactly the best place to confront my father.”

She sighed, placing her head in her hands. “I think he suspects my true powers already.”

“Well, I’ll contact my parents, ask my people to look into what’s happened to Aunt Elsinore.”

Erin smiled at his attempt to comfort her. “Really? It would make me feel a lot better to know she’s safe.”

“Of course! I’ll call them as soon as we arrive.” His head snapped up as he finished talking, seeming to sense something, as he turned towards the door of the cabin with a furious expression.

“No need.”

The words were spoken quietly, barely audible within the passenger car, but the effect on Erin and Gerald was instantaneous.

She leapt to her feet, her face pale and angry, every muscle in her body tense and ready for a fight. Gerald also stood, putting his body partway between Erin and the new arrival, his posture clearly communicating an intent to protect as hers was to attack.

General Roderick smiled, the expression causing cold chills to run down Erin’s spine. “Sit down. We’re not going to fight here.”

Reluctantly, Gerald and Erin sat back, down, this time on the same side. Slowly, her father walked closer, sitting across from them, casually looking around, ignoring the increasingly tense atmosphere.

“What did you mean by ‘no need’?” Erin’s mind was racing as she thought back through their conversation. What had he overheard? How long had he been standing there?

Gerald squeezed her hand reassuringly beside her, and Erin calmed down slightly, with his insight there was no way her father could sneak up on them easily.

“Your inquiries after your aunt.” Roderick’s smile widened. “I’m afraid she’s no longer to be found in her government residence.”

“You mean her prison.”

He ignored her interruption, continuing. “She burnt the whole place down, killing all of my men.”

“…” Gerald and Erin stared at each other in shock.

“I assume you will see her soon enough, so need to waste the time looking for her.”

“What do you…?”

“She’ll be on her way to kill me.” Even as he discussed her aunt’s murderous intentions, he seemed… bored. “I expect her sometime in the next few weeks.”

Erin stood up again, struggling to hold in her magic as anger took hold. “You could be lying. She might be still imprisoned, injured, or…or dead…”

“Oh, Éirinne.” He threw back his head, laughing. The sound filled the room, filling her with unease. His eyes met her own and she nearly stepped back at the sense of danger. “I have no reason to lie. She means nothing to me. Her hatred, her desire for vengeance, mean even less to me than yours.”

At these words he turned to leave the room, almost running into Christopher.

“FINALLY! Erin, I’ve been looking for y…” The golden-eyed young man trailed off as he stopped in front Roderick. His face paling, he sketched an elaborate bow. “Pardon me, General.”

Her father frowned, stepping back away from him as if wary of being too close. “Be more careful in the future.”

With that, he was gone, and Erin could breathe once again.

“Well, at least you’re good for something!” Gerald grinned, although the expression was strained. “Driving away nuisances like General Roderick.”

Christopher shook his head, looking offended. “I didn’t drive him away! He was already leaving.” Hesitating, he took a step towards Erin, who stared impassively back at him.

“Erin, can we talk alo…”

“No.” Her answer was short, she turned away from him to face the window. Undeterred, Christopher stepped forward again.”

“I just need to…”

“I cannot tell you how very little I care for what you want or need to do.” Her gaze met his, and Erin didn’t bother to hide her rage. “Leave me alone, and you can still leave in one piece.”

“…” A silence came over the room. Gerald stood at Erin’s side, arms crossed. He didn’t comment but his posture made it clear he supported Erin’s words. Finally, Christopher sighed.

“FINE.” He threw up his hands. “Just bury your head in the sand, try to pretend the world isn’t ending. I’m trying to save it, but you are so wrapped up in hating me, that you can’t see it!” His face for once did not hold his pleasant, masklike smile but a snarl of frustration. “You know what? Forget it! I’m tired of all of this. You can come crawling back to me when you regret it, and hopefully it won’t be too late. ”

He turned to walk out, but paused to say one last thing.

“How could you be so different from your mother?!”

And with that he was gone.

Erin felt her head spin, and unsteady, sat down, clutching the edge of the window for support. The seat cushion underneath her began tearing, the wood groaning under the strain as her poorly controlled magic bent it away from her. The spider web cracks deepened on the window, the frame warping around it.

“Erin, are you okay?!”

After a long, uncomfortable pause, Erin looked up at Gerald, trying to take deep breaths, to control her emotions, her magic.

“How does Christopher know my mother?”

#writing #restricted magic #i updated it!#not a huge update considering how much time has gone by #but if i don't get started somehow i never will #wish me luck #this doesn't mean i'm dropping please fix the story either #that's still the primary project #this is a passion piece that i'm determined to finish #fantasy #revenge #romance #arc 3

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enternalempires · 4 years

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What She Learned

Jasonette fic, a lil hurt/death, a lil romance, and I like it so... (also can someone please explain to me how to add the thing that I can make it so yo guys can click ‘read more’ instead of being forced to scroll past the whole thing???)

7-years-old and Marinette is told by one Chloe Bourgeois that she will never be worth anything in life, because ugly little girls like her don’t deserve attention. She’s pushed to the ground but she does not cry at her split knees or the scraps stinging on her palms; she stands up and she doesn’t talk back but she returns from school to a warm house and caring parents.

Her soulmate mark appears a month later and her bully spends a month sneering at the Phoenix resting against the inside of her wrist, dancing in reds and darkness and resurrection.

A week later, she learns that there are more important people to listen to than those who make her cry at 8 in the morning.

9-years-old and Marinette thinks that the blonde mayor’s daughter is the worst person she will have the unfortunate chance to meet. She gets insulted and glared at and has a hard time making friends but she is strong and she is kind and she will continue to stand even if she doesn’t know how important it is to get up after you fall.

She’s having dreams of dark streets and color nights; of dark gargoyles hanging off buildings, dirty-faced children, a city drowned in fear. She sees the face of a dizzy woman and an angry man and she wakes up terrified because there are bruises on a body that is not her own and the ache of an empty stomach underneath their palms. When she looks into a mirror there is a boy with a too-serious expression for such a young face and eyes blue enough to drown her in the sadness there.

She learns that there are some children out there who never had the chance to learn kindness before they learned how to survive.

10-years-old and Marinette is shoved into a row of lockers by a boy she doesn’t recognize, her pink dress and pigtails sneered at until tears fill her eyes. She doesn’t know how to defend herself but she tries until she’s shoved onto the school’s grimy floor and breaks a finger trying to catch herself.

She does not cry, she does not say sorry, she does not think that it is fair for her teacher to say, “Boys will be boys,” instead of “I’m sorry you got hurt on my watch.” She will continue to stand up for herself even after a broken wrist.

She asks her parents about the nightmares, about the boy with blue eyes and an empty stomach; they tell her about her soulmate and they tell her that one day, she is going to meet him and love him how their parents loved each other.

13-years old and Marinette does not understand the word sacrifice but she is about to learn. She flinches at the sight of magic-tainted earrings and feels her fingertips run cold with insecurity— because she never wanted this, she didn’t want to be a hero and she didn’t want to be in charge of saving people when, in the past, she never knew how to save herself.

It has been a year and she starts to see flashes of a man in black and a large house that feels too clean to be tainted, too open to be safe. She sees the reflection of a boy in red, green, and yellow and feels the comfort of the heavy books underneath his fingers.

He never got the chance to be smart before, never got the right education, never learned something unless it helped him stay alive— and she goes to sleep smiling because even though he’s not quite happy, at least he’s safe.

15-years-old and Marinette is dreaming of a man in green and purple and she’s sobbing because— he’s getting hurt and she’s watching from his eyes and she can’t do anything about it. He cries out for his father, for the man promised to be there, and he dies alone and staring at a bloody crowbar, his blue eyes going dull in the reflection of his own blood.

She wakes up screaming and feeling empty and with the Phoenix on her wrist looking like nothing more than a pile of ash, red feathers and glowing eyes going blurry and dark. There is not enough light in the world to make her chest hurt any less and her parents hold her as she cries but don’t speak; there is nothing that could be said to comfort someone in the face of a loss like this.

She learns what it is like to be alone for the first time in her life and she no longer knows how to dream.

17-years-old and Marinette is standing at the bottom of the Eiffel tower, ruination around her, swirling and teetering on the edge of death, surrounding her like a wet blanket, the water of horror digging deep into her bones. She has watched her comrades die for her and she has watched them protect her with everything in them, believing that she will win. Believing that she will bring them back— and she does, and they’re safe, but nothing can change the fact that she will always remember what her loved one’s looked like dead, empty eyes staring right at her.

She did not win against Hawkmoth, not really, not when she has lost so much. She casts her cure and she returns home with the two recovered miraculouses, a heavy heart, and enough trauma to last a lifetime.

She knew what it felt like to mourn someone she never met but now she learns how it feels to grieve two people at once, even when they are still alive.

19-years-old and Marinette is staring at the fire that consumed the bakery, her home, her parents. She saw too many horrible, traumatic things that it takes a couple seconds to register that this is it, they’re not coming back. Because yes, she has seen the world end but no, the world did not end. She is used to being able to fix things that are broken in a way that makes sure they never broke but this is not one of those things and her parents are not some of the people whose lives she has the luxury of saving.

She is desperate to run and she is desperate to fight but there is no longer a battle in Paris. Her instincts tell her to go, go, run, don’t look back and don’t think about the bodies left behind, so she does and she ends up in Gotham and she ends up looking at familiar gargoyles and familiar streets and feels an ache so wide inside her heart she’s surprised it’s still beating.

She owns a small bakery on the corner of crime alley that is the only neutral ground in seemingly all of Gotham and she learns how to bake without crying at the scent of baked bread, turning her grief into comfort as she’s surrounded by her parent’s smell and memories of her childhood— she shares that comfort with any kids who come in looking for a safe place to spend the night.

21-years-old and Marinette has built herself a home; the building is old but warm and drenched in magic. She found all the other Miraculous boxes and lets the Kwamis roam free inside of her apartment, there’s over a hundred of them in total but she bonded with them all and, in return, they love her. She is the Guardian; both a monster and a protector at once.

The kids flock to her like moths to a flame and over the years she has gained all of their trust. She asks for nothing in return when she gives them food and medicine and a warm place to sleep. There’s magic on the doors that lead to rooms full of bunk beds and closets with food and medical supplies and sleeping bags and all is welcome— the kids know about the Kwamis and they know that she is safe, in a world that has taught them to fear everything, she is safe.

They call her the Guardian or Lady luck and she learns how to have a family again without being terrified of losing them.

23-years-old and Marinette has just saved one of her kids from Scarecrow. It is not the first time and it will not be the last. There are those that are terrified of her, gang leaders and villains that won’t step foot onto her land— but these are her kids, these are her people, this is her home and she will not feel guilty for protecting them.

She is polite to Batman and the other vigilantes, she has made friends with the Sirens, and she knows her way around Gotham and she knows when there is a problem that needs to be solved. She does not know what to make of Red Hood or the dreams that come with him or how her fingers tremble when one of the older kids comes through the bakery’s doors with a crowbar tucked under her arm.

She does not know how to make her mind any lighter, she does not know how to get rid of the darkness but she learns that there is such a thing as healing with time.

24-years-old and Marinette comes home from patrol and finds her balcony’s doors open and the living room smelling like blood. She sees Red Hood’s eyes for the first time and she does not cry, she does not fall, and she does not flinch. They are blue and more angry than sad and guilty— so, so guilty— but she knows them well. Her wrist burns and the Phoenix rises again from the ashes, and she no longer feels so alone.

She patches Hood— Jason, his name is Jason— up and she still does not fall over but her knees are weak, so very weak because he’s here and he’s alive and oh my God. She does not ask about the bullet wound but she asks about the sickly and tainted magic clinging to his skin. He tells her about waking up in the Lazarus Pit and when asked, she tells him about a boy in white and the moon cracked in half in the sky.

They do not know each other’s past well, they do not know so many things but they know that they don’t want to lose each other again. They do not know what to do next but she learns not to question it because her soulmate is alive and that’s good enough for her.

26-years-old and Marinette is getting married under a sky full of stars and the hands in hers are warm and there’s nothing cold about her life. She has her home, she has her kids and bakery and she has her Kwamis. She has Jason and he isn’t gentle but he is kind and he knows how to hold her just right when she feels like falling apart. She is kind and soft and knows how to hold him when he feels like the madness is getting worse again.

She is happy for one of the first times in years and she knows that, despite it all, she’d go through it again if it meant she could end up here; happy in her husband's arms and cheeks hurting from smiling so wide.

She has learned a lot and she’s not even 30, but she has learned how to love and how to be loved and how to always get up when she falls. She knows how to stand, feet firmly planted into the ground, and she knows how to not let herself get blown over when things get too hard.

But if she did happen to let herself fall?

Well, now there’s someone there to catch her.

#jasonette #jason x marinette #mlb fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #fanfic #batman dc #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #death #learning #soulmate AU #cute #love #marriage

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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your love is my turning page

(based on “Turning Page” by Sleeping at Last because I listened to it the other day and cried like...twice)

tw: whump, major character ‘death’, blood mention, canon typical violence but only briefly, snuggling, fluff

---

Geralt cradled the bard’s body gently against his chest as he exited the keep, which was burning to a massive stony heap behind him. His amber gaze was blank and his mouth formed a thin, grim line as he moved steadily towards the side of the path ahead, where Roach and the sorceress were waiting for his triumphant return. How disappointed they would be.

Yennefer gasped and covered her mouth with her hand when she finally saw what Geralt was carrying, her tone utterly disbelieving. “No, Geralt. Tell me it isn’t true. Please tell me that he isn’t-”

“We didn’t make it in time, Yen.”

“Geralt, I’m-”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Witcher interrupted again. His voice was toneless and his eyes were glazed and empty when he spoke. Yennefer worried her lip between her teeth, mouth still hidden by her hand. She reached out for Geralt with the other but he growled and flinched away from the contact, “Don’t.”

“Just let me-”

“Don’t touch him, Yen!” the Witcher bellowed, curling his arms up and holding the bard’s limp form against his chest. Tears leaked from his eyes, slow and impossible in their appearance (Witchers physically cannot cry, or so he’d thought). They made their way down his stubbled cheeks and fell noiselessly to the ground. Some of them hung from the end of his nose for a moment before plummeting. Some dropped down to form damp, grey marks on the material of the bard’s half-open chemise. A chemise covered in dark, drying smears of blood.

Jaskier’s blood.

Too much of Jaskier’s blood.

The Witcher fell to his knees in a patch of flowers and pulled the broken form of his best friend even tighter to him. “I...I’m sorry I was too late this time,” he murmured against the crown of Jaskier’s clammy forehead. His slender, long-limbed body still hadn’t gone entirely cold yet despite the blood-loss. “Gods, I’m so sorry.”

There were marks carved all over the bard’s torso, oozing blood through the thin material of his shirt; Geralt had seen the bloody sigils glowing faintly before he’d killed the crazed mage who’d put them there. The Witcher had pulled Jaskier’s shirt back down to cover his wounds and absconded with him, casting a careless Igni on his way out the door.

The mage had needed a human sacrifice. The mage had chosen Jaskier.

Yen placed a gentle hand atop Jaskier’s unmoving shoulder and Geralt heard her empathetic sigh. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“I waited nearly a hundred years for someone to come along and show me what love was supposed to feel like and I’d wait a million more; but only for him,” the Witcher admitted. There was no reason not to admit things, now, when he couldn’t ruin anything between them. He laid the bard’s body down beside a small patch of daisies and buttercups and let the aching, burning tears continue their cascade down his face. He didn’t say anything more for a moment; words had never been his strong suit.

“Tell him now,” Yen suggested, her own voice watery with emotion, “Tell him everything. I’ll give you a moment alone.”

Yen wandered a few steps into the treeline to give them privacy, to give Geralt a moment alone with his paralyzed but absolutely not dead bard. She smirked to herself and wiped the forced tears from her eyes. Like taking candy from an enormous, stupid baby. Can he not hear the faint beating of his little bard’s resilient human heart?

“I’d give anything to see you smile at me again, Jaskier. I’m so, so sorry that we didn’t make it to you in time. I’m sorry that you died like this, for the sake of a greedy, power-hungry asshole. You were so bright. You brought so much happiness to the Continent. You brought so much happiness to me.”

Geralt, still kneeling next to Jaskier’s limp form, brushed a stray lock of brown hair behind the bard’s ear and felt a primal sense of loss wrap around every individual piece of his shattered and slow-beating heart. “If only I could have caressed your skin as softly as I often dream of doing. If only I could have felt your warmth in such a simple, human way. You made me stronger every time you coveted my weaknesses, you know. Even when I failed, you stayed at my side and told me how strong and kind I was. How brave I was. Your heart was so delicate and human and fragile. You forced me to work every day to improve myself. I would have done anything to keep you from breaking under the weight of this awful world and yet-” the Witcher’s voice broke completely and he only barely managed to gasp out “-and yet here we are.”

---

Jaskier could hear everything. The too-sweet paralyzation agent force-fed to him by the evil mage was close to wearing off but until then the bard could only listen as the man of his dreams mourned his apparent death. He could only lay in stunned silence as Yennefer noticed the presence of the mixed herbs and refused to mention them to Geralt. Perhaps this was her gift to Jaskier; perhaps this was an apology. Whatever twisted form of affection she was showing her new friend for now, though, had the bard feeling more than a little upset.

He hated seeing Geralt so worked up. So sad. So hurt.

“I’m going to miss your presence in the world, Jaskier. I’m going to miss the way you smiled when you blushed; gods, I wanted to make you smile at me like that so many times...it was blinding. The way your lip would curl up and your tongue would poke out when you scribbled your poems into that damned expensive notebook at inns or near the fire. Gods, I-”

“I could fix him for you,” Yen offered, returning from the trees. It was almost nonchalant in its casualness. Almost.

“What’s the price for such an impressive feat?” Geralt asked. He smoothed the bard’s hair back again. He’d need to bury the corpse soon; he could barely stand to look at it any longer. It’s not Jaskier anymore, not without those sparkling eyes and that trembling, velvet voice.

He’d do anything to hear that voice again, even Jaskier was only cussing him out or calling him every name in the book. He’d listen to a thousand repetitions of every insult hurled his way by every villager across the Continent if it meant Jaskier was saying them with the voice Geralt knew he’d never hear again.

His voice was low and quiet when he asked the sorceress: “What kind of ingredients would you need for such a task?”

“I would need a sacrifice of equal value. Those runes can only be transferred from one person to another.”

Geralt’s head whipped around and his eyes widened hopefully. “Use me. If that will bring him back then take me.”

“And get horrifically murdered when he wakes to find his darling Witcher dead and buried? No, thank you. I don’t have a death wish.”

Smart woman, Jaskier thought. Just give me the antidote or whatever magical cure I know you’re hiding, Yennefer! Let me up! Let me comfort him, I’ve heard enough!

She’d clearly been listening to his thoughts because just as he summoned the worst of his insults to silently throw her way, Yen relented. She knelt beside Geralt and leaned forward, pressing her palm to the center of Jaskier’s forehead. There was a soft purple glow and Geralt panicked, “What are you doing!? You just said-”

“I lied,” she shrugged. “He was just paralyzed. You should have been able to hear his heart, faint as it was.”

“You...you mean…” Jaskier’s eyes slowly fluttered open and he groaned softly. The Witcher’s eyes were wide and shimmered with new tears as he leaned over the bard’s prostrate figure. “Jaskier?”

“Did-” he coughed and groaned again but pushed on “-did you mean it?”

“Every word,” Geralt smiled shyly. He hadn’t thought Witchers could blush, either, but here they sat; Geralt’s cheeks were pale pink and Jaskier was still heaving out labored breaths.

“Here are some basic healing supplies for the bard’s chest,” Yen interrupted, tossing a linen bag towards Geralt, who caught it easily. “I’m going to be on my way. You two need a moment, seems like.”

“Thank you, Yen,” Jaskier smiled. Geralt glanced between the two but before he could ascertain the bard’s meaning, the sorceress had fled through one of her portals and disappeared. As soon as she was gone, Jaskier let out the loud, anguished cry he’d been holding back in her presence. “Fuck me, this hurts! Fuck!”

“Fucking hells,” Geralt scrambled through the bag for some kind of pain relief. He placed a few drops of poppy tincture at the end of Jaskier’s tongue and lifted him slowly from the ground. “Let’s get you to an inn. I need to treat those cuts and I can’t do it very well in the grass.”

“My big, scary Witcher,” Jaskier smiled, hooking his arms around Geralt’s neck as he was lifted into the White Wolf’s embrace. “Taking care of me so well.”

---

That night, Geralt laid with Jaskier’s head atop his chest. The oddly patterned cuts across the bard’s torso were now covered in salve and bandaged tightly.

“None of my training prepared me for this,” the Witcher admitted, kissing Jaskier’s petal-soft cheek with the utmost reverence.

“What is this?” the bard asked.

“I am yours,” Geralt stated. It was a simple fact. A fact he’d accepted the moment he realized he hadn’t lost Jaskier forever. The younger man’s face went bright red and he nuzzled closer to his rescuer’s side. Geralt’s strong arm was looped around his back, holding him close. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

“Gladly.”

The bard leaned up and pressed his lips to Geralt’s. It was soft, tender, and endlessly healing. Warmth spread through the Witcher’s body, spreading from his heart to each and every one of his limbs. He pulled the bard completely on top of him and wrapped his arms around the man’s lower back to anchor him. Jaskier crossed his arms over Geralt’s chest and rested his chin there.

“Though we’re tethered to the story we must tell, When I saw you, well I knew we’d tell it well.”

“Is that your newest composition?” the Witcher asked, running his hand through Jaskier’s soft brown hair as he sang. The bard nodded.

“It’s a love song. About a Witcher...and a bard.”

“Hmm. I can’t wait to hear it.”

#geraskier fic #geraskier story #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #yen is there also being a bro #geralt whump #jaskier whump #emotional hurt/comfort #witcher hurt/comfort #geraskier hurt/comfort #geralt admits his feelings #geraskier first kiss #love confession #blood mention #injury tw

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turtle-paced · 4 years

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Revisiting Chapters: Brienne VIII, AFFC

This post is also available on my wordpress.

The story so far…

Having done what a true knight does and saved the children at the Inn, a wounded Brienne is taken to receive her just reward. The catch being it’s Lady Stoneheart’s idea of just.

Fever Dreams

The chapter starts with Brienne incapacitated. Aside from the fact that someone’s tied her up (so tightly that it cuts into her wrists, we find out later) and slung her across a horse, she’s very much not well. She’s in a lot of pain and she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Pod’s somewhere in the background.

Cue successions of horrible dreams, swapping back and forth with reality. Brienne revisits the bear pit, calling out for Jaime, and then for a maester. She dreams of Renly’s murder and Vargo Hoat with an infected ear. She replays the fight at the Whispers and loses, because she cannot fight without the magic sword Jaime gave her.

The reader understands as Brienne does not at this point that what’s going on around Brienne is very, very bad for her. When Brienne mistakes a girl who speaks to her for Sansa, a man nearby laughs. Some time afterwards, she’s moved and given medicine. The girl administering said medicine gives us a rundown of Brienne’s injuries. Aside from the nasty wound on her face from Biter’s bites, she’s got a broken arm and some cracked ribs.

Brienne’s with it long enough to hear the confirmation that yes, Gendry killed Biter at the end of the previous chapter. The girl treating her is definitely not Sansa Stark, though. Instead, she appears to be the innkeeper, now revealed to be Jeyne Heddle (and her sister, back at the inn, is Willow Heddle). Her status as a prisoner is confirmed by a dark-haired man Brienne keeps mistaking for Renly (it’s Gendry). She’s being taken to Lady Stoneheart.

“M’lady means to make you answer for your crimes.”

Ominous! Brienne is quite sensibly afraid. She asks after Pod and Ser Hyle, though she also thinks that Septon Meribald and his dog are there. That’s about the end of that bout with lucidity. Next up, she’s taken across a river. No Gendry, he’s gone back to the Inn to protect the children. A man in a yellow cloak and wearing the Hound’s helm threatens to kill Brienne.

Finally, Brienne dreams of her encounter with Ronnet Connington. Her father promises to bring her a rose, but Brienne needs a sword. She bites her own tongue off in her nervousness, spits it out to lie next to the useless rose, and as her dream suitor expresses his digust with her, Ronnet turns to Jaime.

The overarching themes of Brienne’s dreams here are sex and romance, violence, and failure. Each of Brienne’s dreams ends with her failing in some way - to win a fight, to protect Renly, to even speak. In several of her dreams, she’s missing her sword and wants it back. This particular bit I find particularly telling:

“He will bring a rose for you,” her father promised her, but a rose was no good, a rose could not keep her safe. It was a sword she wanted. Oathkeeper. I have to find the girl. I have to find his honour.

While it’s a sweet notion, it also makes me sad. The only person who can find Jaime’s honour is Jaime. It also shows us how Brienne has come to see her quest - not just for Catelyn, but for Jaime as well.It’s not hard to see how the recent events of Brienne’s life have resulted in this traumatic mishmash of images. I don’t think they’re prophetic in any way, just reflecting her own rather poor state of mind. She feels like she’s failed, and she feels helpless.

The Broken Brotherhood

The first sign that this is, for sure, the Brotherhood Without Banners again is the presence of this man:

One of the shadow men shoved the girl aside. He was clad in rusted rings and a studded belt. At his hip hung longsword and dirk. A yellow greatcoat was plastered to his shoulders, sodden and filthy. From his shoulders rose a steel dog’s head, its teeth bared in a snarl.

Lem Lemoncloak. Compare to his first good description in Arya II, ASoS, where his armour is steel but not rusty and his cloak is only worn and stained instead of absolutely filthy.

The fact that the Brotherhood Without Banners has been taken over by undead Catelyn Stark was the subject of the epilogue of ASoS. As GRRM does with the epilogues, though, that was a one-off PoV character who doesn’t survive his experience with perspective voice. It’s a reveal for the readers. This is the internal reveal to our surviving and continuing PoV characters. Not the big reveal yet. But part of it.

Lem says that they’ll be hanging Brienne, to which she protests that she should have been covered by guest right, back at the inn.

“Guest right don’t mean so much as it used to,” said the girl. “Not since m’lady came back from the wedding. Some o’ them swinging down by the river figured they was guests too.”

This is not the same band that was doing their best to protect the peasants of the Riverlands. This tells us that nothing is sacred in how this new Brotherhood pursues their revenge against the Freys and Lannisters. Brienne, being ill, conks out again and doesn’t wake up for a while.

She wakes up again in what’s basically a grave.

The air was cold and heavy, and smelled of earth and worms and mold. She was lying on a pallet beneath a mound of sheepskins, with rock above her head and roots poking through the walls. The only light came from a tallow candle, smoking in a pool of melted wax.

And if that wasn’t making the point enough:

The flickering light cast queer shadows. Shadows of the slain, she thought, dancing all about me, hiding when I turn to look at them. Everywhere she saw holes and cracks and crevices, but there was no way to know which passages led out, which would take her deeper into the cave, and which went nowhere. All were black as pitch.

Brienne’s not alone down here; there’s an “old grey man” in rags as well. He helpfully flags for Brienne that their current location is representative of the Brotherhood’s moral slide. The man checks Brienne’s fever (broken) and tells her the status of her face (badly scarred, once it heals). He was not the one who treated Brienne, though. That was the girl from earlier, Jeyne.

Brienne asks why she received treatment if they’re just planning to hang her. He tells her that it was Lem’s screw-up that made the fight at the inn necessary - Lem was baited into charging off after the Bloody Mummers, but the man considers that Lem should have known better. Then we get to the key question: who are these people?

“We were king’s men when we began,” the man told her, “but king’s men must have a king, and we have none. We were brothers too, but now our brotherhood is broken. I do not know who we are, if truth be told, nor where we might be going. I only know the road is dark. The fires have not shown me what lies at its end.”

I know where it ends. I have seen the corpses in the trees.

Then it clicks for Brienne. This is the Brotherhood Without Banners, and she’s speaking to Thoros of Myr. Who clearly has his doubts again. Beric Dondarrion is dead. The Brotherhood has a new leader, who Thoros describes as “grimmer”. He goes to get her some food.As in her dreams before, Brienne finds herself looking for a weapon. She finds none.

When Thoros returns, he does so with some pretty lousy food. No milk, no honey, which is absolutely representative of the stores of human kindness on offer. Thoros says so himself, when Brienne asks for Pod to receive pity. If kindness is not available, what about justice?

“Justice.” Thoros smiled wanly. “I remember justice. It had a pleasant taste. […] We were king’s men, knights, and heroes…but some knights are dark and full of terror, my lady. War makes monsters of us all.”

Ah, wordplay! Thoros sees how the cause of the Brotherhood has turned from justice to revenge, and frankly he preferred the justice. This moment here with Thoros is for the reader to reconcile the somewhat morally ambiguous band of Merry Men who tried to look after Arya, tried to give to the poor, and try to conduct trials with the people who’ve been hanging and hanging and hanging people throughout the Riverlands.

That’s when Thoros hears company arriving. Brienne half remembers them from her interludes of lucidity. Once again Lem Lemoncloak is the most noticeable figure. He took the Hound’s helm from Rorge’s corpse. Lem does not deny it when Brienne identifies him as “the Hound”. By taking up the helm, Lem becomes the man. With consequences:

“There is nothing good about that helm, nor the men who wore it,” said the red priest. “Sandor Clegane was a man in torment, and Rorge a beast in human skin.”

“I’m not them.”

“Then why show the world their face?”

Fear, basically. But literally, though, there are those in the Brotherhood who are becoming the evil they fought. Who’s going to be able to tell Lem Lemoncloak apart from the previous men who wore the Hound’s helm? Who’s going to be able to tell the Brotherhood Without Banners from the other groups terrorising the Riverlands, now that they’re not a brotherhood and they’re all out of kindness and justice?

Heart of Stone

Once Brienne is brought to the main cavern (to answer for what she’s done, leaving her rather confused as to what it is she’s supposed to have done), she gets her first look at Lady Stoneheart, recently returned from Fairmarket.

A trestle table had been set up across the cave, in a clef in the rock. Behind it sat a woman all in grey, cloaked and hooded. In her hands was a crown, a bronze circlet ringed by iron swords. She was studying it, her fingers stroking the blades as if to test their sharpness. Her eyes glimmered under her hood.

The readers know several things that Brienne does not, in this moment. The obvious one, that this is undead Catelyn. Then there’s the less obvious. This crown was last mentioned back in Jaime VI, in the possession of Ryman Frey (in point of fact, Jaime told Ryman that Ryman shouldn’t take the crown when he left the camp). Sure enough, in Jaime VII, we’ll learn that Stoneheart’s men ambushed Ryman Frey and company two leagues out of Fairmarket. This is Robb’s crown that Lady Stoneheart now has.

The accusations against Brienne are quickly made clear. Association with and loyalty to the Lannisters. The evidence for this? She was calling out for Jaime in her fevered state. Not great evidence. But then they bring out Oathkeeper. Valyrian steel. Though it’s noted that Lady Stoneheart is focusing only on the lion pommel. Plus the letter Jaime gave her, signed by Tommen, claiming that Brienne is about his business. Better evidence.

All Brienne has to counter that is the truth. Jaime Lannister, famously dishonourable, gave Brienne a Valyrian steel sword and sent her to find Sansa Stark to protect her. Actually protect her, not the ‘move her to Cersei’s dungeons pending trial’ protection. The problem is…

“Are we supposed to believe the Lannisters are handing out gold and ruby swords to foes? That the Kingslayer meant for you to hide [Sansa] from his own twin? I suppose the paper with the boy king’s seal was just in case you needed to wipe your arse.”

It’s frankly unbelieveable. Unbelieveable to anyone who wasn’t in Jaime’s PoV for the duration of ASoS. To make matters worse, Pod and Hyle are brought forth too, described as “the Imp’s own squire” and “one of Randyll Bloody Tarly’s bloody household knights” respectively. Brienne can see the way this is going and pleads for them to be left out of it.

At last Lady Stoneheart speaks. Not well. She needs a young northman (Harwin, not that Brienne knows his name) to translate her words. She asks the name of Brienne’s sword.

“Oathkeeper,” Brienne answered.

The woman in grey hissed through her fingers. Her eyes were two red pits burning in the shadows. She spoke again.

“No, she says. Call it Oathbreaker, she says. It was made for treachery and murder. She names it False Friend. Like you.”

Again, the reader knows something that Brienne does not. Some of the last words Catelyn Stark heard in life were Jaime Lannister sends his regards. What this looks like to Lady Stoneheart is that Jaime had a hand in arranging the Red Wedding, then bribed Brienne to go after Sansa as well.

In the meantime, Brienne is confused about why Lady Stoneheart is making such a personal accusation, and this at last prompts the reveal.

“Lady Catelyn?” Tears filled her eyes. “They said…they said that you were dead.”

“She is,” said Thoros of Myr. “The Freys slashed her throat from ear to ear. When we found her by the river she was three days dead. Harwin begged me to give her the kiss of life, but it had been too long. I would not do it, so Lord Beric put his lips to hers, and the flame of life passed from him to her. And…she rose. May the Lord of Light protect us. She rose.”

So the classic zombie look, really, but a zombie retaining Catelyn’s last traumatic memories and plenty of will. Brienne’s narration refers to her as “the thing that had been Catelyn Stark.” As Brienne is absolutely adamant that she never broke faith with Catelyn, Lady Stoneheart demands she prove it.

“What does she want of me?”

“She wants her son alive, or the men who killed him dead,” said the big man. “She wants to feed the crows, like they did at the Red Wedding. Freys and Boltons, aye. We’ll give her those, as many as she likes. What she asks from you is Jaime Lannister.”

Note the simplicity of this agenda. Lady Stoneheart wants the one impossible thing - her murdered son, not to have been murdered. Failing that, the next best thing is lots and lots of dead people. She wants to do the same thing to the Freys as the Freys did to her. There’s no suggestion of retaking land, or dealing with administration and supply. She just wants everyone even tangentially involved with her son’s murder dead.

This is all very well and good if we’re talking about your Walder Freys (any one of several options) or your Roose Boltons, but now we see Lady Stoneheart lashing out at Brienne, and Pod, and Hyle. Brienne’s situation looks bad, but the reader knows that she’s right when she says Jaime’s not the man he was. Pod’s backstory as revealed in Brienne’s own chapters show his lack of options. Even Hyle, who’s undoubtedly an asshole, is clearly not responsible for Catelyn’s suffering. This is why Thoros was bemoaning the general lack of justice he was seeing around the place.

Lady Stoneheart then offers Brienne a choice. Her own life for Jaime’s. The sword or the noose. Brienne refuses to pick. So Lady Stoneheart orders Brienne hanged. Hyle and Pod too. Brienne tries to bargain for Pod’s life, using the same ‘sapphires’ line Jaime tried, but Lem (now referred to in narration as ‘the Hound’) tells her he wants his wife and daughter back, and starts the hanging. Brienne is focused on Pod. Just Pod.

The chapter finishes with Brienne screaming a single word.

Chapter Function

This chapter is our first proper look at Lady Stoneheart, who’s as tragic as she is terrifying. GRRM’s used Brienne’s PoV well to get both these things across. While Jaime’s storyline necessarily deals with the effects of Lady Stoneheart’s actions, it’s Brienne’s that makes you feel for her victims. It’s also Brienne’s storyline that makes the reader feel for Catelyn herself, who was wronged and murdered and brought back to more pain.

This is the true emotional climax of Brienne’s AFFC arc. Not the fight. The choice. We’ve seen Brienne decide good and honourable things all throughout her storyline, but here she’s put in a situation where there is no good and honourable decision. Take the sword to kill Jaime, betray the trust of a man who saved her life. And, though Lady Stoneheart doesn’t believe it, betray the mission Catelyn gave her. Take the noose, and Pod hangs with her.

Sometimes there’s no way to keep every vow. Brienne has the best of intentions. We’ve seen her good character. But there’s just no good solution to this problem. It’s the point Jaime made, way back when. Brienne’s vows are less important than doing what’s right, and allowing Pod to hang when she could prevent it isn’t right.

Now to see how she handles Jaime. The climax of this AFFC arc lets us know how things will be progressing in TWoW, because now we need to know how Brienne’s going to handle the choice, while also knowing that Lady Stoneheart won’t be backing down from hers. More trouble for the Riverlands is ahead.

Miscellany

Thoros notes that Long Jeyne Heddle treated Brienne as well as a maester could. I doubt she’s had much formal training. Which means that what Jeyne learned, she learned from experience. There’s a nasty thought.

It’s worth thinking twice about Lady Stoneheart and the crown. While Catelyn believes that Arya, Bran, and Rickon are all dead, she has no idea where or whether they were buried. She knows for sure that Robb is dead, but again, it’s not clear where or whether he was buried - given the desecration of his corpse, and what happened to Catelyn’s own body, it doesn’t seem likely that he received a respectful funeral. The fact that Sansa’s vanished without a trace is rather important to Brienne’s storyline. This crown is all Catelyn has left of her children.

Clothing Porn

In her final dream sequence, Brienne wears a silk brocade gown with blue and red quarters and decorated with golden suns and silver moons. Out of dream flashback, she’s wearing a brown woolen shift. Thoros wears the remains of an old robe, red faded out to pink and white.

Food Porn

Onion broth. Cold, greasy stew. Hard bread and harder cheese.

Next Three Chapters

Jon VII, ACoK - Jon IX, ADWD - The Princess in the Tower, AFFC

#ASoIaF #valyrianscrolls #revisiting chapters #cw: violence #a feast for crows #brienne of tarth #catelyn stark

82 notes · View notes

rohad93 · 4 years

Text

Moonlit Masquerade: Jokers Wild Pt 2(Final)

Rated T

It's a long weekend for the twins.

They don't talk for a long while after they get home after Amity turned them away at the owl house. They both feel guilty. They're all kinds of furious at their classmates for attacking their sister and Luz, but guilt is at the forefront of both their minds, and they are wrapped up in their own thoughts most of the night.

Their parents are out, so Amity doesn't come home till very late Saturday night, bandaged and wearing one of her girlfriend's hoodies when Eda and Luz drop her off outside the gates.

She walked right past them sitting in the living room and didn’t say a word to them, didn’t so much as look at them as she walked by and up the stairs to her room.

They share a look after they hear the door shut.

"We… gotta talk to her right?" Edric looks at his twin.

"I really think we're the last two people she wants to talk to right now, Ed." Emira reclined on the couch, sighing and covering her eyes with her arm.

"How are we supposed to fix this if we don't talk to her?" He throws up his arm, exasperated.

"I don't think we can fix this… did you even see her arm? Or Luz's face!?" she hissed at him, lifting her head to glare at him.

"Of course I saw it!" he barked, fists clenched. Alabaster and Cyran were dead men the next time he saw them, he swore it. No one was going to get away with hurting their sister or her girlfriend! He sighed heavily out his nose. “We have to try,” he said much quieter. Emira looked up at the ceiling, where Amity’s room was on the second floor and sighed, nodding as she stood from the couch.

They padded quietly up the stairs and down the hall to Amity’s closed door.

Amity sat on her bed with a tired sigh, after she changed into her nightwear, her arm still hurt, but not as bad as it had earlier. They'd applied some ointments Luz had learned in her healing classes that really took some of the pain out of her burn, and she'd rubbed some on the new bruises that were forming on Luz's back from when she'd been slammed to the ground. She had them everywhere.

She changed into her pajama pants but left the hoodie on. Her room is plenty warm, but her own hoodie was all but destroyed, leaving her in a plain white shirt. So, Luz had lent her one of her other hoodies to wear on the chilly ride home.

She flopped back on the bed and smiled softly to herself, holding the front of the hoodie up to her nose, inhaling deeply.

It wasn't as warm as Luz, but it certainly had that earthy, summer smell that made her think of her girlfriend.

A knock on her door made her frown, dropping the fabric back to her chest.

She knows who it is. It couldn't be anyone else. Amity glared at the door, Luz had made an excellent point earlier in the evening.

While the twins were at least, partially at fault for this, that didn't mean they ever would have wanted it to happen and should at least be given the chance to apologize and make things right.

Sighing, she sits up. "What?" she calls.

"Can we come in?" Emira's voice filters through the door.

"Please?" Edric's voice followed it.

"If you must…," she sighs.

The door opens and both of their green-colored heads pop in.

"Hey… are you okay?" Edric asks as they walk into the room.

"I'm fine," she says tersely.

"Is Luz okay?" Emira tries. The human had been a bloody mess last they saw.

"She'll be alright." Amity gives a curt nod but offers nothing else, and the twins glance at each other, unsure what else to do.

"If anything happens Monday, with Alabaster or Cyran, come find us, ok?" Emira tries, not sure what else to say. She can see how angry their sister is and that she was right, Amity really doesn't want to talk.

"Yeah," Edric jumps in. "If they thought what we did to them before was bad, just wait till this time." Edric scowled, crossing his arms. Amity blinks at them, surprised before her face curled up in a snarl.

"No, just leave it alone!" She bit out and the twins blink at her in surprise.

"But they attacked you, hurt you both!" Emira argues.

"Over a prank!" Edric finishes.

"That's the problem, Ed!" She suddenly jumped up from the bed. "You two's stupid pranks is why this happened!"

“They're just jokes.” Edric frowns.

“They're not just jokes!” Amity yelled. “You embarrass and humiliate people, hurt their feelings, and then you’re surprised when something like this happens? That people don’t like being made a laughing stock in front of their entire track? Then you called them out in the market!" She shouts.

"So, what, this all our fault? What about them!?" Emira yelled back. "They're the ones that took this too far!"

"Yeah, why are you mad at us?" Edric makes a face.

“Of course I'm angry at them! Did you see what they did to Luz!?” she snarled. "They did this, but they weren’t some strangers that just decided to beat us up because they could, they came after us because of what you two did to them!” she stomps a foot and the twins flinch.

"I'm furious at you two because you don't understand that the things you do affect other people!" she yells, and it looks like she's gearing up for more but then looks at the twin's bewildered faces and sighs, seeming to lose steam. "This is the library incident all over again, but worse…, I don't know why I thought you two could be better…," she mumbles, and that stings the twins more than any of her yelling ever could.

"Amity…," Edric starts.

"Just… go away." She turns away from them tiredly, crawling back onto her bed.

They stand there a moment before, and when it looks like Amity isn't going to further acknowledge them, they finally turn to go, but pause in the doorway, looking at each other.

"We're sorry," they say quietly before shutting the door behind them.

The Blight siblings don't speak the rest of the weekend.

~ ~

On Monday Luz decided to go to school despite both sisters and King wanting her to stay home.

A little black eye wasn't going to keep her from her education!

Or a busted lip, or all the bruises on her face, or back… or arms...

She could definitely see where they were coming from...

She would be fine though, and she really wanted to check on Amity, despite the fact that they had messaged each other almost constantly on Sunday.

She arrived early to find Amity already waiting for her outside the steps of the school, she sees her right away, with both eyes. They kept ice on it all weekend and the swelling has gone down, letting her eye open, though it was still very much a giant black and blue bruise

"Hõla, mi amor." She smiled as she stopped in front of Amity. She really wished she could reach out and kiss her good morning or hold her hand, but as much as she wanted to, she doesn't; she knows better.

“Hey, how do you feel, today?”

“I’ve been better.” She shrugs. “I can open my left eye again!” She grinned pointing at it, and Amity smiled, and for once, couldn't resist the urge to reach out and touch her. They are standing partially concealed by the side of the stairs, and there are very few students around at this time of the morning, and the ones that are, pay them no mind.

Her fingertips brush gently over the bruises and scabbing scrapes across her left cheek, touch feather-light as not to cause any pain.

Luz's eyes widen and dart around to see no one is nearby, let alone even looking in their general direction. Amity's face has turned melancholy, and Luz can't have that.

She reaches up to cover Amity's hand with her own and turns her head into the hand and lays a kiss to her palm, lips lingering for a moment as they stare back at each other.

Amity flushes but smiles at her before pulling her hand back. In their secret room at the library or the owl house is one thing, but they are technically standing out in the open in front of the school. This is a dangerous game they're playing, and they both know it.

"Hey, guys!" Gus's voice breaks them from the intense staring.

Luz turns to face their two approaching friends. "Hey!"

"Hi, Lu- OH MY GOSH! What happened to your face?!" Willow yelps the second she really sees her friend and Gus is staring at her with wide eyes, mouth hanging slack.

"Well…," Luz chuckles nervously.

"We got into a fight with some upperclassmen Saturday…" Amity frowns, and they explain what happened to their friends who look angry and concerned.

"What were you thinking, Luz!? They could’ve killed you without your magic.

"I wasn't just going to stand by and be the reason Amity got hurt!" she defends her choice vehemently.

Saturday night after they’d dropped Amity off she and Eda had taken the long way home on her staff.

The cold night air felt good on her… well, everything. Even her tongue hurt from biting it when she’d been slammed against the wall. Her left eye was still swollen shut but at least all the bleeding had stopped.

Eda hadn’t said much of anything since she and Amity had gotten back from town. She’d been very quiet during dinner, but based off some muffling they had heard from her room, Eda had been yelling, but she's quiet now.

“Eda…?” Luz finally called, and her mentor turned to look at her curiously as they flew back toward home.

“What is it, Kid?”

“Are you… mad?” she asked.

“You bet I’m mad!” she growled.

Luz hunkered down, shoulders up around her ears as she clenched the staff in her bruised hands, but then Eda keeps going.

“I'm mad at the look-alikes for antagonizing those two and those two for what they did to you and Amity!” Eda continued to grouch. Luz blinked as they landed in the front yard of the owl house, well away from a sleeping Hooty. They climb off and Eda leans the staff across her shoulder.

“You’re not mad at me?” She asked quietly, and Eda turned all the way around to look at her with wide eyes.

“You? Why would I be mad at you?”

“For getting in a fight, for getting hurt?” She shrugged. Eda looked down at her for a long minute before sighing.

“What you did was stupid, Luz, running headfirst into a fight with two witches and no magic." she finally says after a few moments, and Luz winced, frowning and looking down at the ground, till Eda goes on. “But I’m proud of you,” she says, looking down at her with a smile.

“You are?” Luz's head whipped back up to look at a now grinning Eda with one wide eye.

“Heck yeah, I am! Now, I’m not saying you should go around punching everyone you see." She mimes a punch. "You’re not near big enough for that…, yet, but they didn’t leave you any choice, you two could have been hurt much worse if you hadn’t done anything. You were backed into a corner, and you came out fightin’ like a werewolf!" She grinned. "So, yeah, I’m pretty damn proud,” she said, reaching out to gently ruffle Luz's hair.

Luz grinned, puffing up under the praise.

“Now let’s get inside so we can put some more ice on that doozy of a shiner you got, champ.” Eda chuckled.

Despite how ugly she knows it is, she wears her black eye and busted lip like a badge of pride. Yeah, she kinda lost, It's hard to say since the twins showed up and beat them back, but she defended herself and Amity tooth and nail, without her magic, and she thinks that's something worth being proud of.

"¡No te metas con mi novia!" She puffs up her chest and holds up her clenched fist, showing off her bruised knuckles to their friends.

Amity, who's been very diligent in her practice with Luz, and studying her dictionary, actually catches what she's saying and rolls her eyes, even as her cheeks turn pink and the edges of her lips curl upward.

"Huh? Gus blinks.

"Don't mess with my girlfriend," Amity mumbles out a translation before Luz can speak and her head whips to look at her, eyes lit up with excitement.

"Eso es perfecto, mi amor!" Luz’s smile is almost blinding, and Amity chuckles.

“Gracias, querida.” she grins back with a wink and despite the still dull ache all over her body Luz is filled with a searing warmth and can't stop herself from squeezing Amity in a hug, making her giggle.

“They’re being sappy again…," Gus mumbles and Willow nods, smiling ruefully.

"Yup"

"There you are!"

They all jump, Luz, and Amity practically fling each other away as they turn to the intruder.

"Viney!" Luz grins

"What's up?" The upperclassman grins, walking over to throw an arm around Luz's shoulder. Amity glares at the older girl.

"What are you doing here?" Luz asks her fellow multi-tracker.

"Looking for you two, duh," she said with a grin.

"Why?" Amity's cuts in, frowning.

"Yeah, not that I'm not glad to see you," Luz said, glancing between the two, trying to decide why her girlfriend looks so annoyed all of a sudden, and she has an idea.

"Em sent me." She shrugs.

"My sister?" Amity blinks, surprised.

"I didn't know you knew, Emira," Luz says.

"Yeah, we talk or hang on occasion," she says vaguely. "Sent me a message last night, said you two got into it with Alabaster and Cyran this weekend, and boy did you ever," she whistles, leaning back to look at Luz's face. "She asked if I could fix Amity’s burn and spruce up that face of yours, so how bout it, want me to fix the black eye?" she asks.

"Hmm…," Luz hums, frowning.

"What's wrong, Luz?" Willow frowns at her hesitation.

"I dunno, I'm just kinda… proud of it, I guess," she mumbles, embarrassed.

The three look surprised by that, but Viney laughs.

"You oughta be! I saw Alabaster this morning, looked like he stuck his face in a dragon-hornets nest! Your work, I take it?" she asks, picking up one of Luz's hands to look at her bruised knuckles. "You sure you don't want me to fix up that eye and lip though?" She cocks her head.

Luz pursed her lips.

Amity hesitates a second before stepping closer and tugging Luz closer to whisper in her ear.

"You don't need to carry around a black eye to know you protected us. They know it, and I know it, querida." Her breath tickles Luz"s ear before she pulls away and they lock eyes briefly before Luz nods.

"Yeah, if you could, that'd be great, Viney."

The older girl just smiles and takes a step forward to lay a hand on Luz's cheek and draws a spell circle with the other.

A faint blue glow surrounds her hand and Luz's face, and slowly, the bruises begin to fade and the split lip closes up like it had never been.

She pulls away to hold out her hand to Amity, who gently holds out her burned arm, and the process is repeated.

Viney pulls her hand away and steps back

"Good as new." She smiles at them.

"Thanks, Viney!" Luz grins, patting her eye, and Amity nods in agreement, running a hand up and down the bandages on her arm and feels no pain.

"No prob," she says with a wave. She looks between Luz and Amity with a knowing grin that makes both of them tense, but all she says is: "See ya in class, Luz. Oh, and don't forget about our test in beast keeping today," she reminds as she turns and leaves with a wave.

"Oh, crud! I forgot all about that!" she yells.

The sound of the bell means it's time for class and Willow and Gus bid the two farewell before hurrying up the stairs. Amity and Luz linger behind.

"Do you think Emira told Viney about us?" Luz asks once they're alone. "She sure did look like she knew something…"

Amity frowns. She can't even begin to guess at her siblings half the time, and she has enough to be angry at them for at the moment. She’ll sort that out later.

"I don't know," she shrugs. "Should we be worried about her?"

"Aw, naw, Viney's cool." Luz waves a hand. "I didn't know she knew Em, though."

"Me neither…"

"Or that you got jealous so easy…" Luz can’t help herself and smirks at her. Amity flushes.

"Jealous, jealous of what?!" She glares and Luz just grins wickedly at her.

"I dunno, but you sure didn't look happy when Viney put her arm on my shoulder," Luz teased.

"Should I be happy when some girl I don't know throws her arm over you?" Amity grumbles, crossing her arms and glancing away. Luz chuckles, stepping closer.

The tardy bell is about to go off so the courtyard is deserted and they’re standing mostly hidden on the sides of the steps.

"You should know I only look at you…," Luz says quietly, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling them further behind the bushes, out of sight, her forehead pressed against Amity's. She turns red, but she rests her hands on Luz’s shoulders anyway.

“We’re going to be late…,” she mumbles.

“You can go anytime you want, mi amor,” Luz hums, loosening her grip so Amity can easily pull away if she chooses.

“I hate you…,” Amity grumbles squeezing her back in closer and making Luz laugh.

“No, you don’t.” she grins cheekily.

“No, I don’t,” Amity agrees, kissing her.

They’re both late to their first class.

~ ~

The day drags by for the twins.

Alabaster and Cyran have been sending them dirty looks, and it doesn't even make them feel a little better to see Alabaster's swollen and bruised face from all of Luz's punches he ate.

They know Amity is still mad at them and Emira tries to make up for it by sending Viney to fix her girlfriend's face but when they pass Amity in the halls after lunch she is still cold and says nothing to them.

They just don't want Amity to be so furious with them, but they can't even begin to figure out how to fix it. Apologizing doesn't work and she doesn't want them to even get back at the two boys; so what does she want from them?

They don't even have the energy for pranks today. Their classmates wait on the edge of their seats every period, but still, nothing happens.

The day ends and the entire illusion track is left in a state of anxiousness and confusion by the peacefulness of the day. Most of them anyway.

Alabaster and Cyran make sure to give them a good hard shove into the lockers as they pass and Ed bows up, scowling, hand already raised and starting a circle at their retreating backs when Emira grabs his hand to stop him.

“Don’t, Amity said to leave it alone.” she reminded him, but she looked just as angry as he felt and after a few tense seconds, sighs and lowers his arm.

They are surprised at the end of the day when it's Luz that approaches them.

"Hey, guys." she waves.

"You're talking to us?" Edric looks surprised.

"Yeah? Should I not be?" She glances around warily "Are there more angry upperclassmen around?" she asks quietly, and the twins grimace at that.

"No, just the two…," he mumbles.

"Amity hasn't spoken to us since Saturday…," Emira informs her and Luz frowns at that.

"Oh, yeah, she's pretty mad at you guys…," she trails off, which makes the twins slump further.

"Aren't you?" Edric asks morosely.

Luz shrugs

"I mean… I know you didn't mean for what happened to happen…," she starts. "But, Amity's right… if you guys didn't make people so mad at you all the time with your pranks I wouldn't be eating as many knuckle sandwiches…," she admits, scratching the back of her head. Her words definitely make the twins feel worse.

"They're just jokes…," Emira mumbles, crossing her arms.

"It's only a joke if everyone thinks it's funny." Luz frowns at them and they both hunker down at that.

"We just want Amity to stop being mad at us…" Emira frowns sadly.

"You know her better than anyone, how do we fix this?" Edric pleads.

Luz hums. She also doesn't like Amity being angry at the twins, because she knows Amity loves them, but she has every right to be, and so does she, but she finds it much easier to let go of things better than most people. Why expend all that time and energy being mad about something that can be changed or fixed?

She loves Amity, heaven only knows, how much, but the girl knows how to hold a grudge about these kinds of things better than anyone else Luz knows, which given her history makes sense, it's a self-defense mechanism born from her parents, so she doesn't begrudge her for it, she just wished she could learn to let go for herself.

A problem for another day.

"I think I know who you guys need to talk to…," Luz finally says after thinking for a long minute.

The twins blink at her.

~ ~

After school they find themselves standing in front of the owl house.

"Are we really going to do this?" Ed asks.

"Do you want Mittens to be mad at us forever?" Emira eyes her twin.

"It probably wouldn't be forever…," he mumbles. Emira rolls her eyes and jabbed him with her elbow, making him grunt painfully. "Come on."

"Oh, We have guests!" Hooty's shrill voice greets them as he twists out of the door towards them. They share a look before she knocks on the door.

A minute later it opens and the owl lady is staring at them.

"Hey, can-" Eda slams the door in their faces.

"I guess not…," she mumbles. A minute later the door opens and Lilith is looking down at them.

"Luz told me to expect you," she says. "You'll have to excuse my sister, she is still… aggravated, after this weekend."

The twins seem to shrink at that.

"Come, I just made tea." She turns and walks away, leaving the door open and the twins reluctantly follow her to the kitchen. Eda and King watch them through narrowed eyes from the couch as they pass through the living room. They try not to look at her.

They sit, and Lilith pours them both a cup.

"What can I do for the two of you? Luz didn't say much other than that the two of you needed to speak with me," she says before taking a sip of her tea, looking questioningly at the twins over the rim of her cup.

Ed and Em glance at each other and squirm in their chairs under the former coven leaders' gaze.

"Amity won't speak to us… she's still mad about what happened Saturday," Emira says.

"Understandable." Lilith hums, which does nothing to help the twins.

“We apologized, but she still won’t talk to us.” Edric frowns

“What are we supposed to do?” Emira asks the older witch.

“'Sorry', can’t fix some things,” Lilith says simply.

“Well, how did you get Mittens to forgive you?” Edric asks.

“Your sister has not forgiven me.”

“Huh?” the twins echo.

“By no means has your sister forgiven me for the things I did to her, or to Luz. I’m still working to make my amends for that,” she tells them.

“But it’s been months since then!”

“You helped make her birthday cake, gave her that amulet, and patched her up the other day!”

“None of those things mean Amity has to forgive me. Only she can decide when, if ever, she will, all I can do is make it known that I won’t break her trust again by working towards it.”

“We don’t want her to be mad at us anymore…”

“We feel bad…”

“As you should. What happened Saturday was, no matter how unintentionally, your fault.”

“We didn’t mean for it to happen! We can’t control our classmates.” Emira argues with a frown.

“No, everyone is responsible for their own actions and the consequences that follow, those two boys are to blame for injuring the girls, but you two are to blame for causing that by playing whatever trick on them you did, and then antagonizing them in the market, while the girls were with you no less. You're supposed to protect her, not cause her harm.” Lilith frowns angrily at them. “You have to accept that you made a mistake and there were consequences, ones that now you have to accept."

“They’re just jokes!” Edric yells frustrated, and Lilith turns her sharp gaze to him and he flinches back into his chair.

"It's only a joke if both parties are laughing after, you two are the only ones laughing after your jokes,” she says icily.

Both twins recoil at the bite in the words, shoulders up to their ears.

The room sits in oppressively heavy silence for a long while, the twins stewing in their thoughts and Lilith, calmly sipping her tea.

“How do we fix this?” Emira finally mumbles after she can’t stand the silence any longer.

“I’m afraid there is no easy fix for this. It’s not something a simple gesture and apology can fix. If you want to earn your sister’s trust back you need to prove you are sorry by changing your actions, it’s those that will speak louder than your apologies.”

The twins look at each other.

They leave the owl house that afternoon feeling worse than when they arrived, but they also have a lot to think about and think they do.

~ ~ ~

Amity doesn’t know what to think anymore.

It’s been over a week since the incident at the market and she is at least, tersely, talking to her siblings again, some of her anger has faded over the week, and the dulling of Luz’s remaining bruises and the scabbing of her arm. Luz has also been prodding her, reminding her how much her siblings love her and would never intentionally let something like this happen.

Luz is too forgiving sometimes, she was the one who was hurt worse and she’s already put it behind her, it drives Amity crazy sometimes, even as it’s simultaneously one of Luz’s most endearing features; her propensity to forgive.

That aside, she’s noticed that something is off with her brother and sister over the week.

There have been no pranks, at home or at school and no teasing, they’ve been perfectly nice when she has spoken to them, they haven't even been calling her 'Mittens', which she'll never admit, she kind of misses. The rest of the time they seem to keep their distance.

Life has never been more peaceful, but also never felt so wrong.

The twins don’t smile nearly as much as they used to, in fact, she’s seen them frown more over the last week then maybe in the last year. Their playful demeanor all but disappeared.

It’s concerning.

She tells Luz as much when they’re hanging out in her room Sunday afternoon studying. Rather than use the desk chair or sit on the bed where Amity is laying on her stomach, head in her hands, she sits on the floor with her back against the bed, and her book sitting open against her knees in front of Amity. She doesn’t need to say why, the way she leans back and hums contently as Amity runs her fingers through her hair says it all.

She tilts her head back to look up at Amity.

“Well, they did seem pretty upset last week because you were mad at them… you’re still mad at them.” she frowns.

“I'm not as mad as I was…,” she sighs. “Fixing your face helped some.” she smiled, tapping the tip of her nose, making Luz go cross-eyed and grin.

“Well, they’ve been really good all week, I haven’t heard any screaming coming from the illusion track hall at all!”

“Yeah, they’ve been nothing but nice at home…” She frowns, she should be glad for that, but it makes dreary Blight Manor, even drearier without the twins constant laughing and snickering, even if it is often directed at her. The place feels even more lifeless than it did before.

"Well, I sent them to talk to Lilith, and she said they had a long talk, so…" Luz shrugged. "I think they're trying to do better, you know they didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Yeah, I know, I just…” she frowned, eyes glancing off to the side. Luz blinked up at her before reaching up to push a loose strand of green hair back behind a pointed ear, drawing Amity's gaze back to her

“What?” Luz prompted.

“I just want them to think about how what they do affects other people and not just themselves,” she mumbled with a frown.

“I think they know now, mi amor.”

Amity hums in reply,

Another week goes by and the twins only continue to be perfectly nice and civil, with no pranks or jokes on anyone. The illusion track doesn’t know what to think, and neither does she.

They mope around the house or stay locked in their rooms when they aren’t at school; they look miserable.

They’re out with Gus and Willow in the market on the next Saturday.

“Have you ever eaten at Rock Gut?” Gus askes excitedly as they walk down the street. The other three shake their heads and they make their way there.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, Amity. What’s up with Ed and Em? The class has been so dull the last two weeks, there’s never any pranks anymore… and then they just let Alabaster and Cyran pick on them!”

That got Amity’s attention.

“They’re picking on them?” Luz blinked, frowning.

“Yeah, ever since last week, after you guys got into it with them, they just shove them around and they don’t even fight back!” Gus threw up his arms. “Some other students saw it too and by the end of the day the rumors were that Ed and Em were just weak pushovers and now they're the ones having all the mean jokes and pranks pulled on them."

“What?” Amity suddenly spoke, eyes wide.

"Yeah, some guys spelled their chairs so every time they went to sit down it would pull out from beneath them, someone put a spell on them so they could only talk backward during a presentation… Oh, and their lunches exploded in their faces Friday…" Gus began to list the pranks that the illusion track had been playing on the twins all week and Amity's face dropped more with each one.

“They’d never let people just walk all over them…,” she argued.

"Well, if they're really trying to change for the better and cut out all the mean pranks, it doesn't surprise me that all their past victims would try and take advantage of that." Willow hums.

“Hey, I’m sure Ed and Em are fine, they can take care of themselves.” Luz sat a hand on her girlfriend's shoulder comfortingly.

“Yesterday I overheard Alabaster and Cyran telling the twins to meet them today at noon in the place you guys fought before,” Gus supplied.

“Why didn’t you say that before, Gus!?” Willow turns to him suddenly and he jerks.

“Sorry, I forgot till we started talking about it!” He held up his hands in defense.

“That's fifteen minutes from now…” Luz looked at the clock on her scroll. “If we leave now, we can make it.” She turns to Amity, who nods, turning, and the four take off toward the alley near the bookstore.

~ ~

Edric's back slammed against the wall with a hard thud. He could taste blood from the first smack he'd taken and a bruise was already forming on Emira's cheek as she stood next to him, and ran her tongue over her split lip. She reached a hand out to grab her brother's arm, steadying him.

"You just gonna take it Blight?" Cyran sneered.

The twins didn't say anything, just glared darkly at the other two illusion track students standing in front of them, which only made them angrier.

"They really are all talk and no bite." Alabaster spat onto the ground at the twin's feet.

"This isn't even any fun." Cyran scoffed, taking a step forward toward Edric, who gently pushed Emira away from him as the other boy grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands and yanked him forward almost off his feet. "It's just sad," he hissed, forked tongue darting out from between his lips.

"The human and your little sister put up more fight than this." Alabaster glared at Edric.

"yeah, Luz really did kick the shit out you, didn't she?" He grinned cheekily, earning himself a brutal headbutt from the boy holding his shirt. His nose made a crunching sound.

Edric hissed, stars erupting from behind his tightly shut eyes, blood beginning to drip from his nose and down his lips.

"Ed!" Emira shoved the other boy away and Cyran stumbled back. Edric hissed as he wiped at the blood with the back of his hand, though it didn't do much to staunch the blood flowing out of his nose.

"I'm fine…," he mumbled behind his sleeve.

He was just itching to start drawing spell circles and wipe the floor with these two jerks, they both were but thinking about their sister stayed their hands.

If nothing else, beating up on them meant they weren't bothering Amity.

"You're pathetic," Cyran sneered. He took one step forward before spikes of ice erupted across the ground and a line in front of them, separating them from the twins.

"Amity?" Ed and Em blinked at the four younger teens standing in the alley entrance.

Luz pulled her hand away from the used glyph paper as it crumbled to dust.

"Ed, Em!" Amity looked at the two, her sister's cheek was bruised and blood was dripping down her brother's face.

The two boys hesitated a second, seeing the four before whipping up their hands and drawing spell circles.

Two blasts of fire hurled toward them only to be met with a wall of glyph conjured ice, blocking the four from view before thorny vines whipped around the wall straight at them.

Cyran managed to get off another blast of fire, warding off the vine, but Alabaster was caught in its tight grip, pinning his arms to his sides, which distracted him long enough for a Gus clone to ram right into him, followed by a blast of glyph fire. He stumbled backward and then an abomination was on him, knocking him to the ground with a punch and letting another vine wrap around him with tight squeeze before rearing back and flinging both boys clear of the alley and the street.

"What is wrong with you two!?" Amity shouted at the twins as the four ran up to them.

Ed and Em flinched.

"We we're just trying to do better." Edric's voice came out muffled as he pressed his sleeve to his still bleeding nose.

"That doesn't mean don't defend yourself or let the entire illusion track walk all over you!" Amity stressed, flinging out her arms.

"It's just one extreme or the other with you guys…" Luz shook her head and summoned a small chunk of ice and hands it to Emira, who pressed it to her bruised cheek.

"I never wanted you to get hurt." She frowned, lip trembling as she dug her handkerchief out of her pocket and pressed it to her brother's nose, making him wince.

"I just wanted you to realize how much some of your pranks hurt other people…" she frowned, cleaning up her brother's face.

The twins shared a long look.

"You were right, though," Emira tells her with a frown.

"It's not so fun being on the other side all the time," Edric mumbled as she pressed the cloth to his nose.

"So we stopped the pranks..."

"You guys don't have to stop all your pranks," Willow said, and Gus nodded, crossing his arms.

"You just need to think about how people might feel about it. It's supposed to be funny for everyone." Luz agreed.

The twins glanced at Amity who hesitated a second before nodding.

"It's not the same at home or at school when you two aren't being yourselves…," she mumbled, cheeks pink. "I want you two to be yourselves, but think about what you're doing beyond just you two getting a laugh…that's why the whole illusion track has been getting back at you." She looked at them sternly.

The twins shared another look before grinning at each other, the first one in two weeks.

"We can do that…," they promised.

"Let's get back to the owl house so we can patch these two up." Luz jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

"Hey, we can be nose bleed buddies." Edric grinned at Luz, holding up a hand. She laughed, slapping his hand.

"Yeah!"

Everyone else rolled their eyes.

On the walk back Amity walked beside her sister, still nursing her cheek with the melting piece of ice Luz had given her.

She looks ahead of them, where the others are walking, and her brother is telling Luz how impressed he is with her ability to take a punch now that he's had a taste.

She glanced at Emira, she'd been wondering something for a while, and now that the Blight siblings are back on good speaking terms, she figures now is as good a time as any to ask.

"Who is Viney?" She asks quietly so only Emira hears the question.

A gold iris slides to regard her out of the corner of her eye.

"A friend…," she says after a long moment.

"I've met all your other friends, but never her…" Amity lets the statement hang.

"We don't hang out that often…" Emira just shrugs, not looking at her now and Amity swears theirs a hint of color on her cheeks, but it may just be flushed from the ice pressed against it.

Amity blinks at her. Could her sister…?

Before she could even complete the thought they’re standing in front of the owl house, and the door slams open, mercifully cutting off Hooty' shrill greeting and the owl lady is standing there, eyes narrowed as she looks at them, eyes carefully roaming over Luz before landing on Amity, and then the two other younger witches before going to the twins and scowling.

"Is this gonna be a regular thing?" she huffs, stepping aside to let them all in

"Maybe" Luz shrugs.

"No!" Amity and Willow both shoot back and Luz chuckles.

#Moonlit Masquerade #Lumity #Luz Noceda #Amity Blight #Edric Blight #Emira Blight #Eda Clawthorne #Lilith clawthorne #Willow Park #Gus Porter #fic #the owl house #toh

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hage-potato-hog · 4 years

Text

Mereoleona Vermillion x f.reader (with some NSFW)

@vermillionflames (insert a ton of needless information on why I suck) If you get bored of reading the non nsfw part, scroll down to the highlighted zone , lower it is the a bit more mature content. As I have mentioned before, sorry, Becca! Also, it’s like 3 a.m for me now, I haven’t edited a single thing, I am not even sure it’s written in English, lol. Goodnight! __________________

"I am afraid!"

"There is nothing to be afraid of, you are a proud lion, aren't you?"

Mereoleona looked down at a young man laying his head on her lap, a profound puddle of red liquid seeping into her clothes. Another handful of blood and he won't be able to recover. For most of her life, the proud lioness lived alone, had to fend for her life in the wilderness where only the fittest survive and back when she still lived in the capital, her family, friends, other royal knights, all of them seemed at least decent enough not to get killed in a battle. Today though, she was facing a different type of reality. For the first time, she felt lonely and desperate amidst the cruelty of this world.

"You shall not die," a low growl vibrated in her throat. "MEDICS, WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?!"

Her shouts were wasted. A couple of Crimson Lion knights standing beside her had neither healing powers nor the mental capacity to comprehend that their teammate is surely dying right in front of them.

There was nothing anyone could do. Only wait. Observe the skin turning paler until they cannot make out another plea of help through the blood spilling into lungs, throat... Reality hurts.

"I am useless," whispered the ginger female slightly shaking.

A droplet fell. Then another one and another. Suddenly, the scene was engulfed in a rainy mist. And so, the tragic end came.

Interposed in the thunder, puddles began echoing. The next instance Mereoleona was pushed to the side with a "move it" said in a calm demeanor. A young woman looked the bleeding man up and down and after a brief evaluation began moving her hands through the injuries. Several strands of unruly hair fell onto her focused eyes, sticking to long black eyelashes.

"I am sorry to be asking this of you," she began without unnecessarily moving a muscle. "could you please wipe the hair out of my eyes? It feels irritating, but I cannot move."

Mereoleona reached out her hand. A bloody trace of two fingers was left on the woman's forehead, but she simply smiled and thanked.

Usually, when every second counts and minutes can determine whether a person lives or dies, the time passes slowly. This time though everything was over in a wink. Triumphantly, the mysterious lady leaned back. Her face gentle and smiling. The man won't die.

Dense rainfall wouldn't stop, seemingly unable to read the lightened mood, it kept on falling to mourn a loss.

"TAKE HIM AND HURRY," the substitute captain roared gaining her sanity back. The party came upon an abandoned shack in the middle of the fields and decided to take shelter there, the woman from before still tagging along.

A nicely burning fire and a roof above their heads, they have decided to stay here for the night. Having finished the roasted boar Mere caught for dinner, they now where sound asleep. Still feeling restless, the ginger-haired woman decided to go out and take a breath outside on the porch, her, now clean, hands reached out towards the everlasting stream of sky water. She could still see blood on her skin, feel how sticky and different this blood was from that of her foes.

"Some things are inevitable," a voice said from behind her. Wrapped in a blanket sat the woman from before. She felt uneasy to stay in the same room with unfamiliar men and chose to come out onto the porch. "Even if you do everything in your power, there comes a time when it's not enough," she came closer and put the blanket over the taller female which earned her an eyebrow raise. Voice as soft as a prayer for the peace in the world whispered "sometimes... you just have to see them off with a smile."

"I reject this kind of logic."

"Eh? Miracles do not happen!" the girl protested.

"You say that as you popped out like one yourself. Although yes, I agree with you, miracles do not happen, but you can prevent mistakes from happening."

"Eventually you will break. The future is set in stone."

The ginger-haired woman turned around with a huge grin, "I will break the stone it is set in," she bolstered flaring up her mana making the blanket burn off in cinders.

Her companion simply stood there admiring the ashes fly off. The one in front of her was certainly not your everyday person, something was captivating about her, to the point you get intrigued to see them in any state of mind. "I want to be there," she said.

"Hm? You want to be where?"

"When you lose the battle against fate or... when you run to set the heavens ablaze, I wish to be there and see you, you are fascinating!"

Mereoleona blinked for a moment but the very next second got back her confidence retorting, "If you want to be there, then you must reach my level first."

"Mmm. I will, do not worry. As a fact, I am traveling to the capital right now," she took out her grimoire and proudly tossed it up a few times into the air.

"Oho? What for?" Mere felt a sadistic intent rise deep within.

"I plan to join the magic knights. You people are magic knights, right? You must have heard of the Crimson Lion King, the squad led by the famous Vermillion family? Aaah, I have been admiring them for so long and I finally get the chance to see them."

"What's so good about them?"

"How can you be a mage and not understand it?! They don't base their judgment on your status or your wealth even the current level you are on isn't as much of a factor as the potential and your determination. And the new captain, Mereoleona Vermillion, I have heard so many fantastic stories about her, though everyone is saying she is terrifying. I wish to feel what it is like to be under her guidance one day."

As the girl kept on ranting about the idolized female sorcerer, her partner couldn't contain her laughter anymore. What an interesting creature she found along the path. One moment she is consoling her, acting superior, next she's ranting about her beloved Mereoleona without knowing who she is talking to in the first place.

"Ah, I like you, girl!" she looked back thrilled.

"I am very pleased to have met you too... Um... did we exchange names?"

"Mereoleona Vermillion. Welcome to the squad, from today on, you are a member of the Crimson Lion King and soon enough you will feel the pleasure of burning under my guidance!"

*** *** ***

"Hm, it seems we have five days off starting tomorrow," a female chimed walking down the street.

"Perfect for some vigorous training," another one responded to her.

The first woman stopped and looked back with dead-bored eyes, then gazed away and kept on walking without saying a word. The atmosphere turned cold instantly followed by silence stinging painfully.

It has been over 2 years since the fateful day when Mereoleona met a strange yet charismatic woman out on a mission. 2 long years filled with hard work to prove herself and years of Mere's admiration growing until it finally blossomed in love. They now were dating, but even though their love vows have been said after getting to know each other in and out, incidents like this still kept on occurring between them. Someone as bright as the ginger-haired female's lover doesn't go silent unless they are genuinely hurt. For Mereoleona, other people's feelings were a mystery. Even though normally she wouldn't feel even the slightest bit bothered, when it comes to her most important person, she couldn't stand seeing the smile vanish from her face.

"Ahaha, yea, you are right, I still have a long way to go," the girl laughed and turned around to face her lover with a huge grin. Which was fake.

"Tell me straight... I am not as good as you with humans and their emotions," this time, Mereoleona's voice indicated pain.

"Ah, I did not mean that, I am sorry," with a quick motion she stepped in front of Mere and took her hand lifting it to her lips, gently planting a kiss and then putting it against her own cheek. "I want to spend more time with you," she smiled with an honest sparkle in her eyes. "I was thinking that the two of us could run somewhere, anywhere really, as long as it is you and me."

Both of them stood there blushing. The hand pressed against the woman's cheek turned around holding her face still. Then, two lips met in a soft kiss that seemed to be too sweet for the girl to handle. Right before her knees could give out, they parted.

"Leave it to me," the eldest Vermillion said leaving her girlfriend still in shock.

It did not take long for them to reach the approximate location of their 5 days long logging, but before getting the privilege to rest in a warm bed embracing each other, they had to go through a forest that even thieves pass in a circle. By the time their hands landed on the doorknob of a hut in the middle of a plain, surrounded by thick bushes, it was already a dark orange evening with sun way bellow the horizon. Tired, dirty, and sweaty the woman overlooked the energetic one with jealousy.

"A challange, how else," she chuckled to herself dropping the bags down.

"Are you disappointed?" Mereoleona studied the girl's face.

"No. It wouldn't be you if these things weren't included and I couldn't love you any other way. Though, I must insist that from now on, no more special-monster-challange-deluxes, okay, love?" her voice took up a threatening note.

"Yes, I know. Don't worry. From now on, there's only rest. Do you want to go take a dip in the the hot stream?"

"There is one?" the woman asked turning around excited.

"Of course, did you expect we will be enjoying a freezing lake?"

"... I mean, even a freezing lake can turn into a volcano with you..." she said recalling various instances.

Mereoleona yanked a towel off a wooden rack by the door and turned back to her girlfriend "I will be going first, don't stay here too long. Do not forget, I will be waiting." Her step did not lack the usual confidence nor seemed tired even the tiniest bit. Far from it. She seemed to be standing straighter with her shoulders and neck tense as if a beast ready to jump its prey.

It certainly was warm inside the cabin but the temperature magically rose higher as Mereoleona closed the doors as she walked through. The young woman, now left alone, began touching her blazing cheeks, then fanning at them. In her mind, the moment she walked out the door, any layer hiding her bruised skin will be ripped off and even more skin will be broken from Mereoleona's overbearing kisses. Even as she was thinking that, her hands dug deeper into the bags searching for the negligee she bought exclusively for this occasion. Various garter belts flew on the bed with dark, white and burgundy laced panties, some nightgowns, meant to be used during summer and as such more revealing, scattered all around the floor, yet, nothing seemed good enough until her attention was caught by the second white towel hanging on the wall. Sometimes, the simpler way is the right way, she thought snatching it with more force than her beloved minutes ago.

"Hey! Don't tell me you cannot move anymore! Should I make you?” a roar resounded from the outdoor bath.

Flustered and in a hurry, she threw off the clothes, wrapping the piece of cloth around her. This sweet type of anxiety made the woman's hand tremble as it pushed the door open.

The nightly breeze swiped past the heated body standing in the doorway cooling it down a mere bit. Mereoleona was in the water, facing towards the door, but her eyes wandered through the shape and texture of a sake bottle which she held high towards the sky. There was no way she did not hear the door opening, nevertheless, the melancholic sight of her did not change into the usual rowdy one.

Taking a shy step forward, the other female looked around admiring the untouched nature while breathing the aroma of the vespertine flora surrounding them deep into her lungs. “How gorgeous,” a whisper passed her lips making the ginger set the bottle aside and look back. They both were looking directly into each other's eyes.

“Are you going to join me?” an extended hand offered a cup to the girl on the shore.

As if on a cue, the moment the towel dropped down to the floor, Mereoleona turned her attention to the side gulping down her own cup.

//////////////// THE RED ZONE ////////////////

They sat shoulder to shoulder in water, facing the crescent moon, enjoying each other and the sake. Or so it seemed. Previous teases from the lioness made her partner assume that they will be embracing one another immediately after their bodies came close enough. Unlike her, the ginger was leisurely sipping on sake, talking about things that entirely passed past her ears even if all the concentration was solely on her. The way her lips move, how they touch together, and then part again giving a glimpse of the tongue which should be on her. Her eyes ran through the peaceful silhouette of her lover, going down her collarbone with water droplets racing to the plump chest which seemed as soft as ever, then to the side, muscular arms resting on top of the rocks, long slender fingers tapping on them. She could almost feel them provoking a moan out of her lips as they play with her nipples indulging the idea of seeing her squirm underneath. Mereoleona must have had no clue what was going in her girlfriend's mind. As she has mentioned before, she's bad with human emotions and sometimes, even the great lioness needs to be shown the way.

First a single digit, then a whole palm touched to Mereoleona's cheek and gently cupped it capturing her attention. Just as slowly, keeping her eyes low, she moved onto her Mereoleona's lap and impatiently clung to her neck locking their gazes again.

“Is something the matter?” the ginger's voice void of any distinct emotions questioned.

“Mere...”

A puff of air, hotter than the steam from the hot spring flied out into the air. One of the woman's hands clung to Mereoleona's shoulder when the other was pulling towards her by the neck, then relaxing and letting her slide back down the lioness's legs in a motion which made her tingle with further excitement.

“Could it be that you are having certain cravings right now?”

“Mhm,” was all the girl was able to mutter.

Mereoleona cast her eyes downwards. The clear water allowed her to see the repetitive motion which has not ceased on her lap. Going up, the curves of the younger woman's torso swayed hypnotically, asking to be held. Prominent breasts kept on making contact with hers, both pairs so earnestly excited. Finally, eyes brimming in lust, hunger, passion and most importantly – love. She moved her hand to the girl's lips, traced them gently, “I don't think you want me hard enough,” her eyes creased as she smiled uncovering her white canines. “Prove that you want me, tell me what I could do to stop this growing frustration in you.”

“Your hands... Mere, you know...”

“Show me, what you want them to do, my damsel in distress,” her eyes shimmered and the woman took Mereoleona's hands and slowly made them travel up her tights towards her bottom. “Huh, that's all?”

“Squeeze it.”

Doing as she was told, she squeezed it but seizing the opportunity, also pulled her even closer. The woman's chest and neck were in her reach. “Should I kiss you on the neck?” she chuckled nuzzling her nose closer.

“Bite it.”

“Ha, usually you are annoyed saying I bite too much. But if it pleases you...”

She gripped at the curves she was admiring before as she lovingly left bite marks on her neck and areas around, coming back to leave a more serious mark on each. Every time her lips made contact with the heated skin, she'd peek at the girl gripping her shoulder and now somehow her hair as well. “What if I did this?” her fingers slid across the most sensitive area which was surely wet from more than the water and taking their time, kept a steady pace stroking it.

“Did I prove it to you?” the woman asked catching her breath.

“I am merely giving you a small free-by, you will have to work more to prove yourself.” Mereoleona took back her fingers and licked them. “I can barely taste you, everything washes off. We should go to bed. You walk first.”

Mereoleona sat back waiting, letting the girl rise from her lap quivering. Walking, she stopped to look back only to see two blue irises appraising her backside. When she made it past the door and stood in front of the bed, she could feel the other female behind her leaning forward though eagerly waiting. Mereoleona's hand caught her chin forcing it to the side just a bit more. Their lips joined for a rough kiss which was more becoming for the lioness than the gentle teases out in the pool. One of her hands slid to the front and once again began working its way around the woman's sensitive lower abdomen. Hungrily she pushed her forwards making the two of them topple onto the bed. She inserted one of her fingers inside the woman making her arch her back, pushing her ass up. There was a great deal of frustration involved making this experience more ecstatic than usual. And when she began feeling her premature orgasm coming by shouting Mereoleona's name into the duvet beneath her, the woman took her fingers out. Both of them were panting heavily.

“Didn't we come here so I could taste you properly?” she said grabbing one of the garter belts that flew on the bed earlier. Mereoleona helped her lie on her back after tying her wrists together. “A good knight always sticks to their word,” she smiled again lowering her face to her lover's dripping sweetness. Like a feline, she licked gently, tasting it at first, then again, and again, until her lips were sucking and tugging as her hands held tightly on the woman's hips constantly pulling her sensitively bolting body back.

The cabin drowned in screams of pleasure not even stopping once she orgasmed. Satisfied, Mereoleona pulled back, coming next to her girlfriend and untying her bound arms. The woman had some tears rolling down, “Was it too much?” the lioness asked with a hint of unrest.

“No, you were amazing.” She pulled Mereoleona closer. They kissed not rushing anywhere. Parting, coming back just like the wind passing nocturnal meadows; gently and in waves. “I never knew you were such a great actor,” the two of them laughed.

“It certainly was hard not eating you out then and there. Still... You certainly seem ready for this trip,” she picked a pair of thongs from the pillow. “I would like to see a little show now, would you mind?” Mereoleona extended the garter from before along with the panties. “I am still as hungry as I was moments ago."

#mereoleona vermillion #black clover #mereoleona x reader #tasty

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mythrilhusk · 3 years

Text

Despite Everything - Chapter One

NOT RPF (RPF = Real Person Fiction) Genre - Magical Warriors (based off Magical Girl genre) Featured Relationships (only SFW): Niki/Puffy

Niki Nihachu never wanted to be involved with the corporation-funded magical battles sparring in the skies of her home planet, Io. But when she accidentally awakens an ancient evil, she's forced to take responsibility and join an ageless war to save the entire universe.

CW: Death, violence, threats, manipulation

(Ao3 link) Words: 1,874 Next Chapter

Rain patters on the sky bridges forming webs throughout Io's largest city, Kumo Dome. Niki's boots scrape on the ironwood planks as her bridge sways over the icy void. She strides easily across, used to the motion.

Above her, in the cold black sky unbrightened by the cold yellow speck of the Sun, several figures glide and dance in a clearly staged battle. Niki scoffs, reaching the highrise at the end of the bridge. Two-hundred stories above the ground, her favorite little cafe seems so peaceful, with icy cyan crystals growing over the railings of the balcony. Niki removes her cape and hands it to the host. "Thank you, Jack."

"Anything for you." Jack grins and hangs her cape on a hook. "You change your mind at all? We could really use the publicity."

"I'm not here to talk business." Niki replies, restraining her annoyance. If he were anyone else, she'd give them an earful.

"Alright, Niki. The usual?"

"Yes, thank you. Oh, add a few sprinkles to it, I'm celebrating."

"Oh?" Jack leans across the counter, waggling his brows.

"I got a new apartment that allows pets." Niki smiles as she sits down. It's not a lie, more of an obfuscation.

"Awesome." Jack mixes up her drink and scatters unicorn sprinkles over the whipped cream. "This one's on me."

Niki purses her lips. "I'm still not-"

"I know, I know. I'm just being nice." Jack sets the drink down on her table, then sits down in the opposite chair.

"I'm expecting a date, actually." Niki tosses her hair teasingly.

"Ohh? Who?"

"You wouldn't know her." Niki shoos him out of the seat.

The door's bell chimes and Captain Puffy strides in, her billowing rainbow hair dripping from the rain and her cloak slung uselessly over her arm. Jack smirks at Niki. "You'd be surprised."

"Hey, Jack!" Puffy hops onto the seat Jack vacated and grins at the host. "Get me a bottle of Bloody Vodka."

"Sure thing, Cap'n."

Puffy turns her gorgeous smile on Niki. "Hey."

"Hey." Niki responds dumbly, lost for words. "You're all wet."

Puffy snorts in a vain attempt to restrain her giggles. "Wow, we're going there already?"

"I meant the rain, but if you insist." Niki laughs. "Let me buy you a pastry. The donuts here are good."

Puffy shrugs graciously. "I'll have the salamander crumb one."

"Oh, that is a good one."

"Puffy," Jack calls, "Please tell her to join us!"

Puffy raises an eyebrow at Niki, who blushes and flusters. "Look, Jack, I've told you a thousand times, I will not be your goddamn mascot."

"Mascot??" Puffy laughs brightly. "Jack, you idiot!"

"What??" Jack cries. "It's not my fault, Niki jumped to conclusions and never gave me the chance to explain!!"

"Niki, darling." Puffy steeples her fingers and leans on the table. "You don't have to join anything you don't want to. But, that being said, we're kinda shorthanded without the Spirit of Death on our side."

"What the fuck??" Niki cries, leaping up from her seat. Her heart pounds in her throat; her hands spark with emerald fire. She hastily smothers the flames, stuffing her hands under her arms. "I- I can not be Death, I will not be Death, I don't- I don't want this, why can't you magic bastards leave me alone??" Why today of all days??

Puffy stares at her, taken aback. Jack whistles awkwardly and retreats into the kitchen. "Niki, no, sweetie. You're not Death."

"Damn right I'm not." Niki snaps. "I don't want to play in your goddamn staged battles, I don't want to fight anyone, I just want to be left alone."

Puffy raises her hands in surrender. "I'm not asking you to."

"Good." Niki's hands drop to her side.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I didn't realize it was a sore subject." Puffy sighs. "You're not Death. Just the reincarnation of the Spirit of Death."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Niki cries, curious despite it all. "I'm not a Patron, I'm- I'm barely even a Hex, and I don't want any of this."

Puffy gives her a sharp smile. "Oh, Niki. There are so many other powers out there." She gestures for Niki to sit down. Niki obeys. "What do you know about your own power?"

"I- I can heal." Niki raises her hands. Emerald sparks flicker beneath her pale skin. "That's it, though."

"That's green hex stuff, yep." Puffy covers Niki's shaking hands with hers. "You know Patrons, too, yeah?"

"Yes, but I am not one."

"Alright, alright. Spirits are reincarnations of the ancient dragons. Each dragon was a Patron of a different realm of reality. There's six of us right now." Puffy smirks and her eyes alter, mesmerizing Niki with fractals upon fractals of pulsing multicolored flames. "I am Captain Puffy, Spirit of Fire." Her voice crackles with the screams of blazing embers.

As suddenly as the change had come over her, the normal Puffy returns. Niki laughs breathlessly. "That- that was hot."

"Literally, yes, I am extremely hot." Puffy giggles.

"There's six of- of the Spirits?"

"Fire, Ice, Light, Dark, Life, and Death."

"I'm Light!" Jack calls from the kitchen.

"Shut up, Jack, she doesn't care!" Puffy snipes back.

"I'm just saying. She might want to know." Jack grumbles.

"Puffy, I don't want to be involved." Niki stares at the table, at her trembling hands, at the silver lichtenberg scars on her arms. "I've seen what this power does to people. It- it is not a good thing, this Spirit, and I don't want it."

"Alright." Puffy shrugs. "Fair warning, though, if you try to use it without being properly prepared, it will be harder to control."

"I know. I'm not going to use it." Niki sighs, wishing the conversation hadn't turned so dour. "I'm sorry. Can we still have a nice date?"

"Oh, of course." Puffy smiles and changes the subject.

They talk till it's almost curfew. Jack cleans up around them, then pulls a seat up to join in the meandering conversation. Finally, Niki stands up and gives Puffy a shallow bow. "Thank you for the enjoyable date."

Puffy bows back. "Any time, sweetie. I had fun."

Outside, the rain has cleared and the clouds have parted to reveal Jupiter. The planet's glow bathes the city in orange light. Niki smiles up at the hidden stars. When she concentrates, she can feel them out there, massive gravitational wells of plasma. When she concentrates, it almost seems as though she is a star herself, blazing and powerful and implacable.

A spark of terror ends the moment; her hands clench and she strides across the bridge, eyes welling with angry tears. She can't even have the stars. Not even today, the anniversary of her death.

The day Niki died started off like any other day. At the time, she hadn't learned to control her healing yet. When the errant lightning spell hit her, her magic reacted as a belated reflex. She was physically dead for a whole ten seconds. Ten seconds too many.

The officials didn't investigate, but Niki knew the spell was from the staged battle nearby. She tried to sue the corporations who'd hired the Hexes, but nobody would take the case, claiming it was a lost cause.

Getting more pissed the more she thinks back on it, Niki shoots a glare at the current staged fight on the next highrise over. The idiots just shoot off spells and don't even care who or what they hit, protected by the trillionaires funding them.

One of the fighters, a cyan Hex, blinks onto the bridge, making it sway and rock. Niki grips the railing. "Fuck you!"

He barely even glances at her before activating his jetpack to leap back into the air. A fire spell blasts past, narrowly missing the bridge.

Niki hastily strides for the end of the bridge. She's just past the middle when the bridge tilts sideways, then swings wildly. Niki grips the railing, cursing colorfully. Overhead, laughter mocks her.

She lets go to flip off the fighters. A fire spell slams into the bridge and knocks her into the abyss.

Niki screams, flailing as wind whips past her. Through the blinding haze of terror, she gathers enough wits to preemptively activate the only spell she knows. Emerald fire consumes her body as she slams into the ground, over two hundred feet below the bridge.

++++

Hm. Niki? That's a nice name. I'm [redacted].

Huh. You're not dead, are you? That's good. If you were dead, you'd be rather less useful.

Niki, you don't want to die again, do you?

Nobody wants to die, least of all more than once.

I have a deal for you.

...

That was fast. I haven't even told you what it is yet.

Hm. Okay. You want revenge, that's easy enough. Just heal me and I'll give you your revenge.

Ha...

....Hahaha....

You idiot. You really did it. You actually freed me! Heh, I guess you can have a reward.

I'll let you rest in peace. There. Don't get in my way or I will make your eternity very painful.

It was so nice to meet again, Spirit of Death...

++++

"Niki!!" Puffy's distraught cry shatters through the haze of drowsy distance.

Niki groans and tries to open her eyes. She feels weightless, disconnected. Her eyes remain stubbornly closed, like she's still dreaming. Magic crackles in her body, desperately working to mitigate the damage and knit her together.

A spark of foreign magic trickles into her hand. Niki lashes out, snatching the tendril and yanking it away. A furious yell frees itself from her lungs.

"Wait, sweetie, it's okay!" Puffy blazes in Niki's awareness, a form of flames and crackling lightning. Terrifyingly, hypnotically gorgeous.

"Are- are you a star?" She opens her eyes and sees Puffy kneeling over her, cutting a stark shadow from Jupiter so far above.

Puffy hiccups, wiping away her tears. "Niki, I saw you fall and I thought- oh, gods, I thought you were dead!"

"I was." Niki tries to reassure her, but this only makes Puffy start to cry again. "Puffy, I'm not dead, it's okay!"

"Are you sure? Are you a ghost?"

"No, I am not a ghost." Niki sits up with effort and reaches for Puffy's hand. "See? I'm alive."

Puffy yanks her into a fierce, warm hug. "Don't die ever again." She hisses. "I don't like it."

Niki laughs brightly, still recovering from the shock of her final few moments. "I will try."

Puffy continues to embrace her. "We've only known each other for like two weeks, but if anything happened to you, I'd probably have a villain arc."

Niki extricates herself from the embrace. Puffy looks absolutely magical, covered in grime, tear stains down her cheeks, her eyes and nose puffy from crying. "Thank you for coming."

Puffy sniffles. "What else would I have done?? You fell from a goddamn bridge, nobody would have found your body for ages!"

"I think most people would have left me." Niki admits bitterly, recalling her first death.

"Fuck that, you're my friend." Puffy cries hotly. "Let's get you home."

Niki rests her head on Puffy's shoulder as she's picked up. "This doesn't mean I'm joining your team."

"I never said anything about that, sweetie."

Next Chapter

#death cw #violence cw #romantic fluff #magical girl #power of love #niki nihachu #captain puffy #jack manifold #dreamwastaken #dream smp au #rainbow arson #rainbow arson is niki/puffy's ship name and you can pry it from my cold dead hands

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pikapeppa · 4 years

Text

Samson/Roman Hawke: Worry

The next installment in Samson and Roman Hawke’s adventures, for my beloved @schoute!

~9000 words; only half of the chapter is here. Read on AO3 instead.

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

- ROMAN -

The Arishok’s charred body dropped to the floor with a shuddering crash. A second later, Roman hit the ground on her hands and knees.

Get up, she told herself viciously. Come on, get the fuck up. Don’t let them see you looking weak. She dragged a deep breath into her lungs, ignoring the smell of blood and burning flesh as she did, then pushed herself shakily to her feet.

A second later, Anders and Varric were beside her. Anders grasped her arm. “Hawke—”

She pulled her arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

He held up his hands, but his expression was stern. “You’re nearly overextended. I can see it. You need—”

“Not here,” she hissed. The nobles in the great hall were whispering and staring, and Roman couldn’t tell whether they’d looked more scared when the Arishok had been holding them hostage, or right now as they gaped at the blood trickling down her arm — her own blood, which she’d used in a desperate but powerful move to stop the fucking Arishok from running her down.

She clumsily untied the red scarf from around her wrist to mop up the blood. She hadn’t wanted to use blood magic in front of all these people. But somehow, like fucking always, she and her unfortunate group of misfits seemed to be the only people who’d made it all the way into the Viscount’s Keep to stop the Arishok, and the fucking Arishok was determined to take Isabela, and then somehow the only way to stop the Arishok from killing more people was for Roman to agree to duel him by herself.

Isabela came over to her. “So, um—”

Roman cut her off. “You fucked me over, you know that?”

“I know, I know,” Isabela said quickly. “But listen—”

Roman cut her off. “Don’t fucking talk to me tonight. I’ve had enough.” She tried to push past Isabela, but almost tripped over her own feet.

Varric stepped toward her. “Uh, Hawke…”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just want to go home.” She braced her weight on her staff — like a weak old man, she thought angrily — and headed for the doors as quickly as her aching body would allow, but before she could reach the exit, Merrill slipped inside.

“Meredith is coming!” she whispered. “Meredith and some Templars, and they don’t look very happy.”

Fuck, Roman thought with a fresh rush of frustration. Beside her, Anders rolled his eyes. “Great,” he drawled. “Just what every terrible situation needs. A bunch of bloody Templars.”

Varric tapped Roman’s elbow. “Hey,” he said urgently, “when they get here, let me do the talking. I’ll smooth it over.”

Isabela wrinkled her nose. “What’s there to smooth over? Hawke killed this big horny bastard.’” She shot a distasteful look at the dead Arishok.

Fenris was the one to reply. “She used blood magic in front of Kirkwall’s elite.”

Roman glared at him. “Fenris, for once in our fucking lives, can you piss off about the blood magic?”

He narrowed his eyes, but his tone was calm. “I am simply stating a fact. One that you are aware of yourself. This doesn’t look good, Hawke.”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Roman demanded. “Let him murder my ass? That was not going to happen, I promise you.”

“That’s the spirit,” Varric said cheerfully. “Listen, I’ll take care of this, okay? Everyone just calm down and look heroic.”

Isabela snorted in amusement. “I have no idea what that looks like.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “After your sudden abscondment yesterday, that’s not surprising.”

She shot him an offended look. “Ouch. Someone stepped on some broken glass tonight.”

“You said it yourself, not me,” Fenris replied.

“Both of you shut up,” Anders hissed. “Here she comes.”

Sure enough, Meredith strode into the room with a group of bloodied Templars at her back, including Carver. “Is it over?” she demanded.

Roman couldn’t help herself. “Yes, no thanks to you,” she said loudly.

Isabela snorted softly, and Meredith’s expression became even stonier than usual. Varric sighed quietly before addressing her. “Knight-Captain,” he said with a casual salute. “You’ll be happy to hear that Hawke killed the Arishok.”

“Hawke?” Meredith said. Her sharp blue eyes darted to dead Arishok’s body then to Hawke’s staff, and her eyes narrowed. “A — you are an apostate?”

Roman opened her mouth to make a barbed comment, but Varric stepped on her foot. “Yep,” he said to Meredith. “An apostate took down the Arishok all by herself. She saved the city.” He looked around at the assembled nobles. “You all saw it, right? It was incredible.”

The nobles murmured and looked at each other, and one of them stepped forward. “That’s right,” he said. “Hawke killed the Arishok with magic. I saw her do it.”

The murmuring grew louder, murmurs of agreement now, and Roman watched with disgust as the nobles’ expressions became approving as they looked at her. The Arishok was a murderous bastard, but he’d been right about one thing; nobles really were a bunch of brainless pigs.

Varric was still talking, telling Meredith a colourful recounting of the Arishok duel — loudly enough that all the nobles could hear. Beside Roman, Merrill sighed with relief. “Isn’t Varric clever?” she whispered. “Everyone looks so happy now.”

Fenris scoffed quietly. “Most nobles are just wealthy fools who are easily entertained.”

Roman grunted. “We finally agree on something.”

“It was bound to happen eventually,” Isabela said drolly.

“Not necessarily,” Anders muttered with a resentful look at Fenris.

Anders, Fenris and Isabela fell into a quiet semi-bickering conversation while Merrill sidled over to Varric to listen, and Roman just stood there with her whole body aching, waiting dully for the moment when Varric deemed it safe for her to leave. Honestly, if she had it her way, she’d be halfway home by now.

“Roman,” Carver said quietly.

She looked up. Carver was standing beside her with a deep frown. “Are you okay?”

“Like you give a shit,” she retorted. She waited for him to make the usual angry retort, but to Roman’s surprise, it didn’t come.

He pursed his lips, then spoke in a lower voice. “You don’t look well. Are you sure you’re—”

“I’m fucking fine, okay? I’m fine,” she snapped. “Or I’ll be fine as soon as your fucking commander lets me leave this hall. It stinks like sweat and burnt meat in here.”

Her voice was louder than she’d intended, and Meredith looked over at her. “So,” she said. “Master Tethras says you saved the city from the Qun.”

“She sure did,” Varric said. “She’s a real champion.”

Some of the nobles started clapping, and within a few seconds, the whole hall of them were applauding and calling her the Champion of Kirkwall.

Roman ignored them and returned Meredith’s hard stare. Meredith was clearly trying to find some reason to detain her, but as they stood there staring at each other, Roman started to realize just how powerful Varric’s words had been. With a hall full of nobles cheering for her and a dead qunari chieftain on the floor, Meredith couldn’t arrest her without inciting a huge protest.

She sauntered up to Meredith as casually as she could despite her trembling legs. When she was a mere foot away from Meredith, she paused and lifted her chin.

“You’re in my fucking way,” she said, very quietly.

Meredith’s eyes were as cold as marble. Without breaking from Roman’s gaze, the Knight-Captain shifted slightly to the side.

Roman smirked, then did a sarcastic half-bow to her before leaving the great hall. She breathed shallowly as she made her way to the exit, ignoring the icy heat in her muscles and the pounding of her head, gritting her teeth to keep the nausea at bay.

She vaguely heard the others following her out of the hall to the exit, but she didn’t look at them and she didn’t speak. She pushed open the doors to the keep—

Or at least, she tried to. But she couldn’t muster the strength to push open the solid wooden doors.

“Fucking fuck,” she muttered, and she shoved her shoulder against the door, to no avail.

“I’ve got it,” Anders said from behind her.

She clenched her jaw and tried again to open the door herself, but Anders reached over her shoulder anyway to push it open. She stepped out into the cool nighttime air and took a breath, then promptly vomited all over the front step of the Viscount’s Keep.

“Oh shit,” Isabela lamented.

“Oh dear,” Merrill said tensely.

Fenris grunted. “You’re nearly overextended.”

Roman shakily wiped her mouth and straightened up, ready to snap at him. Then she swayed to the side as her legs tried to give out. “Fuck—”

Varric caught her by the arm. “Yikes. Okay, come on, Hawke. You need to get home.”

She pulled her arm away from him. “Where the fuck else d’you think I’d be going?” she demanded. She made her way down the steps using her staff for a support, no longer caring how weak she looked as long as she could make it home without any of their fucking help.

A minute later, Anders caught up to her. “I’m coming with you,” he said. “And don’t try telling me to piss off; I know you can take care of yourself, but I just need to be there in case your symptoms get worse before you’re home.”

“I can take care of myself,” she hissed. “I don’t need any fucking help!”

“Call it a doctor’s conscience, then,” Anders said calmly. “Just let me do my job, all right? And let me patch up that wound on your arm while I’m at it.”

She gave him a sour look but allowed him to heal her sliced arm, and they walked in silence for a while. But as the silence stretched between them, she started to wonder where the others had gone. Fenris and Merrill had probably gone home, but where had Varric and Isabela gone?

At the thought of Isabela, Roman’s head felt like it was swelling with rage. Fucking Isabela, she thought. She still couldn’t believe Isabela had just taken that Tome of Koslun thing and run. Sure, she’d come back, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d run off in the first place, leaving Roman high and dry.

She fumed about Isabela the rest of the way home — a helpful rage, really, since it distracted Roman from the fact that her whole body felt like it was aching and burning and freezing at the same time. By the time she and Anders were within sight of her mansion, she was doing everything in her power to focus on her anger and not on the fact that her feet were dragging as she walked.

Anders sighed. “Hawke, just let me carry you the rest of the way. It’s not that far—”

“No,” she snapped. “I said fucking no. I don’t need your help.” Then she tripped over her staff.

She dropped her staff and caught herself on her hands, sending a bone-rattling ache from her palms up to her shoulders. Anders sighed loudly and reached for her, but she twisted her elbow from his hand.

“Stop trying to coddle me,” she yelled. “Stop trying to take care of me. I don’t need taking care of, okay? Just stop it!”

Anders plopped down beside her with a scowl. “You’re a pain in the ass. You’re aware of that, right?”

“It takes one to know one,” she said acidly.

Anders gave her a chiding look, and she glared at him before looking away. For a long moment, they were silent as Roman tried to gather the strength to stand up again.

She stared fixedly at the door of her mansion, which was now only about a hundred paces away. She just needed to get up onto her feet and walk a hundred more paces. Just a hundred more steps…

She breathed through the nausea and the chills and stared stubbornly at the door. Then Anders spoke in a quiet voice. “I told the others not to follow you, by the way. Varric and Isabela especially. They wanted to come to keep an eye on you, but I told them to go do some good elsewhere.”

Roman shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t care.” It was good that the others weren’t here. It was humiliating enough for them to see her vomiting on the steps of the Viscount’s Keep like an amateur drunk. Having them stare at her while she was sick in her own house would be even worse, so it was for the best that they weren’t here.

Anders nodded, then stood up. “All right. Ready for the home stretch?”

She ignored his outstretched hand and used her staff to heft herself onto her feet. A couple of torturous minutes later, she was placing her palm on the front door of the mansion and muttering a spell.

“Hey,” Anders said sharply. “Hawke, don’t do that—”

It was too late. The spell had already activated the magic lock embedded in the door, and Roman realized too late that using magic to unlock the door was a mistake.

The door opened, and Roman collapsed into a heap in the foyer.

She heard Orana and Bodahn exclaimining in dismay, and Anders tsked as he stepped over her and shut the door behind them. “Maker’s mercy, Hawke. Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t think about it,” she mumbled. And truly, she hadn’t. The front door of the mansion had a regular lock and key, of course, but she’d long grown used to using the magic lock she’d installed for nights when she was too drunk or tired — or both — to get out her keys after a night at the Hanged Man.

“Well, it might have put you over the tipping point,” Anders scolded. “You can’t use any more magic tonight, or you could go into shock.”

Roman glared blearily at him, but before she could retort, she heard an anxious bark. A second later, Monty was butting her shoulder with his nose.

He whined worriedly and pawed at her. With a titanic effort, she reached up and hooked her arm around the mabari’s neck. “I know,” she muttered. “I know, I look like shit…” She trailed off and narrowed her eyes at the people in the room.

Bodahn and Sandal were crouched beside her while Anders hovered over her. Orana was standing in the doorway wringing her hands and looking scared, and Monty’s muscular bulk was pressed into her side. But there was one other person she’d been expecting to find here.

Samson, she thought. Where the fuck was Samson? He’d been coming over here almost every night for the past couple of weeks. She would have thought he’d be here by now.

An icy feeling started to fill her chest. Was he in Lowtown still? With the fighting and the qunari and everything being on fire? If he’d gotten himself stuck in Lowtown during the qunari attack, or if he was injured somewhere…

Her heart stopped at the thought. That fucking dumbass, she thought furiously. She took a deep breath, then started pushing herself upright.

Come on, she scolded herself. Get up right now. She tried to force herself to her feet, but by the time she was sitting upright, her head was spinning so much that she thought she might be sick again.

Bodahn patted her shoulder. “Come on now, Miz Hawke, let’s get you off to bed then.”

Don’t touch me, she thought, but she didn’t have the energy to say it. Monty whimpered and nudged her arm, but she ignored him and used his furry shoulder to try and get her feet beneath herself.

“Hang on,” Anders said sharply. “What are you doing?”

“An Orlesian waltz,” Roman gritted out. “What’s it fucking look like?” She tried to stand, but she couldn’t get her aching legs to move, especially not with her head spinning like this.

She closed her eyes to try and stop the spinning. Then Anders spoke to her in a quiet tone. “Where are you trying to go?” he asked.

She took a deep breath to quell her nausea. “To Lowtown,” she mumbled.

“There’s no point,” Anders said. “The Hanged Man is a wreck.”

Very fucking funny, she thought sourly. She took another deep breath, then opened her eyes to glare at him. “I’m not going to the Hanged fucking Man,” she told him.

His tiny smile faded to seriousness. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re a spell away from going into shock.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then tried again to get her feet under herself, but Anders placed one hand on her shoulder to keep her down.

She pushed his hand away with way more effort than such a simple act should have taken. “Get out of my way, Anders,” she snarled.

“Make me,” he said.

She glared venomously at him. How dare he look and sound so calm?

He gave her a look that was both knowing and obnoxiously sympathetic. “Come on, make me,” he said. “If you can make get out of your way, I will.”

She gave him a hard look. He was right, and she hated it. She was well-attuned to her own mana, and she knew that if she even tried to light a candle using magic right now, she’d pass out and run a risk of going into shock.

“Fuck,” she hissed, and she pounded her fist feebly on the ground. “Fuck!”

Anders crouched beside her. “Hawke, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, furious at Samson for not fucking being here. He should have been here. He was supposed to be here in this house where he could stay safe. That was the whole point of him sleeping here, after all: somewhere safe to sleep where he wouldn’t get kicked and spat on. What was the point of having a safe place to sleep if he didn’t fucking use it? If he just ended up staying in Lowtown instead and maybe getting injured, or even killed—

No, she told herself viciously. Don’t even fucking think it. Samson’s like a cockroach. He’s a survivor. He’s fucking fine. He just got caught up somewhere.

And that was why Roman had to go to Lowtown. He might need help getting out a sticky spot or something, the stupid dumbass.

Anders gave her a skeptical look. “Clearly something is wrong. Tell me what it is. Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t want your help!” she yelled. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want your help. I’m fine. I’m not the one to be worrying about.”

“So there’s someone else you’re…” Anders trailed off, and his frown slackened into a look of understanding. “You’re worried about Samson, aren’t you?”

Fuck, shit, the backs of her eyes were pricking. “Shut up!” she barked. “It’s none of your business!”

“I’ll go look for him,” Anders said loudly.

Roman froze, and Anders went on in a soothing tone. “I was headed back in that direction anyway to help with the casualties,” he said. “I’ll look around for Samson while I’m there. After I make sure you’re not going to do anything stupid like leave the house, I mean.”

“We’ll make she stays right here, Master Anders,” Bodahn said firmly.

Roman glared at him, but his mustachioed face was resolute. Then Monty let out a determined little ‘woof’ and sat in her lap.

She grunted — the mabari weighed as much as her — and Anders nodded in satisfaction and stood up. “All right. I’ll be going, then. Hawke, I mean it: stay here and rest up. Eat something if you can stomach it—”

“I know, okay?” she snapped. “I know. I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Anders retorted.

She glared at him and tried fruitlessly to shove Monty’s muscular body off of her legs, and Anders smirked. “All right, off I go,” he said. He turned and headed for the door.

Roman gritted her teeth, then called out to him. “Anders.”

He turned back and raised his eyebrows, and Roman sighed. “Thanks, okay? Maker’s balls.”

He gave her a faint smile. “You’ll pay me back someday, I’m sure.” A moment later, he was gone.

Roman sighed, then leaned her forehead against Monty’s shoulder. Bloody fucking balls, she was exhausted. She hadn’t been this tired since she’d fought that ogre a few years back. The ogre that killed Bethany—

No, shut the fuck up, she told herself, but it was too late; now she was thinking about Bethany’s glassy dead eyes, and her mother’s glassy dead eyes and her father’s waxy dead skin — almost her entire family, the whole family except herself and Carver: the people she hadn’t been able to save and who she should have been taking care of, and if Samson got added to that list—

Fuck it, she could feel her face crumpling. She buried her face in Monty’s fur and bit the inside of her cheek until she could taste blood.

Monty whined softly, and Bodahn patted her shoulder. “Don’t you worry, Miz Hawke,” he said soothingly. “Let’s get you something to eat, and everything will be better then.”

Sandal patted her head. “Enchantment,” he said kindly.

Roman ignored them both and breathed in the woodsy smell of Monty’s fur. She listened as Bodahn spoke softly to Orana, assuring her that he’d seen far scarier battles during the Fifth Blight and encouraging her to go clean up the smashed window on the second floor.

Her legs were going numb from Monty’s weight. “Get off,” she mumbled. “I won’t leave the house, I swear.”

Monty finally shifted off of her legs, and Roman sighed in relief. Then, painstakingly, she started crawling toward the flickering fire in the main room’s hearth.

She was so cold, and her entire body felt like she’d been running too hard for too long. If she could get warm in front of the fire, she’d feel stronger, and she’d be able to go to Lowtown herself.

Fucking Samson, she thought. If something had happened to him, she was going to be really fucking pissed.

It was the last thought she had before she passed out.

Read the rest on AO3, from Samson’s POV.

#samson #raleigh samson #samson/hawke #samson x hawke #romanson #pikapeppa writes #a crew cameo!#fenris #isabela #anders #merrill #varric tethras

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

Text

All You Left Behind || Solo

CONTENT: Head trauma (coma), Domestic abuse mentions, Parental Death mention

Bex runs some errands..

Georgie was still in a coma. She had brain activity, and sometimes she even mumbled in her sleep, in her unconscious state, but there was little sign of her waking soon. The doctors said they didn’t even know if there was a sign that could signal that. Comas were complicated. Magic ones even more so, Bex supposed.

Bex had laid the bouquet she’d bought down on the table at the end of the bed, but she hadn’t been able to stay long. She’d left with a promise that she’d fix her, she would. She just needed to...figure out how. But she needed to leave before anyone else showed up, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to look them in the eyes and pretend like she hadn’t done that to Georgie. It had been written off as a freak earthquake, but Bex was the earthquake. Her magic had done this to Georgie, and she’d fix it. She would, she would.

The second bouquet was being carried up a hill in a cemetery. She pulled the hood of her jacket up to conceal her face-- being caught here would be worse than being caught at Georgie’s bedside. August snow crunched under boots as Bex crested the hill and made it up to the plot of land that had been reserved almost as long as her own family’s plot of land in Harmony Hill.

Frank Goldman’s grave still looked fresh somehow. She half expected him to burst from the ground and reach to pull her in with him. She’d let him. She’d deserve it.

Frank still lived in her nightmares, in the shadow of her mother, and in the whispers of trees that made dark forests.

She saw his face, sometimes, in a crowd. A passing glance over her shoulder, or out of the corner of her eye. At the edge of the trees, where town gave way to forest and people gave way to creatures.

Her heart stuttered every time. Her heart stuttered so much these days. Sometimes it hurt and ached in a painful way, as if it could not pump enough blood through itself to keep the tide of exhaustion away. On those days, Bex stayed in the house, but never in her bed, all day. She pretended to do chores, instead, or to preoccupy herself with some hobby or another. Making bone art with Morgan, or drawing lazy edges of maps on canvas in her room. Nothing ever saw the light of day, but the bones hung on shed walls and the maps stayed rolled up in drawers next to her desk.

Frank Goldman’s grave came back into view as her thoughts came back to her and Bexley looked at it with shame. Carefully, she set the bouquet in front of it and watched the small breeze lift ready to wilt petals from the stems. “I’m sorry.”

Footsteps behind her dragged her gaze away from the stone, only to meet two eyes she thought had disappeared with Frank’s that fateful day.

“You.”

It was the same voice Bex had heard as she watched red pool over her hands in an attempt to quell the blood. It had not worked. She had sworn the boy had died right under her palms.

But here he was, glaring at her, eyes sunken, skin pale. He shook, but not with anger, with an ache. An uncontrollable tremor that Bex had once experienced, after she’d used up all her magic to destroy the warden who had hurt Mina. She recognized the magic, she could feel it drifting off of him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

With a startle, Bex realized she hadn’t said anything yet. “I-- I just wanted to--”

The broken warden’s eyes drifted to the flowers placed on his friend’s grave. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. How dare you! This is your fault!” The bouquet he had was thrown to the ground as hands swung up and clamped down around Bex’s neck. He shook her and she did not fight. His grip choked her, but it was weak, this was all he could manage. She deserved this. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance. Then he wouldn’t be-- then he--” Tears in his eyes. He had loved Frank, Bex could recognize the look in his eyes. It was the same way she looked at Mina when she’d seen her bleeding out on a forest floor.

Bex felt her own cheeks burn, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out, “I never wanted-- I didn’t want this.”

The other warden’s arms were growing weary, Bex could tell, but he kept his pressure on. He tried to step forward but stumbled, concentration all on Bex, and the two tumbled to the grass next to Frank’s grave. Bex put her arms up to catch the warden atop her as his grip finally released from her neck, no worse for wear, but ready to freckle with bruising later, when she would look in the mirror and wonder why she hadn’t fought back.

A limp fist came down on her chest. “Fuck you!” The warden boy shouted. He was crying and angry and upset. He was grieving. Bex would let him. “Fuck you! I hate you!” And it went on and on. The same few lines, the same limp fists pounding at her chest, her face, her arms. More bruises, for later. They’d go away, bruises always went away. Until then, she’d tell Mina she fell while walking in the woods. She didn’t know how to explain the ring around her neck yet, and she wouldn’t find one before going home.

When the warden grew weary, she sat with him, even as he protested. She learned his name was Lucas, and that he’d only moved to White Crest a year ago. She learned that over that time, Frank had become his best friend. And she learned that over time, Lucas had loved him like a brother. They went on hunts together, they compared techniques, they told each other the things they couldn’t tell their hunter parents-- Frank had tried his best to be there for him, until Bex came into the picture.

When she left, Bex told him she hoped things got better, that she was glad he wasn’t dead. He had just scowled and told her to never come back here, told her that he would finish the job next time (code be damned, it wasn’t like he was a hunter anymore, wasn’t like he could ever be one again, not really) if she did. He would be stronger, then. He would be healed, then.

The next stop didn’t require a bouquet of flowers, but a map. Bex traced the line of the river, remembering well all that it had tried to take from her. Daylight trickled through the trees, warm sunbeams trying to stave off the cold of the mysterious weather phenomena. Bex had never really minded the snow, but she missed the warmth of summer. She wanted to feel the moonlight in her veins again.

She walked past the spot where their boat had capsized, but there wasn’t a single trace of it left. It was as if it had never happened, and Bex would have believed it hadn’t had her mind not tried to constantly remind her of those days. Sometimes she woke up and in the dark of her room, it wasn’t Mina sleeping beside her, but her bloodied corpse. She’d always rub the illusion out of her eyes in haste, but never soon enough to stop her heart from pounding. Bex found herself checking Mina’s pulse too often, in the dark of her room at night, when the other girl lay asleep next to her. It was always steady.

Finally, the lake came into view, and Bex was thrown back to the moment where the sky had roiled with thunder and lightning, and she’d desperately gripped Mina in her arms, wading into the water as fast as she could. Holding her under, and for a moment-- just a single moment-- feeling peaceful as their eyes met. Bex had wanted to crash into the water with her, where it was silent and nothing was heavy.

She walked around the edge towards the dock, where the boathouse sat, still weary with old age, but refusing to give in. She didn’t stop in it this time, just shouldered her bag as she made it up to the front porch. The door was still open. She stepped inside and found the place untouched except by nature. Preserved. It was a moment of the past long gone but still haunting the present. Old bandages on the table, a pot by the cinders of a long put out fire, pink stains of dirty bath water-- deep red stains on the cotton sheets. She knew Mina thought about it a lot, too. The memories that stained the cabin floor, and the tub, and the raggedy couch were not good ones. They tore at Bex’s chest like the claws of a wolf and made it ache and she let herself ache. She hadn’t been able to for so long. But she could now. She could now.

She resolved to come back later. She needed more supplies. For all its painful memories, Bex did not hate the cabin. In fact, she owed it her life, and more importantly, Mina’s. This place had not been a cage, trapping them inside-- it had been a haven, in a terrible storm that consisted of rain and thunder and a boy who had lost his way.

She hurried back to town, marking the trail to remember easier next time. She nearly missed the ferry, pushing through the turnstile as she waved her ticket at the guard. He was more than happy to help a gracious young woman like herself, and Bex put on a tight-lipped smile as she sidled past and onto the ferry. She supposed even in death, her name meant something.

The third bouquet was set at the foot of the manor stairs. She didn’t dare go inside, there was still police tape up around the front doors, anyway. Instead, she looked up at the ornate doors that had once been her prison bars, and the columns of the old building, the arching entryway, and the inlaid windows, carefully carved and crafted out of the finest brick and marble. She wondered if it would burn.

There was nothing left to say to the building-- it was just as dead as her mother.

While she waited for the ferry to come back, Bex stared over the edge of the banister into the lapping waves. She’d visited three places that day that had been left scarred and ruined by her magic. No-- by her choices. If people caused pain, then her magic was a gun. That was the saying, right? Guns don’t kill people, people do. She pulled the trigger, each time. Frank may have died by Mina’s hand, but the inevitability of it was only set in motion because of her. She dropped a rock into the water and watched the waves swallow it, the ripples it tried to cause, as if the rock had never existed. She wondered if it might be a metaphor of the people she’d hurt.

But people weren’t rocks and the world wasn’t an ocean. Georgie had family and friends, always sitting by her side, reading her stories and telling her about their days and waiting for her to wake up. And Frank had had friends, and family, and even if they were used to burying their children, Bex knew his mother had wept. And even Odell’s absence was felt, in the hollow of Bex’s chest, and in the empty office that she’d walked into one fateful night and finally, finally found the key to her freedom.

The ferry horn whistled and Bex stood from her spot, rubbing at the soreness on her neck. She sat in a corner by herself and watched the island that she’d grown up on shrink in the distance. Her entire life had been about pain and suffering, but now she had a chance at something new. She’d caused so much pain, just to pull herself out of the hole she’d been buried in. She didn’t want to do that anymore.

Her magic had hurt too many people. The first step to getting through something was to admit the problem existed. Her magic wasn’t the problem, though. No, it was her lack of control. Her problem had always been a lack of control, and now she had a freedom she’d seldom dreamt about. Sometimes it felt almost wrong. Sometimes it felt overwhelming. But, mostly, it felt relieving. She had room to figure herself out now, to stretch her feet, and her arms, and stop folding herself into a tiny box. She could exist.

She wondered on her place in this world. She didn’t have an answer, but as she continued to watch the island grow into a speck on the horizon, she wondered if, maybe, that didn’t matter. Maybe she didn’t need an answer yet. Maybe that’s what life was, like a dig-- searching for an answer and finding more questions along the way.

All Bexley knew was that she wasn’t going to let her magic hurt anyone anymore. All she wanted to do was help, and to protect those she loved, and she knew if she could just control her magic, she could. She could. And so it was time she took control of it.

It was time to put the pot back together.

#solo #wickedswriting #all you left behind #head trauma tw #domestic abuse tw #parental death tw

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