#I just have so many thoughts on the subject cause I think her apprenticeship with them will serve multiple purposes

[fromtheseventhhell]

I want to make a longer post about this someday but: I think Arya's TWOW arc is going to include her coming to terms with her identity as a Lady. This has been an ongoing conflict with her since her first chapter and I think her flowering in winds is going to mark a turning point. The theory of her having an apprenticeship with the courtesans holds a lot of weight and the idea of Arya going through puberty among a group of unconventional women she's fostered a positive relationship with is just too perfect. It would really have an impact on Arya reconciling her personal idea of what a Lady should be. There's also a lot that she could learn from them in terms of courtesies, communication, appearances, body-language, etc. that would elevate her current skill-set and ways her relationship with them could push the plot.

Not to mention she will undoubtedly reclaim her identity as Arya Stark, and her being a Lady is inseparable from that. Arya Stark is a Lady Stark and being a Lady is a social position, not a measure of how well someone preforms feminine tasks. She shouldn't have to relinquish her position because she doesn't fit patriarchal standards. That's not to say that she's ever going to be the perfect example of a traditional Lady but what I think will happen is that she becomes capable of playing the part. She plays several identities throughout the series but she's always been Arya underneath, so I think it's appropriate that she learns to adopt a "persona" that's part of her. Her remembering Ned putting on his "Lord's face" (+ the various examples of other characters being separate from their ruling persona) makes me think that Arya will be donning her "Lady's face" when she makes a return to Westeros.

#arya stark #asoiaf #twow speculations #Arya has been through so much traumatic shit and I think her flowering is going to bring up a lot of her self-esteem issues #I just really need her surrounded by kind older women when that happens so she can have some comfort #George saying her arc in braavos could be the plot of a YA novel?? definitely makes me think she's going to grow up a lot there #she's already one of the most mature characters so I think part of it's going to be her accepting her duty as a Stark Lady #she wants to help and protect people and the best way she can do that is if she has political power #She could learn that first hand in TWOW #possibly through her finding out about her marriage??? and meeting Jeyne in Braavos?? #and before someone says it courtesans are so much more then sex work so I don't want to hear it #they are such a big part of Braavosi high life...they're cultured and connected with very important people #I just have so many thoughts on the subject cause I think her apprenticeship with them will serve multiple purposes #the faceless men and their plans...the iron bank...the sealord...It's all connected and I think her apprenticeship with them will kick off #the braavos plot and could mark the beginning of the end of her time with the faceless men and in braavosi #half a boy half a wolf pup -> half a lady half a wolf #I think her current skillset fits well and it's likely she'll learn even more in TWOW #Arya defining her own role as a Lady and becoming comfortable means so much to me

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Girls Finale

SUBMISSION PROPAGANDA:

Asa -

"one of the first things that shows up when you search up 'asa mitaka' on google is 'autistic' which is a good start.

some notable traits is applying herself to rules when it's not needed, when she waited to walk the street at a red light even when there was absolutely no cars, she doesn't fit in well with her peers, notoriously awkward (and a bit of a klutz), she doesn't seem to have an acknowledgment of her own tone or volume when talking to people (she feels okay just yelling out loud to her devil hallucination in public..), and of course.. her idea of a date is setting up a timed-out plan, with her telling many sea creature facts without pause. she does NOT wanna deviate from this plan. She very much bores her date, but she thought it would win him over instantly.

all in all Asa is a very relatable character to a lot of autistic people, especially autistic girls and autistic teenagers. a lot of her character and arc is centered around social isolation and trying to connect with people, and how that also interacts with self worth. personally i think she should win."

Izutsumi -

"Izutsumi is a picky eater and she has sensory touch issues as well plus as a catgirl she automatically gets autism because all cats have autism by human standards."

Richeh -

"her life's purpose is to live her life according to her own rules, regardless of society's rules that don't make sense to her. and she does that by wholeheartedly embracing her special interests of making delicate magic of crystally stuff and shiny ribbons! she's also prone to making lil puns with her name and the names of the other witches in her atelier, and nobody really gets them aside from the people in her found family <3

also (CONTAINS SPOILERS) her brother once told her that he loved her magic just as it was and that he hoped she never stopped making it and being herself (paraphrased cuz i don't remember the actual quote!) and she took that literally to mean that she shouldn't make magic that wasn't the kind of magic that was hers- i.e. shiny, small, ornate, and detailed magic. Being forced to change how she made her magic in order to "do things the proper way" during her original apprenticeship caused her intense distress, and she'd often refuse to do so and would instead think up her own magic to solve problems instead of doing things by the book. Doing that subjected her to harassment and abuse from her original professor, leading to her eventually needing to leave her 'traditional' witch apprenticeship and get her apprenticeship done at Qifrey's atelier, a place far removed from the main witch cities that accommodates her and allows her to grow the way she wants to."

#autistic anime girls poll #tumblr polls #asa mitaka #chainsaw man #csm #mitaka asa #csm asa #asa mitaka csm #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #izutsumi #asebi #izutsumi dungeon meshi #wha #witch hat atelier #wha richeh #riche #richeh #richeh wha #riche wha #finale #tongari boushi no atelier #RICHEH IS FROM WITCH HAT ATELIER I HAD A BRAINFART WHILE TYPING AND CAN'T CHANGE IT NOW. SOWWY

[ao3komorii]

Tangling with the Boss (Sett/Reader)

Finally, my Sett story! This one is in two parts so I’ll be posting the other part either today or tomorrow. Some little notes for this; Sett’s mother doesn’t have a canonical name as of right now so I made a name for her, and Sett’s full name is Settrigh (canon, I didn’t make that one up lol). Also, there is smut at the end. I hope you enjoy! :)

----

Navori, Ionia had not always been your home. You had been a respectable young Demacian citizen, from a good family. You were spoiled, but had never caused any trouble, never created any waves. You had a good education and a supportive family, at least until you woke up on the morning of your twenty-second birthday.

Everyone in Demacia was familiar with the mageseekers. The squad that captured and confined anyone found to have magic powers; magic was a danger, and anyone who possessed any must be removed from society. You had been taught that from an early age, and had seen the mageseekers around in their half-masks, easily accepting their purpose in society. But that day you had woken up in a sweat with a scream, your clothes in tatters from the fire that engulfed your arms and legs. Your parents had burst into the room just as you realized that the fire didn’t hurt.

Your mother gasped and your father stared at you with disgust and hatred in his eyes. They both turned and ran back into the hallway, and you knew the mageseekers would soon be upon you. Everything in your mind had screamed at you to do what was right and wait for the mageseekers to come and take you away forever, but in this moment, you finally realized what a broken system you lived in. If these so-called dangerous mages were anything like you, then they didn’t deserve what had happened to them. And if you stayed, you were looking at life imprisonment at best, and a slow, painful death at worst.

And so you ran. With nothing but a dress hastily grabbed from your closet, you had fled your home and Demacia altogether. Noxus was no friend to Demacia, but the violence that raged there told you that it would not welcome you with open arms. From your years of schooling, you knew that the island of Ionia, across the Noxian waters, would be your only option. Ionia was a place that tolerated magic, which had been a source of disdain for your teacher when it had come to geography lessons. It was just unlucky for you that to get to Ionia, you would have to cross Noxian territory and then find passage on a ship at the Noxian shores that was headed to Ionia.

You had no choice but to cross Noxus, staying on the far borders and attracting as little attention as you could. As someone who had grown up in a wealthy household, it had been a big change for you to suddenly forage for your own food and shelter, your only comfort being your new fire powers keeping you warm in the cold nights. You were slowly growing better at controlling it, but not good enough to avoid a few close calls with suspicious Noxians that you then had to flee from. You were sure that you looked awful, filthy, and tired, but you eventually reached the Noxian coast and managed to sneak onto a small passenger ship as it loaded some barrels.

Getting to Ionia had been a huge culture shock for you; here, magic was everywhere, and people of all kinds roamed the streets. It was such a difference from your old life, but watching families walk the streets reminded you sadly of what you had left behind. You had nothing here but your freedom, which stirred complicated feelings in your heart, but being here alone was much better than rotting in a dungeon or losing your head to the executioner’s block back in Demacia.

You had nowhere to go, and so you had wandered around until your feet hurt and your eyes were tired of being open. You had found an only somewhat grungy alleyway and collapsed in sleep as soon as you had sat down. You had no idea how long you had slept for, but you were awoken by a gentle hand grazing over your hair. Your brain hadn’t fully accepted your fall from Demacian grace, and you opened your eyes expecting to see your mother, but you were instead greeted by a beautiful middle-aged woman with light purple hair and matching soft furred ears atop her head.

You had never seen a Vastayan before, only read about them in books. Your Demacian teachers had only referred to them negatively as barbaric creatures that embraced terrifying magic. But your status as a fugitive mage had you questioning what you had been told, and so you had agreed to the woman’s offer to bring you to her home to patch up the wounds you only now noticed you had, adrenaline keeping the stinging pains at bay until then.

Ciorah had noticed right away that you were not from Ionia, and she had later told you that she saw something of herself in you that day that made her feel that she couldn’t leave you alone to die on the streets. She had taken you to her modest home, insisting on giving you food and some of her spare clothes. She was nothing but nice to you, and in return you had told her how you came to be in Navori. She had listened, and comforted you in a way that was not unlike your own mother. And she had told you about her son, who she had explained was off building a school at the time, and how sweet a boy he was.

You had talked with her for quite a while, as you had nowhere to be in the first place. When it started to get cold as the night rolled in, Ciorah asked you to show her your magic, and you had obliged only after she had reassured you that Vastaya were creatures of magic, and therefore it was harder to injure them with it. She smiled gently as you allowed a small flame to light in your palm, and helped guide your hand to light a simple blue-tinted candle with ease.

You had been surprised with how easily she guided your magic, unsure of how you had the luck to come across her in the first place. She would not let you leave her home that night, insisting that she had a friend that you had to meet the next day. You were ushered to sleep in her son’s childhood bed, Ciorah silencing all of your protests that you didn’t want to trouble her.

The next day, she took you to see a proud Vastayan woman with a stern gaze and a blonde braid laid over her shoulder. You had been invited into her home, where you noticed delicate glass works displayed around the rooms.

The woman, Inora, became your mentor. She had been creating glass works to sell for years, and had once belonged to the same Vastayan community as Ciorah before they had both been expelled. While Inora looked outwardly intimidating, she sympathized with your situation and had readily offered to help you harness your powers in exchange for working as her apprentice and helping her shape glass with your fire.

You had accepted the apprenticeship, and began to train under Inora, your powers slowly becoming easier to manipulate. Ionia had become your home, and eventually it became easier to avoid thinking of where you had come from. You were often sent out to deliver orders, and it made you happy that Inora trusted you with more responsibilities.

You had just finished your deliveries for the day, and had one more stop to make. When you had some extra materials, Inora would let you make little glass trinkets to give to Ciorah. You had made her a small cat out of glass this time, and fished it out of your bag carefully as you knocked on her door.

Ciorah welcomed you in happily, placing the glass cat beside the other animals you had made for her in past. As with every time you visited her, Ciorah had you seated with a cup of handmade tea in front of you.

“I am always happy to see you doing well,” she said softly, taking a small sip of her own cup of tea.

You smiled, knowing better than to tell her the only reason you were okay was because of her. You had told her so many times already that you didn’t want to get on her nerves, so instead you visited her often and brought her new glass pieces whenever you could to show how much you appreciated her kindness.

“How are you doing?” you asked. You had been worried as of late with there being an increased ruffian presence in town, and Ciorah was an ideal target for those with compromised morals looking for an easy mark.

“Everything is fine,” she reassured you, before looking over to the door with her brow furrowed. “I told Settrigh to come by, but I do not think you will get to meet him today.”

You waved her comment off with a smile. “It’s alright, I know his job keeps him busy.”

In the year you had been in Ionia, you still had yet to meet Ciorah’s son despite all the time you had spent in her company. You knew that he worked hard to provide for her, so you could forgive him for never being there when you were. Though it didn’t make you any less curious to meet the kind, hardworking young man. If he was anything like his mother, you were sure that you would get along well with him. You had Ciorah and Inora, but a part of you lamented no longer having any friends of your own age category.

“Be careful on your way back,” Ciorah’s voice broke through your thoughts. “I have heard that some of the brutes from the fighting pits have been causing trouble lately.”

The fighting pits. You had heard of the brawling arena in the Noxian district of Navori. You hadn’t been in that part of Navori, let alone in the pit itself. You had seen loud, tough-looking men around town, and if they were any indication of what their place of employment was like, you weren’t interested.

“I’ll be careful,” you promised her, changing the subject to something lighter. “Inora wanted me to ask if you needed any supplies…”

Talking with Ciorah caused time to go by without you noticing. It came as a surprise to you when you decided to look behind you to a window and discovered how dark it was outside. Ciorah was quick to notice as well, and insisted that you head home before it got potentially dangerous outside.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” you promised her as she saw you off with a smile.

The streets of Navori were fairly busy, as it was barely evening. Your walk would only take around fifteen minutes, ten if you took the side streets, which you had opted to do this time. It wasn’t late enough for you to get into any trouble, so you felt safe enough to take your usual shortcuts. Maybe you were being naïve, but although you had heard stories, nothing untoward had happened to you in your time in Ionia. Still, you avoided meeting anyone’s gaze as you maneuvered around a mother and child perusing a fruit cart and entered the alleyway just behind them.

The alleyway was darker than normal, so after a cursory look around, you lit a small flame on your palm after seeing nobody else in the area. With the light of the flame as your guide, you walked to the end of the alleyway, turning the corner as usual and stepping over the dip in the stone floor. You had been mentally going over the list of things you had to remember to tell Inora when you got back, so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice a large frame move to block your way. You collided with the man who was right in front of you, stumbling back and into another man who was suddenly behind you. You hurriedly looked between them as they both leered down at you, closing in on you.

“We got a little mage here,” the one in front of you taunted, jerking his head to his buddy, which made his choppy, greasy hair bounce.

You gasped; you hadn’t realized that the flame in your palm was still lit, and quickly extinguished it. You had nowhere to go, and they knew it. You could only shudder as the man behind you brought some of your hair to his nose as he stared you down in an intimidating manner.

He dropped the lock of hair as he noticed you looking back at him in terror. “Too good to talk to us?” he jeered.

“She ain’t too good for the fightin’ pits,” the first man added. “They straighten out bitches with their noses in the air.”

“Even if she dies, we’d get a finder’s fee,” the second man replied.

You tried to dash around the man in front of you, but he caught your arm and threw you to the ground. You were about to scream, but silenced yourself with a whimper as a knife was thrust close to your face. The large, greasy man stared down at you with a predatory grin as his friend moved the knife down to press slightly on your neck.

“Yer gonna earn us enough money to pay all our debts!” he announced as you were grabbed and forced back on your feet.

“Or die tryin’!” the other man joked, both men cackling with laughter.

You were dragged out of the alleyway, the knife at your neck replaced by a too-tight grip on your arm to arouse less suspicion. You looked around with eyes wide in terror, hoping that someone noticed you were out of place and needed help. But no matter how much you tried to catch someone’s eye, nobody spared you even a glance. As you were dragged along further, you suspected that this was the seedy part of town, because it seemed like everyone was ignoring you on purpose as you passed them. Everyone here had their own illegal business to conduct and none of them had any care for one girl in trouble.

The next turn opened up to a densely crowded area, packed with women with sharp eyes and men with muscles bigger than any you had seen before. There was not a friendly face in the crowd as you were jostled by the men dragging you through the throng of people and towards a side entrance that was manned by a heavily muscled man with thick eyebrows and tattoos littering his arms.

“We got a late entry,” the man with the vice grip on you stated.

The assumed-bouncer raised a thick eyebrow. “You think she has any chance?”

“If she do, we want our cut of it!” the skinnier captor cackled.

You looked pleadingly at the bouncer, hoping he could see that you were not willing to be here. “Please, help me, I don’t want to–”

You were cut off as a fist to the back of your head caused you to bite your tongue, the taste of iron filling your mouth at the same time as you felt your skull ring with pain.

“Shut it, bitch,” the larger captor shouted.

You felt tears prick your eyes as you silently cried, blood dripping from your mouth and onto your chin. You risked one more look at the bouncer, who stared at you impassively for a moment before standing aside and opening the door. You would get no sympathy here.

“See Dedric’s till, he’ll check you in,” the bouncer grunted, and you were quickly pushed in the door, the man slamming it shut behind your group.

The two men immediately rounded on you and you were shoved against a wall. The skinnier man leaned in towards your face, his chipped and dirty teeth on full display and way too close when you had no room to move away. “You try anythin’ like that again and we’ll kill ya right here.”

“Ain’t no one in the pits gonna care about one dead bitch,” the larger man chimed in.

They wasted no more time, grabbing you and pulling you through the barren hallway and up to a man with an eye patch and shaggy black hair who sat at a desk with a large chart in front of him and a surplus of coins just behind him in a chest.

“Got one more for the lineup,” the skinny man told the man at the till; Dedric, you had to assume.

Dedric grinned as he stared you down. It was clear to you where on your body he was staring, and it wasn’t your eyes. He looked down at his list for only a moment before looking at your captors. “I s’pose you’ll want a finder’s fee,” he drawled. “Ya can get it now, or double after the fight if she survives.”

The brazen talk of your fate sent a shiver up your spine. You let a few more tears fall as the men discussed details, just wishing that you were back with Ciorah; you’d even take a scolding from Inora over the likely awful death you had coming.

“We’ll do the double,” the large captor sneered.

“Ya might get lucky,” Dedric replied, jotting something down on his list. “We got a lotta amateurs on tonight.”

After he finished writing, Dedric finally looked you in the eyes. “Ya got a stage name?”

How dare he even ask when it was so obvious that you were not here of your own free will? You felt anger overwhelm the fear you felt for a moment. You glared at him, refusing to answer his question. You would have no willing part in this murderous spectacle.

Dedric looked annoyed with you, gesturing dismissively to the side. “Take her to the stage. Lookin’ forward to watchin’ the attitude beat out of her.”

The skinny man held his knife to your neck again as you were then pulled down another hallway and towards the competitor’s area, several men in flashy outfits scattered around, sharpening weapons or talking amongst each other.

“Please,” you tried one last time. “Please don’t do this!”

“Please!” the larger man said in a high-pitched mock imitation of your voice, both men breaking out in obnoxious laughter.

“Looks like yer up first!” the skinny one said as they handed you off to another burly man, who you assumed was overseeing the competitors.

“No!” you protested uselessly.

“Use that firepower and maybe you’ll earn us double!” the large captor taunted as they made their way towards the spectator stands.

Without any say in the matter, you were shoved out into the large arena, rows and rows of people staring down at you as you stumbled and fell onto your hands and knees, palms stinging from the impact. Looking around, you noticed no friendly faces in the crowd, just a large group of intimidating strangers that were all sizing you up.

Just as you were standing up, chatter and applause rang out from all around you, and you looked for the source, since it obviously wasn’t you. You didn’t have to look far as a man strutted out from the pit entrance behind you.

He strutted around the ring, giving you an opportunity to assess him as well. He was a large figure, muscles prominently on display from his lack of a shirt, red paint splashed across his skin like blood. Or maybe it was blood, he was too far away from you at the moment for you to tell. He was clearly Noxian, a large Noxian crest tattoo visible on his back when he turned his back to you in order to face the crowd. He flexed his muscles for the loudly cheering crowd for a few more minutes before he finally acknowledged you, although your attention had been turned away from him to look for any escape routes.

“Too bad we gotta fight,” he remarked offhandedly. “You’d make a real nice ring girl.”

He said it loudly, despite being ten or so feet away from you, obviously intending to impress the crowd with his trash talking. You just rolled your eyes, feeling bitter and angry that you had even gotten in this situation in the first place. You would never see Ciorah or Inora again because two criminals decided to target you, and it wore down any spirit you had left to think that you had made a happy life here just to die in the fighting pits.

The announcer then declared that the fight was to begin from his cushy podium, sending your heart rate skyrocketing. You were very clearly trapped; scaling the twenty foot walls that led up to the stands wasn’t going to be an option. Your opponent walked to the opposite side of the arena that would be his starting point, readying himself by materializing two very sharp daggers out of thin air and sending a bloodthirsty smirk your way.

This practice was barbaric, and you took one last look at the crowd for any hope of someone who would understand that you weren’t here willingly and want to help you, but all you saw in their eyes was their eagerness to watch you die. You felt disappointment radiate from within you as movement caught your eye; a large man entered a relatively barren area of the stands, and you noticed the furred ears atop his head immediately. A Vastayan in the fighting pits? The only Vastayans you knew were the opposite of anyone who would ever come here. You realized that he was looking back at you as your eyes drifted from his ears to his eyes. You weren’t sure what to make of his cold, calculated gaze, but a loud whistle brought you back to your current problem; the fight was on.

Your opponent began to run at you, faster than you thought possible, and you threw yourself to the side just in time to dodge the first swipe of his blades. You had no combat experience at all, all you had was your magic. Magic that you sparingly used and had never used to hurt anyone before. The thought of using your magic like that scared you, but you didn’t have a lot of options at the moment. You scrambled up and were about to make a run for it, but found yourself pinned in place as the Noxian threw both of his daggers, which struck both sides of your loose-fitting shirt and then embedded in the wall behind you, one dagger grazing the flesh of your side as well. You cried out in pain, too scared to form tears as you tried to pry the daggers from the wall to free yourself.

The man sauntered over lazily to screams from the audience for him to finish you off. “We had some fun, sweetheart. But I think it’s time to show you how we say goodbye in Noxus.”

You didn’t understand his reference, but the crowd got noticeably excited as he cracked his knuckles, now only a foot away from you. Even if you escaped the daggers, he was too close for you to get away from him. This brute would take your life to the sounds of thunderous applause unless you did something now. You took your hands off of the daggers and raised them up, palms facing towards the Noxian.

“Please stop…” you begged him. You really didn’t want to hurt him, but you didn’t want to die. You would have to put up a fight.

“Little late to be beggin’ for mercy!” he cackled, and one of the daggers pinning you disappeared and reappeared in his hand. “Time’s up!”

His dagger didn’t have a chance to get closer as you let go and he was blasted with a spray of searing fire.

It was turning out to be a bad night for Sett.

He had been disturbed on the way to his ma’s house by one of his men in a panic, who had informed him that the two competitors for the crowd-drawing fight of the night had gotten in a drunken brawl earlier and had both been arrested by the Ionian authorities. His knuckles twitched as he changed course and made his way to the pit earlier than he had intended to. He knew that his ma would forgive him, but he hated breaking promises that he made to her. Sett had a way he liked doing things, but without a headlining fight, his options were slim; get in the ring himself, or put on an amateur night.

His momma had been worried about the influx of Noxians to the Ionian shores lately, and he knew she would be on high alert for any new injuries on him. The one thing he hated above all was being the cause of her worries, so he gave the orders to scout out competitors for amateur night. Maybe he’d find some new talent to replace the two drunken morons permanently. He wasn’t worried about either of them complaining about being replaced; it was a well-known fact that Sett didn’t give second chances. Not to anyone that messed with his money.

Once a group of men had been dispatched to spread the news that they were recruiting for the night, Sett made sure everyone was aware of the change. Newbie nights always drew in a lot of overconfident braggarts who spent more time showboating than they lasted in the ring, so everything would be timed carefully. The more fights he could pack in one night, the more bets they could take in. Amateur nights almost never had clear winners before the fights began, so the house won more than on nights where the big names came to fight. It sorta made up for the smaller crowds on amateur nights, but some money was better than no money.

Ensuring everything was ready took longer than usual, and by the time Sett had taken his place in the stands, the first fight was about to start. He already had a distaste for the muscle man with the Noxian tattoo. They never seemed to stop reminding him of the father that had abandoned him and his ma. He didn’t feel the need to fight Noxians in general, but he never minded watching them lose in his pit. The Noxian was parading around; not unexpected for a rookie to go heavy on the taunts but light on the punches.

Having had his fill of assessing the Noxian, Sett turned his gaze to the other competitor, only to discover that she had been staring at him already. They met eyes for a few moments, which was enough for Sett to notice how out of place she looked. Last minute nerves happened sometimes, but this girl was on another level. He was across the pit from her, but he suspected that she was crying. What kind of idiot had booked this crybaby for a fight?

“Who did she sign up with?” he asked one of the till masters, Ryo, who had also come to watch the fight.

“I saw her at Dedric’s with two other guys,” was the answer he received.

Dedric… Dedric had been working at the pits since before Sett had taken them over, which was something he knew the man had been unhappy about. Sett didn’t insist that everyone like him, but he expected obedience to his rules. And signing up weaklings for fights that lasted ten seconds was not good for business. If fights were short, the spectators got bored, and his tills got lighter.

“Do you want to stop the fight?” Ryo asked carefully, knowing better than to force any opinion on the pit boss.

“Nah,” Sett replied. “Let it go on. But I want Dedric’s till checked at the end of the night.”

Bets had been taken, and Sett wasn’t going to stop the fight now and lose out on the coin it generated. He would talk to Dedric later; for now, he was interested to see if the cocky Noxian had any skills to back up his mouthing off.

The Noxian brandished two daggers from thin air and charged at the girl. Sett stared her down, waiting for her to do something worthy of interest as she dived to the side to avoid a direct blow. Well, maybe the fight would last twenty seconds instead of ten, he mused.

The Noxian’s next move pinned the girl to the wall with his daggers, and he began to taunt her as she cried and begged for mercy. Sett had thought something was up before, but now he knew. Dedric would have to be out of his mind to book this girl, unless he was counting on fixing some easy matches. Nobody would volunteer for a match to the death that they didn’t think they could win, and Sett smelled a rat. He kept his business away from the Ionian authorities’ grasp, but shit like kidnapping local girls for pit fights would bring attention that he did not want. He wouldn’t stop this fight and draw attention away from the matches, but Dedric was gonna learn very soon why he should’ve played by Sett’s rules.

He flexed his knuckles as he watched the Noxian go for the killing blow; the corpse cart standing by, ready to collect the girl’s body. But the cheers and chants from the crowd died down to a whisper as the Noxian let out a terrified scream. Sett only had a second to duck as a wave of fire shot out from the girl, which travelled all the way across the room and ended at the wall directly behind where he had been standing.

At first he thought it had been an attack meant for him, but as he glanced down to the pit, he saw that the fire had hit its intended mark. The Noxian was unrecognizable, a black human-shaped figure. Sett couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, but the corpse cart was wheeled over as the girl collapsed on the floor, the remaining dagger in her side disappearing, a clear sign that the Noxian was no longer alive. Her clothes in burnt tatters, the girl curled up on her side and sobbed. It wasn’t a sight he had seen in the pit before, and he was taken aback.

“Guess she ain’t as weak as she looks,” Ryo remarked with a low whistle.

The crowd remembered to breathe again as the body of the Noxian was wheeled away. There was a mix of cheers and boos, the latter likely from those who had bet against the girl. The doors to the pit opened up, an enforcer entering with two men at his heels. The men were out of place, looking more like con artists than pit fighters. Ryo was looking out at the same scene as the two men attempted to haul the girl to her feet as she resisted heavily.

“Those were the guys who brought her in. You think…?” Ryo prompted.

“Yeah.” Ryo didn’t have to finish his sentence for Sett to know that they both suspected the same thing about the situation. “Invite those two to the back office. I want the girl separated from them. I’ll deal with Dedric later.”

Ryo immediately left to oversee the orders, and Sett watched as Ryo appeared in the arena and had the two men and the girl escorted out of the pit so the next competitors could fight it out. He trusted that Ryo could handle the problem for now; any action on his part would have to wait until the crowd had gone home for the night. And with more fights to come, Sett settled back into his chair and kept his focus on the pit.

You were not being dragged away by those creeps again, not after barely surviving the fight at the expense of taking a life. You struggled, hoping the pressure of the crowd would keep them from pulling the knife on you again.

“Get up!” the skinny one screeched at you. “Get your ass up!”

Their tugging on your limbs paused as a man with dark hair in a low ponytail and an overly pleasant smile approached.

“Gentleman, the boss would like to talk some business after the rounds,” he explained smoothly. “We may even triple your finder’s fee.”

Your heart sunk. So nobody here was a decent person? You would get nowhere being on the floor, so you reluctantly stood up, your captors taking an arm each to allow you no chance of escape. You could only do what you could to avoid further violence being inflicted on you. You followed the smooth-talking man down the hallway you had been in before, up until he stopped in front of a door.

“You can wait in here for the boss,” the man announced, but didn’t stand aside for the men to enter. “She’s gotta go in another room. Can’t have the talent present while the men talk business.”

Your captors seemed to accept his logic, stepping into the room, obviously mentally counting their imminent profits from your enslavement. Whereas all you could think about was how you were going to get out of this. You were reluctant to hurt anyone, but maybe if you threatened this man with your powers, he’d let you leave. You followed him to the room next door, readying yourself to throw a fireball and run if necessary. But before you could work up your nerve, the door was shut and you were left alone with a promise that the boss would be paying you a visit soon.

You paced around the room, trying to think of what to do. Inora must be so worried that you hadn’t returned home, but you had no way to contact her from here. And even if you did, you doubted that she could get you out of this viper’s den. You would have to do something. You had lost track of time, stuck in your own thoughts until you heard muffled shouting from the room next door. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the voices sounded angry. You crept closer to the wall to try and hear better, but just as you put your ear to the wall, there was a heavy impact to the other side of the wall, which jolted you backwards, landing on your back and knocking the wind out of you.

You had to get out of here. You had heard the click of a lock earlier when the smooth-talker had left, but maybe you could just burn the door down? You ran a hand along the door; it was unfortunately solid. You had never tested your powers like this before, so you were unsure of if you could accidentally enflame the entire building. You had no idea what had happened in the room next door, which was now eerily quiet, but you weren’t about to be next. Not without trying to get out of here. You placed both palms to the wooden door, ready to burn right through it, when it was opened from the outside, sending you flying forward, eyes shut reflexively for the impact to the floor.

“And here I thought you were done fightin’.”

Your eyes snapped open at the deep male voice and sudden grip on your forearms, only to see the Vastayan man from before. You were eye-level with his very muscular chest, and looked further up to see him looking down at you with an eyebrow raised. Up close, you could make out every little scratch on his ruggedly handsome face, your eyes drawn to one small white scar that ran down one side of his bottom lip and ended just a bit above his chin. You came back to yourself all at once, flushing with embarrassment as you realized that you had been staring at him too long.

You remembered your situation, jerking back and out of his grip, which surprised him. Your need to separate yourself from him resulted in you falling to the floor again, and you began to quickly scramble away from the man.

He brought a hand up to itch at the back of his neck as he casually stepped into the room. “Relax,” he said, moving closer to you. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“Please, please don’t–” You were babbling, and you knew it, but you didn’t know what else to do as you curled into a ball on the floor, keeping your eyes on his approaching figure.

He looked somewhat annoyed, halting where he stood a few feet away from you. “Look, we beat the story outta those scumbags that brought you here. You’re free to go.”

His words swept away your fears of immediate and swift peril, which was quickly replaced by confusion as you slowly sat up. “But…”

“I know what good girls like you think ‘a the pits, but mine ain’t like that,” he explained. “We only take willing fighters.”

“I didn’t…” you trailed off, deciding not to voice your half-hearted protests. You definitely had thought exactly that, so you weren’t sure why you had tried to deny his assertion. “You’re going to let me leave?”

“I would invite ya back, but I don’t think the pit is the right place for a cryin’ city girl,” he replied.

“Thank you!” you exclaimed, ignoring the insult. You weren’t sure what to say, but you didn’t want him to have any reason to reverse his decision. He ran a fighting pit, so clearly he wasn’t all there morally, but you didn’t want to stay here and access him further, not when he was giving you a free pass to get out of here.

You stood up, keeping your eyes on him as you inched towards the door, the man staring back at you with what looked like amusement, keeping his gaze on you as you passed by him and into the hallway. You weren’t sure where to go from here, but you were afraid to seem like you didn’t know what you were doing.

“Wrong way,” he called out when you were halfway down the hallway in your chosen direction. You flinched at his voice, turning around and sheepishly walking back in his direction as he chuckled.

“Down the hall and to the left,” he said as you passed by him.

You walked a little faster at his words, but followed his directions. You were too nervous to look back, and you hurried around the corner, feeling his eyes on you until you fully left his sight. You were grateful that there was one decent person in this place, but you wanted to be out of here as soon as possible.

The air outside the arena was stale, but welcome to your frazzled nerves. You walked among the crowd of exiting patrons, hoping that they wouldn’t take notice of you if you kept your head down. Luckily for you, it was a busy night of betting, and that’s all the crowd around you could talk about. You stuck close to a group of women that were discussing how attractive one of the fighters was until you were back on the main streets again. You were grateful for all the loud people on the streets, because nobody paid any attention to you as you took only well-lit paths back to Inora’s home, eyes flitting around as you kept watch for any more goons in your way. You weren’t sure what the man had meant when he told you that he had dealt with your kidnappers, but if they were out on the streets, then you needed to be off of them as soon as you could be.

Inora was in her favorite chair by the front door as you unlocked the door and came in. She practically leapt from the chair, rushing over to you once she noticed your appearance. You hadn’t had a chance to look in a mirror, but you knew that your clothes were dirty and ripped, a patch of your shirt stained with your blood from the Noxian’s dagger. You must have looked awful, and would likely have bruises all over once you woke up tomorrow.

Inora sat you down and began to fuss over your injuries, washing your cuts and bandaging the worst of them as you told you what had happened to you.

“Those dirty kidnappers,” she growled. “They are a scourge on Navori!”

You didn’t want to make her any more stressed, so you shortened your summary of the fight and skipped to the part where the Vastayan man let you leave. Inora had only calmed down slightly, her protective nature setting in as she made you some dinner, despite your offers to help her. You sat patiently in your chair, hoping that being as calm as you could would keep her from acting on her threats to go down to the arena and give them a piece of her mind.

You had to beg her not to tell Ciorah about what had happened. Ciorah was a sweet lady who already worried too much about the dangers of the streets, and you didn’t want her constantly stressed with worry for you every time you left her home. Inora was reluctant, but understood why you wanted to keep the experience a secret from Ciorah. You were eventually allowed to go to bed after Inora had finished fussing over you, and you were so tired that you passed out almost immediately.

The next day, you were anxious to get out of the house and visit Ciorah. You had woken up in slight pain from bruises all over your body, but otherwise you were feeling better. Unlike you, however, Inora had woken up even more protective than the day before. She hadn’t let you do any glass work, stating that since you had used your powers to the extreme yesterday, using them today would be too much of a strain on you. You had tried to tell her that you felt fine, but no amount of convincing would lessen her worries. She barely let you make your own food, and you were trying to be patient, but felt like you were going a bit crazy with her constant hovering around you.

“…and if you’re still there when it gets dark, stay there and I’ll come get you,” Inora instructed you as you stood by the door, ready to leave for Ciorah’s home. She had been talking at you for several minutes now, and you decided to just let her talk until she got it all out. Only after agreeing to all of her conditions did she let you leave at last, and you took only busy streets to get to Ciorah’s house.

You had tried to wear enough clothing to cover all of your bruises and cuts, but you hadn’t worn a bag over your head, so Ciorah noticed the scrapes on your face and hands immediately. She fretted over you as she ushered you into her home, and you were immediately reminded of Inora, who had done the exact same thing. You gently refuted her worries, sitting down opposite her at her small table.

“I tripped and fell into a thorn bush,” you carefully stated your rehearsed lie. “I’m fine!”

You felt bad at just how easily Ciorah believed your lie, but you knew it had to be done. She didn’t need the extra stress, and you didn’t want to make her even more concerned about the ruffians at the pits. You bit down any urges to tell her the truth, covering up your guilt with a smile just as a knock came at the door.

You felt unease rise up within you as Ciorah excused herself to go to the door. The only person who had ever visited when you were here was Inora, and your mind began to race, trying to think of what to do if Inora was here to tell Ciorah tell truth. It seemed like you couldn’t escape the awkward conversation, and so you stared at the wall that was blocking your view of the entrance and tried to think of any possible way to explain to her why you had lied without damaging her trust in you. You thought you were doing her a favor, but now that your plan was backfiring majorly, you were feeling even worse.

You listened intently as Ciorah opened the door, waiting to hear Inora’s voice that you knew was coming. Instead, you heard a man’s voice, and an excited coo from Ciorah, which derailed your train of thought entirely.

“Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” the male voice said. “The boss’s daughter was sick, so I did his share of work too.”

“I am just happy to see you, Settrigh,” Ciorah replied warmly.

As soon as you heard the name, you realized that it was Ciorah’s elusive son at the door. You admittedly could use the help in distracting Ciorah from your injuries, but more than anything you were interested in finally meeting the son that Ciorah often spoke so fondly of. You let a smile light your face in excitement as Ciorah came back into the room, and the large figure just behind her sent your heart racing.

You barely heard Ciorah introduce you to her son as you stared at him, eyes wide and skin feeling cold with dread. Settrigh stared back at you in shock, neither of you breaking your shared gaze until Ciorah asked her son if he would like some tea.

“Yes, ma,” Settrigh answered politely, and the blatant change in his personality from last night shocked you.

The calm didn’t last long, because as soon as Ciorah left the room to prepare the tea, Settrigh quickly crossed the room to get in your face, voice threatening despite being at whisper volume. “Did you tell her?”

“What?” you whispered back.

He glared at you, unamused by your lack of answer. “Did you tell my ma about what I do?”

“No!” you squeaked, backing away in fear. “I didn’t want to worry her… and besides, I didn’t know you were her son!”

“You better not be lyin’,” he threatened, and the implications of his words were clear. You say anything and he would do the same thing to you that he did to your kidnappers last night. You didn’t know what to do to get him to understand that he could trust you.

“Settrigh–” you tried to plead, but his growl shut you up.

“Sett,” he grunted. “Momma’s the only one who calls me Settrigh.”

“I… I’m sorry.” You didn’t know what else to say to abate his sudden anger.

He scoffed. “Relax, I’m not gonna hurt ya. Just remember that my momma don’t need to know what I really do.”

You nodded definitely too many times for it to look casual as Ciorah came back into the room with a tray of three teacups with a soft purple flower pattern dotting the rims. With Ciorah here, you felt a little safer than being left alone with him, and could take the time to examine him more closely. You sat back down at the table and tried to stifle a laugh at the sight of the heavily-muscled man sitting in a chair half as wide as he was and drinking from a dainty little teacup. Sett caught your nearly-silent giggle and frowned at you.

“Settrigh, do not grip the cup so hard!” Ciorah scolded him, and Sett hastened to apologize to his mother, his furry ears drooping down in a way you realized that you found cute. Such a fierce beast in his pit, but a tamed puppy in front of his mom.

As you sipped your tea, Ciorah fetched your newest figure from its position on a small stand and held it out to Sett, who took it to admire politely.

“She brings me these when she has extra materials,” Ciorah said proudly, smiling at you as she addressed her son. “I told you that she helps Aunt Inora?”

Sett stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. “The Demacian girl…” he muttered to himself.

Ciorah had told him about you? You felt shy as you wondered exactly how much she had told him about your life. Other than Ciorah and Inora, nobody in Ionia knew your shameful history. You really shouldn’t care, but you felt shame at this man who had grown up with a loving mother knowing that you had travelled across a continent because your family didn’t want you. You tried to ration with yourself that you didn’t need his approval, didn’t need him to like you, but you found yourself longing for any connection with someone your own age. But you didn’t want to seem desperate, so you pushed your emotions away for now and chatted casually with Ciorah, too scared to talk directly to Sett and give him any more reasons to dislike you.

Watching him interact with his mother made you feel happy, but also empty and jealous. Eventually, you were content to just let them talk as you nursed your tea, sinking into thoughts you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on in a long time. Thoughts about your family, of how you’d never see them again unless you wanted to give yourself up for death as a Demacian fugitive. That even if you did, they would only ever see you as a black mark on their otherwise-perfect legacy.

You didn’t notice as a tear fell from your face and into your now-cold tea, but both sets of sensitive Vastayan ears perked up at the tiny sound it made. Only when Ciorah called your name did you realize that you were crying.

“Sorry!” you cried out, embarrassed at losing control of your emotions. You stumbled out of your seat, rushing towards the front door, not stopping at the calls of your name from Ciorah as you opened the door and rushed out into the street. You only slowed down when you reached an empty alleyway, wiping your face with your long sleeve as you cursed your own judgment. Less than a day after you had been kidnapped in an alleyway, and here you were being careless yet again.

“Hey!” a shout startled you as your upper arm was gripped firmly, and you looked over to see Sett looking sternly down at you. “What are you doing? You nearly gave ma a heart attack!”

You didn’t have the strength to pull your arm from his grip, and you looked at the ground as you answered. “…it’s nothing.”

“You think I’m stupid?” Sett growled. “Nobody cries without a reason. I understand if you don’t wanna tell me, but I don’t like it when ma worries.”

He wasn’t going to drop it, so you finally looked up at his face, surprised to see that he didn’t look as angry as his voice had sounded. He raised an eyebrow at you, which finally prompted you to talk.

“I don’t know how much Ciorah told you about me, but…” You struggled for words for a moment. “Seeing you two interact just made me miss my family back in Demacia. Which is stupid, because they didn’t want me the second they knew I had magic…”

“Savages,” Sett remarked darkly. “All ma told me ‘bout your past was that you came from Demacia, but after seein’ your magic, I’m not surprised you’re here. Those fools think they’re above lowly magic and then imprison any inconvenient mages that slip through the cracks of their lineage.”

You inhaled sharply, surprised at his words, and he released your arm at last, leaning back against the alley wall. “Besides the pits, ma’s all I got. My pa wanted money more than his family, so he ran off to be a big shot pit fighter in Noxus.”

“Sett…” you whispered, and he turned his sharp gaze to you, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I don’t need your pity, fireball. As long as I have coin for ma, and keep my pit runnin’, I’m not worried about my pa. As long as he doesn’t show his face back in Navori, that is.”

“Sorry for running out,” you said quietly, feeling very embarrassed about your childish behavior.

“You don’t need to say that to me,” he said casually. “But you really worried ma.”

“I don’t know if I can face her now,” you admitted honestly.

Sett laughed. “She won’t be mad, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve gotten on her bad side before and you ain’t even close.”

Sett turned to leave the alleyway and you trailed just behind him. His legs were much longer than yours, but he was obviously slowing his stride to allow you to keep pace with him. You made sure that your eyes were dry when you arrived back at Ciorah’s house, and were embraced by her as soon as she saw you. Somehow, Sett silently standing nearby gave you the confidence to tell her what had upset you. She had held you very tightly, much more than you had thought capable of a woman of her small stature.

By the time she had gotten the full story out of you, the sun had begun to set. Remembering Inora’s warning, you reluctantly admitted that you should head back home.

“Settrigh will escort you home,” Ciorah said sweetly; her tone kind, but firm. You didn’t dare disagree, but you were surprised at how Sett immediately agreed to her request.

He was so clearly a momma’s boy. You felt bad for judging him so harshly upon first meeting him. Though that didn’t excuse him running the violent, thug-infested pits, but you forced yourself to take comfort in the fact that he seemed to only allow willing competitors to fight in matches. You realized that he had never explicitly told you what had been done to your kidnappers, and your fear of running into them on the streets again prompted you to ask him as you departed Ciorah’s home.

“Are they… dead?” you asked quietly, scared of what his answer would be.

Sett shrugged. “I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking. They’ve been banned from the pit, and encouraged to leave town.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You were so sure that he had killed them. It was the pits, people died there all the time and nobody ever questioned it.

“Before you go thinkin’ I’m a saint, I did rough them up a bit,” he added. “Can’t have scumbags thinkin’ they can get around my rules.”

It was somewhat reassuring; you felt bad to be disappointed that they were still alive, but hopefully they wouldn’t be in any shape to try and get revenge. You didn’t want to experience any more violence; it was bad enough that you had killed someone, even though you had no choice. Silence dragged on as you walked alongside Sett until you were almost home.

“Y’know, if you ever get tired of Inora, I’m always lookin' for capable fighters,” he said, startling you out of your thoughts.

You stopped in your tracks, gaping at him as you tried to think of how to answer without offending him. He let out a bark of laughter as he stared back at you. “Sorry, city girl, just wanted to scare ya. You’re strong, but I know the pit fighter life ain’t for ya.”

He just said that to bug you? You had genuinely been worried that he would make you fight again! Fortunately, you didn’t have to wait long for revenge as Sett winced with a yelp as he was smacked in the back of the head by a strong hand.

“Settrigh!” Inora scolded. “You never visit anymore, and when I do see you, you’re out here picking on my apprentice!”

“Aunt Inora…” Sett greeted weakly.

She smacked him again. “I don’t tell your mother about your work and you repay me by allowing innocent girls to be forced to fight? What if she didn’t have powers and died!?”

“I’m sorry!” Sett yelped, before noticing you snickering at him again. “Hey!”

“I’ve ignored your seedy business long enough because you take care of Ciorah! You will apologize to this girl, not me!” she demanded.

Sett looked very defeated, and you were taking a bit too much joy out of watching the intimidating man be taken to task by a woman much older and smaller than him, though you would have to ask her how she knew that he ran the pit. He turned to face you with a grimace; he must have been used to her wrath if he folded so easily. Luckily, nobody was around at the moment to see his suffering but you and Inora.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding at least halfway sincere.

“Settrigh…” Inora warned, but you couldn’t help but jump in on his misery.

“I’ll forgive you if you let me pet your ears!” you teased him.

“What?” he snarled. “I’m not a–”

“Settrigh!” Inora scolded him with a smack to his biceps. “She’s being a lot nicer than your mother would be if she knew what you did to the poor girl!”

Sett growled, his eyes telling you that he would get you back for making him submit to your request. But you were having too much fun with the large half-Vastayan man and reached a hand up as he bent down to allow you to reach his furred ears. To your glee, they were incredibly soft. You ran your hand along the silken fur until a quiet noise from Sett stilled your hand as you looked back down at his face to see a flush to his skin that wasn’t there before. When he noticed you staring at him, he swatted your hand away at last, muttering something to himself and brushing past you to walk in the direction you had come from without another word.

“That boy is so predictable,” Inora mused as you followed her inside.

“You knew he ran the pit?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“It was hard for him when his father left,” Inora answered. “Hard for Ciorah too. People feared his father, so they were accepted, but they were not liked. After his father left, they no longer tolerated Settrigh. He had no choice but to grow up too soon.”

He had mentioned his father had left, but you didn’t realize he had been bullied. You weren’t sure what to say, so you said nothing and let Inora continue to talk.

“He used to get in fights all the time. Kids would say things to him about his mother and it would upset him. He grew up eventually, but I suspected he hadn’t really stopped fighting. I asked around and found out that he had taken over the pit,” she explained.

“And you didn’t tell Ciorah?” you wondered aloud.

She shook her head. “He begged me not to. With his money, she did not have to work gruelling jobs to support them anymore. I hate to admit it, but this way, Ciorah is safe and healthy. She struggled for a long time after we were forced to leave our tribe, and all Settrigh wants is his mother’s happiness.”

“I can see that,” you agreed. “I was really scared of him yesterday, but after seeing him act like an obedient puppy with you and Ciorah…” You couldn’t help but laugh as you recalled him being bossed around by the women.

“He’s a good son,” Inora assented. “I admit that maybe I went a little far with the ear pats.”

She noted your confusion and giggled. “Vastayan ears are more sensitive than human ears, and Settrigh’s even more than average. His mother used to pet his ears to calm him down when other kids would tease him.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to–” you started, but silenced you by waving off your concerns with a smile.

“He hasn’t come by in so long, so he deserved a little teasing as my revenge!” she joked. “He needs a break from being a big scary pit boss occasionally!”

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Ryo told Sett bluntly. Other men in his pit would be too afraid of insulting the pit boss to talk to him like that, but Ryo knew that Sett trusted him, and liked to think of himself as the closest thing the Vastayan brute had to a friend. They did not see each other outside of the pit, but they both spent so much time there that it didn’t matter.

Neither one of the men pulled punches with each other, and Sett’s personality change had not gone unnoticed by Ryo. He knew that it had started sometime around when they had dealt with those woman-nappers, but Ryo hadn’t been able to pinpoint what had changed his friend. Sett was as focussed on the coin as ever, but Ryo had caught him lost in thought much more often over the past month. Sett, however, kept his thoughts stubbornly hidden, no matter how hard Ryo tried to pull the secrets from him.

“Caiyana finally make you an offer you couldn’t refuse?” Ryo teased, knowing that there was no chance that Sett would answer in the affirmative. Caiyana, the deadly assassin-turned-pit fighter had her keen eye on Sett since she found her way to the pits. Sett had been cordial, even friendly to her, but Ryo knew the boss well enough to tell that he maintained a professional distance from the beautiful murderess, as much as a pit boss could be called professional.

Sett scoffed. “That woman ain’t into anythin' but Noxian gold.”

“Then you two have a lot in common,” Ryo replied dryly. Sett was blind if he thought Caiyana wouldn’t give up her booking fee for the night if it meant that she could jump the boss’s bones.

Ryo allowed silence to overtake the room as they double and then triple checked the coin count from the night’s lost bets. Ryo focussed his attention on organizing the coins, until everything was all set in its rightful place and Sett had no business to use as an excuse to not answer his friend, so Ryo tried again.

“I’m not stupid, Sett,” Ryo said smoothly. “If not Caiyana, you’ve got someone on your mind. You’re not smooth enough to hide your schoolboy crush from my eyes.”

“You wanna say that again?” Sett growled, and Ryo was confident that Sett prized the bag of coins in his grip too much to throw it at his head for that comment.

Ryo had always liked to get the last word with his burly friend, so he stood up with his modest cut of the night’s profits, sauntering to the door with confidence. “Bring her around sometime. I want to meet the woman that puts up with a momma’s boy like you.”

Sett noticed that people in the streets gave him a wider berth than usual, and he figured he must look as pissed as he felt. He valued his friend’s honesty and loyalty, but Ryo really loved pushing his buttons. They liked to bug each other often, but Sett hadn’t expected Ryo to bring up his love life, non-existent as it was.

Sett had never had flings with women, even after his rise to popularity within the dregs of Ionian society. When his father was still here, nobody really talked to him out of fear. But after the scumbag had run off on them, all hell had broken loose. No girl would look at the fatherless half-breed bastard with anything but scorn in their eyes. And then he had grown some muscles and taken over the pit and only then women became eager to throw themselves at him. He could see through their flattery as if they were made of glass; he wasn’t egotistical enough to believe these women truly had any interest in any part of him other than his prestige and his wallet. They liked the pretty package, but would balk if they got a look inside his damaged soul. None of these women had any time to waste on a bastard with thinly-veiled daddy issues.

He wasn’t about to tell Ryo, but he did have more than the pit to think about as of late. He had run into you a lot lately when he visited his momma in the daytime. He hadn’t noticed it himself, but he had begun to expect you to be there when he stopped by. The last time he had been by to bring ma some more coin, he found himself looking at your usual chair as he entered the home. Ma had noticed immediately, informing him that you were out making deliveries. Sett couldn’t pretend he wasn’t looking for you, but he bristled at his momma’s next sly comment about you being unattached. It seemed that his pensive mood had followed him into the pit, and it annoyed the hell outta him.

Sett didn’t have a crush. He wasn’t a boy anymore, nor an awkward teenager. He had never bothered with women, not unless it benefitted his pit. He was annoyed with himself for wanting to be around you. But he wasn’t about to trust Ryo with that information and open himself up for his friend’s teasing. The pit would be closed for cleaning the next day; it had been a bloodier week than usual, but Sett would welcome the time off so he could have more time to spend with his momma.

You had been too busy to see Ciorah lately, and by extension Sett as well, since you only ever saw him at his mother’s house. A rich collector had come upon your work, and had been commissioning you and Inora to make him various glassworks, which on top of your usual amount of work made you so busy that you had no time for anything else. The worst part being that the collector was sleazy; he insisted that you deliver the finished pieces, and would then make various excuses to keep you in his home as long as possible. You had wanted to tell Inora, but the man had been paying you well, money you knew would really help Inora at the moment, so you put up with it. You had survived the pit and the journey across the Noxian sea, you could take one so-far harmless creep.

You had just finished delivering another sculpture, following the man around his house until he finally decided where the perfect place for his new glasswork would be. You had hoped that would be the end of it, that he would for once have mercy on you and let you leave, but it was never that easy with this guy. You had been standing outside of his house, trying to excuse yourself for around twenty minutes as he continued to ignore your excuses and talk over you.

“…I do paint sometimes, you know. You should come model for me, you’re beautiful enough. I’ve always wanted to paint a nude model in a field of flowers. You’d be very happy as my model, happier than dirtying yourself with glass dust,” he rambled.

“I… I don’t…” You weren’t sure how to refuse him without losing his business; he had never been this bold with his creepiness before. “I like my work…”

“You can’t possibly think you’ll get anywhere in life working in that tiny shop,” he said, and you bit your lip in frustration at his patronizing tone. You needed to get out of here before you really lost it on him.

“You’ve got such a beautiful body,” he drawled, either oblivious or uncaring as to how hard you were trying to exit this conversation. “Your breasts were made to be painted–”

He was startled out of his speech by a large hand on his shoulder. You gasped in surprise, relief coloring your cheeks with warmth as you saw Sett right behind him. You hadn’t even seen him coming. The creep had an entirely different reaction as he stumbled away from the very angry half-Vastayan. The collector fell backwards in his urgency to get away from Sett, falling onto his butt in shock, but still had the nerve to speak.

“Y-you beast! Beasts like you don’t belong in the presence of civilized folk!” he bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at Sett, who lifted an eyebrow, his gaze still sharp and angry.

“You gonna apologize?” Sett growled lowly.

“Apologize?!” the man screeched. “Why should I apologize when you’re the one harassing civilians?”

“To her,” was Sett’s reply as he stared the man down. “That ain’t how ya talk to women half your age.”

“Excuse me?” the man exclaimed, getting red in the face from all the shouting he had been doing. “Mutts like you need to mind their own business!”

Sett’s eyes flashed dangerously at the insult, and your gaze flickered down to his fingers as he flexed them in what you assumed meant that this was going to get ugly. You quickly grabbed the hand closest to you before Sett could reply, and after a moment’s resistance, he allowed you to drag him away from the flustered man who was still on the floor.

“Thank you for your patronage!” you called out in the sweetest tone you could manage as you turned the corner, leaving the creep to cower and sputter on the ground.

“Sett, what were you…?” you queried him as soon as you got what you hoped was a good distance away from the creepy collector’s home.

“Ma needed more milk,” he answered, holding up a small woven bag that you hadn’t noticed that he had been carrying.

“Oh…” you replied stiffly, feeling awkward as you noticed that you were both still holding hands.

Sett looked down at you sternly, and you weren’t sure if he was aware of your joined hands or not. “You shouldn’t let people treat ya like that. Who knows what that bastard would’ve done if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“I know,” you groaned. “He buys a lot from us and Inora really needed the money to replace a torch I broke by accident…”

“Inora wouldn’t take his money if she knew what he was sayin’ to you,” Sett retorted darkly. “No coin is worth a woman bein’ treated like that.”

For such a big, intimidating guy, he sure was sweet to you lately. Sett took you out of your thoughts, tugging your hand to get you to follow him down a familiar path.

“Ciorah’s house isn’t…” you protested in confusion, but Sett’s steps didn’t falter.

“We’ll get there,” he replied. “But first we’re gonna go explain to Inora why you won’t be goin’ on deliveries to that freak anymore.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to protest; after that escalation in creepy behavior, you didn’t want to be anywhere near that guy ever again. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting Inora down; the creepy guy was the most profitable client in a long time. But there was not a high likelihood that he would be commissioning you in the future after Sett had nearly beat him up. You followed him back home, finding Inora in the workshop finalizing a piece that would go to a sweet older lady who bought works from you for her grandchildren.

“How was–” Inora greeted you before noticing your companion. “Settrigh?”

“She didn’t wanna tell you, but that old creep has been flirtin’ with her,” Sett explained while you awkwardly fiddled with your fingers just behind him.

“What?” Inora gaped. “I knew he had been ordering a lot of pieces, but I never thought…”

Sett nudged you forward, and you figured you should tell her the truth. “Sorry I didn’t tell you… normally he just rambles stories at me and stands too close, but today, he…”

It was too weird for you to say out loud, but Sett didn’t have the same reservations. “The bastard was tryin’ to convince her to model naked for him.”

“He what!?” Inora snarled. “If I could get my claws on him…”

“I was tryin’ to, but she stopped me,” Sett replied, gesturing to you with a jerk of his head.

“Sett!” you scolded him, but Inora barked out a laugh.

“For once, I approve of your violent streak!” she grinned.

You knew they weren’t biologically related, but you couldn’t help but note how familial their bond was. Inora was more outwardly tough than Ciorah, but both women fit so well into Sett’s life.

“Ma’s waitin’ on me to bring her milk,” Sett changed the subject with a sly smirk. “Gonna take her with me so she doesn’t run back to her boyfriend!”

You gaped at Sett, him and Inora laughing at the disgusted look on your face. “I would never–”

“Relax, princess,” Sett snickered. “I’ll protect ya from him.”

You lost all will to argue, his words flustering you into silence. You couldn’t tell if his tone was flirty or not, but the sudden nickname made you blush. Sett seemed oblivious, but you met eyes with Inora, who smiled knowingly at you, and you quickly looked down at your feet.

“You can take her with you, but you’ve gotta promise me you’ll punch that asshole if you see him again!” Inora joked.

“Can do,” Sett answered affirmatively.

“Don’t be too late!” Inora added, winking at you in a manner that left you no room to doubt what she was really saying. You were relieved that Sett had already turned to the door and had missed her wink altogether.

You still weren’t sure why he was insistent on bringing you along, but it had been a while since you had seen him and you had missed the big brute. You followed Sett out of the front door, waving goodbye to Inora as you emerged back onto the early afternoon streets of Navori.

“…how is the pit?” you asked, wanting to say something but couldn’t think of any interests of his besides his mom and his work in your flustered state.

“’s good,” he answered with a chuckle. “Didn’t think you wanted to hear about the pit.”

What could you even say to that? That you just wanted to talk with him and weren’t sure what else to say?

“I…” you trailed off as you entered the streets that made up the marketplace that led to Ciorah’s home.

“I told you I won’t make ya fight,” Sett laughed. “The pit is a place for degenerates like me, not little mages.”

“You’re not a degenerate,” you refuted softly. “If you hadn’t saved me, I would probably still be with those kidnappers.”

Sett scoffed as you both turned onto the street that Ciorah’s house was on. “With your firepower, they didn’t stand a chance in a fight with you.”

You just stared at him, dumbfounded by his confidence in you. You still weren’t sure how you had beat the Noxian in the pit, but it was a weird feeling to have someone who brawled for a living complimenting you on your combat prowess, however little you felt that you possessed anyways. Maybe you should start having more confidence in yourself; he had certainly given you something to think about. Sett knocked on Ciorah’s door as you stepped onto the landing by his side. You felt a sudden onset of emotion as you reflected further on what a good thing it had been for your life for you to meet Sett.

“Hey… are you cryin’?” Sett said, looking panicked.

Before you could answer, Ciorah opened the door to see you wiping away the small tears that had developed in your eyes. Sett looked infinitely more panicked as his eyes darted from you to his mother, and you watched as her eyes narrowed as she looked at the scene in front of her.

“Settrigh!” she scowled. “What did you say to her?”

Sett’s eyes widened in panic at his mother’s ire, an ear in her grasp before he could think to pull away. You quickly followed them into the house, shutting the door behind you.

“It ain’t like that, ma! She just started cryin’!” Sett protested.

“I raised you to be kind to women, Settrigh,” Ciorah replied sternly.

“He didn’t do anything, I promise!” you corrected Ciorah’s impression the best you could, trying not to laugh as Sett rubbed his sore ear when Ciorah released it upon hearing your words. “I was just thinking about… how nice Sett has been to me and I teared up.”

You were embarrassed to have to be so honest, especially since Sett was now staring at you with a look in his eyes you couldn’t read. Ciorah finally abandoned scolding her son to give you a tight hug, which only served to make you feel more embarrassed. You had never cried this often back in Demacia, but that was hardly unusual for Demacia. There was always a high importance placed on being proper and not embarrassing your family. You had grown up with the notion that it was normal to keep emotions – even happiness – out of the public sphere and away from troubling anyone. Thinking back, you realized that you had never even seen your parents cry. Ever.

The only emotions they displayed often were fear and anger. You knew now that was how they kept Demacians in line. By making them fear mages like you that just wanted to be accepted in their twisted society, by making families turn on their kin because of powers they could not help. Ionia was not free of cruelty, but you would never have the entire island turn against you just for using your powers. All of the people you were close to here openly embraced you, powers and all. You would never go back to Demacia as long as you lived; Navori was your permanent home as far as you were concerned.

Ciorah happily accepted the milk that she had sent her son to buy, insisting that you both stay for dinner. You chopped vegetables with Sett while Ciorah oversaw the stew that was simmering. You were having fun, other than Sett dangling cut onions in your face, which made you tear up yet again, Ciorah smacking his shoulder when he teased you for crying. You hadn’t had so much fun in a long time, just sitting around the table with them and chatting as you ate, which was only made sweeter by the fact that you didn’t have to put up with that creepy customer’s behavior anymore. It definitely felt like too soon when it was time to head back home, and this time Sett offered to walk you home without Ciorah’s prompting.

“I’ll see you again soon,” Ciorah told you warmly, giving you a hug.

You stepped back from her and Sett quickly took your place, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she wrapped her arms as far around his broad back as she could reach.

“Love you, ma,” Sett told her.

“And I love you, Settrigh,” Ciorah replied in kind. “Stay safe.”

“Are you going to the pit now?” you asked him as Ciorah closed the door and you both exited her hearing range.

“No need,” he answered. “I can trust those knuckleheads by themselves for one night.”

“If you say so,” you answered in a singsong tone.

Sett playfully raised an eyebrow. “Ya know the pit ain’t all I ever think about.”

You weren’t sure if you were reading too much into his words, and the glint in his eyes. You were paranoid that you were over-analyzing what wasn’t romantic intentions on his side. But no matter what you did, you couldn’t help but hope that Sett would make a move, because you just didn’t have the confidence.

You decided that it would be worth a try to see if you could fish any more information out of him. “So, what else do you think–”

You would not finish your sentence as your arm was grasped roughly from behind, a hand clamping over your mouth and muffling your surprised cry.

Sett snarled and made to dash over to you, but a long, sharp blade to your neck had him pausing in his tracks, feral anger plain on his face. You still couldn’t see the man who held you captive, as any movement from you had him inch the blade closer to the flesh of your neck, and so you kept painfully still. Your situation fully illuminated on you when men began to trickle out of the shadows, including two ugly faces you remembered in detail, even a month later.

They looked even more rough than the night they had kidnapped you. It seemed like Sett’s lesson hadn’t gotten through to them as they closed in on you alongside a dozen or so men who looked just as intimidating.

“Let her go,” Sett snarled, and the venom in his tone shocked you cold, but unfortunately did not have the same effect on the group of men.

“You won’t protect your bitch this time, half breed,” the taller kidnapper sneered to supportive chuckles and jeers from the rest of the group of men.

“Navori is tired of your iron fist,” the other kidnapper added tauntingly. “So we’re gonna do the pit a favor and make sure you never step foot in it again.”

“You can try!” Sett growled, muscles flexing dangerously.

“Fightin’ fair just ain’t in the cards anymore,” the tall man replied, and before Sett had time to react, one of the men dashed forward and threw a sickly yellow powder in Sett’s face, which had him fall to his knees coughing and breathing heavily before he collapsed on the ground. The hand on your mouth tightened as you screamed and struggled. All your struggles did was draw the attention of the men back to you.

“Poor girl,” one man drawled. “About to watch her boyfriend die.”

Your eyes widened, heart beating overtime as you watched the men begin to crowd around Sett’s unconscious body. What had they thrown on him? Ionia definitely had its own drug trade, but you had no knowledge of what the yellow powder could be. But as you watched the men brandish weapons of all sort, you realized that the drug must have been a means to an end. A knockout drug strong enough to render even the large half-Vastayan unconscious. Sett was defenseless, and showed no signs of waking up despite your mental pleas.

“She’s gonna cry,” one of the men articulated with a cruel laugh.

“With him gone, she’s gonna be real lonely!” another man jeered.

“Not for long,” the tall man sneered. “She’s got a big debt to pay us, so we got first dibs. You all can have what’s left.”

You couldn’t lose Sett. You could barely hear what they were saying around you, eyes locked on the gleaming silver of their weapons as they raised them in unison to strike at the downed man you cared so much for. You didn’t wait a moment, because Sett didn’t have a moment to spare if you were going to save his life. The thugs were gleefully unaware, and even the cry of pain from their buddy that held you captive was too late of a warning to save them from your desperate fury.

Your fire reached an inferno in a split second, and the man who held you captive fell back as every part of him that was in close contact with you broke out in burns so hot that this skin bubbled and peeled right off. His last scream would come too late for his friends as you rushed at them, your hair whipping around your face as you slammed into them with the force of an erupting volcano. Your intense fire melted their flesh as you came close, their cries of agony a chorus you were all too happy to hear.

You knew that your kidnappers had been in the mass of men that stood around Sett, but in your fury, you did not see their faces. You did not watch their expressions as they melted away to nothing; they were dead, and not worth any more of your attention. In seconds, you had wiped out every last one. You stood before the ruined men, chest heaving, as you finally came back to yourself and realized that Sett too had been in the center of your inferno.

Shaking your head to clear yourself of your murderous focus, you dropped to your knees beside Sett, who you immediately realized looked completely fine. He had been in the middle of your fiery wrath, but he had not so much as a burn on him anywhere. The only sign that your powers had affected him at all was the slightest beads of sweat on his forehead. How could he be okay? Your fire never hurt you, but this was all-new territory for you.

“Sett!” you cried, placing your hands on either side of his face, tears dripping down your face and onto his jacket. “Sett, please –”

“’s warm.”

His whisper was almost too quiet for you to hear, but his eyes opening ever so slowly confirmed that you hadn’t been hearing things. Sett slowly sat up, rolling his shoulders. He grunted at the impact as you buried your face in his chest, and he slowly sat back up, placing a hand on your back.

“…should go,” he muttered, and you pulled back to look at his face. He clumsily pushed some hair out of your face as you noticed his pupils looked dilated. “We should… we should go,” he slurred.

“Are you… drunk?” you ventured a guess, and he smirked lazily, leaning in to nibble on your neck, which sent a blush to your face and a shiver down your back.

“Nah,” he answered, and you didn’t believe him for a second.

“Can you stand?” you asked him, and he only answered when you backed away from him until he couldn’t kiss at your neck anymore.

He scoffed, lifting himself up a little too fast, his drugged state putting him off balance. You quickly got up as well, grabbing hold of him before he fell over and slinging his arm over your shoulder. Ciorah’s home was close, but you knew that Sett wouldn’t want her to see him in this state.

“Sett, where do you live?” you asked, hoping he would have the mental facilities to properly answer you.

He stared at you intensely for a few seconds before sighing and beginning to walk, forcing you to keep up with him so neither of you would fall over. You were thankful that he just led you silently; you weren’t sure if you could take any more of his drunken flirting. You let him lead you, surprised when you bypassed the wealthy district entirely; you had just assumed that with all the money he made, Sett would live in the most expensive part of town.

The neighborhood Sett finally led you to was one you hadn’t seen before. It was very quiet, only a few people walking around, none of which even bat an eye at you supporting the large pit boss as you walked by. You wondered what kind of a place this was for the sight of the two of you to not be out of the ordinary.

Sett led you up a stony walkway to a very modest home, and you let him off of your shoulder at last so he could lean on the wall and fish his keys out of his pants’ pocket. When he finally managed to retrieve the small silver key, you took it from him. If the walk here was any indication, his coordination was not the best right now. You unlocked the door with ease, and Sett sauntered in, you quickly following behind him and locking the door.

You had clearly underestimated Sett’s recovery time, because as soon as you turned around after hearing the click of the lock, Sett caged you against the door with his body. You stared wide-eyed at the predatory smirk on his face, giving you nowhere to run. You couldn’t tell if this was his true feelings spilling out or if it was the drug. You knew which one you hoped it was, but you couldn’t take advantage of him in this state, not when he could do something he would regret if he weren’t under the influence of the weird powder.

“Sett, you should rest…” you protested, pressing your shaky palms on his chest, ready to push him away if you needed to.

“Nah,” he purred with a grin. “I think I’m good right here.”

“But I don’t know what they gave you, it could be–”

“Stop talkin',” he grunted, and it was all the warning you got before he crushed his lips into yours.

You gasped in surprise, and he didn’t waste the opportunity, sticking his tongue in your mouth and playing with your own. Your fingers gripped at the fur of his long jacket, breaking away from the kiss with a moan when his hands moved down to your hips, pulling your lower body closer to his, a rapidly hardening part of his anatomy brushing obviously against you with the motion. Sett chased your lips, kissing you breathless several times over as you tried desperately to keep up with the rough pace he had set.

You still couldn’t believe this was happening, but you were starting to feel more comfortable kissing him. You wanted him to be as wrecked as you were, and so you did the only thing you could think of that might fluster him and grabbed one of his ears, rubbing it between your fingers. Sett didn’t stop kissing you, but groaned against your mouth. A few more seconds of you repeating the motion had him finally break away from your mouth, and you stared at his beautiful golden eyes as he opened them at last. You were breathing heavily as you watched his gaze trail down your body. You realized that you had once again singed your clothing with your earlier outburst, your top a lot more low-cut than it had been when you had left Ciorah’s home, the singed edges of the fabric hovering at the tops of your breasts.

“Hold on!” Sett grinned.

You stared at him, confused by the mischief in his eyes. Sett wasted no time, his strong arms going around your back and under your thighs as he lifted you into a princess carry. You squeaked in surprise, holding your hands at your chest, unsure of what to do with them.

“Doubt I’ll get tired of this,” Sett remarked, turning around and heading down the hallway. “Last chance to back out, princess.”

He was really testing your newfound commitment to honesty. Your face burned with embarrassment and shame, so you buried your face in his chest as you murmured your answer. “…I don’t want to back out.”

Sett laughed, the vibrations from his chest against your ear as he pushed open a door with his shoulder. You brought your head back up to look upon a rather modest bedroom. The room was dim with the day’s waning light coming through the window, illuminating the large bed that sat in the center of the room. You weren’t given a further chance to examine his bedroom as you were laid on the bed, staring at Sett as he stood just to the side.

“Hope you’re ready, baby,” Sett purred, unlatching his gauntlets and letting them drop to the floor as he shucked his shoes off. “I don’t do anythin’ half-assed.”

You sat up on the bed, figuring you probably shouldn’t be wearing shoes in his nice bed, reaching down and gently removing them and setting them on the floor as Sett removed his jacket. Sett rolled his shoulders back as he stared down at you, unashamed by his own partial nudity as usual.

You had no time to feel self-conscious as Sett was on you again, hand fisting through your hair to angle your mouth against his better. You kissed him back with everything you had, but his efforts overwhelmed you and it was all you could do to grasp at his neck and thread your tongue with his. You wrapped a leg around his hip, and he happily ground his pelvis into yours. You cried out as the bulge there hit against you in just the right spot to send a spark through your body. Sett pulled back, golden eyes dark as he combed a hand through his hair.

“I want you bad, princess,” he growled.

“Sett, I–” you tried to answer him, but then his thick fingers were slipping beneath the skirt you wore and past your underwear to rub at a spot that had you squirming and moaning as Sett stared down at you proudly.

“Betcha never had this in Demacia,” Sett growled as his fingers moved from your clit to push a finger inside you. “At least those jackasses did something right when they drove you to Navori.”

You couldn’t reply, could only moan his name and weakly grip at his arm as he pushed another finger inside you, the pad of his thumb brushing against your clit as he continued fingering you.

“Sett, please–”

“Can’t wait any longer, baby?” he taunted, and you glared at him to the best of your lust-addled ability.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I can’t deny ya anythin’ when you look at me like that.”

Sett rolled over so that he sat at the edge of the bed, licking his wet fingers clean while staring at you haughtily. Standing up from the bed, he peeled his tight pants off of his legs, and you were flustered anew to discover that he hadn’t been wearing any underwear. You couldn’t help but stare at his cock, which looked rock hard as it jutted out proudly from his pelvis.

Sett easily caught you staring, his eyes raking over your still-clothed body. “You need some help?”

You felt overcome with a burst of shyness at what was about to happen. Sett climbed back onto the bed, and you blushed as his cock brushed against your hip. Sett noticed how stiff you were, leaning in to give you short, soft kisses until he felt you visibly relax.

“C’mon,” he prompted. “’s only fair I get you naked too. Been thinkin’ about this since ya melted those thugs.”

“What?” you replied.

“Came to as you torched ‘em,” Sett answered, nuzzling against your neck, mouth at your ear as his hand crept to the bottom of your shirt. “You have no clue how hot you look when you fight.”

Sett’s fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, and you lifted your arms to help him take it off of you. Your shirt was made of thicker material than you usually wore, so you hadn’t worn a bra underneath. Sett was very appreciative of that fact, palming your breasts with his large hands as he looked down at you with the hunger of a predator.

You were so worked up that you couldn’t wait any longer. You wiggled your hips, trying to shuffle your skirt down because Sett was so close that you couldn’t fit a hand between your lower bodies. Sett took pity on you, taking his hands off of your tits to help you shimmy your skirt and panties down and off. Your underwear was feeling a little too damp, so it was a relief to have them off at last.

“No shame if ya need to claw my back up,” Sett teased as he lined himself up with you. “I know I’m a lot to take.”

You frowned at him; there was no limit to his self-confidence, was there? Your irritation only seemed to further bolster him as he grinned happily. You couldn’t even stay mad at him; he was such an overgrown puppy. You hated that all of his quirks just made you more infatuated with him. You would have to rub his ears again and take him down a peg.

But Sett would make the first move, as always. He grasped his cock, holding your gaze as he began to ease himself into you. You closed your eyes, nails digging into your palms as you adjusted to the feeling. He went slow, inching in further and further until your hips met, his legs on either side of yours.

You felt so full, and for all of his grandstanding, Sett wasn’t doing much better. He let out a low groan, moving his hands to either side of your face to keep himself from crushing you with his well-muscled body.

No more words were exchanged as Sett began to move his hips, dropping his lips from yours to nibble at your neck, his hair tickling your cheek. The position brought his furry ears closer to you, and the temptation proved too much and you reached up and pulled on his ears, and Sett’s hips snapped up to yours harder in surprise, the resulting feeling making you moan.

“Should’ve known you’d go for the ears again,” Sett growled.

“They’re so cute,” you replied, barely able to get the words out when Sett moved back to grab onto your thighs and encourage you to wrap them around his hips. He pushed back in, and it was all you could do to grip at his biceps as he got even more brutal with his pace, leaning down to kiss and bite at your breasts, the sensations only heightening the pleasure you felt.

You shut your eyes tightly as you felt your pleasure climb higher and higher, your unintentional clamping of vaginal muscles earning you a groan from Sett as he reached a hand down to rub at your clit as he chased his own end.

“Sett,” you moaned, opening your eyes to pull his face to yours so you could kiss him again.

You could only hold out a moment longer, the kiss getting slower as you reached your peak, your legs tightening around Sett’s waist and walls clamping down on his cock. Sett growled against your lips, slamming down into you a few more times before he stilled, parting from your lips to rest his forehead on yours, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“I’d say that went pretty well,” Sett declared.

As the haze wore off, you began to wonder exactly what this meant to Sett. You had no knowledge at all of his romantic history, and so you didn’t know what to think.

You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out as a weak whisper. “Sett… what are we?”

He didn’t reply, but leaned down to kiss you. You frowned, dodging so that his lips landed on your cheek. If this was just a fling, he needed to tell you now. You wouldn’t let him avoid the question.

Sett’s eyes opened when he realized that you had moved your face. You gave him a hard look, and he returned it with a toothy grin and a laugh. You felt your heart drop; was he going to laugh at you for wanting more? Was this the last content moment that you would have with him before it all came crashing down?

“Don’t know why you’re even askin’,” Sett said, and you just stared at him, too scared to even breathe. “Ma likes ya… I like ya. You ain’t gettin’ away from me that easy.”

#xreader #reader insert #league of legends #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #league of legends sett #sett #sett x reader #smut

[blueroseblaze]

Devil May Cry INK

New Devil May Cry Nero x GN!Reader tattoo!AU series based on the lovely work by @hennatheantenna​ 

also available on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203587

Please enjoy this first installment

The shop was quiet, save for the soft sweeping and the low hum of the radio. The Sunday early evening light shining through the windows was blinding if you weren’t sitting in the right spot. The orange lights cascading through the front windows warming the waiting area. It was a nice respite from an otherwise busy day.

Nero sat behind the counter, thumbing through, and counting the stack of cash with practiced speed and rhythm before placing it back in the register drawer. He glanced up at V who was too preoccupied sweeping the storefront floor and being distracted by the sleeping black shop cat on the windowsill.

“When is this new artist coming in?” V asked in his normal low poetic voice, not even looking In Nero’s direction while speaking.

“They should be here in a few minutes, we agreed on 6:30 for the interview,” Nero replied.

“Are you going to hire them? Dante did give you the final say on it.”

“Their portfolio is really impressive, and Nico spoke highly of them. So, we’ll see. We’re short-staffed anyway so I don’t think we’re in the business of being super picky.

“Right,” V hummed before continued his cleaning.

Devil May Cry Ink had been short-staffed for a long time despite being located in a relatively popular area, close to many clubs, shops, and an active nightlife. With only 3 artists and one financial manager, they could hardly keep up with patrons when there were rarely all three artists present. Dante, Nero’s uncle and official co-owner of the establishment was remarkably popular and often traveled to meet in person with more high-end clients rather than have them come to their humble little shop. Luckily, Nero’s Father, Vergil, was more than capable of keeping them afloat handling the financial side of the equation.

Nero leaned back in his chair behind the counter, balancing on the back legs with his feet propped up on the countertop. He shut his eyes and sighed, listening to the low drawl of the radio and the humming of the vents that kicked on overhead.

But soon the young man was shaken from his half nap when he heard a knock on the front door, which had been locked at the end of the day.

“Is that them?” V asked.

“Probably,” Nero replied before standing to answer the door.

Nero approached the door and unlocked it, opening it enough only for him to stick his head out to greet the person and make sure that she was in fact their new possible hire.

“Hi,” they greeted in an excited but polite voice, “I’m here for an interview, I’m looking for Nero.”

“You found him,” Nero replied confidently, “Are you Y/N?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” they said.

Nero welcomed them inside, stepping out of the way of the door so that they could slip through and he could lock the door again behind him. they faced him, waiting for any extra greeting or instruction as V approached the two.

“This is my half-brother, Vitalie,” Nero introduced.

V held out a lanky tatted arm and Y/N took his hand, giving a professional shake.

“You can call me V,” he said.

“Noted,” they said with a smile glancing down as something rubbed against their leg making them jump.

“That our shop cat, Shadow,” Nero explained, “Don’t worry she’s had all her shots.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Nero led the young artist towards the back of the shop where there would be little disturbance. They tried taking in the atmosphere of the shop but found the man walking before them too distracting. Their eyes traced over the intricate blue and red roses that sleeved his arms, all the way up to the ink covering a sizable portion of his neck leading right up to the snowy white undercut he was sporting.

“Hey um, is your…”

“My hair is natural, yes,” Nero replied before they could even get a word out.

Y/N started to internally panic, their face going red as they averted their gaze trying to explain themselves and apologize, stumbling over their words like a flustered cartoon.

Nero chuckled, “It’s ok I get it a lot.”

Y/N huffed in embarrassment as they continued to follow him to the back room. The office wasn’t particularly big, just enough to fit some shelves, a desk, and a couch. It was mostly just a place for Vergil to get away to do work or discuss business, and for Dante to take naps.

Nero took a seat at the desk, pulling out a large portfolio as he instructed Y/N to sit down. He opened the portfolio and began flipping through it for what was probably the twentieth time.

“You can take your jacket off,” he said, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Y/N shrugged out of their jacket, adjusting their shirt as they laid it nicely on the arm of the sofa. Nero glanced up from the portfolio and stared at their bare arms and chest in confusion.

“Do you have any ink?” he asked incredulously.

Y/N huffed out a nervous laugh, hand moving to the back of their neck as they looked away.

“Yeah, I know how it looks. I’m just not a fan of needles is all. But I promise all that work is mine. You wouldn’t be the first to think it wasn’t.”

Nero looked back down at the portfolio. He was surprised at the lack of ink but had no reason to think it was plagiarism. He trusted Nico’s judgment so if she recommended an artist he would trust she knew what she was talking about.

“It’s not a problem I’m just surprised. I mean I was really impressed by your work it was just a surprise that you didn’t have any on you. So anyway, how long have you been tattooing,” he asked attempting to dodge the now awkward tension.

“About 3 years,” Y/N began, “I started getting interested in body art when I was young because my best friend’s dad owned a tattoo parlor in my hometown. I actually did my apprenticeship there before moving out here. I met Nico about a year and a half ago and we became fast friends and she asked me to do one or two pieces for her.”

“You ever been to art school?” Nero asked.

“Yeah! Majored in drawing and illustration,” they replied.

The interview went on with more questions and straightforward answers. Mostly about Y/N’s experience and a walk-through of their best work. A few quips and jokes thrown in here and there. Nero couldn’t keep his eyes off them as they went on and on about their artistic process and what inspires them. He couldn’t deny that they were cute. The way their eyes lit up as they spoke about what they were passionate about.

“So when did you first start?” Y/N asked, turning the questions back around on Nero.

“Pretty long time ago,” he answered, “My uncle started this place when I was like a toddler and roped my dad into it. Once I turned sixteen the old man finally let me get my first one. And when I turned eighteen my uncle let me start working.”

“I see you like roses,” they said, eyeing the expansive work on Nero’s arms.

“Yeah, they’re my favorite,” Nero explained, “Had them done by my uncle.”

The two of them had ended up talking for almost two hours, changing subjects to things like movies and music that they liked, and they found they had a lot in common. It was only when V poked his head through the door and reminded Nero of the time that they decided to call it quits.

“Can you start Monday?” Nero asked.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide and they vigorously nodded, almost jumping in their spot with excitement. They thanked both of them for their time before Nero offered to walk them to the door. They wished him a goodnight and he locked the door behind them. But not before exchanging phone numbers.

“They seem nice,” V said, smirking at Nero’s confused face, “And attractive it seems.”

Nero sputtered a broken response before playfully slugging his brother in the arm, causing the thin man to laugh.

“Just making an observation,” V excused.

“Yeah well keep your observations to yourself,” Nero chided, as he walked back behind the front counter. He reached over and picked up his leather jacket and blue helmet that matched the floral print on his sleeves that were hanging off the barstool. He slung the jacket over his shoulder and tucked the helmet under his arm.

“It has been a while since your last relationship, perhaps something could blossom from this.”

“Work is work, V. Don’t make it sound like I hired them just because they’re hot.”

“Did you?” V asked with a grin.

“No of course not!” Nero cried out defensively, “Anyway whatever, are you good to lock up by yourself?”

“Yes it shouldn’t take me too long,” V replied, “Can you feed Griffon when you get home?

Nero huffed in annoyance at the thought of feeding that little demon chicken.

“Yes, I’ll feed Griffon. See ya at home.”

V gave a subtle goodbye to Nero as he exited the shop and gave one last head pat to Shadow. Still smiling to himself at his sibling's flustered response.

Nero threw on the leather jacket and forced the helmet on his head, rounding the corner to the back of the shop where Red Queen was parked. He paused, letting his brother’s words playback in his head. It had been a while since he was in the dating game. It wasn’t like he was sad after his breakup; it was mutual and they remained on good terms, but he was getting antsy to the point that V had noticed.

Nero huffed, and mounted the motorcycle, kicking it into gear and speeding off.

Hope you enjoyed :)

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc 5 #devil may cry 5 #dmc 4 #devil may cry 4 #dmc nero #dmc v #dmc vitale #nero x reader #nero x gender neutral reader #nero x gn!reader #dmc nero x reader #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #devil may cry fanfic #blue writes

[i-love-side-characters]

What did you think of the end of The Toll?

!!! TOLL SPOILERS !!! PROCEED WITH CAUTION !!!

Scythe Cult:  @honorablescythecurie @honorablescythefaraday @palli-x @book-limerence @lochscinders @a-lonely-tatertot @shellyseashell

bored? send me serotonin please <3

Okay now lets get a couple things out of the way. I haven’t read Toll in a little bit, and it’s taking forever to come from the library. Also, yes I did have it downloaded before, but I kept rereading Faraday’s journal entry when he find out Curie is dead. I know, I’m trash for them but honestly let me have this #curiedeservedbetter2021 #faradaydeservedbetter2021 #curadayforlife

Now that we’ve established that I’m just lonely and so I cling onto healthy (ish) fictional couples for my source of love, let’s proceed.

Things I remember:

 - Rowan and Citra go zoomy zoom into spacey space, but Citra’s deadish because Goddard pulled some shit and so Rowan’s going to wait a couple hundred years for her to wake up

 - Total hottie Ayn Rand shanked Goddard which is honestly a power move you go girl

 - Faraday and Munira unleashed the failsafe, which basically infected a whole bunch of people and now Scythes just kill the infected people so that there’s no suffering

 - Jeri!!! and Greyson!!! Babeys!!! Smol Beans!!! My genderfluid babey with my weird Jesus man it’s a match made by the Thunderhead (because it literally is)

 - Rowan and Citra (who renounced her Scythehood) are going to start a new colony on some random ass planet

Things I don’t remember:

 - Whatever happen with Cirrus

 - Whatever happen with Joel the Jobe Man

 - Whatever happen with Loriana and Munira who are totally in love Shusterman said Sapphic rights 

Okay Akki stfu lets move on:

Okay. I didn’t really like it. I did like Rowan’s sarcasm, but the ending fell a little flat. Compared to the other books’ endings, I didn’t really think it measured up. It was just a bit bland. Here’s why.

The end goal:

Let’s just work our way through the series to show why The Toll just didn’t really work for me.

Scythe - Book 1:

Goal/Climax:

The goal/climax of the book was clear. Citra and Rowan are fighting for the ring. Only one can get it, and the winner has to glean the other. 

The ending:

Citra wins the ring, and is ordained. Instead of actually killing (gleaning) Rowan, she slyly grants him immunity by punching him so that his blood’s DNA would transfer to the database and no Scythe could kill him.  We also got a confession scene where they tell each other they love the other. It ends with Rowan finding out that Faraday did not self-glean.

Why it works:

It is tense. We are watching the two main characters have to either kill the other or be killed. Neither want to. It is clear from their actions throughout that they harbour feelings for each other. This is a high stakes situation. And it flows nicely. We don’t have any unnecessary dialogue/scenes. We don’t have a dumb solution to the problem where a bunch of unnecessary events happen like a character death/romantic scene. They do tell the other that they love them, but the moment is quick and is not the focus of the moment. The focus is on the actual ordainment ceremony and the challenge. The solution directly addresses the main conflict of the book.

Thunderhead - Book 2:

Goal/Climax:

Goddard and Citra (now Anastasia) are presenting their arguments as to who will win the inquest. The inquest was called because Anastasia and Curie needed time to gain more votes in favour of Curie for the position of High Blade. 

The ending:

Anastasia and Curie win the inquest, and Goddard must complete a full new apprenticeship in order to train his new body. Goddard, however, has tricks up his sleeve. He had made a plan prior to the events on Endura to cripple the Grandslayers tower. The plan changes, but works to his favour and destroys the entire island. Curie, in a desperate attempt to save Rowan and Citra, locks them in an airtight chamber that will preserve them so they can be revived. With this sacrifice, Curie is forced to self glean.

“She thrust her blade inward, directly into her heart. She fell to the ground only seconds before the sea would wash over her, but she knew death would wash over her faster. And the blade hurt far less than she imagined it would, which made her smile. She was good. Very, very good.”

-Thunderhead, page 499

Why it works:

*violently screams in my head* I’m good don’t worry

It is a logical ending. If Curie and Anastasia had won the inquest and survived Endura, there would be no need for a third book, unless Shusterman had decided to write a book about Curie being High Blade and Goddard sulking in the shadows and plotting to kill her. That wouldn’t work because I don’t think there is any possible way Curie wouldn’t catch Goddard in two seconds because she’s a boss.

Many people say that Curie should have gotten Rowan to lock her and Anastasia in the vault instead of him. Rowan would have died for Anastasia, it makes sense, but that takes away from the very essence of Curie’s character. She is a truly Honourable Scythe. She knows that Anastasia loves him, and she cares deeply about Anastasia. Letting herself survive would have been completely out of character. She also knows that Anastasia is the future of the Scythedom. While it would be a great help if Curie didn’t die, as well as sparing us emotional trauma, it doesn’t make sense for her character.

This ending also directly “solved” the issue in the book. While the villain won, it was a satisfying ending. Curie is dead, that was a very smart move, because obviously Goddard wouldn’t survive two seconds if she was there. It gave us a good reason for the Thunderhead to disappear.

 *violently screams again* Curie died, yeah, no, I’m okay

The Toll - Book 3: *note that some details may be wrong

Goal/Climax:

Faraday, Rowan, Jeri, Munira, Loriana, Anastasia, Greyson, and Cirrus need to figure out what to with the frozen Tonists, all unknowing that Scythes Goddard and Rand are heading towards the island. They still need to beat him in order to make sure that the non-Scythe population won’t be subject to bias/malice/aforethought/Goddard’s ego. 

The ending:

Rowan, and Citra, who renounced her Scythehood, travel to another planet that can support life with the frozen Tonists, as well as 42 other ships carrying Tonists. Cirrus is copied into 42 different versions in order to save humanity. After being offered Citra’s old ring, Munira (I believe) returns to the Library of Alexandria. Faraday follows through with the failsafe and gleans only the suffering. Greyson and Jeri stay together on the island, and become romantically involved. Scythe Rand is the one who eventually kills Goddard.

Why it DOESN’T work:

Okay, there’s a lot to unpack here. I’m just going to go character by character and by the plot.

1. Plot - It just doesn’t make sense. The hero’s solution doesn’t in any way stop Goddard, who is the main villain. We’ve led up to this for a very long time, and Rand is the one who gleans him. If I’m correct, The main characters don’t interact with Goddard for nearly the entire book, save Rowan. The solution, to save humanity by colonizing other planets would, without Rand’s interference, let Goddard wreak his havoc on the world. Only Scythe Faraday and Morrison could truly challenge him, and even then Faraday is old and hasn’t kept his abilities refined, and Morrison is young and inexperienced and wears a denim robe.

2. Rand and Goddard’s Arcs - Rand is the one who kills Goddard. I think that this was a very interesting move, and one that made a lot of sense. Goddard has treated her terribly, it would satisfy her arc of turning against him, as well as giving her a redemption arc that would also avenge Tyger’s death. I think that this is actually a really good arc, were it not for the fact that Citra and Goddard never fought/interacted with each other. If there had been a fight, and Rand had killed him then, that would have been better and would have better satisfied the actual conflict in the book.

3. Rowan and Citra’s Arcs - In terms of Citra’s arc, I think it was emotionally impactful to have her renounce her Scythehood. But Rowan didn’t have as much of a part to play in this book as he could have had. Citra and Goddard also never interacted, which would have been very interesting since he was the direct cause of her mentor and canon mother figure’s death. It would have been an interesting scene that could have played out really well. Based on Discord texts from a conversation I had, I know an reminded that the last two pages of The Toll were incredibly impactful and beautiful. I don’t have much to say about Rowan since I don’t remember much of his role.

4. Jeri, Greyson, Loriana, and Munira’s Arcs - I paired these four together since their doings aren’t very solid after the books. Jeri and Greyson are canonically together, which I think was a great move by Shusterman. Having a main character in a healthy relationship with a canon LGBTQ+ character was incredibly impactful for me, and it satisfied Greyson’s thoughts about how he doesn’t care if Jeri is a boy or a girl, he just loves them. Loriana didn’t have as much of an arc, but Munira did have a small one. Her refusal of the Scythe’s ring let her dispense of her hatred for Scythes and their system, and let her let go of her bitter feelings about not being ordained. 

5. Cirrus’ Arc? - I do not remember enough to speak about Cirrus’ role in the books.

6. Faraday’s Arc - This is probably the one I have the most to say about. I am sorry in advance. Faraday is an emotional character. He has cried canonically twice as far as I can remember, once when he gleaned a child, and the other when he found out Scythe Curie and Anastasia had died on Endura. He is also openly disgusted with Scythe Goddard and his practices, which is why I supremely dislike his arc. It would have been so interesting to see how he would have reacted if Scythe Goddard and the heroes had interacted during the end scene of The Toll. We know he is an Honourable Scythe, like Curie, and upholds the Scythe Commandments, especially after his punishment over his breaking of the 9th commandment “Thou shalt have no spouse nor spawn.” It would have been so. interesting. to see whether Faraday would snap and attack Goddard, if he would try and talk to him, how he would react. Like with Anastasia, he would have been interacting with Curie’s murderer. The potential of that moment! Don’t forget that Faraday is definitely still in love with Curie, based on his elevated heart rate in Thunderhead, and his journal entry in The Toll. I think it would have been so interesting to see him confront her killer.

Summary:

Okay that was much longer than I intended, and I have more thoughts, but it’s 2:40 am and I haven’t slept in a while. So my summary. I liked The Toll. It was a solid book, that had funny moments, jaw dropping moments, heartfelt moments, and emotionally impactful scenes. It was a solid book.

I don’t think it compared as much to the other two, especially Thunderhead. The ending fell a little flat and didn’t carry the arcs as well as I would have liked, but honestly, I still reread it. Shusterman really managed to pull at your emotions.

Because I just beat up on the book for the last couple paragraphs, let me tell you some of my favourite parts of the book.

1. Literally any scene with Possuelo and Anastasia that dynamic was so good and him calling her “meu anjo” literally made my heart do a little happy dance the father-daughter dynamic was what we needed. It also offered a nice levity to tough scenes.

2. The Rowan-Anastasia Reunion. They ran towards each other and knocked each other off their feet. Ohhhh my god, they ran towards each other and knocked each other off their feet! That was so cute, and as someone who was a strong supporter of platonic Rowan & Anastasia, I honestly loved it.

3. Faraday-Anastasia Reunion. Him dropping to his knees in front her her, her initial confusion as to who he was, and the “perhaps the greatest of all Scythes was kneeling in front of her” part killed me. Their reunion was so well written and heart-wrenching.

4. Anastasia Cries about Curie’s Death. I feel like WatchMojo right now. Anyways, the way her emotions break after trying to repress her sadness over her mentor’s sacrifice for her.

5. Rowan’s sarcasm. Beauty. What a power move to sass the guy who’s going to set you on fire in front of 3000 people.

6. Scythe Constantine and Rand. What a dynamic I wasn’t ready for. Rand’s cool comebacks with Constantine’s sly personality just made for the most amazing dialogue opportunities. 

Thank you anon!

#asks #anon asks #not main content #arc of a scythe #scythe #thunderhead #the toll #scythe anastasia #citra terranova #rowan damisch #scythe faraday #munira atrushi #loriana barchok #greyson tolliver #scythe rand #scythe goddard #jerico soberanis #mine #tw long post #tw swearing #tw cult mention #the toll spoilers #thunderhead spoilers #this was so long sorry

[awesomerextyphoon]

Charred Briar Roses - 3

Curse’s Broken, Now What?

Summary: The title speaks for itself. 

Parings: Orc!Bucky x Black!Reader, Orc!Steve x Black!OFC, Orc!Sam x Black!OFC

Word Count: 4,136

Warnings: Implied Smut and Some Violence

A/N: This was longer than I anticipated. Also, the princesses would be a US size 14/15. I totally forgot to mention that earlier. Sorry about that. Enjoy!

Back to Masterlist

Instead of spending 600 years in total darkness, you communicated with your sisters in a pretty well constructed dream version of the palace. You thought of new inventions and fighting moves, reconciled with Ghada about your fight the day of the curse, and kept analyzing what happened in the north west tower.

If felt like you were in the dream world for about a month.

You were talking with your sisters about trivial childhood memories when all of you felt arms around your bodies. Your surroundings started to fade and so did your sisters.

You felt chapped yet soft lips kiss your neck and lips. It was surprisingly nice, like a dream.

You opened your eyes and realized three things: Someone was actually kissing you, you weren’t in the tower, and the person kissing you wasn’t the prince that your mother had all but assured you but an admittedly hot (albeit ruggedly, your core notes) orc-human hybrid.

You and your sisters screamed.

You immediately try to push him away but he wouldn’t budge. That scared you because both you and your sisters could bench about five tons thanks to Doireann, the war fairy who blessed and trained you in combat since the age of three.

You punched him with a right jab once he broke for air. Couldn’t even get him off the bed.

He chuckled and rubbed his strong jaw and said what seemed to be a compliment in Orcish as you nursed your knuckles.

“I said that you’re quite feisty for a human princess.” He repeated in Common Tongue.

You saw that your sisters had similar reactions to their kissers. Fumnanya even threw a shoe at the one that would be later called Sam. The others got a laugh out of it.

After everyone settled down, we shared our names while you were trying not jump Bucky, the warrior who kissed you.

“So, I was wondering, do you know what year it is?” Fumnanya inquired in a mousy tone that she uses with strangers.

Steve was it, yeah Steve rubbed the back of his head, “How to put this. You’ve been asleep for 600 years. Just about everyone thinks you’re a myth. Hell, we wouldn’t have believed it if we weren’t right in front of you.”

He then provided updates on what happed after your birthdays, but you were only half listening. Your dumb fight with Ghada and your damn curiosity cost you and your sisters your friends, family, and life.

You wanted to cry, but Ghada motioned you to join her and Fumnanya in a huddle. You spoke in Nephrashim as to not alert the warriors.

The three of you knew that Sophronius was up to no good and it was odd that he was still alive since the average lifespan was 300 years due to the Nephrashim Crystal.

“We need to convince them to take us outside of the city since I’m guessing the spell Etna put on us to keep Y/N from skipping class is still in place.”

You rolled your eyes at Ghada snide comment.

“We take what need in whatever storage device Y/N has in her ‘secret workshop’!” Fumnanya chimed in.

“Hey-“

“We all knew where it is, sis. You’re not fooling anyone.” Ghada deadpanned while you huffed in frustration.

With that, the three of you rejoined the group and offered to show them around after you changed your clothes.

–––––––––––––––––––––

The warrior trio was waiting outside the room for 20 minutes when you and sisters finally emerged from behind the doors. The three of you wore much more comfortable clothing than the extravagant kaftans you wore in your sleep. The clothes also showcased more of your curves and sleek muscles they noted.

“What would you like to do first?” You asked. No sooner had you finished the question that the warrior trio’s stomachs growled like a lion’s roar.

Ghada giggled and together, you led the trio to the main banquet hall.

You and your sisters had a hunch that the food from your 18th birthday celebration was still good. Your hunch was right.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

The hall was filled with food for 900 people. The tables were packed with: huge slabs of Gararagator Steak, roast beef and pork, fried chicken, smoked turkey, grilled and baked fish in sweet brown sauces, curries, pastas, thick stews, enticing side dishes, rich pastries/desserts, and caskets of mead and wine.

The warriors were drooling at the sight and aromas of the feast. So, when Ghada casually said to dig in, they devoured ALL of the food in record time.

You and your sisters managed to get some of the food before it was gone. None of you would admit it, but the three of you were turned on by the ferocity at which they ate and drank.

Once they finished the food and drink, the warrior trio leaned back in their chairs and sighed while they rubbed and patted their bellies followed by a couple of loud, brassy burps and belches.

Fumnanya asked them some trivial questions about life since the curse was activated which they answered in kind, but they got tense when she asked about their mothers.

Ghada, ever the politician, quickly changed the subject by asking if they would like a bath and one of the guest rooms to sleep in for the night.

Bucky was about to respond when you suddenly challenged him to a duel.

A couple of things happened: Fumnanya put her head in her hands, Ghada groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose, Sam and Steve burst into laughter, and Bucky accepted with a chuckle.

You led the group to the sparring grounds on the western end of the palace grounds.

Ghada set the ground rules: each combatant may choose a weapon from the low-level, non-lethal weapons closet and the fight could last no longer than 30 minutes.

You both chose Bo Staffs and bowed to start the spar. It took a few minutes of sizing each other up before making the first move. The duel consisted a flurry of punches, kicks, precision strikes with your Bo Staffs, and near hits/misses.

It ended when Bucky spotted a weakness in your left mid-section and landed a hit right above left hip causing you to fall. He then pinned you down before you could grab your weapon with his face two inches above yours.

The two of you were so engrossed in your own little world that Steve had to clear his throat a few times to get your attention.

–––––––––––––––––––

Sensing the, ahem, tension in the area, Ghada suggested that you all finally head over to the baths.

Except for you and Bucky, you took him to your ‘secret workshop’. Something about the way he examined some of the weapons fascinated you and you wanted to explore that.

Bucky was quite dazzled by your variety of inventions like your solar battery, your new hover bike engine, and your 5th attempt at your waning swan (a cross between a scythe and a machine gun). He was examining a pair of your laser blasting gauntlets when you asked if he’d seen some of them before.

“Is there something you like?” you asked while he picked up an old prototype for a flash grenade.

Bucky chuckled, “It’s just that I’ve never seen so many inventions in one place before. When I was an orcling, there was these traveling ‘magician’ who performed feats of wonder for the kids in the village near our settlement. In reality, he was a con artist, but we didn’t care. He would always make our lives seem a little bit brighter. One day, the three of us went behind his tent and found all these contraptions in boxes or on the ground. Tuns out, they were relics of the long gone Nephrashim people. Well, maybe not so long gone now.”

He chuckled to himself again almost bitterly. “I was always entranced by what he would show us and, when he finally fessed up to using relics instead of magic, the contraptions he would use to perform such acts. Sometimes I would wonder what it would’ve been like to live a different life; one where I could’ve been a tinkerer instead of a warrior. Don’t get me wrong, I like being one. It’s just that-”

“You wished you had more options.” You finished noticing how delicately he was holding one of your mithril tools. He held it in a deftness that most of the artisans you’ve met couldn’t match.

His confession of sorts gave you pause.

You always hated how almost everyone gave your sisters praise for their interests and demeanor while you were usually belittled when your parents and Fae tutors weren’t around. They always complained about you not being as sociable as Ghada or as ‘sweet’ (quiet, but not really) as Fumnanya. You were always seen as causing trouble, but you just saw the world differently.

Some days you actually hated being a princess and wished you had a different lot in life.

Maybe this warrior understood you.

Taking another look at him, you realize that underneath this ruggedly delicious beef cake was someone who might’ve been something else altogether. Sure, he seemed proud of his accomplishments when you both were in the dining hall, but part of you wondered what could’ve been his path if he had someone who would’ve taken the time and maybe given him an apprenticeship or something.

You bit your lower lip as you mustered up the strength to ask, “I was wondering, I think I have something I was working on before the curse was cast. Would you like to help with it? I mean, you don’t have to-”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The two of you spent the next two hours working on a few prototypes. Bucky asked you questions about engineering and mechanics especially and you were more than happy to answer. It was nice to have someone outside your sisters, parents, and Fae tutors actually give a crap about what you liked. Neither you nor Bucky realized the distance shrinking in between the two of you until all you could think about was how inviting his lips and neck looked.

Unfortunately, your slowly intimate moment was dashed when Ghada interrupted them via communication mirror telling them to take a bath and go to bed already.

With an annoyed tsk, you took off your work apron, your goggles, and your gloves and motioned Bucky to do the same.

You led him to the baths, a wide yet indoor place with vast pools, man-made hot springs, and an indoor waterfall.

Looking at Bucky your feelings of embarrassment and shame arose once again. Did your ancestors really had to be this obnoxious in flaunting their wealth?

You offered to assist Bucky in washing his hair, but really you wanted to run your hands over his exposed skin.

With his nod of acceptance, you took him to changing rooms and you changed into a Soft Wrap Halter Bikini Top and Rene Fold Bikini Bottom in pale gold, the one that caused a prominent lord to walk into a compost cart due to how well it showcased your curves. Hopefully, it would work on Bucky.

You felt bad using your looks to get Bucky to make a move, but you were so sure that it would be a disaster if you moved first.

The slight shame you felt with your bathing suit quickly faded when you saw Bucky emerge from his changing room.

You cursed yourself because he was only in a loincloth, and DAMN he looked fine! Part of his long hair was pulled back in a high man bun, his shin was a beautiful smooth muted yellow-green with aqua undertones, he was powerfully built with massive shoulders (you thought the lightweight armor did most of the heavy lifting), chiseled pecs, abs, and thighs that you could’ve sworn the finest of Fae craftsmen had a hand in creating all wrapped in someone that actually engaged you both intellectually and emotionally.

You know your mother said that you and your sisters would most likely married princes, but you were glad that she wasn’t here to see you shamelessly lust over an orc. You still missed her, but both she and half of your tutors would have a conniption if they saw what you were doing right now.

It would seem that Bucky was sizing you up as well judging by the way his eyes were beginning to blow out with lust.

He must have pushed his naughty thoughts aside. “Are you still gonna wash my hair?” he queried with a smirk that showed off his tusks. They would’ve been intimidating, but now they look endearing and sexy.

You let out an uncharacteristic giggle and told him to wait right there while you went to the closet where the servants kept the washing items and got him silver spruce, lemongrass, rosemary, and orange scented shampoos and oils.

You returned to find Bucky trying and failing to put a towel tower that one of maids used to construct. Stifling a laugh, you took his hand and guided him to one of the hot springs.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Bucky groaned upon sinking into the refreshing warm spring, glad to not have to was in a stream or river for a change (the tubs back home were nice, but they’re nothing compared to this). The water eased his tense muscles and joints in all the right places. Plus it didn’t hurt that the spring was deep enough for him to completely submerge himself which, at 8’ 3”, is no easy feat.

The engineering princess was getting ready to wash his hair like she offered and Bucky couldn’t wait. She had to know what she was doing to him. Lesser men would’ve jumped her on sight, but not him. His stepmother and sisters made sure of that.

She poured some of the argan and peppermint shampoos into a bowl and grabbed a towel to rest her shins.

“Lay your head on top of this bowl while I wash your head. Okay?”

Bucky did as directed and she started to work her magic on him. She started slow,  working front to back, appreciating the way she gently massaged his scalp. At times he would let out low groans of pleasure at her ministrations, craving more from her.

Once she was done with the shampoo, she carefully lifted his head, emptied and refilled the water basin, and steadily poured the warm water over his head while trying not to get water up his nose.

Bucky turned around to see her beaming at her work. He smiled coyly at her pride, “Aren’t you coming?”, while motioning his right hand in a ‘come hither’ gesture.

She shook her head while biting her lower lip, probably not wanting to hair wet or some other prissy princess thing that was engrained into her.

Bucky decided to help ‘break’ her of that mindset by quickly grabbing her arm and gently tossed her into the spring in front of him. She jumped out of the water with a gasp and playfully punched his left shoulder.

“What was that for?!”

“You were too prideful and uptight!” Bucky chortled while she looked away failing to hide her embarrassment. He stopped laughing when he saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes.

He then reached out and softly lifted her head with his fore and middle fingers. She looked a bit anxious when he closed the distance between them.

“May I?” he pleaded, desperate for her to say yes.

“Please,” she whispered.

That was all Bucky needed to hear.

He started slow as to make up for this afternoon, but he almost lost it when she grasped his hair and licked his canines/tusks. He growled as her petite tongue entered his near monstrous mouth, her light moans and whimpers goading something that Bucky thought he would never feel: love, lust, and passion.

Ever since he and his best friends achieved their goal, Bucky felt like he was missing something. None of the women in their community really excited him or really engaged him beyond his physical needs. Sure, there were plenty orc, human, and even elf females who would warm his bed, but none of them cared to stay and listen…except for you, the woman who was now struggling to take off her bikini top after talking machines and engineering with him without getting annoyed by his antics.

You were so eager — and so was he — but he didn’t want to have sex and then have you disappear on him like the others, not when he was finally making a connection. No, he would make this last a little longer, even if this meant disappointing you.

“We should go sleep.” He mumbled as his hand halted your efforts.

——————

With a heavy sigh, you relented, got dressed, and waited for him to get his things. Your eyes were downcast as you escorted him to the chambers he would be sharing with his kin.

Bucky tried to give you a goodnight kiss, but you rebuffed him with a curt “good night” and returned to you and your sister’s shared room.

You were greeted to Fumnanya gushing about Sam and his interest in the library. Part of you was happy for her. Fumnanya rarely got out of her shell and getting with a guy that was even remotely interested in books as much as she was exceedingly rare.

You wanted to say that you were excited for her, you really did, but you were still a little sullen and bitter about what happed with Bucky at the baths.

“So, you and Bucky sure took your time.” Ghada remarked as you were putting on your night clothes (a short tunic and mid-calf pants).

“You’re one to talk! Sam and I caught you and Steve making out in the changing rooms at the baths!” Fumnanya snapped. Great, even Ghada was getting more in the romance department than you were.

You gave Fumnanya a grateful smile while you settled into bed hoping that tomorrow would bring better fortunes.

——————-

You awoke with a slight start and a knock at the door. Grabbing your robe, you raced towards the door thinking it was Bucky only to find a letter floating in a glowing rosy pink sphere. As soon as you reached out to touch the sphere, it disappeared leaving the letter to slowly descend into your hands.

By this time, your sisters joined you in reading the letter. It was written by one of your favorite tutors, Aoife.

It read:

Dearest children,

If you are reading this, then this means that I am either dead or completely unable to reach you. I hope you weren’t asleep for too long, but something tells me you have. For that, I am sorry.

I wish I could be there to hug you and your matches, but I’m guessing you know of your uncle by now. He has been after you for years now. My wards were successful in keeping him at bay, but now, I’m afraid you’re on your own.

The mist surrounding the capital will fade in three days time. By then, you will need to go into hiding in order to not fall into Sophronius’ clutches.

Have faith, be brave, trust in yourselves, and be kind my dears. Also, trust in your matches, okay?

Warm Regards,

Aoife

Aoife was one of the few people who actually liked all three of you the way you were. Finding out that she could be dead was the straw that broke the camel’s back for the three of you.

When the orc hybrid trio found you, you were huddled on Ghada’s bed with the letter on the floor in front of you.

Steve gently coaxed the three of you out of your beds with the suggestion of showing them around the capital. It didn’t get you or your sisters completely happy, but it was a start.

The tour consisted of you and Ghada butting heads over where to take the guys (the theatre district is NOT better than the artisan market), Fumnanya pointing out prominent buildings and statues.

You could’ve sworn that the guys sneered at one of the monuments to one of your ancestors, but you let it slide.

But then, Bucky made an offhand comment about what was must have went into making this place and the sacrifices that was probably made.

You have thought about what must’ve went into making the capital, but never in a negative light. No one in the capital or in the surrounding cities, towns or villages were poor on dire straits. You made sure to get the truth through your little excursions out of the palace before Etna cast that infernal spell on you.

The thought was pushed aside when you and your sisters returned to your room that night. You needed to think of a plan and quickly because Aoife’s spell was going to fade in two days and Sophronius was hot on your tails.

“Perhaps the guys would let us stay with their community for a while.” Ghada put forth as you were getting ready for bed.

“That’s a possibility, but what do we have to offer? I doubt that a semi-nomadic community of mostly orcs would take on three enhanced human princesses for free” Ghada countered as she put on her nightgown.

“Are you serious?!” you exclaimed. “We have tons to offer! Look, Fumnanya is a great medic, you’re awesome diplomat and negotiator, and I’m good with machinery. Plus we can cook and take care of ourselves, so I doubt we would be a huge burden.”

“Also, we can give them some of the treasure that’s laying around the palace for them to use.” Fumnanya chirped.

“Exactly. We’ve got this!” You declared not realizing that the guys were having a similar conversation.

——————

“So, what should we do about the girls? I mean, they’re great and all, but can we bring them back with us?” Sam inquired as stripped down to his loincloth.

“I don’t see why not. They’ve actually got skills the group could use, unlike a lot of the females that first become part of our tribe.” Steve stated as he gnawed on the turkey leg from dinner.

“Maybe we could bring the tribe here! The city is completely deserted except for the girls and they certainly won’t mind us living here.” Sam offered.

“I don’t think that would be the wisest course of action. Like the girls said, the spell that keeps the mist in place will fade in two days. It won’t be long before Sophronius’ horde will crawling all over the place.” Bucky voiced thinking about last night’s interaction.

“Alright, we’ll see what the girls think tomorrow and go from there.” Steve concluded and the three went to sleep.

———————

Both parties began packing for their journey the next day once the guys agreed to take the three of you back with them.

You gave everyone three travel sized storage units. Ghada packed all of her notes on trade, language books, and art supplies. Fumnanya packed all of the medical supplies she could fit into her storage unit, her language, history, science, and geography books. You packed most of your tools, a couple of your inventions (including waning swan), and any materials you might need.

All three of you made sure to pack clothes, cooking supplies (especially spices since the guys were surprised at the variety), personal hygiene supplies, and some of the treasure/objects that would most likely fetch a good price without leading anyone back to them.

The time to leave came soon enough.

“You three ready?” Sam asked as you were making the final adjustments to your traveling clothes.

“As ready as we’ll ever be.” Fumnanya replied as she gave Sam a hug. It surprised you how quickly she warmed up to him.

“Perhaps you should give Bucky another chance.” Ghada advised.

Maybe, but not now.

You made your way to the courtyard taking in everything. The dire wolves nuzzled your cheeks as you made your way to mount them.

Steve gave both Sam and Bucky a nod and you began your journey out of the only home you three knew.

Perhaps this new chapter will be a good one.

—————

If you had looked up at the third tree closest to the thorn bushes, you would’ve seen a solitary raven, a raven with four red eyes. The raven was a scout for Sophronius and it was recording you.

Video of your departure was being transmitted to a crystal ball in the throne room of Sophronius’ main headquarters.

“It seems the bitch Aoife was able to keep them young after all.” Sophronius remarked, taking in the princesses’ features.

“Alert the princes. We have work to do.”

Taglist:

@giorno-plays-piano​ @lookiamtrying​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @zoiecakes​ @mcudarklibrary​ @letsby @macheregrace​ @imdarkinme​ @retroxvailles​ @marvelfansworld​ @anyatheladyclown​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @hurricanerin​ @pseudonymphet​ @dahkness​ @buckysbunny​ @rosalynshields​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @sapphirescrolls​ @golden-ariess​ @cherienymphe​

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky x black!reader #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #Steve Rogers x OFC #steve rogers imagine #sam wilson x ofc #steve rogers #sam wilson #dark!mcu #marvel fanfiction #dark fantasy #black fantasy #dark fairytale #woc #black women #fairy tale #charred briar roses #mcu imagine #fantasy au #sam wilson imagine

[aerisahale]

Dance Lessons

Notes: I couldn’t stop thinking about how Sara learned to dance the tango, so here is the League teaching Sara to dance.

Summary: Learning to dance is part of the League’s standard education. Turns out, Sara is not so good at it. Or, perhaps, she just needed the right partner.

Pairing: Nyssa x Sara

Words: 1,546

--

Sara’s steps slow as she is ushered into the room by the deceptively strong hands of her newest appointed teacher, an older woman she has never seen before. She was disbelieving when she had been introduced to her that this woman could fight. Surveying the room of half a dozen pairs and cementing the conclusion that this woman wasn’t a fighter, Sara says skeptically, “I can dance at a club, but the tango is not exactly in my wheelhouse.”

The music cuts off as the older woman gives out a few instructions. Al Raqisa is hearing none of her protests as her teacher physically moves her into a starting position with a partner she snatches from somewhere nearby. The man nods at her, one hand coming to rest at her back, the other taking a gentle hold of her hand. She is instructed on her own hand placement and the music picks up again.

At first, she is yanked around by the lead of her partner. It takes a few halting steps before she catches on to the rhythm of it—at least, she thinks she is taking the correct steps until her foot lands on something and her partner grunts as he lurches to the side. With more grace than Sara would have, he catches himself and proffers his hand, even as he arches a brow at her.

She tries again, steps this way, then that way, then twists. She stumbles and is caught by Al Raqisa who presses them closer to each other. “Closer, this is not a children’s dance. This is a dance of passion!”

The third attempt is a complete disaster. Being closer than she was at first causes Sara to constantly step on or trip over her partner’s feet. The man disengages after the fourth time she’s squashed his toes and shakes his head at their teacher. “It seems Ta-er Al Sahfer is only interested in assassinating my appendages.”

“Why do we have to learn this?” Sara growls. “I was under the impression we are assassins.”

“Assassins often go undercover and you never know what skills you may need, so the League strives to ensure a well-rounded education,” a smooth voice calls.

Everyone in the room kneels, heads bowed in deference as the Heir to the Demon strides in from one of the side doors. She crosses the floor and pushes open a window, taking a moment to look out it before she turns back and sweeps her gaze over Sara.

They have stolen a sincere moment here and there since Nyssa first saved Sara from the wreckage of the Amazo and Sara holds each one close to her heart, closer still after dark falls and she can admit to herself that for the first time she thinks she might feel the stirring of real feelings in her heart. When she allows them, each memory she holds stokes the flames of her feelings hotter than the adrenaline of her secret relationship with her sister’s boyfriend, hotter than any boyfriend before that.

While Nyssa checks on her progress occasionally, her progress has always been in pursuit of combat, something she found herself naturally excelling at. Embarrassment colors her cheeks as she is clearly failing at dancing of all tasks. Privately, she wonders if Nyssa does that for all her recruits or if Sara is special. Every time the thought comes to her, she hopes it is the latter. Sara risks peeking up at Nyssa through her eyelashes and she is caught in more ways than one when she is pinned by dark eyes. The simple black outfit that matches the one Sara wears does nothing to diminish the beauty the woman possesses, and Sara is not unaffected by it.

Nyssa turns towards Al Raqina. “I will personally ensure that my recruit is better prepared the next time she graces your dance floor.”

Motioning with a jerk of her chin, Sara hastens to follow after Nyssa’s quick strides as she leaves through the same door she came in. They go through passageway after passageway and turn after turn until, even after three months, Sara is lost and can not find her way back to the room they started from. They come out into a greeting area, a couple couches press against the walls and two guards stand at either side of a double-doored entrance.

Upon seeing Nyssa, the guards open the doors for her and the pair climb the steps into a lavishly decorated bedroom, a far cry different than the bunk room Sara shares with the other trainees. A desk is pressed against one wall and upon it sits one simple picture of a dark-haired woman, smiling softly. An article of clothing is thrown haphazardly on the bench at the end of the draped four-poster bed, and it seems at odds with the picture of perfection Nyssa builds, or perhaps that is only Sara’s perception.

That is all Sara gets a good look at before she is further led out into a courtyard, warm under the Tibetan sun despite their elevation. The courtyard is walled off and private, a small pond in the corner, a carefully manicured tree at the edge. A table and two chairs occupy the corner closest to the doors to Nyssa’s bedroom, but the rest remains open, paved with the same stone the League compound is built from. Nyssa comes close and Sara eyes her warily before the taller woman holds her hand out in an exact imitation of her dancing partner from minutes ago.

“There’s no music,” Sara hears herself say, even as her blood thunders in her ears and her thoughts are occupied by thoughts of being pressed close to the woman who saved her, taught her to fight.

This earns her a smile. “Listen.”

Sara quiets and does as she is told, awareness extending outward until she takes in the staccato beats of a guitar filtering up and over the walls of the courtyard. The elevation of Nyssa’s bedroom allows her a clear line to the open window of Al Raqina’s dance studio. It brings a smile to her own face, despite the wash of self-consciousness as she wonders if Nyssa was watching and sought to save her—or perhaps her dance partner. Nyssa takes her hand and presses a hand to her back, pulling Sara tightly against her. “The ballroom is truly not that far from here. It is a winding path between the two from within, but a straight line outside. Now, instead of attempting to mimic what you see, feel how I move.”

Nyssa leads them, stepping forward and back. Sara is dragged along but thankfully does not embarrass herself any further by stepping on the Heir’s feet. It doesn’t take long before she finds a better rhythm with Nyssa than she did with her previous partner. She feels her move in a different way than she did with him. That synchronicity doesn’t take long to allow Sara to find the steps that don’t make her feel like she’s being dragged through the dance.

The music slows into a different tune and so do their movements, but Nyssa holds her closely for a moment longer than Sara had thought she would and the blonde finds herself holding the Heir even tighter, comforted in her closeness, in her scent. Nyssa pulls away sharply, quickly, turning her back to Sara.

“I am not good at dancing around subjects… With that in mind, I would like to make it clear to you that you owe me nothing. I am not oblivious to this pull between us. Once my father accepted your apprenticeship, your debt is to the League of Assassins and my father.”

Nyssa’s gasp when Sara grasps her wrist and turns her back toward her is almost a sob and it breaks Sara’s heart. Not the perfection of Sara’s perception after all. “Anything I choose to do, I choose. No one makes me do anything. Not anymore. I’ve spent three months here learning to fight. Obviously, I can’t be doing that terribly since someone sees it fit that it’s time for me to expand my knowledge.”

“It is my position as the Heir that I wish not to pressure you with.” Nyssa still won’t meet her eyes.

Sara comes closer, presses herself into Nyssa, holding her tightly. She whispers in Nyssa’s ear, “When your father sought to intimidate me, all I could do was laugh. It was nothing compared to the horrors of Ivo’s ship. Believe me when I tell you that I would never give more of myself than I wanted.”

Sara can feel Nyssa shaking as she says, “You are quite stubborn.”

“Besides, we are simply dancing. Let’s just enjoy the moment. I feel we may not get that many.”

Sara guides Nyssa’s arms back around her, leading them into a simple sway back and forth, content to just enjoy the press of their bodies, head resting on Nyssa’s chest. It is the most at peace Sara has felt since she boarded the Queen’s Gambit. Her heart flutters when the Heir rests her chin on her head. At some point, she realizes the music has stopped, but there are birds chirping, the sun warms her back, and Nyssa is in her arms.

#Nyssara #nyssa x sara #Nyssa al Ghul #Sara Lance #Arrow #femslash #fanfic #fanfiction

[voidendron]

V’ehsz Legacy (Part 1)

I’ve started getting a lot of characters to keep track of, and I want something for them with really brief info instead of full bios (plus. the last one of these I made was messy and a pain to read through). This’ll help me keep track of everything and off a look at what my OCs are like!

Starting off with my main eight who follow their class storylines

Terrin - Synnda - Qizulth - Liolana - Azan - Jen - Azuma - Varrich

Part 2

(only Terrin, Synnda, Qizulth, and Varrich’s outfits shown above are finalized - other four are not and I’ll try to update this when they are) 

For more in-depth information, there’s a link to my SWTOR characters in my bio. Going there will lead to a list, and the list contains links to their Toyhouse files (if they exist yet), and I’m slowly working on putting the detailed info there

This is subject to (likely minor) changes

Ar’eonis’terrinxx (“Terrin”) - She/her - Chiss - Bounty Hunter (Power Tech) & Outlander Random Pointless Fact: She has a headband that Blizz made her to help keep her hair out of her face when she has a helmet on. She always wears it if planning to wear her helmet, but sometimes she’ll wear it in her regular day-to-day to change things up a little. It’s very dear to her and she keeps it stored safely in a drawer when not wearing it.

Reckless, likes a challenge, temper laying at the end of a short fuse, and anyone who’s worked with or for her quickly discovers she isn’t one to sit still for long. She takes great pride in being Mandalorian, but her tendency to take challenges she probably shouldn’t makes her a handful and easily gets her into trouble. When sent on a mission with her, it’s wise to bring a fire extinguisher; she likes to set things ablaze. She’s the type who if told to use her head, would actually headbutt the thing before thinking of a better solution.

Rough around the edges and quick to speak her mind or blast a hole in something, she’s surprised people with how caring she can actually be. Family is extremely important to her, and when the galaxy comes under threat credits become the last thing on her mind. Terrifying Force shit she doesn’t understand threatens an entire planet or the whole damn galaxy? She’ll step between it and the innocent without second thought.

When Marr reached out from Wild Space, Terrin wasn’t the only one he contacted (Varrich and Azan were even en route!), but she was the only one to arrive in time to try and aid him when the Eternal Empire attacked his fleet--much to her frustration, that also meant she was the one to get Valkorian in her head. Upon becoming Alliance Commander, she made the difficult decision to leave behind bounty hunting for good so she could focus on what was really important, and has matured because of it.

...That doesn’t change the fact she’s still Mandalorian, though, and Lana has her work cut out keeping Terrin from trying to fight everything.

Synnda V’ehsz - He/him - Zabrak - Jedi Consular (Shadow) Random Pointless Fact: Broke two horns as a Padawan. His lightsaber had been knocked out of his hand and he was more or less pinned, so he tried to headbutt his opponent... Who was... Wearing armor... It wasn’t his brightest moment.

Always calm, keeping a level head regardless of the situation, able to diffuse even the tensest situations and often finding allies in unexpected places, Synnda could be considered the ideal Jedi and those who know him aren’t surprised he was named Barsen’thor. His seeming emotionless and flat voice can easily make him seem cold or distant or disinterested, however, and he has a hard time really connecting with people as a friend rather than a simple acquaintance. Upon being offered a Council position, he was hesitant to take it, though did accept.

He has great interest in other cultures and--especially--other languages and is always trying to learn what he can of them. So, while his tone may put someone off, his commonplace willingness to speak their language instead of Basic, and that he’ll show respect as is custom of their culture rather than of the Jedi, shows the type of person he really is when his voice has a hard time conveying it. He tries not to form too strong of attachments to others, even if those others happen to be friends, but has definitely become attached to his crew.

When Marr reached out from Wild Space, Synnda had been busy with the rebuilding efforts on Corellia and missed the call until it was already too late. When the Eternal Empire attacked, he helped a few small groups escape to Ossus before attacking the fleet himself. He ended up captured, and was kept in a prison on Zakuul, but broke out during the blackout caused by Terrin’s escape and later joined up with the Alliance.

Qizulth Verryn/Darth Nox - He/him - Twi’lek - Sith Inquisitor (Sorcerer) Random Pointless Fact: He and Talos will totally geek out over ancient temples together. He’d have a hard time admitting it aloud, but Talos is easily his closest/most trusted friend and Key is much more open with him than anyone else.

Impulsive, sarcastic and cocky, yet also always trying to prove himself and his abilities. He doesn’t let it show, but thanks to Harkun and growing up a slave, he feels the need to prove to others that he’s worth something and easily becomes frustrated with himself when he can’t. He has a habit of trying to be better than others, as well, so he makes a lot of enemies and isn’t exactly the best at making allies unless he does it through manipulation.

Before being taken to Korriban to become an acolyte, he’d always dreamed of the stars and exploring unknown places, enjoyed learning anything he could in what little free time he had. As Sith, he found excitement in ancient tombs and texts and artifacts, took great interest in learning about peoples and cultures from long before his time. It made him fitting to head the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge upon his defeat of Thanaton--and also brought him to have his strange little crew he actually cares a lot for but shh. He’s scared to admit it.

When Marr reached out, Key had been exploring a tomb on Hoth, so the message never came through due to atmospheric interference. Upon the Eternal Empire’s attack, he sneaked off to Belsavis without telling anyone, hoping to confide in Ashaa or find something that could help against Arcann’s empire. His wandering led him to accidentally trap himself in one of the many prison chambers deep within the planet, suspended in the air by a force field and more or less frozen in time. It’s not until years later that others find and free him after finding clues of his whereabouts, and he joins the Alliance.

Liolana “Leo” Vetiko - She/her - Cathar - Jedi Knight (Guardian) Random Pointless Fact: Most people don’t know it, but she’s actually pretty good with repairing machines and is even a decent slicer. If an actual mechanic isn’t available, she’s a good replacement.

While she does try to fit the card of the ideal Jedi, her emotions and attachments can get the better of her to make her impulsive - so much so that she risked the entire mission of confronting Vitiate to save Rusk when he’d ended up in trouble. She works hard to feel like she’s worthy of her position of Master, and has a bad habit of comparing her failures to the successes of others, so has been known to push herself too hard to the point she’s fallen ill for it on more than one occasion.

She’s still young and, while honored, didn’t feel like she was even remotely ready to be named Battlemaster and was nervous about it. While she didn’t outright say, she did wish Satele and the Council had reconsidered their choice. However, it didn’t take long for her to love the position, and she took pride in watching the lightsaber skills of those she trained grow with her lessons. 

When it came to Ziost, she ended up as one of Theron’s contacts and met with his other three (Havoc, Jen, and Synnda) planetside where they eventually paired up to work with Lana’s contacts. She ended up badly injured by a possessed Sixth Line Jedi, but in the end that’s what saved her life. Because of the severity of her injuries, she was taken off-world to be tended to, so ended up surviving the devastation Vitiate caused. She was still recovering when the Eternal Empire attacked, so had no choice but to follow others fleeing to Ossus, where she stayed until Jedi Under Siege. 

Azan Tarnak/Lord Wrath - She/her - Sith Pureblood - Sith Warrior (Juggernaut) Random Pointless Fact: She’s not exactly graceful in a duel. She’s large and incredibly strong, so tends to lean with brute force rather than acrobatics in a fight. She’s even been known to swing her lightsaber more like it’s a club than an elegant weapon. Her fights aren’t pretty and many an opponent have lost limbs to her.

A follower of the light, Azan has learned to be cunning and manipulative just to survive among other Sith. She’s incredibly good at lying and finding ways to cover up things she’s done that would otherwise seem very not-Sith-like. From claiming pragmatism, to simply turning around and threatening someone not to question her choices, rarely using the Force in the presence of others and able to prove she doesn’t have to rely on it to be formidable, or simply covering up her actions altogether, she’s gotten good at wearing her mask.

She wasn’t exactly thrilled to get her apprenticeship to Baras. He irritated her and she had a bad feeling about him from the start--she sassed and disobeyed him every chance she got. Even on the instances he grew tired of her attitude and threatened her, she was one to just cross her arms and wait for him to get to the point. To say she was surprised by his betrayal would be a lie, and she quite enjoyed finally kicking his ass. Becoming Wrath was a different matter, though. She wasn’t pleased and thought she was about the worst possible choice for the position--though having even (most of) the Dark Council itself scared of her was certainly interesting and made things easier for her when she’d no longer be questioned about her actions due to that fear.

When Marr reached out from Wild Space, Azan had been at Ziost. She was on the surface after the destruction, protecting teams from Monoliths while they tried to study what happened. She and Havoc Squad met on Ziost’s space station and opted for a temporary truce to go out to Marr’s location together. By the time they reached the coordinates, the Eternal Fleet had already come and gone, and all that was left was the remains of the fleet and a few escape pods that they rounded up. Azan ended up going into hiding once the Eternal Empire attacked so she could try and figure out what to do about it. She was separated from her team, but met up with an old ally--Master Timmns--and the two worked to survive together until the formation of the Alliance, which they were quick to join.

Jendrush “Jen” Sept - He/him - Cathar - Smuggler (Gunslinger) Random Pointless Fact: Want to lure him into a trap? Don’t bother with anything elaborate. Simple and easy are just fine, and he’s sure to walk right into it without thinking. It’s a wonder how he’s still alive.

Overconfident, aloof, a huge flirt, and boiling over with enough sarcasm he could share, Jen isn’t exactly “friend” material. He has a hard time connecting with people unless he’s flirting, and has an easier time making enemies than allies. He used to run smuggling jobs solely for the money. He didn’t care what the job was or if it harmed anyone, as long as he got paid in the end. Fortunately, he did start to make better decisions after he had to work with others to get his stolen ship back.

It wasn’t until he was hired by the Republic that he really started to change for the better, however. He found that he actually liked helping people and became easier to be around, though still wasn’t the most friendly if you weren’t part of his crew, and even then he could be testy at times. It wasn’t until he hired K’hedif (so his two kids wouldn’t be in the streets; he didn’t trust K’hedif himself at first) that Jen finally started to soften up. Jeva was too little and too much of a sweetheart to be rude to, while Jessi would snap at him to quit being an ass and kinda gave him the reality check he so badly needed. And...yeah, he might have eventually fallen for K’hedif once his heart was good an tenderized after knowing them quite a while. He and his kids were the best things that ever happened to Jen.

Jen wasn’t contacted by Marr, and had instead been running a job when the Eternal Empire struck. He took his crew and his ship and went underground (possibly literally) until he could find a way around the Coruscant blockade. Once he did, his priority became running supplies to worlds that needed it until Hylo Visz got in contact needing smugglers for the newly-formed Alliance.

“Azuma”/Cipher Nine - She/her - Zabrak - Imperial Agent (Operative) Random Pointless Fact: The jewelry attached to her horns are extremely durable. She can (and has) removed them to use to choke someone from behind, and they can also undo/short out handcuffs and shock collars. Just assume that if she looks like she’s wearing something just for looks, it’s there for a reason.

Doggedly loyal to the Empire and severely lacking any form of moral compass, “Azuma” does whatever it takes for the Empire to come out on top. She’s intelligent, cunning, manipulative, and a quick thinker - able to smoothly run with a last-minute plan or come up with one herself on-the-spot, she can prove effective in any situation. She took the “you no longer have a name” very seriously, and went on to only go by whatever her latest disguise was for what her team should call her (with Azuma Kathrak being her current one). Her original name has been purged from all records and no one speaks of it - not even her own husband knows what it was.

While not good in an actual fight, she has a stealth generator and is armed with a multitude of poisons that she can use to do her dirty work for her. From dusts that her target can inhale, to setting off poisonous clouds that affect only certain species, to a toxin hidden in her earrings she can pour into a drink, her collection could make any chemist or assassin jealous. When she joined Intelligence, she very quickly learned it was no place for a moral code and left hers far behind in her old life. Now, she becomes whoever she has to be to get the job done.

Marr didn’t have the time to track down Azuma when he was in Wild Space, as she’d gone under the radar again after Ziost to conduct her own search for the Emperor. As such, she didn’t hear about what was happening until it was far too late. From then on, she parted ways with her companions and went into deep cover on Zakuul to figure out what was going on and strike at Arcann’s empire from within. She joined the Alliance when she was discovered by it for mutual gain: She’d help it by providing information, and it would help the Sith Empire in return.

Varrich Tophrik - He/him - Mirialan - Republic Trooper (Vanguard) Random Pointless Fact: He always wears the same style of helmet, even in different colors to match different armor. It’s become a running joke that he must have a hoard of lookalikes hidden somewhere like they’re some grand treasure. He is not amused by said joke. Because it’s probably true.

Steadfast, loyal, and unflinching in the face of danger, Varrich tries to be the perfect soldier. A teenage resistance fighter on Balmorra who later joined the Academy in the hopes he could better help his planet that way, he never expected to graduate top of his class, nor to be recruited to Havoc because of it. Already having trust issues, his original team’s betrayal only ingrained distrust deeper into him. He doesn’t let himself get close to anyone, trusting only his team and the sister he so rarely gets to see. 

Trained in a multitude of weapons and fighting styles, he’s like a living arsenal. Missiles, blasters, grenades, knives, even a generator that lets him give his opponent a shock, he’s armed to the teeth and it’s not just for show. While he does have a strong moral code, he also knows that he can’t always follow it if he needs to get a job done and is willing to do some pretty messed up things in the name of the Republic. It can make him seem callous, and the fact he remains professional and even-toned even as bodies lay at his feet even more so.

When Marr called from Wild Space, Varrich and his team were on Ziost looking for signs of Vitiate. They dropped everything at the call, and when they’d head up to the orbital station, they encountered the Wrath who’d also gotten the call. Deciding it would be in their best interest, Varrich reluctantly agreed to head to his coordinates with her. They arrived too late, however, and Havoc eventually went to Zakuul’s surface to try and fight its empire. They were in over their heads, and Varrich was separated from the rest of his team in an explosion - he was captured by a black market group working out of Breaktown and used as a test subject for cybernetics they planned to sell in the streets. He was there about five years, but was able to escape thanks to Terrin having caused a blackout.

#swtor #bounty hunter #jedi consular #sith inquisitor #jedi knight #sith warrior #smuggler #imperial agent #republic trooper #the v'ehsz legacy #blitz's ocs #ar'eonis'terrinxx #synnda v'ehsz #qizulth verryn #liolana vetiko #azan tarnak #jendrush sept #azuma #varrich tophrik #hAH can you find the self-projection?? :') #apparently i did it with more of them than i thought #synnda and key are probably the biggest ones i did it with tho #long post

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 58 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 58 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Tanlin’s face fell.  In a sad soft voice she said, “Oi knew t’at ye’d ask.  Oi’ll give ye t’e facts t’at Oi know.  Ye willnae like w’at Oi’m about t’ tell ye.  Ot least a few ot’ers will tell parts o’ ‘t as well.  Ye’ll ‘ave t’ decide i’ ye’ve been told true.” Dragons forgive m’.  Oi’ll tell ‘er nae lie but Oi must save m’ Barad at any cost! She began, carefully editing Barad’s early involvement in the plot.

“T’ere wa’ a plot t’ kill ye.  T’was hatched only a few doors down t’e passage in Mister Morgu’s cabin.  ‘E wa’ our Purser an’ ‘e ‘ates t’e Longin.  T’was ‘e t’at persuaded Barad t’ buy t’e Ord …”

She went on, fearful of the effect that her account was having on Kurin. So much depended on the goodwill of this child.  No, not really a child, just young.  Before the fleet she was legally an adult because of her skills accomplishments.

There was good reason for her fear.  Kurin heard of the apparent cold blooded murder of Chena and possibly Merk with horror and pity.  She did not want to face this.  She wanted to run and hide, curled around her knotted stomach.  Only her need to know the truth kept her in the same cabin with this story.

Tanlin’s control broke down when she got to Silor’s part. She turned in her chair and gestured at the cabin door, her voice catching as she said, “Ot t’e Gat’ering, only a day before ye were poisoned, Oi met Silor just ootside t’is door.  ‘E wa’ runnin’ an errand for Mister Morgu.  T’was ‘im t’at took t’e kit.”

She hid her face and her voice was muffled and she wept as she said, “A moment earlier!  Just a moment earlier an’ Oi’d ‘ave caught ‘im in our cabin!  Nae bit o’ t’is wad ‘ave ‘appened i’ Oi’d been a moment earlier!”

Kurin, remembering the ghastly accusations of her own mother as she sank into madness, could well guess the kind of guilt feelings that Tanlin was experiencing.  The screaming shade of her mother accusing her of murdering her father still haunted her dreams.  She leaned forward, reaching through her own revulsion at the unfolding tale, and laid a comforting hand on Tanlin’s arm.  The contact helped Tanlin to get a grip on herself.  She looked thankfully at Kurin and went on.  

Kurin heard the events at the Gathering and after.  Even though she had already heard that the Fauline had been rammed, she got the tale again.  This time it included what had happened aboard the Fauline as well as the rest of the events.  She heard, for the first time, how the Grandalor had got north undetected by riding in the eye of the Coriolis storm.

Kurin sat, stunned by the tale.  Shakily she asked, “That’s it?  No dodge?  No it was an accident or a prank gone awry?  Just, somebody really tried to kill me, not even because they hated me?  Just to hurt my ship?”

Tanlin sat slumped in her chair, looking ill.  We’ve lost.  She’ll nae help us now, she thought.  She responded dully, “In Mister Morgu’s case, Aye.  In Silor’s case, nae.  ‘E ‘ates ye an’ blames all o’ ‘is ill fortune an’ failings on ye.  Oi t’ink, from talking wit’ ‘im, t’at ‘e’s mad, at least w’ere ye are concerned.

“Bot’ ‘e an’ Mister Morgu ‘ave been confined since we caught t’em. Nane ‘as spoken t’ t’em since, except for m’sel’.  I talked t’ each o’ t’em separately t’ get t’e facts t’at Oi ‘ad t’ tell ye.”

Kurin curled up into a ball in her chair and sat, eyes closed, stomach knotted.  Tanlin looked despairingly across at Kurin.  She felt both guilt and sorrow that she’d caused such pain in one so young. Tanlin crossed the space between them and knelt where she could gather the hurting Kurin into her arms.

Kurin, startled, looked at her face.  Gray eyes in pain met gray eyes in despair.  Kurin uncurled enough to wrap an arm about Tanlin as well. For a few minutes they just sat and comforted each other.

Kurin broke the hug first and retreated to her chair, curled about her pain.  She looked at Tanlin, and tilted her head regarding the woman shrewdly.  Almost dismissively she said, “This is just pain.  It was hard to hear, that’s all.  I half expected something like that story.  I came here because of those Great Law violations. Running off because something’s difficult isn’t my way.

“Is there anything else that I should know about?”

“T’ere’s a matter t’at ye should know from m’,” said Tanlin, eager to change the subject, hope flaring.  “T’e counterfeit scrip t’at ‘as plagued yer last few Gat’erings originated on t’is ship. Barad an’ Mister Morgu conspired toget’er on t’at.  T’ere are many ‘oo were guilty o’ ‘elping t’ make or pass ‘t.”

“I see,” said Kurin.  She wrapped white hair about several fingers as she thought.  Concentration helped her to ignore the pain knotting her stomach.  She remembered some things that both Alor and Captain Mord had complained of and got an impish grin.  “I think that I have an idea about how to deal with that little problem.”

She turned serious again and said grimly, “There’s another problem that might not be so easy, though.  The Grandalor has an ominous reputation.  There are up to several hundred disappearances, perhaps murders.  Somehow they will have to be dealt with.”

This time it was Tanlin who grinned.  She raised her left index finger and chuckled around the stone of fear in her heart, “T’ey never ‘appened.  Nae even ane.”

“Then what did happen to all those people?” asked Kurin skeptically.

Tanlin snorted in amusement and replied, “Indentures.  Barad brokered t’eir indenture sales in t’e Arraken fleet.  T’e ‘ule ship kept t’e secret as a groit joke on t’e Naral fleet.  T’ere were nae mysterious disappearances.  Tis all in t’e Log an’ accounts.”

Angrily, Kurin started to say, “That’s a violation of the First Great Law! The sale of indentures is slavery!”

Tanlin held up a hand to stem the clearly expected outburst from Kurin. Calmly she explained, “Oi know t’e views o’ t’e Naral fleet on t’e matter.  As indenture’s practiced in t’e Arrakan fleet tis nae slavery nae does ‘t violate t’e Forst Groit Law.  Tis t’e ‘art o’ t’e Arrakan system o’ education.  Yer apprenticeship system comes closer t’ slavery t’an our indenture system.”

Kurin leaned forward curiously, listening carefully as Tanlin went on, “Barad discovered ‘ow our education system worked.  ‘E made yer castoffs int’ students t’at our fleet paid ‘igh prices for. Wen t’e Princamorn wa’ wrecked, we were on our way t’ meet Barad an’ pick up t’e latest crop o’ indentures.”

“Ye ‘ad t’ know about t’e indenture sales.  T’ey’re sure t’ try t’ attack us wit’ t’em.  T’e sales were legal in our fleet an’ dune in our territory.  T’e T’ird Groit Law’s all t’e defense m’ Barad needs.”

Tanlin regarded Kurin soberly for a few moments.  She’s so small.  Can she truly save us?  Barad trusts ‘er an’ t’ere’s few enow ‘e does.  She said quietly, “T’e Grandalor’s books, Logs an’ all else wit’ nut’in’ an’ nane ‘eld bock, is open t’ ye. Ask anyt’ing.  I’ we know t’e answer, tis yers.  Oi’ve ordered t’at t’ere’s t’ be nut’in’ ‘idden from ye.”

Earnestly, Tanlin requested, “Study t’e case forst, t’en answer ane quest’n.  Will ye please put our case before t’e Naral fleet?”

When Kurin did not answer immediately, Tanlin added, a little bitterly, “We’ve little ot’er ‘ope o’ gettin’ justice. Remember, nae even ye quest’ned t’e violations o’ law, bot’ Groit an’ fleet, t’at were dune t’ us.  Ye ‘ave t’eir respect an’ ye were t’e victim o’ t’e assault.  T’ey’ll listen t’ ye.”

 Kurin thought I’ve never refused a challenge before.  I wonder what Cat would say about me defending Barad?  Still, it’s the biggest responsibility I’ve ever faced.  She shuddered a little as she pondered, Lenai and Darkistry are wounded and in sickbay.  Macoul is dead.  Just to get me here.  I can’t let them down.

Tanlin saw Kurin’s small shudder and feared the worst.

Clearly and firmly Kurin said, “I’ve already made up my mind.  I don’t need to think it through any further.”  

Tanlin’s face fell, sure that she had lost.  Ship, love, friends and all would die.  Despair provided the darkness that the unsetting arctic sun in the ports could not.  Determination settled over her features.  Ice like the pack not far north wrapped her heart.  She would have to save her folk — — if she could.  She knew too well, from Barad’s books, the deadly skills of those directing the hunt to the south of them.  

She heard her own voice as if it were through a bulkhead, remote from what she was saying, “Oi promised ye safe conduct.  Oi’m sorry t’at we took ye so far for naught.  We’ll feed ye an’ let ye rest.  Tomorrow we’ll return ye t’ t’e Longin.

“We’ll nae be Scattered an’ executed by Council orders.  We’ll try t’ break-oot for t’e Arrakan fleet.  T’ey’ll give us a fair trial wen t’ey ‘ear o’ the Groit Law violations.  We’ll die fightin’ i’ we cannae escape.

“Oi ‘ope t’at we dinnae have t’ sink any ships doin’ ‘t.”

Appalled, Kurin exclaimed, “No!  I meant that I will be your advocate! I do have to study the case but not to make up my mind.  You were wronged.  I don’t know if I can save your crew but I have to try.”

Tanlin’s hardness turned to joy in an instant.  “Oi know t’at ye’ll do yer best an’ t’at yer best’s very good indeed.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 58 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

[revcntulet]

❝ The more I read, the more I acquire, the more certain I am that I know nothing. ❞  SCORPIUS MALFOY looks a lot like that muggle, FROY GUTIERREZ, right? Only 20 years old, that SLYTHERIN alumnus works as a HEALING APPRENTICE and is sided with the ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. HE identifies as a CIS MAN and is a PUREBLOOD.

CHARACTER PARALLELS: Amy Santiago (B99), Claire Temple (Daredevil), Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place), Giles (Buffy TVS), Michelle Jones (Spiderman: Homecoming), Elizabeth Swan (PoTC), Spock (Star Trek), Clarke Griffin (The 100), Harley Keener (MCU), Gregory House (House) suggested honorable mention Gizmo (Gremlins)

Full Name: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy Gender/Pronouns: Cis man | he/him Age: Twenty Birthdate: January 20th Parents: Draco Malfoy & Astoria Malfoy (née Greengrass) Siblings: N/A. Birth place: St. Mungo’s Hospital, England Height: 5’11” Weight: 56 kg Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic Bisexual Nationality: British Body Alterations/Marks: A ragged diamond shape scar at the base of his throat.

Blood Status: Pureblood Hogwarts House: Slytherin Wand Arm: Right Pet: A crested toad named Jarvis. Patronus: Arctic Fox Wand: 11 2/3 inches, Willow, Supple, Dragon Heartstring.

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

Personality Traits: Brilliance, innovation, empathetic, individuality, openness, social consciousness, inventiveness, logical, practical skill and self assertion; lack of attachment to people and the “real world,” over-intellectualizing of the emotions, dismissiveness, anxious, crotchety tempered, facetiousness, rigidity, prone to self-isolation, intellectual arrogance, and stubbornness. Zodiac Sign: Aquarius/Capricorn Cusp Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Core values: Loyalty, Knowledge, Hope Four temperaments: Melancholic  

HOGWARTS HOUSE BREAKDOWN

Slytherin Primary and a Burned Ravenclaw Secondary.

Slytherin Primaries prioritize their own selves and loved ones first. Slytherins don’t feel guilty or selfish about this– they feel righteous and moral. The most important thing is to look after your own. Abandoning or hurting one of your own is the worst thing you can do.

A Burned Ravenclaw Secondary might want to be skilled, curious, and prepared, but they feel like they are (or like people think they are) limited, clumsy, or inconstant. Gathering knowledge, hobbies, skills, or tools is the right way to achieve their goals, but Burned Ravenclaws know that’s not going to work within their capabilities. So they take other paths and use other tools– maybe a Gryffindor’s bluntness, a Slytherin’s flexibility, or a Hufflepuff’s slow and steady dedication.

You may have a Hufflepuff Secondary Model.

Hufflepuff is the House of grit, reliability, and determination, and Hufflepuffs use those values to help live, act, and succeed. If you model Hufflepuff Secondary, you also value these things and like to live by them. You like to be hardworking, dedicated, and consistent– but you wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning those values in the service of other, higher priorities. If there’s another, easier way to get what you want– you’d take it. You think hard work provides valuable rewards– and those rewards are why you work. The work doesn’t have persuasive value in itself.

9. The Expositor will have to destroy the one who they love. There is no other way. It cannot be avoided. Their fate – possibly even the entire world’s fate – depends on it.

39. You are in the Order, and as a spell inventor, you played a key role in helping the Knights mutate the Patronus Charm to create daemons. Because of this, you have a daemon of your own, and you have been experimenting with the limitations of the magic, trying to figure out if there are any ways to improve them.

Code Name Revontulet, which literally translates to “fox fire.” Legend says that an arctic fox dashed across the tundra swiping snow up into the sky, while others claim his bushy tail caused sparks when brushing the peaks of tall mountains to create the Aurora Borealis.

Despite his very best resistance he’s always been pretty empathetic in nature, he tries to rule his emotions as well as he can but fails more often than not. He was always one of those toddlers that if another kid started crying he’d be right along with them, not because he wanted attention but because he just couldn’t not. A bit of a crybaby, honestly, has researched how to magically seal up his tear ducts. Obviously managed to keep the family’s flair for the dramatic there as well.

Just managed to scrape through his schooling with nearly all top grades, this isn’t due to him being an excellent student. He has always accrued information with a voracious appetite. Any knowledge he could find, even if most people would consider it entirely useless. His mind clicks into that place? You can’t keep him away. However, when there is not an immediate stir of interest on his approach to a topic he has to fight with himself tooth and nail to carry on. Predictably found exam season highly stressful, was never open about it but was quietly competitive and silently smug over his good grades. Could comprehend well above his reading level from an early age and would often look into experimental research and complicated magic but found himself lost in OWL level History of Magic when chapter upon chapter lay ahead of him about something that didn’t catch his interest.

Tends toward introversion and finds himself tired sometimes quite easily by a large amount of social interaction. Witty and big-mouthed when he feels comfortable or is in the presence of those that embolden him and very likely to get flustered and snap at people when things are becoming a bit too much. Especially if he feels however unjustly that someone is blocking his escape. Has matured slightly in this since leaving school but it happens still, he’s just anxious. Quite fickle and can at the drop of a hat decide that he’s done with you for the day once his Give Me Attention Meter is maxed. Could be an absolute bloody brat when he felt like it but feels he has grown out of it, which he mostly has.

Always been very, very aware of many people’s distrust of him and his family, he used to sneer and play it up if anyone tried to bring up his dad and go on the offensive but was genuinely affected quite deeply by it all. In his early school years, despite his weakness to the cold, he constantly had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow so that his blank forearm was bared as a statement to just about everyone. I am not marked, I never will be. Now he’s older he has more of a handle on things and can be diplomatic in situations where people are clearly discomforted by his presence and his family history.

Scorpius was in his seventh and final year when the Knights were first created and he spent a lot of his time patching people up and teaching simple healing here and there, wherever he could. It was a natural transition to become part of The Order once he graduated, he still kept in contact with members of the Knights but while he had no way to access the grounds at all it seemed ridiculous that he be privy to everything, especially as sharing such information could have been intercepted by the opposing side. He was absolutely horrified by Harry’s resurrection and his stomach rolls every time he even thinks about it.

Never produced much of a talent for offensive magic and wouldn’t resort to those methods unless he had literally no other choice, not a front line fighter by any means. His talents with strategy, healing and his perseverance with defensive magic meant that he was an ideal candidate, in his head, to have the singular daemon amongst the Order and to test all of their hard work. Then the prophecy was slowly unravelled, silver spool of damning words in a pile at his feet.

Is in a strange place in that he can’t simply stop loving people he’s always loved whilst working simultaneously to strangle any potential for more people to be added to the list as frantically as he can. Tends to just try and put the prophecy out of his mind otherwise he stares at Cleo for too long and his hands start to shake.

Very nearly lost his apprenticeship due to his intensity over developing and refining the magic of the patronus charm. It was an all-consuming obsession, he went so far into the zone that he was a bit of a liability for a while there. He would turn up at any hour to other Order members for their opinions on an obscure theory, an element of the magic, the importance of ritual and their thoughts on his experiments with dementors. Alot of people were like you’re a bit young to be doing this aren’t you love? And he was like I’m not going to tell you to fuck off, just explain that I will not let this go and if you exclude me I will continue working on it alone.

[ DEATH TW ] Although this can be said for anyone possessing a daemon, he is protective of Cleo to the point of neurosis, the magic was experimental at the time of her manifestation and he felt every single layer of his soul flayed away and the creation of atoms from a matter that he still doesn’t quite understand. Only that it came from him. They have managed to limit the bitter, burnt iron taste that lingered at the back of his sinuses for two weeks, the numbness of his fingers and toes and the burst blood vessels in his eyes on other subjects. Oh and the part where he stopped breathing for nearly an entire minute. By the time he performed it successfully he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else to ever experience it, the spell basically consumed his life for several years and when the research was finally over he was stood there blinking owlishly with no real concept of where the last couple of years had gone.

Always had somewhat fragile health tending toward sickly. Hands are never warm. Bruises like a peach and scars so easily.

Views quidditch as a good fly spoiled.  

Is a very skilled pianist.

Has a fabric sling that he wears across his torso that Cleo is often curled up in. Looks like a single dad at Order meetings, toad on his shoulder.

While very eloquent and well spoken, he is markedly less posh than when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

When he isn’t prone to bouts of insomnia he can take a nap pretty much anywhere. He was once found in a tree after several frantic hours search.

the stillness of the world the moment you take the first step into fresh snow, cashmere and fine wool, the pearlescence of dreamless sleep draught, the scratch of a quill on parchment, faintly tremoring fingers, a shiver up your spine in a warm room, the exhilaration of a problem solved, a thunderous grey overcast sky, the bite of a stitching charm, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, petrichor, the burn in your eyes before a well of tears.

#ok can we not talk about the series of failed graphics tryna look like dragon age tarot cards? cool sweet #rev intros #blood tw #death tw

[obsidianarchives]

Ms. Granger, Have a Biscuit

Hermione walked cautiously down the corridor towards Professor McGonagall’s office, keeping an eye out for any loose fireworks or dungbomb odors in the air. In the days since Fred and George Weasley made their grand exit from Hogwarts School, the castle had become something of an obstacle course. The students, united in their efforts to rebel against Umbridge’s stifling regime, caused chaos whenever there was opportunity and even Hermione, who generally would have found the disruptions to learning irritating, could not fault her classmates these small victories. She herself had been feeling rather hopeless and discouraged since the disbanding of the D.A. and Dumbledore’s sudden departure; her desire to continue taking critical action contrasted with her fear of grave consequences not just for herself but her friends and teachers. Hermione was particularly concerned for Professor McGonagall, who Umbridge despised because of her closeness to Dumbledore and, Hermione suspected, because of the respect McGonagall earned from students at the school. 

Professor McGonagall’s office door was slightly ajar when Hermione arrived, but she knocked out of courtesy to announce her arrival. Hermione meant for the knock to be small, but its force was enough to push the door open rather quickly and she caught a glimpse of the melancholy gaze on Professor McGonagall’s face before breaking out of her silent meditation to meet Hermione’s eyes. 

“Ah, Ms. Granger,” she said, motioning to the chair in front of her desk, “you’re fairly early.” 

“I’m, uh, sorry Professor,” Hermione blushed, “I just thought, well, it wouldn’t hurt to have some extra time.” 

“I quite understand,” McGonagall nodded. “These conversations can cause quite a bit of anxiety even in the most promising students.” 

Hermione sighed in relief at McGonagall’s words. Hearing validation of the anxiety she was feeling somehow made it less crippling in the moment. It wasn’t until that moment that Hermione recognized the longing she’d felt for an opportunity to confide openly to her Head of House as she had done regularly in years past, back when the teachers were not operating under stupid decrees that banned them from relationship building with students. Professor McGonagall would not laugh at the concern that seemed to loom larger in Hermione’s mind with every career pamphlet she read — What if there was no place for her in the wizarding world beyond Hogwarts? What if she became so distracted by the Order’s fight against Voldemort, who was steadily gaining power unchallenged by the Ministry, to focus on her exams? What if Dolores Umbridge remained High Inquisitor for the next two years and found a way to expel Harry, Hermione, and Ron? What if, and Hermione felt the anguish of her shortsightedness, Marietta’s parents decided to push for more information into her condition; would Hermione be expelled or even imprisoned? Marietta did have Ministry connections.

Professor McGonagall’s next words interrupted Hermione’s thoughts, “Generally, this meeting time is used to help students determine which subjects they will continue at N.E.W.T. level based on their long term interests. As I suspect you will be continuing with all of your current subjects, our meeting can focus more on which of the many careers available to you best fit your character and aptitude.” 

“I don’t know which ones those would be,” Hermione replied glumly. “Most jobs I don’t much fancy and even those I might be keen on, well, I don’t know how well I would do.”

“Nonsense, Ms. Granger,” McGonagall snapped, jolting Hermione a bit. “You’ve always had top marks in all your classes. I’m sure every teacher here expects great things from you as I do. Now, you’re a natural leader and level headed girl; have you considered joining the Ministry at all?”

Hermione had, of course, considered the Ministry of Magic but thought those jobs would have been more appealing to her in first year, before interacting with the likes of Fudge, Barty Crouch Sr., and Professor Umbridge. 

McGonagall seemed to glean some of Hermione’s thought patterns. Leaning forward on the desk and dropping her voice a bit, McGonagall added, “They’re not all like Umbridge you know.”  She sat back in her seat again adding, “Consider Arthur Weasley. There are plenty of good and moral people in the Ministry working hard to do what's right and we always need more.”

Hermione’s hesitation remained in place though its root had changed. She felt her head drop just slightly so that she was no longer looking McGonagall in the eyes. Was she a good and moral person? There was so much Professor McGonagall didn’t know. Everyone now knew that Hermione had jinxed Marietta, but how would McGonagall respond if she found out Hermione had blackmailed Rita Skeeter for a year? Hermione came into Hogwarts excited to learn and ready to fully meet expectations by following all rules. Now, in her fifth year, it seemed not a week went by without her taking part in the breaking of school rules and Ministry laws. Hermione was anxious to change the subject. She stared at the desk between she and the Professor and said conversationally, “Last year Barty Crouch Jr., when we still thought he was Moody, said I would make a good Auror.”

“And so you would,” replied Professor McGonagall, matching Hermione’s cool tone. Then she added, “but I don’t know that I’ve seen anything from you to suggest interest in that career path.” Without waiting for Hermione to respond, McGonagall went on, “With your knowledge, practical skills, and organization, you could be a brilliant Professor. It's hard to say if there will be any open positions here at Hogwarts when you graduate, but there is always the opportunity to teach internationally as well. Taking into account Professor Dumbledore’s connections with Beauxbatons and my own connections with Uagadou School I’m sure we can find you an apprenticeship at either until you feel confident enough to handle classes on your own. Uagadou has perhaps the best Arithmancy program out of all the top wizarding schools and Professor Vector tells me you have a true knack for the subject.” 

Hermione considered this. The idea was intriguing. She loved to travel, as did her family, and the idea of studying Arithmancy in the region so full of magical history and significance would be incredible. What was more, for the first time ever she would be surrounded by witches and wizards who looked like her, instead of being one of a handful of Black students at Hogwarts. But then she thought of her friends, of Ron and Harry. Could she leave them after school was done? They would be joining the Order, continuing the fight against Lord Voldemort. How could she go before that fight was done? 

“I do think I’d like to stay closer to home, Professor,” Hermione said sighing. “I think it’s for the best.” She raised her head to look at McGonagall, feeling that this meeting wasn’t going well at all and expecting to see a look of impatience on the professor’s face. 

But McGonagall didn’t look impatient. She looked concerned, or perhaps disappointed. Hermione’s cheeks started to burn in shame and she quickly looked away. When McGonagall cleared her throat to speak again, Hermione expected to be told to leave and that they could finish the talk another time. 

Instead, Professor McGonagall pulled a tin out of her desk drawer, opened it up, and said calmly, “Ms. Granger, have a biscuit.” 

Hermione took a cookie out of the tin, now holding back tears that were inexplicably fighting to pour out of her. Professor McGonagall got up and closed the door to the corridor. 

As she returned to her seat, she spoke, “I know it's been a difficult time for all of us here at Hogwarts and especially for students who have become targets of Professor Umbridge. I know it can seem pointless to even consider the future with so much stress in the present, but you are a visionary Hermione. You have always been driven and excited by challenge. You have always been confident in who you are.” Professor McGonagall paused her speech and waited for Hermione to make eye contact again before adding softly, “I apologize if I have not picked up on any internal struggles you may be having.”

Hearing McGonagall use her first name calmed her. After a few deep breaths she was able to swallow the piece of cookie she had stuck in her throat and speak again. She rambled for  five minutes straight. She told Professor McGonagall about S.P.E.W. and about how bothered she was by the way wizards treat other magical beings and creatures. She talked about wanting to make lasting change in society and her feeling that it could be done through community organizing faster than through the Ministry. She even talked a bit about how she had come up with the idea for the D.A. and wanting to make sure all members of the magical community had access to spells and charms that would help them feel safe and provided for. When Hermione finished talking she was out of breath and Professor McGonagall was beaming at her. 

“Thank you for sharing with me, Ms. Granger. And for identifying the problem I should have seen before. You don’t need these pamphlets. You have full capability of creating a new career path or working in multiple to actualize your long term goals.” McGonagall chuckled, “You’re not too keen on the Ministry now, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you were Minister of Magic someday.”

Professor McGonagall stood to indicate the end of the meeting and Hermione rose from her seat as well. She rushed around the table and hugged Professor McGonagall who, though surprised, returned the gesture before stepping away. 

“Thank You, Professor,” said Hermione, and she left the room feeling much lighter than when she had entered. She started her way to Gryffindor tower to grab some pencil, parchment, and her bathrobe. The pencil and parchment she would use to write down McGonagall’s words about her before they were forgotten. The bathrobe, she would take with her to the Prefects bathroom where she could swim and ponder a world where she wasn’t working under a frustrating and short-sighted Minister like Fudge, but was in fact Minister of Magic herself. 

#Hermione Granger #Minerva McGonagall #Career Advice

[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife - II

AO3 :: Previously

VIII

“Claire? Not Julia?” Mrs. Fitz was very confused. I was helping her make the bed in Jamie’s and my new room—our room as newlyweds.

“I do apologize, Mrs. Fitz. I did not know how the laird would receive me if he knew I was Jamie’s wife. His presumably dead wife, you recall.”

“Och, I do mind. The lad was beside himself wi’ grief.” Her eyes misted over. “He refused to eat, all he did was wander about the castle and help with the horses.” My heart tightened to hear it.

“I am terribly sorry about your granddaughter’s betrothal,” I mentioned cautiously.

Mrs. Fitz shrugged thoughtfully, arranging the pillows. “God kens I love Laoghaire, but… Dougal’s idea in making that match—nay, he needs a woman, not a girl. And Laoghaire will be a girl when she's fifty.”

I could understand what she meant. I hoped the girl would not be disappointed for long. I recounted my story for Mrs. Fitz: how my mother and I used to travel as healers, about my midwifing apprenticeship at l’Hôpital des Anges, Mother Hildegarde, and how Jamie and I met. She thought it terribly romantic that we were handfast, and that I had stayed behind to help the sisters through the epidemic.

As she left me to settle in, Mrs. Fitz turned at the door. “I do love the lad. I am glad he found you, dearie, in the end. Take care of each other.”

* * *

When Jamie and I stepped into the great hall for dinner the following night, we were the target of whispers and comments directed at us from all sides. News traveled fast in the castle; I could only imagine what was being said about me, Jamie’s wife, come back from the dead. I gripped Jamie’s arm tightly as he escorted us to our seats. He kept his head up high, meeting people’s stares with a frank gaze. We ate in companionable silence, and as soon as Jamie was done eating, I gestured for us to leave the hall.

We were near the side door when there was a commotion behind us. I turned to spot a head of blonde hair racing amongst the tables. Laoghaire—Mrs. Fitz tried to pull her back, but the girl was too fast. She approached us, me in particular. She came up to me and shoved me, palms outstretched. I stumbled, caught unawares, but Jamie held me upright.

“Seas!” Jamie exclaimed, placing himself between Laoghaire and myself. “Lass, get ye under control—this is no way to behave towards my wife!”

“Your wife?!” Laoghaire’s eyes were wild with anger. Mrs. Fitz had appeared behind her, and was doing her best to pull her away from us with quiet noises meant to soothe the girl. “I was to be yer wife! Ye broke yer promise, James Fraser! I canna forgive that!”

“There was no promise from me, and ye ken it well, Laoghaire,” Jamie said between clenched teeth. “I never agreed to it, and my uncle has accepted our union.” Everyone in the hall had fallen silent, the better to hear the confrontation.

“Jamie, let’s just go,” I pleaded, tugging on his arm. Laoghaire turned her attentions back to me.

“He’s mine! Get ye back to the hell ye came from, and leave him to me! Go I say!” Laoghaire stamped her foot like a child throwing a tantrum. My own temper got the best of me and I stepped around Jamie, bent on pulling her hair or clawing her eyes out, whichever I could reach first. He caught me around the waist first, though, and pulled me back into his chest.

“I shan’t be going anywhere, least of all without my husband,” I hissed. “You must cease to call him yours, girl, now that the law say otherwise.” I watched with a satisfied smirk as Laoghaire’s face fell, and she finally allowed herself to be towed away by her grandmother.

“Let’s go, Sassenach,” Jamie said quietly in my ear, as everyone watched Laoghaire leave the great hall towards the kitchens, and conversation started up again slowly in their wake. I broke free of Jamie’s grasp and left through the side door. Once out of the hall, I picked up my skirts and ran as fast as I could towards our room. I heard Jamie behind me, the heavy tread of his boots catching up.

“Sassenach—Claire!” He sounded out of breath as he neared my side. “I would prefer not to follow behind my own wife.”

I did not bother to turn around. “So walk faster.”

We reached our room and Jamie closed the door behind us. “Sassenach, ye must no’ mind Laoghaire—”

“Not mind! Jamie, she shamed us in front of the entire castle!” I cried, flopping down on a chair by the hearth. “She’s made me out as some sort of devious red woman who would steal you away on a whim…”

“Ye are not a red woman,” he replied, stifling a smile. “They ken now that ye are Claire Fraser, from Paris, my true and only wife.” He pressed a kiss to the knot of hair on my head.

“No one approves Jamie… I was not expecting cheers and applause, but all this speculation and gossip is unbearable. Please, when can we leave for Lallybroch?”

“As soon as the MacKenzie allows it.” He came over to crouch next to me and took my hand in his. “I never thought to ask, Sassenach… can ye ride a horse?”

I laughed at this change of subject. “Not terribly well. I mostly rode in a wagon on my way here. Maman and I walked most everywhere.”

“I think ye should practice. We’ll ride to Lallybroch. Although I do mind something Jenny wrote me awhile back, when I let her ken we’d been handfast… married women shouldna ride horses.” Jamie laid his warm hand on my flat stomach. I sat up abruptly straighter, and laid my own hand over his.

“”Tis no danger to me at the moment,” I said gently. He nodded, accepting my reply. “Should that change, trust you will be the first to know.”

* * *

Rabbits were nibbling at the carrots. I would ask some of the castle lads to set snares near the vegetable garden. My medicinal herbs were also at risk. I knelt, pulling up weeds tirelessly. I noticed the edge of my cloak was rent as well, a piece torn clean out. It was a castle hand-me-down, given me by Mrs. Fitz. I would have to mend it, but first, I needed to take care of my crop. I was so absorbed in my task that I barely noticed the shadow that fell over me. I looked up when it cleared its throat to find Geillis Duncan smiling down at me.

“Oh, Mistress Duncan! How are you feeling?” I wiped my hands on my apron and covered the glare of sunlight with my hand.

“That is precisely why I’m here, Mistress Beauchamp. Or should I say Fraser?” She still smiled gently, cradling her enormous pregnant belly.

“Fraser, I suppose,” I said, returning her smile. “But Claire will do just fine. Did you walk here?”

“I took my husband’s carriage. ‘Tis a little far to walk from Cranesmuir to Leoch now; I tire so easily.”

“I think perhaps even the carriage ride might be too much, all that jostling about,” I said, gauging the heft of her belly. “It could cause you to go into labor.”

Geillis looked surprised. “I didna ken that. Should I go into confinement?”

I shook my head. “Fresh air does you good. Just avoid the carriage rides from now on. Is there anything I can do for you, mistress?”

“I did mean to ask ye for a tonic. Ye see, after every meal I have this burning sensation in my throat. I feel as though I might vomit, and my stomach hurts as well.” She seemed embarrassed. “Do ye ken what is happening?”

I smiled to put her at ease. “’Tis common enough—heartburn. Do you eat heavily seasoned foods or garlic?”

“Both,” she replied. I nodded and rummaged through the herbs in my garden. I plucked a bunch of peppermint leaves and tied them with a piece of twine from my ever-present basket.

“These should help. Brew a cup of tea with the leaves after every meal.” I handed the sheaf of leaves to her, and she held them tightly. She gave me an appraising glance, and I knew what she would ask. What many of the castle inhabitants were wondering themselves.

“Are ye with child, Claire?” she inquired curiously.

“No, at least not yet,” I replied cautiously.

“Arthur—my husband—and I had trouble conceiving. We had tried for years, and nothing. And now, a miracle.” Geillis smiled beatifically, a glow about her.

“We’ve only been married a few months, and apart for most of them. When we are ready, I hope it will happen.”

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “There is a wise woman in the forest, ken. Some say witch, of course. She has herbs and tonics like ye do. She can make a barren woman conceive. And she also helps the lasses who get in trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Ye ken, trouble.” She gestured towards her belly.

“Oh.” I understood. “We called them angel makers in Paris. They were not as busy as the maîtresses sage femme, for all that. Do you know…” I hesitated to ask. “Does the wise woman use herbs to make angels, or… other methods?”

“I dinna ken… though those that survive the cure, shall we say, are often sick for days afterward. It minds me of witchcraft,” Geillis whispered.

“Do you believe in witches, Mistress Duncan?” I asked carefully.

“There are many things in this world for which we have no explanation. But to hold a bairn in yer arms, fruit of the union with yer husband… ‘tis a kind of magic some women would consider worthwhile to have, regardless of the cost.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander au #jamie and claire #the midwife 2.8 #thank you all for reading!

[yoshiscribbles]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Viktor Krum Characters: Fleur Delacour, Viktor Krum Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends, i mean they're not really enemies more like rivals i guess, Medical School AU, POV Fleur Delacour Summary:

Fleur meets a terrible miscreant before her first day of Healer school, and is livid when she realises that man is meant to be her partner for the rest of the year. Maybe first impressions aren't the best though, because as time passes it's hard to remember why she dislikes him so much.

This fills square T017 of my @hprarepairbingo card, which was a Prince and Me AU. Seeing as I have never seen the prince and me, a quick wiki search told me it's about a foreign prince who asked a girl to show him her boobs in a bar, only for her to realise that they go to the same med school or something. In here, Viktor is a Bulgarian prince who asked Fleur to teach him how to kiss in a bar and has been feeling mortified since instead. Fic under the cut!

This is the last time she’s going out with friends to celebrate the start of a semester, Fleur thinks as she stomps toward her apartment with that man's dumbfounded expression still lingering in her mind. She takes care nonetheless to be quiet as she opens the door to her room; after all, it is late and her roommate Aurélie does not deserve to bear the brunt of her ire. It seems her efforts have been in vain though, for the light turns out right as Fleur tiptoes to her room and Aurélie appears, standing near their shared dresser.

“Now what kind of trouble has my precious little flower gotten into this time?”

The sound of her native language when she's gotten used to hearing English all the time doesn’t help to lift Fleur mood, and she very pointedly doesn’t roll her eyes. They’re not even dating anymore, but the older girl still hasn’t given up on using that nickname for Fleur, and nothing seems likely to dissuade her at this point. (Fleur doesn’t feel fond of that nickname, she doesn’t. At all!)

“I’ll have you know that I avoided trouble today,” she says instead of protesting the nickname, which was undoubtedly Aurélie’s goal. She drop her purse on her bedside table and lets herself fall over the covers after. “I didn’t even punch that- that-“ Fleur looks for a word good enough to express her utter disdain, but eventually gives up. “That imbecilic slug of a boy!”

With a grunt of rage, Fleur turns over to punch her pillow, immediately feeling better. Maybe she can imagine it is that stranger's face she is punching, the way she had wanted to after he asked her to teach him how to kiss. She drops heavily on the bed, not even bothering to avoid the various clothes piled haphazardly on it.

“You’ve never punched anyone in your life Fleur,” Aurélie points out, the ever unwanted voice of wisdom. “You’d have hurt yourself as much as you’d have hurt him.”

“I’ve kicked plenty of people, and if you continue with your unwelcome commentary you’ll be the next,” Fleur grunts into her pillow instead of dignifying that with a calmer answer.

Fleur hears Aurélie laugh, and thus isn’t surprised to feel a dip in her bed before her friend’s fingers begin running through her hair. “See, this is why we broke up: you’re so violent, little flower.”

Fleur doesn’t protest the nickname only because she is too comfortable with her current position to jeopardise it by running her mouth. She’s proven right when Aurélie’s hands continue their motions. “And you should also focus your energy for more positive things, right? Your healer apprenticeship begins tomorrow and I know you’ll feel livid if you lose sleep and get there at anything less than your best because a stupid boy has you out of sorts.”

Aurélie’s words are right as usual, and Fleur is still level-headed enough to see the wisdom in them. She won’t lose sleep over this unfortunate event and hopefully she won’t have to see that boy ever again.

---------

Of course that uncouth cad is the one in the room when she arrives for her internship assessment the next day.

“Yes, we’ve met already,” Fleur says, with a deliberately cool smile at her fellow student when her supervisor asks, but a polite tone of voice. He might be a cad, but she at least knows how to be professional.

“Oh, but that won’t do,” the Healer interrupts them before the boy can answer. “Healing might be a profession that seems solitary at first glance, but a lot of collaboration is necessary to ensure the adequate running of an institute such as ours. Therefore, the student at your side will become your most trusted confidant and partner for the entire duration of this internship.”

Fleur isn’t certain what her face does, but the other student’s face seems to have frozen in a mask of dread and unease that she feels mirrors her own feelings. He glances at her then quickly looks away, and she huffs, resolving to ignore him as much as possible.

“Go on,” the Healer says again, a wide beaming smile on her face. It's almost aggressively cheerful, and Fleur wonders if she feels relieved at the thought of a good-natured supervisor or exhausted by her enthusiasm. “Introduce yourselves, I’ll start. I am Healer Desrosiers, I like learning and traveling, I dislike lateness and when my cat doesn’t kiss me goodbye before I go to work, and I am here because I would like to impart my knowledge onto the future generation.”

She then gestures towards the two students for them to speak. Fleur does leave ample time for the boy to talk should he wish to, but seeing as he persists in stony silence while avoiding her gaze, she takes charge.

"My name is Fleur Delacour, I like... reading and most people, although I dislike presumptuous people and uncouth behaviour." There she makes sure, not to look at the man at her side, but she's sure he can feel how pointed her words are. With a bit of luck, maybe he'll understand that she doesn't want any further interactions with him. "And I am here because I want to help people recover."

Her supervisor smiles encouragingly, and Fleur likes her already. This would be the perfect assignment, if only... The boy speaks at last, his voice milder and quieter than Fleur had expected. "Viktor Krum. I like sports and family. I dislike being alone."

It's an... abrupt interruption to say the least, and Fleur can't help but expect him to continue. He doesn't, simply staring at Healer Desrosiers, who soon decides to make them visit their new workplace.

Throughout the day and the following week, Fleur keeps observing Krum. She doesn’t know exactly what kind of man she’d expected him to be. Outgoing perhaps, maybe even arrogant considering the abysmal first impression he’d made on her. Instead Krum is just… there. He doesn’t seem to go out of his way to be asocial, but he never approaches anyone first, and doesn’t bring anything to a conversation unless asked either. It takes a few weeks for her to notice, but it really seems like she’s the only one he talks to on a regular basis, and even that is only because they’re partnered for most their work.

He really doesn’t seem to have any friends, and first impressions aside, Fleur doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s kind of sad after all. He’s quiet as they follow Healer Desrosiers around the hospital, but he’s also serious and diligent, nothing like the man she met so many nights ago. At first, she thinks he’s trying to impress her with his change of attitude, and resolves to not let her guard down. She’s met too many two-faced liars who behave differently in public and in private after all, and won't let herself be tricked by another one...

---------

Working with Krum isn’t as much of a hassle as she expected it to be despite it all. As… uncouth as he’d been in that first meeting, his work ethic is irreproachable. In fact, if she didn’t have that first impression of him running through her head, she would probably find him as lovely as the rest of the staff seems to. It stings a little to see him so taciturn with her when she’s used to being a social butterfly with just about anyone else, but it doesn’t sting enough for her to take additional steps to solve the issue.

It is as she’s working on literature review, slugging through articles with more and more frustration as none of them even approach what she’s looking for that Fleur finally sees another side of him.

“What’s wrong?” Krum asks, and Fleur is too irritated by her research to even think about being irritated with him.

“None of these people knows how to write a good article,” she says, glaring at the book like she could telepathically set those researchers on fire with her mind. As predicted, nothing happens. Not even the thought of her father’s disappointed face at her behaviour will make her regret the attempt however. If they didn’t want people to curse their names, then they shouldn’t have written a misleading abstract.

“Which subject did you pick?” Krum asks again. Fleur turns to him. She hadn’t expected more than a commiserating groan, based on their previous interactions. He seems sincere though as he stands up from his desk to peer at her screen.

Fleur blinks quickly and focuses back on the text in an attempt to try and ignore how close he is to her. It’s a lost cause, for in that moment, the room seems cooler than usual and the heat of his body all too warm in comparison.

“The one about tissue substitutes. I’ve narrowed it down to a few materials, but I need to ensure none of them interact badly with potion ingredients, especially for internal organ linings. Of course, some of these articles are deliberately obtuse about their findings.” By the time she finishes her speech, Fleur’s irritation with those articles has overwritten her hyperawareness of Krum’s closeness.

He simply hums thoughtfully, and Fleur closes her eyes with a sigh as she realises that he probably doesn’t have anything of value to bring to the table. Not that she expected him to, after. It had been generous enough of him to offer a listening ear and she doesn't expect anything more.

“I think I remember reading someone’s research about that. It’s in Bulgarian, but I can translate it for you.”

Fleur is so stunned by the offer that it takes a few moments for it to register. “You what?” She turns to him, not even registering how close the two of them are in her haste to get answers. “But Bulgarian isn’t even within the scope of most translation spells! And this project is due in three days, you can’t possibly have time to do that on top of your own work.”

Fleur doesn’t know why she’s suddenly attempting to dissuade Krum from attempting to help her, but everything she’s said is accurate and there is simply no way what he’s suggesting is possible. Strangely enough, he looks away, the slightest hint of red on his cheeks.

“I’m Bulgarian,” he mutters in the collar of his shirt, so low that Fleur thinks she’s imagined it for a moment. “And I know a spell that bases itself on my own language knowledge as well, so it will work. And it’s no trouble; you’ll have it by tomorrow.”

Then, under her stunned gaze, he turns on his heels and goes right back to his desk. Fleur stares after him, almost wanting to push some more and get answers. But if he really is helping her, now is not the moment to risk antagonising him and risk losing the faint trace of hope that’s started rising in her chest.

The next day, she finds a book and its translated copy on her desk. Attached to it is a folded note, and Fleur opens it carefully.

Sorry for being rude at the bar, it reads simply. There's no signature, no further words, but Fleur doesn't doubt who it's from nor its sincerity. She chances a look at Krum's usual seat and isn't surprised to see it empty. He doesn't seem like the kind of person who'd appreciate effusive gratitude, but she wishes he was there for her to thank him at least.

Putting the note back on the desk, Fleur sits down to open the offered book. She'll have to do something nice for him in return.

#fleur delacour #viktor krum #fleur x viktor #hp fanfic #medical school au

[unadulteratedfandomtrash]

Loki Laufeyson x Reader ~ Rest Assured [Pt.6]

[My Marvel Masterlist]   [Previous Part]

Word Count: 1596

“What’s the matter,” Wanda asks from behind the black-haired god. 

“I am unable to break this spell alone. Another spell-caster is required.”

“What do you mean you need someone else? Can’t you and Queen Frigga do it together?”

Clint squints at Loki with skepticism. Though Loki may have another agenda other than taking over and terrorizing innocents, the archer still treads with caution around him since Loki is the only person to successfully interpret a small portion of the jinxed door, so there is no other person who can call him out for lying. Plus, Clint is unhappy with his luck for receiving the first shift with the trickster god.

“These doors are locked with a variety of spells, but only half of them are recognizable since I was the one who taught (Y/n) the incantations. The other half is some sort of light-based magic. I have never seen anything like it, but the formations are very specific and individual depending on the spell, that much I can guess. As with most sorcery, I assume there is also some form of signature embedded within the spells that serves as the caster’s identification.”

“Well,” Pietro concludes, exhaling audibly, “looks like you need to figure it out then.”

The three Avengers lean against the wall opposite to the doors as they listen to Loki’s explanation as to why he cannot simply ‘figure it out’ as Pietro commented.

“I would venture to continue this discussion, but that would be a waste of valuable time standing around and idly chattering about subjects mere mortals such as yourselves would never understand.”

“You wanna take a stab at this, Maximoff,” Clint offers. “Maybe there’s something there you recognize.”

“There is no point in her trying, archer. (Y/n)’s knowledge in the different types of sorcery was acquired long before your existence.”

“He has a point,” the brunette points out. “Besides, I know nothing about magic. My powers are psionic-related and telepathy.”

“Ugh, fineee. I know what Cap said about three of us watching Loki at all times, but his mother is here, so you two watch him while I go gather some information.”

“Barton, why are you here and not watching Loki like you’re supposed to!”

Without any warning, a pillow comes flying across the room and hits the archer in the face with a satisfying thump, startling the man enough to trigger his reflexes, along with eliciting a shriek of panic. Quick hands reach for an arrow from the quiver on his back, only to cut his fingers along the sharpened edges of the vanes, causing Clint to drop his bow so that he now freed hand can grasp the injured digits.

“Nice. I can’t believe Fury hired you as one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top agents.”

“And I can’t believe that I recruited such a mean person. Was the pillow really necessary?”

Shrugging while sporting a triumphant smirk, Natasha slides off the silken sheets of her bed and waltzes over to her friend to inspect the damage. Only a tiny trickle of blood escapes the minuscule tear in the archer’s flesh, so she ignores his whining to return to the comforts of the pillow-covered mattress.

“Why are you here, Barton? Steve isn’t going to be happy when he finds out you left your post.”

“If he finds out, Nat. If. And I’m here to get your opinion on something.”

“Go on.”

Soft scratching noises echo in the room as Natasha files her nails. One of her temporary partners for the trip, James Rhodes, shuffles around the room aimlessly while to two agents converse about the recent events that had taken place. A stone bust catches the colonel’s attention, but upon inching closer to inspect the sculpture, his foot accidentally kicks the gold pedestal.

“Hey, hey! Be careful,” Clint all but screams at Rhodes. “Who knows how these guys will make us pay for that if you break it!”

“Please proceed with caution. That sculpture is one of three in existence.” If not for his warning, Thor’s heavy footfalls announces his entrance as he strolls into the room. “You nearly demolished my grandfather.”

Wincing visibly, Rhodes backs away from the bust and opts to sit on a carved wooden chest that sits at the foot of his mattress instead. 

“As I was saying,” Natasha clears her throat before continuing her argument, “I don’t know if Fury even knows about any activity to begin with. I mean, it’s possible for a few people possessing magical abilities to be in the S.H.I.E.L.D. database, but that would require us to physically be present to look through all the files.”

“Why must you search for masters of sorcery when my mother and brother are ones themselves?”

“Because Loki needs a very specific person to unlock that door. He said that (Y/n) learned magic from a lot of different people, so there has to be some way to contact all her teachers.”

All eyes focus on the God of Thunder as the man in question rests a hand on his chin, stroking the strands of hair on his beard while thinking over the statement. As far as Thor knows, (Y/n) had left to seek apprenticeship from over a dozen times during her lifetime, but he was never very close to the young sorceress in their youth, so his knowledge of her travels is limited to gossip and brief exchanges he heard between Frigga and Loki. If there were any tangible records of her journeys and experiences, it would be kept in journals in her chambers, which is currently the issue at hand.

“I have no knowledge of any of her instructors. (Y/n) and I were quite distant as children. It was only after her marriage to Loki that we started getting acquainted with each other, but we still remain distant to this day.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait…You mean to tell mean that this (Y/n) person is Loki’s wife?! That’s why we’re here? To let Reindeer Games see his wife?”

“Yes. I thought you knew this.”

“Though the wording used during the meeting did not directly state this,” Vision states as he phases through the golden walls, ”I do believe that many of the Avengers have at least gathered that (Y/n) holds a significant importance in Loki’s life.”

“Which is why I ask you to please do whatever you can to help my brother. Though he can be quite ill-mannered, Loki does have another side. One that shows kindness. In time, he may reveal his true self around us all, but I know very well that (Y/n) brings out the best in him.”

It takes a lot of convincing from Natasha, but Clint eventually agrees to bring up the newfound information to Steve, who scolds the archer at first for leaving the twins— despite Frigga being there with them. The super soldier works with Thor to modify a new plan to accommodate the time differences before bringing in the rest of the team for briefing. 

Surprisingly, Odin remains level-headed when the news reaches his ears, however, the AllFather denies the Avengers’ request to immediately return to Midgard. Instead, he suggests a much more simple plan— one that does not involve a blind search for possible magic teachers— that neither they nor his son thought about: Heimdall.

“The man you seek, he is heavily concealed by magic. His exact location is proving difficult even for me to determine.”

“How is that possible,” Thor demands.

“I may be all-seeing and all-hearing, My Prince, but there is little I can do when such powerful sorcery is involved.”

Seeing as the God of Thunder is losing his patience, Natasha steps in to speak to the gatekeeper. She words her questions carefully, trying to pull as many details as possible from his obscure answers.

“Wait,” Heimdall announces suddenly, his gold eyes widening in surprise. “I believe I just saw a glimpse of the destination you seek.”

Quickly pulling out a small pad of paper and a pen, the Russian spy hastily jots down the series of numbers and letters Heimdall reads out. The address is nowhere near complete, but it is more than enough for Natasha. With the bits of information, Natasha can simply input the partial address into a computer and let the Internet’s autocomplete do the rest of the work.

“Let’s go, Thor!”

Clint returns to his previous location before Loki’s chambers bearing news for the Maximoff twins, Frigga, and Loki to hear. He wants to withhold the information from the God of Mischief, but the possible consequences outweigh the satisfaction of witnessing Loki’s unrelenting frustration over a hexed door.

“Alright, listen up, kids, ‘cuz I’m not saying this again.” Glancing over at the Asgardian queen with a moment of realization, the archer apologizes for his wording before continuing with his announcement. “Natasha and Thor are leaving to make a quick visit on Earth, so because of that, Stark’s group will be the one to take over after our shift. If they’re not back by the time Stark’s shift ends, we’ll have to come back and fill in until then. Cap will take an extra shift if Nat and Thor are still gone by the morning. I don’t like this anymore than you do, but hopefully everything runs quickly and smoothly. Any questions?”

“And where exactly are they going,” Loki inquires wryly, his tolerance for his current group of guards diminishing by the minute.

“177A Bleecker Street, New York City, New York.”

[Next Part]

Tag List

@wecantgiggleitsafandom  @tarynkauai  @drstrangefictions  @laxarnas

#Loki #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Odinson #Loki x Reader #MCU #Marvel Cinematic Universe #Marvel #natasha romanoff #Clint Barton #Wanda Maximoff #Pietro maximoff #Maximoff twins #Rhodey #James rhodes #War Machine #Steve Rogers #Odin #Frigga #Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier #Captain America #Thor #Thor Odinson #Asgard #Black Widow #Hawkeye #Sam Wilson #falcon #Heimdall #Avengers

[queen-scribbles]

Ritual

@pillarspromptsweekly fill 94: In Memorium. I wound up using Charity, since I”ve already done a similar fic for Tavi, and Emiri doesn’t really remember her family enough. Plus, y’know, I’m still giddy I get to write married!Ederity, even if it’s a less fluffy subject than usual.

                                             -----------------------------

She wished she could forget what today was.

But considering she was awake hours before sunrise and it was already all she could think about, Charity didn’t figure there were good odds on forgetting. Maybe that was a good thing, she mused, rubbing her face with one hand. Guilt still prickled, much like the tingling in the arm trapped under her sleeping husband, even years later.

She needed to pray. And while she wasn’t really worried about waking Edér--the man slept like a log--she did want to do so alone. So she gently extricated her arm from under him and rolled out of bed. Her hair went up in a hasty bun, messy and likely full of knots, and she pulled on the first clothes she could reach. No shoes; it was still warm enough and it felt right to be barefoot for this.

Sparrow mroawed softly, twining between her ankles, and Charity picked her up. “You wanna come with me?”

Mrrrrrr

“Well, alright. But you’ll have to stay away from the candles.” Cat in hand, Charity slipped from the bedroom and padded out to the chapel.

                                              -o-   -o-    -o-

She sat there for hours, the ache in her chest steadily growing the more the sky tinged pink and gold with approaching dawn. Losing a sister was bad enough. Feeling responsible for that loss kept the pain fresh significantly longer. Charity leaned forward to confirm the sun was fully over the horizon.

She hugged her knees into her chest, vaguely felt the aches that came with sitting on the floor, and pulled in a shaky breath. It was time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, throat already tight. “Sorry I couldn’t help, sorry I didn’t know more.” Just like every year, the memory of rattling, labored breaths going harshly, abruptly silent pressed in, sharp as if it had been yesterday. “I hope...” She sniffled, wiped her nose on her sleeve as her eyes burned. “I hope, if the Wheel’s made ya someone new by now, that you’re happy. I hope Berath granted you that kindness after takin’ you so young.” Damn blight.

Sparrow chose that moment to slink under Charity’s tented knees and headbutt her hand, as if she could sense her distress. Charity smiled faintly and scritched between her calico’s ears. Satisfied she’d done her part, Sparrow laid down, tail lazily curling and uncurling in the sunlight stripes decorating the floor.

Grateful as she was for her cat’s intervention, the melancholy still lingered. If this year followed the pattern, that ache would stay til she went to bed. After seventeen years, she was used to it. Few more minutes, then I go about  my day... She had a lot to do, and while it wouldn’t entirely distract her, it would help.

The chapel door creaked softly as it opened--they’d need to fix that before it got too cold--and the muted sound of booted footsteps carried someone closer.

“Char?” The concern in Edér’s voice was obvious. “What’s wrong?”

She tried to surreptitiously wipe her eyes before he reached her so he didn’t get the wrong idea. “Nothin’s really wrong....”

He scoffed quietly. “Am I really s’pposed to believe that when you’re sittin’ on the chapel floor barefoot an’ lookin’ like you been cryin’ this early in the mornin’?”

He had a point. “It’s not...” How did she explain this little ritual of hers? “It’s an old wound that hurts worse one day a year.”

Edér chuckled and offered her his hand. “Got a couple of those m’self, darlin’. Whenever you’re ready to stop bein’ cryptic, I’m here for ya.”

Another good point. He was just full of them this morning. Charity smiled wryly as she accepted the hand up. If she could be open with anyone about this, it would be him. She let him haul her upright, careful not to step on Sparrow, and leaned instinctively into the hug she knew he was going to offer. “’Member my sister?”

His breath caught and the hand rubbing her back paused ever so briefly. “Is this...?”

She nodded against his shirt. “The anniversary. Yeah.”

Edér was quiet for a long moment, just holding her and rubbing her back. “...You wanna talk about her?”

That’s never been part of the ritual, a piece of her immediately protested. But she’d never been married for this day, either. Things changed. She nodded against his shirt again, and Edér gently tugged her toward a proper seat.

“Alright, then,” he said encouragingly. “What was her name? What was she like?”

“Saela,” Charity replied with a shaky smile. One hand reached for her necklace, zipping the pendent back and forth on the chain. “She was outgoing and adventurous and always so, so happy.” She snorted softly. “Our parents named her well. She liked to stick fight with the boy next door, wore trousers under her dresses, ‘cause she liked dresses but they didn’t work so well for climbin’ trees an’ such. Ma used to say she had a smile so sunny it must’ve been blessed by Eothas himself.”

“Sounds like a good kid,” Edér commented, reaching for her hand to intertwine their fingers.

“She also hated vegetable,” Charity said with a laugh. She hadn’t talked about Saela in ages. It felt good to share stories with someone. “Which I guess is normal. An’ fruit, which is less normal. Our mom had to get really tricky for her to eat anything with either in it. And she sometimes would wander off to have adventures when she was s’pposed to be helpin’ Papa with the vorlas.” Not for the first time, the thought floated through her mind: Maybe if she’d had more adventures and picked less vorlas she’d still be alive. She squeezed Edér’s hand appreciatively. “I use’ta get so mad at her for that, ‘cause the worst she ever got was a scoldin’ no mater how many times she did it. ‘Course when she got sick I found myself wishin’ she’d run off one more time; maybe if she hadn’t been around s’much vorlas she wouldn’t’ve caught the... the sickness.”

Edér winced. “Effigy’s eyes, Char, she got that?” He pulled her closer to wrap his other arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, darlin’. We heard about that... plague or whatever you’d call it, down here. Sounded blazin’ nasty.”

“It was,” she said softly. “An’ see, I’d been apprenticin’ with this traveling healer who would visit smaller towns for a stretch t’ help with ailments an’ injuries an’ such, but he’d moved on when that swept through. So there I was, fourteen years old, an’ scramblin’ to help my baby sister with two measly years of apprenticeship under my belt.  I knew how to treat symptoms; what to brew as a tea t’ help her breathing, or what would dull aches an’ soothe her fever. But I didn’t know how to treat the root of it ‘sides pray and hope for a blazin’ miracle.” She sniffled at the memory, curled in closer to Edér’s side. “So all I could do for Saela was make her comfortable and sit there. Watch her get weaker and weaker, listen to her cough get worse and worse ‘til she could barely breathe.

“That last night, I think part of me knew.” He voice went flat; reciting facts she wanted to share with him but gating off emotions that still hurt. “I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, but somethin’ wouldn’t let me sleep. I tried everything one last time. Prayer, every medicinal concoction I knew that might help... but none of it did.” She had to compose herself as the memory of that horrible frozen moment of silence hit, the sluggish heartbeats before Ma wailed and Papa cursed and her family plunged headlong into the darkest year of their lives. Edér, bless him, didn’t rush her.  “So every year I sit that last vigil to remember her. To pray that if she’s done her turn on the Wheel, whoever she is now is happy. And to... apologize.”

“What for?” Edér protested, indignant on her behalf. “That blight was th’ worst thing to hit this side a’ the ocean for the past hundred years. From what I heard, healers an’ priests with decades of practice under their belts couldn’t always cure it. Whadda you have to apologize for?”

Charity shrugged. “She was my sister and she died. The lady next farm over came down with it, too, and I gave her son some advice which I guess he used an’ she pulled through. But not Saela. Couldn’t... couldn’t save her.” Her thumb rubbed futilely across her palm, missing the long-lost worry stone that had served as a reminder of her sister. The words had come out more bitter and woeful than she really felt, but this day was always hard on her nerves. “I know it ain’t really my fault, but...” She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder.  “I think it’s only natural for kith to blame ourselves for things like that.”

“True,” Edér conceded, his thumb absently rubbing over her knuckles. “Gods know how many damn times I’ve wondered what mighta been different if I’d gone with Woden. Maybe nothin’. Maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe I’d be dead, too.”

“Well, I’m glad that didn’t happen,” Charity said lightly, trying to fight the deep-seated melancholy.

Edér chuckled. “So’m I. Missin’ ‘em’s all well and good, wonderin’ a little’s no harm, just don’t wallow in it.” He kissed her temple. “That don’t lead nowhere good.”

Trust him to worry about her. It made her smile, just a little. “I know,” she promised. “No wallowing, trust me. It’s just hard losing family, and that never goes completely away.”

“Is that why you made yourself so busy today? I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“You’re smarter’n you look,” Charity teased, which earned a mild ‘hey now’ of protest from her husband. “That’s exactly why. And speakin’ of my schedule, we better go eat breakfast if we wanna have it together before I get to things. An’ don’t you need to get to wok?”

“Now that I’m sure everything’s alright--so to speak--with my wife, I prob’ly should,” he acknowledged with a laugh. “But breakfast first.”

“Breakfast first,” Charity agreed, stealing a kiss before she pushed to her feet.

Edér stood as well, wrapping his arm around her shoulders again as they headed back to the house. Charity found herself silently leaning into the support he offered. She might not be able to forget what today was, but having him to lean on would make it easier to handle.

------------------------

Saela is a Nordic name that should be pronounced “Sy-lah”(rhymes with Lila), but I think with Eoran pronunciation rules it would be said “Say-lah”, so whichever of the two you pick is fine, I guess. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It means happiness or bliss, to go with Charity’s birth name of Jara(should be said “Yara”) which means honeycomb or spring. Clearly their parents were very happy in Readceras.

#queens fic #pillars prompts weekly #charity #eder teylecg #otp: brighter than the sun #eothasian idiots #ederity

[gvnstruction-blog]

1, 25, 33 (Andrew)

i combined all your asks into one. remind me never to do this again it was a good idea at the time but nope

Andrew

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?

Andrew loves his dad. his dad taught him a lot about what he knows to this day when it came to tattooing. He took on an apprenticeship under him and his knowledge and the way he does things now is heavily influenced by him.  Most of his work is really where his fathers influence is, but socially he’s more like his mother. I think one thing he would hate about his father though was when he was being instructed how to tattoo, his father was very particular- which is how he because so particular himself.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

He loves comic books, reading comics, drawing and doing art and the like. He loves going to the movies and what not. Honestly, he doesn’t have too many hobbies that don’t include his work. 

33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health?

The only downside about his health is the fact he doesn’t exercise enough . Other than that, he doesn’t do any drugs or drink heavily. He barely drinks really at all. He eats pretty healthily aside from a few cheat meals but they’re in moderation. He’s got a few extra pounds on him, but other than that- he’s golden.

 Rachel

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

No. She’s very empathetic and doesn’t like to see other’s suffering, and if she can help to make them feel better in any way, she’ll try. When it’s her, she tends to not be vocal about it, but she far from enjoys it. She would just rather keep to herself and if someone offers a hand, she’ll take it gladly. 

41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?

She’s very self aware. I believe of my three muses she’s the most self aware character I have. She knows her strengths and her weaknesses and trusts her instinct. There are times when she missteps but eventually she’s able to realize where things went wrong. She’s capable of self irony when things lighten up around her, and uses each situation as a learning curve for herself.

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

Softness, contentment. She’s approachable in her most natural look, not overly happy to the point of being irritating, but not stern or cold. She’s very soft and relaxed, even as an adult. After softness, it’s usually happiness or some form of a smile

Bruno

4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient?

Bruno was given pretty moderate discipline as a child. If he did something bad, he got his butt spanked or was grounded. The usual for a child. This went for anything like talking back, swearing, or throwing a tantrum. If it was something minuscule he’d get his arm or his hand swatted (like table manners)

As a teenager, when he became more of a trouble maker, he would be grounded up to his room with no electronics or phone and his social life was taken away- which, he didn’t have much of one to begin with, so it wasn’t a bother to him.

As he caused more trouble his father made him work as a punishment. He thought it would help him blow off steam as well as take up his time so he could not do anything fun like go to dates or parties. The work ended up being a career.

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?

Bruno works in residential construction and he enjoys it a lot. He enjoys the social atmosphere with men around his age, older, or younger and enjoys the people he’s around, as well as the ability to create things. The downside is the hours, but he manages. 

28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice?

The closest thing to a mate Bruno has his his friend Tony but other than that, he’s not seeing anyone seriously.

On this blog, however, Bruno’s main mate is  Rowena ( @snckeshed ). He related to her at first through her brother, Manny, who he had bonded with at the diner. Eventually the two began “co-parenting” for lack of a better word and after five years of that, he couldn’t see himself without those two in his life. 

#elsoldadoperfecto