#Chapter: [Eastern Echoes]

[umbralsound-xiv]

I...  I did only as i was told. When the fighting broke out, and she bid me take her mother and leave, i...

I... Did not want to leave her. But she was not alone. She...

She will be okay.

She will.

Eir Fellfrost kept his quiet as he followed inwards; the door unlocked and scarcely a word exchanged between them during the entire maddened dash throughout the city; this instance much less joyous than the last he had done so. His heart raced in his chest as he slipped indoors, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, attention split betwen peering back to the door, and back to the woman whom he'd carried here, nervously.

Yasu Seki was quick to shut the door once the two had passed through, shock and worry resting on her features in a soft frown. Despite being in the confines of her own home, the Midlander seemed to be quite.. uncomfortable. Her gaze wandered to Eir and settled atop him, seemingly not all too certain what to do, or say - yet she manages a weak, forced smile his way.

Eir Fellfrost knits his brow at the look, a similar expression on his own features. He takes a breath, and glances away, words wavering on his lips that he does not immediately speak. Worry clearly plagued his features, instead focusing on the woodgrain of the floor rather than present company.

Eir Fellfrost: "...I am ... Sorry."

Yasu Seki lingered in a short pause of her own, before she slowly shook her head and allowed the smile to fade, her arms reaching up to fold in front of her chest. “.. I heard that.. She asked it of you. You have naught to apologise for.”

Eir Fellfrost: "...It was against your will." Eir speaks, only briefly meeting the gaze to stare at the door again, ears slowly tilting back. "...She will be fine..." His words trail, a statement, or an attempt to convince; and then, who? Himself, or Yasu? A wavering breath is given from his lips. "...She will."

Yasu Seki: "Against my will, yet for my safety.. And likely, yours too." Her hands gripped at the sleeves of her kimono a little tighter. ".. I have no doubt she will be. And it eases my heart slightly that.. she's not alone." Her frown deepened. ".. Kami knows I'd rather they came with us." Yasu's own gaze drifted, settling atop the cupboard to her left for a moment before returning to Eir. ".. So. You.. are a friend of hers, then?" She asked carefully, attempting to induce smalltalk in hope to ease the worry they both hold.

...I could hardly lie to her, but it seemed a difficult subject to broach in her absence. I...

...I have never met the parents of someone i love. I do not even remember my own parents... How...

...

I remember being a parent. But...

...I should just be honest.

Eir Fellfrost sighs quietly. She was right, most likely, offering a small nod in confirmation to her words. "...I am little good in a fight. She will be fine." He repeats, again, a little more confident now. Finally having the bravery to look to the woman a little longer, her question is answered with a flicker of a smile, even if the tension in the room grew heavy. "She... She is..." Words trail again, simmering in silence. "...We are together."

Yasu Seki: "I can't say I know much of how she is nowadays in terms of fighting.. I have a hard time imagining that she ceased such, however." She paused once more, her head tilting. ".. Together." She repeated, her brows raising in a rather sudden surprise - a smile soon taking to her lips. "I see.. How.. long? Have you two been seeing each other?" Despite her surprise, she doesn't seem disapproving.

Eir Fellfrost: "She continues unto this sun. Part of her employment, amongst other things... I would not wish to be her enemy." Yasu's expression as she echoed his word causes his brow to knit, swallowing a small lump in his throat. "...A little more than half a cycle." Lips that anxiously pull into a line dare a smile. "She... She is important to me."

...I could not simply leave it as that. No. I... I must tell the whole truth.

Eir Fellfrost: "..."

Eir Fellfrost: "I... I love her dearly."

Yasu Seki's brows furrowed with a slight bit more worry. "Fighting employment wise, too..? Oh dear.." She sighed softly, shaking her head. Her smile turned a little more pained, yet did not fade. "I see.- It warms my heart to hear that. Part of me worried that.. she may not seek out such a thing again." Her arms sank down from their folded position, resting at her sides instead. "To know she has someone who loves her.. is a comfort."

Eir Fellfrost dips his head again with a short nod, a little more at ease for the conversation, even as he still rocked on his heels. He paces back and forth a little, between responses. "She is... So strong. Brave. In all senses." Eir speaks quietly, and as calm as he could with the waver in his tone; opting to stop his feet in such a way the door was in better view. "She has many who care for for her, beyond even myself. Just as she cares for them. It is why she fights." His gaze settles on Yasu for just a little longer, then. "...You look just the way she drew you."

Yasu Seki: “She is.. Although she never quite accepted such words when she was younger.. Has that.. changed?” Yasu glances at the door a touch anxiously, before opting to step side from it in case it was about to be burst open. “Like.. the friend she mentioned..? That shares her gift?” A small smile lingered. “Fighting.. To protect, then?” Eir’s last sentence seems to take her aback for a moment, eyes widening a little. “.. She.. drew me?”

Eir Fellfrost: "...She is more accepting of it some suns than others. Her confidence in herself wavers. But it is there... I have seen it." He shares her glance, a frown remaining on his lips as he fought his thoughts from drifting. "...Like the friend she mentioned.  They train together. She is well cared for. She fights only to protect, these suns. Her actions are well meaning." His silver gaze settles on her face, as he gives another quiet nod. "...She did. She does so on occasion in the quieter moments."

Eir Fellfrost: "She drew the people most important to her. You... Were, of course, one of them."

Yasu Seki: “.. Improved, then. Not.. completely changed, but improved.” A soft sigh leaves her, more of relief than anything else. “I.. am glad. She felt like an outsider a lot when she was young, with her powers.. And being the only Miqo’te around us. I’m glad she has someone who can help her with her ice.” She smiled softly. “.. She was ever fiercely protective of those she held close. It may of been a number she could count on one hand back then, but she’d do anything to keep them safe and happy.” A short silence lingered, one hand slowly rising to settle above her own heart. “.. She has kept us on her mind, then.” She uttered softly.

Eir Fellfrost: "...She is different in ways, and not so much in others, it would seem, for all the time that has passed." The smile is returned to listen to how Sayuri once was, speaking softly in response. "...You have never been far from her thoughts. I have heard many tales of her youth... And all of them spoken with a smile, when it came to you."

Yasu Seki smiles weakly at you.

Yasu Seki: ".. This.. may be a strange question, or.. it won't be. But.." She paused. ".. How is her.. appetite?" She fidgeted with her hands a touch, yet managed a new smile at his words. ".. I'm glad. We.. separated in a less than pleasant way.. To know she's alive and that her life had continued.. it brings me joy."

Eir Fellfrost sighs quietly, a defeated expression taking his features. "...It is not a strange question in the context of Sayuri, no... Her appetite is poor, even on her best suns. But i am trying, always." Another pause; though more was clearly behind his silence. "...She has continued despite every obstacle... I am sure she will tell you..." His gaze traces to the door, feet anxiously shifting once again. "...When she returns."

Yasu Seki frowned weakly, her head lowering slightly as a faint sigh left her. ".. I had hoped such had changed, hence my hesitation with the question.. I'm nonetheless greatful that you try to help improve it." She managed a small smile. ".. If she's willing to speak of it." Yasu's gaze shifted to the door, resting upon it.

...They were not my tales to tell. Not my words to speak. I could but tell her mother than she had indeed continued to live, but not the ferocity of the life she had to endure.

...But i would be there for her when she was told, if she had need of me.

Eir Fellfrost: "...I can but keep trying. I try to ensure she eats at least a little of something each sun. Meals shared are often... The easiest way, if not always successful." He takes a deep breath to steady himself, a step forth... Which halts, again. "...How long have we been back? Surely... Surely they should not be so much longer behind us, yes...?"

...I was beginning to grow worried... It...

It should not take her so long for a single person? Unless... Unless there were reinforcements, or... Or something happened?

...Should i go back?

Yasu Seki: ".. That's good." Her attention returned to Eir. ".. It depends on how much of a fight Takeo intended to start.. and how badly Sayuri seeks to continue it.. and whether or not the Sekiseigumi get involved.." She frowned anew, her fingers fidgeting. ".. She was not much for backing down in her younger suns.. but I pray Masashi can make her, if needed."

Eir Fellfrost: "...He said... That he was going to hurt you. Sayuri had only newly learned that you yet lived. Had she not known..." Eir dismisses the thought, quietly shaking his head. "...In the time i have known her, she has never backed from a fight. Even... Even when i..." Another trail of words, into the quiet; he hadn't quite wanted to bring that up. He silently regards the door, another half-step towards it.

Yasu Seki: ".. Kami." Yasu sighed, head hanging. ".. I knew his brother was rotten, but he? I expected better." She frowned. ".. When you..?" A pause. ".. They will be okay. They may very well be on their way back, right now." She tried to reassure him, offering a pained smile.

Eir Fellfrost: "...Even when i told her to run. She did not. I... I tried to carry her." He does not elaborate further, descending to an anxious silence that sees him swallow the dry lump that had clambered into the pit of his throat. "I... I hope so. That man has no kindness for her. I just fear for how much malice..."

Yasu Seki: ".. Getting her to run away from a situation.. is no easy feat." Yasu's head lowered, guilt locking itself onto her features for a moment before she looks up to force a small. "I don't.. fully understand why he despises her so, but.. I have not been in her life for some cycles, now.. There's plenty I don't know about her, I'd imagine."

Eir Fellfrost: "Much too i may also not know. Life has... Been unkind to her, in the few cycles she has lived. But we do all we can to change this." He offers a comforting smile himself, which melts into worry. He rocks on his heels, tension taking his form... Eir looks about ready to bolt for the door.

...I cannot just leave her out there. She... But... Her Mother. What if someone comes looking?

...I have to go back after her! What if she is hurt? What...

...What if she needs me?

Yasu Seki: "It has.. I'm glad we managed to give her some joy, even if.. it ended so brutally. But now she has you, and her friends.." Her tone softened, her own gaze lowering to the floorboards... until the door rattles faintly, as if tested whether or not it is locked - making Yasu's gaze snap over to it.

Eir Fellfrost: "She does... And the knowledge that her beloved mother yet lives. She---" Eir's voice cuts out at the sound of the door, breath held. His hands settle, raised an ilm over his chakrams, poised to run.

The door cracks open into a tiny slit - the first thing noticable being a faint, creeping cold that begins to make an appearance, before the door opens further to reveal Sayuri and Masashi. While the latter appears unharmed, other than a gash in one of his sleeves and a torn off piece of fabric from it, Sayuri's bare, painted arm has the missing piece of cloth from Masashi's sleeve wrapped around her bicep, slightly blood stained. Other than that, she seems fine. A quick entry is made, before the door shuts and locks.

Eir Fellfrost stares at the opening of the door. Ears slowly tilt back... Before the familiar cold makes its presence known, a heavy sigh of relief given as she pulled into view. "...Sayuri..." He breathes, though concern still knit his brow. He fights the want to extend his arms, to pull her into an embrace, limbs only making it halfway up before hesitation sets in.

...She is safe. She... She is here. I had almost forgotten that feeling of waiting. But the relief... She...

...I wanted nothing more than to pull her into my arms and hold her, but...

...I did not want to... Impose. I do not know these people...

Sayuri Aoki saved no moment to immediately step through the house and up to Eir, her arms rising to seek his frame out, despite the small injury on her right bicep.

Masashi Seki, on the other hand, steps up to Yasu who crumbled with relief, his own arms locking around the woman in a firm hug while the two opted to glance Eir and Sayuri’s way, for the time being.

Eir Fellfrost smooths a hand through her hair, holding her close. The wound had not escaped his notice, but it did not diminish his embrace, only saw him move it to where she would not be harmed by him. "...Are you okay...?" He asks, tone soft and full of worry as he looked down towards her.

Sayuri Aoki offered a reassuring smile Eir's way, letting her head tip into his palm. "It's just a small cut, I'm fine.. Are you?" She raised a hand up towards his cheek, seeking to cup it lightly as she gazed up at him.

...I have seen her return with worse. She will be well. She will. She is here, and safe.

...She is here. I... I do not have to worry so much, now.

Masashi Seki furrowed a brow at the sight, yet let his attention return to Yasu as the woman gently tapped his hand. No need to get protective just yet.

Eir Fellfrost: "I am far better now that you are returned, and... Reasonably unharmed..." His relief danced through every word, even as his concerned gaze moved to the wound, hand gently tracing over it. "...A-and him?" He asks, looking to her, and then to Yasu and Masashi... The latter he catches the furrowed brow of, shrinking an ilm or so into his shoulders.

Sayuri Aoki grimaced slightly at the touch, yet she didn’t move away or flinch. “... He fled like the coward he is the moment the Sekiseigumi made an appearance.” She mumbled, clearly not the happiest about the said fact. “.. Not wholly unscathed, but not wounded enough to be able to go whine to them that a Miqo’te smacked him.”

Eir Fellfrost: "...Scathed enough to leave you alone. Scathed enough to have learned his lesson, i hope." He moves his hand back up to settle on her shoulder, thumb idly tracing over one of the many scars. He takes a deeper breath as though he was to speak further, looking to her gaze, and then back up to the other pair in the room, opting to hold his tongue and keep his quiet, some unease in his stature.

Sayuri Aoki: “.. If he’s equally enough of a fuckwit as his brother, I wouldn’t count on it..” Sayuri mumbled, barely managing to finish her sentence before a loud clearing of someone’s throat emit that made her ears pin back.

Masashi Seki cleared his throat, loudly. “-Sayuri-.” He scolded. “Do not use such language in front of your mother.”

Eir Fellfrost widens his eyes at the reprimand. He keeps his quiet further, releasing his grasp to something a little lighter to allow her to move more freely.

Yasu Seki gave a weak yet amused smile, clearly not having been particularly intent on scolding her, herself.

Sayuri Aoki turned very slightly, squinting at Masashi while keeping her arms around Eir. “... I’ll swear however much I goddamn please.” She huffed, offering a childish pout his way– Before pausing. And staring. Judging.

Masashi Seki huffed, and stared back.. Arm still around Yasu.

Eir Fellfrost knows better than to say anything in the moment. He simply keeps to his quiet comfort, looking anxiously between Sayuri and Yasu, and half avoiding Masashi's gaze altogether.

...I kept my quiet. This was not my conversation unless i was bid to speak.

...I did not wish to make things any more complicated...

Yasu Seki gently tapped Masashi’s arm. “.. Easy, love.. She’s a grown woman, now.” She smiled up at him.

Masashi Seki lofted a brow, and peered down at Yasu.. then back to Sayuri. “.. Mhm? Still seems like the same wee shite she was when I first started training her.” Finally, a smirk cracks across his lips.

Sayuri Aoki‘s lips draw into a thin line. She stares at Yasu, then Masashi.. Then Eir. Then back to Masashi. “-- -First of all-.” She raises a hand, pointing it in his direction. “I’m a ‘wee shite’ with an axe, now. So eat shit.” She huffed at him, yet the lack of an increased cold told the tale of that.. She isn’t really upset. “Secondly.. The fuck you mean, ‘love’?”

Eir Fellfrost simply makes a face. It's half a stifled laugh, half shy unease, and somewhere between it, he opts to slowly stand behind Sayuri, slowly rubbing at her shoulder with his thumb, still.

Masashi Seki paused. “.. We can talk about that later. I’d like to know who your friend is.” His gaze lifted towards Eir, seemingly not quite ready to have the conversation that Sayuri was pressing for.

Sayuri Aoki stared in return, squinting at him, and then Yasu.

Eir Fellfrost takes a shallow breath... And doesn't continue. His gaze continues to avert, hiding by Sayuri's remaining unscathed ear.

Sayuri Aoki -stares-.

Masashi Seki stares back.

Yasu Seki, however, sighs, shaking her head slightly. “.. For your question, little lily.. We are wed.” She gently grasps at Masashi’s hand. “As for yours.. He is her partner.”

Sayuri Aoki makes a straight face.

Eir Fellfrost simply and quietly takes Sayuri's hand, squeezing it out of comfort. He eyes Masashi with worry, awaiting his judgement...

Sayuri Aoki‘s hand locks around Eir’s. Rather than Masashi’s judgement being heard, Sayuri speaks first. “.. You -married- my mother?!” Her ears pin back and a sharp stare is locked upon Masashi. “... But- you-.. W-..” She fumbles with her words, clearly unable to properly figure out what she wants said.

Masashi Seki raised a hand up to his neck, rubbing at it awkwardly.

Yasu Seki smiled weakly. “.. We did marry, yes.”

Eir Fellfrost: "...If a new love is found, it does not mean the one that came before meant any less..." His words were a soft, almost whispered attempt at comfort, a small press of his lips to the crown of her hair.

Sayuri Aoki‘s ears drooped, a small huff leaving her as she fidgeted on the spot but nevertheless leaned herself back against Eir. “.. I know, but.. it’s.. -weird-.” She complained, squinting at Masashi. “.. You were like-.. my uncle..” She grumbles.

Yasu Seki met Sayuri with a soft smile. “.. I can imagine it’s.. strange, to simply accept. We are happy, we are in love. Kazan, Kami rest his soul, would’ve wanted such for us.”

Masashi Seki softened, much more than he had the entire night. “.. I’m not expecting you to immediately take to me the same way you did him, just.. Don’t write me off completely just yet, hm?” He gave a weak smile.

Eir Fellfrost remains where he is; hidden half behind Sayuri. Only two silver eyes peered over her pale hair, as his free arm curls forth to bring her into a one-armed embrace.

...I did not know what to do. What to say...? This... This was immeasurably awkward, but nothing i could have ever hoped to run from. So i held onto her. For comfort. Hers. Mine.

Sayuri Aoki grumbled grumpily.. Unable to be upset at the situation - well aware that Masashi is, in fact, a decent man.

Masashi Seki merely gave a smile, before his gaze lift up to Eir once more - features still softened. “.. So. Sayuri’s better half, hm?” He teased slightly. “What’s your name?”

Eir Fellfrost: "...Hardly better." Eir quipped quietly, raising his head a little to at least greet the man without obscuring his features. "...Eir." He nods. That was enough... Right? His hand squeezes Sayuri's for comfort. His own, this time.

Masashi Seki gave a short chuckle at the quip, nodding. “Fair, fair. Eir. Pleased to meet you, I am Masashi. As you have gathered from the situation.. Sayuri’s stepfather.” He eyed the pair curiously. “How did you two meet?”

Sayuri Aoki -stares- with a pout.

Eir Fellfrost: "...I joined the company at which she worked. She... Befriended me. By force." Finally, Eir's expression shifts into a smile. "...We only grew closer from there."

Masashi Seki: “Company, hm? What do you do?” Masashi lofted a brow with interest. “.. A-ha. That’s how she gained her first friend, but they were the one who forced friendship on her, instead.” He gave an amused smirk, casting a glance Sayuri’s way before returning to Eir.

Sayuri Aoki remains quiet, pouting at Masashi.

Eir Fellfrost: "...I remember this tale." Eir muses quietly, offering a more gentle smile in Sayuri's direction. "...A mercenary company of sorts. I... Simply run messages and make the occasional delivery. I am a dancer by trade."

Sayuri Aoki's pout turned towards Eir instead, yet shifted into a smile as she leaned herself back against him a little further. ".. Meanwhile I work on the frontlines. Fighting."

Masashi Seki nods slowly, eyeing the two. “.. Explains why you are notably more scarred than last we saw you, Sayuri. I do hope you’re -careful-.” He spent a prolonged moment observing the Seeker, before looking up to Eir. “A dancer? You don’t happen to be the Viera that danced at the Mujikoza some suns ago, hm?”

Eir Fellfrost: "...I was." Eir confirms. His response is a little more prideful, even if he still speaks softly. "It was only by chance, but an opportunity i would not turn down. The kindness shown to me here in the East has been nigh unparalleled."

Masashi Seki: “Well.. One can hardly say this is the wrong cycle of a Viera to visit..” Masashi paused, before a shit eating grin settled on his lips as he glanced at Sayuri. “.. You took your celebrations of the new cycle to a whole new level, hm?”

Sayuri Aoki paused, and sent Masashi a death glare. “... Shut up.” A frown that only made Masashi grin more widely settled upon her features.

You smirk confidently at Sayuri Aoki.

Eir Fellfrost: "...Much to the disappointment of many others, i can assure you. I have enjoyed the perks of my appearence whilst i can."

Sayuri Aoki squinted at Eir, and raised a finger to point at him threateningly, and wordlessly, before her attention returns forwards.

Yasu Seki merely shakes her head with an amused smile.

Masashi Seki kept his widened grin, clearly much more at ease now than he was before. “There’s always going to be someone who gets unhappy, but it is rarely anyone who matters. Life doesn’t give many moments to indulge in certain things, but you have certainly been given a prolonged moment by being a Viera in the East at this time.”

Eir Fellfrost stares at the fingertip, and promptly keeps his quiet. He looks to Sayuri with a knit brow in apology, and back to Masashi. "...I intend to enjoy my time here to the fullest. Moreso for her presence."

Sayuri Aoki‘s ears drooped, her head moving back to gently boop against his chest, features softening as she realised she had come across a little harsher than intended.

Masashi Seki gave a firm nod. “That, there, is a good plan. Judging by Sayuri mentioning a friend in Eorzea earlier.. I assume that is where you live and work?”

Eir Fellfrost gives Sayuri's hand a little squeeze. "It is. Eorzea is reasonably new in places to me, but i have found it pleasant, for the most part. As for her friends, she is... Likely able to tell you far better than i."

Sayuri Aoki returned a soft squeeze, shifting her fingers slightly as she sought to interlace them with his. ".. The said friend I mentioned is my Field Commander, too. There are others, but I am without a doubt closer with her." She gave a small smile. ".. Eitherway, yes. We.. live there.. We spoke of visiting together, and.. Now we're here."

Yasu Seki’s smile faded slightly. “And you are.. due to return, then..”

Masashi Seki gave Yasu a squeeze, and lofted a brow. “I hope you do not intend to leave without leaving us a means to keep contact with you.”

Eir Fellfrost: "...We will return to the West soon enough, yes. But... There is nothing to stop letters from being exchanged... Or even future visits, yes?"

Sayuri Aoki: ".. I wouldn't mind exchanging letters.. Or coming back to visit.." She paused. ".. It'd be nice."

Yasu Seki smiled, and nodded.

Masashi Seki tilted his head. "Well, you better! We have plenty of cycles to catch up on."

Eir Fellfrost: "It would... Aether-related nausea notwithstanding... But it would be worth it to see them, yes?"

Sayuri Aoki: ".. I'd suffer the nausea for it."

Eir Fellfrost: "...As would i, if..." He hesitates, if only for a moment. "...If you wished me with you."

Sayuri Aoki: "..-If-? Of course I would."

Sayuri Aoki gave a small pout.

Eir Fellfrost murmurs quietly, glancing sidelong and away. "I... Did not wish to intrude..."

Sayuri Aoki slooowly turns over to face Eir, leaning over as she sought to bump against him. ".. I want you to come with me."

Eir Fellfrost: "Then... I will be here. With you." A hesitant glance to the other eyes in the room, he looks back to her as he squeezes her hand. "...Always."

Sayuri Aoki smiles, squeezing his hand. ".. Good."

Yasu and Masashi merely smiled at the scene, content to linger in silence.

Eir Fellfrost smiles faintly, nodding once. "...I do not know what our plans are for the sun. Whether it is safe to return, or not. But..." He glances upwards. "...I wager there is much to speak of. Much to catch up on. I... Would offer to cook, if i have permission to do so, if only to allow you to catch up on your many missed moons apart."

Sayuri Aoki nodded gently. “Remaining might.. Be for the best.. For now.” She murmured. “.. I would like to catch up, too.”

Yasu Seki beamed a smile and nodded. “If you wish to stay, we have a guest room you can use. And if you’d like to cook, feel free to do so. If you need any help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Eir Fellfrost settles a kiss to Sayuri's forehead, releasing her and looking to Yasu. "Thank you... I may need help finding things, but else i should be well. I hope you do not mind Thavnairian cuisine...?" Eir asked idly, before slipping into the kitchen to get his bearings.

I opted to cook, to give them time to speak, time to process... And to ease my nerves. I am unfamiliar with the kitchen, but it will serve as a pleasant distraction. In any case, all seems to be going well between them, despite some awkwardness. They are happy. They are safe.

...I hope... That i am enough, for her.

#Muse: [Eir] #Duet: [Winter Moon] #Chapter: [Eastern Echoes] #FFXIV #IC #Screenshot #Writing #Textlog

[huramuna]

even in undeath - chapter 1.

lich king aemond x reader a 'world of warcraft' AU. prev | next

The Lich King is the master and lord of the Scourge. Consisting of thousands of walking corpses, disembodied spirits, beasts of the north, and damned mortal men, the Scourge is a terrifying and insidious enemy.

word count: 2.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, DUBCON, smut, heavy heavy angst, graphic depictions of violence, allusions to cannibalism, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, suicidal thoughts and ideation, mutilation of corpses, obsessive aemond, dark aemond, a happy ending is not in our future. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS! This story will be pretty dark.

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It was dark and cold. There was a faint dripping of water somewhere off to the side, but you couldn’t quite see where. The echoes of whimpers ricocheted off of the craggy walls, stinging your eardrums. 

This was the descent into madness, wasn’t it?

You weren’t sure how long you’d been chained up for— how long had it been since your village burned to the ground? Since you watched the ghouls rip apart the cow farmer from down the road. Since you watched hellhounds crunching on little Mary Jay’s bones. Since you had watched your mother and stepfather plead and beg for their lives, for forgiveness, for mercy, for absolution of their supposed sins before the death knight’s sword lopped their heads off. 

How long has it been? 

Shifting slightly, the chain tied to your throat clinked against the wall. There was no light, no passage of time to be had in the dank, pitch black cave they stowed you and a few select others in. You only had on a ragged potato sack as a dress, the sensation of dirt and grime caked on your hair and under your nails making you feel less than human. 

But— you were still human. For now. The Scourge had ravaged the Eastern Kingdoms without mercy, swiping through the North and South like a fast traveling plague, curdling and damning everything it touched. Hordes of undead zombies, ghouls and hellhounds were the first to raze the cities, driving out the people like mice from the walls. Then the banshees came, along with the necromancers to raise the dead, adding them to a forever amounting army.

Not even Quel’thalas had been able to resist it, an ancient elven city hewn in magic.

What chance did you have? 

More than most, evidently. Your mind wrought itself over and over as to why— why were you alive? Why were you still human and not merely a risen thrall? 

The clinking of armor scared you as it ascended the hallway. You pressed close to the wall and closed your eyes. 

Please don’t stop here, please don’t stop here. 

Clink, clink, clink… closer… closer… 

Then it passed, descending further away. You let out a breath, your blood still pumping in your ears. 

Clink, clink, clink. They were coming back. Clink… silence. You felt bile rise in your throat as you shook, the chains rattling noisily. You knew they were standing there, you knew they were here for you. 

A harsh tug upon your chain, your head hitting the floor— some words were mumbled, the voice sounding far away and broken. Your eardrums rang with the ferocity of your fall, drowning out any semblance of what your jailer was saying to you. Then, you were tugged upward, the cool metal of the collar biting into your skin as you were dragged like a petulant child away from your cell… 

You didn’t want to open your eyes. You couldn’t face the horror you knew was around you— corpses, living ones and dead, the clatter of bones, the heavy breathing of gargantuan abominations, bodies and faces of countless people stitched together into a new body, hewn with thread and necrotic magic until it gave way to something else entirely. Something unnatural, something made of nightmares. The dermis of those who were used to make the monsters would still twitch, reach out on its own, and if it had a mouth, it would be twisted into a scream. You swore that you heard them whispering as you were dragged by. 

The monstrosities were one of many abhorrent creatures at the Scourge’s disposal. Hellhounds, ghouls, gargoyles, wraiths, crypt lords, geists, banshees, and other things of horrific nature were only some of the power wielded by the Scourge. It felt like it was all pulled out of a child’s fairytale, changed and twisted and defiled into what it was now. 

It all felt like a very bad dream. 

Your eyes opened on their own and you took in the image of death knights, former paladins who served a higher power, the Light— now are nothing but undead heretics, glowing eyes and gaunt stares that bored through you. 

Some of the monsters chittered as you were dragged past them, leering and looking hungry. 

‘Scrawny that one. Perhaps she will suffice for hellhounds to pick their teeth.’

‘Speak for yourself, her skin will do beautifully on a new abomination.’ 

‘She won’t be knighted. Merely a maid’s bastard, I’ve heard.’

You forced your eyes to close once more, the sudden light stinging them. You forced yourself into another time, a better memory than what you were experiencing. 

They were right, you were a maid’s bastard. Your mother had served in the royal keep for years, with you under her feet. You didn’t know who your true father was, nor did you care.

You became attached to the second son of the King— Aemond Targaryen. He was a sprightly boy with near white hair and luminous violet eyes. The two of you were attached at the hip. 

Childhood friendship blossomed into more as you grew into teenagers and young adults— you shared your first kiss together, you held hands and shared sweet nothings. As he trained by day to become a paladin of the Light, he held you close by night, vowing to never let you go. You were both terribly in love and so terribly, terribly naive. He was your first in everything– your first friend, your first kiss, your first lover. You promised yourself that he would stay your first and only.

‘You can never marry a maid’s bastard, Aemond! You’re a prince of the realm-‘

‘I don’t care! I want her, father. I’ve always wanted her!’

Your mother quit her job at the castle— moreso, threatened into quitting by some of the King’s advisors. She was given a considerable amount of coin and told to take you far, far away and to not contact the prince again. 

Heartbroken, you left him your sapphire ring, the only thing of value you ever had, which had been passed down through your mother’s family for generations. 

It was left on his desk with a note of few words but much feeling. 

‘I love you. I’m sorry.’ 

That was over ten years ago. You hadn’t seen him since, but you missed him horribly. Especially now. You wondered if he was still alive, fighting against the Scourge like his knightly vows dictated. 

Maybe he was married and moved across the sea to Kalimdor where it was safer. 

Or maybe he was dead. Dead like almost everyone else you knew. 

You heard a rumor, fleeting and without much more information, that his father had died– no, that his father had been murdered. The fall of the king, Viserys, is what started the Scourge war. Did Aemond know, wherever he was? 

You imagined him holding his arms around you, kissing your neck and fanning his breath over your skin. He liked to encompass you completely with his body when you laid together— you never could emulate the feeling with heavy blankets and pillows, as much as you tried. Putting yourself back into that memory, you wrapped your arms around yourself, willing warmth into your body. 

But you didn’t feel any warmth. All you felt was cold, cold down to your bones. They felt brittle, like ice, splintering into shards as you were thrown on the floor again in a different room. Pain bloomed in your arm as it cracked at an awkward angle. Broken. 

Your ears rang again as your mouth opened into a scream, tears of pure anguish squeezing from your eyes. But you didn’t hear a thing besides the rush of blood dampening your senses— and the sickening crunch of your broken bones. 

‘What have you done to it, Lady Deathwhisper? It looks broken.’ 

‘It’s human bones are so brittle, it was merely a slip of the hand. I cannot help that their living constitution is so weak.’ 

‘His grace will not be pleased if it is broken beyond repair.’ 

‘Worry not, Lady Alys. Most things can be mended— and if not, it can always be raised.’ 

‘Physical defects aren’t the only issue. What of its mind?’

You feel an acute sensation over your skull, reaching into the depths of your cranium. Its cold, but not stinging— like a soft caress upon your brain as your mind is rifled through like a tome. You can feel your memories being perused, all of the most intimate moments of your life flashing in your head like playwright’s prose. The physicality of your mind being invaded wasn’t painful, but the act of your memories being ripped from you was damning. Tears fell down your face on their own, your mouth opened into a silent scream.

‘She is the one— I saw it. You are lucky that you did not break her mind completely, Lady Deathwhisper.’ 

‘As are you. You do not have a deft hand when it comes to memory perusal, Lady Alys. I am surprised that it still has a brain in its skull.’ 

‘Shut up and bring her to him. He will be pleased she is still alive. Barely.’ 

You felt yourself being moved again, still reeling from the invasion of your mind. You tried to put yourself back into the safe haven of memories, but they were… locked. Locked behind an iron door with no keyhole. They were lost to you. 

What were you trying to remember? 

Flashes of white hair and violet eyes flitted behind your eyelids, soft caresses and kisses, heavy breathing and love filled promises, the sensation of skin to skin… 

Your eyes opened, vision bleary. A helmed woman followed behind you, wings outstretched. You could see the glint of green eyes under her helm. Val’kyr. The woman behind you was a Val’kyr, a spirit guide who defected to the side of the Scourge. They could move between the realm of living and dead as simply as taking a breath. 

“The little human is awake,” she mused. “Your mind isn’t broken after all? I do see a glint of intelligence behind those eyes. Keep them on me, you shan’t wish to look upon Lady Deathwhisper.” 

You didn’t want to speak, words caught in your throat like food stuck in your craw. A val’kyr was basically an angel of death and talking to one must mean you are dead. 

You wish you were. 

The chains scraped against the floor, which was no longer stone like before, but rather, hardened ice. You were ascending upward, it seemed. The architecture of the building was nothing like you’d ever seen— dark metal was plated upon the walls, inscribed with glowing runes. The runes looked… familiar to you, somehow. But the memory that contained them was locked away, or mayhaps stolen by the Val’kyr, Alys. 

The temperature was cold, you were being lofted upon ice, of course, but you didn’t wholly feel it. You were partially numb, heat radiating from your broken arm. You knew you should be feeling pain— but you were just… numb. 

Your escorts stopped in front of two large doors, inscribed with the same glowing runes. Against Alys’ advice, you glanced at ‘Lady Deathwhisper’. She was skeletal, floating upon the ground with no legs to speak of. Her robes were purple fabric, molded around an incorporeal body. She spoke in a language you didn’t understand, the scratchy voice of hers coming out of a bone skull, but the mouth wasn’t moving, maw open as the words came out. 

You should have listened to Alys. 

The door opened with a rumble, opened by ancient magic, likely imbued by the runes, as they flickered and flitted above your head as it opened. The room beyond was open and bereft of almost anything, except for a throne. A throne forged of ice and swords. 

Someone was sitting upon it in a lazed position, one plated gloved finger tapping on the arm of the throne.

“We’ve brought her, your grace,” Lady Deathwhisper growled, shoving you forward. You skidded across the floor, which felt slick like grazing atop an ice-capped lake. “Alys confirmed it is her.”

The clinking of armor caught your attention, the sound of metal grazing against ice. It was irritating and made you grind your teeth. As whoever was on the throne got closer, the force was oppressive. Whimpers and tiny cries were ripped from you as they walked towards you, the aura exuding from them causing you to fall flat to the ground, feeling as if someone was sitting atop of your chest and not letting up.

The steel plated boot was in front of you now and your hair was grabbed rather harshly, pulling you up. 

Don’t look, don’t look. You cannot look.

“Look. At. Me.” the voice growled. It was quiet but commanding at the same time, rattling in your bones and making a home amongst the marrow. It felt familiar… so… 

You lifted your bloodshot eyes, not out of your own volition, but from the authority of the voice.

“Hello, little dove.” he mused.

It was him. It was… it… Aemond. You knew him so well, even with ten years gone. His chiseled jawline and chin and the dimple of the tip of his nose… 

But his eye was missing, a jagged scar bisecting it. In its place was a sapphire. The sapphire from your ring, grown into something to make home in the socket.

You felt everything and nothing all at once, your stomach flipped and flopped like a fish hoisted from the sea, sputtering for air. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t–

Your best friend, your lover, the one you vowed to never forget, to never forsake.

Aemond Targaryen. 

Aemond Targaryen was the Lich King. A defiler, a mass murderer, an unholy being in his own right.

“Now you won’t be able to leave again, will you?” Aemond murmured, his violet eye roving you. It was glowing slightly– his skin was a pale gray pallor, cheeks sunken slightly. He was undead.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, vision going black.

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #dark aemond smut #dark aemond angst #my writing #even in undeath #hotd au

[sailor-aviator]

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Ten

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter Ten

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger posse of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Language, Angst, Talk of execution, Scout has a plan

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Hey guys! Friendly reminder that I have two writing challenges going at the moment! My Christmas Challenge and my Playlist Challenge are both still taking entries! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!! 18+ ONLY!! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator! If You're feeling kind, please consider donating to my ko-fi!

Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

Whispers echoed the streets as you made your way back towards the saloon, and you could feel the stares from the last remaining spectators from the crowd earlier. Your eyes scanned the different faces, desperate to find someone you knew. Someone who could help. You spotted Birdie leading Bunny back into the saloon, a look of concern on the teacher’s face as she placed a steadying hand on the back of the saloon girl.

You made a beeline towards the saloon, almost running into a couple of people in the process, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered in that moment was freeing Jake, and if you couldn’t find the Daggers, then Bunny and Birdie would surely have an idea. Pushing through the saloon doors, your eyes immediately landed on the bar where the two girls sat, Birdie stroking a hand up and down Bunny’s back in a soothing gesture. You marched to where they stood, and Birdie looked over at you when you were just a few feet away.

“Scout,” she breathed, tears kissing her lash line as she stared at you. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“Where are they?” You asked her, mouth pressed into a firm line to keep from falling apart completely. It wouldn’t serve you to sit around and mope about the situation. You had to take action, and you knew that the boys were already working on a plan to free Jake. “What happened?”

Birdie looked at you hesitantly, hand still on Bunny’s back. “I don’t know. They took off in the middle of everything. I think Jake used himself as a diversion or something, I’m not sure. Those men came in here and started saying such awful things to Bunny, and then Bob overheard, and, and everything just happened so fast, Scout. It was chaos.”

You nodded, letting out a frustrated breath.

“It’s my fault,” Bunny whispered, picking up her head from where she hung it over her arms. She looked at you with lost, far away eyes, and the sight sent a stab through your heart. “I’m sorry, Scout. This is all my fault.”

“Bunny, no,” Birdie chided, but the other girl shook her head.

“No,” she hiccuped. “I should have never come here. If I hadn’t left New Orleans, none of this would be happening.”

“It’s not your fault,” you muttered. “None of this is your fault. This was a setup from the start, and it was all due to that bastard Isaac.”

“Isaac?” Birdie asked you, eyes still weary. “Who is that?”

“He’s a real sonofabitch,” Bunny murmured, gaze still focused on you. “He comes in here from time to time. He’s got a really bad energy about him.”

“He set this whole thing up,” you scowled. “The remarks, the fight, the arrest. It was all his doing. I’m sure of it.”

“Surely you can tell Sherrif Kazansky about it,” Birdie smiled, hope beginning to shine in her eyes. “You can tell him, and he’ll have to let Jake go!”

“It’s not that simple, Birdie,” you sighed, causing the other girl’s smile to fall. “Marshal Simpson has been itching to get his hands on the Daggers since he got here. It’s the whole reason he came to Maverick in the first place, actually. He’s not going to let Jake go unless I give him a good reason. No, I need to find the other boys and figure out what their plan is to get him out. I can help with that.”

“They’ll probably be lying low until tonight,” Bunny murmured, looking up to lock eyes with you, face set in her usual stoicism. “You’re best bet is to go by Maverick and Penny’s after sunset. They’ll be there.”

You nodded at her, turning to walk away when Birdie caught your arm, forcing you to look back.

“What are you going to do in the meantime, Scout?” She asked, a worried frown on her lips.

“I’m going to go see my brother.”

“Surely there must be something you can do, Benji,” you pleaded, pacing around your brother’s office. He eyed you from where he sat, leaned back in his chair as he regarded you. He watched you pace across the carpet, and you were sure you looked a sight at this point. The ends of your skirts were muddy from running around earlier that morning, and you knew your hair had come out of your neatly tied bun, as you could feel the loose strands kissing your neck.

“Scout,” Benjamin sighed. “Take a seat.”

You shook your head vigorously, casting him a look of displeasure. “There’s no time to sit, Benji. Time is something we don’t have, and I’m wasting it just standing around waiting!”

“Scout-”

“Who knows how long they’ll keep him alive for? You have to represent him in his trial. I’m not asking, Benji. I’m begging you, please do-”

“Scout,” he snapped, leaning forward and pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. Benji always did that when he was preparing to deliver bad news, and you stopped your pacing, heart dropping. He looked back up at you, and you pursed your lips. His eyes were sad, like he knew his next words might break you. “Jake isn’t getting a trial.”

“What do you mean?” You demanded, facing him fully now. Your brow was pinched, mind refusing to make sense of what he was telling you.

“Just that,” he sighed. “Jake isn’t getting a trial. There will be no jury. There will be no judge. His death warrant has already been signed.”

You shook your head, fighting back tears as rage overtook you.

“They can’t do that,” you reasoned, moving forward, placing your hands on his desk as you leaned into him. “There has to be a trial.”

“There won’t be,” Benjamin frowned. “Marshal Simpson was sent here to get rid of the Daggers. Even if there was a trial, it would be a show one at best. Unless someone has a plan to break him out, then Jake stays in jail. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“I thought law and order meant something in this world,” you muttered, feeling the tears sting your eyes once again as you stood up and turned.

“It does, Scout,” Benjamin said gently. “But law and order mean different things to different agendas.”

You glanced back at him, and you once again noted the sadness that his eyes held.

“Go home, Scout,” he sighed. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

The sun had just slipped below the horizon when you stepped out from your hiding spot behind Hondo’s store. Most of the people were milling about in front of the saloon or the brothel, but a few drunken stragglers stumbled down the street, laughing and cheering as they made their way. You stuck to the shadows, taking care not to be seen by anyone as your eyes stayed glued to the door of the jail. It was only a few moments before you saw Beau Simpson step foot out the door, shrugging his jacket on as he made his way down to the saloon. His lips were pursed into a frown as he sauntered over towards the saloon. You waited with bated breath as he slipped past some of the drunken patrons, only letting it loose when he stepped through the swinging doors.

You kept your head down as you hurried down the street, doing your best to hide your face in the shadows. Light streamed out from the windows of the jail, illuminating your face as you stepped up to the door. The door creaked on its hinges as you pushed it open, Sheriff Kazansky looking over at you from where he sat in one of the chairs, feet propped up on the desk in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at you, looking you over. There was a hint of wonder and mischief in his eyes, a slow smirk coming to rest on his face.

“You shouldn’t be here, darlin’,” he drawled, placing his feet on the floor. “This ain’t no place for a lady such as yourself.”

“Where is he?” You asked him, stepping into the room and quickly closing the door behind you.

“Scout?”

You peered behind the sherif and into the shadows at the familiar voice. You saw a figure shift in one of the cells, and you began to rush towards it. Tom stopped you, standing quickly to block your path and placing his hands on your shoulders. You looked at him, brow furrowed, but all you saw was worry and curiosity swirling in his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re ready to see him like this?” He asked you quietly, lips pressing into a thin line as he continued to study you. You squared your shoulders back, lifting your chin defiantly.

“Please,” you murmured, feeling your bottom lip tremble slightly as you pleaded with the older man. “Please let me see him.”

Tom stared at you for a moment longer before glancing at the door.

“You have five minutes, Scout.”

You smiled at him gratefully, turning and making your way back towards the shadows that housed the cells.

Jake was on the floor, leaned up against the far wall facing the bars of the cell. His clothes were ruffled and his hair was mussed, lips pulled into a thin line and eyes were contemplative. When he saw you, he scrambled to his feet, the chains surrounding his wrists and ankles jingling with every movement.

You felt the tears come back with a vengeance as the dam you had built to keep from breaking down all day began to overflow. A sob racked through you, the tears now flowing freely as you all but threw yourself against the cold metal bars. Jake caught you as best he could, the two of you slowly easing down onto your knees. You cried into his arms, feeling your copious amounts of tears staining his shirt as he stroked your hair.

“Please don’t cry, Scout,” he soothed, pressing firm kisses to the top of your head. “Everything is okay.”

“It’s not okay,” you sobbed. “It’s not, so don’t tell me that it is.”

“These things happen, honey girl,” he sighed, holding you tighter, seemingly afraid to let you go. You reveled in how his strong arms felt around you, making you feel like your whole world wasn’t ending in that moment. “You wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”

You pulled back to look at him, tears still running down your face, but having slowed to a trickle at this point. “It was Isaac, Jake. It was all a setup. I saw him in the crowd this morning. He planned the whole thing.”

“I know.”

You balked, brow furrowing as you looked at him.

“What do you mean?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper. Jake sighed again, resting his forehead against one of the bars.

“I saw him too.”

“We have to do something, Jake! We have to tell them that this was-” You cried, turning to move away, but Jake grabbed your hand to stop you. You turned back to him, noticing for the first time that his eyes were shining with tears of his own. Your heart dropped at the sight, and you allowed him to pull you back down, his hands cradling your face as he looked at you.

“There’s no time, pretty girl,” he murmured. “There’s just no time left.”

“Don’t say that,” you whispered, tears starting anew.

“Scout, these past few months have been the happiest of my life. I never thought I’d meet a spitfire like you, let alone get someone like you to love me. I have loved every minute spent with you. I love the way you scrunch your nose when you’re mad. I love when you yell at me when I’m being an idiot. I love when you smile at me when you think I’m not lookin’. I love how you feel in my arms and how completely happy you make me feel.”

“Why does this sound like you’re saying goodbye?” You asked him, a sob shaking your entire body. “You’re not dying on me. If you die, I die, you understand me?”

Jake smiled at you sadly, moving his hands down to dig through his pocket. He raised his shackled hands back up, this time holding onto a golden chain. A small, round pendant hung at the bottom, golden bands intricately woven with small diamond embedded into it.

“I know that it’s not the emerald,” he started, “but it’s all I could afford with the money I had leftover from working at the ranch.”

You stared at the necklace, a thousand different thoughts running through your head. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you had ever seen, made even more so by the honest man who offered it to you. More tears streamed down your cheeks, and you shook your head.

“I don’t want it,” you murmured.

Jakes face dropped, eyes questioning as he looked at you.

“Jake Seresin,” you said firmly, fixing him with your best scowl. “You promised to make an honest woman out of me, and I’ll be damned if I let you worm your way out of keeping that promise, do you hear me?”

Jake let out a startled chuckle, dropping his head to rest on his forearms before looking back up at you with a bemused expression.

“Honey girl, what on earth am I supposed to do with this necklace now?”

“You can give it to me when you get out of here,” you sniffed, eyes tracing over the lines on his face. “You can give it to me, and then you and I are going to grow old together.”

Jake said nothing, all humor leaving his face as he watched you. Before either of you could say anything more, Tom cleared his throat from where he hovered in the doorway, and you glanced back at him.

“Your time is up, Scout,” he said quietly, gently. “The marshal will be back any moment.”

You nodded, looking back at Jake, cupping his cheek and leaning in to press a desperate kiss to his lips. He kissed you back with urgency, reluctantly pulling away, and helping you stand through the bars. You watched as a tear slipped down his cheek, and you reached up to brush it away. He caught your hand, holding it to his face before turning and placing a firm kiss to your palm.

“I’ll see you on the other side, honey girl,” he rasped, letting go of you and stepping back. You didn’t move, and it took Sheriff Kazansky gently grabbing your elbow and pulling you into the other room for you to leave. You scrubbed at your eyes furiously, jumping when the door opened, revealing U.S. Marshal Simpson.

He blinked at you in surprise before his eyes darted over to where Tom was once again sitting at his desk, looking like he had never moved in the first place. Beau shrugged his jacket off and hung his hat on the hook by the door, eyeing you wearily.

“Miss,” he greeted with a nod. “What brings you by?”

Your mind scrambled, trying to find any excuse.

“Poor thing had her purse stolen,” Tom spoke up, shaking his head in disappointment. “Must have happened sometime this morning during all the excitement. It’s a damn shame when a young woman can’t even walk the streets in broad daylight without someone stealin’ from her, wouldn’t you agree?”

Beau hummed, moving to sit in the seat opposite Tom. You grimaced, nodding in agreement.

“Yes,” you sighed, “It had something very valuable to me.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out for it,” Tom smiled, nodding towards the door. “Are you gonna be okay by yourself out there?”

“Oh yes,” you nodded, turning to leave. You had to get to the Daggers, and they would surely be at Maverick and Penny’s home by now. “I’ll be just fine. I really appreciate all of your he-”

You stopped as your eyes caught sight of one of the many missing posters hanging on the wall. A familiar face stared back at you, black eyes just as cold and lifeless as they were in person. Isaac.

“Are you alright there, Scout?” Beau asked you, moving like he was going to get up. You glanced back and put on your best smile.

“Yes! Sorry, I just remembered a place I forgot to check for my purse. I’ll have to go there and let you know if I find it.”

As you moved for the door, you heard their last exchange.

“When do you want to do this, Beau?”

“Don’t hang’em til noon, Tom. That gives us time to get everything sorted out.”

Your breath caught in your throat. That wasn’t a lot of time for you to get everything sorted. You gathered your skirts and broke out into a run once you hit the street.

Maverick and Penny’s home was lit up, casting a faint glow out onto the dirt road as you walked up. You could hear muffled chatter coming from inside, and it cut off when you knocked on the door. A moment passed before Penny hesitantly cracked it open, sighing in relief when she saw it was you. She opened the door all the way and quickly gestured you to walk in.

“It’s alright,” she called out ahead of you. “It’s just Scout.”

The two of you entered the parlor where the rest of the Daggers, plus Birdie, Bunny, Natasha, and Maverick all sat scattered around. Birdie rushed to you, enveloping you into a tight hug. You reciprocated, glancing over her shoulder to see Natasha finishing up some of Reuben’s stitches above his eyebrow.

“I really wish you had come found me earlier,” you heard her mutter to him. “This is going to leave a nasty scar now.”

“Well, when the best doctor in town works in the middle of everything, it’s hard to sneak in and out,” he countered with a grimace as she cut the thread.

Maverick looked at you, face melancholic as his eyes met yours. “What brings you by Scout?”

You shifted your attention from him to Bradley, who was leaning against one of the end tables at the far side of the room.

“What’s the plan, Bradshaw?” You asked him, stepping forward. He glanced up at you, brown eyes unreadable as he pressed his lips into a thin line.

“What plan?”

“The plan to get Jake out of trouble,” you pressed, fists clenching at your sides. Bradley lifted his head, a look of indifference passing over his face as he looked away. You felt your jaw tick as you watched him.

“Oh, that,” he drawled, eyes still avoiding yours. He shrugged. “There is none.”

“I beg your pardon?” You bit out, rage overtaking you, and you felt Penny place a soothing hand on your back. “What do you mean you don’t have a plan?”

“I mean just what I said,” he snapped at you, eyes now focused on you with a mix of anger and guilt. “You think I have any favors to call in? Shit, Scout. Even Mav and Ice don’t have anymore favors to use on us. There’s no plan because there’s nothing to be done.”

“You owe him,” you ground out, words dissolving into a sob as you felt the tears race down your face once again. “You have to help him, please.”

“I don’t have any chips left to play, sweetheart,” he growled in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Jake hangs tomorrow, and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. I hope your time with him was good while it lasted because-”

A smack resounded in the room, followed by deafening silence save for your labored breathing as you fought to control your breathing. Your hand stung from where it had connected with Bradley’s cheek, and you could see his eyes had widened in shock. His head had snapped to the side from the force of your slap, and he slowly turned to look at you, and you could see unshed tears shining brightly in the low light of the room.

“He is not going to die,” you sobbed. Your breaths came out in hard pants as you stumbled forward, clinging on to Bradley’s shirt as you gazed up at him. “He can’t die. You have to help him, please.”

You felt a gentle touch slowly pull you away from the brunette, and you collapsed onto your knees before him, hands grabbing on to any part of him you could reach as you well and truly broke down.

“Please,” you begged once more to no one in particular. “Please, someone help him.”

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[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter IV : Mouth full of blood

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: A trap is set, the two of you fall.

Content Warnings: canon-typical violence, gore, threat of sexual assault, PTSD, rough sex, heavy angst

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Art is Healing by Laura Makabresku. 

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER IV: Mouth full of blood

Without violence, how do I understand my life as

meaningful?

As if the only tool I owned for finding truth were a knife. -Gabrielle Bates, Eastern Washington Diptych

A silence as vast as it is particular surrounds the two of you. The loud, wheezing gasp of his breath, the only discernible thing he can make out. It was like you’d been sucked into a vacuum, the rest of the world taken through the maw of a black hole. Trees and darkness and your small hand clutched to the back of his jacket as you follow close behind him. 

He makes his way slowly through the dark, one precise step in front of the other, rifle trained ahead of him. The two of you’d been separated from Tommy and the others one by one, picked off like goddamn flies. He didn’t even know if they were all still alive, if his brother was okay. 

It was a trap. It was a fucking trap. Goddamnit, he’d known. He’d known this was a mistake. 

He was going to kill someone, several someones, for this. 

They’d come out of nowhere, the so-called group of weary travelers the girl had told you all about. She’d appealed to your soft nature, tears and timidity, and scrapes and bruises you’d tended to with the gentlest hands that’d ever graced this world. You didn’t belong out here. He should’ve never let you come. You needed to be somewhere safe and warm and protected. Surrounded by your books and your soft things, and him there, to watch over you, always. This was all so fucking wrong. 

The men had diverted the group, spooking the horses and separating you all, a coordinated attack. Whether they were trying to find an in to Jackson, or if they’d heard rumors of a doctor, the resource you posed was a valuable one any group or community would vie for, he didn’t know. They’d targeted you first, spooking your mare. She’d reared and unseated you, and he’d almost cracked his neck he’d whipped around so fast watching you go down. The small thud your body had sounded as you’d hit the ground, the seconds it took you to open your eyes and start to move again, the longest moment of his entire life. He’d scrambled off his horse and lost it in his rush to get to you. Hands smoothing over you, down your neck and back, your limbs, checking for breaks. And then he’d looked around to find the two of you were alone. The sound of the others echoing off in the distance, accompanied by other, more harrowing noises. The shot of a gun firing, rushed footsteps and shouts going in and out of his ears. He’d told you to stay close and had set off in the opposite direction, away from where he thought the sounds of the group were coming from. 

And then the clicking. 

Singular in the darkness, the croaking click of an infected. He pauses your movements, halting abruptly so that the soft weight of you thumps into his back. What the fuck was an infected doing so far out here? Was this part of their plan? Had they connived some way to herd infected out here as part of their attack? Who the fuck even were these people? He needed to get you back, get you safe. Now. This was all wrong, wrong, wrong. 

“Was that an infected?” your scared, cracked whisper.

He holds up a single hand, listening, listening. “We’re gonna move, slow and steady. Silent,” he whispers. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.”

“Joel–” fierce little hand clutched in his jacket. He starts to move again. And then the splintering of a nearby tree, gunshots directed at you, and he’s spinning and grasping the back of your head to push you down onto the ground. “Down, down,” he shouts at you, “Crawl to the tree!” He hunches over your form, knees bent to hover over you and shield you with his body, towards the protection of the trunk. The shooter has shit aim, trees feet away from the two of you fracturing in the ricochet of the bullets. But then there’s a heavy weight slamming into Joel’s side, taking him to the ground, and he hears you scream his name as the man struggles to straddle his middle, get the upper hand. A heavy fist slams into his cheek and Joel grapples to get his arms and legs around the fucker. He can hear your voice sounding in the darkness, but all he can see is the man above him, his sloppy fists swinging without precision or direction. The man is haggard and dirty — months of traveling and wilderness apparent in his face and clothes. Joel manages to get a strong hold on his throat, and then he’s heaving his legs around the man’s torso and cinching him in a lock between his thighs, pulling his face down to meet his fist over and over. His knife is in the holster at his belt, and he’s able to reach it with the hand not gripping the man above him at the same time that he realizes Joel’s reaching for a weapon. He scrambles to knock the knife away and goes for Joel’s throat. Joel manages to turn his head enough to find you in his periphery while still grappling with his attacker.

He watches as the man above you grabs you around the ankle and slowly starts to drag you across the forest floor. Your screams reverberating in his ears like a gong, like the shredding of metal. They’re desperate and visceral and the worst fucking sound he’s ever heard in his entire life. You claw viciously at the ground, nails cracking and bloody, trying to find purchase on anything to pull you away from the man’s grasp, to use as a weapon against him. And then he’s gripping your knee and flipping you over roughly, boot planting his heavy weight on your chest as he pins you in place like a broken butterfly. He bends to say something to you he can’t make out from where he is, but the look of sheer terror and disgust on your face tells him everything he needs to know. Joel sees red, doubles his efforts into a savage mess of limbs and fists, trying to get the man attacking him off. 

The dead man standing over you pauses then, turns his head slowly to Joel, and his smile is revolting – dark and rotting, “You ready to watch?” This is every nightmare Joel has had since the end of the world, come to life. 

The man crouches down over your struggling form, hand wrapping around the delicate column of your neck. Get your hands off, off, off, get your fucking hands off. There’s fire in his lungs, in his blood. He hears the sound of a clicker again, the screeching monstrosity charging through the dark wood towards you all, and with a burst of extra strength, born of pure terror, he finally finds purchase on the ground with his foot, enough to leverage up and reach his hand towards his lost knife. The sound of the clicker getting closer, closer – and then he’s slamming the knife into the eye of the man above him, the sick crunch of steel meeting bone, and then deeper, until he feels the tip meet the softness of brain – rips it out and then slams it back in again at his neck – blood spurts hot and metallic across Joel’s face. And when he turns his head back towards you, preparing to take in the worst thing he’s ever seen since he watched his daughter die – there you are. Small, trembling frame straddled over the much larger body of your would-be attacker, a hunting knife the length of half your arm stabbing over and over again into his chest and abdomen. He can hear your guttural screams over the white noise in his ears –  great heaving sobs shake your chest. Your face, tear streaked and splattered with blood. He sees the eye socket closest to Joel is empty, optic nerve hanging torn and bloody. The gouged eyeball lies a few inches beside his lolling head. The sight of you, his little bird, with hands that hold such power for healing, for care and love, imparting such violence – this is his greatest failure. 

He calls your name, loud and sharp, and you pause your massacring immediately. Look up, as if waking from a haze, brought back to consciousness at the mere sound of his voice, eyes glazed and vacant, and his heart is breaking for you, a savage howling ringing within him, his bones vibrating with the very force of it. This is no place for his gentle little bird, no, no, this is all wrong. 

“Run, Birdie. Run. Hide. I’ll find you. I promise, I promise. Run.” He can see the refusal in your eyes. The stubbornness threatening to set in. “You promised. You promised you’d do as I say,” he grits through clenched teeth, voice filled with desperation and panic. You shudder, body jerking violently as his words settle inside you, and then you’re shooting up quick as a bullet and turning to run into the darkness. He watches the wood swallow you, and then he’s pushing himself up and squaring himself to face the clicker.

-

The pounding of your feet in the dark, the rattle of your breath in your chest are the only things you can discern in the black surrounding you. 

You have been here before. 

You’re terrified that at any second you're going to see your sister. Her ghostly specter, her savaged and torn body, her beautiful, warm face, whole and healthy and smiling at you, the massacred pieces of her torn flesh, scattered along the forest floor. 

But you need to go, you need to run, to hide, to do as Joel ordered you. Even though every fiber of your being is telling you to turn back. That the worst thing in the world you could ever do would be to leave him. And then you’re slamming into something, jarring and painful. Something blunt and heavy jabs into your gut, slams into your knee with so much force you see stars, sends you to the ground. 

A woman screams, guttural and shrill, as your two bodies collide and a sharp needling cry echoes. Your back slams against the hard forest floor, your head bouncing sickeningly, and white streaks of light flash against the swallowing darkness. 

“Fuck, fuck –” she spits, already scrambling back up to prepare to flee, the high pitched cry sounds again. A baby, you think dazedly. There’s a baby here. The baby the girl mentioned? Your head feels hollow, your brain pulsing against the confines of your skull.

“W–wait–” you croak. You can’t get your bearings, too many sounds muddling your pounding head: the far off gunshots – getting closer, the horrible clicking, your memories battering within your mind over and over, Beth’s phantom screams of pain, Joel yelling at you to run, run, run, the baby’s wail fueling your panic to rise higher and higher inside of you. You have been here before. A sense of déjà vu so acute – as if this moment is the only one you’ve ever existed in. Your skin throbs in echoes, a hair raising chill rolls through your body and you shiver, jerking. “A baby–” you stutter, “You have a baby–” you roll over, reach out to try and grasp her kicking ankle. Her boot collides with your wrist, and you swallow an agonized scream, rolling away from her. 

“Get the fuck away from me! Fucking murderer!” she screeches, over the baby’s cries. A flash of the moon illuminates the woman’s figure for a second and you see the bulk of the child cradled to her front. And her face, panicked, dirt streaked and desperate. You lock eyes for one interminable moment, take each other in, they’re light, almost glowing translucent in her skull with the reflection of the moonlight. 

“Let me– let me help you — Wait–” you urge, you can’t get up, can’t get your limbs to work. 

“Get away from me!” she screams again, and then she’s up and gone, fleeing into the darkness. You need to move, the vicious sounds of a fight are drawing nearer – Joel’s pleading voice in your head run, run, run. The thought of having left him behind makes bile curl in your belly, burn your throat, but you’d promised him you’d listen to anything he said, and the instinct to keep your word won out. You hear Beth’s voice more clearly in this familiar darkness, and you force your shaky mind to move, to work. The way she’d say your name so patiently when trying to teach you something, imparting some of her slightly snooty big-sister-wisdom, always well meaning: The trees, the trees are always our friends. They can do so much for us. And then you’re clawing your way to your feet, just like that long past night, and grappling for any sort of purchase you can find with your hands and boots. Up, up the tree, go up the tree. It saved you once, it’ll save you again. 

It terrifies you to think that life was only ever a recurring set of events; cyclical in an inescapable way. That you were all doomed to repeat the same steps, relive the same instances, again and again. Beth forcing you up the tree last time, the night of her death. You’d been taken by surprise by clickers that night also, but only you had made it up to the first branches before they were on her. Before you were forced to watch, helpless from your perch as she was ripped to shreds. You had been here before and you’d lost something essential to you last time. You would not survive a second loss. 

Joel, please be okay, please, please. 

You manage to foist yourself up into the lowest hanging branches, the blood in your head throbs so strongly it’s coupled with a wave of nausea with every beat of your heart, up higher, a little more. You’d perched on that tree branch for hours after she was finally dead. Staring unseeingly at the scattered pieces of her body. A sudden gunshot echoes loudly in the darkness and you almost lose your purchase on the branch, and then it all stops. Like all sound is suddenly sucked out of the air in a vacuum echo – the struggle of the fight, the clicking and screaming – and the vacant wilderness is so consuming, so terrifying, tears stream silently down your cheeks. You can hear your breath rattle in your chest. You feel very, very alone, as if every other human in the world had vanished with the sounding of that gunshot. 

Alone in a sick and destroyed world. 

But then there’s a sudden bumbling through the trees. A body breaking against the brush and leaves on the ground, and another one of the attackers stumbles into the clearing. You turn your head in the direction the woman had fled, perhaps she’d been part of this group, but the sheer terror in her eyes, the desperation to get away as quickly as possible, her words, calling you a murderer, inclines you to think not. Joel stalks into the clearing after him, and you huddle deeper into the shadow of the branches. The moon slants just so allowing you to take him in. 

It’s like he’s grown five inches taller, the look in his eyes – there is no hint of the man who’d touched you with the gentlest hands you’d ever felt in your entire life – it’s terrifying. His gaze swings almost manically in his head, taking in the clearing, and then his eyes stop on your tree, pause on the patch of dirt at the base and slowly travel up, looking into the looming darkness of the branches. He will always find you. You know this as surely as you know your own name. His face, his hands are steeped in blood, his clothing savaged. There’s no weapon in his grasp as the man turns to swing a long, serrated hunting knife at him. He jerks back, smoothly evading it. “I’m gonna find your little bitch, gonna fuck her dead – gut her. Make you watch the whole thing, you motherfucker,” he taunts. He’s laughing, provoking, and Joel’s countenance is so terrifying in this moment – his face seems set in stone, unmoving and frozen in a rage so black. Your whole body shivers so violently you almost lose your perch. The branch creaks beneath you, and you let out a small whimper as your hands scrape and scramble to hold on, your bloody, broken nails clawing at the wood. The man turns at your sound, but Joel’s gaze remains trained on him. The man’s eyes are manic with sick glee. “Oh, there she is,” he croons. His teeth gleam red in the moonlight, and he never should’ve taken his eyes off Joel, not even for a second. He’s on him faster than you can blink, shoulder to the man’s gut, he slams him to the ground and his skull rebounds with a sick crack on the hard dirt, the sound of his skull breaking with the sheer force of the tackle. 

Joel is an animal, hungry and vicious, ready to gorge. 

The knife is in his hand then, and the sick, slick squelch of it plunging deep into the man’s chest sounds loud and victorious in the night. He lets out a small surprised oh, as he looks down at the knife impaling him, and Joel’s teeth are bared in a snarl, he grinds it harder, deeper.

“That’s right, fucker,” he says, voice low and guttural, almost unrecognizable in this darkness. “Shoulda never put your hands on her.” The sound of it makes you more afraid in this moment than anything else that’s happened tonight, the thought of not knowing the sound of his voice – of losing him so far to his rage you’d be unable to recognize him, to bring him back to you. But then he speaks again: “I’m going to kill you now.” He’s nodding his head mockingly, and that familiar monotone is back. His tone so matter of fact – almost like a reassurance to the three of you. The oily grip of your fear slides off you, and you’re left only to appreciate the magnificence of his violence as he starts beating the man’s face in with his closed first, again and again. The sound of crushed bone and flesh resonating in the dark night air like some gruesome song. And the sight of it: it is lurid, grotesque, but also somehow, erotic. Joel’s huge, heaving body, his fist breaking repeatedly over human flesh; you are mesmerized. You slowly start to lower yourself back to the ground, never once taking your eyes off him, barely blinking. The sight of him, wrathful, murdering, the way he kills for you, the way he protects you; you understand it. It is very much like the moment in which Beth died in its violent inevitability. It will always happen like this; Beth dying, Joel protecting you. The way her body was torn apart piece by piece by clickers as you watched on from above. The basest display of violence imaginable. Joel, meticulous, precise in his strikes, protecting you with everything he has. The man’s skull is an almost bloody mass of pulpy, bone riddled sludge beneath his blows. But in this instance, the scene before you is now something that is being given to you, something being done for you – not something being taken away.

There have been many times where the lines between the infected and the humans blurred in your psyche. Unsure which was more violent, more horrifying, more willing to inflict damage. But there never existed a question of which had a greater capacity for cruelty. It was always, always the humans. Cordyceps had taught you that nature could never be cruel – it only existed as it was meant to, did as it was always intended to. There was no cruelty behind it’s actions, no motivation behind the consequences it wrought besides to go on existing, no choice. But humans, people, the well of cruelty that existed within humanity was endless in its possibility. Endless choices. Nothing else like that lived in the world. The man you killed – his disgusting whispered words ring in your ears as you watch Joel: You think your man over there’ll get off on watching? ‘Cause I sure as hell am gonna enjoy knowin’ he is, pretty thing. 

There are no lines in this moment – the way you’d murdered him – there is no sense of division. There is only Joel’s desperate violence existing with the three of you in this clearing – the echoes of your own.

And the sight before you, the violence in him, it is not frightening to you. He is not frightening to you. To see his very basest nature – to see him protect you in this way – that violent heart, beastly, savage – it does not frighten you. You step forward, closer to the massacre, to the man you love, and he instantly stops. Hearing or sensing your approach, he stops and turns his bloody, savage face towards you, chest heaving, fist still raised. The look in his eyes as he registers your presence, that you’ve witnessed him in this way – to Joel, to Joel it is devastating. You can see it in his gaze, the moment it settles within him – catastrophe of the highest order. 

The possibility of losing you, of you being hurt, of him not being strong or fast enough to protect you; every fear, every moment of unimaginable danger, every point of no return flashes in his eyes – it’s like you’re reading his mind in this moment. The instance of connection, of knowing, of intimacy you share in the wake of his violence – it tethers you to him in a way that is deeper than anything else the two of you have experienced before. To share this, to know what he’s feeling in this space his violence has forged, to understand his rage – he’s seen this play out so many different ways, so many times, with different versions of someone he cares for. Sarah, Ellie, you.

His eyes like glass, broad chest heaving, painfully out of breath; it’s like you can see him recall another moment like this as he looks at you, as he takes in the familiar look of hungry reverence in your eyes, mirroring another set too young to churn with so much appreciation for violence. 

He straightens from his crouch over the massacred form of your attacker, and comes to you, bloody hands fisting in your hair as he takes your mouth, open and fierce. The groan he licks into you is guttural, eliciting a shaky, broken moan in response.

“My brave girl,” he murmurs softly, nose nuzzling your cheek.

His hands roam down, gently pressing for wounds or hurts. “You’re okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” You press yourself to him, gaze peeking over his shoulder, staring out into the empty darkness, only the sound of your shared breaths now. 

“There was a woman,” you whisper, “With a baby.” Where did she go? Why did she have a baby out here with her in this hell?

He pulls you back, grips your jaw gently, “Are you hurt?” He demands, ignoring what you’d just said, and you shake your head, wide eyed. Do they have shelter? Somewhere to go? Someone to help them? 

“Are you?” you ask him. 

“I’m fine.”

“I saw a woman, Joel. She had a baby.”

“Was probably with those bastards. We have to go – find the others. I have to get you back home.” 

“But she had a baby–”

“That isn’t our concern,” he says sharply, and turns, clutching your hand in his, pulling you forward to bend for the knife still plunged in the man’s chest. He isn’t letting you go again. You feel the promise in the strength of his grip around your bones. The skull is caved in, and your eyes volley back and forth between the slaughter and Joel.

“But I–”

“Don’t.” There is no room for discussion in his tone, only an urgency that begs for your obedience. His panic, his terror, envelopes you both in its asphyxiating embrace. “Not now. We have to go.”

-

You make it back to Jackson within several hours. Never coming across the group or the horses again. Joel sets an uncompromising pace that has your exhausted, overwrought body shutting down once you finally set eyes on the gate. 

He hasn’t said a word in hours except to check if you’re okay. His breathing, harsh and angry — you’d focused on the rhythm of it, the reassurance it provided you. Let the sound settle in your bones and guide you forward along with his hand. He’d not let go of you since he’d picked it up, and your fingers have long gone numb in his strangling grip. But you know, that like the sound of his breathing, the feel of your palm in his is his own form of reassurance. The embrace he’d not allow himself right now. Not until you’re safe. 

The dark, red thread of tension pulls taught between the two of you. His earlier violence, still palpable on your tongue, felt in the rigidity he holds himself with, it buzzes between your bodies like a hive. A restless anxiety overshadowing the exhaustion threatening you, making your skin itch and sweat. 

You return to find Tommy safe and unharmed, Kenneth and Pablo being patched up by Nancy and interrogated by Maria. The fourth in your party, Ben, is dead. A group already assembled to go out and search for the two of you. The teenage girl had disappeared from the clinic shortly after your group had headed out – the whole thing was a trap. Joel recounts the fight in tense, short bursts, never letting go of your hand. Pulling your body slightly behind his, as if these people, familiar to you, your friends, your family, also pose a threat. Anyone who dares too close is met with the fire of his glare, bared teeth. He’s yet to shed the blanket of violence he’d dawned to defend the two of you earlier, and your body seems to answer it, a keening cry only he can hear. Shaking and sweating, clutching the back of his jacket, pressing your feverish brow to his shoulder. You know you should pull yourself together, tend to Kenneth and Pablo, clean and wrap Joel’s obviously broken hand and your own scrapes and bruises – it’s your responsibility – but you can’t focus, can’t pin a rational thought in your mind long enough to propel yourself into action. The wet sound of Joel’s pummeling fist plays over and over in your mind, the only thing you can focus on, the feel of his warm back under your touch. You need him, need something from him after that trauma, after your fear of being taken from him, of one of you being killed. You need him to remind you that you’re both okay, alive, that you belong to him and only him. 

You block out their conversation, eyes closed, you try to match the rhythm of your breathing to his, try to ground yourself with his body. The feeling of never having left those dark woods, of still being in that tree with Beth, not Joel, beneath you, of being lost, lost, lost, of never finding him, is overwhelming you. And then he’s turning and pulling you into his arms, guiding you away from the group and whispering into your hair, “It’s alright, it’s alright, just a little longer. We’re going home now.” Home, he was taking you home. The words out of his mouth allow you enough clarity of mind to squeeze the wish from your heart into your brain – that you want so desperately for his home to be yours also. That you could both share the same space you call just your own. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Stop your trembling now,” he presses into your hair. His voice, so comforting, so reassuring. 

Your eyes are blurry, colors passing your gaze in a hazy amalgamation that makes your heart beat faster. You can feel the mass of it pounding against the ribs in your back, the sensation sick and uncomfortable. And then you’re in his bedroom, and his hands are everywhere, ripping aggressively at your clothes, sliding through your hair, squeezing your ass and your breasts and your hips. 

“I need you– need you, need you– Need to feel you, Birdie.” His voice pushes an urgency into your skin that has your heart beating even harder against your ribcage, his mouth sliding over your neck, tongue laving into the hollow of your collarbone, teeth biting, sharp and painful, into your shoulder, and you find your voice finally, keening and broken, calling out his name. He’s moving lower, sucking on your breast, biting, as if he could fit the entire heavy weight of it into his mouth, “Joel– Joel, please.” You push and grip at his head, his hair. 

“I know, I know, baby. I know what you need.” He pushes you back onto the bed, rips your legs open, fingers and nails pressing painfully into your soft skin, he spits on to your exposed sex, rubbing his saliva into your folds, bends for a long lick, and then two of his thick fingers are shoving into your cunt. He curls them forward and presses, presses, hooks into that spot that belongs only to him and bares his teeth at you. Snarls like an animal. Mine, mine, mine, you’re okay, you’re mine, he chants. He moves his fingers fast, with a lewd squelch that has you writhing and gasping, scissoring them to stretch you open. He pulls them from you, too soon, not enough, you want to say, but you hear the drag of his zipper – he spits again – and then the hot, wide head of his cock is there at your entrance, swiping along you in a wet arc, and then pressing, pressing in, and he’s there, surging into you and fucking hard and fast into your tight heat, hitting the end of you. The groan he lets out when he sinks to the hilt vibrates through you. You aren’t fully ready to take his thick length, and you don’t care, want it harder, faster, want it to hurt more, to remind you that you’re here with him, that you made it out of that dark wood. You curl your fingers under the damp crook of your knees and spread yourself wider for his ravaging. Eyes never leaving his, you arch your back to allow yourself to take him deeper. The moan you give him, pleading, almost pathetic in its desperate supplication – like an animal, like prey, pinned beneath the claws of a savage beast.

“This is what you needed – this is what you needed. You’re okay, you’re okay” he chants. You cannot discern where it is he ends and you begin. You never want to be able to tell again, want to meld your souls, your bodies together like ore. 

-

Still standing over your naked form at the edge of the bed, he lets himself fall forward, rigid arms holding himself up. He takes in your flushed, sweaty face, the glassy, terrified look you’d worn for hours replaced by the glassy haze of arousal. Delirious at the pleasure he’s forcing into you right now, he picks up the pace of his hips, gives it to you harder. Snakes a hand down to give your clit a gentle swirl, then further down, where his fingers part in a V to feel where his cock splits you open. 

“Just take it, just take it.” His cock inside you is brutal, cunt stretched to the point of obscenity, stuffed full. “I need you to take it for me, just like this – be a good girl – don’t struggle, lemme give it to you how I need.” His desperation has a flavor, a scent to it. He changes the angle to fuck up, up against something no one but him has ever touched, a space inside you that belongs to him, thumb soft as a whisper on your swollen clit, around and around. He can tell you almost need to tell him to stop, that it’s too much. “Fuck, that’s so good, baby, you’re such a good girl,” he praises, and you make a soft, obscene sound that he feels in his battering cock. He gives it to you harder. It’s a sound of acquiescence, of complete capitulation, that he rings out of you. He’s conquered you in this moment – conquered you in a way that grants you no option of stopping. The sound is his permission to conquer. With his body over yours, within yours – you are completely at his mercy and protected from everything else in the world that could ever hurt you. He feels god-like. There is no fear or loss or hurt, no possibility of failure, only his body moving within yours. Your warm wet heat swallowing, gaping for him as he fills it like you both need him to.

The panic of that darkness surrounding him, of being unable to find you, of killing everything in his path just to fucking get to you, sings through him. He’d kill this dead world over and over and over again a thousand times just to find you in that darkness. 

-

He hooks your knees over his arms, hitches them higher – holds your legs open wider to receive him – your bare tits pressed up against the bloody, savaged cotton of his flannel – too desperate to bother stripping his own clothes, and the rough fabric rubs your soft skin raw. Each time his hips slam against your ass, balls slapping, your breath stutters out of you in broken gasps, and you don’t think he’s ever been as deep in your cunt as he is now. He wraps one of his arms around your back, gripping your shoulder to impale you down onto his cock. His other fists painfully in your hair to keep your head in place and tilted up to him; your jaw hinged open so you can breathe into each other. Your own hands clutch uselessly at his wrists, trying to exert some semblance of force against him – to remind him of your own strength while he overwhelms you with his. He’s fucking you as if he could burrow his way inside of you forever, live within the confines of your skin. You’ve lost track of how many times your cunt has spasmed and come around him, your muscles milking him relentlessly. Your clit engorged and rubbed raw. You’re one unending, throbbing orgasm. Everything is wet and messy between the two of you, the gush of your lust sticky and clinging to the hair on his pelvis and thighs. Birdie, Birdie, Birdie, it’s like a prayer. 

“Should’ve never left you alone in the dark, baby.”

He wants to break you, you're sure of it – to turn you into a creature reduced to only the virtue of his whims, ruled by the savaging of his cock. The very nectar of you pooling at his feet, leaking out of your pores under the unrelenting focus of his body and you know you won’t survive him. Not after this. But no, you realize, no, this is Joel breaking, not you. His fear is a living creature sharing the room with the two of you right now. Everything that’s ever held him away from you, everything he’s ever been too scared of to admit, lives and breathes with you in this moment. Like some sort of monstrosity crouched in the corner, bloody and frayed and wanting. 

“Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie,” he brands the words into your skin. “I was so scared—” searing kisses pressed to your face, your neck, your breasts, in the wake of his words. 

Oh, this is it. Your heart, your heart, it’s going to burst, to cleave in two. He’s wrought a fracture through the core of your very being. 

This will never mend. 

The rhythm of his hips speeds up, becoming sloppy and stuttered – he’s close – and his grip transfers to your jaw, so tight and bruising; you’ll have the ghost of his fingers on your skin tomorrow. His cock kisses your womb with each brutal thrust, and he bares his teeth at you as he starts to come, the blazing wash of his spend filling you. “You’re gunna take all of my fucking come.” Anger and violence and all the feelings he wishes he didn’t have to experience, churn in his dark eyes. And you’d hold onto his anger soaked skin for the rest of your life if you could, if he’d let you. His eyes flick between yours, still holding your face, he ghosts his thumb over your wet bottom lip. “Birdie, I– I…” His hips are still moving, fucking his come deeper into your messy, used cunt. You see the realization of what he’s just said settle in his eyes, moving back and forth between yours, as if he’s watching him bare himself to you over again in their reflection. 

You’re losing him, you can feel the tension – regret, please, please don’t be regret – slowly start to seep into him as soon as he’s finished, to steal him away from you, and you cling more desperately to him, pull his face to yours and press soft butterfly kisses across his cheeks and nose. Joel, Joel, Joel. Please, don’t. His eyes flutter closed – the image of you beneath him already too much to bear.

“Stop,” he growls. Again: “Stop,” and suddenly he’s ripping himself out and away from you. The loss of him from between your legs, so violently abrupt, is almost a physical pain. The emptiness after being so full leaves you clenching around nothing, pushing his come out of you, and embarrassment, shame, fills you so acutely – to have your sex bared to him like a wound he’s left you with. You shut your legs, clutch your knees to your chest and gasp for breath, almost a sob. You gouge your nails into the skin of your knees trying to draw blood – before he can. You know what’s coming. 

“I didn’t mean… all that. I– fuck—” he spits, clutches his hand in his messy hair, “I– I got carried away.” He’s backing away from you – other hand outstretched as if to keep you away. As if he could keep the reality of his confession, the betrayal to his own self, away from him with just that outstretched hand. 

You’re still on your back, vacant eyes trained towards the ceiling, sucking in painful gulps of air, but you register him from the corner of your eye, the look he wears – you can’t decide if he was more terrified at the possibility of you being ripped apart by the clickers, taken and brutalized by the hunters; or in this moment, if his fear is more acute now, in the wake of his fortuitous confession. At the risk of being laid bare and vulnerable at your feet; as you’ve lived at his since the moment he first took you.  

“Okay,” you say – try to temper your voice, slow your breaths, remain quiet and calm. Only one of you can be overwhelmed by panic right now. And yet part of you wants to rage at him. Your heart beats painfully in your chest, and you want to say, it’s not like I’m asking you to open your vein and let me drink – only just to love me.

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

“Okay…” you say again, “I– it’s… it’s okay. I know.” You sit up slowly, your body throbs and aches, still not able to look at him – the sight of him so terrified of all you represent, it would burn you – but you feel his gaze like a brand across your skin. You wrap your arms around your naked breasts, shielding yourself. His own bloody shirt is askew, his pants still open, cock slick with your mingled come, still semi-hard. If this were any other moment you’d tease him – how are you still hard after all that? 

You turn your head away, towards the door, a traitorous little tear escapes the corner of your eye, and you quickly wipe it against your lifted shoulder, press your fingers to your mouth to keep in the threatening sobs. One of his flannels is strewn across the ground and you toe it towards yourself. “It was the adrenaline.” Your voice is limp, dead. Diminishing this will be the thing to kill you, you’re sure of it. How can he expect you to turn away from the one thing you’ve wanted from him more than anything else? 

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

You shrug on his shirt, and he’s still not said anything else, but you see him move to tuck himself into his jeans now. “I- I’m gonna get some water,” you mumble, give him a moment to recalibrate.

Chapter V

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #FOG fic

[mikashisus]

Abandon Ship

"had i told the sea what i felt for you, it would have left its shores, its shells, its fish, and followed me."

— nizar qabbani

summary: With one of the Remurian fleets hot on your tail and stolen treasure of the crown on your ship, you were ready to take to the Eastern Seas.

When one of your crewmates catches a mermaid of all things on the outskirts of the Dark Sea, you finally think you’ve hit the jackpot when it comes to treasure.

In the end, however, you come to a startling revelation: is all the treasure in the world really worth more than a life? And suddenly, you have to make a choice… either a huge sum of gold, or the man you’ve fallen head over heels in love with.

pairing: mermaid!neuvillette x fem!pirate!reader

content warnings: angst, slight mentions of traff!cking (not detailed, dialogue centered), foul language, mentions of alcohol, violence, mentions of trauma, mentions of torture (not detailed, dialogue centered), blood and injury, and suggestive themes

other disclaimers: very canon divergent, takes place a few hundred years before the archon war, mc would have a pyro vision if this was post-archon war, mentions of other characters, use of ocs for plot purposes

regula solis epoch masterlist

ch.1 wc: 5.7k

author’s notes: it was about time i made a pirate/mermaid au, and who better to do it with than neuvillette.

originally, this was also supposed to include wriothesley, but after awhile of deliberation, i decided not to. instead, one of my ocs is gonna be a second lead to fill in the love triangle.

if u get attached to my oc, im sorry. dw tho, he also appears as a second lead in one of my venti fics ;)

CHAPTER 1

The Remurian ports were exceptionally busy in the late afternoons, when the sun was falling slowly over the ocean’s horizon and the cerulean waves lapped roughly against the wooden docks of the harbor. Deep oranges and enchanting pinks filled the sky as the sun cast a golden glow upon the faces of the passerby.

Merchants shouted eagerly, their voices overriding one another as they fought to ring in new customers. People from all walks of life filled the harbor, stopping briefly to awe at the wares being sold at the vendor stalls. The lively chatter echoed through the late afternoon air, accompanied by laughter and the occasional discord.

A family passed by, their thick accents revealing them to be desert folk from the lands ruled by the Scarlet King. They gawked at the gorgeous, finely handcrafted Remurian jewelry a vendor was selling. The vendor welcomed them with a warm smile and a friendly wave. Despite the language barrier, the two parties grew to understand one another through mere gestures and patience.

The heat from the bodies packed together in the vicinity and the warm Summer air did not help to alleviate your growing frustration. As you shuffled through the tight crowds of the busy harbor, someone shoved their way past you. You sent them a sneer and returned their sentiments with an elbow jab, before tipping your hat over your eyes and upping your pace.

As you walked, the golden feather on your belt jingled loudly, joined by the sound of the tiny silver bells adorning your boots.

A cool, refreshing evening breeze blew past, knocking your hat up. The sky was beginning to fade into a wondrous blue. The wind of the North appeared ever-present, causing a smile to break out onto your lips at the thought.

Wherever you were in the world, her protection hovered over you like a safety net.

The heels of your boots clacked against the cobblestone as you turned your attention back to the task at hand. All you needed was a few tools to fix a cannon.

The last ones you owned had been tossed overboard after one of your crewmates broke them in half due to his rather hardy grip. The matter was not one of utter importance, but you preferred to have working cannons at all times.

Thankfully, you knew someone in the harbor who would be more than willing to give you the tools you needed. Your eyes wandered the harbor, searching for the shop with a wooden fist as its logo. The tools shop could be easily visible during the day, but not so much at night. It was a relatively small shop; It branched off from the well known blacksmithing shop in the city.

One too many times have you paid a visit to the forgery owned by a man who was old enough to be your father. You spent way too many Summers in that forgery, hacking away at iron with one of his hammers and wiping the sweat from your brow.

The forgery was always scalding hot, putting even the most blazing Sumeru summers to shame. The heat always made you feel dizzy and dehydrated, as if you would melt into a puddle right where you stood. Stepping outside after a long afternoon’s work always felt refreshing. The fresh breeze felt like icicles on your scorching skin as you dumped a bucket of ice cold water over your head.

You were lucky you never suffered from a heat stroke.

Absentmindedly, you kept a hand steady on your scabbard. Upon reaching the tools shop, you loosened your grip. The blade at your hip had not been pulled for quite some time, though you always kept a hand resting on its hilt.

After years of carrying it with you, you adopted a habit of staying on guard. It was a mere precaution your father taught you to take during your childhood when he first let you pick up a sword.

The excited chatter of the harbor began to dwindle as the sun fully faded over the horizon and the sky was cloaked in a blanket of blues and purples. The crowds that once took homage on the docks severed like the late afternoon breeze. Vendors packed up their wares for the night, and the loud hustle and bustle hushed into idle whispers.

The loud clacking of your boots against the pavement came to an abrupt stop as you eagerly greeted the man standing behind the counter of the tools shop. A warm smile graced your lips.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that this young man was the one manning the shop at this hour. The gods seemed to be on your side of the sails as of late.

“Mory!”

You tipped your hat in greeting and leaned your elbow against the wooden countertop. Your other hand came to rest in a fist on your jutted out hip. One of your legs crossed over the other as you let the counter support half of your weight. The golden chains on your hat jingled with your movements, as did the golden feather hanging from your belt.

“Business boomin’ today, I presume? Sure looks like it did.” You motioned to the small amount of tools missing from their display, and the diminishing crowd behind you.

The harbor was closing for the day. You were awfully lucky you arrived when you did.

The young man before you scoffed. “Not much, ‘m afraid, Cap’n.”

Mory Maye was a young man of only eighteen years old, with tousled dark brown curls on his head and striking hazel eyes that bore directly into your soul. His skin was perfectly kissed by the sun, a testament to the years of working harsh summers in the openness of his father’s forgery, as well as a depiction of his mother’s Sumerian genetics.

It was the very same forgery you worked in before your father taught you the ways of the sword.

His father, a kindhearted and deeply compassionate man who was undeniably loyal to those he considered his family and friends, was Tyler Maye; or, “Ol Ty” in the streets of the harbor. Due to the man’s ailing health, he assigned young Mory to take over the forgery for him in a few months’ time, when he would be leaving the comfort of his home to go stay in a hospital where his health would be monitored constantly.

His declining health and your time out at sea hindered your chances of visiting him. The man treated you like his own daughter, yet you would not be able to see him from here on out. Your status as a criminal blocked out any chances you had at possibly paying him a visit while he was in the hospital. Although it saddened you, there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

As for Mory, he occasionally worked at the forgery with his two brothers, Lear and Nicolas. When he was not working under the blazing sun at the forgery, he was manning this tools shop and selling wares to the same few customers who stopped by— one of them being you. It was practice for when he would take over both businesses.

His work at the forgery was evident in the calluses on his hands and his bulging muscles. Anyone could spot that he was a hard working boy that spent long hours refining weapons since he was ten years old. Many were more than impressed with his handiwork and physique— namely, the girls in the city that walked in circles around the shop just to watch him hack away at iron with a hammer you once used during your time working there.

One of those girls was the daughter of a nobleman that stopped by everyday to start idle chatter with him. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was deeply infatuated with him and was desperately trying to get his attention. She was akin to a lovesick puppy. However, she was incredibly soft spoken, and it did not help that Mory failed to realize her shy flirting time and time again. He was a little dense when it came to love.

“How long will you be ‘ere, Cap?” He questioned, watching as you placed a small bag of coins onto the countertop.

A sigh escaped your lips. “Not long, I’m afraid. Plannin’ to leave Remuria and head off towards the Eastern Seas pretty soon.”

A sound akin to a disgusted grunt left his mouth. His tone dropped down to a serious one as he made eye contact with you. “Better watch those seas, Cap. They ain’t kind… ‘specially since they’re close to that ‘Dark Sea’ the sailors keep talkin’ ‘bout.”

He wrapped a small set of tools in a bag made of cloth and took the gold coins you gave to him. He stopped short as he finished counting, “You gave me twice as much the price, Cap.” He sent you a confused glance.

A hand reached forward to ruffle his hair, messing his curls up further. A smile graced your lips. “Buy yourself that nice broadsword you been eyein’ from Idostin. Consider it recompense to Ol Ty for all that he’s done for me all these years.”

A small pink tint appeared on his cheeks, hardly visible due to his finely tanned skin. A bright smile broke out onto his face, revealing his pearly white teeth. He nodded curtly. From his relaxed shoulders and his giddy expression, you could tell he was more than thankful. “Thanks, Cap. I reckon I will.”

You nodded and sent him a pointed look. “And talk to that girl, while yer at it.” You took the bag of tools and tied it to your belt. “Ol Ty’s gonna start pesterin’ you ‘bout a partner soon. Hop to it before the naggin’ begins.”

Knowing that old geezer, he was more than likely already bothering Mory about the matter of marriage and finding a partner. Your own father used to do the same when you were Mory’s age.

The young man rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. A frown made its way to his face. “I know Pop’s wantin’ to see me married before he goes, but I don’t wanna force myself. Plus, I got my whole life to find the right person. I…” he sighed, “I think I already have.”

The look he sent you said it all. For many years, you have known of his obvious crush on you. The time spent together in the forgery and in your father’s backyard refining your swordsmanship spoke of years of longing glances tossed your way and standing way too close for comfort. His jokes and laughter that permeated the air as you slacked off instead of working, his invites to the beach, and the gifts that he brought you— they all told of his feelings for you.

But you were too old for him, and he needed to know that.

Turning the boy down was never easy, but you felt as if you had to shout it in his face now for him to actually get it through his thick skull. The way his face fell, filled with heartbreak and despair, was also never easy. But it had to be done.

He shut his eyes tight, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. His brows furrowed together in hurt. As his hazel eyes opened to glance up at you with the look of a kicked puppy in them, you felt the guilt well up inside you.

“I know, Cap.” The hurt in his cracked voice did not help with the guilt you were already feeling. “I’ll talk to Lady Madeline the next time she stops by Pop’s forgery.”

Through your guilt, you mustered up a small smile and clapped him on the shoulder. For a young man with experience working in a forgery and muscles bigger than most boys his age, he winced at the impact of the smack. You didn’t hit him that hard, did you?

“Glad to hear it. I’ll see ya when the sea brings us back to Remuria.” You bid him farewell, the guilt from before leaving your veins as you began to leave the shop.

He returned your warm smile and waved high into the air. “May the North Wind bless your sails, Cap!”

The ship rocked carefully along the incoming tides on the edges of the shore. The sun had completely fallen over the horizon, long replaced by a blindingly white moon high in the dark sea of stars.

It was a quiet night. The sounds of water dripping from the ceiling of the cave and the soft chatter of sailors on the ship were a welcome melody. In the distance, a bird chirped as it flew through the cloudless sky.

Taking a seat on the edge of the ship and dangling her feet over the side, she listened to the soft gossip of the sailors working on the ship behind her. Before the captain returned, lots of work had to be done. The ship had to be thoroughly cleaned, everyone’s clothes were to be washed, a new import of fresh food and water had to be picked up from the harbor, and the small boy on board had to be fed and babysat.

She recounted the day’s events.

Before the captain left for the harbor, she helped in thoroughly cleaning the ship and fixing the cannons. The captain also helped out with retrieving the fresh goods from a friend of hers nearby. After all of that work was finished, she gave a few final orders to her crew, and disembarked on a small trip to the harbor to buy new tools to fix one of the cannons.

Leni let out a content sigh as she closed her eyes. It was the perfect night for a stroll. She had taken one earlier during sunset. It was a quick stroll, as she had to return to the ship and carry out the captain’s orders in her stead. Though it was only a few minutes, she was thankful for the respite from the constant rocking of the ship.

Although she had gotten used to being on a ship, there were times when she missed being on land and on stable ground. Months out on the sea were quite tiring. A small break from it to take in the Remurian Summer breeze was very much needed— not just for her and the captain, but for the rest of the crew as well.

In the distance, she spotted a familiar figure making their way towards the cave. She squinted, trying her best to make out the figure in the darkness. Upon seeing their hand wave high into the air to greet her, a bright smile erupted onto her face. She jumped up from her spot.

The sand was damp in the cave, causing your boots to sink as you walked. Due to the criminal record The Night Howler’s crew possessed, you had to dock the ship a safe distance away from Capitolium, Remuria’s capitol. That was why the ship had to be hidden in a grotto behind a waterfall. It was a safety precaution.

You walked up the sturdy wooden ramp leading onto the ship and greeted your crew with a tip of your hat. You placed your hands on your hips as

you began barking orders around the ship.

“All hands! We take to the seas in ten minutes!”

Letting out a sigh, you untied the bag of tools from your belt. Vincent, your main handyman on board, walked up to you. You placed the bag of tools into his large, callused hand.

He was a rather large man, with scars all over his biceps and a full beard that made him look older than he was. He was taller than most of the crew and acted as everyone’s big brother. Any heavy duty work was passed to him to handle. Out of the entire crew, he was one of the most reliable.

He took the bag and let out a heavy sigh. “‘M rather sorry ‘bout the tools again, Cap’n.”

He had a thick South Remurian accent that most of the sailors in the royal navy possessed. A majority of the South Remurian population had this accent, as did you and your late father. However, your accent was not as thick as Vincent’s.

A reassuring smile made its way to your lips. “No worries, Vin. Those ones were old anyway. We needed a new set.”

Some of your crew was idly standing by, chatting amongst each other as they prepared the ship. The loud clapping of your hands drew them out of their stupor, making them flinch. You sent them a pointed look as they turned to you.

“We leave in less than ten minutes! Do you lot not know the meaning of ‘get to work’? Or do I have to show you?”

They vigorously shook their heads and picked up their pace, preparing the ship faster than before.

“No, Captain!”

Your brows narrowed. “Then get to it!”

The sound of your yell prompted them to move faster. They scrambled along the deck to do as they were told. You turned back to Vincent with a sigh and an expectant look that told him to get moving. He did not need to be told twice. He cleared his throat and excused himself before shuffling his way down below the deck to fix that stubborn cannon.

A smooth voice permeated the air as your first mate sauntered up to you with her hands on her hips. “Look who’s back from the port!” She let out a giggle, “You sure know how to make an entrance, Captain!”

Leni, your first mate, had luscious black curls that were currently tied up into a high ponytail with a bandana. A few stray strands of hair fell to frame her round face. Her copper skin shone like bronze under the light of the lanterns littered around the ship. Her viridescent eyes were a welcome sight after the hours you spent in the harbor.

The sleeves of her tattered white blouse were rolled up to her elbows, exposing a few of the cultural tattoos dancing along her forearms. Two of the top buttons of her blouse were undone, and a beaded necklace lay flat against the curvature of her collarbone. A few golden bangles adorned her left wrist.

As she stopped in front of you, your shoulders immediately relaxed at her presence. You let out a huge sigh of relief and brought her in for a tight hug. The smell of saltwater and Sumeru roses wafted off of her person. They were a contrasting combination, but it comforted you nonetheless.

The two of you met during your days of working in Ty’s forgery, when the sun beat down harshly on your damp skin, and the heat from the furnaces made you dizzy. At that time, she was only a visitor to Remuria. She claimed to have been on vacation, but appeared to be by herself with no one to accompany her. With what little money she had, she asked you in her native language to repair her mother’s old polearm.

You didn’t quite understand what she said at first, but you could tell from her hand gestures alone that she wanted the weapon repaired.

With careful and precise work, you dutifully restored the weapon. You admired the finished work, complimenting the original craftsmanship of the handle, and the cultural symbols engraved into it.

Leni, with as much effort as she could muster, thanked you for your work in Remurian. To your surprise, she picked up the language quite quickly by listening in to the conversations happening around her in the city. You offered to teach her the language in its entirety, and she gratefully accepted.

You learned more about her family when she moved in with you.

Both of her parents had been born into a tribe in the Sumeru Desert. There, they were dancers who carried dual swords and practiced a sacred art passed down through many generations. At the time of Leni’s thirteenth birthday, her parents had passed away unexpectedly due to reasons that were unknown to you. However, with the way she spoke, you knew it most likely had to do with matters within their tribe.

In a hurry to escape, Leni fled the desert and sought refuge in Remuria, where she began anew after meeting you and your father.

Despite whatever she may have faced before you met her, you were more than grateful that she was here, standing tall in front of you with a blinding smile on her face and filled head to toe with enthusiasm. Her smile was always a welcome sight when you harbored any stress or worries.

Whenever she smiled, her eyes would close and crinkle together, dimples would dent her cheeks, and her small nose would scrunch up. She always showed her teeth as well, where you could spot a small gap in between two of her teeth on the upper left side of her jaw— supposedly from a time when she got a tooth knocked out of her mouth. She had freckles, too; They were just barely visible, but if you focused hard enough, you could see them.

Vincent returned from below the deck, wiping the sweat from his brow. He walked towards you, his hands covered in grease and the smell of gunpowder wafting off of his person.

“We’re ready for departure, Cap’n.” He told you. Before you could ask, he answered your unspoken question with a hearty smile. “Tha’ stubborn cannon is fixed, too. No need ta worry ‘bout it anymore.”

You returned his smile and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. Make way for the Eastern Seas!”

At your command, the ship began to take off, slowly rocking as it gained speed and disembarked from the cave. As it passed through the waterfall, freezing water poured over your head, drenching you head to toe. You let out a small laugh.

The cold water felt refreshing on your hot skin after spending your afternoon in the blazing sun. The nighttime air was brisk, though it was not cool enough to fully get rid of the sweat forming on the brows of your crew.

The ship picked up speed as it left the mainland, easing into a steady pace as the waves passed gently underneath. The ocean was calm tonight. It was a stark contrast to the raging storm you faced upon entering Remuria two months ago. The sails of your ship were blessed with a fairly serene voyage this time, it seemed.

As the wind blew, ruffling your hair, you noticed a look of contemplation on Leni’s face. She stood shoulder to shoulder with you, her hands on her hips and her chin held high. An aura of confidence radiated off of her. It was one that dared others to challenge her. The crease in her brow made you wonder what was on her mind. There was a subtle movement in her thin lips that looked almost like a tug at her bottom lip.

She had a habit of biting her bottom lip whenever there was something troubling her. That, and she would begin playing with the gold bangle on her wrist. At that moment, she reached for the bangle on her wrist and began fiddling with it. Immediately, you knew that something was worrying her. Before you could open your mouth to ask what was on her mind, she spoke.

“Where are we headed now, Cap?” She questioned, gently jabbing you in the side with her elbow.

“Inazuma.” A smirk appeared on your lips as you watched her verdant eyes go wide in mixed horror and surprise. “The land of the Narukami is a frightening one, but we’ll conquer it like we always do. Plus, I know someone within the merchant’s guild that would be more than willing to take that bounty off our hands.”

The wooden deck creaked under your boots as you retreated into the captain’s quarters. With a bit of hesitation, Leni followed. She allowed the door to slam shut behind the two of you. The cabin was encased in a brief silence, the only sound being the splashing of the waves outside your closed windows.

The bounty you mentioned sat on your table in the middle of the room, the pure gold and vibrant emeralds glittering in the light of the moon that filtered in through the glass window to your left.

The stolen crown of Queen Catalina weighed heavy on the ship like an anchor. The prized possession was worth more than the entirety of Mondstadt and King Remus’ treasure vault combined.

Next to you, Leni sent you an uneasy glance. “(Name)... is this really going to sell for a high price? It’s not even from Remuria… it’s from Western Mondstadt’s god king.”

Unlike you, Leni did not know much about the gods of other lands. She had been born into a tribe that worshipped The Scarlet King and the Goddess of Flowers. They did not have much knowledge on other gods— besides Morax, but that was an entirely different story.

As you approached the table, you reached for the crown and picked it up, being careful not to touch the emeralds embedded into the gold. This crown was the real deal, with authentic emeralds carved expertly to fit into the base, and a special engraving on the inside that spelled out the queen’s full title:

The god of memories, Queen Catalina Elizabeth Blair.

“It’ll sell for higher than the price we require,” you reassured Leni. “Do ya know how famous Mondstadt’s Queen is? She’s the firs’ god to ever roam the icy, Northern plains. The Thousand Winds themselves answer to her. Celestia favors her. That god king has the whole of the world an’ the heavens wrapped around her finger. Her stolen crown will land us a heap of gold— more gold than we’ll know what to do with!”

An exhausted sigh escaped Leni’s lips as she closed her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What beats me is why the crown was in King Remus’ treasure vault. Why is it in Remuria if it belongs to a god of Mondstadt?”

You let out a small scoff and gently placed the crown back onto the table. You shrugged and leaned back against the table. “Who knows? The gods are always at war. It was probably stolen by one of King Remus’ royal fleets after the Daybreak War that lasted a hundred years.”

The Daybreak War landed itself a spot in the history books in the wake of its aftermath. It was a notorious war spanning over an entire century, involving two relentless god kings: King Remus and Queen Catalina. It was said to have begun at daybreak, and ended a hundred years later at the very same time.

Historians claimed that almost half of Teyvat’s general population had been wiped out during the war, and that Celestia itself had to personally intervene before the two gods called a ceasefire.

It all began when King Remus attempted to invade Queen Catalina’s territory and disturb the peace and tranquility of the Northern icy plains of Mondstadt. He took half of her people under his rule, proceeded to treat them poorly, and took away any rights they had to their prior freedom. This act of defiance and unfairness severely angered the Queen of the North.

Talk that spread in the streets of every nation spoke of how the Queen’s wrath towards King Remus was enough to bring down the heavens, rip open the sky, and shake the very core of the earth. Her undying love towards her people and desire to regain their freedom was incredibly admirable. It was also extremely rare for a god to have that much kindness and compassion in their heart.

The Queen of the North called for reinforcements from the Thousand Winds, upon which they answered her calls. She emerged from the war as the victor. Her power and her strength was a force to be reckoned with, and the gods that roamed the lands of other nations were well informed not to pick a fight with the Queen of Mondstadt— lest they face retribution from the endless whipping winds.

Even Decarabian, the god of storms who resided in the opposite direction of the Queen’s territory, knew better than to test her patience. However, in recent years, he slowly began inching towards her land, and soon enough, he would begin to cross the border.

You awaited any news from the friends you had in Mondstadt regarding any signs of potential war. If another war were to unfold, you would be called back to your mother’s homeland to fight alongside the Queen and her knights.

The Queen of the North had your utmost trust and loyalty. If she commanded you back, you would go without hesitation.

The Night Howler, the ship you inherited from your late father, was a fugitive ship in Remuria. It was not only because you had stolen directly from King Remus’ vault, but also because you pledged loyalty to Her Majesty, his sworn enemy. However, you had no intention of returning the crown back to her.

You did not harbor any guilt, as you were already aware that she did not care for the item in the first place. You were free to do whatever you pleased with it. You could even keep all the money you received from selling it off.

A worried call from one of your crewmates drew your attention away from the conversation.

“Captain!”

You shared an uneasy look with Leni, before she rushed forward to swing open the door to the captain’s quarters. You followed her out onto the deck. The crewmate that previously called out to you handed you a spyglass. You took it without question and adjusted it as you held it up to your eye.

An involuntary groan of frustration left your lips. On the horizon, encased in a thin layer of fog, was a Remurian ship belonging to the navy. Its sky blue sails billowed in the wind as it sped across the restful waters. The intense glow of the moon passed over the shimmering golden crest of Queen Iris.

A chill ran down your spine as a breeze passed by. It served as a warning of the upcoming chase that was likely to occur.

A scowl formed on your face. Of the entire naval fleet of Remuria, the ship that had to be tailing The Night Howler was one of Queen Iris’. It seemed your luck was starting to dwindle.

Leni sent you an expectant look, to which you placed the spyglass in her hand. After a moment, a small gasp escaped her lips.

“Queen Iris. Of all people.”

A scoff left your best friend’s peach colored lips. She tossed you a glance filled with exasperation. “She wants the crown back for her King.” You couldn’t help but agree with her.

The infamous Queen Iris was the Southernmost ruler of King Remus’ territory, overlooking the Irenian Sea that connected Remuria and the ancient land of Natlan. Among King Remus’ four lords that were given a snippet of his power, Queen Iris was the most feared and wealthy.

The woman was strong-willed, strategic, and witty. She possessed the largest naval fleet of the four lords. Currently, the estimation stood at ten thousand men and women alike. She required the best of the best. Those who wished to join her ranks could not be seen as mediocre. They had to be perfect— no more and no less.

That said, the expectations and pressure she held over their heads was an inexplicable amount. Any sailor was lucky to not work under the devilish lord of the South.

And to be on opposing forces of Queen Iris was to be doomed with a fate worse than death itself. Lucky for you, you were smarter than the scrawny, brainless men she sent after you time and time again. You, on countless occasions, out-witted her fleets and sent them running with their tails between their legs.

Needless to say, you haven’t seen the same men twice. You could only assume they were disposed of after their failed attempts of dragging your ship and your crew back to their beloved Queen.

Instead of treating this like a life or death situation, you treated this like a game of cat and mouse.

Queen Iris liked to believe you were the mouse simply because your ship was smaller than her fleets, and your crew was not made up of trained soldiers. Trained soldiers or not, your crew was some of the finest swordsmen you have ever met. They outclassed Iris’ royal fleets anyday.

If Queen Iris wanted to play another round of this seemingly endless game, who were you to not entertain her? After all, you were used to being on wanted lists. She could try her scare tactics all she wanted, but you were well informed on her battle strategies by now. You had the upper hand.

Although she was given power by a god, it did not scare you in the slightest. She was not even half of what King Remus claimed to be. Neither he, nor his four lords scared you. The only god that did was the wrathful god that was Queen Catalina’s lover.

“Full speed ahead, men!” you yelled. “If it’s a game Lady Iris wants, then it’s a game the devil will get!”

The sound of laughter filled the air as the crew rushed around, preparing the ship accordingly as it lurched forward at the highest speed it could possibly go. You placed your hands on your hips as a smirk made its way onto your face.

Leni let out a sigh. “You’re enjoying this too much, Captain.” Her verdant eyes were glossed over with a tinge of annoyance for your behavior. You simply nudged her with your elbow.

“Am I? Come now, my dear Leni. The Queen is gracin’ us with her attention once more! This is more attention than any of those snotty royal navy boys will get from her in their lifetimes!” You wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into your side.

Another sigh escaped her lips. This one was filled with exhaustion. A smile tugged at her lips. “I have no doubt in your abilities to outsmart her, Cap. Lead us to victory once more.”

author’s notes: i know what you're thinking ... "ray you haven't finished your other fics yet!!!" I KNOW IM SORRY I PROMISE I'LL FINISH THEM 🙏 anyways, welcome to volume one of the regula solis epoch!! this is a fic series that takes place a few hundred years before the archon war and is very canon divergent. however, i'm going to try to stay true to the lore of remuria to make this more realistic!!

taglist — (open) ;

divider: @/cafekitsune

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[rowaelinsdaughter]

KEEP MY HEART CHAPTER VI

WARNINGS;; long chapter, violence, spoilers for heir of fire, blood, whip

“eat it”

“come on abraxos, eat it. it’s your reward” manon said through her teeth “you earned it” but abraxos was still sniffing the flowers. ayla tried to suppress a smile… but failed.

“it’s good for you” manon said, but he went right back to sniffing the violets. a laugh escaped ayla’s mouth.

“stop that” manon said through her teeth, but ayla only laughed harder until she was lying on the floor. 

manon tossed the leg right in front of his massive mouth and tucked her hands into the folds of her red cloak. he snuffed at it, his new iron teeth glinting in the radiant light, then stretched out one massive, claw-tipped wing and— 

shoved it aside.

“is it not fresh enough?” and abraxos moved to sniff some white and yellow flowers. 

“you can’t really like flowers.”

“you know? they really smell good, maybe i should visit this place more” ayla shifted her eyes from manon to abraxos. bring me with you. he seemed to say.

manon rolled her eyes “you too are going to be the death to me” she picked the leg “if you won’t eat it, then i will.”

she bit into the raw meal… and spat it everywhere.

“what in the mother’s dark shadow-”

“now i’m thankful i can’t eat meat raw.” she looked as manon tossed the leg away. 

“fine. you want fresh meat… then we’re going to have to hunt”

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

“i hate you” ayla looked at manon, panting through her teeth at abraxos. 

“did the meeting with your grandmother go so badly?”

“yes. and all because he is a willful, lazy worm”

“manon-” but she wasn’t listening. manon checked her tight braid and flicked her clear inner lid into place. “let’s go” she said. 

“manon, i don’t think this is a good idea.”

“yes it is. the humans had said that her wings are functional, so he can fly, and he is going to fly because i say so.” she hissed to herself, eyeing the saddle on his back. abraxos continued to lie in the sun. “warrior heart indeed.”

ayla bit her lip. she didn’t like this. she watched as manon landed on his haunch and she was into the saddle. she shoved her booted feet into the stirrups and gripped the reins. “we’re flying now.” she dug her heels into his sides.

“manon-”

“enough” she barked, hauling with one arm to guide him over the eastern edge. ayla was getting nervous. abraxos was panicked, and her voice was no more than a crackling leaf on the wind. “abraxos…” she whispered. “ABRAXOS NO!”

his leg slid off the cliff and they plummeted into open air.

not again. not again. not again. not again. she was all she could think. she hated her fae form. she hated not having her powers, because all she couldn’t do anything to help. she was feeling useless.

she heard manon shout. “open your wings”

open your wings abraxos.

manon could see the pine cones on the trees. “open them!” a war cry that was answered with a piercing shriek as abraxos flung open his wings, caught the updraft, and sent them soaring away from the ground. 

and manon was flying. ayla watched them fly and wish she could be flying with them. she heard abraxos unleashed a roar of joy and manon echoed it. 

ayla felt her the tears ran down her cheeks.

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two weeks passed until manon and her thirteen mastered her training as a unit. they woke up before the sun was up, and every night ayla healed manon’s scratches and helped her relax. slowly, each one of them developed her own fighting instincts individually and as a group, and then they were outpacing every coven. 

i’m not surprised, your coven is the best there has been in centuries. ayla had said one night.

but… abraxos couldn’t take the crossing. his wings weren’t strong enough. manon had used her downtime to see abraxos, to train with him. ayla didn’t care manon didn’t have time with her. she knew manon needed as much time with abraxos as possible. 

ayla watched as the overseer grafted the spidersilk manon had got from the spiders. “you’re crazy.” manon gave her a grin. “isn’t that why you love me?” she giggled and kissed her cheek. once abraxos was healed, manon brought her to the northern fang where they would try the crossing. 

asterin, sorrel and ayla waited behind them. and unfortunately for them, iskra was also there. the first two ones on their mounts and ayla was seated in front of sorrel. manon had promised them to jump away from him if things went wrong, but she knew manon wasn’t keen on the plan. 

manon nodded to her second and third, and ayla gave her a reassuring smile. 

she checked the stirrups, the saddle and the reins one more time, abraxos tense and snarling. “let’s go” she said to him, pulling the reins to lead him further “now” she napped. she tried and tried and tried, but abraxos didn’t move. she finally snapped. “fine. have him locked up wherever he’ll be the most miserable, he’s not coming out until he’s willing to make the crossing”

manon snapped her fingers at them, and sorrel helped ayla dismount from her wyvern. once she was on the floor, she rushed to manon and took her hand. “let’s go manon.” she dragged her to the entrance as iskra make her way to them. 

“why don’t you stay, manon?” iskra called. “i could show your wyvern how it’s done”

“keep walking,” sorrel murmured to manon and ayla squeezed her hand. forget about her. she tried to say and manon squeeze back. 

“they say it’s not the beast who are the problem, but the riders,” iskra went on. they kept walking. 

“though, perhaps your mount needs a bit of discipline”

“let’s go” sorrel coaxed as she pressed to manon’s side, ayla on the other and asterin walking behind, guarding manon’s and ayla’s back.

iskra shouted something to someone. a whip snapped and a roar of pain and fear filled the place. manon stopped dead, and ayla looked behind them. “oh gods…” she muttered. the scene… abraxos was huddling against the wall and iskra stood before him, whip bloody from the line she’d sliced down his face, narrowly missing his eye. 

none of them were fast enough as manon tackled iskra. 

“manon no!” ayla shouted, but sorrel grabbed her by the waist, stopping her from running to manon. 

they were a storm of teeth and nails, flipping and shredding and biting. manon thought she might be roaring, roaring so loud the hall shook.

“manon please stop!” her voice cracked as she exclaimed again. she watched as manon hit the earth, spat out a mouthful of blue blood and ducked past iskra’s guard and threw her onto the unforgiving stone. the last one groaned as manon brought her fist down onto her face. 

her knuckles howled in pain, but she wasn’t thinking. iskra swiped at her face and manon reeled back, the blow cutting down her neck, but manon was onto her again, digging harder into iskra’s chest and struck, again. again. again. “manon!” ayla exclaimed again. manon lifted her hand again but sorrel hauled her off. manon trashed against them, still screaming. 

ayla grabbed her by the shoulder, her own nails cutting into her to make her pause, realize. her other hand grabbed her wounded cheek and lowered her down to look at her into her eyes. “he is fine, manon” ayla said, her voice softer this time. “ abraxos is fine. look at him. look at him please and see that he’s fine” 

manon obeyed and found him looking at her, eyes wide. asterin was between them and iskra, both of them growling, ready for another fight. she looked at ayla again at noticed her face stained with tears. blackeaks didn’t cry. but she wasn’t a blackbeak. she sighed and ayla lowered her hands to her chest and pressed her forehead there, listening to her heartbeat. 

looking at iskra manon hissed. “you touch him again, and i’ll drink the marrow from your bones”

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ayla was waiting for manon in their room, preparing everything to clean her wounds. the door opened and manon entered and closed the door behind her. she took off her cape and sat on the bed, resting her head in her hands. ayla approached her quietly, and when she was standing in front of her, manon rested her head on her stomach, her arms circled ayla’s waist and ayla caressed her head. 

she whispered softly. “let me take care of you… please.” manon moved and watched as her mate took the supplies she needed, then she sat on her lap and started taking care of her. when she finished, manon walked to the bathroom to wash herself. ayla was on the bed when she went out. laying down on the bed next to ayla, she moved to her side, so she was looking at her. manon’s eyes were cold. 

“i want to kill her”

“i know manon, i know.” she sighed, brushing a hand on her cheek “but not now manon”

manon closed her eyes. when she opened them again, they were warmer. for her. just for her. “you were going to get into the fight”

“of course i was.”

manon smiled at last and grabbing the back of her neck, she pressed her mouth with her’s.

tagging;; @thehighladywrites @hellwantfuckme @shadowdaddies @fightmedraco

#sjm books #sarah j maas #fanfic #throne of glass #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass fanfiction #manon blackbeak #manon imagine #manon x reader #manon fanfic #manon fanfiction #manon x ayla #manon x f!reader #manon x oc #tog x reader #tog series #tog spoilers #tog #my ocs <3 #oc imagine #my oc stuff #oc fanfiction #ocs

[alicedrawslesmis]

Today's chapter really is like... Excuse me she's literally dying over there can you two please have some decency and figure your shit out outside.

But jokes aside, we have here two motifs that keep repeating themselves, an echo of the Conventionist, of words and reactions spoken between life and death, and this theme of Divine authority versus mundane authority. Fantine is the conventionist and Valjean is the bishop come to bless her but being the one who is blessed

And since Javert instinctively obeys the highest authority in the room because he's literally a dog (and at this point they thought this was how dogs worked) he obeys Valjean's divine mandate. Tho also he had an iron bar with him, you get my point.

It's very interesting how Javert's loyalties change because he doesn't think for himself and only reacts to outside forces. This character is fascinating as like an idea. I've seen this idea play out in Stefan Zweig's The Royal Game but it isn't the only time I've seen it, it's also a repeated theme is the Star Trek original series, to name a couple examples.

It's also something that ties into orientalism (I've been reading Edward Said shh) and like this contrast of the learned enlightened Western man versus the base, thoughtless, purely instinctual and reactive Oriental. And the oriental of course is not a set thing but a vague definition that can change meanings depending on context. For Stefan Zweig this man is represented by an eastern european peasant contrasted to an intellectual austrian royalist. The entire novella is about the futile battle between the two extremes, the internal journey and the purely external. In Star Trek the contrast is between a being of pure unfeeling logic, a computer, and its inherent inferiority to a man according to Roddenberry's point of view. The computer always loses to the greatness of man's empathy and instinct. It's also like, wish fulfillment. To try to make yourself believe you can't be replaced by a computer.

Anyway this was a bit of a tangent because I have some thoughts about Star Trek's orientalism re: Spock. But also because Hugo looooooves an illuminism VS barbarism contrast and he loooooves orientalism. And I argue that Les Mis is actually a turning point for him. Because if you read Toilers of the Sea what you get is actually a kind of reversal or culmination of his ideas on the grotesque and the barbarian. Maybe because he left France and actually saw that there are other people in the world with different worldviews and he was able to grasp them because they were still European

edit: Edward Said talks a lot about Victor Hugo, Flaubert and Nerval in Orientalism btw and an attentive reader can very clearly see the aspects of orientalism that stil permeate Les Mis even when he isn't even talking about the orient itself. The orient presents itself as a dramatic trope or a creation of the ""West"" for their dramas... Good book btw

[dejabluebabygirl]

I See You - Chapter 1

Miles Quaritch x Fem! Na'vi OC

Summary: Vira Te Wou Auhew’ite, an albino Na'vi and future Tsahìk of the Tayrangi Clan, The Ikran Riders of the Eastern Sea, keeps needing to save the demon Miles Quaritch at Ewyas command. When she's given a sign to try to teach him The People's way, both she and Miles struggle with their growing feelings for each other.

Authors note: All Na’vi speech will be in BLUE because I honestly don't think I can keep trying to translate forever lol so whether the phrase is written in Na’vi or in English, just imagine its like jake who is now sooooooo used to the Na’vi language it's like English lol. 

I looked up how Native Americans used to tell years part the most common answer I could find was the moon but Pandora is a moon so a year from Vira’s POV will be referred to as a “full sky cycle” so that's a full 12 months. For a month I’m going to refer to it as just “cycles” or “short cycles” unless anyone has a better suggestion!

Vira is also sister to Ikeyni (which is talked about in this chapter, https://james-camerons-avatar.fandom.com/wiki/Ikeyni ) but since she’s really not overall important to the movie lore I don’t think it matters much so I'll be taking liberties with the Tayrangi Clan Clan since honestly, James Cameron has left it all pretty bare bones, at least what I can find online.

I added a tag list if anyone wants to be added please just let me know! I didn't expect such a response on the prologue so thank you so much for being so kind! I cleaned up my manic writing so hopefully, you'll like this chapter, Chapter 2 is already partially completed too! Suggestions, prompts, and ideas are always welcome but can't be promised!

Oh and credit to @milknhonies for the idea to just bold the English after Na’vi, they’re the person I saw do it and their writing is amazing for Quaritch and I need to stop reading their stuff so I don’t borrow things on accident : ‘ )

Rating: T I think, nothing I would deem too spicy

Warnings: Canon typical violence, strong language/swearing, mild mentions of mating/sex, nudity, chase scene, aggressive behavior, some manhandling, and I guess manipulation too? I'm bad at this : ' )

Words: 5,797

--

Chapter 1

Vïra had a nearly sleepless night beside the sky demon, after she’d said it was Ewya’s will he live, he did not push her for more answers. She had sewn up his face in silence and soon after he’d fallen asleep against the tree. She’d found herself a small, soft patch of grass at his side and tried to get some rest. Close enough that she would hear if he needed anything but not close enough to touch,

In truth, Vira was tried. Tired of being away from home, tired of thinking she knew what Ewya wanted. She’d left her home twice now, trying to do what the great mother asked of her but it was hard when all she gave to Vira was brief images, flashes of the future when her kuru was attached to the large, white mushroom that thrived in her villages Glade of Echos. Their most sacred space to connect to Ewya. 

She knew she should be thankful, the great mother was speaking to her in her own way but it was a burden to keep traveling far from home to save a demon. To see the destruction he left in his wake. 

For reasons unknown to her, Ewya wanted him alive. 

In total Vira had only ever received three visions from the great mother. She always saw things from her own eyes, things yet to pass. Her first as a child she had seen Toruk Makto come to their village, she seen so clearly her sister, Ikeyni riding off to war with the Sky People on the backs of their Ikrans. When she’d told her mother and sister they had laughed, thought it was merely a child playing a game but a day later Jake Sully, the dream walker who became Toruk Makto, came to them. Her sister flew off to battle without hesitation. 

The second was when she saw the demon falling on the back of his royal blue Ikran. Falling from the Ikran rookery in Ayram alusìng used by the Omatikaya clan, she’d been shown in it in one of her visits to the clan. She saw she was on her gold Ikran Stiwi, diving down beside him, shouting at him to use Tsaheylu in English. The pink Na’vi fled from home right then and there and flew straight to the floating mountains. She perched on a cliff face and waited for the demon to fall and did as Ewya showed her. 

Vira had gotten an earful from her mother for taking off without telling anyone and promised not to do it again. But she would. She did it again, she’s done it this very afternoon. She’d gone and connected her kuru to the large white mushroom and saw the demon flying on his Ikran, going down into the forest, then in a flash, she saw herself bandaging up his wounds. She knew what she needed to do and left immediately, following the coast of the eastern sea south for hours, closer to where the Metkayina villages were. 

Then after feeling like she had traveled south forever, she saw the large royal blue Ikran going down into the woods just as she’d seen. She pursued on Stiwi, leaving her in a nearby tree as she quickly and quietly climbed down to observe the demon before assisting him. For being in such pain, he’d spotted her much quicker than she’d excepted. 

For now, Vira laid and tried to focus on her breathing, the calmness of her breath, the softness of the grass and ignore the strange feeling from being around the demon. The weird pull that pooled her stomach. It got worse when she touched him, she had a hard time not thinking about how his hard, muscled abdomen had felt under her nimble fingers. She’d help heal Na’vi men amongst her clan but they had never made her feel like that. Her face and ears felt hot at the thought of changing his bandages tomorrow. 

The feeling had gotten even worse when he’d grabbed her kuru, an act that both scared her and made her heart beat loud in her chest.

She’s never been touched in such a manner by anyone, let alone a male Na’vi. 

Let alone a demon. 

Went it just felt like Vïra had fallen asleep, she was awoken by a sharp tug on her tail. She screamed as pain shot up her spine as she was dragged over to the demon from her sleeping place. Her fingers left marks in the soil as she tried to get away but he was too strong. 

“Morning princess,” the blue sky demon quipped, her pink tail still wrapped around his knuckles, he flashed a fanged smile.

“Not princess,” she grumbled while attempting to snatch her tail back. He held it tight for a few moments but let it go without warning after she gave a few hard tugs, causing her to fall back on the ground. 

“Sorry about that sweetheart, just pulling your tail a little.” He let out a chuckle, amused with himself. 

She made an annoyed noise but tried her best to remember her manners. He was a demon, she shouldn’t expect kindness but she’d do right by the great mother. Get him healed, send him away. 

“Vira Te Wou Auhew’it,” she said adjusting herself as she sat back up, placing a hand on her chest as she gave her name. The demon looked at her like she grew extra limbs. “Vira is okay.” 

“Miles Quaritch.” he cracked a small, fanged smile that she wasn’t sure if altogether friendly or threatening.

She repeated his full name back to him, testing it on her tongue. 

“Just call me Miles, Vira.”  He couldn’t quite say her name correctly with his accent but he tried, she let out a giggle and covered her mouth, flushed with embarrassment. 

“What?” He asked, his ears down in disappointment he couldn’t hide. 

“Your saying is off but it is okay. Your language was not easy to learn either. Still struggle.” she reassured him with a small, kind smile he didn’t deserve. 

–

Vira left the alien to go find them some food and gather water after she’d checked his bandages, there wasn’t much she could do for his injuries, even as a future Tsahìk, there was a limit to her abilities. Maybe the Sky People would be able to do more, after regaining some more strength he’d be able to leave in the next day or two and she could go home.

The prospect of returning home filled with her excitement and nervous energy, after many years of prodding mother had finally gotten her to accept a betrothal, it was deemed that they would mate before Ewya in 2 short cycles of time when the seasons changed. It would be mating season then and while they could mate at any time, Vira has always hoped to make the bond during this sacred time. 

Vira was an other amongst her people, while she was a part of the tribe, their leaders' sister and daughter of the Tsahìk but she was just different. Different in more than just her pink coloring but in her mannerisms and thoughts. Throughout her whole childhood Vira was quiet and inquisitive, she liked the arts and the songs of the past, always seeking knowledge. She didn't mind spending time alone and away, they were a tribe but she was happy to have solitude with Ewya in the Glade of Echos or to stay home making jewelry rather than playing games. When she wanted to be included or tried, she would be picked on for her looks, stature, or being strange. Many nights she remembered crying in her mother's arms, asking why Ewya had made her so different from everyone else. Things got easier as she aged, more of The People realized she was a valuable scholar and would be a good Tsahìk someday. Vira had made many friends with the women of the village, they found her sweet and easy to talk to, and they thought it funny to make her pink face pinker by talking of mating acts. Vira was quick to love those who gave her kindness and she especially found ap lace in her heart for the younglings she would teach when she was in the village.

But what Vira truly wanted from her tribe she could not have, acceptance was one thing but a heart match with a Na’vi man she felt was not in the stars for her. She knew the gazes of males danced over her pink skin every mating season since she came of age. Many worried her coloring would pass on or were concerned with how small her stature was, making them keep their distance. They didn’t even try to get to know her.

Vira could not deny that she was petite, small for even a Na’vi woman, some of the younglings girls in their teen full sky cycles were already as tall or taller than her. Many of The People thought small stature meant a sign of weak Na’vi children. The thought made her sad.

She'd heard story after story, song after song that talked about how pure and sure the love of a heart match would be but it was not meant to be for her.

But she could have children to love and care for. 

Lately, Vira no longer felt the drive to hold out hope for a heart match, she had been holding out for but after 20 full sky cycles and Ewya did not grant it to her despite all her prayers. She knew it was time to start a family and have many children. When she’d helped the women of her village give birth and she held their babes in her arms for those few brief moments before giving them back to their mothers, she knew that was a love she craved. Vira had traveled far and wide amongst the clams and gained much knowledge, seen all their sacred animals, and observed many rituals. She felt fulfilled in this sense, learned all she could from The People, and was ready to finally stay home and take her fledgling Tsahìk duties more seriously. She’d gone to her mother after helping with a birth last cycle and asked her to inquire about betrothal matches, 

Huärì had been the best match her mother returned to her with, he was a great hunter and great warrior. Much like her he had held off looking for a mate for some time but he was much older than her with 45 full sky cycles passing since his birth but he was still strong and capable. He was also kind to her and told her she looked like the eclipse sky, she knew he would provide for her and their future children. They would be content together and maybe they would grow to love. Surely they’d love the babes they had together.

Stiwi Viras Ikran, flew swiftly over the top of the jungle, bringing her towards the sea. She had not brought a bow or spear to hunt with but her net had been attached to her saddle. She would dive with her Ikran and bring their fill of fish, as she had done many times at home. 

Maybe with some food in his belly the demon would also be less irritable. Why one so miserable was serving of Ewyas grace made her head swim. 

—

Miles spent most of his time laid up against the tree, he’d tried using his neck communicator once Vira had left, hoping with being closer range to Bridgehead City and the RDA that something would go through but it didn’t, the thing was busted. He hastily ripped it off his neck and chucked it angrily into the foliage. Fucking junk.

The Recom Na’vi pulled his tank top back on but left his vest discarded, he couldn’t be bothered with it right now. He managed to stand and move around the clearing enough that he was able to take a leak and pat his dark blue Banshees head. He felt woozy though, weak. Either from his extended trip under the sea from fighting Sully or just needing food and water as the pink Na’vi told him, he couldn’t be sure but decided to rest would be the best way to save up some strength. He situated himself back against the tree and slept like the dead. 

Quaritch woke up, bleary-eyed and disoriented to the smell of fish roasting over a small fire. The sunlight was deteriorating and Vira busied herself, stoking the flames and taking great care of the fish. He was a little surprised she didn’t tuck tail and run away from him, he hadn’t exactly been kind to her even though she’d done nothing but try to help him. She was pluckier than he first pegged her for.

“Smells good, Tiny.”

Vira’s pink ears perked when she heard his voice, dropping everything to check on him, asking about his wounds and his pain. She gently lifted up his shirt and checked under the leaves she’d patched him up with utmost care. Her small digits traced the stitches gently that she’d placed in his face, she left goosebumps in her wake as she muttered softly to herself in Na’vi. He was just taken by surprise by the gentleness in the most brutal environment known to man, that was all.

Miles was equally surprised by how much of what she was saying he actually understood what she said to herself, ‘strong heart, energy flow, no infection.’ He supposed he had Spider to thank for that, a little pang of sadness bloomed in his chest as he thought of his son. As he thought of all the events over the past few months, even in his relentless pursuit of Sully he’d felt quite close to the boy. He cared about him, and loved him as much as he could, even if he wasn’t really his father, they’d certainly formed a strange but strong bond over the months they were together. It didn't change that he had a soft spot for the kid. He’d taught him more about the Na’vi the science pukes ever did. 

“How do you know all this healing stuff?” 

“Mother is Tsahìk.”

“And where’d you learn English” 

He watched her scrunch up her nose and brow in thought, her tail thumped against the ground a few times, trying to find the right word. 

“Mother's sister, she taught our people.” 

“Aunt, your mother's sister is your aunt. Where did she learn English?” 

“Grace Augustine's school.” a sadness swelled in her orange eyes.  “Aunt is gone now, she died in war against the Sky People when my sister fought with Toruk Makto” 

The words hung in the air. Did she know exactly who she was dealing with? Did she know he was the one that led the assault against her people? The reason her family member died? He ignored it. 

“Your sister, huh?”

“Yes, she is Olo’trykan. She is great leader. I will be Tsahìk one day.” 

That meant her sister was a clan leader and she would be their shaman, speaking to that damn tree god Grace herself had always been going on about. Said tree god that according to Vira, wanted him alive. 

“So you are a pretty little princess,” Miles said with sharp sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Vira half-heartedly bared her little fangs in his direction. “Not princess.” 

He barked a laugh that strung his ribs at her little display, he didn’t know if he understood what a princess was but she didn't like being called it. That meant he'd never stop.

After she’d finished her examination she came back with a large leaf full of cooked fish for him to eat.

“Irayo” Thank you. 

She looked a little startled at him for using her natural tongue but gave him a little smile as she got herself a few fish to eat. “kea tìkin.” No need to thank me.

They ate their fill and she put the fire out and disposed of the bones and scarps by feeding them to the Ikrans. She said it was to not attract the attention of the forest critters, no food or lights in the jungle after dark. He watched the two Ikrans with interest and she pat their heads and fed them. She seemed experienced with them. His royal blue Ikran one look a nasty snap at her gold one, asserting his dominance when they were introduced but they seemed to get along alright after, they even went up into the trees to nest together.

Vira came to sit near him, it didn’t go unnoticed by Miles how she’d angled her body so she was facing him, keeping her pink tail out of his reach. She was sharp, he’d give her that. 

Miles and Vira chatted on, going back and forth and a mishmash of Na’vi and English. He found she very curious about the sky people and learned was from the Eastern sea. They traded little scraps of information to each other by bioluminescent light. She’d come a long way from home to save him. He surmised she was a teacher or some kind of academic since she was not Tsahìk yet. She spoke of how she often spent time traveling to other clans, learned their ways, and brought them back to her people, it was why she’d been in the Ocean Na’vi village that day he’d burned their huts. She’d been there to observe the Tulkun and tell her people of their bonds with the reef dwellers and sing their songs upon her return. Nothing was written, all knowledge was passed by word of mouth or song.

He’d told her how he was a warrior for the sky people, holding up his five fingers in the air to emphasize the point that he was not wholly Na’vi. Her orange eyes seemed captivated by them like they were the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. So strange and alien from her own four-fingered hands. Quaritch also told her of his pursuit of Toruk Makto, which she’d known anyways, clearly hearing him on the beach. He told her about his near drowning, her orange eyes sparkled in awe that he survived and flew all the way to this very spot. He tried to give her as little information as possible but enough to keep her hooked while she prattled on, happy to chat. 

She passed him a crude, animal hide water bottle and he drank his fill, water dripping down his chin to his chest and shirt. Her orange eyes were downcast after that, Miles supposed he must have been quite the looker for a Na’vi as he watched her pink face and ears darken in the bioluminescent light of the forest. Maybe that would be useful later.

“Tomorrow I will take you to the river to clean, ”  Her eyes were still politely averting his gaze. “Then you can leave the day after, your strength will return then.” 

The idea of leaving the day after tomorrow and heading back to the RDA was promising, they could double-check his wounds and he could go back with a better, more prepared team to take out Jake Sully. That was his prime directive afterall, that was the mission. But he couldn't shake the feeling that leaving Vira felt like missing out on a golden opportunity to learn the savage's ways, the little pink Na’vi was by far the most cooperative he’d dealt with in either of his lifetimes. He’d learned some things from Spider, gained some insight but he wasn’t sure how much of the information was reliable, he’d been loyal to Sully all those months even though they bonded. Vira had loyalty to her own tribe. Toruk Makto was nothing to them except someone they went to war with over a decade ago, just a memory for her.

He knew needed to live, eat, and breathe like the enemy and learn all he could about their ways. That's how he would take Sully down. 

—

There was no violence when Vira woke up the next day, the demon's eyes were still closed and he was breathing softly. She quietly sat up and stretched her long pink limbs and stared at Miles while he slept. He didn't seem so demon-like when he slept, Miles seemed so much like any other Na’vi but maybe a bit bigger, more muscled, and with more fingers too. 

Vira’s mind and eyes drifted down to his large and strong 5 fingered hands, peacefully folded in Miles's lap as he snored softly. She thought of how just those hands seemed to be able to hold her in place, by either grabbing her own hands or her tail, how much power did the alien hold in his body? It send a little shiver down her spine and heat bloomed in her cheeks, just like last night when she’d seen the water drip down from his mouth onto his broad chest. It was a feeling she really didn't understand like there was a dozen tiny kenten flying in her belly. 

The pink Na’vi figured now in the morning glow was as good a time as any to go and gather from the jungle, to fly Stiwi back to the ocean today would be foolish when she’d need her to push back home tomorrow. No, she'd save her Ikrans strength and collect food from the forest. Ewya would provide. 

Vira walked the forest paths quitely gathering the bounty the great mother provided, easily filling her bag with Yovo and Tìhawnuwll fruits that were so ripe she was sure they would burst with sweetness. They would both go to bed again with full bellies, each ready for long journeys. Ready to go home. 

It was midday when she returned to camp, bag, arms, and hands overflowing with bounty. Miles still slept, Vira rolled her orange eyes. He like a baby, slept all day, made too much noise, and would be useless in a clan. Except maybe he could be used to carry heavy things. She giggled at the thought of him being forced to pile firewood back home as she placed the fruit next to him. 

Miles' yellow eyes cracked up at the sound of her laugh, which made her smile more. 

–

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly, Vira led Miles to the river to drink their fill and bathe. When she’d given him a small bundle of herbs she’d bound together on her morning excursion so he could clean himself properly and remove the salve from his wounds, he had given her a look of confusion. She explained her best in a mix of Na’vi and English while doing washing motions. He seemed to understand as he began taking off his sky people clothing. 

Nakedness was not shameful to the Na’vi but Vira couldn’t help but turn her head away when he began to remove his pants. She got up and walked towards the jungle while he cleaned himself, stomach aflutter as she heard the water splashing with his movements. For the briefest of moments, she thought to look back for a moment but held back the urge to peak. Her face felt flush again and wondered if she was getting ill. Back home she’d bathed many times with men from her village, as long as it wasn’t mating season there was no harm in the act. But Miles made her feel different, he was of the sky people, not a true-born Na’vi, she told herself it was just her natural curiosity getting the better of her. Was a demon’s body different than the others she’d seen? 

Vira jumped when she felt his blue hand, large and heavy on her shoulder, she’d heard him get out of the water but hadn’t realized how close he was. Miles was half-dressed and wet with only his pants on. She took in just how much larger he was than her as he took beside her for the first time. The top of her head only just reached his shoulder. She felt her face flush a deeper shade of purple. 

“Waters fine Princess if you want to get in, I’ll watch your six.” 

Vira didn't understand exactly what he was saying but she understood it was her turn to get in the water, she headed towards the bank and reached behind her neck to do the animal hide ties of her beaded breastplate, its edge lined with Ikran teeth and clearwing sheddings from Stiwi.  Vira went to set it on the bank behind her and saw Miles was watching her, standing relaxed against a tree with his arms folded over his broad, fully covered chest. 

“Mìn.” Turn. 

She made a rotating motion with her hand and he still didn't move. 

“Ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before sweetheart, just making sure your little pink ass don’t get eaten on me.” 

Vira rolled her orange eyes but didn't argue with the large blue demon. He was more likely to get eaten than she was but it was the last night she had to deal with him, with his sharpness and hubris. She turned her back to him and undid the small leaf covering on breasts and undid her tweng, keeping her tail between her legs to protect her scared place. At home she wouldn't have cared, back home there was no need for modesty but his yellow eyes felt intrusive. He was an other, he was not part of The People. 

She wadded into the river and plunged herself beneath the crisp, clean water. 

Any member of the Tayrangi Clan was just as comfortable on the back of their Ikran in the air or swimming in the sea. They were a coastal clan and utilized both the forest and sea both to their advantage. From a young age, they were all taught to swim and to be as comfortable in the water as they were on land. 

Vira did everything quickly as she bathed. Normally she took her time and enjoyed her time in the water but with Miles's eyes burning into her back she felt the need to move, like prey under the eye of a skilled predator. She washed her hair and her body quickly with the herbs, quickly wrung out her long white curls, and quickly dressed so they could quickly return to their camp.

She met Miles's gaze once fully dressed. “Sreton’ong soon must get back.” Dusk. 

–

Back at camp Vira gave Miles of the tihawnuwll fruits while she began to peel and dice the yovo’s. As she’d suspected when she’d picked them up, they burst the minute he tried to bite into the supple purple flesh. She laughed at him as blue juice dribbled onto his hand and down his chin, freshly washed and already dirty again. Definitely like a baby.

He shrugged his massive shoulder, unashamed of his mess, and continued eating, making undignified slurping sounds, determined to get every ounce of sweetness. She knew she should have scolded him for being too loud, that he’d attract the wildlife to their camp, but the sounds made Vira feel uncomfortable. Those sounds made her skin crawl and her stomach flip. Those sounds nearly made Vira nearly cut herself. It didn't go unnoticed.

“Jesus, give that here.” He barked, lazily resting against his tree, one leg sprawled and the other with his one keen up with his strong forearm eating on it, hand extended for her to pass the fruit. He looked so comfortable in the forest that she forgot for a moment he was an alien wearing the face of her people until her three fingers brushed against his four as she handed over the fruit. 

There was no conversation, just silence as Vira watched Miles make quick work of the fruit. She was focused on his hands, the hands of a demon. Surely five fingers was too many, it would be clumsy and awkward but he was agile as a Palulukan with the horrible metal knife. Didn’t he, didn't these sky people know that Ewya forbade the use of metals from the ground? But she forgave the sin to watch his hands move skillfully like great blue Kali'weya.

“Hand me some leaves to put these on,” Miles ordered and she obeyed gathering several large leaves to serve the chopped Yovo fruit on. 

Before long you were both sitting against the tree, enjoying each other company, exchanging stories as you had the previous night. He was nicer today, and more enjoyable, you’d maybe even miss him and his stories of the sky people a little bit when he was gone. Today he told you of the great and terrible machine arachnids that made their large, tall, metal dwellings in minutes. 

Vira was hanging onto Miles every word as she bit into a tihawnuwll that promptly exploded over her. She hissed in irritation and flattened her ears in embarrassment,  she’d been so captivated by the story she’d forgotten of their ripeness, 

Miles laughed at her, his fangs gleaming in the glow of the jungle. 

“Looks like you made a mess of yourself too, Tiny,” He tried to hand her a leaf but she batted it away out of humiliation. 

“No, no, I’ll wash in the river. It's not far.” 

Vira, a shade darker than normal, got up quickly and started to walk. 

“I’ll come with ya.” 

She just wanted a moment away, to clean the stickiness from her skin, to let the heat dissipate from her cheeks, to not hear her heart pound in her ears.

Vira flicked her pink tail in irritation and it hit his leg. The pink Na'vi was so surprised that he was already behind her and keeping pace that she stopped dead in her tracks, making him knock into her from behind. She nearly lost her footing. 

She whipped around to face him and lashed out.  

“You? You make too much noise, always making messes,  like a baby, not knowing what to do. Useless Skxawng.”  

He understood enough of what she was saying to know did not like it.

Not one bit.

–

Quaritch quickly backed the little pink na’vi against a tree trunk, her head hit the back of it with an audible thunk. She was surely seeing stars when her big doe eyes looked up at him, his face contorted in anger as his large blue arms caged both sides of her head and his legs on either side of her.

Why her mood soured so quick he couldn’t say but he wasn’t taking lip like that from anyone, let alone some petulant little native.

He leaned his massive Recom body down so he was eye to eye with her. 

“Now, I’d say I’ve been pretty damn nice to you today so I won’t be having any of that” he gritted at her, his fangs gleaming in the low bioluminescent glow of the forest. “So I’m gonna need you to quit being so damn ugly, sweetheart.” 

She hissed at him, barring her pearly white fangs like the little savage she was. Her pink face all puffed up and angry like a wet house cat. 

This hadn’t been how he planned to have this conversation with Vira. He’d planned simply to ask her to teach him, she’d seemed to actually enjoy helping him with Na’vi and talking about the culture but she wasn’t playing nice tonight so neither was he. 

“Now here how this is going to go,” he drawled, not backing away from her. “Tomorrow you’re not going home, you’re staying with me and you’re going to teach me everything about the Na’vi, do you understand me?” It was an order not a question.

She didn’t like that. 

He saw defiance grow in her orange eyes like a roaring flame. It was that same pluck that made her bold enough to come back to him and take care of him earlier when he was cruel. Quaritch had seen enough faces all twisted up and angry at him that practically see what she was thinking about doing and he had to snuff that shit out. 

Miles leaned in so they were nearly nose to nose. “If you spit on me Princess, I swear to whoop your ass so hard you’ll be just as blue as any other goddamn Na’vi.”  He growled 

Her eyes widen in fear and her features softened, he watched her throat bob as she swallowed hard. Miles backed his face away a few inches, taking her change in demeanor for compliance. 

But he blinked and suddenly she wasn’t in front of him anymore.

He looked down as Vira dove between his leg, she’d dropped all her body weight, sliding down the tree, and was now making a break for it by diving between his wide open legs. He tried to stomp on her pink tail as it disappeared between his lower limbs.

The albino Na’vi was behind him, sprinting into the forest, ghosting a glowing trail at her heels. 

He followed hot on her trail, within seconds he could see her. Vira was small and agile but her coloring made her light up like a Christmas tree in the glowing woods. His strides were impossibly big compared to hers, she couldn’t outrun him, even with his broken rib. Did she really think she was getting away?

But she kept going kept trying, even when he got so close her tail brushed his abdomen, she tried to pick her pace and take a different twists and turns but she couldn’t get away. Not from him. Quaritch swore he could smell her fear with his Na’vi nose, there was no mistaking he’d find her if she tried to hide.

The Recom Na’vi watched her break through the brush into a clearing and then just stop, for no rhyme or reason that he could see as he stared at her between branches. She was just stopped dead in her tracks a few feet in. Miles watched as her head slowly moved in all directions, wild white hair gently swaying. Was there danger? Was this surrender? 

He took a deep breath to regain some composure and to try and get his pain under control, his blue and pink nose flaring as his left side bloomed with fresh pain from the pursuit. He broke through the foliage behind her and saw what she was staring at. 

It was dozens, no, hundreds of little white floating lights. 

He took a few steps closer to her and she didn’t move, she was mesmerized by whatever they were.

“I’ve never seen so many,” Vira breathed, back still to him. 

“What are they?” He asked as one floated down towards him and illuminated his face. It was almost like a jellyfish crossed with a puffball dandelion that’d gone to seed back on earth.

He smacked the thing. 

The albino Na’vi turned around, her stupor seemingly broken. He thought she was going to chastise him or yell or bolt again but she was calm. Not at all what he had excepted after he just chased her through the jungle. She was serene and unafraid.

“Gentle, they are pure” She instructed in a whisper. Her two small pink hands gathered up one of his large blue ones and had him open his palm, guiding it toward the glowing tuft. It floated into his hand. 

“What are these things?” He asked again, normally not one to ask nicely twice but they were so beautiful, in an alien way, Miles forgot to be annoyed about repeating himself. His ears went flat and he furrowed his brow as he pulled it closer to his face to observe. She released his hand as yellow eyes filled with wonder at it.

“Atokirina” Miles’s eyes moved from the bright little light to her as watched her pause to think of the English. Viras face scrunched and tail twitced as she thought. A few more tufts floated down onto his arms and shoulders.

“Seeds of the Tree of Life, a sign of Ewya.” 

Quaritch stood there still as a statute, if he moved he feared he might spook Vira and she’d to run off again, with the pain searing into his side he did not to chase her anymore. As he stood there more and more of the seeds kept landing on him until the only part of him not covered in them was his face. Vira seems content to sit there and watch the scene unfold, the Recom Na’vi could see she had tears in the corners of her orange eyes as she looked at him. He felt ridiculous covered in them, all the while the little pink savage was having some kind of religious experience. Utterly ridiculous. They were just seeds. Glowing, floating seeds.

“Did you mean it? That you wish to learn our way? To learn to be N'avi?” She spoke soft and looked into his eyes with such earnest it was almost painful.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, not really. He needed to learn their ways, maybe not for the pure reason Vira probably hoped for but it was the truth the he desired to learn.

“Ewya help me,” she murmured what sounded almost like a prayer and started up into his eyes. “I will teach you, Miles.” 

At her words, every single seed that landed on him all at once released themselves and floated up into the trees. His yellow eyes followed them as the bobbed away towards the tree tops.

It was beautiful and unexplainable.

--

Prologue - Next Chapter

Master List

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Side note: Vira is only 7'8" just FYI, the average height for Na'vi is 8' to 10' so she's small. Here's the height comparison chart for Vira and some other Avatar Characters! I used https://www.heightcomparison.com/

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Tag List: @bandomonia

#avatar #avatar 2 #avatar way of water #awow #way of water #miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #na'vi oc #na'vi #na'vi quaritch #recom quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #avatar quaritch #miles quaritch x oc #quaritch smut #eventual smut #slow burn #enimies to lovers #quaritch redemption arch #quaritch #quaritch x female oc #quaritch x OFC

[coco-bean-1218]

Well-Behaved Women Never Make History

Chapter One: Something In The Way

Chapter Soundtrack

Summary: Claire leaves her home and starts her journey to Camp Toccoa.

A/N: Hello, everyone!! Welcome to Chapter One of Well-Behaved Women Never Make History! I am very excited to finally start this story and share it with all of you! I hope you enjoy and feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

Warnings: Swearing, period-typical behavior

Taglist: @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike

Credits: Moodboard 1 made by @xxluckystrike Moodboard 2 made by @footprintsinthesxnd Thank you both so much!!!

June, 1942

Detroit, Michigan

10 a.m. Eastern Time

———

Detroit's Union Station was a bustling hub of wartime activity, its vast halls echoing with the hurried footsteps of soldiers and civilians alike. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the faces of families clustered around their loved ones. Amidst them stood Claire O'Connor, surrounded by an imposing fortress of luggage, her dark brown hair pulled back into victory rolls, dark red lipstick painted on her lips, her stoic expression betraying none of the apprehension swirling inside her. 

"Damn, Claire, are you planning to open a boutique down there?" Emma, her older sister, teased, one hand affectionately resting on her sister's shoulder while her eyes danced with mirth at the sight of the luggage.

Claire offered a wry smile, pushing up her glasses with a finger. "Hey, you know me, I'm always prepared," she quipped, the edge of her humor tinged with nerves. "You can never have too many pairs of underwear."

Their father, Mr. O'Connor, chuckled, adjusting his glasses with a patient smile. "War or no war, I don't think the enemy will care much for your matching luggage set."

"Ha-ha, very funny, Dad," Claire retorted, a tight smile betraying her simmering nerves. Peyton stood beside Claire, a single duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her posture composed—a sharp contrast to Claire's cluttered state.

Mrs. O'Connor, Claire and Emma's mother, clucked her tongue as she adjusted one of the smaller bags atop a mountainous suitcase. "You've got enough to last through the war and back, honey bee," she said, her voice equal parts exasperation and concern. "Remember, you're going to be a medic, not a debutante."

"I know, Mom. It's just—" Claire hesitated, biting her lip. "It feels like I'm packing up my entire world."

"Because you are," Peyton interjected softly, coming to stand beside Claire. Her own belongings were neatly consolidated into her single bag, the stark contrast between the friends' preparations mirroring their differing paths. Peyton's mom stood a few feet away, her pride battling the sorrow in her eyes.

"First time for everything, right?" Claire continued, her attempt at levity falling flat in her own ears. Her gaze shifted between the faces of her family and Peyton, trying to memorize them before the journey ahead.

"Exactly. It's an adventure, Claire," Peyton replied, reaching out to give Claire's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just think of the stories we'll have to share."

"Right," Claire forced a chuckle. "Yours will probably be publishable. Mine will be too bloody to print."

"Your sense of humor is as dark as ever," Peyton replied.

The arrival of Peyton's train sliced through the air, the shrill whistle echoing off the station walls. The machine billowed steam like a specter of change, heralding the imminent departure. Everyone's attention turned to the locomotive, its metallic body gleaming beneath the Michigan sun.

"Train for Des Moines now boarding!" the announcement cut through their conversation with the sharpness of a knife. 

"Guess that's my cue," Peyton said, her usual grace faltering just a bit. 

"Promise me you'll write?" Claire's voice was steady, but her brown eyes betrayed her anxiety. 

"Every chance I get," Peyton promised, pulling Claire into a fierce hug. "And don't go falling for any charming soldiers without telling me first."

"Who, me?" Claire managed a smirk. "Charm isn't exactly my Achilles' heel, you know that."

"I know, but stranger things have happened," Peyton said with a knowing look. "Just promise me you won't shut yourself off from the possibility of love."

"Oh, I'll keep an eye out for any dashing heroes trying to sweep me off my feet," Claire replied dryly. "But don't hold your breath."

With a final squeeze, Peyton released her friend and turned to her mother, enveloping her in a long hug before stepping back with a brave nod. 

"Go get 'em, journalist!" Claire called after her, her teasing tone belying the tightness in her chest.

Peyton turned at the steps of the train, grinning broadly. "Wait for my bylines, Claire! They'll be front page before you know it!"

As Peyton disappeared into the train, Claire watched the doors slide shut, her heart sinking with the finality of the moment. A lump formed in her throat as she waved goodbye to Peyton, her best friend whom she had known since childhood. The train let out a low rumble, lurching into motion, gradually picking up speed and pulling away from the platform.

"Godspeed, Peyton Nelson," Claire whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Nearly an hour later, the shrill whistle of Claire's train tore through the lingering silence, signaling the impending departure and severing the last tenuous threads tethering her to home. Her family clustered around her like a protective shroud, their faces etched with pride and worry.

"Here it is," her father said, his voice thick with unspoken emotions.

"Looks like it," Claire agreed, hoisting her suitcase with a grunt. Her hands trembled slightly, the weight of her decision settling on her shoulders along with the overstuffed leather.

"Train for Atlanta now boarding," the conductor called out, his voice a steady beacon amidst the clamor.

"Remember to keep your head down and help others do the same," her father said, "And look out for yourself."

"Can't make any promises," Claire quipped, "But I'll do what I can."

"Let's just hope the Army's ready for you," Mrs. O'Connor added, a twinkle in her eye that mirrored Claire's own spark of defiance. "They won't know what hit 'em!" Her embrace was tight, a desperate attempt to imprint the feeling of her daughter onto her very soul. 

"I'll write every single day until you're sick of me!" Claire promised, offering a watery smile. "And when I come back, maybe I'll have a dashing paratrooper to introduce to you. Wouldn't that be something?"

Mrs. O'Connor winked at her daughter, “A fiery girl like you rarely returns with just tales of heroism and bravery. You're bound to turn a few heads, I'm sure of it!"

Laughter bubbled up from Emma, cutting through the tension like a lifeline thrown across turbulent waters. "Oh, brother, that poor man!" her sister said, hugging her tightly.

Her dad chuckled, the lines around his eyes deepening. "Just make sure he knows how to handle a fearless woman." 

"And don't let those men step all over you," her mother added in a firm tone, "You know what I say, 'Men ain't shit,' except for your father, of course."

"You know me, I don't like toxic masculinity," Claire replied with a smirk.

As the conductor's voice reverberated through the station once more, signaling the imminent departure of Claire's train, she picked up her mountain of baggage and stepped onto the platform. Claire climbed the steps of the train but paused at the top to cast a final glance at her loved ones. "Bye! Wish me luck!" she called out.

With a deep breath that did little to steady her heart, she entered the train. Claire made her way down the narrow aisle, finding a seat by the window in the last car, where the world could unfurl before her like a map of possibilities. As the vehicle jerked forward, she pressed her palm against the glass, maintaining eye contact with her parents and Peyton's mother until the station was nothing but a speck in the distance.

She settled into the rhythm of the rails, the clack-clack of wheels turning over tracks like a metronome counting down to her new reality. The heat was oppressive air thickening in the cramped space, sticking her blouse to her back and making her glasses slide down her nose. 

As the landscape outside blurred into a collage of greens and browns, Claire pulled out "The Great Gatsby" from her bag. She immersed herself in the opulent tragedy of Gatsby's world, finding a strange comfort in the characters' doomed pursuits. "I always thought of myself as Gatsby and Noah as Daisy." she thought to herself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Hours melded together, marked only by the rhythmic sway of the train and the occasional jostle of fellow passengers. When the heat became too oppressive, she switched to Freud, his theories a stark contrast to Gatsby's opulence and glittering disillusionment. "Id, ego, and superego," she mused aloud, her voice lost in the clatter of the train. "Which one got me into this mess? Freud would have a field day with me."

As dusk began to paint the sky with strokes of burnt orange and dusky violet, Claire pulled out a sheet of paper and began a letter to her mom. Her pen hovered above the page before it skated across, detailing the mundane aspects of her journey—never hinting at the undercurrent of fear that gnawed at her insides. "Dear Mom," she wrote, "the scenery is beautiful, although it's hard to appreciate fully when you're being slowly roasted."

Her hand hesitated, hovering above the paper as memories of Noah surfaced unbidden. Claire reached into her handbag and retrieved a photograph. It showed her and Noah, side by side, innocent smiles frozen in time under the banner of their high school graduation. Their graduation gowns billowed like hopeful sails, caps thrown mid-air, smiles wide and oblivious to the future. "Oh, Noah," she whispered, tracing the outline of his face. "Always fixing things, but never saw what was broken." 

Her fingers traced the lines of his face, the awkward angle of his glasses—a mirror image of her own. She wondered where he was at this exact moment, if the sea was kind to him, or if the churn of the engine lulled him to sleep each night. "Be safe," she whispered into the fading light, her lips brushing against the cool surface of the picture. The train carried her onward, through the dusk and into a future as uncertain as the war itself.

The night stretched before her, each mile a note in a song of departure and anticipation. Claire leaned her head against the window, watching towns and fields blur by, while inside, her heart beat a staccato rhythm of longing and fear—an intricate dance of the times.

As the morning sun pierced through the curtains, bathing the train compartment in a soft golden glow, Claire stirred awake, her cheek imprinted with the pattern of the window's glass. She blinked groggily as she stood up and reached for her luggage to retrieve a fresh outfit from her suitcase. 

Stepping into the narrow hallway of the train car, Claire made her way towards the washroom at the end. The rocking motion of the train beneath her feet quickened her pace, her hand steadying on the metal railing that lined the corridor. 

She reached the washroom door and gave it a gentle push, stepping inside and locking it behind her. The tiny room was a welcome refuge from the constant movement of the train. Claire changed into her fresh clothes — a burnt orange and white striped blouse and matching orange skirt that billowed softly around her knees — and stuffed yesterday’s clothing into a laundry bag. 

As she adjusted the collar of her blouse, the train lurched unexpectedly, causing her to stumble mid-button. Catching herself on the sink, she cursed under her breath and quickly finished dressing. 

With her heart still hammering in her chest from the sudden movement, Claire took a moment to collect herself before unlocking the door and stepping back into the hallway. 

Upon reaching her seat, the conductor’s voice echoed through the car, announcing their arrival in Atlanta. Claire collected her books and the letter to her mother, tucking them into her bag next to Noah's photograph. With a hefty sigh, she hoisted her bags—one, two, three—onto her shoulders and hips, a cumbersome dance that drew snickers from a couple of soldiers nearby. Atlanta, the city humming with the war effort and Southern charm, sprawled out before her, daunting in its vastness.

The stifling heat of Georgia smothered Claire the moment she stepped off the train, a harsh welcome to the South. She maneuvered through the bustling station, dragging her excessive luggage behind her, the clicking of her heels lost in the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of countless conversations. 

The bus was already rumbling when Claire approached it, and as she climbed aboard, she felt every eye bore into her. She was a curiosity— a woman unaccompanied by a man among rows of young soldiers whose lives were set on a wartime metronome.

"Camp Toccoa," she said firmly to the bus driver, who raised an eyebrow but handed her the ticket without comment.

"Hey, doll, you boarding with all that?" one of the soldiers called out, nodding towards her luggage pile.

"Unless you see it sprouting legs and walking itself on, yes," Claire retorted, her voice edged with the wit she wielded like armor.

Another soldier piped up, "What's your story? Headed to entertain the troops?"

"Medic training," she clipped, pushing her glasses up her nose with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "I'll be patching up your sorry asses on the battlefield. Consider yourselves lucky."

Murmurs rippled through the bus as she maneuvered to an empty seat at the back, her bags wedged between her and the aisle. The curious glances didn't cease, though they became more surreptitious. Claire could feel the weight of their stares, the silent question marks punctuating the air around her. 

"Never seen a dame wanting to be in the thick of it," a soldier across the aisle muttered to his neighbor. "She's got guts, I'll give her that."

"Or she's crazy," the other replied, not unkindly.

"Both," Claire interjected before she could stop herself, eliciting a few chuckles. It was an odd sensation, this camaraderie laced with isolation. She hunkered down in her seat, pulling out her unfinished letter to her mom, and tried to resume writing, but the words seemed frivolous now, floating aimlessly on the page. Instead, she tucked the letter away, leaning her forehead against the cool window glass, allowing her thoughts to drift.

"Hey, combat medic," the same soldier ventured again after a few moments, "You got a fella waiting for you back home?"

Claire answered, staring blankly at the seat in front of her, "Nope."

The soldier whistled low. "Well, that's a damn shame. A pretty gal like you, brave enough to sign up for this mess," he said, gesturing to the bus full of soldiers. "There must be plenty of fellas fighting over you back there."

Claire chuckled bitterly. "Fighting over me? More like running in the opposite direction," she replied, a self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. 

The soldier's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "Nah, I can't believe that. A dame like you? Trust me, there ain't a fella worth his salt who wouldn't be lining up for a chance with you."

Claire sighed, her eyes fixed on the soldier's earnest expression. "Well, I guess they must have missed the memo," she retorted with a forced chuckle.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the soldier said, extending his hand towards Claire.

"Claire," she replied, shaking his hand. 

Danny had thick, dark hair and eyebrows, deep brown eyes, and a slight stubble showing he had recently shaved. He was handsome, no doubt about it.

"You said you're gonna be a combat medic, right?" Danny asked, genuine curiosity in his eyes. "At Camp Toccoa, if I heard you correctly. Ain't that where the paratroopers train?"

Claire nodded, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. We'll be jumping out of perfectly good planes."

Danny whistled, impressed. "Well, I'll be damned. I could never. I'd crash land, splattering my guts everywhere like a burst tomato."

Claire laughed, "Thanks for the visual. I'll think of that as I plummet to my death."

When the bus finally came to a halt, the driver's voice announced, "Camp Toccoa, final stop!"

Claire stood and wrestled with her suitcases once more. Danny offered to help, but she politely declined. With a determined stride, she walked down the narrow aisleway towards the steps. 

"Good luck, Miss Medic!" Danny called out.

"Yeah, you too, Dollface," she teased with a wink. With a final heave, she managed to walk down the steps of the bus into the sweltering heat. 

"Watcha thinkin', Danny?" his companion next to him asked.

Danny grinned, shaking his head, “Nothin’ much," he replied, his gaze set on Claire as she stood outside the entrance to the camp.

The camp sprawled before Claire, a collection of low-lying buildings nestled amidst the dense Georgia forest. Stepping onto the dirt road, she was greeted by the stark white letters on the wooden sign: 'Camp Toccoa.'

She stood there, alone now, the dust settling around her feet. Before her lay a path lined with uncertainty, with courage demanded and comfort stripped away. To enter meant embracing her choice fully, to become part of something far greater than herself. 

---

#yes I did use Stephen Sanchez as a face claim #and what about it? #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers oc #band of brothers x ofc #my first oc story #my oc #easy company #hbo war #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant #chuck grant x ofc

[umbralsound-xiv]

We had wandered in Yanxia for some considerable time, now. It is a beautiful land with kind people, and the sights to behold are beyond my imagining. I had only even seen much of them in books.

To see them with my own eyes... It defied words.

"...I have enjoyed our walks together, here in the East. Even if we do not manage to see everything... Suppose, it is always an excuse to return, one sun?" Eir glances to her, a quick smile and a lofted brow given in her direction. As ever, his hand gently laces around her own, attention slowly caught by the crystals ahead. "...Not that we need so much of an excuse..."

Sayuri cast a glance his way, offering a small smile with a nod while her fingers intertwined with his. "That we want to is enough of a reason."

"That we want to... And also, to visit your Mother, amongst others." He wanders a little further, pausing. "...This is..." His eyes slowly trace down the mountainside. "---I have read about this place!"

".. Well, she has my address now.. chances are she'd come to us if we didn't go to them. I doubt she's going to let me slip through her fingers anytime soon." She snickered, giving his hand a light squeeze as she peered into the valley. ".. Valley of the Fallen Rainbow."

Eir closes in on the edge of the ridge, gazing over in wonder. "...It is... Beautiful." He quietly gasps, awestruck as he gives her hand a small squeeze. "...And suppose so. It will be nice to see them, either way."

“.. I might prefer to keep them here.. They may have some.. Opinions, about things in Eorzea.. Masashi especially.” She shook her head lightly, turning it to look up at him. “.. It is beautiful, yes.”

"...They can have their opinions, things are done different in most every land i have set foot in." His gaze catches her, smiling softly. "...It is. As though a rainbow fell from the sky and pooled into water. I will have to read why... I am curious." He considers a little quietly. "...I can see Namazu in the water. They... Remind me of home, strangely enough."

I missed it a little. My room, at the company house. The pillows, the burble of the bathtub, all other little things. I will be glad to see it again, but that does not mean it need be any time soon.

Sayuri nodded briefly. “I mostly meant about the company we keep back home, rather than the land itself.” Her head leans over to bump against his shoulder, a small smile on her lips. “.. I’m not sure why. Initially I assumed it was the sun reflecting the crystals onto the water but.. I don’t truly know.” Her gaze moved onto the Namazu, ears flickering. “.. The Namazu back at the house is.. More pleasant than these.”

"...When i find out, i will tell you." His head nudges back against hers. "...And suppose. Mercenary sorts can be a diverse people, for good or ill. I wager you are missed." He gives a small hum, briefly turning his head to kiss her on the cheek. "...There is much of the East i prefer to Eorzea. As well as they can cook and keep the kitchen organised, the fruit here is far better. I think i will purchase a melon for my Namesday, before we leave."

".. I'm just.. hoping everything is fine, back home.." Sayuri's ears lowered a touch, before she shook her head. ".. I'm sure it's fine." She was swift to add, before turning her attention to Eir. She flashes a smile at the cheek kiss, lightly resting her head against his shoulder. ".. I-.. don't think I have asked.. When -is- your Namesday?"

"...It will be. I am sure. We would have known... Someone would have told us, hm?" His hand comfortingly combs through her hair, settling at her back. "...The first sun of next moon. Less than a sennight... So the fruit should last, i should think. When is..." He halts, words hovering as he gives a small frown. "...When... Do you celebrate your own?"

...I know she does not know the sun she was born. But surely, the passing of cycles must be noted, somehow...?

...I have made it a point to celebrate each one. B’nhara told me it was important, no matter how long i lived... Each cycle should be given thanks. Suppose this was only reinforced when Lilya was born... And more so, for her passing.

I have ensured i do so, each and every time it arrives... Whether i felt like doing so, or not.

".. You're probably right." She murmured, resting her head against him more fully as his fingers combed through her hair. ".. Oh--.." She paused, peering up at him. "..I.. don't."

His lips curl into a small frown, the hand at her back shifting over to pull her into a lopsided embrace, as to offer comfort. "...I should like to. Sometime. If... You are willing. We can always choose a sun of your own wanting for celebrations. It need not be a grand affair."

Sayuri draped an arm around his back, raising her free hand up to his face as she sought to prod a finger against the downward turned corner of his mouth to nudge it up. ".. I don't know my own age, I don't know my Namesday.. Neither of it bothers me particularly much." She flashes a small, reassuring smile.

His lips move to peck at her fingertip, a fainter smile taking place of the frown. "...Even if you do not know... Celebrating another cycle of life is..." He trails, slowly rolling a shoulder. "...I always made sure to celebrate. Even in small, little ways. Reading a chapter of my favourite book. Or braiding something into my hair. Life is... Precious. And for each cycle we live... I think it a nice gesture to celebrate each milestone... Even when i have had so many as i have..."

Sayuri's hand shifted lightly after the peck upon her fingertip, seeking to gently stroke his cheek before letting her hand drop down. ".. It does sound nice, just do something small." She smiled. ".. I'll consider picking a day."

The suggestion is recieved warmly, hand retreating to find her own once again. "We can do all kinds of things. Steal away a sun together in some pleasant place. Watch the sunset..." A smile quirks. "...Eat a persimmon."

Sayuri's lips drew into a thin line, her cheeks flaring up and her head turning away with a huff. ".. I knew I should've been jealous of that damn persimmon.." She glanced his way, head still turned... a small smirk creeping onto her lips as she gave his hand a small squeeze.

He gives a teasing grin, leaning down to peck her lips. "...Well, now you need not be, at the very least." He muses, gazing over the valley, and briefly behind him, to the imposing gate adorned in red. The squeeze is returned to her in kind, then. "...Do you still want to go?" He asks, quietly. "...I know it is not far."

Sayuri turned her head back to him, meeting his lips with her own. She spent a moment in silence, despite his question - ears twitching and lowering before her head turned to gaze towards the gate, exhaling a long breath. ".. I know I should." She finally spoke, giving his hand a light squeeze. ".. But I can't help but to.. feel hesitation.."

"...I know. And we need not, if you do not want to. If you do not feel... Ready to. But i am here, no matter your choice." His gaze settles with her own, gently tracing his thumb over the back of her hand. "...I am here."

".. To have you with me is.. incredibly comforting." She managed a brighter smile, squeezing his hand. ".. I want to."

"...Then we will go." He responds, softly. "Whenever you are ready to go, we will. And we can stay as long or as little as you need."

"My last visit was.. not long. It.. may be best to get it over with.."

"...We can speak of sweeter things. Kinder memories. The reason for your parting need not be the only memory you hold, here."

Sayuri managed a small smile, nodding.

"...I will be glad to listen to all of them. Every memory." The hand squeezes her own once again, looking over his shoulder once more to the reddened structure. "...Tell me whilst we walk. What is your happiest memory, there?"

Sayuri paused, gaze redirecting out of the valley. ".. Yasu offering to adopt me." She murmured quietly. ".. I had awoken from a nightmare and stayed in my quarters rather than visiting Yasu's, as.. I did every morning. She used to play music that I found very soothing.." She smiled, squeezing his hand. ".. Finding me in a less than great state.. She brought me out to the gardens we had to clear my head.. and told me she loved me." She paused. ".. It's the first memory I have of anyone ever saying such a thing to me."

"...A sweet memory. And one i am glad you have shared with me. I can tell that she is a kind woman, from the brief time we spent together. I am glad she showed such kindness to you... That you became the woman you are. The first time you were told you were loved... And most assuredly, not the last." Another gentle squeeze of his hand as his fingers laced with her own, a gesture to walk onwards should she be ready to depart. "...What of your Father? Tell me a memory of him."

“.. She is. She’s hard to anger, but when you have managed to.. It’s not a pretty sight.” She gave a small smile and returned a squeeze. A brief silence lingered as she landed in thought, slowly beginning to move in the direction of the gates. “.. When I first met him.” Her tone lowered slightly, her grip of him tightening faintly - a sign that the memory didn’t bring only nice things. “.. I was incredibly scared of him, coming into the office to collect me.. Looking stern, and indifferent.. Yet when we were out of there, and out of sight.. He freed me from my cuffs, and it.. was as if he was a completely other person. Soft, gentle.. Incredibly kind.”

"...Perhaps his stern visage was more to do with the circumstances? Though, i can imagine, being the girl you were in such a situation, it was unlikely you would have assumed kindness at the first. I am glad he was gentle. The world... Needs more gentle people. As difficult as it is to remain so." A small moment passes, as he walks, words tucked beneath a hint of a frown all his own. "...I have long been chastised for my softer mannerisms. And... Praised on occasion, too."

Chastised, most often. Sayuri saw the brunt of it with Shio, who was often quick to make note of my ineptitude on the frontlines. But it had begun long before there.

In Golmore, when i did not wish to be alone. When my misery was writ plain on my face. Male Viera are not supposed to be gentle. We are supposed to be protectors. We are supposed to cut down any we see without hesitation... And i could not.

I... Know i am not strong. Be it physically or emotionally.

But i am gentle. Despite all my cycles of hardship... I do not think i could be anything else.

".. I asked him about it, when I was a little older.. He spoke of it as if wearing a mask, to hide his disgust.. Because he was certain they wouldn't let him have me if they knew his true thoughts on the trade.. Which I can understand. Looking back at it, even then he was much more gentle with me. Didn't push me, or grab me by my collar to throw me.. Not like they would have." She gazed upon him, tilting her head. ".. Chastised?" She lofted a brow. ".. I like that you're gentle, there's no shame in that. If anything.. I envy it."

"...Monsters..." Eir murmurs, at the mention of her torment, hand holding her own that bit tighter. "...I am... Glad you like it. Nigh forty cycles in the military did not make me any less soft. It was a miracle i lasted as long as i did." He walks a little further, gazing down to her. "...You are gentle when it matters, Sayuri. That is the most important thing."

Sayuri returned a squeeze, a soft exhale leaving her. ".. I'm glad you did, it allowed for me to meet you." She flaunted a smile. ".. Nowhere near as much as I would've liked. As you know.. I am quick to.. resort to violence. My aether is.. just a means of destruction.. But with you.. I can be gentle."

"...Were you any different than you are... Things may not be as they are, now. I do not look upon you and see only violence. I see someone who wants to protect those dearest to her. You are quick to defend, because you want to keep the peace." His gaze moves to the archway as they walked together. "...It is not -just- a means of destruction. Do you know how nice it feels to be close to you?"

".. That's a nice way of putting it." Sayuri smiled weakly, shaking her head. ".. Mostly people have shown pain and discomfort for being close to me, so I'd imagine not particularly nice.. Other than to you."

"Most people do not appreciate the cold. Most people here, at least, have not lived in Thavnair for a greater part of their lives." Glancing down to her, he furnishes her with a warm smile. "...Sleeping beside you is like a gentle spring breeze. Cool, and calm, and pleasant. Your kisses, like freshly fallen snowflakes. Any other person be near, and i would never know. But with you... I do. Being divested of my sight for those moons had me appreciate it even more greatly... Because every touch you gave... Could never have been anyone else."

Sayuri peered up at him, brows a little furrowed yet a smile resides on her lips. She shook her head and leaned it over to bump it against his shoulder. “.. And you say you’re not good with words.” She snickered.

"I... I am not..." Eir murmured, huffing quietly as he continued on. "...But what i said is true. Every word. And those are just the sweeter things." Eir does not elaborate, as the ruins begin to pull into view. His hand slowly curls around her own, gazing ahead. "..."

Sayuri gave a small smile, snickering. Her joy does however seem to fade a touch as they draw closer, her grip of his hand tightening slightly as she enters a temporary silence - gazing upon Monzen as it comes into view.

"...This is... Monzen?" Eir asks, drawing a little closer. "...Where you lived?" He asks, almost rhetorically as he proceeds further along the path. "...I have heard tales of it. Occasional stories. What small things i can remember from Shio's words..."

...I know it was once a grand place full of elaborate houses. Where people walked and laughed in the street. It was full of life, and laughter, and...

Then... Garlemald came.

".. Yes." Sayuri mumbled, her head lowering and ears flattening. She gripped his hand much more firmly, the chill of her hand increasing a tiny bit.

"...It is okay." Eir soothes, even as he looks ahead. Even with the buildings in tact, the surrounding area was all too quiet, only the rattle of patrolling metal. "...We need not go further should you wish. But i am here. I am here, with you... And i will follow."

Sayuri gripped his hand more firmly. ".. I have to." Her voice was quiet, tone brimming with pain as she forced herself to continue walking.

Eir follows along silently. Curiosity more than anything takes his features, looking over the walls, the rooftops... All abandoned, without resident. But that expression soon falls as they round the corner, rubble and ruin pulling into view. An audiable gasp leaves his lips, hand firmly holding hers, as he slowly traces his thumb over her icy skin for comfort. "...I am sorry." He whispers, looking ahead.

Sayuri brought herself closer to Eir, her ears flattened against her skull and sorrow taking to her features as he chill only increases, to the very point slight specks of ice creeps along her arms. Eyes shut and lips pinned into a line, she lingered in a nigh eerie silence as her grasp of him only tightened.

Eir stares ahead, arms curled around her, pulling her into a firm embrace. But he does not look away. Guilt swells in his throat. He had never been to Monzen, no. But he had seen places just as grand reduced to much the same by the hands of his companions. The cold bites into him, but he does not retreat. He only holds her closer, keeping his quiet in some silent comfort towards her.

...I have seen this before. Different places. Different people. I have seen the ruin Garlemald brings... And i have been part of it.

It reminded me of Dalmasca more than any of them. My first home. My first... Real home. I remember seeing familiar landmarks amongst the rubble when we were sent there to keep the peace.

Words do not suffice for the grief it brought me.

Sayuri drapes her arms around him in return and buries her face into his chest, a shaky breath being drawn. Her body occasionally twitches, as if an unheard sob is trying to make itself known. No sound truly leaves her, and she only presses her face into him more firmly.

"...Shhh.... Shh..." Eir's voice was as gentle as a comfort as it could be, resting his head atop hers, slowly drawing a hand over her ear. "...I am with you. I am here. Take as long as you need, love." His own eyes close as he settles his head atop hers, lingering in the quiet for a long, long moment. "...He would be proud to see the woman you have become, Sayuri."

Sayuri's ear flickers weakly beneath his touch, her face only burying itself further against him. She manages a weak shake of her head, arms tightening around him.

A frown is hidden into the crown of her hair, a small kiss given to her snowy locks. "...He would. You know this, even if you do not believe it." He rubs comfortingly at her shoulder with another faint hush. "...You are strong. So strong. You use that strength to protect, Sayuri... Not to terrorize."

".. But I have.." She mumbled, raising her head to gaze up at him with tears brimming in her eyes. ".. I sullied his blade by following orders given by a man so intent to tear down my being.." She frowned, and lowered her gaze. ".. I'm not worthy of his pride, for everything I have done..."

I wished only that i could have known what to say.

How to comfort her.

But i could not. I could only hold her whilst she wept.

"You did what you had to to survive, Sayuri." His hand reaches to slowly brush the tears from her eyes, furnishing her forehead with a kiss. "...Had you have done anything differently. Anything less, and you would not... Be here, perhaps. And then, what good would that be? He wanted you to live, Sayuri. Your path was more difficult than anyone should have to face, and it could have made you so cruel to the world." His hand slowly combs through her hair again, his silver gaze settled on her own. "...And all you want is to be gentle."

Sayuri tightened her embrace as he brushed her tears away, her head leaning in a little further as his lips met her forehead. Her frown deepened, her shoulders slouching. ".. I caused this." She whispered, her voice breaking mid-way through. "..  Had I not.. involved myself in a situation.. and killed a soldier.. they wouldn't have attacked us.." A harsh swallow followed, guilt written on her features. ".. What I want, and what I am.. are incredibly different.."

"...Sayuri..." His voice trails, and is quiet for a long moment before he speaks again. But his hold of her does not move an ilm, instead nudging his head against hers in their own way of unspoken affection. "...For a whole place to be razed for a single death... Even Garlemald had their limits. There must have been another reason. There must have been more to it, Sayuri. And even if it was... How could you have predicted this would happen? It is not your fault. It has never been your fault. Who you are is the woman i love, Sayuri. Despite everything you have had to endure... Despite the cruelty you have seen... You have so much kindness. Even if you are quick to draw your weapons... I have never known you to do it out of a love of violence." His silver gaze rests on her own, the hand that now cupped her cheek brushing away her tears with his thumb. "...I promise i will bring you a softer life. A kinder life. I swear it." Even as his hushed words of comfort were spoken, tears well in his own, quietly fighting them back.

I will never stop her from fighting if it is what she wants. But i will be here... I will always be here. Here with gentle words and peaceful moments for her to live for.

I will be here, with kindness in heaps and spades.

...I will try to be the person she deserves.

“.. All of Monzen.. Perhaps not. But my household..? The people I loved?” Sayuri’s head hung down, despite pressing into his. “.. It was my fault. Kazan, Emiko.. They-.. they died.. because of me..” A choked sob finally managed to break through, despite Sayuri’s every attempt to hold it back. Her body trembles in his embrace as a second sob is quick to follow - tears fleeing down her cheeks anew. She seems to struggle to form any further words, as her head dips into his palm and she finally allows herself to sob a little more freely - clinging herself to him for desperate comfort.

He can only watch as she crumbles, helpless to do anything more besides hold her against him, fingers combing through her hair to hold her close against him. "You could not have known your actions would cause this, Sayuri. You could not have known..." He holds her as she sobs, making no sound of his own as a tear rolls down his cheek. "...Such guilt and grief. I... I do not know that i can help, save for telling you what i have told you a thousand times. But i am here, Sayuri. You need not endure it alone."

".. It-.. it helps.." Sayuri managed with a faint sniffle, her head pressing against him more firmly. ".. M-more than you.. know.." She swallows harshly and tightens her embrace of him a little further. Her sobbing comes to an abrupt halt as her ears suddenly twitch sharply, a not so distant sound akin to a myriad of footsteps emerging from the ruins the same direction they had come from. Sayuri notably tenses up, her head lifting ever so slightly.

"...I am glad to be some comfort to you..." He murmurs, gently cradling her as she wept. But when it abruptly stops, his gaze flicks to hers, concern in his features. "...Sayuri?"

“.. Footstep–..”

It was there that the peace ended. We were ambushed. That... Bastard, and a handful of others. He wanted her dead.

He... He wanted to kill her. It... All happened so fast.

The sound of metal and ice. I could only run circles around the others to elude them, but they kept me from her, for all i could have done anyway. And then...

I... I remember her standing over him. She was standing. Covered in blood both hers and anothers, but she stood. And he fell.

I remember the blood pooling. I remember the panic slowly etching onto his face for his final expression. The ruin around us, the race of my heart smothered everything else. I could smell smoke, i was certain...I... I could...

...

I took her and ran until i could no longer catch my breath.

I could not tell her why. I... I was afraid. The threat had passed, she had seen to it herself, but i... I was so afraid. What if there are others? What if there are more? What if people come looking? I cannot protect her... I cannot protect her, but i...

What good is being gentle if i cannot protect those i love? She at least has the capacity for both.

...

We were safe. She told me this. Told me we were okay.

We were safe. We were. I could feel how cold she was. She was okay.

She wrapped her shirt around my bleeding hand. But i was okay. We were okay. We were. She...

Because of her, we would be okay.

#Muse: [Eir] #Duet: [Winter Moon] #Chapter: [Eastern Echoes] #FFXIV #IC #Screenshot #Writing #Snippet

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 4

1618 words

CW: conditioning

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Lark was returned to bed and placed under 24-hour observation by a rotation of Watchmen. Becca begrudgingly thanked Tao for finding Lark before the boy got lost in the woods – though she made sure to point out that it was dumb luck. She softened, however, when she watched how tenderly Tao tucked Lark back into bed.

Then Tao went to see Marina Dolidze.

It was late in the evening, but when he approached the house where she and a handful of other women lived the lights were still on – low crank-lanterns and candles, kept away from the curtained windows. He knocked, and one of the residents opened the door. When he said he was looking for Marina, she smiled smugly, called up the stairs for the other woman, and disappeared as soon as Marina joined them.

“Uh, hi, Tao!” Marina tucked her long black hair behind her ear as she stood in the doorway. She was a curvy eastern European woman in her late forties, with… eyes the color of late-season honey. “What can I do for you?”

Tao did his best to remain calm – he was about to ask her something pretty awful and invasive, from her point of view.

“I have a huge favor to ask you,” he said, “It’s a bit personal.”

“Oh?” her eyes widened a little bit.

“Do you have any photos of your son, that I could see?” Tao asked softly.

“Oh, of course!” her apprehension abated, and she smiled and waved him forward, “Come inside!”

A bit thrown by how easily, even eagerly, she’d accepted his request, Tao followed her in. This house was an actual home, and felt comforting to be in; the living room had an overstuffed couch and armchairs covered in afghans and throw pillows, the coffee table bore books and magazines, and when she led him into the kitchen the fridge was covered in photos held up by novelty magnets.

“Take a seat, let me just…” she bent over and started plucking photos off the fridge while Tao sat at the kitchen table. She joined him a moment later, neatening the little stack she’d collected and scooting her chair closer to his.

“Okay, here he is with his friends, that’s Karlo in the middle,” she held up the first photo in the candlelight and pointed to one of the three boys pictured, “This was from when they went bowling, on his thirteenth birthday.”

Tao could only half-listen to the photo’s backstory as he stared. The boy pictured was undoubtedly Lark – younger, chubbier, and full of joy as he posed with his two friends in front of a neon-lit bowling lane.

“Karlo,” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Marina set down the bowling alley photo in front of him and picked up the next one.

“Oh, this one’s my favorite. A real photographer took this one, at one of his soccer games.”

Tween Lark – Karlo – was frozen in a bright and crisp action shot, about to kick a soccer ball.

“Yeah, that one’s really great,” Tao said, his words feeling empty.

“This one…” she held up the next, “This one is from after the war started, but we still found time to take pictures, I guess.”

It was Karlo, maybe fifteen, and an older man, each holding up a fish. Karlo looked a bit more world-weary here, but still had a shining smile.

“Is that his father?” asked Tao, pointing to the man in the picture.

“No, no,” Marina waved a hand, “That’s our neighbor. Karlo’s father was never involved in his life.” Their eyes met for a moment before Marina looked away, flushing. “Anyway…”

They worked their way through the remaining few photos, Tao finding himself genuinely eager to see them all. They fell silent for a while when they reached the end, staring at a Polaroid of Karlo and Marina hugging and grinning behind a candle-lit birthday cake. His eighteenth.

“It was just a few months after that, when…” Marina trailed off. She didn’t need to elaborate – it was a story Tao had heard countless times before. The Commander’s Military had arrived. They’d taken Marina’s town, and the only options were to submit, flee or die. Capture was nigh unheard of. Karlo was a strange exception.

“Did you, um,” Marina cleared her throat, “Did you find a body?”

Tao looked up sharply. He'd been so preoccupied with confirming his theory that he hadn’t thought of a cover story – and here she was, handing one to him.

“Uh, yeah, but… It’s not him.” He pressed the photo back into her hands. “But you shouldn’t give up hope, he might still be…”

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t need to say that. I know that…” she stared down at photos scattered across the table, “I’ve accepted that he’s gone.”

Tao froze. I could tell her. I could tell her right now. But those thoughts were interrupted by the memory of Lark’s face, how terrified he’d been at the idea of seeing his mother. It had driven him into a panic attack and fainting spell, for crying out loud. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“Well, I’m… I’m sorry I bothered you over nothing,” Tao said, “I hope I didn’t dredge up anything painful.”

“No, no!” she smiled at him, “I really enjoyed looking through these. I mean, I see them every day, but it’s rare that I really stop and remember, you know? So… Thank you. I really… I really enjoyed this.” Her eyes glistened as she gazed at him.

Tao nodded stiffly.

“It’s getting late, I, uh…”

“Do you want to stay for coffee?” Marina asked quickly, “I promise I have better than what’s served in the cookhouse.”

“Um…” Tao was anxious to get back to Lark – Karlo. He’d slept all day, he might be awake now. “Raincheck?”

Marina nodded. “Sure!”

She walked him to the door, but as he opened it she caught his arm.

“Y’know, Joshua,” she said softly, “If you ever want to talk about your family… I’d love to hear about them.”

“Oh,” he blinked at her, “Thanks, Marina. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

As he walked down the driveway and reached the road he heard excited women’s voices coming from the house. Weird. Anyway. He made his way by memory through the dark to Faye’s.

He found Becca sitting at the table in the intake room, hunched over a notebook and scratching away with a pencil. She didn’t look up at him.

“So did you find out?” She already knew what he’d gone to confirm.

“Yeah,” Tao replied, “His name is Karlo. Marina Dolidze is his mom.”

“Did you tell her?”

“No.”

She finally looked up at him.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t I tell you how freaked out he got? She’d want to see him ASAP, and I don’t know what that would do to him.”

“Oh, so now you’re worried about his mental state?” Becca accused.

“Yeah, I am now,” Tao admitted, “I fucked up before, and I’m sorry. I’m trying not to fuck up again.”

“Well,” Becca fiddled with the edge of her notebook page, “I’m… writing… an announcement.”

Tao narrowed his eyes.

“That sounds ominous.”

“I talked to Lark again, and he’s convinced me. That there’s at least a chance that we might be in danger from keeping him here.”

“Becca…”

“So we need to put it to a vote. The community needs to decide whether or not we take on that risk.”

“Becca, we can’t give him back!”

She stared at him evenly.

“If that’s what the community decides, then we do.”

“Are you even going to tell them that he’s Marina’s son?”

“I’ll tell them that he’s one of ours, but no more. I don’t want personal feelings to cloud the decision too much.”

“Becca!”

“You’re acting like this is a risk, Tao, but it’s not. They’ll vote to keep him, I know they will.”

“And if they don’t?”

She sighed.

“Then we start negotiating.”

Tao fumed.

“I want to talk to him.”

“Lark?”

“Karlo.”

“What for?”

“He deserves to know that his mother is safe.”

“That’s only going to make him want to leave more, he thinks he’s putting us in danger.”

“He deserves to know.”

“Fine,” she closed her notebook and stood, “But if I tell you to back off, you back off.”

They went upstairs to Karlo’s room, and dismissed the Watchman who had been sitting at his bedside. Becca reluctantly hung back by the door while Tao sat. Karlo appeared to be asleep, his brow slightly pinched.

“Karlo?” Tao reached out and lightly rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Karlo jerked awake and looked around wildly, mumbling something incoherent.

“Hey, hey,” Tao rubbed his shoulder, “You’re okay.”

Karlo’s eyes snapped to where Tao was touching him, then traveled up Tao’s arm to his face. He seemed far less feverish now, and his eyes were wide and bright. Wary. Observant.

“Hey,” Tao said again, “I…” Fuck, did I ever tell the kid my name? “I’m… Tao. And you’re Karlo, right?”

Karlo’s eyes got wider, somehow, the dark gold shimmering with fear.

“My name is Lark.”

Tao took a moment, and decided not to push it.

“Is Marina Dolidze your mom? Because, she’s here. I mean, not here-here,” he said, when Karlo started to tremble, “But she lives in this community. She’s safe. And she really misses you.”

Karlo was breathing quickly now. Tao heard the floorboards creak behind him as Becca took a warning step forward. Karlo’s eyes darted between her and Tao, before he took a deeper breath, clenched his fist and set his jaw.

“My name is Lark,” he stared Tao dead in the eye, “And the Commander is my only family.”

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps, @whump-em

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #pet whump #this death that i chose #cw conditioning

[sailor-aviator]

Jake "Hangman" Seresin Series

Hi! Here is a list of the series I'm writing for Jake "Hangman" Seresin! Each series has multiple chapters and you can find their brief summaries underneath the titles! If you would like to read more you can head on over to my Masterlist! If you enjoy my writing, consider buying me a ko-fi!

Masterlist

Don't Hang'em Til Noon (Complete)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger posse of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you? (Western AU)

Hanging By a Moment (Incomplete, Ongoing)

Taking place directly after the events of "Don't Hang'em Til Noon," this series follows more of Jake and Scout as they traverse life in the New Mexico territories. A drought has hit the town of Maverick, resulting in that year's crops dying. With little food to go around, the Dagger Posse must turn to unsavory means in order to provide for their friends and family. Additionally, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and your brother, Benjamin, have established rights to a gold mine that's now drawing in more and more unsavory characters. Will you have what it takes to survive the growing danger?

Meet Me at the Sea (Complete)

Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you. (Mermaid!Siren!AU)

Fool's Fare (Incomplete, Ongoing)

Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it. (Pirate!AU)

Two Birds (Incomplete, Ongoing)

Growing up in the midwest meant that you weren't exposed to many of the dangers of the world, and it also meant that you missed out on some of what life had to offer. Taking a leap, you move to New York City with a few personal belongings and the little money you have left in your savings. You become good friends with your roommate and, by extension, the people at the club she works at. However, it isn't long until you catch the eye of not one, but two mafia bosses that rule the city with an iron grip. Will you stay out of their clutches, or will you give in and become another pawn in their wicked games? (Mafia!AU)

Road to Perdition (Coming Soon)

The Great Depression wasn't called a depression for nothing. Jobs were scarce, and the price of food and other necessities were rising higher and higher with each passing day. What little money you were able to make went straight to the bank and out of reach from your booze-swilling lech of a brother. It's on one such run that you come face to face with members of the infamous Dagger Gang; a group of, admittedly handsome, men who steal from the banks to hand it back out to the poor. You want nothing to do with them, but that blond-headed devil might just have something to say to the contrary. (1930s!Mobster!AU)

By Its Cover (Incomplete, Ongoing)

The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Fortune & Glory (Coming Soon)

Jake Seresin was a well respected archeologist in the field, colleagues and strangers coming from far and wide to seek his expertise on various subjects. However, when an old friend barges into his lecture rambling on about the ten plagues and the Nazis, Jake finds himself thrust into an adventure he's not sure he's necessarily equipped for. He doesn't know much of anything when it comes to pre-Christian artifacts...but he knows someone who does. Will Jake swallow his pride and ask for her help, or will he try to go this one alone? (Indiana Jones!AU)

The Yawning Grave (Coming Soon)

You had always loved the stories your grandfather had told you about the "cunning folk," as he called them. You dreamed of a world beyond our own, but as you grew older, those stories faded into memory. Now, you're freshly graduated from college and on a trip to Scotland with your best friends. What you don't expect, however, is to gain the attention of a mysterious man or the wrath of the woman seemingly with him. You especially don't expect to find yourself in the middle of one of the old stories your grandfather had told you - one where you end up in a world that's not your own and with very few ways out. (Fairy!AU)

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun maverick #dhtn #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #top gun hangman #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin smut #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake seresin smut #hangman top gun #hangman seresin #hangman imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #jake seresin imagine #hangman #mmats #ff #don't hang'em til noon #fool's fare #meet me at the sea #masterlist #two birds #tb #bic #by its cover

[greenapricot]

Title: The Names of All the Wind - Chapter 3 Author: greenapricot Fandom: Lewis Characters: Robbie Lewis, James Hathaway, Laura Hobson Pairing: James Hathaway/Robbie Lewis Rating: Gen Word count: 2737 Chapter: 3 of 7 Warnings: None

As Robbie turns down a narrow street that leads away from the flow of pedestrians heading to the castle, the indistinct murmur of music he first heard a few streets back solidifies into a melody; still faint but even more intriguing than those first few scattered notes. The streets are so narrow in this part of town that backs up against the mediaeval city wall the dark wood roof overhangs of the buildings almost touch overhead, distorting sound in the narrow spaces as it echoes off stone walls and around corners, obscuring the direction the music is coming from.

Looking up, there is only a thin stretch of blue sky, with glimpses of the eastern mountain peaks like an even higher wall rising up above the rooftops. Robbbie rounds another corner and the music grows a bit louder; it is undoubtedly strings of some sort. No, a guitar. But not the way he’s used to hearing the guitar played. A haunting melody, though haunting isn’t quite the right word. Ethereal maybe? And strangely compelling. Robbie keeps walking, following the music as it winds its way from one street to the next, until it’s been a couple of turns since he’s seen another person.

He stops for a moment, spinning slowly in a circle as he listens. It strikes him that, in all likelihood, this entire street looks the same now as it did five hundred years ago, six hundred even. If it weren’t for someone’s laundry hanging on a line strung between two buildings above him (and the brightly coloured plastic clothespins) he could very well have been transported back in time.

The Names of All the Wind - Chapter 3 on Ao3

#itv lewis #inspector lewis #robbie lewis #james hathaway #lewis fic #ao3roulette2023 #my fic

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Two

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One

CHAPTER TWO - REWRITE THIS PAIN WE OWN

Aegon grapples with the news of the betrothal. Alicent has a talk with Viserys, and Larys decides to finally step in as a brother. Allegedly.

The cloisters were some of the oldest parts of the Red Keep. They spanned the distance between the high towers of the Hand and Maester, then down along the edge of the main courtyard. Most ignored the courtyard in favor of the Godswood, or the great gardens further down near the cliff edge. This was an overgrown place, where Helaena delighted, once upon a time, in digging up fat pill bugs from the dirt, or where Aemond cried after being stung by a bee from the hive towards the eastern wall; a hidden place, ignored and forgotten by the wisteria and roses that crept along the arches, unkempt and wild and hidden even in the middle of what made the Keep - and the kingdom - turn.

Aegon’s heartbeat was thundering in his ears, and their footsteps echoed off the stone walls of the staircase as he focused on putting as much distance between him and everything in that room as possible. A headache pulsed in time with his frantic heart behind his eyes, and he could taste the acrid, burning bile in the back of his throat.

Betrothed.

The cold, dainty fingers in his damp, feverish hand gripped harder as they burst through the dripping, fragrant purple wisteria draped over the many arches, and out the bright morning sun that streamed into the garden.

“Aegon?” Abby’s voice was normally a sweetly soft or excitedly curious tone. Now, it cut through the pounding rush of blood in his ears with the way it shook with uncertainty and concern.

He abruptly let go of her hand and crashed through the flower beds instead of following the stone path that the moss had all but consumed. Buzzing filled his ears, and he fell to his knees beside a red berry bush and promptly heaved out the contents of his stomach. His world narrowed down to the raw tearing inside his throat, the painful clench of his insides, his whole body jerking with the motion as the mess spattered and soaked into the soft soil.

The ravens that called the great, weeping cherry tree home burst into the air with a litany of shrieks, clearly disgusted by the display before them.

Aren’t we all? he thought, fingers plunging into the sun warmed soil while his body decided it needed a break. Aegon gasped, dizzy and unable to catch his breath as panic fought to settle in his chest. The clamminess had not started yet. A good sign. He did not think he could withstand the onslaught of nerves that burst beneath his hangover.

“Aegon? Are you alright?” she asked, still in that gentle, worried tone. His mother sounded that way once upon a time, and with his eyes closed, Aegon could almost imagine it was his mother’s voice full of concern. It was not the voice of Alicent Hightower, however, but Abby and the worry that she hid behind her constant, ever present smile.

Except for years back, when her ocean blue eyes had gone dark and her little mouth went flat. Back then when her world burst into flames, he tried to save her. The girl he’d wrenched from the depths of grief had come back too bright, too smiling, too worried for everyone else but herself. Too prepared to burn herself out for everyone else while she froze.

He could only give her a resounding groan in response, because, well, it was exactly how he felt. He tensed, waiting to hear her footsteps through the garden to him, for it was something she would do: make sure he was alright, run a cool hand over his burning skin as she’d done for as long as he could remember. Shame burned his cheeks. He did not want her to see him like this. He hated it, and yet, here they were.

She’d have to get used to it, won’t she? Miserable, disgusting lech that you are.

Aegon chanced a glance over through damp tendrils of hair in his eyes, and saw her slippered feet and the swish of her blue skirt move away towards the willow and fountain that anchored the west end of the garden. He exhaled slowly, relief easing the knot in his chest while he watched the blue fabric finally vanish behind a bush with fat, pink and blue flowers. Perhaps she’d go drown herself in the fountain like a girl from a song to avoid this.

This, the thing he’d wanted since he was a boy and now could not run from faster.

Betrothal.

Marriage.

Aegon carefully lay down beside the bush, arm flung out and hair sticking to the dampness of his forehead. He was never awake this early, when the sun had barely crested over the walls. His throat burned and his stomach ached, chest too tight, and if he stood, he’d have to face her and it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He wanted to face her with a straight spine, sword at his side, a hand extended. My lady, he’d say, and her cherubic cheeks with her freckles would blush as red as her beautiful curls. Will you take me as your husband? He’d ask and show her how much he wanted her, instead of being ordered to. Her heart shaped mouth would part in surprise, her doll-like features bright with joy. Her fingers would slip into his, cold to his hot and he’d wrap her up and keep her warm. Warm and smiling and happy until they were old and gray and crumbling into dust.

Gods, he’d be so good to her.

Instead, she was alone over there and he was alone over here, dizzy and smelling of wine and vomit with a bite mark from one of the women he’d fucked either last night or mayhaps it had been in the early hours of this morning, right on his thigh from a less than stellar servicing.

The names of the others his mother and grandfather had listed off floated through his mind. Every single suitor was surely more worthy to be whatever it was they wanted him to be; every single one another reminder that they were forcing this. They weren’t even giving her to him, not to love like he wanted. No, they were taking his Maiden and turning her into a pawn just like him, placing her on the board beside him to move them both as his mother and grandfather pleased.

It felt like something sacrificial; dark and maybe sacred in whatever deals had been made, whatever machinations brewed behind the curtains that he could not see.

Everything worth having was meant to be claimed as he had Sunfyre, not shoved into his arms behind deceptively passive smiles.

A butterfly with green and blue wings edged in black floated across his vision and he wondered if Helaena had come out here recently. A fat bumblebee came afterwards, and he remained still and unblinking as it came near his nose, So close he could feel the brief brush of air from its buzzing wings, before it wandered away towards something that was far prettier and smelled better.

As Aegon’s ears adjusted to the sounds of the garden, he could finally make out the trickle of water from the fountain, and amidst it, the quiet murmur of Abby’s voice as she must be talking or humming to herself. He focused on the sound, as loathsome as he felt, and it helped ease the knots that had wound their way between his ribs. It always had. Long ago, when they were small, he’d crawl under tables to hide and press his heated skin against the cold floor. Her fingers would stroke his hair, and he’d plead for extras out of the treats she’d pilfer from the kitchens.

He hummed softly, soothing himself as he tried and gathered up the courage to rise shakily to his feet. His head spun, and he wobbled a bit before turning to focus on where she had gone. The humming caught in his throat as he finally focused on the sight before him, air leaving his lungs.

The fountain deep within the overgrowth still ran. Cool, crystal clear water poured from the cupped palms of the kneeling dragon queen. Queen Rhaenys tilted her lovely face up, a joyful expression forever etched in stone as the head and neck of her dragon, Meraxes, curled around her protectively.

They said that the Conqueror had never recovered the body of his love, for Rhaenys had died in Dorne and they’d only brought back the dragon’s head. Meraxes was ensconced below in Balerion’s Hall, for his sire was allegedly a romantic, although it was the Black Dread that was worshiped. He privately thought - since none cared for his voiced opinions - that his namesake would rather it be Meraxes they worshiped, or the two together. Aegon wondered if they interred part of the lost Queen within the garden, for the Conqueror’s tower loomed above the cloisters, and the King would look down upon the garden, where he sought solace after her passing.

Joy, his maester once said, had left the world when Rhaenys died, and that loss of joy gave rise to Maegor. As a child, he thought he’d marry his Maiden out of desire just as his namesake did Queen Rhaenys. As a child in their games, he was the Conqueror, and she his joyful queen, who he’d rescue from a terrible fate in Dorne, or from dastardly lords who’d want to claim her. Jaceaerys’ had played Harren the Black once, with Abby taking part of the hostage Queen (even though it never really happened, it didn’t matter). How fierce and bright his joy had been to hear her call out for him while he climbed the rocky outcropping of ‘Harren’s Tower’. How hard he fought to rescue her from Jacaerys’ clutches, where she’d cling to him and he’d protect her as they made their escape. For he could do what the Conqueror could not - save the one who held his heart.

How much he enjoyed being the hero to the rest of them. How he lived for her reliance on him as her protector in their mock battles.

The weeping cherry tree towered over this part of the garden. Its branches spread out and dappled the morning light that streamed in. Moss ran over the stone path of the garden and along the edges of the fountain where Rhaenys’ statue reached out to him. His red-rimmed eyes moved from the stone face to where Abby sat. She focused on something in the water, one hand reaching up to brace on the snout of the stone dragon as she leaned over. The long ends of her curls dragged through the water with the motion as she pushed something, murmuring words he couldn’t hear. A laugh escaped her as her mouth broke into an amused smile, so unlike the frightened one she gave him in the tower. The smile she wore to comfort others when she was afraid.

I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair.

The wind shook petals from the tree, sending the pink cascading down to blanket the surrounding area, and caught in her delicate curls. She did not notice him, and he approached quietly as the moss muffled his footsteps.

“Oh dear, not there, you little sailor. This way with the current,” she said, her laughing tone was bright, but he could hear the tremulous edge beneath it. Her hand reached out to a floating leaf, a tiny frog perched happily upon it.

Aegon moved slowly so as not to startle her. Perhaps he was buying himself time, knowing that everything careful in the moment was on the precipice of shattering. He stepped towards her, so close he could nearly feel the gentle warmth of her form. The scent of bergamot and rose clung softly to her hair, and as he leaned down to sit beside her, he instinctively raised his arm to catch around her waist lest she tumble into the cold water.

He froze. Her eyes met his in the reflection.

The back of his throat burned.

“Careful.” His voice was hoarse and raw, and even in the ripples of the water he could see how pale and sallow he looked. How pitiful compared to the delicate look of hers. “You don’t want to fall and hit your head.”

He pulled his arm back. He could not initiate. She was welcome to do so, but Aegon? Aegon was a greedy thing. It gnawed like a dragon in his chest. He did not trust himself to ever touch first, to not pull her into his ribs and cage her inside of him, to not make her his to hold and hoard.

He felt dizzy and the burning in the back of his throat grew. His vision spun and Aegon dropped to his knees on the ledge and plunged his head beneath the water before he could vomit all over her. The world was pleasantly muffled beneath the water, and he shut his eyes, exhaling bubbles in the water. Time slowed, the heat of his skin cooled, and Aegon felt like he was floating. Even his headache had eased.

Hands gripped and tugged at his shoulders, pulling him from the floating world he had hidden himself in. Abby left him gasping and sputtering, her little fists shaking him, and he finally focused on her tirade. “Careful not to hit my head? Aegon! What are you doing?” she cried.

Water streamed down his face, plastering his hair to his head and obscuring his eyes. Sputtering and coughing for air, Aegon felt the bubbling of giggles falling from him like a madman. His shoulders shook, delighting in her reaction and the way her usually calm demeanor gave way to worry and annoyance.

It should not have brought him great joy to see her reaction, and yet…

Aegon’s giggles continued, although he had the great decency to try to soften them at the angry flash in her lovely blue eyes. The fabric of her blue dress had darkened in spots from the water he’d sent everywhere; it soaked her sleeves up to the elbows and his eyes caught a few beads of water tracing down her throat into the square neckline of her dress, along the soft sprinkle of freckles and… he should not be looking, but she was his betrothed now. That meant it was okay, right?

He tore his gaze from the blush that spread along her throat. He should not look. He could not look. He could not be trusted.

“At least we like one another,” she offered with her usual hopefulness and tried to get him to meet her eyes. “That counts for something, doesn’t it, Aegon?”

Stop saying my name, he thought. Then, never stop saying it, Seven, never stop.

Aegon snorted, his laughter bursting forth before he could even stop and think of it. The water that still trickled over his face spewed out from his nose and he could feel his face heat from his dance at the edge of hysterics. Amusement and abject panic, always. “Like one another?” he gasped out amid his fit. He fell back onto the grass. “What a grand marriage liking one another will make.” His own parents had liked one another once, and he dealt with the fallout of that every moment he drew breath.

Tears welled up in his eyes from his exertions and as the laughter settled, he realized he was alone in it. Confusion overtook the panic, and he finally focused on her.

Abby still sat on the edge of the fountain, her head turned away. Her curls hung down and spilled once more into the water, but he could see how red her face was. One arm had wrapped itself around her waist with fingers hooked into her belt; the other gripped the edge of the worn stone with white knuckles. There were no twitching, bloody fingers, but the cut of her shoulders tensed all too familiarly, too familially.

Her chin was trembling and her teeth had bitten into the plump pink of her lower lip. A bead of blood welled and rolled down her chin. Red streaked across her flushed skin when she hurriedly wiped it away.

Aegon’s laughter eased, his mouth dry, mirth still clear from the tear streaks on his cheeks, and something painful and heated ignited in the pit of his stomach.

Good, he thought. It was good that he’d upset her. It was good for her to expect less.

“You know, I didn’t ask for this either, Aegon.” Her tone was even, but instead of gentle, it was sharp. A sudden swipe of claws because his ankle had gotten too close to the cat who had been napping there. “I never asked for you.”

I never wanted you, he heard lurking beneath, and that ugly, heated thing burned inside of him. She couldn’t even look at him and Aegon’s heated cheeks darkened and he could feel it spreading down his neck, past his soaking collar, until it felt like his very heart might burst out of his chest at the humiliation that was settling in.

“I never asked for you either.” He was pushing up to his feet just as she was, and she still would not look at him. “Aren’t you getting the better deal out of this, anyway? I’m making you a fucking princess. Abrogail-” He reached out to jerk at her arm that still wrapped around her waist, fingers harsh and angry and Aegon could not help himself.

A chirp escaped her, The same sort she made when she touched a bowl that was too hot, or stabbed herself with her embroidery needles.

She finally looked up at him, and the humiliation he felt deepened as the shame threatened to manifest and noose around his neck. Her mouth pinched white around the edges except for the blood that welled along where she’d bitten her lip, her large blue eyes glossy and shining in that way he hated and had promised once upon a time, childishly, to protect her from.

The urge to drag his tongue along the streak of crimson across her mouth was growing, anything but childish and he forced his focus to anything else. His eyes darted to the hand that held her upper arm and the way his fingers pressed in hard enough to push in the fabric of her pretty, now wet, dress. So distracted by his hand on her arm, Aegon did not notice her other hand rise until she clawed at the exposed skin of his wrist and he howled in pain, immediately releasing her and looking at the four streaks of red across the back of his wrist and the blood that welled up.

Good, he thought again, as instead of that helpless look she had, it morphed into something flushed and angry at him. Better this than that biddable sweetness she used to placate herself and others. Better her rage than delusion.

I’m sorry, his lips moved to try form the words but her delicate hands came up and shoved him with a grunt. There wasn’t a lot of strength behind it, but with how unsteady he was already, it took little to send him sprawling back on his ass on the ground.

“I’ve never asked for anything from you, Aegon,” she croaked out. Her skirts gathered in her hands, she all but ran from him and the garden, disappearing behind the dripping wisteria and into the Keep.

Good.

Aegon scowled at his reflection in the fountain, and scattered it in his frustration.

“You were missed at council today, Viserys,” Alicent said as the doors to the King’s chambers were shut behind her, her voice as clipped as her footsteps along the stone floor.

A slight cough shook the King’s shoulders. He had been unwell the past few weeks, but was getting around again now, finally out of bed and reclined in his chair with furs piled around him. Maester Mellos had expressed concern about him losing the rest of the arm, but they’d saved it. Viserys hummed, turning the pages of the book before him, and Alicent was truly taken aback by how similar Aemond and Viserys were. The boy had spent little time around his disinterested father, so she could not attribute the similarity - the tone of the hum, the focus on the book of histories rather than to whatever she might be saying - to anything other than inheritance.

At least the disinterest was not among the traits passed down. Aemond paid attention to her. Aemond listened to her. Aemond, her baby boy, her brightest star, cared for her, and heard her.

A fondness built in her chest - rare the past handful of years. She had not always felt resentment towards her husband. Once, she even enjoyed his company, sitting and listening to him speak of matters that were close to him, being a valuable voice of reason. It was Viserys who had opened the seat on the Small Council to her, as his queen, gifting her something not even Aemma Arryn had.

Perhaps that was why it all hurt so much.

“We have summoned the Lords Blackwood and Bracken, along with Lord Tully - I’m assuming the grandson - to answer for the continued violence that has not ceased.” Alicent’s report fell from her like a page bringing a missive to their master and the familiarity of the charade grated on her nerves but she kept her tone neutral. A simple recounting of events to keep the king apprised of the council that she ran now.

That received a response. Viserys tilted his head with a curious furrow of his brow. “Why ever for? It is a Riverlands matter, Not something to concern ourselves with.”

“It is not simply a Riverlands matter when they are burning each other’s lands and whomever gets caught in the crossfire. Lord Tully will not bring them to heel,” Alicent normally did not snip so quickly in their conversations, but her concerns and worry overshadowed her careful control. Of course, Aegon frayed her nerves more than they already were. She was on edge, as time with her eldest always pushes her to. “The council thought it best that we summon the three houses together for mediation, so they may see that their actions have far-reaching implications.” She paused, reaching to pick up the dragon figurine atop one of the dusty buildings. The stone mason had done a remarkable job fixing it all those years ago. The cracks were barely visible, but still there. “Should the Riverlands show weakness, the Ironborn may decide that may prove better ground for raiding once more.”

“Mmm, sounds like Tyland would rather have the Riverlands bicker and peck at one another then. I believe Lord Farman wrote of a raid a few moons ago? Best to give them somewhere else to look. I fear the Ironborn will always be trouble no matter what.” Viserys chuckled at his own black humor and Alicent nodded, a tight smile creasing her features. Tyland knew ships, knew the sea, but he was no Corlys Velaryon, who had no plans to return to shore soon, judging by the last updates he’d sent from the Stepstones. “A slow meeting, then?”

The pumice stone scraped softly as she put the dragon back. “We announced the engagement of Aegon to Abrogail Strong.” Viserys looked confused once more before recollection dawned on him and he made a quiet ‘ah’. “The Grand Maester and Lord Tyland thought that, with Aegon’s name day approaching, we might combine the celebration and throw a tournament, and maybe a hunt.”

The fire crackled in the quiet and Alicent finally allowed herself to relax and pour herself a cup of wine from the side table before taking a seat on the chair normally reserved for the stonemason. She did not mind a bit of dust. “Aegon will be eight and ten. A man grown, A man who will now marry and start a family of his own. That is worthy of celebration, is it not?” A sad smile crossed her face as she met her husband’s eyes and found a mirror of her own expression there.

“Aye, it is. I remember how much he laughed when we took him on that hunt. Do you remember?” Wistful, Viserys tilted his head and picked up a half carved dragon. “Waving his wooden dragon around, his joyful laughter.” A lump formed in Alicent’s throat, and she occupied herself with her wine glass. “He was always laughing, I remember that, before the others came along. Didn’t enjoy sharing the spotlight, did he?” Another chuckle. “But I think we’ve raised a fine boy, haven’t we?”

It was Alicent’s turn to be struck dumb. The recollection of Grandmaester Mellos struggling to find anything to say about her son came back to mind and the stab of pain between her ribs had her turning her head with a nod and a hum. Unbidden, she thought of Rhaenyra, crying softly beside her in the sept for the loss of her mother, and the confusion at feeling as if her own father did not understand her. Alicent took a gulp of wine. Quiet for a moment before she allowed herself to speak. “Yes, my love, we have raised a fine boy.”

“My father would find it strange, you know, that Aegon does not marry Helaena. Your father thought we should wed Rhaenyra to Aegon, but Laenor, rest his soul, was such a good man.” The comment had Alicent’s eyes widening, and she nearly choked as she took another sip of wine.

“He suggested what?” Whatever expression she had earned laughter from the king as she dabbed at her wine soaked chin.

“That was my reaction,” he chuckled. “Ridiculous. Things have a way of working themselves out, though, do they not? Why, I jested with Lyonel that very night if he was going to offer his son to marry Rhaenyra after Jason Lannister thought he could offer my daughter compensation.”

Funny that, Alicent thought, keeping her features still as the stone that lay between them. Guilt twisted in her belly at the memory of Lyonel Strong. How grateful in her grief and solitude she had been for the warm companionship of her cousin, Celeste, his wife. How grateful for the kindness she and Lyonel had shown her - the closest she had to family that were not her own children. How guilty she still felt to know that Lyonel’s death was through her own desperation.

“Lord Lyonel would approve the match. I recall we had discussed it once, not long before…” She swallowed, her mouth gone dry, and Alicent flexed her fingers against her goblet, stretching them out like a cat flexing its claws. The tension that ran through them ached.

Viserys hummed again, losing his longtime friend visible on his features and he drummed his fingers upon the book before him. “Did he? He never mentioned it to me, but…” A shift of his countenance as he visibly recoiled against the sadness and grief. “Aegon will find a fine wife in the Strong girl, if she’s anything like her father. Lyonel did well to temper some of my admittedly more foolish ideas. I may have been more inclined to listen without issue had they come from a comely maiden.”

Another pang, this time as she recognized the smirk on Viserys’ face as the same she’d seen across Aegon’s as he teased his siblings with some ribald comment.

That had come from observation, she was certain. As had the drinking.

Alicent took another sip of her wine.

“Lord Larys has suggested that after they’re married, Aegon and Abrogail would go to Harrenhal. She is his heir. Aegon could do well to have some responsibility. We will have to decide what to do with Sunfyre.”

“You cannot separate a boy from his dragon. Rhaena housed Dreamfyre at Harrenhal when she resided there. We’ll ensure they’re up to snuff before they go.” A glimmer crossed his features, curiosity and excitement. “My grandfather gave Harrenhal to the Strongs. It seems fitting that we have come full circle. You know, it was a Strong who was the longest serving Hand of the Conqueror. They are the most loyal of friends. Advisors. Defenders.”

It was her turn to hum, biting back the urge to invoke how Ser Lucamore Strong had sired nigh a dozen bastard children before being sent to the Wall. At least in Ser Harwin’s case, he had not been a Kingsguard - not that vows had stopped Rhaenyra before. Alicent took a breath, willing the vindictiveness to bleed out of her. Those were unkind things to think, for Harwin was not the one at fault. The princess’ whims drove Harwin, as poor, loyal Criston before him, into her clutches.

Rhaenyra had never been offered up on a platter - not in the way she’d been, not in the way she was doing to Abrogail. Mother above, please forgive me, Celeste.

Alicent did not seek to fill the silence. She watched her husband look at his book, but knew he was not truly reading it. No, he was planning something, tapping down his temper, or both. Viserys always had a temper, even if it rarely burned as hotly as Rhaenyra’s did. She had gotten better at withstanding the heat, as she’d gotten better at withstanding many things over the years.

“Why aren’t we marrying Aegon and Helaena?” he finally asked. It was only a question, no lure and trap beneath his words. “You were so against the match with Rhaenyra’s boy, so why not them? Had I a living sister, I would have married her. It’s the Targaryen way.”

The Targaryen Way is not always the right way, she thought. Aegon’s claim would need to challenge Rhaenyra’s without question, but her solution would not be to yoke her sweet daughter to her own brother simply because they were half dragons.

She remembered Aemond, maimed and covered in bandages to protect the wound from infection, standing in the doorway of the solar at breakfast. It had left her speechless in the moment, but now the memory left a slight smile gracing her face.

“Because Aemond bonded with Vhagar, and declared that should Helaena marry anyone but him, he would burn the realm down and us with it.”

The sentence hung in the air until Viserys roared with laughter and Alicent joined him. It had been so long since she had laughed that tears pricked the corners of her eyes. It felt good to laugh with the man she called husband, than to feel so terribly lonely.

“Spirited! Boy knows what he wants.” He slapped his hand on the open book before him with another laugh. “Well, how about a two-fold celebration? We could-”

“I thought, perhaps, a Baratheon marriage might suit Aemond. He is of an age with Lord Borros’ eldest. With Abrogail leaving, she may also make a fine companion for Helaena, and maybe another sister for the Harrenhal court. I was going to write to him, invite her to the Keep so they may get to know one another.” Helaena would need time to adapt to a new companion, and she was not looking forward to the fallout of the changes should her daughter not go along with it. Viserys’ laughter ebbed and Alicent swirled the wine in her goblet. The garnet liquid caught the firelight. Fire and blood. She tapped her fingers along the sides of it, knowing that she had to be careful. “The gods blessed us with three sons and a single daughter. We should take advantage of that to help spread some stability in the realm.”

Sons you so desperately wanted and then summarily denied.

“Is the realm truly so unstable, wife?” Sharp, pink-lilac eyes turned to her. Another expression, this one similar to the gaze that Helaena took when she was trying to convey something of import. The color was different: Aegon’s eyes were his father’s, Helaena’s closer to lavender, Aemond’s a periwinkle, and Daeron’s a cornflower blue so commonplace they’d pass for Andal were their shine not so luminous.

“No, but we have four children, husband, who will need to have their futures ensured and cared for,” she pointed out reasonably and nothing she said was wrong. Their futures needed to be assured. Viserys gave little response, but she could see he knew she was right. Quiet reigned once more. She noticed cobwebs had formed along the primary thoroughfare of the stone city.

“The blood of the dragon must remain pure, Alicent,” Viserys said with a strength absent from before. Alicent looked over at her husband, who did not look at her. Instead, he’d risen and stepped closer into the inlet of his miniature Valyria. “We are above mortal men. We are dragonriders, and dreamers of great things. Aegon the Conqueror dreamed of great things, of this realm that has, in fact, become great.”

Where was Viserys going with this? “I remember you telling me. Aegon’s second name day, in front of the bonfire.” He’d been mad with grief and drink, had scared her with his dream of Aegon wearing the crown in front of an adoring crowd - how Aemma had paid the price for chasing it, with his doubt and confusion as their son slept soundly in his little bed. She opened her mouth to press the matter, but the king continued.

“You are not a Targaryen, my dear wife, but that does not mean that no matter how you dress them in green, your children will be anything but.” Alicent drew back in her chair and the grip on her cup tightened. Her children, not his. Not his no matter what happened. “Pursue this Baratheon marriage if you’d like, and should Aemond want it, then it’s fine with me. If his mind is not changed, then they have my blessing.”

Abrogail felt like she was fraying at the edges, unmoored from her usual sense of self: calm, collected, able to focus regardless of what was on her mind. None of that mattered in the wake of what happened in the tower or what followed between her and Aegon. She’d barely allowed herself any time to collect herself before joining Helaena and Aemond in the gardens, letting Aemond fill the silence as Helaena’s focus ebbed and flowed.

So distracted she’d been, thoughts lingering on the morning’s events, that she hadn’t heard Helaena’s persistent calling until she’d snapped a frustrated “What?” to be met with Helaena’s surprised gasp and wide eyes… which in turn had Aemond turning an angry eye to her viciously. He hadn’t said anything particularly harsh, but with her own guilt at snapping and Aegon’s behavior, and then Aemond’s anger, she’d left the gardens in tears, ignoring Helaena’s calls for her to come back. The princess hadn’t ordered her return. Perhaps for the best.

Perhaps she’d be pulled from her service sooner than anticipated, and replaced with Penrose. Punished for her insolence. Marrying Aegon, did that mean she was on the same level as Helaena? That once married, Helaena couldn’t order her about, or that Abby was meant to serve her?

More often than not, Abrogail was Helaena’s bedmate, the two girls sharing pillows since she’d become the princess’ proper companion. It meant that her rooms outside the holdfast had all but been abandoned. She was a visitor more often than a tenant, so much so that it had taken Allana Tyrell and Josana Lannister a moment to recognize her when they passed in the halls - the elder girls arrived at court after a season away - and exchanged pleasantries. Abrogail all but ran the last few yards to her destination, and nearly slammed the heavy door shut behind her.

The apartments that belonged to Larys were modest, housing only a sitting room and two bedrooms: Larys’ to the left and hers to the right. So unlike the warm, multiple levels of the Hand’s tower that she’d spent years exploring and playing in. The room was empty when she burst in and she was grateful that her quiet, piercing elder brother could not witness her state as she sought solace in the cold and empty chamber. There was no warm fire crackling merrily in the hearth to welcome her, and she had to go back to the sitting room to fetch the pitcher of water there to clean her face from the tears and calm the burning of her cheeks. Not even Theraxis was there to comfort her as he often did, rolled onto his back, fluffy belly offered to bury her face in and have her hair licked by his sandpaper tongue.

A sob tore at her chest and she gulped the rest down and went to the bed and collapsed upon the cold sheets. Fingers curling in the comforter, she tried her best to hold back her tears. Even alone, she could not let the despair overcome her.

It had not been long after her mama died that Corynna, her elder half sister and Larys’ sister, had sent word that she would take her sweet little sister as she needed a strong, motherly presence in her life. Abrogail had been distraught and trying to hide it as they had fallen into a game of hide and seek that bright day.

I’ll marry you, Aegon had whispered into her hair, the pair of them hiding beneath the heavy boughs of a flowering bush as Jacaerys played seeker in their game of hide-and-seek. I’ll marry you and they won’t send you away because you’ll be mine. They’d been little more than babes in leading strings then, where Aegon’s smile had not faded into bitterness and her life had still been warm and safe. Crumbled sweets shared as the pair did their best to hide from the persistent Jace, and it had been Harwin who found them hours later. Asleep surrounded by the scent of rhododendrons and petals caught in red and silver heads both.

She did not know how long she lay atop her bed, only that the shaft of sunlight through the narrow window inched across the bed and across her skirts until the familiar drag-thump drew her notice towards the door. Larys was generally quiet and she’d only heard it for it was a sound she knew her whole life.

Her brother was taller than he generally appeared, and in the half light of the early evening, for a moment Abrogail thought he looked very much like their father. The same widow’s peak, the similar set of the jaw even though Lyonel had been a larger man than his second son. She sat up, swiping her sleeve across her face as Larys watched her with his inscrutable look.

“I needed to be alone,” she said softly. “I apologize for bothering you.” She wasn’t sure if she truly needed to apologize for being in her own room, but it was often difficult to discern her brother’s reaction to her. They weren’t close, and their relationship was not a warm one. Abrogail felt that when it came to her, Larys Strong was not quite sure what to make of her or even what to do with her.

“It is your room,” he finally said with a tilt of his head and an ambivalent shrug. She watched him as he perused the area, lingering on the empty grate and then to her. Years of practice kept her from instinctively shifting beneath his gaze but it was still an uncomfortable feeling being sized up. “Although it is not very comforting for what troubles you. I’m sure today has been more than a shock to you, sister.” Abrogail opened her mouth, then closed it with a click and merely nodded. He let out a hum and tapped his cane on the floor before opening the door further. “Well, it all works out in the end. I meant to speak with you this evening anyway. Come - Father would insist you have a belly full of warm food to dry your tears.”

As if on cue, her stomach growled and the scent of fresh bread and meat finally registered. She was starving, having only eaten that morning and so she followed her brother into the sitting room. It was warmer, the fire blazing, and the table was set with plates of food and fresh Malvales flowers in a vase. Abrogail frowned slightly at the sight of them. The only other place she’d seen them other than the Godswood was in the Queen’s chambers. She knew her brother counseled Queen Alicent and they shared meals from time to time, but the flowers still seemed strange. The servant who’d brought the food ladled fresh, steaming boar stew onto plates and Abrogail reached for a warm roll when her eyes caught on the basket of cakes to the side. They glistened with syrup, and the fresh scent of oranges assaulted her when she drew close until her brother’s sharp tsk stopped her. “For after you’ve finished your plate.” A slight twitch of a smile when he sat himself down, dismissing the servant and for a moment she simply stared at him.

“You sounded so much like Papa,” she said as she sat across from him.

“Mmm, I do hear that sometimes. I suppose one tends to pick up manners from their elders. How often I’ve heard those very words come from him, hm?” She scrunched her face up with a half smile playing on her own features and quietly dug in.

Neither Strong attempted to fill the silence as they tucked into their meal. Only the scrape of cutlery and the quiet sounds of eating filled the space. It didn’t feel like a standoff between them, even more so than when it was Larys who finally broke the silence.

“Cory will be mollified by the fact that you’re marrying a prince instead of one of the Lannister bannermen,” he said nonchalantly as he spoke of his sister. “She’s been hounding me to send you to her, but I know how much this place is home to you. Harrenhal is a far closer ride on your husband’s dragon than in a wheelhouse or on a ship from Lannisport.”

“Has she?” Abrogail wasn’t sure what else to say as the thoughts that swirled through her continued to distract her. Her and her sister were not at all close. Clever and sharply delicate, Corynna Strong could have gone to the Citadel had she been born a man. Instead, she had begrudgingly married the third Lannister son as the eldest was unavailable and Abrogail privately thought that their father had sent Cory away to be kept under the hawkish, watchful eye of Johanna Lannister instead of getting underfoot there in King’s Landing.

Abrogail did not complain. The few times she’d been with her, Cory was a sharp, judgemental woman who always had a criticism for how to improve herself, and more often than not had taken to pinching her arms and waist and assessing with that inscrutable countenance she shared with Larys. “Uncle Otto mentioned several,” she paused to tear at a piece of bread to keep from fidgeting. “Several, um, suitors? You never mentioned them.”

“Well the Queen didn’t either and although I am your brother, and head of our house, you are her ward, and because she is Queen, she too has a say in who, ah, takes you.” Larys looked apologetic and uncertain of how to word it and she nodded in understanding to put him at ease. “Her Grace is quite fond of you, you know. She only wants what is best for you, as if you were her own daughter. It is sweet. Your mother would be pleased.”

Abrogail bit her lip and looked down at her plate. Tines of the fork scraped along the edge pushing meat through sauce. Targaryens have queer customs, marrying their siblings or their uncles, she thought. Would her and Aegon’s children have to wed one another, as was tradition? Her head pounded with all the questions and she struggled to find a place to begin.

“Yes, I think she would,” she said finally and met her brother’s concerned gaze. It was the softest she’d ever seen him, which was saying a lot given his nature. For the first time, Abrogail felt like her brother might actually feel like her brother. “I don’t know where to start with all my questions, Larys,” she found herself admitting, reaching to him across this distance. “From being your heir, to how this all came to happen. I’m so overwhelmed and…” she trailed off with a slump of her shoulders and another lump in her throat.

She reached for her goblet of red wine, trying to push the feeling away. A wince crossed her features as the sharpness of it hit her tongue. She tended to favor the sweetness of ciders and meads.

The scent of the arbor red reminded her of Aegon.

Abrogail put the goblet down and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, brother.”

“No need, dear sister. Being overwhelmed is only natural in this case, but your willingness to be open with your questions reassures me that you and I can start forging our own road. You are my heir, and although we are not close, I do care for you, Abrogail.”

“Do you?” she asked. She raised her eyebrows. “Larys, you’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t even like me.”

He matched her expression with his own. “I do. Besides, you are a woman grown now and far easier to talk to than a rambunctious child of eight.” Abrogail felt her cheeks heat and she couldn’t find fault in his argument there. A soft chuckle escaped him and she watched him resume tearing apart a roll. He did it so oddly and always had. Fingers carefully working along the circumference of the warm bread and slowly spreading it apart, so the soft interior gently pulled as if he savored the very act.

To be fair, it was good bread.

“There are none that attract my gaze, and I doubt there ever shall be. Given that I have little penchant for things like mistresses or whoring, there will be no progeny. Corynna’s rights are forfeit, as she’s married a Lannister.” He paused, gazing at her for a long moment until she realized he expected an answer from her.

Abrogail frowned as she thought. Corynna had married a third son, but the children of that union may very well wed Lord Jason’s son, Or marry into banner houses should they not have more children. Or even become heirs of the Rock. “As long as Rhaenyra is heir, Aegon is fourth in line. If he marries me, he gains a title and lands,” she said slowly. Jacaerys would take the throne one day, and Lucerys would have Driftmark. Little Joffrey may very well marry into another great house, but there were no more titles and lands to pass off, and that was before Queen Alicent’s children were considered, and the Queen wanted Aegon to be King.

To say it out loud would be treason, and when Abrogail’s eyes found Larys’, he gave an encouraging nod. “Harrenhal would provide income independent of what is owed the crown?” Uncertainty laced her voice. She did not know much about her family’s seat. She’d only been there a handful of times, half of them having been full of grief and misery, but she did know that outside of hushed whispers of curses and ghosts, that Harrenhal’s lands were the richest in Westeros when they were handled properly. “Harrenhal is why those other families wanted me, isn’t it?”

“Some,” Larys said matter of factly. “Tully and Vance in particular given their proximity and would benefit the most. Others claimed to be enchanted by the young beauty they’d heard of growing in the Queen’s garden.” The words sounded too poetic for the man her brother seemed and the incredulous look on her face must have been all he needed, for Larys actually laughed. A strange, unused sound and a shake of his head. “Those were the words of the Vance heir, I believe. Should they have been romantic enough, you could still say no to this current arrangement.”

No, Abrogail thought. No, she couldn’t.

She wanted to ask Larys why he would be alright with her saying no. If it had been her father, she would have. Her papa had never turned her curiosity and questions away. No matter how silly or simple they may have been, he was always happy to teach her. This was probably the longest conversation they’d had since the funeral, but Abrogail did not feel comfortable asking. Not yet. Maybe… maybe someday.

“Thank you,” she said instead with a small smile and Larys seemed pleased with that. “I would like to learn more about Harrenhal. Before the wedding and everything. I want to make you proud. I want to make Papa proud.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and was grateful that Larys did not look up at her and instead focused on buttering another bread roll.

“As my heir, I will begin to discuss these things with you, and you should begin speaking with our uncle. He will be here for the engagement tournament.” The butter knife scraped against the wooden dish as he went for more. She watched his dark hair fall into his eyes, the way Harwin’s curls would and the tightening sensation in her chest came back. Another mouthful of wine, which only reminded her of Aegon again.

Aegon’s fingers in her hair, thumb brushing her tears in the quiet of the Sept. “I’m so sorry you lost them. I’m so sorry they’re gone.”

“Abrogail?”

She blinked and found him watching her with a gentle expression. He smiled that small smile of his. “I said, perhaps we can start having our own dinners. Get to know one another better.”

“You mean like how you have dinners with the Queen?” Once a week, the pair of them met privately in her solar. She’d seen them once through the window, the pair discussing things or the queen’s voice raised about whatever terrible thing had happened that week. A friendship. A council.

Larys’ smile broadened. “Yes, dear sister. Exactly like that.”

[Chapter Three]

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon x abby #fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #my fics

[marietheran]

LotR reread - book 2, chapter 5 - The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm

"Frodo thought of... Balin's visit to the Shire long ago." -- did he already live in Bag End then? did Frodo know Balin??

Quick look on the internet: no, he wasn't yet born then.

Orcs having scimitars... oh, Tolkien, please don't do the eastern-coding; it feels weird... Saying this as someone who's country had been at war with the Turks more than once (though it was with grudging respect on both sides, I guess, but that's a digression)

Legolas and Gimli echoing the book of Marzabul... "They are coming!", "We cannot get out".... interesting...

The passage with Gandalf trying to hold the door closed, and the Balrog trying to get it to open (both through power, not physical force), and the door just bursting into pieces has always made me think that what happened with Beleriand isn't such a mystery.

Aragorn seems to take back his words that the hobbits would not survive a life like his upon learning Frodo is still alive. Frodo is, in all honesty, wearing the mithril shirt, but hobbits are indeed made of sterner stuff.

"of man-shape maybe, yet greater" certainly does not imply a Balrog is the size of a man, the opposite. I don't know why it's used as an argument to say they are.

Aragorn and Boromir not heeding Gandalf and trying to help him fight the Balrog never ceases to amaze me. I could excuse Boromir not understanding just how big a threat it is. But raised-in-Rivendell Aragorn?

#lotr reread #the professor's mythopoeia #lotr #original post

[quizzyisdone]

The Color Red (Part I) | Jason Hudson x Fem! Bell x Russell Adler

Chapter Title: The Divine Zero Word Count: 2.4k Pairing - Jason Hudson x Fem! Bell x Russell Adler Synopsis: When Russell Adler finds an agent of his sworn enemy, shot by one of her own, he brings her in, hoping to interrogate her for a lead to Perseus. When conventional interrogation falls short, Adler, blinded by his hatred to Perseus, resorts to other, more unsavory methods. Jason Hudson, his handler, can only watch from afar in horror as a potentially innocent woman has her entire life and identity erased in the blink of an eye. Told from Hudson's perspective. Warnings: Strong language, mentions of brainwashing, torture, canon-typical violence, dark romance, toxic relationships, love triangles

**Title inspired by "The Divine Zero" by Pierce the Veil

Masterlist

Maybe I could swim into your thoughts like your drugs do

Paralyze your body

Sick and tired of waking up to

Burning eyes and cigarettes

“1969, Camp Haskins. We met when you were assigned to MACV-SOG. You and I were embedded within the 3rd Marine Regiment near Da Nang. SOG was there to sniff out Soviet activity. Word had it Russian operatives were active in the region-” Adler began his usual spiel that he’d been citing for the last two days word for word.

He was speaking to the girl that was gagged and strapped into an interrogation chair, graphic videos from the war playing on three televisions all within her field of vision. Specially made liquidized LSD connected into her IV that injected it straight into her veins. All she could see was the war. All she could hear was the war. Perfect for Adler. Not only could he break her indelible will, but he could make her feel as he felt for years. Broken and destroyed.

She was sobbing, looking absolutely panicked, and Hudson couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt deep in his gut. She was probably a Red anyways, but this seemed… excessive. It had too closely echoed what he witnessed Mason go through years and years ago. Adler called it conditioning, but that was just a nicer sounding synonym for what it was -- brainwashing. But he was in no position to stop it now, Adler had made damn sure of that.

She was young, not quite “fresh out of her teens” young, early to mid twenties if he had to guess, but certainly younger than the two aged men sitting across from her behind the one sided glass. A decently pretty face, even after enduring a week straight of the CIA’s classic, finest interrogation methods, but otherwise unremarkable -- which was what made her oh-so remarkable to Adler. Given Adler's hot and cold personality, and the fact that she was here with an uncanny connection to his worst enemy and wasn’t hard on the eyes to boot, Hudson knew the man was borderline obsessed with the woman. He would have been surprised if Adler wasn’t attracted to her in his own twisted, fucked up way.

He always tended towards toxic extremes, anyways.

She was painfully, moderately above average by all standards. The most exotic thing about her was her muted accent and ginger locks. He couldn’t quite guess the origin of the accent (Eastern Europe, spoken with a twinge of British slang?), but she spoke English with the fluency of a native. A cute, well structured but round face framed with wavy, somewhat frizzy hair, tanned skin dotted with freckles, and a nose that once had been broken, judging by slight mishapenness of it, and hooked upwards at the end. 

Her face bore the marks of Adler’s interrogations, with one particularly large jet black bruise around her chestnut eyes. The most puzzling thing about her however was her singular, tiny tattoo of a bell on her arm that was inked right beneath the crease where the forearm meets the upper arm. Other than that, her body was devoid of any alterations such as piercings or other, bigger tattoos. 

That’s what the two had used for her namesake; Bell. The name she gave them couldn’t be trusted, given her circumstances of capture. The woman hadn’t given them anything else, a simple first name of Eleanor (she had omitted her surname) and the name of a man in MI6 who had long since been dead according to the records the agency was willing to give up to another foreign intelligence agency, which to no one’s surprise, wasn’t much.

“We had a job to do…” Adler trailed off, and snapped his fingers. The woman instantly fell asleep. 

“Alright, that should do it for today. Keep the tapes playing and turn the volume up a bit louder, she’ll need to hear it in order to feel like she’s there.” A British woman’s voice had piped up from the background. Helen Park.

Hudson didn’t dare face her, he was never one for psychological warfare in the first place and here he was in the presence of the expert in it. From what he understood, Agent Park helped “blossom” this MK-Ultra project from its infancy back in the 60’s to the powerhouse of a weapon it was now, twenty years later. He took a sip from his coffee.

“You’re awfully quiet, Hudson.” She pointed out. 

“He’s always quietly brooding, That’s sort of his thing.” Adler chuckled as he turned his chair to face her, reaching into his pocket for his lighter and pack of cigarettes. “Want a light?” He asked, a cigarette between his teeth as he held another one out to Hudson. 

Hudson nodded, grabbing his zippo lighter from his pocket and taking a long drag. 

“So, tell me about this team you’re putting together. I’ve taken the liberty of reviewing some of the candidates you submitted but I’d like to hear some of your reasoning, maybe offer some suggestions.” Park said, leaning against the file cabinet. Hudson scoffed.

“I don’t need your suggestions, Agent Park. MI6 is already way too entangled as is. ” He said with a cigarette in between his teeth. “You’re only here at Adler’s insistence. If the man didn’t have such a tight hold on Command’s balls, you wouldn’t be here.”

“You wound me Hudson.” She rolled her eyes. “I know you don’t like this as much as the next person, but given her stubbornness and the situation at hand, it’s the only way.” Park reasoned, Adler nodded coolly but glanced down for naught but a second, rubbing at his temples. 

“Bullshit, but anyways,” Hudson took another drag. “What did you want to know?”

“Alex Mason and Frank Woods are certainly a peculiar choice for our team, given the circumstances of our friend in the chair.”

“Hate to break it to you, but any high stakes, top secret mission with Hudson, they’ve got to be on it.” Adler gave a light chuckle, light jabbing at Hudson’s shoulder.

“They’re good soldiers and they know how to shut their mouths. As brass as they can be, they’re great agents when they’re together.” He took another drag of his cigarette, Park opened her mouth to object but he cut her off quickly. ”And I don’t intend to tell either of them about Bell’s situation if that’s what you’re concerned about.” Hudson said sternly.

“The conditioning is only one of my concerns, among plenty others. They are charming, loyal to a fault, and easy to get along with. I’d imagine they’d be quick friends with Bell. That creates a problem when we must depose her, no?”

“But somehow that’s not a problem with Azoulay. Is he not charming and friendly, especially to women such as yourself and Bell?” He retorted.

“The big guy?” Adler chimed in, a slight smirk appeared across his features. “He’s not as emotionally volatile as Mason and Woods. He’d understand.”

“Fine. Regarding Mason and Woods, we’ll just have to make it convincing enough to take the blame off of you. They’ve been in the field long enough and seen plenty of people die, they’ll get over it even if they do befriend her.” Hudson began. “They’re tough bastards. Everyone on the team has been contacted, so it’s too late to change.” Hudson snuffed his cigarette on his boot, tossing it into the ashtray.

“I think Bell here has gone through enough today.” He muttered to himself.

“Pardon?” Park raised an eyebrow.

“I think Bell has gone through plenty today.” Hudson repeated, louder, ignoring protests from Park and Adler.

In an act of kindness atypical of a man such as Hudson, he rose from his uncomfortable, government issued swivel chair, striding towards the door leading into the room the girl was in. He turned off the television with the flashing images of Vietnam, removed her gag, and loosened her restraints.

Hudson snapped near her ear, and she was awake. He glanced at her eyes, noting how terrified they appeared. 

“Can you walk?” He spoke gruffly. The girl nodded, unsure and slow. Gingerly, she gripped at the arm rests, using it to leverage herself up. This was the most silence he’d ever heard from her, normally she always had some profanity to spew at whoever woke her up from the sessions. This was a degree of success Hudson did not expect, and secretly cursed.

Slowly and a bit unsteadily, she began to walk towards the door leading to the hallway where she knew by now she’d find her cell. Hudson placed a hand on his holster and the other ghosting at the small of her back -- not quite touching, but she most definitely knew it was there. 

Her walk was rather sedate, more akin to the undead than a real person, and the need for handcuffs just days ago was no longer there. Adler had broken her enough to where she just wouldn’t fight back anymore. 

“Get some rest.” He muttered when they reached her cell.

“Like you give a shit.” She said, with equal parts venom and pronounced exhaustion. Her voice was low, raspy, laced with an accent Adler himself admitted to finding rather exotic.

Hudson ignored her provocation. “Someone will bring you something to eat later.”

“Tell them to bring a cigarette.” She hoarsely laughed to herself as Hudson closed the door behind him, lightly chuckling to himself. She had been begging for a cigarette ever since Adler took her into custody, and once or twice she’d been indulged when she promised information in exchange for a light. At least there’s one glue that will hold this rag-tag team together; a crippling nicotine addiction. 

But even that was something Adler was trying to take from her. “It’s bad for her, we’re doing our little Bell a favor on this one.” He laughed when Hudson had questioned him about it, even as he hypocritically took a drag of his fifth one in the past three hours. Scarcely could Adler be seen without one in his hand, especially so since Trabzon, since Perseus came back into play.

Hudson went back into the room behind the two-sided glass, finding it now deserted. The pair must’ve called it quits for the day. Funny, he did not expect Adler to actually respect his authority in this situation, maybe he was just as tired as everyone else was. 

Hudson found it amusing once upon a time -- Adler’s almost absolute disregard for command when it did not suit the mission, maybe even virtuous at some moments, but now Hudson could not stand his impudence. People have been hurt, not saved this time around. 

Adler’s cruel desperation was evident in the way he treated Bell. He had not always been so unkind in the thirteen years Hudson had known him, so casually malicious as he was with only Bell. He has such a dark twisted obsession with the woman, he electrocutes her and calls her pretty all in the same breath. 

He had been a decent friend of Hudson for years, until a few weeks ago, a great respect remained unspoken between them but omnipresent in their friendship. Now, that rather optimistic viewpoint that was so rare for Hudson to behold of someone, had dwindled. Does he not remember Mason and the numbers, the macabre stories of what happened to him and what happened to others because of him? Or was he simply too blinded by Perseus to see? Or did he simply just not care?

The latter, even through Hudson’s now tainted lens of the man, seemed unlikely. Adler was not an uncaring, needlessly cruel man. Gruff and rough around the edges, most certainly, but never unnecessarily brutal like his actions towards Bell may suggest. One moment, the man was a stranger to Hudson, the next, an old friend. 

“What’s got you so lost in thought?” Adler clapped a hand on Hudson’s shoulder, startling the man. Speak of the devil.

“Mm.” He grunted. “Nothing.”

“Hm, so you just stare into nothing in your free time?” Adler said coolly. “I bet it's your wife?”

Hudson rolled his eyes, irritated at the scarred man before him, completely oblivious to even what was bothering him. The situation with Jacqueline had stopped badgering at his heart, eating him from the inside out long ago, Adler knew that well. 

“Sure.” 

“Just sign the damn divorce papers then.” Adler said, lighting yet again, another damn cigarette.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He rubbed at his forehead, pulling the cigarette from Adler’s mouth and unceremoniously snuffing it in the ashtray. 

“What the fuck?” He spat, the indignancy becoming apparent in his tone. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hudson snarled, rising from the chair he was previously slumped in. “Do you not see what you’re doing?”

“What? Bell?” Adler recollected himself, his infuriatingly cool demeanor once again washing over him as his mouth settled into a signature frown. “Why are you even mad about that?”

“Do you not remember Mason? Do you not remember that load of horseshit twenty years ago?” He glared daggers at Adler, and for a brief moment, there was silence ringing off the walls of the cinderblock room. Adler suddenly took a keen interest in his feet as Hudson awaited his answer.

“Mason was different.” He looked up again, his sunglasses making it almost impossible for Hudson to read his expression. “She’s a bad guy, he’s a good guy. He didn’t deserve it, she probably does.”

“Probably.” He scoffed. “You don’t even know anything about her. All you know was that some man associated with Perseus shot her.”

“I don’t have time to wait for a confession after months of interrogation or chase MI6 ghosts. You know what happens when Perseus comes into play. Nukes, noxious gasses, WMD's, that kind of shit.” Adler defended. “If she truly knows anything about Perseus, we owe it to everyone in the goddamn world to do whatever we can.”

“Oh spare me the soapbox.” Hudson laughed. “You tried conventional interrogation for one day and then immediately went for MK Ultra. You barely even tried the MI6 lead.” Hudson sighed, shocked at his own moral disgust. Perhaps Jacqueline was wrong -- he did have a heart. “We don’t even know if this is the right tree to be barking at, and if this isn’t, then the consequences are on your head. Not mine.”

“Go ahead, let it all fall on me if it goes south-”

“When it goes south.” Hudson interrupted,  glancing over, and silence ensued for a moment before he continued.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take if it means a shot at Perseus.” Adler took the previously snuffed cigarette that Hudson had snatched from his mouth, relighting it. “You had the power to stop this, y’know. This isn’t all my fault.”

He was right.

#so uh this is going to pivot pretty far from my normal belldler content #in that adler is very much a villian in this story #even tho he brainwashed her he actually loves her in later chapters #and hudson is bell's knight in shining armor (but tbh that's not very far off from my hudson stuff) #russell adler x reader #jason hudson x reader #russell adler #jason hudson #bocw #black ops cold war #cod #call of duty #quizzy writes